Page 58 of Murder on Harley Street
“Aren’t connections interesting,” I murmured. “Those important and well-known people trusted Lombardi enough to try his tonic. He must have met them before.”
“He claims he hadn’t,” Floyd said.
Perhaps the connection was fleeting, a few moments at a gathering, an encounter in a hotel foyer…
Was Isabel Kempsey and Edith Hamlin’s connection fleeting? An introduction at a luncheon, a shared interest that led to paths crossing? It was odd that neither spouse nor sister of each woman had heard of the other, but not entirely impossible. They may not have been friends as I’d thought, but mere acquaintances.
Or their relationship had been a secret one.
Once our desserts were finished, we three left the restaurant together. Mr. Chapman bade as goodnight as we passed him and we entered the hotel foyer. Floyd excused himself and headed to the post desk to pick up a newspaper. The desk was unmanned, Terence having gone home hours ago, but looking at the pigeonholes behind where he would usually stand got me thinking. I pictured him going through the mail after it arrived, sorting it into the holes, ready to be collected by guests. Mail for the hotel itself was set aside for the appropriate senior member of staff. All the mail to the hotel came through Terence, and he was very good at making sure it got into the right hands.
Usually. There’d been an occasion when the mail had been sorted incorrectly. Flossy had received post meant for her brother because Terence read the name incorrectly.
The letter setting up the meeting outside the Café Royal that had been discovered in Isabel Kempsey’s things after her death may not have been intended for Dr. Iverson at all. Without the envelope, and with no name on the letter, we couldn’t be sure. Nor could he. He’d simply assumed it was meant for him because it was among his other mail.
Assumptions could cause mistakes in investigations. They could lead to the wrong paths being taken and incorrect conclusions being made. Despite our experience, Harry and I had made a fundamental mistake and assumed the same thing as Dr. Iverson.
Dr. Iverson was backat work the next day, much to Miss Wainsmith’s relief. “I wasn’t looking forward to spending another day turning patients away.” She kept her voice low so that the women in the waiting area couldn’t hear. “Although Sister Dearden is a marvelous substitute, and I would personally be happy to be seen by her, most prefer the doctor. It’s not just his professional knowledge, it’s his manner.” Her gaze turned wistful. “He can be so understanding, his calm temperament is like a soothing balm for fragile nerves.” Her cheeks flushed as she busied herself with the appointment book. “So the patients tell me.” She cleared her throat. “Do you need to speak to him, Mr. Armitage?”
“Actually, it’s you we came to see.”
“Me? Oh. How can I help?”
“We have more questions about the anonymous letter found in Isabel Kempsey’s things, the one setting up a meeting on Regent Street.”
“I already told you. I don’t remember it at all.”
“But you must have received it from the postman and given it to Dr. Iverson along with his other letters.”
“I know I must have, but I honestly don’t remember it.”
“Wouldn’t it be a thing you remembered?” I asked. “An anonymous letter suggesting to meet at a particular place at a particular time. It’s all rather clandestine. I think I’d remember it if I saw it.”
Miss Wainsmith chewed on her lower lip. “I suppose.” Her lips parted with a gasp. “Oh! Perhaps it arrived on a day I wasn’t here. I’ve been a little unwell off and on for a few weeks. When did the doctor say he received it?”
“Five days before Mrs. Kempsey’s death.”
She counted back on her fingers. “That was Wednesday. Yes, I was ill that day. Mrs. Iverson filled in for me. She’s familiar with how things work here, so it’s easy for her to slip into the role rather than get a temporary girl in. In fact, she used to be a receptionist years ago at a different practice. That’s where she met Dr. Iverson. I’m sure she’ll remember the letter. She’s very clever.” Her brow suddenly furrowed. “Wait a moment. Wasn’t she there when you asked me about it the first time? I think she was. I wonder why she didn’t say anything at the time. Perhaps she didn’t remember seeing it, after all.”
“It would seem so,” Harry said, his tone easygoing. “Thank you, Miss Wainsmith. You’ve been very helpful.”
Miss Wainsmith smiled. “I’m so glad. I do want to help the doctor. Having this sword hanging over his head is a terrible burden to carry.”
Her metaphors may have been mixed, but the resulting imagery was clear.
The consulting suite door opened and a patient emerged. She thanked the doctor and expressed her pleasure at seeing him again. “I’m sure this nasty business will all be over soon. I engaged the services of Mrs. Cook, the medium, and she spoke to her spirit guide right in front of me. The guide assured Mrs. Cook that your name would soon be cleared of all wrongdoing, Doctor.”
Dr. Iverson touched the patient’s elbow. “That’s very comforting to know.”
Sister Dearden walked out of the consulting suite with the patient and closed the door behind her. “Perhaps you could ask this Mrs. Cook to speak to her spirit guide again and speed up the process of finding the murderer.” She shot a glare at Harry. “That would be most helpful.”
The patient’s smile froze as she seemed to be trying to gauge whether Sister Dearden was being sarcastic or not.
Harry and I left the clinic ahead of the patient who remained to make another appointment. “That was enlightening,” Harry said as he placed his hat on his head.
“Indeed. If Mrs. Cook’s spirit guide believes the case will be solved soon, then we’re on the right path this time. She’s a very famous medium.”
He’d been looking back at the door, but his gaze now slid to me. “You believe in spirit mediums?”
