Page 62 of Murder at the Dinner Party
“You told Sir Ian that you suspected Hardy had helped your brother escape,” I said.
He nodded. “I wanted to speak to the butler, but privately, not at the house. Servants have ears. Sir Ian suggested I follow Hardy on his afternoon off, so I did. I followed him to the Coach and Horses, where I asked him what happened that night twenty-two years ago. He didn’t want to say at first, but after I bribed him, he opened up.”
He looked at his mother, a frail yet stoic figure, staring straight ahead as if she were sitting for her portrait. She gave nothing away, but she didn’t interrupt his confession either.
Lord Whitchurch seemed to take heart from his mother’s silence. He puffed out his chest and spoke in a louder voice. “Harding told me that Rupert did kill Charlotte. It was an accident, but he did it. He had blood all over his clothes and hands. Rupert told Harding later that she’d tried to blackmail him, and he’d grown angry with her. She was carrying his child, you see.”
The childless Lady Whitchurch wiped away the tears sliding down her cheeks with her handkerchief.
Lord Whitchurch patted her shoulder. “Rupert offered to support the child, but Charlotte wanted more. She wanted marriage.”
“Stupid girl,” the dowager spat. “She could have lived well on what we’d pay her. If she hadn’t overreached…”
I bit my tongue. I wanted Arthur to keep talking, so urged him with a nod.
“Rupert became angry with her demands,” he went on. “Knowing him, he wouldn’t have liked being pushed into a corner. They argued. According to Harding, Rupert claimed Charlotte pushed him first. Rupert retaliated by grabbing the first thing at hand, the knife, and stabbed her with it.” His gaze slid to his mother. “He always did have an uncontrollable temper. It only came out occasionally, and only when he was drunk. Few saw it, but when he unleashed it, he was like a wild animal.”
“He was frightening,” Lady Whitchurch whispered.
The dowager huffed. “His temper was only ever unleashed on those who pushed him too far.”
I’d had enough of her blaming Charlotte, but Harry spoke before I could. “No matter how much she angered him, Charlotte didn’t deserve to be murdered.”
“He was drunk. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“That’s not an excuse, particularly if he knew how violent drink made him. Something you both knew, as well as your husband.”
The dowager rubbed her hand over the walking stick and continued to stare ahead.
Lord Whitchurch glanced at the portrait of his parents above the fireplace. “My father was nearby and overheard.”
“Why was he in the vicinity of the kitchen?” I asked.
“What does it matter why?” the dowager snapped.
“Perhaps he got hungry during the night,” Lord Whitchurch said.
“He was fully clothed,” I said. It was speculation, but probably true given Mr. Gannon had seen blood on his jacket. “As if he was meeting someone there. He kept a room at White’s, so must have made a special visit back to the house to meet someone. Was it Charlotte?”
Lady Whitchurch blinked at her husband. Her husband stared at his mother. Clearly, neither knew his father was also having an affair with the maid. The dowager knew, however. It was obvious from her lack of a denial.
A curious smile appeared on Lady Whitchurch’s face. Her mother-in-law had cruelly told her she wasn’t interesting or pretty enough for Rupert and blamed her for his affair. But now she knew the dowager had the same problem with her husband, and with the same mistress, too. I suspected Lady Whitchurch was storing the information away to use another time.
“My lord?” Harry prompted. “Harding told you that your father heard the argument.”
“Uh, yes.” His lordship cleared his throat. “He tried to save Charlotte, but it was too late. She bled out.”
That explained the blood on the inside of his jacket. It had likely happened as Harry and I guessed; his lordship had thrown the jacket over her in an attempt to keep her warm as she bled to death.
“My father decided what was to be done next,” Lord Whitchurch said. “He ordered Rupert to leave and never return. He knew how it would look, how the police would discover Charlotte was with child. There’d be a trial. It would be a scandal. But if Rupert couldn’t be found, there’d be no trial and it would be easier to sweep Charlotte’s death under the carpet, so to speak. My father had contacts in the House of Lords who had contacts in the highest ranks of the Metropolitan Police. Scotland Yard ended their investigation swiftly and made no real attempt to find Rupert.”
That explained the incompetence of the lead detective. The outdoor staff weren’t questioned, and any mention of the pregnancy, which would have been revealed in the autopsy, was suppressed.
“My father woke up Harding in the stables. He knew Rupert and Harding got along, and that Harding had no family. If he went missing, too, nobody would look for him. My father told Harding what happened and instructed him to take Rupert to Dover and put him on a boat at the earliest opportunity. Harding did, then he disappeared, too. He changed his name to Hardy and found work as a groom, but after getting kicked by a horse, he decided he no longer wanted to work in stables. He was a good mimic and had seen how the footmen spoke and behaved, how they worked. So he became a footman, then eventually a butler, but his limp held him back from working in the best houses. He moved to London a month ago and that’s when the Campbells took him on. I didn’t know any of this until I spoke to him at the Coach and Horses.”
“Where were you on the night of Charlotte’s murder?” I asked. “You weren’t with your future wife, were you?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’d rather not say.”
