Chapter 17

The collective gasps of the staff and their employers filled the kitchen. Only Mrs. Turner looked relieved, however. She blew out a shuddery breath as she clasped Betty's hand. Betty didn't seem to understand why, but I did.

"Explain yourselves," Sir Ian demanded. "What makes you believe the footman had anything to do with the thefts?"

"And Mr. Hardy's murder," Mrs. Turner added. Now that she knew Betty wasn't in any danger of being arrested, she no longer cared about thwarting me. Davey's guilt was obviously a more palatable option than Betty's.

Harry handed me a notepad that I hadn't noticed him carrying. It was open to the last page where an indentation of the words written on the page that used to be above it had been exposed by using a pencil to lightly shade over the top.

"‘Pay up or else,'" I read. "Mr. Hardy wrote that and gave it to Davey. He was threatening to expose Davey's thieving. That's why Davey killed him. He'd already paid Mr. Hardy a considerable sum for his silence, but clearly Mr. Hardy was asking for more and Davey either couldn't pay or didn't want to anymore."

Mrs. Turner asked to see the notepad. "That's Mr. Hardy's handwriting." She shook her head. "I cannot believe it. I thought he was a good man."

"That's how he could afford the silver watch," Lady Campbell murmured.

"It also explains why he hid it in his shoe," I said. "He was afraid Davey would break into his room and steal it. Even though he had a lockbox, he knew not to keep valuables in it. A lock wouldn't keep Davey out."

"Nor did it," Mrs. Turner said. "Mr. Hardy knew someone had been in his room. I suppose Davey didn't find what he was looking for and gave up."

"I'm not entirely sure about that," I said. "It's possible Mr. Hardy had evidence that proved Davey was the thief."

Mrs. Turner's eyes widened. "The button! Davey was missing a button! Mr. Hardy told him he found it. Then they went into his office and had words."

I'd forgotten about the argument Mrs. Cook reported hearing. Davey had even admitted it was over a missing button, but he'd simply explained that Mr. Hardy scolded him for losing it and that the butler expected better standards.

Sometimes, the best lies are the ones containing a measure of truth.

I took up the explanation. "Mr. Hardy must have found the button somewhere it shouldn't have been, like Lady Campbell's bedchamber after she'd discovered her things had been moved. I suspect Davey's very good at picking locks and that's how he got into Mr. Hardy's room." It also explained how he got into Mrs. Danvers' house, but I didn't mention that. "After Mr. Hardy confronted him, Davey searched the butler's room and took back the button, which he found in the lockbox. He didn't continue his search for other valuables, because he didn't know about the watch and tiepin and he'd got what he needed. He didn't know there was a tiepin and watch at all until he saw you give them to me, Mrs. Turner."

She gasped. "He was standing right there when I handed them to you!"

"He stole them," Harry added with certainty. "He had a friend follow Cleo, and when she was alone, the friend bumped into her and stole them from her bag."

"That cur. I cannot believe we all trusted him. We liked him!"

I glanced at Betty, but her face revealed only shock, confirming my suspicion. Before I had a chance to ask her, however, Sir Ian had a question.

"Are you saying he poisoned Mr. Hardy? But there were no signs."

"Hyoscine poisoning can be mistaken for death by natural causes," I said. "It's harmless in small doses, given to otherwise healthy people, and is included in some medicinal tonics and powders to relieve headaches and other conditions."

"Such as seltzer salts?" Mrs. Turner asked. "But you had Mr. Hardy's bottle tested and the contents were harmless."

"It was probably in the tonic Davey acquired elsewhere. I'll hand over the bottle to the police for testing. I'm quite sure they'll find it contains hyoscine, and an autopsy will find traces in the body."

Poor Betty turned quite pale.

"Are you saying Davey administered a large dose and Hardy didn't notice?" Sir Ian asked.

"He probably placed some in Mr. Hardy's tea." I turned to Mrs. Turner. "Did he take tea to the butler sometimes?"

"He did."

"I'd wager Davey also placed the tonic in Mr. Hardy's food, and perhaps his wine or spirits, too."

"Mr. Hardy wasn't a drunkard."

"I suspect he liked to imbibe, Mrs. Turner. When I looked in the sideboard in his office earlier, there were fewer bottles than I would expect to see in a house like this. Betty, do you recall Davey coming in this morning as you were about to count the bottles in the sideboard?"

"I do. I never did count them. Do you think Davey stopped me on purpose?"

"Yes, although he had another reason for interrupting us."

Before I could explain, Lady Campbell cut in. She seemed to have recovered from the shock of discovering her footman was a murderer and once again wanted to exert her authority. She looked down her nose at me. "Are you suggesting that a healthy man in the prime of his life was poisoned by a medicinal tonic?"

