Chapter 17

Imanaged to steer the landlady back downstairs to the kitchen where I made her a cup of tea from the pot warming on the stove. She was still shaking, her face pale. Although she'd spied on Sir Charles for Mr. Le Grand, she was clearly not a professional agent. She'd probably accepted the task for a little extra money.

I returned upstairs once she was settled. Duke had gone to Scotland Yard to fetch Brockwell, while Willie, Cyclops and Matt inspected the body and Sir Charles's rooms. I avoided looking directly at him. I'd already seen his cut throat and bloodied clothes and didn't wish to see them again.

Matt handed me a piece of paper. "We found this on the table beside his glass of brandy. The knife is on the floor."

I read the two lines on Sir Charles's personalized stationery, written in all capitals, then glanced quickly at the knife, lying on the floor between the round occasional table and the chair.

"It must have slipped from his fingers," I said.

"Or it was placed there by his killer."

"You don't think this suicide note was written by him?" The note stated that he was ending his life because he felt deep regret that Mr. Pyke almost died after the failed carpet experiment. He blamed himself for forcing the magician to fly it.

"I'm keeping an open mind, but he didn't display any remorse over Pyke when we confronted him."

"Perhaps if Pyke had died, he might have."

"But Pyke didn't die. There's also the handwriting itself that makes me skeptical that he wrote it. Willie is looking for samples of his writing now, but block capital is the typography of choice for someone attempting to hide their own style."

Willie was sitting at the desk by the window, sifting through pieces of paper. "There ain't too many with his own handwriting on them. They're mostly letters from others, receipts and orders." She waved a sheet of paper. "This here is a half-written letter to his mother."

Matt took it from her and we compared the capitals to the suicide note. The letter was written in cursive, however. "It's impossible," I said with a shake of my head.

Matt returned to the body to inspect the wound, so I joined Cyclops in the bedchamber. We searched high and low, underneath tables and the bed, inside the cupboard and storage boxes, in the light fitting, a vase, and a gun case. While I checked inside shoes, Cyclops inspected Sir Charles's more intimate clothing items, including the seams, as well as the shaving brush, toothbrush, and other grooming items. He even dug his fingers through the jar of Macassar Oil for hidden objects or correspondence. We found nothing of interest. I thought it unusual not to find communications from Mr. Le Grand, and said so.

"Whittaker would have been under orders to destroy any messages he received," Cyclops pointed out.

"But wouldn't he have kept notes? Like Coyle does in his notebook."

Cyclops tapped his forehead. "Someone in his line of work keeps that information up here. They don't write it down. If he had left important documents lying about, Coyle would have taken them after he killed Whittaker."

"You're subscribing to the theory that Coyle murdered him?"

"Did Whittaker strike you as someone to commit suicide because he felt responsible for another man's injury?"

I sat on the bed with a sigh. "I didn't know him well enough to say one way or another."

We continued our search but found nothing of importance by the time Brockwell arrived with Duke and three constables. He took in the scene with his usual slow, deliberate manner, before his gaze finally settled on Willie.

She perched on the window sill, her arms crossed over her chest, staring down at the street below. She responded with brisk indifference when he greeted her, but did not look directly at him.

He cleared his throat and bent to inspect the body. Now that I'd had time to steel myself, I too studied Sir Charles. The deep wound on the right side of his throat was positioned where a right-handed man would stab himself. He must have discarded his evening tailcoat as soon as he arrived home and laid it across the back of the sofa. It was clean. Blood had soaked through his once pristine white necktie, waistcoat and shirt and spilled onto the chair cushion and even onto the floor where the knife had been found. There was so much of it, but it was dry now.

I turned away once again as my stomach lurched.

Matt touched my hand. "This won't take long. Do you want to wait in the kitchen?"

I shook my head as the inspector stood. "A knife in the neck is not the first choice for suicides," he said. "There are a lot of other methods that are easier and quicker."

"Maybe it was the most convenient method," Cyclops said. "It doesn't require much planning. It must have been a spur of the moment decision and he wanted to get it over with before he changed his mind. That's if it were suicide."

