Page 35 of Murder on Harley Street
“But sales of its tonic are excellent, aren’t they?”
“The article says the Nerve Elixir sells very well, but the company has developed a number of other medicines that have failed in a heavily saturated market abroad. The Bella Vita Company built too many factories in the wake of its success with the Nerve Elixir, but most will have to close soon unless sales improve.” He lowered the paper. “A great deal must be riding on the presentation he’s doing at your hotel.”
“Indeed,” I murmured.
Harry entered the café and apologized for his tardiness. “I hope you haven’t been bored, Cleo.”
“Not at all. In fact, it’s been very enlightening. Oh, and the funeral starts soon. Shall we go?”
“All right. I’d like to see how upset Mr. Kempsey is.”
“And Miss Rowbottom,” I added.
I paid for my coffee at the counter and thanked the two old men in Italian. One after the other caught my hand then kissed me on each cheek before concentrating on their coffees again.
Harry held the door open for me. “Did I miss something?”
I told him about Mr. Lombardi’s company troubles while we walked, and he agreed I needed to mention it to my uncle so he could get full payment for the event up front.
“And if Mr. Lombardi refuses?” I asked.
“Then Sir Ronald will have grounds to cancel the whole thing.”
“That will damage the hotel’s reputation.”
“Unfortunately it will, but it’s that or risk being out of pocket.”
The drizzlingrain seemed appropriately gloomy for a burial. Harry and I watched from a distance as mourners huddled under umbrellas in the cemetery. Once the formalities finished, they dispersed quickly along the gravel path. It wasn’t the weather for lingering.
We had decided not to disturb Isabel Kempsey’s husband or sister on this difficult day and be content with picking up any clues we could by simply observing. While we couldn’t make out facial expressions from a distance, we did notice Miss Rowbottom dogging her brother-in-law’s steps. Whenever he moved, so did she.
When he made directly for us, so did she.
I thought our own umbrellas and the mausoleum hid us well, but apparently not. By the time we realized we’d been spotted, it was too late to leave with dignity.
Mr. Kempsey was understandably cross, but not as much as I expected. “You could have chosen a better time and place if you needed to speak to me again, Armitage.”
“We’re terribly sorry for the intrusion,” Harry said. “We’ll call on you tomorrow.”
“Get on with it now. No point putting it off.”
Before Harry could begin, Miss Rowbottom asked if she could say something. “The police told us the doctor has been released. If that’s so, then why are you persisting with your inquiries, Mr. Armitage? Your client is free now.”
“His name isn’t completely cleared,” Harry said.
“I see.” She pressed the handkerchief edged with black lace to her chest. It was damp from crying, and her eyes were red and swollen. “So…he may have killed my sister?”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Kempsey spluttered. “I told you, it was an accident. The infernal machine must have been faulty.”
Miss Rowbottom sidled closer, causing her umbrella to clash with his. She grasped hold of his arm. “I’m sure you’re right.” She blinked up at him. “You always are.”
Mr. Kempsey stamped the end of his walking stick into the soft earth. “Go on then, Armitage. What do you want to know?”
Harry hesitated. Even for someone as smooth as Harry, the topic wasn’t an easy one. “I’m afraid I have to ask you a difficult question.”
Mr. Kempsey smacked the end of his walking stick against his shoe, dislodging a chunk of mud. “Can’t be helped.”
Part of me admired his no-nonsense fortitude, and his eagerness to get to the truth. But it did make me wonder if he’d cared for his wife at all. There was no sign that he’d shed any tears for her. Was that merely his nature? Or did it confirm what we already suspected—that their marriage wasn’t a happy one, hence she’d had an affair.
