Chapter 16

Seeing Betty enter the butler's office was an enormous relief. The panic that had tightened my chest began to ease. Poor Betty, however, emitted a small cry upon finding me in a room she thought was empty.

"I'm sorry I frightened you," I said as I slipped behind her and closed the door. "I was looking for a clue."

She glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. "Does Mrs. Turner know you're in here?"

"No. She doesn't want me to investigate anymore, but I want to take this through to the end now. Mr. Hardy deserves it. Don't you agree?"

She didn't respond, which was perhaps understandable, given that he'd spoken cruelly to her. "I have to count Sir Ian's port before I take Mrs. Turner her tea." She held up a key and indicated the sideboard where Mr. Hardy locked the most expensive bottles for safekeeping.

I stepped aside to allow her to pass. She knelt on the floor and unlocked the sideboard. "It's Davey, isn't it? He's the father of your unborn child."

She sat back on her haunches, but kept her back to me.

"Betty," I said gently. "I'm not here to make your life more difficult. I merely want answers."

"I don't understand what my predicament has to do with Mr. Hardy's death," she said, her voice trembling.

"I don't know if it does have anything to do with it. But knowing how he treated you gives me a better understanding of the man. Do you know if he had any family?"

She shrugged.

"Friends? Anyone from his past that he spoke to you about?"

"He didn't speak to me about anything like that. I was beneath him. The only time he talked to me was to give me orders and to tell me I had loose morals."

"When he learned about the baby?"

Her shoulders slumped forward, and she burst into tears again, but she did manage a nod.

I laid a hand on her shoulder, but the gesture felt woefully inadequate. She needed more than my sympathy. She needed money and support. But if she was guilty of murder, nothing could help her.

"Betty, did you kill Mr. Hardy?"

She spun around. "No!"

I grasped her shoulders and leveled my gaze with hers. "Is Davey the father of your baby?"

The door suddenly opened and Davey stood in the doorway. He must have heard us. Had he been listening at the door or had he merely wandered past when Betty blurted out her denial?

He took in the both of us and the open sideboard. He put out his hand to Betty and gave her a gentle smile. She stared back at him, her eyes huge. Something passed between them. Something I'd not noticed before.

"It's mine," he said as he assisted her to stand. "And I'm going to take care of everything. You all right, Betty?"

"Yes," she murmured.

He handed her his handkerchief. "Dry your eyes."

She took it gratefully and wiped the tears away.

Davey turned to me. Where he'd always been boyishly jovial, he was now quite serious, and mature. "Hardy knew about us and the baby. He confronted me."

"In the courtyard," I said.

He nodded. "But I didn't kill him. After we had words and both calmed down, we had a good conversation. That's when I decided to make an honest woman of Betty." He clasped his hands over both of hers as she clutched the handkerchief. "This was some days before he died. I never killed him, Miss Fox. I never went near this office that day."

Outside, a clock chimed. Betty gasped. "I have to fetch Mrs. Turner's tea."

"I'll lock up," Davey said. "You go."

She pressed the sideboard key into his palm and raced out of the office.

"We're sorry we didn't tell you earlier, Miss Fox," he said as he locked the sideboard. "It's a sensitive topic, you understand, and to be honest, we're both in a bit of shock about it."

"I imagine you are." I followed him out of the office into the corridor. "Thank you for telling me."

A bell rang and he sighed. "I have to go." He headed up the stairs and out of sight.

I decided to leave via the front door, not the back away, so walked along the corridor. I'd be seen, but I no longer cared. I'd found what I was looking for, so if Mrs. Turner had me thrown out, it wouldn't matter. I even waved to Birdy as I passed the kitchen.

I reached the top of the external basement stairs and saw the now-familiar sight of Harry outside the neighbor's house. He wasn't leaving this time, however. He'd just arrived. We were so comfortable in each other's presence that we no longer bothered with greetings and pleasantries.

He launched into his questions. "Aren't you banned?"

"I snuck in the back way."

"Why did you need to look inside?"

I told him Floyd's theory about the watch and my success at finding the receipt. "Hardy didn't steal it," I finished. "He purchased it."

"On his wages?"

"Precisely. And what's more, I learned that Davey is the father of Betty's baby."

He didn't look surprised. "I've been called out to Mrs. Danvers' place again. It's probably another false alarm, but I assured her I'd give the entire house a thorough search for signs of an intruder."

"May I join you?"

"I don't see why not." He led the way up the steps and knocked on the door.

The housekeeper greeted Harry with a smile, which widened when he introduced me. "So you're Miss Fox! You're just how I pictured you."

I arched my brows at Harry. "He mentioned me?"

"Oh, yes. Often."

"Not that often," he countered. "And only in relation to your own investigation next door."

The housekeeper, who Harry had introduced as Mrs. Lund, winked at me, then ushered us inside. "Go through to the sitting room and I'll join you in a moment. I've just made a fresh batch of those biscuits you like."