Brockwell arched his brow first at Cyclops then Matt. Matt handed him the suicide note and indicated the knife. He waited for Brockwell to finish reading then told him his theory that Sir Charles was murdered.

"By whom and why?" Brockwell asked.

"By Coyle, because Whittaker threatened him last night at a collector's club meeting. Whittaker was furious with Coyle for stealing his idea about magic and using it to muscle his way into the home secretary's good graces. He told Coyle he knew secrets about him, something he'd done."

Brockwell twisted his mouth to the side as he scratched his sideburns. They were looking particularly long and unkempt today, even for him. I glanced at Willie to see if she at least regarded the inspector wistfully, but she was still staring out of the window.

Brockwell picked up the knife and squinted at the handle and blade.

"It's a kitchen knife," Matt said. "It's not the sort of blade found in a gentleman's rented accommodations or the sort a burglar carries on his person."

"Have you asked the landlady if any are missing?"

"Not yet."

"Cyclops, take one of my men with you and get her to take a stock of her knives. Have a look around while you're down there."

The inspector insisted on searching the parlor and bedroom himself while they were gone. Matt and Duke joined him, but I stood with Willie and leaned one shoulder against the window frame.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Course I am. I've seen dead men before."

"I mean with Brockwell here."

She rolled her eyes. "He's here to do his job, not see me."

"Do you want him to come and see you?"

She shrugged.

"If you do, you should let him know. Perhaps you should call on him to show him you're still interested."

She gave me a withering glare. "He doesn't want to see me. Not anymore."

"What's happened between you?" She merely shrugged again so I grabbed her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "Tell me!"

Brockwell returned, notepad in one hand and pencil in the other. "Excuse me, ladies." He cleared his throat. "May I have a word with you, India? Will you give me a statement of your version of events last night, please, specifically regarding the conversation between Whittaker and Lord Coyle."

"You're going to treat Coyle as a suspect?"

"Perhaps." He indicated I should sit then proceeded to write down my account. He then asked Matt to do the same.

Brockwell was just flipping the notebook closed when Cyclops and the constable returned. They reported that a knife matching the one found on the floor was indeed missing from the kitchen.

"Not only that, the back door was unlocked," Cyclops said. "The landlady is convinced she locked it, as she does every night along with the front door. The killer could have picked the lock, taken a knife as he passed through the kitchen, then left the same way."

Brockwell nodded. "Thank you, Cyclops, I'll go downstairs and take her statement now. The rest of you should leave. India is looking a little peaky."

"I'm all right, but I do think we should go. There's nothing more to do here."

The journey home was a somber one. I suspected Willie was still sulking, but the rest of us were mulling over what we'd seen as well as the events of the previous night. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that Matt and Cyclops were right, and Lord Coyle had killed Sir Charles because he threatened him. Or perhaps simply because he no longer had a use for him. Coyle had, after all, used Sir Charles to gather information and gain a position of power in the government. With that goal achieved, Sir Charles was no longer an asset, he was a liability. By threatening him last night, Sir Charles had sealed his own fate.

Suspecting Lord Coyle had done it was one thing, but having him arrested for murder was another altogether. Lord Coyle wouldn't have broken into the house himself and thrust the knife into Sir Charles's neck with his own hand. He had accomplices for that. Accomplices he paid well to keep quiet.

But paid accomplices weren't particularly loyal. They could be bought or coerced into telling the truth. We had to trust that Brockwell would find Coyle's men and exert enough pressure to turn them against their employer.

Matt couldn't settle to anything after we arrived home. He complained that he had no business matters that required his attention, nor did any of the books in our library appeal to him, and the newspapers were full of "sensationalist" stories that didn't hold his interest. He even suggested we go shopping together for something to do. Considering Matt liked shopping as much as most men, I knew he must be desperate to take his mind off the death of Sir Charles.

"Why don't we just go for a walk around Hyde Park instead," I said.

