A Pretty Deceit Page 31

  She sniffed again, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief unearthed from somewhere beneath her blanket, but I noticed she was listening to me, her eyes bright with interest.

  “Don’t mistake me. I’m not excusing your drinking. But . . . I understand it.” I leaned over the table to be certain she heard me. “You are now well on your way to being sober, and you must find the fight within yourself to stay that way. For your children. For your husband. For yourself. If you wish to honor his memory, let it be in that way.”

  She nodded. “I will.”

  I had no idea if she would be able to do it. I had no idea if she would succeed. But in that moment, I believed she meant to try.

  I pushed back my chair, preparing to rise, when suddenly she spoke.

  “I did think of one thing.” She swallowed. “It happened a few months ago. In July, around my birthday.” Her hands wrung the handkerchief before her. “I . . . I drank so much one night he almost couldn’t revive me. After, he told me he was writing to someone he thought could help. He said he’d helped this person in the past, and with his influence, perhaps he could find me a place in one of the hospitals.”

  I sat taller.

  “I figured it must be someone from the war. An officer maybe.” Her brow furrowed in consternation. “But then he never mentioned it again. I don’t think he received a response. Or if he did, it wasn’t positive.”

  “Did he tell you the man’s name?”

  “No.” She offered me a grim smile, repeating her earlier words. “Or if he did, I don’t remember.” She heaved a discouraged sigh. “It’s not just my memory, though. Frank was wont to talk in riddles, and in my drunken haze I rarely had the patience to puzzle them out. Like that hiding place you asked me about. He told me once that if you had something to conceal, it was best to do so in a place no one would search. What he meant by that, I haven’t the foggiest. But it was merely his way.”

  She might not have the foggiest, but I had a sneaking suspicion I did.

  I thanked her before hastening out to the front room, where Sidney was waiting. Snagging his arm, I practically dragged him from the building, sparing but a moment to offer Constable Jones a cordial wave.

  “You’ve discovered something?” my husband guessed as he opened the door of his Pierce-Arrow for me.

  “Several somethings.”

  “Back to Littlemote, then?” he asked as he climbed in behind the driving wheel.

  “Yes, and step on it.”

  “I thought you didn’t like me driving fast,” he quizzed me as he pulled away from the constabulary.

  “I don’t like you driving recklessly. There is a difference.”

  He chuckled. “Who am I to disobey orders?” Once he’d navigated us through the narrow streets of the village, he did precisely as I’d requested, putting his motorcar through its paces. “Now, tell me what you learned.”

  I explained what Mrs. Green had told me about the letter her husband wrote. “What do you want to bet that letter was to the late Lord Ryde?” I asked, turning in my seat to face him. “The same Lord Ryde who he assisted with something in the autumn of 1918.”

  “The same Lord Ryde Mr. Plank saw with Mr. Green in the west park,” he contributed, catching on to my way of thinking.

  “Precisely. He sent that letter, hoping and hinting that since he’d done him a favor in the past, perhaps he might return it.”

  “Not realizing that Lord Ryde was dead.” Something that was entirely possible given the fact it occurred during the last weeks of the war, when Mr. Green was already back at the Western Front fighting. The Greens didn’t exactly run in aristocratic circles, so he might have never heard that the late earl had passed and the current Lord Ryde was now his son.

  “Or that Ardmore was monitoring Ryde’s mail for just such a message.”

  Sidney’s eyes darted toward me before returning to the road. “Do you honestly think so?”

  “Do you honestly think not?”

  “He’s definitely capable of it,” he allowed.

  “One thing is for certain, Max never received that letter. For if he had, you can be positive Mr. Green would have received a response.” I knew Max well enough to understand that he would never let a kindness go unrewarded, nor would he have callously turned away a plea for his help. “And when we mentioned Littlemote and Mr. Green being killed, he would have spoken up.” I glanced distractedly over my shoulder at the motorcar I’d seen parked alongside of the road, but the Pierce-Arrow was traveling too fast around the curve and I dismissed it from my thoughts.

  “You’re right.” His expression was grim as he braked for the turn onto Littlemote’s long drive. “Then that could explain why Ardmore’s men were here long before we were. They already knew that Lord Ryde had been here. And that he’d had some assistance from Mr. Green, a gardener and man-of-all-work by trade, to do something.”

  “All it wants is confirmation from Max that his father did, in fact, visit RAF Froxfield in the autumn of 1918, but otherwise all the pieces fit.”

  “Now the question remains, what on earth did he bury in the west park?”

  “And is it still there?”

  Sidney frowned. “You don’t think it is? What of all those holes we found?”

  I faced forward again, narrowing my eyes at the leaves spiraling on the breeze to shower down on the motorcar. “I don’t know anything for sure. It’s just a hunch. But whatever Mr. Green helped Lord Ryde conceal, I think he may have dug it up again. Wouldn’t you, if you suddenly realized there were men searching for it?”

  “Then what has he been digging for in the west park?”

  “Roman coins.”

  Sidney’s head tipped back in sudden comprehension. “Because of the villa.”

  “They’ve been found before. And I suspect that’s what he was clutching in his hand when he died.”

