McGregor scowled. “My chief inspector will wonder why I’ve released the most likely suspect. The only suspect, damn—er—dash it all.”
“Hardly the only suspect,” I said. “I can think of six others. More, possibly.”
McGregor’s mustache quivered as he glared at me, but Daniel didn’t bother to hide his grin.
“Swear in Mrs. Holloway as a detective constable,” Daniel said jovially. “Explain to your chief inspector you could hope for none better.”
“Don’t be silly.” I rose to my feet. “I already have employment, and now I must rush home to it. The clock will not wait for me. Mr. Sutherland, please ask Mr. Li, after he is released, to call upon me. He will have to knock on the kitchen door, I am afraid, but if he will stand the indignity, I will give him a cup of tea. Good afternoon, Inspector. Gentlemen.”
Mr. Thanos leapt to his feet—all the gentlemen did when I stood, with the exception of Mr. Li, who looked uncertain about what had just happened.
“I will see you out, good lady,” Mr. Thanos said. “Sutherland and McAdam should stay with this poor chap until he’s set free.”
Daniel said a brief farewell, pleased with me. Mr. Sutherland courteously, if a bit awkwardly, said good-bye, and McGregor muttered something that was likely supposed to be polite. I trusted that Daniel would take care of Mr. Li, and left the room in some relief.
Mr. Thanos and I walked downstairs and out to the street. The wind continued, buffeting the passersby, imperiling hats and skirts. Mr. Thanos waved down an empty hansom.
The driver was not pleased to halt on the busy road, and he waited only until I was settled before he put the horse into a brisk trot. Mr. Thanos, caught precariously on the step, more or less fell inside and landed next to me.
“Are you all right, Mr. Thanos?” I asked as I pulled the door in front of us shut.
“Perfectly well. Chap is in a bit of a hurry, isn’t he? You are plucky, Mrs. Holloway, standing up to the inspector like that.”
I warmed under his praise. “I was only speaking the truth. I refuse to let the wrong person be arrested for Scotland Yard’s convenience.”
“I agree.” Mr. Thanos dusted off his trousers. “Poor Inspector McGregor is in a bit of a bother about this case, McAdam told me when he recruited me to find Mr. Li.”
“Inspector McGregor needs someone to arrest,” I said. “Sir Jacob was a knight of the realm, after all. It will be most shocking if someone is not arrested immediately.”
Mr. Thanos burst out laughing. “Good heavens, Mrs. Holloway, do not sound so cynical. Perhaps Sir Jacob was a very important person—brought about treaties or some such.”
I shook my head. “He seems to have gone on a rather long shopping expedition instead. His house is full of things from China. The housekeeper there has a theory of hidden treasure among it, and believes the family’s hangers-on are searching for it. She could be right.”
“How exciting,” Mr. Thanos said. “Though that might be a mare’s nest. One can buy jade and ancient pottery by the dozen in shops in the Burlington Arcade. A piece would have to be astonishingly unique to be worth stealing.”
“Not to someone without much money of their own. For some thieves, anything they can possibly flog would do. Though perhaps the value of whatever they are looking for is historically significant,” I suggested. “Or so rare none know much about it.”
“Then its value would be relative. How would one go about proving it was unique or significant? One would need a trained specialist, an Orientalist . . .” He trailed off, unhappy.
“Like Mr. Li,” I finished glumly. “He did wish to consult Sir Jacob about ancient pottery.”
“If Mr. Li is telling the truth.”
“I do not see why he would not. The appointment can be easily confirmed by Sir Jacob’s valet or the housekeeper or Lady Harkness. But then, why wasn’t Sir Jacob home when Mr. Li and Mr. Sutherland arrived?”
“Unless it was a ruse by someone else in the house to get Mr. Li there, and Sir Jacob never received Mr. Sutherland’s letter at all. Why they’d go to such lengths though, I have no idea. Sir Jacob wasn’t killed that night, in any case.”
“Or perhaps Sir Jacob decided he had better things to do that evening, and an appointment with a Chinese man was not important to him,” I said.
