Page 19 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
“I’ve only come to see Mama and Ruth,” the older voice stated. “You can take yourself off if you wish.”
Jordan took a large step back to where he could see through the archway into the drawing room just as an elegantly accoutered gentleman sauntered in from the front hall. In an obvious huff, Bobby Cardwell stalked in at the man’s heels.
Jordan’s movement shattered the spell that had held Ruth frozen, and she rushed to interpose herself between him and the archway and, beyond that, the drawing room, the newcomer, and Bobby. Walking forward, head rising, she stated with some asperity, “We have a visitor, you two.”
Jordan followed her out of the garden room.
Bobby Cardwell recognized him. Bobby’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut, and he looked faintly ill.
The other man—a gentleman as much as Bobby and Jordan himself were—watched Jordan approach through narrowing eyes.
The man was wearing a long dun-colored coat and carried a silver-topped cane. His dark hair was elegantly coiffed, and the suit beneath the coat was, to Jordan’s experienced eyes, decently tailored and mildly expensive. Most interesting of all, although his coloring was not identical, the man’s face bore a strong resemblance to Thomas Cardwell’s.
Before the man could demand to know who Jordan was, Ruth stated, “Gibson, this is Mr. Draper, who is assisting Scotland Yard with their investigation into Thomas’s murder.”
Instantly, the man’s aggression ebbed, and he blinked and studied Jordan anew. “He’s a policeman?”
“No, I’m not.” Jordan didn’t offer to shake Gibson Cardwell’s hand. “I work for a powerful gentleman whom your brother Thomas asked for advice. However, by the time I reached hisoffice, Thomas had been killed. My employer as well as the police would like to know why Thomas was slain and by whom. Because of that, I’m temporarily seconded to the force.”
Gibson frowned and bit his lip.
When none of the Cardwells volunteered anything more, Jordan asked, “I take it you’re related to Thomas Cardwell?”
Frowning, Gibson stated, “I’m his older brother.”
Jordan glanced at Ruth’s face and saw the consternation she couldn’t hide. This was what she and her mother—and Bobby, too—had been trying to hide.
Jordan focused on Gibson. “Judging from what I just heard, you and Thomas didn’t get along.”
Gibson, who had to be somewhere between Ruth’s age and Thomas’s, plainly looked to Ruth for help. When she pressed her lips tight and didn’t oblige, and Bobby simply glowered at him, Gibson reluctantly offered, “We didn’t see eye to eye about funds, but that’s hardly unusual within a family.”
“You don’t live here, I take it?” Jordan remembered how Ruth and her mother had replied to the investigators’ questions. They’d spoken only of the family members who lived in the house.
“No,” Gibson admitted. He looked at Bobby. “Bobby came to fetch me. He told me Thomas had been murdered.”
“Indeed?” From Bobby’s face, Jordan guessed he’d been ordered to fetch his older brother. “So where do you live? What’s your address?”
Increasingly reluctant but getting no support from either of his siblings, Gibson eventually volunteered, “Number fifteen B, Falcon Street. I share a flat with two friends.”
Jordan transferred his gaze to Bobby. “It seems you also had an ongoing argument with Thomas. About money?” For a man of Bobby’s age, that was much more understandable.
Despite his wariness, Bobby couldn’t resist sulking. “He didn’t think I needed to do this or that—the usual sort of things gentlemen my age regularly do these days.” As if to explain that, he added, “Thomas was a fuddy-duddy—a stick-in-the-mud—in many ways.”
Gibson looked about to agree when Ruth cut in.
In a voice tense with anger, she stated, “Thomas was the best of us. Do I need to remind you that it was he who slaved and kept this family afloat after Papa died?” Her tone lashed like a whip. “Have you forgotten that?”
Both Gibson and Bobby looked chastened, Gibson more resentfully so, yet chastened he nevertheless was.
Inwardly, Jordan sighed. While he understood Ruth’s reaction, now her brothers would mind their tongues. He wouldn’t gain anything useful by remaining, and indeed, his presence was contributing to Ruth’s distress.
He turned to her and extended his hand. “Thank you for answering my earlier questions, Miss Cardwell. Please convey my good wishes to your mother.”
Ruth gave him her hand, he judged more by rote than intention. After lightly gripping her tense fingers, he half bowed to her, then released her hand and nodded to her brothers.
Ruth stirred and gestured to the front hall. “I’ll see you out.”
She did. Jordan didn’t think he was imagining her relief as she shut the front door behind him.
