“I wasn’t aware she was missing.”
“She’s worse than missing. I’m afraid she’s dead.”
He jerked back, his grip on my arms tightening. “Dead? Are you sure?”
“She has no pulse. There are marks on her neck. I think she’s been strangled.”
His brows drew together in a sharp line. “My God! Did you see anyone about?”
“No, but I didn’t stay around to conduct a thorough search. After checking her pulse, I came here. Mrs. Thompson said she hadn’t seen Miss Teskey for hours, so it’s likely this happened some time ago.”
He blew out a breath. “That poor girl.” After wrapping an arm around me, he led me into the house. “I’ll place a call to the police right now, and we’ll go back to your house together before someone else stumbles into your garden and right into the crime scene.”
He seated me in a comfortable wingback chair before he telephoned the police. Out of his warm embrace, I began shaking again and found myself repeating George’s words. That poor girl. She was both infuriating and pitiful, and I definitely wished she’d never entered my life. I certainly hadn’t liked her, and now I felt guilty about that, which was foolish, but true all the same. My ill will had never extended to wishing her dead, and even if it had, a mere wish wouldn’t have caused her end. But I had left her alone, even after she’d told me someone had threatened her life.
Of course, I hadn’t believed her. I suppose that’s where the guilt came from.
George touched my arm and roused me from my brooding thoughts. “Are you ready to go back home?”
We took the garden route, examining every shrub and pebble along the path as if we were frontier trackers. Sadly, if someone had left traces of their passage, I’d probably obscured them when I came stumbling through.
I left him in my garden while I hastened inside to inform Hetty of Miss Teskey’s murder, ask her to watch for the police, and tell the staff what had happened. I was sure they’d be questioned later. When I returned, I found George examining the gate that opened to Wilton Mews along the side of my house.
“It’s unbolted,” he said. “Is that normal?”
“No. Ever since that footman was murdered and left here last spring, we’re careful to keep it bolted.” I closed the door behind me and joined him by the gate. “Mrs. Thompson opens it for coal delivery.” I pointed to the chute at the corner of the house. “Otherwise, it stays locked.”
He straightened and walked carefully along the stone path that wound through the garden. It was littered with leaves from the overhanging trees. Moss filled the spaces between the flagstones. “Well, unless the coalman or Mrs. Thompson murdered her, it looks as though Irena opened the gate herself and let her murderer in.”
“Then it must have been someone she knew, or at least someone she didn’t fear.”
“Bradmore left me several hours ago, intending to call on her.” George was bent over, examining the flagstones, or perhaps the moss or some other such thing that looked to him like a clue.
“He did call, but Mrs. Thompson said Miss Teskey sent him away.”
“Where was she at the time?”
“In her bedroom. When Hetty and I returned home, Mrs. Thompson told me she was in there still, but clearly, she left it at some point. It’s possible she changed her mind, came down here, and left through the gate, looking for Bradmore.”
He straightened and gazed up at the house. “Hmm. Does her window face the street?”
“It does. If she were looking out, she might have seen him at the door. Are you suggesting Bradmore murdered her?”
“Not necessarily. The only way that’s likely is if she instructed him to meet her in the garden. She could have opened the window and called down to him.”
“But why ask him to meet her in the garden when he’s standing at the door? Why not just go downstairs and let him in?”
“Because it’s Irena and she’s a complicated little wretch—or she was.”
I tsked. “It’s just as likely she went out to the garden for some air, walked a bit outside, and left the gate unlatched. Someone might have been waiting for her. But other than members of my household, you, Bradmore, and Delaney, who else knew she was here?”
He twisted his lips from side to side. I’d come to learn that meant he was mulling something over. But what? There really was no one else.... Wait, yes, there was.
“For heaven’s sake, you aren’t considering Bertie or Michael Mikhailovich, are you?”
George chuckled. “I can’t imagine the prince doing something like this, but Romanov knew she was here. I don’t know that he has any sort of motive, but I wouldn’t rule him out.” He pointed to the path. “Do you see how the moss has been disturbed? Someone’s been walking over this path.”
“Rose plays out here from time to time. She left yesterday, but it takes more than two days for moss to grow back in those cracks. I wouldn’t consider that as evidence.”
“Good point.” He smiled, making me realize what a good choice I’d made. Imagine a man not minding when you tell him his evidence is faulty.
“Since I don’t suppose Miss Teskey strangled herself,” he continued, “we must assume someone else entered the garden, either through the house or the gate. Mrs. Thompson is not the only one to answer the door, is she?”
“No. If she was busy, Jenny might have answered it.”
“Do you mind sitting in on the meetings when the police question the servants? That will help us get a better feel for everything that happened here while you were gone.”
“Of course.”
George led me back to the door to the library, but instead of going inside, as I’d expected, he turned me around to face the garden. “This may be our last chance to view this before the police arrive and tromp all over. Do you see anything out of place, anything that doesn’t belong?”