“All I know is that McAdam asked me if I could locate a man from China, probably a Confucian scholar, who went by the name of Mr. Li,” Mr. Thanos said. “He asks this of me, calm as you please, as though I can scour the globe for this person in ten minutes. But I thought at once of Sutherland, who is the foremost expert on Chinese writing and scholarship in Britain. And, of course, he knew Li Bai Chang. Named for, Sutherland told me, a famous poet of old. Mr. Li’s parents had ambition for him, it seemed. I was excited to meet the man. I would love to speak with him at length.” His eyes shone in anticipation.
I hoped Mr. Thanos would have the chance, that McGregor wouldn’t change his mind and arrest Mr. Li for the murder after all. “What is a Confucian scholar, exactly?” I asked. I was not certain what Confucian meant either, but I did not like to say so.
“Quite a fascinating person,” Mr. Thanos said. “It means he has read and studied ancient texts and not only knows them inside and out, but can expound upon them, debate them, and write eloquently about them. It means he’s sat through excruciating rounds of exams that make those at Cambridge seem like a punt on the river. Men who do well at these tests are given posts in the government—anything from unimportant accounting tasks up to advising the emperor himself.”
“Then I was right that Mr. Li never was a menial.”
“Indeed, no. He’d be from a highborn family, or at least a middle-class one. Any young man can sit the exams, but of course his parents must be able to afford the books and the tutors and the time for him to study. A lad who is needed to work on the farm doesn’t have much chance. These boys study all the young years of their lives, but if one passes the exams and is rewarded with a post, he can do well for his family. Ergo, parents push their son into a corner and load him with books. Must be the devil of a life.”
“British parents send their sons off to frightening schools when they are very young,” I remarked.
I’d worked briefly for a family whose firstborn son had been packed off to Rugby School by his proud father. The lad had been terrified, and his father had snarled at him, calling him soft and mollycoddled. The boy had gone, weeping, taken in the carriage by the butler, because the father had rushed off to his club after he’d said a perfunctory good-bye.
“No need to tell me that,” Mr. Thanos said with a shudder. “I was at Harrow—a spindle-legged, knock-kneed chap who needed spectacles, trembling among sons of the first men of the nation. I learned to use my fists quickly. And also that a bit of maths rattled off at high speed impressed others. I became quite the show-off.”
“In self-defense,” I said. “Clever of you.”
“Not really. I have a first from Cambridge, have written volumes that only other scholars read, and am still the knock-kneed boy who needs spectacles.” He sighed and peered morosely at Piccadilly unrolling around us.
“Lady Cynthia does not think so,” I said.
Mr. Thanos turned sad eyes to me. The spectacles in question were tucked away in his pocket, and his gaze was a bit unfocused.
“Does she ever speak of me?” he asked wistfully.
I gave him a puzzled look. “Did she see you about cuttings from Sir Jacob’s garden? At the pub in Bedford Square?”
“Cuttings?” he asked, equally bewildered.
“I saw Mr. Chancellor take some from a plant. Cynthia said she’d ask you what they were.” Though Cynthia had not mentioned anything of this to me, and I’d forgot to ask her in my agitation about her discovery of Grace.
Mr. Thanos’s moroseness returned. “I have not hea
rd a word from her. You see? She does not think of me, does she?”
“Of course she does. You are friends.”
Mr. Thanos let his head thump to the cab’s padded wall. “I hope she speaks of me as a bit more than that.”
I sympathized with him, but I also had no patience with forlorn lovers. “Why not tell her how you feel, Mr. Thanos, instead of pining away? Lady Cynthia is a reasonable young woman. She likes things out in the open.”
“Because she might kick me with her well-polished boots. She has such splendid ones, from a chap in Bond Street.” His gaze went remote, Mr. Thanos no doubt picturing those boots on Cynthia’s shapely feet. Then he sighed again. “She has made clear how she feels about marriage—dead against it. I dare not bring up such a subject. But what else can I offer a respectable lady like her, daughter of an earl, no less?”
