Текст книги "The Counterfeit Lady"

Автор книги: Kate Parker

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CHAPTER TWO

MY conclusion made me even less popular than I expected. The Duke of Blackford looked as if he’d like to throw me out the window as he muttered, “Bloody hell.”

Inspector Grantham glared at me. “There’s no sign of a burglary. The Gattengers argued, he killed her, accidentally most likely, and then burned the plans he was working on to cover his guilt and blamed everything on a housebreaker. There’s no traitor.”

“That’s the answer you and I and Whitehall want,” Blackford said. “If we’re wrong, we have a bigger problem than anyone had dared mention before now. Thank you, Miss Fenchurch, for ruining my day.”

His dark eyes bored through me, making it hard to breathe. I reached out a white-gloved hand and grabbed his sleeve. “You think I’m right, don’t you? That Gattenger’s story is true.”

His answer meant more to me than I wanted to admit, even to myself. He continued to glare at me without speaking.

“How was Clara killed?” I needed details if I was going to help Ken Gattenger.

“A blow to the back of the head. Probably from striking that side table. She fell there, where the blood is on the hearth rug,” the inspector told me.

“Pushed in a struggle with a burglar over the plans?” I certainly hoped so. The other answer, pushed by Gattenger, would break Phyllida’s heart.

The duke finally gave one sharp nod. “We’ll have to investigate this until proven wrong.”

We. The duke had described himself and me as we. I prayed the investigation would take a very long time. The stuff of my dreams only happened in the light of day when I was conducting an Archivist Society investigation. Under no other circumstances would a duke spend time with a bookshop owner.

“Scotland Yard is proceeding from the assumption Kenneth Gattenger killed his wife. If you find proof of his innocence, we need to know.” The inspector glared as he looked from Blackford to me.

I nodded as I walked over to look out the open windows. Paving stones made paths through the small dry patch of grass. Anyone could have walked through the back garden without leaving tracks. “Did the Gattengers entertain last night?”

“No. They ate alone. The dining room is the front room on this floor. Immediately after, they came in here.”

I turned and faced into the room. It was small and cozy. I could picture the Gattengers sitting in their matching chairs, reading in front of the fire. I imagined this was a room no outsider was ever invited into. “Did they frequently lock the study door from the inside?”

The inspector shook his head. “The maids said they’d never known that to happen before.”

The duke asked, “Have you searched the house for the ship plans?”

“Of course. They’re not here, and the Admiralty records office swears Gattenger took a set with him yesterday just after midday.”

“Did he take a set home with him frequently?” If he did, my thoughts of treason in the Admiralty disintegrated like the ashes in the fireplace.

“No.” The inspector strode to the door and held it open as he tapped his foot, letting his impatience show. He had work to do. I understood. I did, too.

From where I stood, I could see a foot or more of space between the back of the door and a bookcase. Could someone have hidden there when the Gattengers came in? Beyond the inspector, I saw a young woman in a black maid’s dress with white cuffs and collar. Dressed in her good uniform, she was ready to answer the door if there were any afternoon callers. I couldn’t imagine anyone but the ghoulish calling here.

I brushed past the inspector and stopped in front of the woman. When I looked at her closely, I discovered she wasn’t a woman but a girl younger than Emma. “I’m Georgia Fenchurch, a relative of Mrs. Gattenger’s cousin.” Better not to get too specific with the kinship. “What’s your name?”

“Elsie, miss.”

“May I ask you some questions, Elsie?”

“Do you think Mr. Gattenger killed his wife?” she asked, twisting her apron.

“No.”

“Good.” She gave one jerky nod with her head. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about yesterday.”

“All day?”

“Yes.” Behind me, I heard two male sighs.

“The day was the same as any other. I brought up the breakfast tray. Then Mary helped Mrs. Gattenger dress. Mr. Gattenger did for himself, being brought up that way.”

“Did Mr. Gattenger leave after breakfast and stay away for the whole day?”

She nodded. “Just as usual.”

“And Mrs. Gattenger?”

“She went out calling in the afternoon with Lady Bennett, then came home and dressed for dinner.”

“Did she always dress for dinner, even when it was just the two of them?”

“Yes. She was raised that way, her being the daughter of a lord.”

“Was she good friends with Lady Bennett? Did they make calls together often?”

“No. The lady had never called here before. The missus looked surprised to see her, but she went off in the carriage with Lady Bennett after they spoke in the front hall for a few moments.”

What had made Lady Bennett call on Clara that particular afternoon? “Did you hear what they said?”

“No. The missus looked furious at first, but then she put on a false smile when she spoke to me.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Lady Bennett and I are going out. I don’t expect this to take long.’”

Where had they gone? It didn’t sound like Clara had wanted to go. “Did she return before the master came home?”