"Perhaps he wasn't as healthy as everyone assumed. An autopsy will reveal if he had another condition, such as a weak heart, which wouldn't have helped. Even so, an overdose of the tonic is what killed him."

"But I take tonics from time to time."

"If you're careful to only consume the dose prescribed by your doctor, they're quite safe."

I wanted to return to the conversation between Betty, Davey and me in the office, so I continued before Lady Campbell could divert the conversation in another direction. "I noticed you and Davey exchange glances in the butler's office, Betty. At the time, I thought it was love, after he claimed…" I trailed off, not wanting to reveal her secret to the others.

Betty was quite open, however. "After he claimed he fathered my child," she finished.

Only the cook gasped. Birdy had lost interest in the conversation some time ago and wandered off. Lady Campbell and Sir Ian clearly knew. I suspected Mrs. Turner had made Betty inform them.

"But he's not the father, is he?" I asked.

"I don't understand," Mrs. Cook said. "Why admit it if he isn't?"

"Because it gave him a reason for a second argument he had with Mr. Hardy, this one outside in the courtyard. He claimed Mr. Hardy discovered he'd got Betty with child, and he promised he'd do the right thing by her, hence eliminating any motive we assumed he'd have to kill Mr. Hardy. But their conversation wasn't about that at all, so he had to get Betty to comply with his lie when he told it to me. The look he gave her encouraged her to agree with everything he said."

Betty's face crumpled. "I know lying's a sin, but I didn't know what to do. He just said it, right there in the office, and I couldn't think fast enough. I thought he was helping me, you see. I thought he was my friend."

Mrs. Turner put her arm around the girl's waist. "There, there."

"He was using you to buy himself some time," I said. "He just needed to mislead me, so that I'd leave. That would give him time to pack his things and disappear." I looked to Harry, who nodded.

"All his personal belongings are gone," he confirmed.

"He knew you'd admit you lied eventually, Betty," I went on. "He knew you couldn't live with the lie for long and would realize why he'd said it, so that's why he left immediately."

Mrs. Cook placed her hands on her hips and glanced between Betty and Mrs. Turner. "So, if he's not the father, who is?"

Betty's instinctive glance at Sir Ian betrayed her.

Mrs. Cook lowered her hands to her side and bit her lip. Mrs. Turner showed no surprise, nor did Lady Campbell. The latter merely pinched her lips and headed back up the stairs, her head high.

Sir Ian pretended he wasn't the focus of everyone's attention. He cleared his throat. "Did you say the police are on their way, Miss Fox?"

"They will be, once I tell them everything I know."

He grunted. "Tell them this must be handled with the utmost discretion. None of this is our fault, and yet we are the ones who will suffer when the investigation is reopened."

"Not just you," I pointed out.

He pointed a finger at me. "You should have left well enough alone. Look at the damage you've caused!"

Harry pushed Sir Ian's finger away and squared up to him. "You've caused a lot of damage yourself. I hope you'll do the honorable thing and take care of your responsibilities."

Sir Ian merely sniffed and followed his wife up the stairs.

"He tried to take care of it," Mrs. Turner spat. "He bought her the oil of pennyroyal."

"I didn't use it," Betty whispered through her tears. "I couldn't do it."

Mrs. Turner patted Betty's shoulder. "Go and dry your eyes, girl, then get back to work. We'll have a chat later and decide what to do next."

Mrs. Turner, Harry and I watched her go, while Mrs. Cook returned to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize earlier that Davey was guilty," I said.

Mrs. Turner sighed. "You weren't to know."

"He mentioned he hadn't been in Mr. Hardy's office on the day he died, but of course he had. He'd delivered the poisoned cup of tea. He actually had no reason to lie and pretend he wasn't there, as it was perfectly natural to take in tea to the butler, but in the heat of the moment and feeling the pressure, he'd accidentally lied when it was quite unnecessary."

"Never mind. You worked it out in the end."

"You thought it was Betty, didn't you? You thought she killed Mr. Hardy, then became upset afterward. That's why you wanted me to stop investigating. You didn't want me to catch her."

She nodded. "I thought that was the reason for all her tears, and I didn't want her to hang for it. She's a kind, sweet thing." She huffed in frustration. "I should have trusted my instincts and known she couldn't poison anyone, even if she had good reason. When I finally confronted her not long ago, she told me who the father was. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather, you could! It never occurred to me it would be Sir Ian. Like you, I thought it was Davey." Her gaze wandered to the staircase Sir Ian had just taken. "I told Lady Campbell immediately. She thinks Betty's lying and told me to mind my own business. That was the last straw for me. I'm going to give my notice just as soon as I find a new position. I can't stay on here working for people like that."