“She is against marriage when it comes to the foolish young sprigs her aunt and uncle thrust at her,” I said. “Most are slow witted and not worth her attention, and she knows this. But do not give up, Mr. Thanos. I suggest you court her honestly, but content yourself with friendship if that is all she can give you.”
“I can’t afford a wife in any case,” Mr. Thanos said, resigned. “I suppose friendship will have to suffice.”
I had reflected before that they’d starve together unless they had a windfall. Daniel and I were not stupid people—surely, we could think of something to help them.
“Do not despair yet,” I advised him. “It is early days.”
Mr. Thanos gave me a look of such mixed hope and worry that I could not help patting him on the shoulder.
When we arrived in Mount Street, Mr. Thanos gazed up at the house as he helped me alight, his expression longing.
“You could knock at the front door,” I told him. “Pay a call.”
“No.” Mr. Thanos stepped up on the hansom again. “It might alarm her aunt and uncle, and they’d send me away with a flea in my ear. I believe their ambition is for a rich and handsome gentleman for their niece.”
“They should be glad to have such a gentleman as yourself for Lady Cynthia,” I began, but the cabbie, an impatient man, abruptly started the horse.
Mr. Thanos was caught on the step again, and he scrambled into the seat, managing a wave before the hansom sped away and was gone.
I walked downstairs and into a kitchen in an uproar. Tess looked up from the stove with a scowl, but it was Mr. Davis who bellowed and waved his arms, while footmen watched in consternation. Elsie cowered beside her sink, holding a dripping dishrag like a soldier’s shield.
“What on earth has happened?” I called over Mr. Davis’s raging.
Mr. Davis swung on me. He’d lost his hairpiece somewhere in his harangue, and the bald patch on the top of his head shone.
“She stole a bottle of the master’s best brandy, that is what has happened,” he snarled. “I intend to throttle her, but no one knows where the bloody woman has got to.”
12
“Mr. Davis!” I shouted as Mr. Davis turned to storm away.
He swung back to me, the cords on his neck tight. “She stole it, Mrs. Holloway—do not tell me she did not.”
I wanted to believe Mrs. Daley was a thief, but caution made me question him. “Not long ago, you thought I’d taken a bottle of claret. Then it was discovered, cleverly hiding behind a pile of leeks. Please look more before you run to the mistress.”
“I have looked. I remember how utterly foolish I felt about the claret, and I made certain to search. High and low. Mrs. Daley has the keys to the wine cellar, and she’s gone in and helped herself.”
I believed him; however, I also knew we’d better be very, very certain before we made any accusations.
I strode down the hall to the housekeeper’s parlor, which was locked. I had surrendered my key to it, but Mr. Davis had one, and he opened the door.
I stopped in astonishment, and Mr. Davis nearly ran into the back of me. Tess ducked under my arm to peer inside.
“S’truth,” she exclaimed.
The cozy room was a cluttered mess. Not only was a decanter of brandy sitting in the middle of the table, half gone, but books, newspapers, and other flotsam were scattered about the room. On the desk, I saw a pile of hair combs, several buttonhooks, a jumble of handkerchiefs, spools of thread, a small dish with a spoon resting in it, picture postcards of Brighton, and other odds and ends.
Mr. Davis’s mouth hung open. “What the devil?”
I shared his bewilderment. I’d known of mad collectors who gathered bits and bobs obsessively, but they collected jade, miniature paintings, ivory carvings, coins. Nothing in this mess was anything of worth. The items were strewn about the room, covering desk, table, and bookcase. One chair was piled high with lady’s magazines.
“Those are the mistress’s,” Sara, the upstairs maid, said over my shoulder. “And her ladyship’s newspapers.”
“Snooping, Mr. Davis?” Mrs. Daley’s imperious tones rang down the hall. All the maids but Tess scattered.
Mr. Davis and I turned to face Mrs. Daley. “You drank half a decanter of the master’s brandy,” Mr. Davis snapped.
Mrs. Daley’s brows climbed. “Do I look tipsy, sir? My eyes bloodshot? Nonsense, I found it upstairs in Lady Cynthia’s bedchamber, where it had no business being. I thought I’d better hide it before she came to some disgrace. Her aunt obviously cannot keep her from nipping down and taking what she likes.”