“Yes, she was only gone an hour or two.”

“How did she look?”

“Ready to do murder.”

I glanced up to catch the eye of Blackford, who now stood behind the maid. He gave one slight nod, his face a ducal mask. “Elsie, where did the Gattengers first meet at the end of the day?”

“In the study. He’d wait in there until the mistress came down dressed for dinner. Last night, she was in there waiting for him. He went in and shut the door. I was busy in the dining room and didn’t hear anything.”

“Would you have heard if there was shouting?”

“Yes, and there wasn’t. There never was, well, not until after dinner last night.”

“What happened next?” What had changed their routine so dramatically?

“We served dinner.”

“No shouting?”

“They hardly said a word to each other.”

“Was that usual?”

“No. They usually talked about their day, people they saw, things they read. Last night, they were both upset and quiet.”

“You’re sure about that?” Inspector Grantham said from behind me.

The maid nodded.

“How were their appetites?” I asked.

“Neither one ate hardly a bite. Cook was furious, but Mary and I looked at the leftovers and danced around the kitchen. We get the leftovers. Well, some of them.”

“They don’t feed you very well?” Elsie was thin and pale. I wondered how she’d look if she were fed like a lady.

The girl shrugged. “Better’n some.”

“But they sat through all the courses?”

“There were only four when they were alone. Soup, fish, roast, and pudding. Master would have done without the soup and the fish, said they didn’t eat enough to make it worthwhile, but the mistress insisted on it. Sometimes they had fowl, too, but not last night. The mistress didn’t touch her pudding, and the master only had one spoonful. Then she said, ‘Let’s get this over with,’ and he put his spoon down and they went into the study.”

“And locked the door.” I was getting a picture of what had been an unusual night, even if no one had died.

“Yes, that was strange. They never locked the door. I couldn’t bring the coffee in, for one thing.”

“They always had their coffee in the study after dinner?”

She nodded. “Always.”

“With them not talking, and not eating, how long was dinner?”

The maid grinned. “Fastest ever. Mary and I were kept running.”

“How long was it after they locked the door before you heard shouting?”

“The shouting must’ve come first. I never heard the key in the lock for them yelling.”

That was different from what Inspector Grantham had told us. “Then how did you know the door was locked?”

“I brought up the coffee, like I was supposed to, and when I tried the handle, I couldn’t get in.”

“What did you do with the coffee?”

“Put it in the dining room. I thought they’d stop after a minute and let me in. They’d never behaved like this before.”

“How long did the shouting continue?”

“Long enough for Mary to clear away the pudding dishes and come back up. I couldn’t decide whether to knock on the door or not when there was a big crash. There was more noise, a shriek, and a second crash. Then it was quiet. We both banged on the door and called in.” The maid’s eyes widened as she recalled the drama.

“And then?”

“It was silent in there for the longest time. Then we heard sobbing and a moment later the master opened the door. He was crying.” Her eyes and mouth were round with amazement.

“How long was the silence? A minute? An hour?”

“A minute, at least.”

“And you didn’t go for another key?” I studied her face carefully.

Her shoulders slumped. “I tried looking in. The key was still in the lock on the inside.”

“What did Mr. Gattenger say when he came out?”

“‘Get a doctor and the police. I can’t wake Clara.’”

If Phyllida was right, Ken Gattenger must have been devastated. “What happened then?”

“I ran for Dr. Harrison, two blocks away. Mary ran for the bobby. Mary got back before me.”

“The inspector has mentioned a burned fragment of paper in this room when the police arrived. Do you know anything about that?”

She shook her head. “The master or mistress probably burned it in the fireplace.”

“Why did you have a fire last night?” I’d seen the ashes, but I was so used to seeing ashes in fireplaces they hadn’t made an impression. With the current heat wave, living in London was like living on the sun. Why would anyone need a fire?

“The mistress asked for it as soon as she returned from her carriage ride with Lady Bennett. I thought it strange, but I laid it and lit it while she dressed for dinner.”

“Did she give you any reason? It was an odd request.”

“I didn’t get a chance to say anything. She just ordered me to do it right then. She looked like she might cry, so I just went ahead and did what she asked.”

“Did Lady Bennett come in the house with your mistress?”

“No, the mistress returned alone.”

I was as suspicious of Lady Bennett as I was of the unknown burglar. “What happened once you lit the fire?”

“I got back to my regular duties. I helped Cook while Mary dressed the mistress and did her hair.”

I patted the girl’s arm. “Thank you, Elsie.”

She pressed her lips together and then said, “Excuse me, ma’am, but what’s going to happen to us? The master’s in prison and the mistress is dead. Will we be chucked out without our pay or a reference?”

