“Unless, of course, he wanted entry into aristocratic circles,” Hatchet suggested. “In which case, murdering Sir George made perfect sense as it meant he could then marry
Lucinda Braxton. Even if Lucinda Braxton inherited the title in her own right, he’d still be the husband of a baroness, and that, my friends, could well be motive enough for him.”
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Mrs. Jeffries nodded thoughtfully and then looked at
Ruth. “Do you know if Brent’s from a socially ambitious
family?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about his background.
The first I ever heard of him was when he escorted both
Fiona Burleigh and Lucinda Braxton to the Waifs and Strays
luncheon at Lambeth Palace. I remember the incident because the lady sitting beside me pointed at Lucinda Braxton and commented that the woman had nerve showing her
face, that she’d not given so much as a shilling to the charity, nor had she helped raise any money for it.”
“How long ago was this?” Smythe asked.
“It was last November,” Ruth replied.
“Maybe Fiona Burleigh isn’t as rich as the Braxtons,”
Mrs. Goodge suggested. She rather liked the idea of Raleigh
Brent as the killer. She didn’t have much respect for men
who married for money, nor women, either.
“She’s richer,” Hatchet said. “Her family owns Burleigh
Ironworks as well as a substantial amount of London property. My source wasn’t certain how rich the family actually is, but he knew they had plenty. Of course,” he smiled
slightly, “Miss Burleigh does have a bit of a reputation as a
shrew, but then again, so does Lucinda Braxton.”
“Maybe ‘e’s in love with Miss Braxton,” Wiggins suggested. “I know it sounds daft, but maybe it’s true.”
“The lad’s right.” Smythe helped himself to another slice
of cake. “The ‘earts a powerful thing. Maybe Lucinda Braxton is the one he wants to be with, and ‘e figured out a way to ‘ave both ‘er and a nice income.”
“We can speculate like this for hours,” Mrs. Jeffries said.
“And it is actually quite useful. But I think that as we’re a
bit pressed for time, we’d better get on with our meeting
and report on what we’ve learned today.” She gave Ruth a
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159
quick smile. “You don’t mind sitting through more details,
do you?”
“Not at all, you know I’m always delighted if I can actually help, and I think in this case, I might be able to contribute something worthwhile. I do have some rather good connections.”
“Excellent,” Mrs. Jeffries replied. “I, for one, had a rather
good day. Luckily for us, the domestic agency in Richmond
had no qualms about discussing the murder case and the entire Braxton clan.”
“Not exactly discreet, eh,” Smythe chuckled.
“No discretion whatsoever,” she agreed. “I heard the
usual that we’ve all heard about the family, about what a
mean, miserly bunch they are, but eventually, I got a tidbit
we’d not heard before. It was about Clarence Clark. The gossip is that he’s Sir George’s illegitimate half brother, not his cousin.”
“I heard that as well,” Betsy added. “The dressmaker
wasn’t very discreet, either.”
“I wonder if he’s going to inherit any part of Sir George’s
estate?” Hatchet mused.
“I wasn’t able to find out anything along those lines,”
Mrs. Jeffries admitted, “but I did find it interesting that no
one in the Braxton household had thought to tell the inspector about Clark’s true relationship to the deceased.”
“Maybe they don’t know,” Mrs. Goodge suggested.
“Sometimes the family is completely in the dark about that
sort of thing.”
“I wonder if the daughters are fond of him?” Ruth asked.
“I don’t think they’re particularly fond of anyone,” Mrs.
Jeffries replied. “At least we’ve seen no evidence of kindness
from any of them. We’ve heard nothing but negative accounts of their characters.”
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“Seems to me the only way that Clarence Clark would
want Sir George dead is if ‘e was standin’ to inherit some-
thin’ from ‘im,” Wiggins said. “From what we’ve learned of
the daughters, they’d be just as like to toss the fellow out
into the street as to let him stay on in the ‘ousehold.”
“Perhaps we ought to determine if Mr. Clark is an heir,”
Hatchet said. “Otherwise, as Wiggins has pointed out, Sir
George’s daughters don’t appear to be the kind of women to
let him stay on at the house out of the goodness of their
hearts.”
“That’s not going to be easy.” Mrs. Jeffries pulled the
teapot closer and poured herself another cup.
“Perhaps you’d best put a flea in the inspector’s ear,” Mrs.
Goodge suggested. “None of us have the resources to find
out the contents of Sir George’s will before it’s made public.”
Wiggins wondered if Luty’s note to her solicitor might
have had something to do with learning the contents of Sir
George’s will. He bit his lip and looked down at his plate.
Blast, he couldn’t say anything about it. Keeping secrets
was blooming hard.
“I’ll make sure I mention it to him this evening, though
I know he was already planning to interview Sir George’s solicitors.” She looked around the table. “Who would like to go next?”
“I’ve not got anything to report,” Smythe sighed. “I didn’t
find out a bloomin’ thing except that the Braxtons can’t hire
from their local livery. Apparently, they damaged a carriage
a few years back and wouldn’t pay to put it right. But that’s
‘ardly news. None of the tradespeople wanted to do business
with that bunch.”
“And that includes the local dressmaker,” Betsy said
cheerfully. She patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Smythe, you’ll
do better tomorrow. Besides, I’ve found out enough for both
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161
of us.” She told them everything she’d heard from Sophia.
“So now we know that Charlotte Braxton didn’t just like to
travel, she liked to gamble, too.”
Mrs. Goodge clucked her tongue. “Can you believe it?
Gambling! How shameful! That woman had every advantage in life. How could she do something like that. Apparently it wasn’t enough that she hire herself out as a paid companion. How on earth did Sir George stand the shame
of it?”
“Maybe he didn’t,” Smythe said softly. “And maybe that’s
why he’s dead.”
“You think she killed him that night?” Hatchet asked
sharply.
The coachman shrugged. “It’s possible. We know he
opened the door to someone he knew. Maybe he waited till
he heard her come home and then confronted
