Page 73 of Murder at the Dinner Party
“That’s why I telephoned you this morning. I was thinking after you left last night that we shouldn’t believe the dowager’s claims that Rupert died in New York. She could have been lying.”
I shook my head. “She seemed genuine to me. A lot of what they told us was rather humiliating to admit, so why admit it if it wasn’t true?”
“Even so, you should check.”
“How? Send a telegram to each of the New York cemeteries and ask if a man named Rupert Whitchurch was buried there in the last two months? And what if he went by an assumed name? It’s an impossible task, Harry.”
“It’ll be difficult, but involving Scotland Yard will speed up the process considerably. I thought you could approach Forrester.”
Detective Sergeant Forrester was one of Harry’s father’s former colleagues at the Yard and had been helpful before. But this was an old case that had been brushed aside by his predecessors after the late Lord Whitchurch pressured them. I wasn’t sure he’d get approval.
“He could telegram his counterparts in New York,” Harry went on. “The former lead detective is deceased, as is Lord Whitchurch, and the dowager doesn’t have the same influence as her husband. I doubt it will be buried this time. And don’t you want to know for sure?”
“All right, I’ll call at the Yard and speak to him, but I do genuinely believe the dowager when she says her son is dead. So, what’s your second point?”
“You tell me, Cleo. You said ‘almostno reason to think he was murdered’, which implies you believe there is still a reason to keep investigating.”
“It may be nothing…”
“If it was nothing, you wouldn’t have come here to discuss it with me.” He leaned back in the chair with that wicked, crooked smile again. It was both annoying and devastatingly attractive at the same time. “Unless you made something up so you had an excuse to come here.”
“Would you like me to confide in you or not?”
My heated response wiped the smile off his face. He put up his hands. “I’m all ears.”
“After speaking to the Campbells, I called on Mr. Gannon and Mrs. Hatch to thank them for their assistance and tell them how their information had helped. Given they both knew Charlotte, I thought they’d want to know. Anyway, Mrs. Hatch had a photograph on her side table that wasn’t there during our last visit. It was of her daughter, Betty, the Campbells’ maid.”
He drummed his fingers on the chair arm, frowning. “That’s quite a coincidence, but it’s possible the Campbells employed her because the Whitchurches recommended her as a favor to their former maid, Virginia Hatch, or Fryer, as she was known then.”
“Mrs. Hatch hasn’t been employed by them in years. Not only that, it’s very unlikely they’d recommend someone who has never worked for them, even if she is related to a former member of staff.”
“Perhaps Betty was inexpensive. You said yourself the Campbells don’t have a lot of money.”
It was a valid point, yet it still didn’t explain the coincidence. “Why would the Whitchurches recommend her? And why are they making up a basket for Mrs. Hatch once a month?”
“Perhaps Lady Whitchurch is just nice.”
“And why is Betty always in tears, or close to tears?” Now that I thought about it, that was odd. The first time, she could have still been in shock over Mr. Hardy’s death. But the shock should have worn off. Tears like that implied more. It implied she was deeply saddened. Why would a housemaid be deeply saddened by the death of a butler much older than her, who she had only known for a month? “And don’t forget Mrs. Turner’s change of heart about me investigating.”
Harry nodded slowly, beginning to agree. On their own, each piece of information wasn’t suspicious. But lined up one beside the other, they pointed to guilt.
Harry gathered up our cups and rose. “We’ll question Betty and Mrs. Turner together. You’re not leaving me out this time.”
“I wasn’t planning to. It’s why I came. Besides, a little masculine charm might be required. After all, except for Davey and Sir Ian, it’s a household full of women, who think you’re rather handsome.”
He scowled at me, but didn’t offer a quip in response. I’d found commenting on the reactions of women to his good looks and charm was often a way to silence him.
With a coffee cup in each hand, he held the door open for me. “Can you fish my key out of my top pocket?” He indicated his full hands.
Removing the key would bring me closer to him than I dared get. There may be layers of clothing between my fingers and his chest, but I knew without a doubt that it would be unwise to comply. I suspected he hoped the nearness would spark something in me, too, going by the way his eyes gleamed with mischief.
I took one of the cups. “Fish it out yourself.”
I waited for him downstairs on the pavement and we returned the cups to Luigi. As we set off along Broadwick Street, Harry asked me if I’d made it home in good time the day before. “I assume you didn’t get into trouble for being late, or you wouldn’t be here now. Or did you sneak out of the hotel without Sir Ronald’s knowledge?”
“I arrived home at a decent hour. Nobody minded,” I lied. “Do you know, I haven’t needed to sneak out in some time. It’s rather dull being good.”
“Let me know if you want me to liven things up for you.”