After two hours, we returned home feeling invigorated and somewhat less frustrated. I didn't think the feeling would last long, however, and worried Matt would soon head off to Scotland Yard to learn what progress Brockwell had made in his investigation.

Not long after hanging up our hats and coats, we had a visitor. Hope entered the drawing room like a fierce storm dressed head to toe in steel gray. Her expression was just as ominous with severely drawn brows and a set jaw.

"How delightful to see you," Aunt Letitia said without much sincerity. "Has somebody died? A distant relative of your husband's perhaps?"

Hope shook her head as if to clear it. "What?"

Aunt Letitia eyed Hope up and down. "You're dressed in half-mourning."

"Nobody died." She turned away from her aunt, presenting her with her profile.

Aunt Letitia stiffened at the slight.

"Why didn't you do something, Matt?" Hope's voice was part whine, part accusation. "I told you so you would act, yet you did nothing!"

Matt had stood upon Hope's entry and since she had not yet sat down, he remained standing too. Her accusation seemed to catch him off guard, but only for a moment. "Will you join us for tea? Bristow, another cup for Lady Coyle, please."

The butler bowed out as Hope sat, somewhat reluctantly.

"I'm not here for tea," she bit off. "I'm here to find out why you did nothing after I gave you the information."

Matt looked to me, but I shrugged, not sure what she meant either. "What information?" he asked.

"I informed you that my husband met with Sir Charles Whittaker in secret in the garden square, and now he's dead."

Aunt Letitia gasped. "Lord Coyle is dead?"

Hope clicked her tongue. "No, Sir Charles is. Do keep up."

"Are you implying you think your husband had something to do with Sir Charles's death?" Matt asked.

Hope's fingers entwined together in her lap. "I don't know. It's possible. But if you'd done something with the information I'd given you, perhaps he we wouldn't be in this predicament."

Now I understood why she'd told us about that meeting. We had suspected at the time she had a motive, but couldn't fathom what it would be. It now seemed she had wanted us to inform Scotland Yard, or perhaps someone higher, and put an end to such meetings. It seemed she knew her husband was up to something with Sir Charles and that worried her.

"You mean the predicament of Sir Charles's death?" I clarified.

She flicked her wrist, dismissing my suggestion. "I mean the predicament we're now faced with my husband gaining a position in government. Do you know how powerful that makes him? He was not above the law before, but now he is."

"No one is above the law," Matt said.

She scoffed. "Don't be so na?ve. You know better than anyone how the world works, how it favors men like my husband." She pressed her fingers to her forehead as if trying to suppress a headache. She looked rather pale now that the flush of anger had left her cheeks.

Bristow returned carrying a tray with a cup and saucer. I poured the tea and handed the cup to Hope. She immediately placed it back on the table, untouched.

She fixed a glare onto Matt. "I tried to foil my husband's plans by telling you about him meeting Sir Charles. Why didn't you do something with the information?"

"If you wanted me to do something, you should have told me so."

She made a scoffing sound again.

"What did you want me to do?" he asked.

"I don't know. Perhaps warn Sir Charles to be careful what information he passed on because my husband cannot be trusted. Or warn the home secretary that one of his spies was not keeping information to himself. If Sir Charles had been dismissed, he would never have given my husband the idea about dropping bombs from flying carpets."

"Coyle is clever, calculating and forward thinking," Matt said. "He would have come up with the idea on his own sooner or later."

Her lips pinched with her refusal to concede the point.

"Why do you want to stop your husband anyway?" I asked. "The more power he has, the more power you have."

She bristled. "You think I don't know what my husband is like? You think I am not aware of the way he could abuse his power? Some think I'm entirely avaricious, but I can assure you, riches and respect are enough to satisfy me. Marriage to Coyle has given me both. I don't want more and I don't want him becoming more powerful than he already is."

That was what she meant in the Delanceys antechamber when she said it's not what she wanted. She didn't want her husband to become even more powerful. She didn't want to live a life where she feared him.