I took a few steps forward and started with the left side of what was a very small area. My gaze fell on the wall separating George’s garden from mine and the new addition of the narrow gate. That side of the space received the most sun and was covered with the trailing branches of wisteria, its blooms either long past or far in the future, depending on how one considered the matter. Between the wall and myself was the open lawn. The table and chairs that usually graced the area were now tucked away below stairs for the winter. As my gaze traveled to the right, it landed on the hazel tree, the dozen or so nuts littering the ground, the bench under its canopy, the rosebushes behind, and the unfortunate Miss Teskey. I did not allow my gaze to linger there.
Moving to the right, more vines covered the back wall, and I began to consider the benefits of a gardener. The flagstone path bisected an open area where Rose might play and the coalman had room to turn his cart. The street wall, unadorned with vines, the gate, and the back wall of my house followed. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
George gave me a nudge. “Anything?”
I sighed. “Only a young woman, who ought to be alive.”
* * *
Inspector Delaney was assigned to the case. Finally, a piece of good fortune. He arrived with a constable and the coroner, and as George had predicted, by the time they were through with the garden, they’d tromped over everything. George, Hetty, and I waited in the drawing room for them to finish their work and remove Miss Teskey’s body.
“What do you suppose will become of her?” My query was met with two baffled gazes. “I mean her remains. Her father is off somewhere in the American West. The only relations she has on hand are Michael and Sophie.” I grimaced. “Should we contact them?”
“Somebody will have to make arrangements for her. Since they are family, I’d say we should leave it in their hands. Perhaps, Delaney plans to contact them.” He nodded toward the doorway as the inspector strode in, his long-legged gait leaving his constable trailing behind.
“I’d be grateful for any information you can provide regarding the young woman’s family,” he said. “And yes, we
will want to contact them.”
George and I exchanged a glance. Delaney could hardly imagine a family like Miss Teskey’s.
He came directly to me. “Lady Harleigh, if it meets with your approval, I’d like Constable Martin to interview the staff, while I speak with the three of you.”
George flashed me a warning look. Though I hated to delay the inspector’s investigation, it was a necessary evil. “I’m sorry, Inspector, but I’d like to be present when the constable interviews the staff.”
“I assumed as much, ma’am.” His smile took me by surprise. “I’ll just speak with you after the constable is finished.”
Goodness, no argument? Was he allowing me to sit in on the staff interviews? But now I’d miss anything George or Hetty had to say. Dratted man. George gave me an infinitesimal nod, so with a sigh, I led the constable below stairs, to the room off the kitchen that served as a sitting room. My two maids were waiting for us, cups of tea at the ready, while Mrs. Thompson worked on tonight’s dinner just a few steps away.
I introduced Constable Martin, and he assured them his questions were just routine, an assurance neither woman needed. Bridget, whose bouncy blond curls surrounded a heart-shaped face, might make a man wish to protect her, but a sharp mind and a spine of steel hid behind her sweet smile. Jenny, a plucky eighteen-year-old country girl, gazed at the constable, her brown eyes untroubled. They’d both been through this before.
Constable Martin and I took a seat at the worktable, across from the maids. His questions were slow and plodding while he laboriously wrote down each word the women said. As dull as this was to sit through, I had to admit, if I worked for Delaney, I’d pay close attention to detail, as well. The recitation of Bridget’s day seemed uneventful. Though she had assisted Miss Teskey in dressing this morning, she had spent the rest of the day mending one of my gowns and cleaning my shoes. The constable moved on to Jenny.
“Wait,” I said, turning back to Bridget. “Did Miss Teskey have no conversation with you this morning?” That would have been beyond extraordinary. Bridget was capable of dragging even the smallest detail about anything from me while she attended to my toilette.
“Yes, my lady. She told me I could ask a much higher wage if I worked in the theater.” She gave me an impish grin, the little wretch.
I wasn’t amused. “Did she? I suppose that means she had a dresser. Apparently, one who is well paid.”
“Actually, ma’am, it means she was looking for one.”
“Are you telling me she offered you a position?” How dare she! I forgot momentarily the woman had been murdered.
“Not outright, ma’am, and maybe not at all. She was just talking about the theater and telling me what such a position would be like. Though she said it meant working with a lot of actresses. She said some of them weren’t very kind and none of them could be trusted. She sounded as if she had gone sour on the whole business of acting.”
The constable frowned. “Because she had to deal with actresses who weren’t trustworthy?”
Bridget puckered her brow while she considered the question. “No, more like she was disappointed with the theater. She expected it would be all applause and accolades, but there was a lot of business involved, lines to learn, and people with petty grievances, I think she called them.”
“Did she mention anyone by name?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Did she say anything about Mr. Bradmore?”
“She sounded pretty sour on him, too,” she said with a firm nod. “Said he’d never get away with leaving her. Said her father would stop him.”
I wasn’t so sure her father would stir himself to come to her aid as far as Bradmore was concerned, but Bridget’s account confirmed my impression of her state of mind regarding the man. “Anything else?”
Bridget replied in the negative, and the constable wrote furiously in his notebook. Once he finished, he glanced up to see the three of us waiting for his next move. He cleared his throat, thanked Bridget, and told her that would be all. Then he quickly glanced at me and raised his brows.
“I can’t think of anything else, but Bridget will be here if you find you have further questions,” I said.