Mr. Davis swelled up, ready to shout, but I spoke before he could. “What about all these other things? Where did they come from?”
Mrs. Daley’s cheeks went pink. “Left about, carelessly, hither and yon. The maids do not tidy well, do they? I gather the things here to return to their proper places, and also, if need be, to prove to the mistress that slovenly work is being done.”
What she said was plausible—the maids were to put away what Mrs. Bywater and Cynthia left lying about. Mrs. Daley might have picked up what the maids hadn’t tidied to teach them a lesson.
But her explanation was too glib, I thought, and this was a lot to have been collected in a couple of days. Mrs. Daley’s chest rose with her breath, and though she looked me in the eye, her gaze flickered.
“Very well,” I said. Mr. Davis swung on me, outraged, but I did not let him speak. “Mr. Davis, take your brandy and lock it up. Have the maids return the things to Lady Cynthia’s and Mrs. Bywater’s chambers. No harm done.”
“I am so glad you agree, Mrs. Holloway,” Mrs. Daley said. “Now, I’m sure you have cooking to do. It is getting late, and you were a long time at the market.”
I bit the side of my mouth to keep from a tart reply. As I herded Tess from the room, Mr. Davis stalked to the table, snatched up the decanter, and retreated to the butler’s pantry across the hall, slamming the door behind him.
“She’s a liar,” Tess whispered to me once we were in the kitchen. “She stole those things. I know a tea leaf when I see one.”
“I know,” I said calmly.
Tess gave me an astonished look. “You do? Why’d you let her think you believed her?”
“Because we can’t accuse her without proof. Lady Cynthia does leave things lying about rather carelessly, and the mistress, while she is neater, expects the maids to straighten up after her. And if Cynthia sneaked her friend Bobby into the house, she’d have offered her brandy.”
“She’s an odd one, is Lady Roberta Perry.” Tess pronounced the name with exaggerated care. “If I did such things as she does, me dad would take a strap to me. God rest him.”
“Who knows? Bobby’s dad might have taken a strap to her too. But more likely, he ignores her. A girl child isn’t much use to the aristocracy.”
“Lord save me from being posh. Which is why our new housekeeper makes me blood boil. She ain’t posh, not any more than you are or Mr. Davis. Why does she thin
k she can lord it over us?”
“Housekeepers can be rather grand,” I said. “But I admit, she’s let it go to her head. If I ever become a housekeeper, I will thank you to keep me down to earth.”
“No worries.” Tess’s nose wrinkled. “Me and Mr. McAdam will tame you. I still think you should go off and marry him. Then I can be your cook.”
“None of that,” I said. “I need those potatoes scrubbed. Mrs. Daley is right about one thing. We’re behind.”
* * *
• • •
Tess and I managed to get the meal prepared and served. Mrs. Daley remained shut in her room, and Mr. Davis, his hairpiece restored, presided over service in the dining room.
I fed Tess and the staff, taking a small meal on my own after Tess went up to bed. I lingered at the kitchen table to make notes about the rissoles I’d prepared tonight, made from leftover beef, which I’d coated in breadcrumbs and fried, to accompany stuffed hens in mushroom sauce.
I lingered because I hoped Mr. Li would accept my invitation to visit. I had no way of knowing whether Inspector McGregor released him as Daniel instructed, because I’d heard no word from Daniel. Or James, or Mr. Thanos, for that matter. Botheration to the lot of them, I thought, my pencil jabbing at the page.
Near to midnight, a soft knock came at the back door—two taps and then three. Daniel’s knock. I tossed my notebook aside and hurried to admit him.
Daniel gave me a warm smile as he pressed my hand. Some nights he’d kiss my cheek, but not this evening—a shadow slipped down the stairs and followed him inside.
“Mr. Li,” I said with pleasure. “I am glad to see the inspector listened to me.”
Mr. Li gave me a stately bow, his formality out of place in this cramped scullery.
Death in Kew Gardens Page 12