Sixteen
After a very long night in which it seemed that no one in the Whittemore manor got any sleep, Victor had a very subdued breakfast with the Ellisons and Cordelia. Mrs. Richmond had been taken back to town by the doctor, who wanted to keep a close eye on her overnight, and Patricia had made an appearance only to help Cordelia dress before going back to the servants’ quarters.
“It’s all so ridiculous,” Cordelia said as she walked Victor out to the stable where he’d put up his horse the night before. “I just have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’ve never dealt with anything like this before. Do I contact the mortuary? I don’t have any mourning clothes, I don’t even know where one would buy them. If Mrs. Richmond was here she’d be able to tell me exactly what to do but---“ Victor kissed her, cutting her off midsentence. Cordelia seemed happy to have been interrupted, and reluctant to let him stop.
“I’ll contact the mortuary about Arthur’s funeral arrangements. I was his solicitor so he left his wishes with me. Of course I’ll handle all the legal aspects of things as well, that goes without saying. I’m sure between you and your extremely enthusiastic sister, you can find a black dress or two.” This made Cordelia sigh and he smiled. “What?”
“I look terrible in black. Oh, Victor.” His name sounded wonderful coming out of her mouth, though he did wish it would have been under better circumstances. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I’m upset that he’s dead and I never would have wished him to die like this, but he didn’t want me. He was trying to find a way of divorcing me without losing his money. As terrible and cruel as it sounds, part of me is glad to be free of the whole thing.”
“Don’t let anyone hear you say that,” Victor said, dropping his voice. “If something like that got passed to the police, you’d really be in trouble.” He took her hands. “Remember, don’t talk to the police unless I’m with you. If they come out here again, be polite and cooperate but don’t tell them anything until you speak with me.”
“All right,” Cordelia said. “Thank you for staying with us last night.”
“It was my pleasure, difficult though it was for me to sleep knowing how close you were.” They went into the stable where Victor’s horse was saddled and ready for him. “I’ll come back later and check up on you. I assume your sister and her husband will be here as well?”
“I’m not sure,” Cordelia said. “Their son is with his governess but I’m not sure how soon they need to be back.” She smiled. “Not right away, I hope. This house was too big for two people, it’s terrifying to think about being alone in it.”
“You’ll do fine, I’m sure.” Victor patted her hand, then climbed on his horse. “If you’re really uncomfortable, you can always go stay with them for a while.” Cordelia gave him a look that plainly said she wasn’t going to even consider such a suggestion and he laughed. “Goodbye, Lady Whittemore.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Pembroke.” She stepped out of the horse’s path and went toward the servants’ quarters while Victor left for Greenley.
As he rode back to town his mind wandered. Whoever had killed Arthur was more than likely someone he knew. There hadn’t been any signs that there was a struggle in the bedroom before he was killed, or that someone had broken in. He made a mental note to ask Cordelia if there had been any guests in the house before the party the next time he saw her.
It was early enough in the morning that Victor doubted he would have any clients waiting for him at the office, so he went to his house instead. If someone showed up, Bradley could always entertain them for a few minutes. Maybe by poisoning them with some of his coffee.
When he walked into his house, however, all thoughts of Cordelia and Arthur were swept out of his head as Brian met him at the door with an envelope in his hand.
“Good morning sir,” he said. “Did you have a good evening?”
“Not really, no,” Victor said, walking past him. Brian had been with him before he moved to Greenley so he had long since become accustomed to Victor’s coming home at all hours. “Lord Whittemore was murdered at the party I went to and I spent the night trying to keep the police from arresting his widow.” It was a strange word to use in relation to Cordelia but he supposed that’s what she was now. “And how was your evening?”
“Quiet as always,” Brian said. “I read a book and when it became apparent you weren’t coming home for dinner, I went to bed.” He followed Victor to the bedroom. “Your dinner is in the icebox, by the way. I didn’t bother making breakfast.”