  “So the reason there are two different types of holes is because they were being dug for two different purposes—by Mr. Green searching for coins, and by Ardmore’s men searching for . . . well, we don’t know precisely what yet.”

  We rolled past the gatehouse and up the slope toward the house.

  “Yes, but I think we might be about to solve that mystery,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think I know where Mr. Green may have hid what he dug up. It was something he told his wife that gave me the idea.”

  “Where?”

  But I merely cast him an enigmatic smile. “You’ll see.”

  CHAPTER 26

  However, we weren’t destined to reach our destination. Not when Miles was waiting for me with a message from Max as I passed him my hat.

  I hurried toward the telephone in the alcove situated between the great hall and the corridor leading deeper into the house, removing my gloves as I went. Tucking them in my pocket, I rang up our friend at his town house in London. He answered on the first ring.

  “Max, what news?”

  “Verity, it’s good to hear your voice. I was worried . . .” He broke off. “But never mind that. I spoke to Father’s valet.”

  “Yes?”

  “He confirmed what my sister had to tell us. Father was unsettled. Even took to sleeping with a pistol in his bedside drawer.”

  I pressed my hand to my forehead. “Good heavens! Then he was worried someone was going to kill him.” I looked up at Sidney, who had joined me in the corridor, leaning against the wall near the entry to the alcove.

  “It appears so. He took to declining dinner invitations and refused to dine at his club.”

  And yet he’d still been poisoned. Or so we presumed. I supposed there was no way we would ever know beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  I heard Max draw breath, clearly still trying to adjust himself to these facts.

  “He also confirmed the schedule I found notated in my father’s agenda.” He paused, and I knew whatever he said next would be of great importance. “Verity, he did go on a tour of a handful of a
irfields, just as you suspected. And one of them was Froxfield.”

  My heart kicked in my chest upon hearing confirmation of everything Sidney and I had just speculated on. I nodded at my husband’s look of inquiry. “So he was here.”

  “Yes, and Xavier has more to tell you.”

  I’d wanted to ask him about Mr. Green’s letter, on the off chance he’d simply forgotten about it, but Alec was already speaking over the wires.

  “Verity, I’ve got the information you wanted on that Willoughby chap. You were right. He was with the Royal Naval Air Service. And what’s more, he was an intelligence officer.”

  “Bloody hell,” I mumbled, making Sidney’s eyebrows arch, not so much in shock—he’d heard me curse before—but alarm. “Willoughby is Naval Intelligence.”

  “Well, you suspected that, didn’t you?” he murmured.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t make it any more comforting to hear.”

  “Is Kent there with you?” Alec asked, and I thought I detected strain in his voice.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Because we haven’t seen hide nor hair of Scott here in the past two days, and I took the precaution of sending a man down to Pevensey to investigate the situation, but he hasn’t seen him there either.” His next words were deathly serious. “I don’t like it, Ver. I think he’s already at Froxfield, or in the area.”

  My breath tightened as I recalled the motorcar I’d seen parked along the side of the road, and how distinctive Sidney’s Pierce-Arrow was. If that had been Scott, if he’d been looking for proof of our presence at Littlemote, then he’d just received it.

  “Ver, are you still there?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m here,” I replied, finding my voice.

  “Watch your back, Ver. And keep Kent with you at all times. No daring heroics, you hear?”

  Being given such a cautionary warning from Alec of all people—the king of daring and reckless impulse—would have been laughable, had I not recognized with chilling certainty how pertinent it was. Lord Ardmore had warned me that Scott was after me, and while I still wasn’t certain that wasn’t at the cunning lord’s behest, that didn’t lessen the gravity of the situation. Even my nightmares seemed to be telling me that Scott was a threat I could not ignore.

  “Ryde and I are leaving the moment I hang up this phone. We’ll be there in three hours. Two, if I can convince him to let me drive.”

  “Take care,” I urged him.

  “The same to you.”

  I replaced the mouthpiece back on the switch hook and turned to face Sidney. The set of his shoulders and the watchfulness of his gaze told me he hadn’t missed the apprehension I felt. “They haven’t seen Scott in London or Pevensey in the past two days. Which means he’s likely already here.”

  Sidney straightened. “Then we’ll have to be extra alert.”

  I nodded. “Max and Alec are on their way here.” I brushed my hands down my charcoal skirt, straightening it. “I suppose I should inform Miles they’ll need rooms prepared.”

  “One moment,” Sidney said, wrapping his arm around my waist to pull me to his side. He grasped my chin with his fingers, gazing reassuringly into my eyes. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “I know,” I murmured with a forced smile.

  But what I really knew was that he might be helpless to prevent it. Just as I knew I might be helpless to prevent harm coming to him. That’s what happened when you loved someone. It made you desperate to protect them, and flounder at the impossibility of doing so.

  Whether he recognized all these things, too, I didn’t know, but the longer he held my gaze with his steady one, the more grounded I felt. My heartbeat slowed and my nerves unruffled, leaving me more composed than I’d been in days. He pressed a kiss to my forehead and then released me, though part of me wished he’d never let go.