Bridget pulled a face, but Constable Martin looked relieved, and as she left, we moved on to Jenny.
“Did you have any contact with the deceased, miss?”
“She was in her room when I straightened it this morning.” Jenny twisted her fingers together.
“Did you speak to her?”
“Just to say good morning.”
“Jenny, Mrs. Thompson told me Miss Teskey had a caller, somewhere around noon, and she refused to see him. Are you aware of that call?”
“Only because Mrs. Thompson told me. I was cleaning the back rooms at the time.”
Interesting. “The dining room and the library? Did you happen to notice anything in the garden?”
Jenny chewed on her lip. “I saw Miss Teskey go out to the garden when I was cleaning the dining room. I’m not exactly sure when, but it was probably about half past noon. I heard steps in the hall, and when I looked out, I saw someone walk into the library. Since I was to clean there next, I peeked around the doorway to see if anyone was settling in, but I saw her, Miss Teskey, that is, go out to the garden, so I went back to finish the dining room.”
“Did you see her come back in? Perhaps when you moved on to the library?”
“I didn’t make it to the library. As soon as I took the dishes back downstairs, Mrs. Thompson told me the laundress had delivered the linens, and I spent the next hour or so refolding them and putting them away.” She lowered her voice, as if speaking in confidence. “She doesn’t fold them at all proper. After that, I moved on to the drawing room and forgot about the library. I’ll get to that right now if you like, ma’am.”
“It may be better if you don’t.” I addressed the constable. “My aunt and I returned home about four o’clock, and I found Miss Teskey’s body within fifteen or twenty minutes of that time, when I noticed the door from the library to the garden was open. Since she left through that door, you might wish to inspect the library for”—I raised my hands helplessly—“clues?”
“I’ll make note of that, ma’am. Is there anyone else I should speak with?”
I led him a few steps away into the kitchen, where Mrs. Thompson turned over the task of stirring a pot emitting a savory aroma to the kitchen boy. The lad said he’d never left the servants’ quarters all day, and Mrs. Thompson vouched for him. Given the chores he had, he wouldn’t have had a chance to leave. She tapped a finger against her chin as she considered her own day.
“Well,” she began, “after preparing and delivering breakfast, I visited the market this morning. I barely got my coat off when someone rang the bell. It was that Mr. Bradmore. I trotted upstairs and spoke to Miss Teskey through the door. She told me to send the gentleman on his way, so I did. Then back down here where the laundress was waiting for me. Once I attended to her, I set about cutting up vegetables for the soup and preparing a leg of lamb for the oven.”
I simply must raise her wages.
Once Constable Martin decided she had no further information, he and I returned to the drawing room, where Delaney waited alone.
He instructed the constable to return to the precinct, promising to join him there shortly. “I have only Lady Harleigh left to interview.”
“What have you done with my companions, Delaney?” I joined him in one of the wingback chairs at the tea table and widened my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve arrested them.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Is there any reason I should arrest them? Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“Of course not. You know very well I was making a joke. I had assumed they’d both still be here when I returned.”
“Yes, I’m sure you did, but I wanted to speak with each of you separately.” He raised his brows. “You have no problem with that, do you, Lady Harleigh?”
“Well, I’m not pleased with the implication that we might coordinate our statements, but as Miss Teskey was murdered here, I can understand your need to treat us as suspects.”
“Then let’s begin.”
I walked Delaney through the events of my day, from my conversation with Miss Teskey at breakfast to George’s arrival, where we learned he hadn’t found the threatening letters, to Bradmore’s revelation that he was Miss Teskey’s husband. I proceeded to describe the luncheon and the Countess de Torby’s attitude about her husband’s cousin, then finished up with our arrival back here and the discovery of Miss Teskey’s body.
Delaney jotted down the facts in his notebook, then looked up and gave me a penetrating stare. “How did you feel about Miss Teskey?”
The question took me by surprise, as I assumed it was meant to. “What do you mean by that?”
“A strange woman shows up in your life, essentially on your very doorstep, and claims to be your fiancé’s wife. Your fiancé arrives, denies the claim, but he obviously knows her, and as an added insult, he asks you to allow her to stay with you.” He leaned closer. “Come, come, Lady Harleigh, that could hardly engender any kindly sentiments.”
What? Was he accusing me of murdering her? “The state of my emotions regarding Miss Teskey makes no difference, Inspector. As you will learn when you speak to your constable, she was alive and well when I left, with my aunt as a witness, to attend Princess Alexandra’s luncheon. While I was there, many more witnesses saw me and conversed with me. And by the way, while at Marlborough House, I learned one of your constables was speaking out of school. He was in the precinct when Miss Teskey was brought in, and he relayed to his sister that she claimed Hazelton was her husband.”
“I’m sorry that got out, ma’am. Do you know who the constable is? I’ll ensure he doesn’t breathe another word of the incident.”
“I know only that he has a sister with the surname of Jones who works for Lady Fiona Nash.”
He nodded and jotted down another note. “All right, then. After the luncheon you returned home, I take it?”
A Fiancée's Guide to First Wives and Murder Page 8