I looked at the duke, who shook his head. I kept staring. I wouldn’t allow him to leave a scrawny young girl like Elsie to starve. Finally, he pulled a calling card out of his card case and said, “When the inspector is finished with you and the house is closed up, go to this address and see the housekeeper. She’ll see about finding you and the others a place to stay and employment, at least until we know the fate of your master.”

The maid dropped a curtsy and said, “Thank you, sir. I’ll tell the others.”

She hurried downstairs as Grantham stepped toward Blackford. “Why are you being so considerate of the help?”

“We’ll know where they are. Did you learn anything new, Inspector?”

“Yes. And none of it looks good for Gattenger.” He frowned. “Although the business with the fire seems odd in this heat. Are you two finished here?”

“For the moment,” the duke said. “You did well, Miss Fenchurch.”

“Questioning people is what I do.” Nevertheless, as I walked toward the front door, I couldn’t hide the lightness in my step caused by his praise.

Once we were back in Blackford’s carriage, he asked, “What do you know of Lady Bennett?”

“Nothing.”

The edges of his mouth curved upward. “She’s the widow of an impoverished lord, yet she lives in great style. She’s rumored to be the paramour of a German diplomat, Baron von Steubfeld.”

“A kept woman?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Or a spy.” There was no hint of a smile on his face now. “The baron’s accredited as a diplomat, but in reality he’s the kaiser’s spymaster in Britain.”

“Whatever Lady Bennett is, she caused discord in the Gattenger home. What did Clara burn, or what was she planning to burn, in that fire? And what do I tell Phyllida?”

He looked out the window of the carriage and watched the traffic for a moment. “To come to the Archivist Society meeting tonight.”

“Could you arrange something for me, Your Grace?”

“What is it?”

“I’d like to go to Newgate Prison and speak to Ken Gattenger.”

“Difficult, but not impossible. You’ll find the prison unpleasant.”

“I need to speak to him. It’s important if we’re to understand what happened.”

He studied me for a moment. “I’d forgotten how determinedly you approach whatever needs to be done. It does you credit. I’ll arrange for you to speak with Gattenger. And I’ll accompany you.”

He was the most helpful aristocrat I’d ever met. Only one of the reasons I appreciated the duke.

*   *   *

PHYLLIDA AGREED TO come to the meeting with us, but she seemed hesitant. She took much longer over her toilette than I’d seen before. She seemed unable to decide what to wear and told Emma to redo her hairstyle twice. She backed away from the hired carriage before we finally talked her into the vehicle.

But once she entered Sir Broderick’s home, her attitude changed. Her chin lifted, and she led us in a stately procession up the stairs to the study.

“Lady Monthalf,” Sir Broderick said, wheeling himself away from the fire to come forward and kiss the glove on the back of her outstretched hand. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Georgia speaks very highly of you.”

“Thank you for inviting me, Sir Broderick.” She favored him with a sweet smile.

“The pleasure is mine. Please, sit anywhere. You’ll find we’re very informal in our customs within the Archivist Society. It comes from needing to trust each other as much as family.”

I winced as the smile slipped from Phyllida’s lips. “More than family,” she said, taking a half step back.

“In many cases, yes. Let me present everyone to you.” Sir Broderick gestured to each member who was present at this meeting as he introduced them to “Lady Monthalf.”

Jacob, Sir Broderick’s assistant, gave her a deep bow. An East End urchin when he first asked for help from the Archivist Society, he was still deferential to anyone with a title. Frances Atterby, the widow of a hotel owner, greeted her with the genuine warmth she had shown thousands. Adam Fogarty’s bow was stiff, a telltale sign that the injury that had ended his career in the police ached. Then we all stood around, waiting uncomfortably for someone to say something.

“Sit down. I’m tired of twisting my neck,” Sir Broderick growled as he wheeled his way back to his customary spot in front of the fire. I didn’t know how he could abide sitting so close to the heat. The evening was warm, the fire was hot, and sweat poured down my back.

As I took my seat on the sofa next to Phyllida, the Duke of Blackford entered the room. “Good evening,” he said as we all rose and bowed or curtsied. He in turn gave Sir Broderick and Phyllida each a bow. “Has Miss Fenchurch brought you up to speed on this investigation?”

“Not yet. We’ve just arrived,” I said. “Why don’t you tell them?” We all settled in for a long meeting.

The duke nodded, sat in a wing chair facing Sir Broderick, and leaned back. “Kenneth Gattenger is a naval architect who’s designed the newest type of warship, one that will ensure Britain’s dominance on the high seas for years to come. He’s also a newlywed, married only a year. Last night, his wife was murdered while the two of them were alone in a locked room. There was no sign of a break-in. A set of plans to Gattenger’s new battleship design disappeared from the room at the time of the murder, a room where a fire burned on the hearth.”