  I moved toward the Elizabethan Room, intending on tugging the bellpull to summon Miles, when he emerged through the oak paneled door leading to the servants’ stair. “Just the man I wished to see,” I declared. “I have two friends on their way from London, and they’ll each need a bedchamber prepared for them.”

  He bowed. “Very good, madam. If I may . . .”

  I halted in the midst of turning away, waiting for him to speak.

  “I was actually coming to speak with you. Something has been found in the attics.” His gaze shifted to Sidney as he came to stand beside me. “Something I believe you should see.”

  “Of course. Show us the way.”

  He led us across the hall toward the main staircase with its panels of ornate wooden carvings. “One of the footmen was searching for the tapestry Sir Reginald requested be located, when he found it. Miss Spanswick’s portmanteau. It was tucked behind an old painting leaned against the wall.”

  The butler’s tread was slow and even. I doubted his creaking knees could move much faster. But I was suddenly very anxious to reach the top and had to restrain myself.

  “Has Chief Inspector Thoreau been informed?” I asked as we rounded the steps at the landing. I lifted my gaze to see Miss Musselwhite standing against the banister at the top, a pile of garments clutched to her chest as she watched us with wide eyes. Clearly she had heard what Miles had said. Her eyes blinked rapidly, and then she hurried on.

  “Yes, madam. I took the liberty of telephoning the constabulary with a message for him.”

  We crossed the wide corridor and entered a narrower set of stairs concealed behind another piece of oak paneling. These led upward into a dim space positioned among the eaves. A single tiny window was the only source of natural light in the chilly attic crowded with heaps of boxes and packages, some draped in cloth and some exposed to the light.

  A young footman stood along the wall, his back straightening to attention at the sight of us. On the floor beside him sat a battered leather bag.

  “Thank you, Robert,” the butler said, dismissing him.

  He seemed almost reluctant to leave now that the contents were about to be revealed, but dipped his head and followed orders.

  I pulled my leather gloves from the pocket of my coat and knelt beside the portmanteau. “Have you looked inside?”

  “Only so far as to ascertain it does in fact contain Miss Spanswick’s belongings.”

  I carefully opened the bag and then began to sort through the contents. Wrapped in a towel on top rested the loaf of bread, now grown hard and spotted with mold. I set this aside to rifle through the clothing and was rewarded by the discovery of a small vase, two figurines, and an ornate wooden box that proved to be filled with coins—most of them very old from the looks of them, and some of them still flecked with bits of dirt.

  “Are these the items that went missing?” I asked the butler.

  His mouth puckered in sharp disapproval. “Yes, madam.”

  However, it was the last item I removed that most interested me. Wound in a dainty floral-print dress near the bottom rested a gold letter opener. Dried blood speckled the cloth, adhering the metal to the cotton. This must be the murder weapon.

  The sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs behind us made us all turn. We were soon greeted by the appearance of Inspector Thoreau and his sergeant. The inspector’s eyes riveted to the object in my hand. “Well, I suppose that answers one question.”

  I set down the letter opener in its cloth next to the other objects and backed away so that Thoreau could kneel and have a better look. Miles reviewed everything for him that he’d already told us, and then Thoreau informed him he could go.

  The inspector sank back on his heels, his eyes passing over the contents before him, his brow puzzled. When the sound of the butler’s footsteps could no longer be heard retreating below, he turned his head to the side to look up at me.

  “Perhaps it is merely fortuitous, but I find it rather odd, Mrs. Kent, that your cousin should suddenly request that his servants locate an obscure tapestry for him.”

  “Actually, that’s my fault,” I replied
.

  His brows lifted quizzically.

  I recognized an explanation was in order, but I wasn’t certain how much I could reveal. “We’ve been investigating another matter,” I began haltingly. “And several circumstances led us to believe there might be a connection to Littlemote.”

  “I see,” he replied brusquely as he pushed to his feet.

  “Not to the murders. At least, not at first. Simply the grounds.”

  His arms crossed over his chest. “But you’ve since discovered something that makes you think they might be connected to the murders?”

  I frowned, disliking the sensation that I was being reproached like a child. “The other investigation involves a connection to sites with Roman remains, and I asked my cousin to look into the matter. I had a vague recollection that there might have been Roman remains uncovered here at some point, and I wanted to know if it was true. Mr. Plank told Reg it was, that his grandfather’s grandfather worked in the stables at the time of the discovery. He also said a tapestry had been created of the mosaic that was found. So Reg asked Miles to have the staff search for it while he looked in the records for further proof of the stablemaster’s story.”

  “A fortuitous coincidence, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is the connection to these murders?”

  I clamped my lips together as I considered what to say, but the look Thoreau fastened on me told me he was not going to back down. He might suspect my connection with the Secret Service, both past and present, and he might be lenient when it came to such matters that I could not share, but he was not going to allow me to conceal information that might be pertinent to his own investigations.

  “The object Mr. Green was clutching in his hand when he died. Was it a Roman coin?”

  The hard set to his jaw eased a fraction. “Yes.”

  “I believe he’d been digging in the west park, searching for those for some weeks. That’s why he was found there when he was killed.”

  The look in his eyes did not dispute this, but he pointed out the problems with this theory. “Then where was his shovel and lantern?”