That didn’t make her hesitate in her task. But it did make her don a hat with a veil before she and Jack made their way to Piccadilly to find a hack chaise at liberty to take a fare. And she let Jack be the one to speak to the driver as she climbed into the carriage without assistance.
As soon as they were on their way, Jack propped his elbows on his knees, resting his chin in his hands and swaying as easily with the motion of the carriage as if he were back on his ship. “So our plan of attack is to lead with the presence of the hidden younger Wyatt brother?”
“What do you mean, lead with?” Lily asked, folding her veil back over her hat so she could see him more clearly in the carriage’s dim interior. “Is there other information you have to convey to him?”
“You expect me to believe we’re only intending to share our news and then be gone?” Jack snorted. “I made sure you would use this as an opening to involve yourself further in the matter. But if you are willing to let him dismiss you so easily …”
“I never let anyone dismiss me easily,” Lily said, putting her nose in the air before giving Jack a sideways look. “As for the rest, we shall see how the conversation goes. But Mr. Page is an intelligent man. I doubt he will need much convincing to realize that his first motive in requesting our help has not really changed. The Wyatts still live in a world to which he has very little access, but where we may come and go as we please.”
“And you think that will be enough for him?” Jack raised a brow.
Lily shrugged. “He wants to catch the murderer. I have a feeling he is the sort of practical man who will use any tool at his disposal.”
* * *
“No, absolutely not, no,” Mr. Page snapped, scowling at Lily and Jack as they sat across the desk from him.
Lily scowled back. It wasn’t the reception she had been anticipating.
They had been shown in with relative anonymity, Lily with her veil drawn once more over her face. Mr. Page had been shocked to see them, even more shocked when Lily explained that they had important information about the Wyatts to share.
“Do you not at least want to know what it is?” she demanded.
“I want to know that you will refrain from involving yourself in this matter any further,” he said, casting his eyes heavenward as if seeking divine assistance. “Mrs. Adler, I appreciate your enthusiasm. And I don’t deny that you—both of you,” he added, bowing his head toward Jack, “have been most helpful. But the rest of the matter is my business.”
“But I know the family,” Lily pointed out. “And you asked for our assistance.”
“She has a point,” Jack said, crossing his ankles as he leaned back in his chair.
“For one day. Less than one day,” Mr. Page said, rubbing his temples wearily. “I asked you to listen to what the Wyatts said and let me know if any of it seemed odd to you, given what you know of them. Which you conveyed adequately in the notes you sent last night.”
“We did more than that,” Lily argued. “Or have you forgotten how you obtained your proof that the play at hand was, indeed, foul?”
“And making that discovery so publicly may well have put the Wyatts on their guard against me. They already saw my presence as an intrusion. Now they’ll see it as an attack and will refuse to deal with me honestly.”
“Page,” Jack said, leaning forward and looking more serious. “They were already refusing to deal with you honestly. You need to know what we can tell you.”
“I already have the observations you wrote down for me—”
Lily interrupted. “Sir Charles has another son.”
Mr. Page stared at her blankly. “What?”
Jack and Lily exchanged a glance. Jack cleared his throat. “You asked Mr. Frank Wyatt if he had any other relatives, and he gave you that very small list of distant relations. He was lying.”
“He has a younger brother,” Lily said. “Living in that very house.”
Mr. Page stared at her. “How is it you forgot to mention this?”
“I did not know until today.”
“And yet you claim familiarity with the family?”
“I grew up not far from Sir Charles’s property, and he and my father were close. Frank and my father were close.” Lily swallowed, feeling angry heat rise to her cheeks. “I am sure you can understand that, as a female younger than any of the men concerned, I was not brought into any confidences. What they hid from the rest of the world, it seems, they also hid from me.”
Mr. Page’s voice, when he finally spoke, was cold and quiet. “And did they conceal this from me because the boy did it?”
Lily winced. “I beg you’ll not leap to that conclusion, sir.” Quietly, helped by Jack when she forgot to include some detail or other, she related their unexpected conversation with Ellen.
Mr. Page listened in silence, though Lily could follow the emotions that chased their way across his features. His initial anger was quickly replaced by surprise, which gradually gave way to thoughtfulness. By the time she fell quiet, his face had become unreadable.
“And you believed her, when she said he had nothing to do with it, even though you’ve never met him and his own family wanted to hide him from me?”
“They certainly aren’t the only family to hide the existence of an … unusual member,” Jack said. “It does not necessarily imply that they believed he was guilty, merely that they did not want anyone to know of his existence.”
“And your suspicion is exactly what the maid was afraid of,” Lily said. “That was why she wanted you to know of him now.”
“Then why go to you, instead of coming here?” Mr. Page asked, his face still impassive.
“She would have been dismissed if they discovered she told you anything,” Lily said. “Coming to a private home—of someone she had met and knew to be fair-minded—” Jack snorted, and Lily glared at him. “Well, I am. And she had reason to know it. She took what seemed the safest course of action for both her and her charge. Rather noble, really, when you think of it.”
“That remains to be seen.”
