about them. But I was in such a hurry to get to the station,
I really didn’t notice. I knew we needed to get you to the
Braxton house as soon as possible.”
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169
“I see,” Witherspoon replied. “You certainly did a good
job of that.”
“I had a bit of luck,” Venable shrugged. “The first train
of the morning had just pulled into the platform when I got
to the station, so I got into London straight away.”
“Things did rather happen quickly,” Witherspoon murmured. Something took root in the back of his mind. He frowned, trying to grasp the thought before it disappeared,
but, as is often the case, the harder he tried to hang on to the
idea, the faster it seemed to fall out of his head.
“Thank goodness for modern conveniences,” Venable
replied eagerly. “I don’t know what we did before the telegraph and the messenger services.”
“Did you notice anything else?” Barnes asked.
“Not really.” Venable scratched his chin. “It was a very
strange night, Constable. I must say, seeing that dead body
was a bit of a shock. I know I oughtn’t to admit it, but I remember feeling as though I were moving very slowly, it’s difficult to describe, but the whole experience has taken on
a rather peculiar aspect in my recollection.”
“Violent death can have that effect on all of us,” Witherspoon said sympathetically. “You mustn’t let it bother you, but rest assured none of us ever get immune to the sights associated with a murder.”
Venable looked out the window, his eyes unfocused.
“You’re very understanding, Inspector. It’s not something
I’ve been able to speak about with anyone. Certainly not the
H.S., but I recall such odd details about that night. I shan’t
ever forget the way our breath frosted on the air, the sight of
the trees looking skeletal against the sky, the icicles hanging like jagged teeth off the eaves of the buildings. Icicles are quite sinister really, there was even a great gaping hole
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in the row hanging off of the shed, it looked like some giant
hand had reached down and yanked it off just to make the
scene even more frightening.” He paused, then shook himself gently. “You must forgive me, gentlemen, I’m normally a very cheerful sort of person, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of that poor man lying there in the snow.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Mr. Venable,” Witherspoon
said kindly. He stood up, and the constable followed suit.
“Thank you for all your help in this matter. If you can think
of anything else, then please contact us immediately.”
“Rest assured I will, Inspector,” Venable smiled faintly
and escorted them to the door. “I’ll have a word with the
H.S. as soon as he returns. Perhaps he’ll be able to add something to what I’ve told you.”
“Now, if Hatchet comes bargin’ in, you’re not to let on that
I sent you a note askin’ you to come around,” Luty instructed her guest. “You’re to say you jest happened to drop by because you heard I was feelin’ poorly.”
“Well, of course that’s why I dropped by,” Hilda Ryker
grinned impishly. She was a tall woman with salt-andpepper colored hair and a long nose. “And had I known you were ill, I would have come by. But I’ve been out of town for
two weeks, and I only just returned yesterday. Neville and I
decided we wanted to be in London for Christmas. It’s so
much jollier here than in the country. I do hate to miss the
lovely way the shops are done up and the carol singing. Besides, I’ve still a few gifts I need to get for Neville’s brother and his wife. They’re dreadfully particular about what they
like and what they don’t like, I shall be hours in the shops
tomorrow trying to find just the right item for them. And
do you think that wretched husband of mine will have any
sympathy for my plight? He will not—”
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171
“Hilda,” Luty hated to interrupt so rudely, but she knew
if she didn’t, her guest would go on forever. “I’m sure that
you’ll do just fine in getting the gifts, you’ve got such good
taste.”
Hilda studied Luty speculatively, trying to decide
whether to be insulted or complimented. “Why, thank you.
One does try.”
“By the way, I heard that Sir George Braxton had got
himself murdered. Isn’t he the guest of honor at your New
Year’s Ball?” Luty knew he wasn’t, but she wanted to get
the conversation worked around to where it would do her
some good.
“George Braxton at my home? Certainly not.” Hilda
sniffed disapprovingly. “He might be a baronet, but he certainly is no friend of ours. Why on earth would you think he was our guest of honor? I wouldn’t ride in the same train
carriage with the man, let alone invite him to my home.”
“Gosh, what’d he do to get you so het up?” Luty asked
eagerly. She glanced at the door, praying that Hatchet
would stay gone and out of her way for a few more minutes.
She knew he’d gone to Upper Edmonton Gardens for the afternoon meeting, and she hoped that everyone had a lot to report.
“One mustn’t speak ill of the dead,” Hilda replied. “But
in his case, I don’t think the Almighty would object. Besides, it’s simply the truth. Sir George Braxton was a bounder and a cad.” She leaned toward Luty. “The entire
family is peculiar. They do the oddest things you can imagine. The eldest daughter is such a shrew, the middle girl hires herself out as a paid companion, and the youngest
daughter hangs about the financial district.”
“What’s so bad about that?” Luty demanded. “I’ve gone
to the City more than once to take care of my business.”
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Emily Brightwell
“Yes, but you’re an American. You can get away with such
behavior, and everyone will think it eccentric or charming,
but when the daughter of a baronet hangs about the stock exchange watching the share prices, it’s considered most unseemly.” She waved her hand impatiently, “But that’s not why people dislike them so much, they’re simply obnoxious bores.
Especially Sir George. Do you know he not only seduced his
housekeeper, but as the