“Thank you,” Victor said, taking off his jacket and throwing it across his bed. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been offered his dinner for breakfast, but he’d already eaten at the Whittemore manor and didn’t think he could get a second meal down so soon. Brian lingered in the doorway watching him undress and Victor raised an eyebrow at him. “Something the matter, Brian?”
“This letter came for you yesterday,” he said, and Victor realized he was still holding the envelope. “It’s from Surrey.”
“Surrey?” Victor stopped in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt and took the envelope. There was only one person who sent him mail at home and the last time he’d checked they didn’t live in Surrey. He tore the letter open and unfolded it while Brian very politely made himself scarce.
Victor’s eyes moved over the letter once, then twice, and he cursed as he threw it on the nightstand. This was the last thing he needed but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment, so he vented his frustration by taking off his clothes as if they had done him a great personal wrong and throwing them into the hamper. He snatched a fresh suit from his closet and dressed quickly, then brushed his hair and stuffed the letter into his jacket pocket.
“Is everything all right?” Brian watched him from one of the wing-back chairs in the living room and Victor scowled at him. “Oh, the news was that good then. Have a good day, sir.” He was just as used to not hearing a farewell from his master as he was to him turning up drunk in the middle of the night, and Victor wondered sometimes if Brian didn’t do a bit of drinking of his own when he wasn’t there. It wouldn’t surprise him. Being the valet to a single man was probably fairly boring.
I don’t have time for this, Victor thought as he went to his office. Surrey? How in the hell did she get herself to Surrey?
“Mr. Pembroke,” a voice said as he started up the steps to his office. Victor turned to see the chief of police coming up the walk. “I’m glad I ran into you. Your assistant said you hadn’t come in yet but I thought I would try once more.”
“I was conducting some business at the Whittemore estate and speaking to my valet about a personal matter,” Victor said cautiously. If the chief of police was coming to see him, something was going on. “How can I help you?”
“The final cause of death on Lord Whittemore was exsanguination due to multiple stab wounds to his torso,” he replied. “Ten stab wounds, to be precise.”
“Ten?” Victor’s eyes widened. “Good Lord. I can’t think of anyone who would want to stab Arthur Whittemore once, much less ten times.”
“It was definitely someone with a lot of anger toward him. You were his solicitor,” the chief said, his casual tone putting Victor on alert, “do you know of anyone who had a grudge against him? Maybe someone he’d made a bad business deal with?”
“Not that he ever mentioned to me,” Victor said carefully. “I only became his solicitor recently, though, after my associate passed away. We never spoke about business matters really, just the late Lord Whittemore’s estate. There were a few strange things about the will that I was working on for him.”
“What sort of strange things?”
“You know perfectly well I’m not allowed to discuss that with you,” Victor said. “Just because everyone who’s had a hand in the damn thing is dead but me doesn’t mean I’m going to start telling you all about it.”
“If it has something to do with his death, you can be compelled to tell us, Mr. Pembroke. Surely you realize that.” The chief’s tone was still conversational but the threat beneath the surface was there all the same. “Anyhow, I just wanted to pass along that information. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread that around.”
“I would hope you know me better than that,” Victor said, opening the door to his office. “Please keep me informed of any developments.” Not waiting for a reply, he went inside and closed the door behind him.
“Good morning, sir,” Bradley said as he walked past his desk. “The police chief was looking for you. Did he find you on the way in?”
“He did, thank you. Did anyone else come by?”
“No sir. It’s been quiet this morning so far.” Victor could tell from the men’s magazine Bradley was reading that it truly hadn’t been busy, but he couldn’t really fault him for it. There wasn’t much for him to do without Victor around. “Is everything all right?”
“Fantastic,” Victor said sarcastically as Bradley gave him his mail. “I suppose you’re going to hear about it soon enough but Lord Whittemore was murdered last night.”
“He what?” Bradley’s eyes widened. “You mean after the party?”
“During the party it seems,” Victor said. “The police came out after Lady Whittemore and her lady’s maid discovered the body.” Bradley looked like he was going to ask more questions and Victor held up a hand. “I’ll tell you more later. For now I just need to be alone to think.” He looked around. “Where’s Miss Wright?”