I suddenly sat forward. "We'll protect you, Hope. You don't have to stay with him. Divorce might be out of the question, but you don't have to live in that house one moment longer than necessary."

She shot to her feet and glared at me down the length of her nose. "Don't be absurd. How will that look?"

Her biting retort rendered me speechless.

Matt, however, remained composed. "Does it matter?" he asked.

"People will think me weak, pathetic. Thank you for your offer, but it's not one I will accept."

"Hope is right." Aunt Letitia surprised us all by speaking. I thought she'd failed to follow the conversation. "She made her bed, now she must lie in it."

Hope gave her aunt a stiff nod then strode out of the room. I hastily followed to ensure Bristow was there to see her off and, as usual, he was ahead of me and already waiting for her in the entrance hall at the base of the staircase.

I returned to the drawing room and sat with a sigh. "Why do I feel as though I've just faced a champion fighter in the ring?"

"Because conversations with Hope are bruising," Aunt Letitia said. "Particularly of late. I miss the clever but na?ve girl she used to be."

"Marriage to Coyle has forced her to grow up quickly, I suspect." I turned to Matt, sitting with a thoughtful expression. "Should we be worried about her?"

"I don't know," he said. "But I'm going to worry regardless."

* * *

Before Detective Inspector Brockwell arrived,I worried that Matt would go in search of him. He was desperate for an update on the investigation, and my attempts to distract him failed miserably. Thankfully Brockwell timed it perfectly, arriving just before the dinner gong sounded.

We all welcomed him into the drawing room with enthusiasm. All except Willie, that is. She didn't do anything rude, like get up and leave, but she refused to even look at him when he made a particular point of looking at her when he greeted us.

The entire household was there, as well as Lord Farnsworth, Catherine, Chronos, and even Oscar. Brockwell's arrival made our party feel complete. Everyone had been apprised of the murder, and we'd taken advantage of Aunt Letitia being in her room dressing for dinner to discuss it. All were of the opinion that Lord Coyle was certainly a suspect, and probably the guilty party.

"Will you join us for dinner?" I asked the inspector when he settled in a chair.

"No, thank you, India, I'm just passing by to give you some news about the investigation into Whittaker's murder. I prefer not to stay, if that's all right with you."

"Of course."

Having no further instruction, Bristow bowed out and closed the door.

"What's happened?" Matt asked.

Brockwell sighed. "The investigation has been closed. I was directed to rule it a suicide. There'll be no coronial inquest."

"Who directed you?"

"Commissioner Munro himself."

Duke swore under his breath. "Matt can speak to him tomorrow and try to get it overturned."

Brockwell shook his head. "It won't do any good. I suspect he was following orders given by his superior." The commissioner's superior was the home secretary himself. "With a suicide note found at the scene, it's not an unreasonable conclusion to come to."

"It is unreasonable when there are doubts," Oscar said.

"You didn't let me finish. It's not an unreasonable conclusion to come to when the two main suspects are an earl who now works for the Home Office, and spy master Le Grand."

"Blimey," Lord Farnsworth muttered. "You think the government sanctioned Whittaker's murder?"

Brockwell shrugged. "We can speculate all we want. The verdict of suicide won't be altered."

Matt had remained silent up until now, but he nodded at this. He knew it was hopeless. He'd known all along that Brockwell's hands would be tied in this investigation and that the truth might be buried. That didn't mean it couldn't be dug up, but Scotland Yard wouldn't be wielding the spade.

While Matt looked somewhat resigned, Brockwell seemed disappointed and frustrated. Poor man. He would have spent most of the day on the investigation only to have it quashed.

"Thank you for coming here to tell us," I said. "Are you sure you won't join us for dinner?"

"Do stay," Lord Farnsworth urged. "After all, we have things to celebrate. Glass's life is no longer in danger, for one thing." He clapped lightly in Matt's direction. When no one else joined in, he added, "Let me see… I know! My horse Midnight Blue is in fine form for the spring races. And there were no protests by the artless today."

"Yes there were," Cyclops said.

"Really? Where?"

"Lambeth and Islington."

