Page 88 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place
I had always assumed that. But— “When I learned that Uncle Herbert had had a child with someone other than Aunt Roz, I thought maybe…”
“No,” Tom said. “Abigail Dole was not your cousin. I actually spent some time this week looking into her, as it happens, so I can assure you of that.”
I must have looked surprised, because he added, “Kit told me last week that she had turned up and might be thinking of causing trouble. I decided to do some digging.”
Good for him. “And?”
“Abigail Dole is from Bristol originally. Her parents still live there. She has lived in London for the past four years or so, working as a shop clerk. That ended when the baby was born.”
“In January?”
He nodded. “The baby was born at the East End Maternity Hospital in Stepney. The father’s name on the birth certificate was noted as unknown. Abigail listed the Blackwall Buildings in Thomas Street in Whitechapel as her home address. Finch is there now, trying to learn what he can.”
He glanced at his watch before he added, “He’s probably back at the Yard by now, actually. It took me a while to get here. I should ring up and see what he’s discovered.”
“Let me take you inside,” I said, and fumbled for the handle on the door. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “With Robbie, when we were lads. It’s been ten years or more, though.”
“Uncle Herbert locked the boot room door,” I explained, taking Tom’s arm, “so we’d better go through the front. Unless you’d like to see the croquet lawn and the scene of the crime. If so, we can go through the terrasse door instead.”
“I wouldn’t mind getting the lay of the land, and a look at the crime scene. As I said, it’s been a while.”
“This way, then.”
We pushed through the trees and bushes—“That’s where we found Abigail’s tote last night,” I pointed out, “with the list she made on the train,” —and emerged at the back of the house. The constable who had been squatting on the crime scene earlier was nowhere to be seen now, and I indicated the general direction of where the body had been. “That was where she was this morning. Yesterday, she collapsed more in this vicinity. Just a few steps out from the bushes.”
Tom had stopped, and was looking around. “And the doctor said what, exactly?”
“About the collapse? Exhaustion, heat, dehydration. Nothing criminal or sinister. Probably just from making her way here from Salisbury, and from not taking care of herself generally.”
Tom nodded, eyeing the grass. “They haven’t secured the crime scene in any way.”
No, they hadn’t.
“I guess Sammy thinks he’s gleaned everything there is to glean,” I said.
Tom scuffed the grass with the tip of his shoe. “He might be right. Not much hope for footprints on this.”
“No. Come on, let’s get you inside so you can make your presence known, and then you can ring up London and Detective Sergeant Finchley.”
We abandoned the grassy lawn and headed up the steps to the terrasse and the back door.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Inside,I pointed out the library to Tom, and then the entrance to the kitchen. Hughes was inside, helping Aunt Roz prepare some sort of food. She’s not a cook nor scullery maid, of course, and I could see from her expression—sour—that she did the kitchen work only reluctantly. But then Aunt Roz was right there next to her, with her title and her money, and I guess Hughes felt like she couldn’t in good conscience refuse when Lady Herbert was doing the work right alongside her.
“Thomas!” Aunt Roz seemed delighted to see Tom. So much so that she dropped what she was doing and came to embrace him. “You darling boy! How lovely to see you!”
“Lady Roslyn.” Tom embraced her back, a bit gingerly.
“Is Christopher not with you?” She peered past him to me, and past me to where there was no one.
“He went to the village in the Bentley,” I said. “I told Uncle Herbert and he said it was all right.”
“Of course, Pippa, dear. Why would he do that?”
Christopher and not Uncle Herbert, I assumed. “He took Doctor White home. Or to wherever the post mortem is taking place.”