"I can see why you come here a lot," I said as we parted ways with the housekeeper.

Mrs. Danvers did not rise when Harry and I entered the sitting room, but her features lifted upon seeing him. She sat by the fireplace, her delicate frame swaddled in mourning-black crape. A large white tulle cap covered much of her gray hair, and she clutched a black silk fan in one hand. The unrelenting black of her dress made her sunken features look even paler. She reminded me of the Dowager Lady Whitchurch, except Mrs. Danvers had the wrinkles of a woman who'd smiled through much of her life, where the dowager's wrinkles had settled into a pattern formed by decades of frowns and scowls.

Harry kissed her cheek and introduced us, speaking loudly into her ear. An ear trumpet was within her reach on the table beside her chair, but she left it there. The sitting room was neat and tidy, with a faint smell of polish. The furniture, however, was quite out of date. The simple, solid lines were popular sixty years ago, whereas nowadays ornate decorative elements were added to everything. The room probably hadn't been updated since Mrs. Danvers moved in as a newlywed.

To my amusement and Harry's embarrassment, she repeated what Mrs. Lund said. "So you're the famous Miss Fox! You're as pretty as I imagined. Sit, sit. Mrs. Lund will bring biscuits and tea." Once we were settled, she wanted to know all about me.

I spoke loudly, but even so, she had to lean forward to hear.

When Mrs. Lund bustled in carrying a tray, she scolded her employer. "Use the trumpet. That's what it's for."

Mrs. Danvers cupped her ear. "What did you say?"

Mrs. Lund set down the tray and picked up the ear trumpet, giving Mrs. Danvers a good-natured scold for being too proud to use it. I was surprised to hear her call her employer by her first name.

Mrs. Danvers placed the trumpet in her ear only to put it down again when her housekeeper passed her tea and a biscuit. "These are Mr. Armitage's favorite," she said to me. "Nel always makes them for him, don't you, Nel?"

The women exchanged sweet smiles. The age difference between them must be at least fifteen years. They were dissimilar in other ways, too. Mrs. Danvers was frail, whereas Mrs. Lund was stout. She assisted Mrs. Danvers to sit up straighter, then fluffed the cushion at her back. She then settled a tray across Mrs. Danvers' lap to give the elderly woman something to balance her cup and saucer on.

"There, now," she said before taking a seat herself, cup of tea in hand. "We'll all enjoy a nice chat before we show you the Cure-All tonic, Mr. Armitage."

Harry and I glanced at one another, but we didn't rush the conversation. The women asked me questions about living at the hotel and my family, before Mrs. Lund suggested she show us why they asked Harry to come.

Leaving Mrs. Danvers in her chair, Mrs. Lund led us upstairs to the master bedchamber. Like the sitting room, the furniture was simple in design, without the modern opulence of the hotel suites. A portrait of a young gentleman hung on the wall opposite the bed. On the bedside table, a photograph of Mrs. Lund and Mrs. Danvers taken in a studio took pride of place.

Mrs. Lund opened the cupboard door and pointed to a brown bottle on the top shelf, out of her reach. "Be a dear and bring that down," she said to Harry. "You'll save me getting the stool."

Harry plucked it off the shelf and went to hand it to her, but she shook her head. He removed the stopper and sniffed the contents then passed it to me. The bottle label read DR. GOODBODY'S CURE-ALL. The next line claimed it could cure headaches, stomach complaints, and nervous disorders in less than twenty minutes.

"It smells all right to me," I said.

"The contents are fine, as far as I can tell," Mrs. Lund said. "That's not the problem. The doctor prescribed the tonic to Mrs. Danvers for her headaches, but he warned me that too much could be fatal for a frail thing like her. So I keep it up there and give her a dose when she needs it. I don't want her accidentally taking it too soon after her previous dose. She can be forgetful, and it wouldn't surprise me if she made a dreadful mistake like that."

"Very wise," Harry said. "Some tonics contain hyoscine. It can be poisonous in large doses."

"Well, that bottle wasn't on that top shelf yesterday when I went looking for it," she went on. "It was on the shelf below, pushed toward the back. I know I didn't put it there. Not only that, it's nearly empty."

"Are you sure Mrs. Danvers didn't take it without your knowledge?"

"The bottle was full when I last saw it. To have taken almost the entire thing would have made her sick, or worse."

"When did you last see the bottle?" Harry asked.

"Nearly two weeks ago, I'd say."

Harry and I exchanged glances. The timing fit.

Mrs. Lund frowned in thought. "First the jewelry was moved, and now this. Yet you've found no evidence of a prowler and the house has been secured at night."

I asked Mrs. Lund if I could keep the bottle for a while and she handed it to me. "Was the tonic the only thing that was stolen? None of the jewelry was taken?"

"That's correct. The jewelry was moved, but none of it is missing."