"I don't go near either of those places." He frowned hard as he thought. "Let me see, there must be more good news." He snapped his fingers. "Willie didn't get thrown out of White's last night, despite a rumor that she has breasts."

Duke laughed. "Who started that rumor?"

Lord Farnsworth deflated beneath Willie's sharp glare. "I was bored. I wanted to see what would happen," he muttered.

Brockwell cleared his throat. "I'm very happy for everyone's good fortune. But I think it's best that I leave now."

Lord Farnsworth sighed as he appealed to me. "I tried, India, but it's hopeless."

I tugged on the bellpull for Bristow and the butler arrived and saw Brockwell out.

Lord Farnsworth, Duke and Cyclops all turned to Willie with stern glares. She tilted her chin and looked away.

"I have some good news, as it happens," Catherine announced. "I was going to tell you later, Nate, but I might as well do it now. My mother has asked you to dine with us tomorrow night."

"I don't understand," he said carefully.

She grinned. "She wants to thank you for scaring off that gang that Gareth has been tangled up with."

"They're not really a gang. Just a group of youths in high spirits with too much time on their hands."

"I know, but don't tell my parents. They've been so worried about him these last few weeks. But after Gareth told them how you protected him and threatened those youths if they came near him again, my parents think you're wonderful."

"But I didn't do anything."

Duke clapped Cyclops on the shoulder. "Don't argue. Accept it. This is what you wanted."

Cyclops's smile started slow but quickly widened. "All right. Thank them for the invitation. I accept."

Later, after dinner had finished and Aunt Letitia retired, I sat alone with Catherine in the drawing room while we waited for the men and Willie to join us. Peter the footman poured each of us a glass of brandy at the drinks trolley. The men couldn't be allowed to keep all the vices to themselves.

"I feel as though we should be smoking cigars," Catherine said with a laugh as she accepted the glass from Peter.

"Aunt Letitia would have a fit if you did. She loathes it when someone smokes in here." I waited for Peter to bow out before turning to my friend. "You colluded with Gareth, didn't you?"

Catherine fluttered her pale lashes and shrugged a shoulder. "Whatever do you mean, India?"

"Your sly smile is giving you away. I know you orchestrated this gang of youths to bully Gareth then asked Cyclops to step in and diffuse the situation. Gareth was obviously in on it."

"Don't tell Nate. He'd be embarrassed." She settled into the chair and swirled the liquid around her glass. "You're right in that Gareth helped me with the scheme, as did his friends. I had to pay them, of course, but Gareth did it for free. He can be sweet, sometimes. I know he idolizes Nate, so he wants to see him accepted by our parents too. You should have heard my mother go on and on about how fortunate he was that Nate stepped in, how capable he is, and how he's got a big future ahead of him in the police force." Her smiled widened. "My plan worked better than I expected."

I must have had too much wine at dinner because I giggled at the image of Mrs. Mason now begging Cyclops to marry Catherine. I rarely giggled these days, but I felt at ease now with Matt's life no longer in danger. And while Sir Charles's demise was a terrible business, it didn't directly affect our household. I felt much lighter of heart than I had in some weeks.

Willie entered, only to stop short upon seeing us both giggling. She made a face as if revolted. "I hoped for some civilized conversation in here."

"Are the men not being civilized?" I asked.

"They keep pestering me about what went wrong between me and Brockwell. Even Matt."

I patted the cushion beside me on the sofa. Once she was seated, I turned to her. "What did go wrong?"

She shot to her feet again and strode to the door. But I was ready for her attempted escape, and raced past her. I blocked the exit. "I won't let you pass until you tell me."

She tilted her head to the side and arched her brows. "You know I can easily move you."

"I don't see how. I'm bigger than you and quite possibly stronger."

She gave a derisive snort.

"I'm sure if you had a weapon, you could threaten me, but you're unarmed."

Catherine joined us and placed her arm around Willie's waist. "Come and sit down and tell us all about it. Perhaps we can help you solve the problem."

