Page 88 of A Devil in Silk
Clara let the comment settle before steering the conversation to their reason for calling. “Is that why you became Miss Nightshade’s patron? To speak to Margaret? To keep her close?”
“If a man is offered the chance to hear the voice he loves most, he takes it. Whether the words are truth or trickery hardly matters.”
He turned from the mantel and gestured to a pair of chairs near the fireplace. “Please sit. We may as well speak plainly, since you’re intent on finding answers. I have half an hour before I must leave to catalogue a new shipment.”
They sat, and Lord Tarrington eased himself into the wingback chair opposite. His dark gaze remained steady, yet Clara sensed the strain behind it—as if his frank words were a curtain hiding secrets he meant never to reveal.
“Tell me, have you come with new information, or to accuse me of murder again?”
Bentley came straight to the point. “We have Murray in custody. He broke into Miss Nightshade’s home to steal her treasure box, assaulted the landlord, and now claims self-defence.”
The lord gripped the arms of his chair, his fingers biting into the leather. “I knew that devil had something to do with her death. He must have followed Lavinia home. She was an extremely private person and never gave clients her address.”
“Murray claims he’s her brother. He went to her apartment seeking his inheritance, the horde of jewels and gold coins she kept hidden.”
The lord’s composure wavered, though Clara couldn’t tell if it was a tremor of surprise or the first crack of panic. “Brother? That reprobate said nothing about being related. It’s probably a lie to get his hands on the money Lavinia saved.”
Clara almost laughed. Surely he meant stole, not saved. “So she never mentioned her connection to Mr Murray?” The man had wept like a child at the crime scene, yet lied to the constable and claimed he was nothing more than a witness.
“No. He told me he was a family friend.”
“Did you suspect him of being her lover?”
The peer all but spluttered. “Madam, that eye patch may afford you a little leniency, but I’ll not hear talk like that in my drawing room.”
Yet Clara was undeterred. “For the purpose of this enquiry, I am an agent of the Order. And you will answer the question, my lord.”
Lord Tarrington’s gaze lifted to his wife’s portrait, his expression unreadable. “No, Miss Dalton. I had no reason to believe they were lovers.”
“Someone bought her a mantel clock and went to the trouble of engraving it with a rather poignant quote.Life is fleeting.Live while the hour allows.”
She thought of Bentley’s note at the theatre. How, in that instant, she had never felt more alive. It had urged her to throw caution to the wind, and by God, she was not sorry.
The lord shifted in his chair, reverence for his wife in his expression. “I wouldn’t know. I have never been in Lavinia’s apartment. But I’ll not disagree with the sentiment.”
Suspecting it was a lie, Clara invented her own. “She told her landlord the clock was a gift from you.” She slipped a hand into her reticule as if searching for her notebook. “I have his statement?—”
“I would never buy another woman a gift.”
“Of course. It’s of no consequence.” She closed her reticule. “It was purchased from Masons in Bloomsbury. We will check the records there. It may help us find her murderer.”
The lord scoffed. “Perhaps she bought the brass clock herself and had it engraved. It was certainly an ethos she lived by.”
His eagerness to explain Lavinia’s ownership struck Clara as odd. “I didn’t say the clock was brass.”
The lord’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I—I’m quite sure you did.”
“No, she didn’t,” Bentley said, his tone firm. “Perhaps we should continue this interview in Daventry’s office, or at the Vine Street station-house. It’s clear you’re not being entirely honest.”
A flush crept up his neck, the rigid set of his jaw betraying his discomfort. His gaze flicked to his wife’s portrait, as if the painted eyes condemned his betrayal. “Lavinia bought me the clock. A thank-you for my patronage. Naturally, I refused the gift.”
Mr Murray was right. Lord Tarrington was a hypocrite.
In Clara’s experience, a woman only went to the trouble of buying gifts for a man she loved. The quote was a means of urging him to bury the past.
“It must be flattering to inspire such generosity,” she said. “Particularly from a woman who made her living taking other people’s valuables in exchange for invented tales.”
“I know what you’re trying to imply.”