"And Betty?"

She sighed again. "I don't know. I'll go with her later to tell her mother. Betty's terrified of what she'll say, but what mother wouldn't want to help her daughter at such a time?"

"Mrs. Hatch does love her daughter," I said. "But this will test their relationship. Betty will need your support. If she does have the child and finds she needs work, tell her to ask Mrs. Short at the hotel for a position."

She shook her head. "My sister doesn't like loose girls."

"If anyone can convince her that Betty isn't loose, merely the victim of an employer who took advantage, you can."

She walked with Harry and me to the front door. "You think you know the people you work with, but this just goes to show that some folk keep things close to their chest."

"Don't blame yourself for not seeing Davey for the thief he is," Harry said. "He was an excellent liar."

"I was talking about Mr. Hardy. I liked him. I felt sorry for him that he had no one in his life, no family or friends. But he was a blackmailer, which probably explains why they'd all cut him out of their lives." She gave yet another sigh, this one weighty, as if she was weary to her bones. "I'll pay you your fee, as agreed, Miss Fox. I don't have it on me, but I'll give it to my sister to give to you." She huffed a humorless laugh. "Glad I didn't keep it here, now, what with Davey being a thief and all." She opened the door and peered up at the stairs. "Do you think we have to worry about him coming back?"

Harry shook his head. "He'll be long gone by now. Scotland Yard will give a description of him to the newspapers, so hopefully no one else will employ him, but I doubt they'll catch him. The criminal world takes care of its own."

Harry and I walked together only as far as his office. He was quiet much of the way, but that could have been because I did all the talking. I went over every detail of the case, all of which he already knew. It was a waste of breath, but it was a good deterrent. The last time we'd ended an investigation together, he'd kissed me.

I couldn't allow that to happen again. Endings of investigations were proving to be a somewhat heady and irrational time for us.

Instead of going to his office, I made sure to say farewell while we were still on a public thoroughfare. Broadwick Street was too quiet, too intimate, whereas the throng of pedestrians and vehicles near Piccadilly Circus ensured he would not kiss me again.

"Well, that's that then," I said, inching away from him. "Bye, Harry, and thank you." I waved and hurried off.

I resisted the urge to turn around and see if he was still standing there, watching me. It wasn't easy, but it helped that I saw the omnibus that would take me to Scotland Yard about to pull over. I ran to catch it. Once safely on board, I expelled a measured breath. I felt like I'd been holding it ever since leaving the Campbells' house.

* * *

I spentsome time with D.S. Forrester. He insisted I repeat everything for his superior, who then insisted I help their sketch artist draw a likeness of Davey. They would make copies and send it out to as many stations around the city as possible. They didn't sound hopeful of catching him. At least they listened to me and took me seriously. I suspected I had D.S. Forrester to thank for that. He assured his superiors that I'd helped solve murders before, and that I was a friend of D.I. Hobart's. Harry's father still had a great deal of respect from his former peers.

I arrived back at the hotel before afternoon tea. After a brief exchange with Frank, then Goliath, I took the stairs to the fourth floor. I poked my head into Flossy's suite and told her I'd join her for afternoon tea in the sitting room as soon as I changed, then I headed to my own suite.

My mind was not altogether in the present moment, as I was still thinking over the events of the day. That was my excuse for not noticing someone had been following me. I'd barely had a chance to remove my key from the door when a hand clamped over my mouth and I was ushered inside.

"Don't make a sound, Miss Fox." Davey forced me into the sitting room, but did not remove his hand.

I tried to wriggle free, but he was too strong. I tried stomping on his toes but missed. My shouts were muffled. No one could hear me. No one had seen him capture me. I was alone and at a distinct disadvantage.

His grip tightened. "Quiet! I have a knife, but I don't want to harm you. I just want to explain."

I opened my bag and eased my hand inside. I kept a small knife with me at all times for just such an emergency.

Davey ripped the bag out of my grip and threw it on the sofa. The contents scattered on the floor. "Just let me explain!"

I put up my hands in surrender.

"I'll let you go, but don't shout. All right? I don't want to cut you, but I will if I have to."

I nodded.

He let me go and eased away. "It wasn't me, Miss Fox. I didn't do anything."

With my hands still in the air, I slowly turned to face him. He held a knife in his white-knuckled grip. "Of course you did, Davey. Don't take me for a fool."