Willie let herself be steered back to the sofa. She sat with Catherine on one side and me on the other. Before she knew what was happening, we'd each grasped one of her hands so she couldn't easily escape.

She sighed deeply. "Jasper asked me to marry him."

I stared at her then exchanged glances with Catherine. "And you don't want to get married," I said flatly.

"I refused him. I told him I ain't never marrying, despite what the Romany woman said. I don't want a man to change me. I don't want anything to change. I like my life the way it is, without a husband in it."

"But do you want the inspector in it?" Catherine asked.

Willie looked down at the floor and nodded again.

"Sometimes we have to make sacrifices, or we'll lose the ones we love."

Willie pulled a face. "It ain't love. We're just good friends."

"You and Duke are good friends," I told her firmly. "You and Lord Farnsworth are good friends. You don't want to be intimate with either of them, do you?" I knew I'd got through to her when she didn't toss a rude retort back at me. "Let me put it another way. Would you be this upset if Duke decided to return to America without you?"

"I'd be upset, but I'd be happy for him if that's what he wanted."

"There, you see? There's your answer."

"I don't remember asking a question."

"Your question is, what do you do now?" I said. "Do you tell Brockwell you want to be with him but without any change from the status quo, and therefore risk losing him forever because he wants more?"

"Or do you give marriage some serious consideration?" Catherine finished.

Willie searched our faces, perhaps looking for the answer. But it wasn't something we could decide for her. She had to do it on her own.

"I need another drink," she said, rising.

The men joined us and Lord Farnsworth headed directly for Willie standing at the drinks trolley. He whispered something in her ear.

"Did you solve her problems?" Matt asked as he sidled up to me.

"Not entirely, but I believe we did a better job at helping her decide what to do than you men." I leaned into him and rested my head on his shoulder. "What do you think they're talking about?"

He followed my gaze to Willie and Farnsworth, heads bent together conspiratorially. "They're probably discussing which gambling den to visit tonight."

"He's making her laugh."

"I think she's laughing at him, not with him."

"Either way, he's good to have around if he can cheer her up."

Matt nodded at Catherine and Cyclops, talking quietly in the corner. "They look happy. It seems Catherine's little ruse worked."

I pulled away to look at him properly. "You know about that?"

"I guessed, as did Cyclops."

I smiled. "I hope he doesn't let on that he knows. She'll be disappointed she didn't orchestrate a secret coup."

"She did orchestrate one, and she should be pleased with herself for coming up with the idea. The important thing is, Mr. and Mrs. Mason aren't aware it was a ruse and they're now willing to accept Cyclops into their family."

"And into their hearts, soon enough. He has a way of winning people over."

Matt gently touched my chin. "You seem very content tonight, India."

"That's because I am. Look around. Except for Willie, everyone is happy, and her situation is not all that dire, really. To have a good man want to marry her is not the end of the world."

He laughed softly, his breath feathering my hair. "It is to her, but I know what you mean." He kissed the top of my head. "I hate to dampen your good mood, but what about Charbonneau? You were fond of him."

"I'm disappointed in him. Deeply so. Angry too. But I won't think about him anymore. I refuse to dwell on him a moment longer. He doesn't deserve it." I touched Matt's cheek, tracing the divot of his dimple with my fingertip. "He has been stopped, and you are well. That's all that matters."

His arm tightened around my waist. "He won't harm us or our loved ones again. I'll make sure of it. Coyle too. I promise you."

He couldn't make such a promise, but I appreciated it nevertheless.

I looked around at our little group of family and friends. Farnsworth was doing his best to take Willie's mind off her dilemma, while Duke and Oscar were deep in conversation. Cyclops and Catherine spoke quietly in the corner, their fingers lightly touching, and Chronos had fallen asleep on the sofa, his head tipped back and mouth open. Although Aunt Letitia and Brockwell were absent, they were there in spirit.

I didn't need anything more than this. With Matt at my side and our friends and family for company, I had more than enough to fill my heart.

Matt must have thought so too, because he kissed me thoroughly without a care that everyone could see.