“I’m not sure,” Bradley said. “I must confess I assumed she was with you.”
“For God’s sake, Bradley,” Victor said. “What kind of man do you think I am? No, never mind, don’t answer that.” He went into his office and closed the door, then took out the letter and opened it again as he leaned against the desk.
Dear Victor,
I know this is rather sudden but I wanted to send a letter to tell you that I’ve moved to Surrey. I met a lovely gentleman who reminded me very much of you and I’d hoped that he would be able to overlook my situation. Unfortunately I seem to have found myself in even more of a predicament. As much as I hate to ask, I’m going to need a bit of assistance, so if you could send some money as soon as possible to this address we would really appreciate it.
All my love, Catherine.
“Damn it all,” Victor said, refolding the letter. Sending her money wasn’t a problem and it was unusual for her to come right out and ask, so she really must have been in a tight spot. There was enough for him to worry about in Greenly for the moment and he frowned as he tried to think about what his next move should be.
Victor had a pretty good idea of why Arthur was killed. Whether it was a jealous lover or a fight that had gotten out of hand didn’t matter. The question was who had done it. According to Cordelia, he’d brought his lovers in and out of the house before but she’d given him the impression that there was no one he saw regularly. There was no way to start trying to figure out which of Arthur’s lovers had killed him if he didn’t even know where to begin looking.
Had Arthur’s parents been alive, Victor supposed he would have to be much more careful in his investigation to make sure he didn’t offend anyone or dirty the Whittemore name. With everyone apart from Cordelia in their grave he was free to be a bit more open, but he didn’t want to embarrass her in front of the entire town. He knew from experience that there were plenty of people – especially in a small town – who would somehow blame her for Arthur’s indiscretions, and that was the last thing he wanted.
The best place to start looking was the pub where he’d first heard the rumors about Arthur keeping company with men. It wouldn’t be open for another hour yet but he knew there was usually someone there earlier, and it would probably be for the best if he asked his questions before the patrons began to make their way in.
Still deep in thought, he picked up his satchel and stuck the letter into it. There were too many things on his mind and he knew he needed to focus if he was going to be any use to Cordelia at all. He hadn’t been lying when he said he wanted to be with her. If she were to lose everything tomorrow, he wanted to be there to help her pick up the pieces. Before any of that, though, he had to make sure she stayed out of prison.
“Where are you off to?” Bradley met him at the door to his office with a cup of tea.
“Pub,” Victor said. “I need to talk to a couple of people and see if I can figure out who might have been sharing Lord Whittemore’s bed besides his wife.” He picked up the tea and drained the cup, needing the boost it would give him. “Thank you, Bradley.”
“Shouldn’t you leave that to the police detectives?” The boy followed him to the front door. “That’s their job.”
“At the moment I know a few things they don’t,” Victor said. “The police last night seemed determined to place this on Lady Whittemore. Seeing as how she’s the only client I have left in that family, my priority is clearing her name.”
“I can’t believe they’d try and blame her,” Bradley said. “I’ve only met her once or twice but she seemed like a nice, quiet lady. Very proper.”
“Yes, quite. I shall return in a little while.” He went out the front door and down the steps, brushing past Miss Wright on the way. “Good morning,” he said absently as he passed. She smiled at him and returned the greeting, and for a moment he had the feeling that he’d seen her at the party the night before. “Where were you last night, Miss Wright?”
“Me?” She looked surprised. “My mother has been ill, so my brother and I were making dinner for her and cleaning her house. I had to do most of the work, though. He was so late there was almost no point in his coming over.”
“You weren’t at a party?”
“Me? Oh goodness, no,” Miss Wright said. “Apart from never being invited to any, I don’t have time for that sort of thing.”
“I see. Thank you anyway. I’ll be back in a little while, so if anyone comes for me they can either wait or come back in a few hours.” Miss Wright nodded and went into the office and Victor went down the stairs, his mind half on the pub and half on Cordelia. He hoped things were going all right for her at the manor.