Mr. Page looked thoughtful once again as he sifted through the papers scattered over his desk. To one side sat a small stack of pasteboard calling cards; Percy Wyatt’s was on top, and below it, Lily supposed, would be one for each member of the family. The other papers were full sheets, each covered in lines of neat handwriting, Lily saw as he shifted them into a tidier pile. It was hard to read upside down, but she could make out the names of various members of the Wyatt family, with careful notes underneath each name. Mr. Page, unsurprisingly, was meticulous in his work.
He was also still speaking.
“I’ll have to talk to him myself, however, before I can take her word for his innocence.”
“Are you glad you listened to us now?” Lily asked, perversely pleased by the scowl she received in response. “Would you rather not know they were lying to you?”
“It is a murder, Mrs. Adler,” he said quietly. “I assume that every one of them is lying to me until I know otherwise.”
Lily winced. “And what else have you learned?”
“Mrs. Adler,” he said, clearly exasperated. “I told you—” He broke off, shaking his head, and sighed. “Well, have it your way. You told me something I didn’t know. So fair’s fair, I suppose. Let’s have an exchange and see what you can tease out of this mess.”
“Splendid!” Lily said, sitting forward eagerly. Then she grimaced. “Well, not splendid.”
“Terrible, actually,” Jack agreed, though he looked equally eager. “But let us see what we can do.”
Mr. Page gave them a skeptical look as he rose and began pacing around the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “Sir Charles was killed by a heavy blow to the head. We were clearly meant to think he struck his head on the corner of his desk and bled to death on the floor of the library.” He paused and glanced at Lily, one brow raised sardonically. “Shall I go on?”
Lily swallowed but nodded. It was no worse than what
she had already seen. “Continue.”
“Why go to the trouble of moving him?” Jack asked. “There were plenty of carvings on the mantelpiece. Why not make it appear that he struck his head there?”
“Presumably to confuse the matter and make it seem more accidental. And to draw attention away from the missing poker and what was hidden in the chimney. The coroner confirmed that the poker we found could have been used to strike the blow that killed him. Which, by the way, would have needed to be heavy and strong. Sir Charles was a large man and would have been well able to fight back against an attacker. Our murderer is more likely to be a man, though a determined woman could have done it as well.”
“Moving him would have also required a great deal of strength,” Lily pointed out.
“Indeed.” Mr. Page glanced back at Lily and Jack. “The family wants to say it was a burglar, of course, but there aren’t any signs of that. And a burglar wouldn’t have moved him.”
“What about the servants?” Jack asked, sitting forward.
Mr. Page nodded, pausing in his circuit of the room as he considered the question. “I am inclined against that hypothesis. A servant would likely have had better ways to hide or dispose of the incriminating objects.”
Lily nodded, impressed. She hadn’t thought of it from that perspective.
“From speaking to the servants yesterday and examining Sir Charles’s account books, it seems they were all pleased with their positions, considered him a good master, and were well compensated for their work. And as none of them have private rooms, unless one of them is covering for another, by all indications each was where they were supposed to be.” Mr. Page paused, staring at the papers on his desk. “It could have been a servant, of course. Or an outsider, whether a burglar or not. I’ll have to examine both possibilities. But these sorts of things are usually in the family, and that is where my suspicion lies.”
Lily frowned. “Lady Wyatt’s maid mentioned a quarrel between Sir Charles and his wife. Did you ask any of the servants about it?”
“I’ve not been back there since receiving your note,” Mr. Page said, clasping his hands behind his back and resuming his pacing. “But the housekeeper, Mrs. Harris, mentioned something that I consider likely to be the same matter.” He paused, his expression growing even more serious. “She overheard Sir Charles shouting at one point in the evening.”
“He was not often one to raise his voice,” Lily said, surprised.
Mr. Page nodded. “That was what she said as well, which is why she took note of it. He was upstairs and she was down, so she couldn’t hear exactly what he said. But she did hear a few choice words.”
Lily and Jack exchanged an eager look. “And what were they?” he asked.
“That he was disgusted with someone,” Mr. Page said, regarding them grimly. “Or something, perhaps. Something unnatural. She thinks he might have even said that something was an abomination. I wonder if that might have been the quarrel Wilkes was referring to.”
“Could he have been talking about Percy’s theft?” Lily asked. “He was, by all accounts, furious.”
“And yet he forgave his nephew not many hours later,” Jack pointed out.
“So Percy says,” Lily put in, watching Mr. Page closely as he spoke. “There is no one else who can confirm that, can they?”
“No, no one else,” he agreed. “And Mr. Percy Wyatt himself told me something else odd, when I took him aside once more. He had clearly been holding something back in front of his cousin, and I insisted on knowing what it was.”
“And?” Lily leaned forward once more; beside her, she felt Jack do the same.
“He said he couldn’t be sure, but he almost thought his uncle was saying he wanted to make Percy his heir in Frank’s place. Mr. Wyatt says he didn’t quite believe that was true but assumed his uncle was speaking extravagantly to let him know all was forgiven.”
Jack looked thoughtful. “If Sir Charles was going to disinherit his son, that would be quite a motive for murder.”
