Page 10 of Murder on Harley Street
We thanked her for her assistance, and she showed us to the front door. Once it was closed behind us and we were out of earshot, I asked Harry for his thoughts.
“She was somewhat direct, but I don’t mind that,” he said. “She seems to have unsettled you though. Do you think she lied?”
“It’s not that. It was her manner. I can’t really explain it, but she was almosttoodirect.”
“Her answers were prepared, but I put that down to her expecting us or the police to ask them, so she’d already thought of her answers.”
We walked on, but my mind wasn’t as made up as Harry’s. The unsettling feeling wouldn’t go away.
Chapter3
We found Sister Tuppence Dearden and Miss Emma Wainsmith together in the front parlor at their boarding house. Miss Wainsmith had clearly been crying and Sister Dearden seemed to be attempting to comfort her when we entered. The older woman had her arm around the younger’s shoulders and was speaking gently to her.
The nurse was by no meansold, it was just that the receptionist was quite a bit younger. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, whereas Sister Dearden was mid-thirties. She looked up as the landlady led us through to the parlor, but Miss Wainsmith turned her face away and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
Harry introduced us and the reason for our visit. “May we ask you some questions about the incident?”
“Please, do,” Sister Dearden said, indicating the spare chairs. “Anything to help prove Dr. Iverson is innocent.”
“You believe he didn’t do it?”
“Of course he didn’t. He wants to save lives, not…” Sister Dearden patted a hand against her chest. “He isn’t a perfect man, but he’s not a murderer. And poor Mrs. Kempsey deserves justice.”
Dressed in a simple outfit of navy blue skirt and matching jacket, her dark hair was parted down the middle with a thick plait wound into a bun at the nape of her neck. Although she didn’t wear a uniform, it was easy to imagine her dressed in a crisp white apron with a white cap perched on her head. Likes Mrs. Iverson, she had a no-nonsense air about her, but I didn’t feel as unsettled with her as I had with the doctor’s wife. Perhaps it was the fact she showed more sympathy in the two minutes of our acquaintance than Mrs. Iverson had shown the entire interview.
“I’ve read about your agency, Mr. Armitage,” Sister Dearden went on. “You’ve solved a number of murders recently. I am very glad Dr. Iverson hired you.”
Miss Wainsmith blinked damp lashes at Harry. “Oh, you’rethatdetective. You must be very clever.”
Harry indicated me. “Miss Fox is the clever one. I merely take the credit.”
Both women smiled politely at me, then turned back to Harry. I suspected they didn’t believe him and assumed he was simply being chivalrous. The receptionist in particular barely even glanced at me. Her attention was focused on Harry, the tears on display when we arrived having dried up, leaving behind a smear of lash-darkening substance under her eyes. If I’d not seen that smear, I’d have guessed she darkened her lashes anyway. No strawberry blonde I knew had jet-black lashes. I also suspected she wore rouge on her cheeks. Their color was too pink against the rest of her pale face. Her outfit was more fashionable than Sister Dearden’s, with the butter-yellow dress belted at her waist to draw attention to her thin frame. The lace belt, collar and cuffs, however, were a little yellow and somewhat frayed. I suspected she’d taken them from an older outfit and sewn them onto this one. Usually when young women did that, it was to give the appearance she’d purchased new clothes.
I suspected neither woman was well-off, since they lived in a boarding house, but unlike Sister Dearden, Miss Wainsmith wanted to appear to be more comfortably off than she was.
“It’s our understanding that Dr. Iverson is the only one with the key to the cupboard where the Electro Therapy Machine is kept,” Harry said. Both women nodded. “Does he always lock it?”
“He’d be a fool not to,” Sister Dearden said. “And he is no fool.”
“What about a key to the premises? Do either of you have one?”
“I do,” Sister Dearden said. “If Dr. Iverson has a house call, I’ll open up the clinic of a morning. Although only the doctor takes appointments, sometimes patients show up without one and he wants me there to answer any questions they may have.”
“I don’t have a key,” Miss Wainsmith added.
“Does Mrs. Iverson?”
“No,” Sister Dearden said.
“But she would have access to her husband’s,” Miss Wainsmith pointed out rather enthusiastically, until she realized the implication of her comment. “Not that she would have stolen it and sabotaged the machine. Please don’t think I am accusing her, Mr. Armitage.”
“They have a good marriage?” he asked.
The younger woman looked at the nurse.
Sister Dearden gave a shrug. “I’ve not seen anything in their behavior to imply otherwise. On the occasions she has helped at reception, Mrs. Iverson was as professional as her husband.”
Miss Wainsmith stared down at the handkerchief she was twisting around her slender fingers.