He wiped his sweating brow with the back of his hand. "All right, I did it, but I didn't mean to kill him. I just wanted to make him sick and scare him a bit into keeping mum. But he died. I swear, I didn't give him much of the stuff, just a bit more than the dose it says on the label."

"You gave him nearly an entire bottle. I saw it in Mrs. Danvers' house."

"Those old crones don't remember how much they started with."

"Mrs. Danvers' housekeeper is as sharp as a knife. She remembers everything."

He swore and started to pace the floor.

"Davey, why did you come here? Am I your hostage? That won't go well for you in court."

He wiped his forehead with the back of the hand that gripped the knife. "I like you, Miss Fox."

"And I liked you, Davey. That's why I'm urging you to give yourself up. If you explain that you didn't want to kill Mr. Hardy, the judge might give you a lighter sentence."

"Ha! Ain't no chance of that happening." He lunged toward me, only to stop when I yelped in fright and backed away. "Listen, this is what we'll do. I'll walk out of here and go into hiding. You return to Scotland Yard and tell them you made a mistake."

"You saw me go there?"

"Aye, but I couldn't stop you. I missed the bus you caught and had to take a cab to follow you. Once you got out at the Yard, I had to keep my distance. It was too public and there were too many pigs around for me to speak to you. So I bided my time until you came out again, then I followed you here. That snobby old doorman wasn't going to let me in, but I got past him." He adjusted his grip on the knife handle as he thrust it in my direction, more with the intention of frightening me than harming me. "You tell them I'm innocent, Miss Fox. They'll listen to you. You're an heiress—"

"I'm not."

"You must be connected to someone important to be able to afford to stay here."

I didn't correct him. It was safer if he thought I was merely a guest. "I'll do my best, Davey, I promise."

"Good. Right. I'll take myself off now. Give me time to leave then—"

At that moment the door to my suite opened and Harmony entered. "Cleo, what—" She gasped, as Davey instinctively turned toward her, knife at the ready.

I took advantage of his momentary lapse in concentration and lunged at his outstretched arm, forcing it back with the entire weight of my body. He cried out in pain and dropped the knife. I kicked it in Harmony's direction. She stepped over it as it skittered toward her and grabbed his other arm while I still gripped his right. Between us, we forced him back into the wall and pinned him there.

"Bloody hell." Floyd had been a little behind Harmony and missed the capture. "What the devil, Cleo?"

"This man is a murderer," I told him. "Telephone the police."

His mouth fell open and he stared at me until I snapped at him. "But you don't have a telephone in here." At my glare, he nodded quickly. "Right. My father's office is closest. He has one."

"Floyd!" I shouted. "Are you mad? Don't let him know about this. He'll ban me from investigating."

Davey tried to push against Harmony and me, but between us, we managed to hold him against the wall. He gave up with a frustrated groan.

"May I make a suggestion, Mr. Bainbridge," Harmony said. "Use the speaking tube to ask the kitchen to send up Victor and any other cooks they can spare. Once this man is secured, we can sneak him out without Sir Ronald seeing, then take him to Scotland Yard ourselves."

Floyd wagged his finger at her. "There's a reason you're good at organizing things. You manage to keep a cool head when the rest of us don't."

"My head is quite cool," I shot back. In truth, he was right. I certainly wasn't as calm as Harmony. If Floyd left to use the telephone, as I suggested, we would have been more vulnerable.

He managed to get the urgency across without telling whoever was on the other end of the tube what was happening. The more we contained the gossip about this incident, the better. A few minutes later, Victor and two other burly cooks entered.

Harmony and I handed Davey over to them. She directed the cooks to take the service stairs to the kitchen, then out of the hotel the back way. "I'll go first and keep an eye out."

"I'll send for a carriage to collect him in the lane," I told her.

Harmony wagged a finger at Davey. "If you utter a sound, Victor will punch you in the mouth to keep you quiet. Is that understood?"

A forlorn, defeated Davey appealed to me. "Miss Fox, remember your promise to speak to the Yard. You tell ‘em I didn't mean to kill him. You tell ‘em!"

"I'll do my best."

Part of me felt sorry for him, but I only indulged that thought for a brief moment. He was a murderer, despite his somewhat charming manner. I wouldn't be offering any defense on his behalf. That was something he could bring up himself at his trial.

I clasped my cousin's arm as I passed him. "I have to go to the Yard, too. Please tell Flossy that I can't meet her for afternoon tea." I stood on my toes and kissed his cheek. "And do not, under any circumstances, tell your father about this incident."

He dusted his hands as if he'd taken care of the entire situation himself. "You keep my secrets safe, and I'll keep yours."

It seemed a good deal to me, considering I was amassing quite a number of secrets lately.