“You make it sound like he murdered my cousin,” Phyllida said in a quiet voice. She sat completely still, looking totally composed.

“Those are the facts, and based on those facts, Gattenger has been arrested for his wife’s murder. Scotland Yard is certain he’s guilty.” The duke stared at her as if daring her to disagree.

“They are wrong.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve seen Kenny and Clara together. They fitted each other like a hand in a glove.” Phyllida spoke with aristocratic certainty as she waved her hand.

The duke looked around the room. “I was called in as soon as Scotland Yard informed Whitehall and the Admiralty. There is another possibility, which our government both fears and refuses to acknowledge. A possibility I want the Archivist Society to investigate.”

He gave his words a moment to sink in, and then continued. “There is a chance that a burglar entered the room, killed Clara Gattenger, and removed the drawings. Our hot, dry weather meant their windows were open and the ground around the windows was hard. There are paving stones stretching across the back garden to the gate in the fence leading to an alley. A burglar could have conceivably entered and left without leaving a trace.”

The duke waited for a response. When no one spoke, he said, “We believe the intended recipient of the ship plans, the employer of the burglar, is the German master spy in Britain, Baron von Steubfeld. He’s a member of the kaiser’s embassy staff here in London. Von Steubfeld was already under watch by our Naval Intelligence Department. Furthermore, he knows it. So far we don’t believe he’s received the drawings, but we’d like more eyes on him. Eyes he doesn’t know.”

“We can help with that,” Sir Broderick said.

“Good. The drawings are on seven sheets of very large paper, about a yard in each direction, either rolled in a tube or folded into a package. The last sheet was found partially burned by the fireplace and may not be with the others.”

“Are we to believe von Steubfeld will be upset to receive less than the entire package?” Sir Broderick asked.

“Yes. The last sheet is key if the Germans want to build a ship to these specifications. The baron will not be pleased if he receives less than what he paid for.” The duke gave us a smile that made my blood chill.

“Why would the Germans want our designs? They have their own naval architects. I don’t understand why they’d bother to steal our plans.” Despite the kaiser’s affection for our queen, I knew the German government didn’t think highly of Britain.

The duke gave me a disapproving look. “If they know what our ships are capable of, they can build their ships and create their battle plans to defeat us.”

“Battle plans?” I bristled at his disparagement. What a ridiculous point of view. Our navy was the greatest the world had ever seen. “Why would the Germans want to fight us? They’d lose.”

He leaned toward me, a determined glow in his eyes. “They will fight us. And they’ll do anything they can to ensure they’ll win. That’s why they’re speeding up their shipbuilding schedule. That’s why they have spies in our country. We’re in a naval arms race with the Germans, whether or not we like it, and we need to protect our superiority.”

I didn’t like to be lectured to. I pressed my lips together in irritation even as fear slid down my skin, mixed with my sweat in the overheated room. I liked what he told us even less, especially since Blackford was uncanny in his ability to see complications before anyone else was aware there was a problem. In a tone barely above a whisper, I asked, “Are you certain?”

He sprawled back in his chair, the glow gone from his eyes. In a quiet voice, he said, “I don’t like it, either.”

Sir Broderick broke in. “I know you came here for more than to lecture us on European conflicts.”

“I did.” The duke looked around the room. “The baron goes out in society a great deal with Lady Bennett. She could be used to pass on the drawings.”

The duke’s gaze fell on me. “We need to dog their heels night and day if we’re to recover those drawings. The plan I’ve devised is tricky. I want to place a member of the Archivist Society in a position to mingle with him in aristocratic society. A position that no one will associate with counterespionage.”

Sir Broderick pressed the tips of his fingers together and looked over them at Blackford. “When you came by this afternoon, you told me you had something in mind.”

“I want to set up Georgia Fenchurch as a cousin of Lady Monthalf, recently arrived from some part of the empire. I want the two of them residing in a household in fashionable London. I want them to go to the opera, to the theater, to balls and parties. And I want them to befriend Lady Bennett.”

Visions of waltzing and attending the opera warred in my brain with thoughts of my bookshop in ruin. “What about Fenchurch’s Books? I can’t just leave it shuttered for weeks.”

“Oh, Georgia, don’t sound so middle-class,” Blackford said in an annoyed tone. “Our nation’s security is at stake.”

I couldn’t leave my bookshop for that long. Both my business and my reputation would be destroyed. “I am middle-class. My shop is my life. I’ll attend social events with you, but my days will be spent as they always are. In my bookshop.”

The duke shook his head. “No. You’ll have afternoon teas and visits. You’ll have to dedicate your life to this role for some time.”

I glared at the duke. The devil I would.