“But we don’t know that Sir Charles intended that at all,” Lily pointed out, cold all over at the thought of Frank—sunny, self-absorbed Frank—being accused of murder. “We’ve only Percy’s word for it. Which, as we know from his attempted theft, is not exactly trustworthy.”
“And Frank?” Mr. Page asked, fixing her with a stern look. “Is he trustworthy?”
Lily hesitated. “I do not know him well as an adult,” she said slowly. “As a child, he certainly would not hesitate to lie if it preserved someone’s good opinion of him. But I cannot see him being able to kill his father in cold blood. He has been Sir Charles’s closest confidant for half his life. He loved his father. He loved being the most important person in his father’s life.”
“But was he anymore?” Jack mused. “His father had recently married. And Frank, as we have seen, was not pleased with that marriage. Perhaps his love toward his father soured when Lady Wyatt entered the picture.”
Lily made a face. “That is rather melodramatic, Captain.”
“So is being disinherited, but I’ve seen that as a motive for murder before,” Mr. Page said ruthlessly.
“But how would he have known?” Lily pointed out. “He was already out for the evening. And even if Percy said something to his cousin, Frank did not return home until around three o’clock in the morning, according to the butler.”
“Unless that was the second time he came home,” Jack said darkly.
“Which we must confirm, along with Mr. Percy Wyatt’s movements,” Mr. Page said briskly. “Captain, I hate to admit it, but you’re better positioned than me to do so.”
Jack leaned back in his chair, looking curious as he clasped his hands under his chin. “How do you mean?”
“I imagine you know—or can discover—the sort of gaming hells that young men like Percy and Frank Wyatt frequent. And you’re far more likely to be welcome in them than a man like me. Do you think you could find out where they went that night? We—” He broke off, clearing his throat and scowling. “I need to know whether Frank was there as long as he claimed.”
Jack’s eyes were alight at the prospect of such a chase. Lily wasn’t surprised—she knew he felt restless being stuck on land with nothing to occupy his time. “Indeed, I will see what I can uncover.”
“Try not to lose too much money in the process,” Lily said dryly.
Jack shrugged. “All for a good cause.”
“I think you will find that he was out as he said,” Lily said staunchly. “And that means that when he did return, according to the butler, Sir Charles was likely already …” She swallowed, not wanting to say it, but pressed firmly on. “Likely already dead. So that leaves Percy Wyatt.”
“Who, according to his own report …” Jack leaned forward and plucked the top sheet off Mr. Page’s desk. The constable started to protest, then sighed, shaking his head as he resumed his pacing. Jack grinned and read from the sheet. “Went home around midnight to his lodging on Harley Street—alone—and went to sleep. So that makes him the most likely culprit, does it not?”
“Harley Street is not far from Sir Charles’s house,” Lily said. “It would have been a simple matter for him to return on foot.”
Mr. Page raised his eyebrows at them. “Both of you assume Lady Wyatt couldn’t have done it?”
“You said it was more likely a man,” Jack pointed out.
“But a determined woman could have done it,” Lily remembered. “Lady Wyatt would certainly strike one as determined. And she did lie.”
Mr. Page studied her. “How did she seem to you, the first day that you met her?” he asked, turning his head to include Jack in the question.
“She had a pleasant and cordial manner, though I should not have called her exactly friendly,” Jack said. “I would say she seemed content, as one would expect in a new bride.”
“She seemed devoted to her husband, and he appeared quite fond of her,” Lily said honestly. Remembering Frank Wyatt’s
comments, she added, “Even his son remarked how charming it was that they were always together, though I am sure he did not mean it as a compliment.”
“That part does interest me,” Mr. Page said, hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the papers on his desk, though without seeming to really see them. “The animosity between them.”
“Hardly surprising, in a second marriage,” Jack pointed out. “Especially when the child of the first marriage is a man grown and the second wife only a few years older than he.”
“Better than a second marriage where she is a decade his junior,” Lily pointed out tartly. “And there are a great many of those that happen among the men considered Sir Charles’s peers.”
“And did the other, did Mr. Percy Wyatt, seem to have the same resentment toward her?” Mr. Page asked. “He treated her with a great deal of solicitude yesterday, but what about before?”
“He seemed a disagreeable, weak-willed sort of boy, with nothing of his cousin’s ease or pleasantness,” Jack said, tossing the paper back on the desk and scowling as he leaned back in his chair. “The sort to take what he wants, even if it wasn’t his in the first place.”
“Are you referring to his uncle’s money or our carriage?” Lily asked, a little dryly, earning a grumpy stare from Jack. She shrugged. “Both prove your point, I suppose, but I think one is far more worth holding against him than the other.”
“He was a weaselly little fellow, either way.”
“But when it came to Lady Wyatt, he seemed almost ashamed of Mr. Frank Wyatt’s behavior,” Lily pointed out, leaning forward enough that she could rest her elbows on the edge of Mr. Page’s desk, her chin hovering over her steepled fingers as she frowned in thought. “He was far more polite to her than his cousin was.”
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