It wasn't a thief then.

Harry had remembered, however. "The jewelry was paste."

Mrs. Lund nodded. "Mrs. Danvers sold it all off years ago and had some of the nicer pieces replaced with fakes." She placed a hand to her throat. "Do you think the intruder knew they were paste, that's why he didn't take them?"

"I do. When he or she realized each piece of jewelry was worthless, they returned them, but placed them somewhere odd, so you'd assume Mrs. Danvers put them there during one of her forgetful episodes."

"So we do have a prowler." She pressed her lips together to stop them trembling.

"Have you given your key to anyone?"

"No."

I placed an arm around her shoulders. "We're going to find who did it, Mrs. Lund. In fact, I think I already know."

She took my hand. "Be careful, Miss Fox. Whatever you do, don't confront them alone. Take Mr. Armitage with you. He's very capable."

I smiled at Harry. He did not smile back. He looked troubled.

After we said goodbye to Mrs. Danvers, without telling her about the intruder, he apologized to Mrs. Lund as she saw us out. "I'm sorry. I should have been more thorough."

She took his hands as she'd taken mine and shook them as if she were trying to shake sense into him. "You were thorough. You cannot stop someone who isn't here when you come. Now, don't fret anymore about it. Go and catch the thief and put him behind bars."

It wasn't just a thief we were about to catch. It was a murderer, too.

Harry and I discussed our theories as we stood on Mrs. Danvers' front porch. It didn't take long. We had the same theory. Forming a plan took a little longer. Harry wanted to go to the Campbells' residence alone, but I wouldn't allow it. For one thing, it was my investigation. For another, the plan required both of us to be present. One to catch the killer, the other to explain to the rest of the household in the meantime. I didn't argue with him when it came to dividing the roles between us.

I took the stairs to the Campbells' front door while Harry descended to the basement. Mrs. Turner answered my knock herself. Before she could refuse me entry, I pushed past her.

"Miss Fox, I must protest!"

"There's a thief and a murderer in your household."

She covered her mouth and shook her head vigorously. "No. Don't do this."

I grasped her shoulders. "It's not who you think. Fetch Sir Ian and Lady Campbell and I'll explain."

I waited in the drawing room while Mrs. Turner returned with her outraged employers. I couldn't blame them for their irritation at seeing me yet again. I'd not only been something of a pest, but I'd also exposed the secrets of their dear friends, unnecessarily as it turned out.

"Please, just listen to what I have to say. The police will be here shortly." The small lie was enough to quieten them so I could ask the remaining questions I still needed answers to. "Have any of you noticed valuables going missing lately?"

Sir Ian and Lady Campbell glanced at one another and shook their heads.

"What about things that have moved? Particularly something a thief might think is valuable, but on closer inspection isn't?"

Lady Campbell sat down on the sofa. Her husband came up behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"No," he said.

"What about the jewelry?" Mrs. Turner asked her mistress. "The diamond necklace and matching earrings were supposed to be toward the back of the top drawer of your dressing table, but we found them near the front. There was that brooch, too, and hair combs. Miss Fox, are you suggesting someone stole them only to return them?"

"I am."

"But why?"

"Because they're not real, Mrs. Turner."

Her mouth formed an O and her gaze slid to Lady Campbell, sitting quietly on the sofa.

"The thief realized they were fake, so left them," I went on.

Sir Ian clicked his heels together and stretched out his neck. "It was the butler. Must have been."

"No!" Mrs. Turner blurted out. "He was a good man."

"It must have been him. How else do you explain the watch in his possession? He must have stolen it from his previous employer."

"But they wouldn't have given him references if he had, would they?"

Sir Ian patted his wife's shoulder but made no further comment.

"They didn't check the references," I told the housekeeper. "Mr. Hardy was…inexpensive, so they simply hired without digging further."

"It's none of your business," Sir Ian growled at Mrs. Turner.

She surprised me by jutting her chin at him in defiance. Something had changed in the household, and I wasn't yet sure what had caused it.

"The tiepin was given to him by Lord Whitchurch on the night he helped Rupert escape," I said. "The watch he bought himself. The receipt is in his office."

"How could he afford such a piece on his wages?" Sir Ian snapped.

I checked the clock on the mantel. Harry should have had ample time to apprehend the thief. "Let's go downstairs. I'll explain everything there."

"Why?"

"Just come with me." I walked out of the drawing room and headed for the service stairs hidden behind one of the wall panels on the landing.

Lady Campbell and Mrs. Turner followed without question, but Sir Ian refused.

"Is it one of the other staff?" he demanded.

I didn't answer as I headed down the flight of narrow stairs.

"Do you mean to tell me we've been living with a thief and murderer under our very roof?" he thundered.

I found Harry in the kitchen explaining the situation to Mrs. Cook, Birdy and Betty. There was no sign of Davey.

At my arched brows, Harry shook his head. "He's gone."