explanation.
“Learn anything?” Pitt asked.
“Yes, sir, quite a lot.” He stood still, waiting for the rest of the interrogation.
“Then it wasn’t time wasted,” Pitt answered. He was determined to ask Narraway one day what Stoker’s story was. It would be wise to know, but it did not matter now.
“Sir-” Stoker began.
“Doesn’t matter,” Pitt cut him off.
“Sir … I was going to say that if you want me to go to Dover and travel on the train with Duke Alois, I’ll do that.”
“You don’t have to,” Pitt replied. “It’ll be dangerous.”
“Aren’t you going?” Stoker challenged.
“Yes, I am.”
“Then I’m coming too, sir. Anyway, I could use the bit of extra pay.” He smiled slightly.
“Really?” Pitt spoke lightly. “Saving for something, are you?”
“Yes, sir.” Stoker straightened his shoulders a little. “I want to buy a cello, sir.”
Pitt could think of no possible answer to that, but he felt inordinately pleased.
8
Narraway sat by the fire in his study, the gaslight turned low, and thought about Serafina Montserrat. Pitt said he had asked the doctor to keep his own counsel regarding the conclusion that her death could not have been accidental. He said he had given the doctor his word that the death would not be investigated by the police, but by Special Branch, because of its possible connection with a current case.
The possible plot against Duke Alois needed to occupy all of Pitt’s attention; he could not afford to be distracted by anything else. But Narraway was not certain if his promise to investigate Serafina’s death was wise. Detection was not a skill he had refined to anything like Pitt’s degree. However, he still believed it possible that there was a direct link between Serafina’s fears and the proposed assassination of Duke Alois. If there was, it was imperative that he find it before it was too late.
If Serafina’s death was a political act by someone afraid she might reveal a long-dead scandal or personal indiscretion, surely it must have ceased to be embarrassing to anyone but the attacker himself?
He did not think, from what Vespasia had said of her, that Nerissa Freemarsh had the nature to contemplate killing her aunt as an act of compassion to free her from the mental suffering of knowing that her own mind was betraying her.
Tucker, the lady’s maid? That was more likely. She was devoted to Serafina. Vespasia had told him that, and he trusted her judgment without question. She had certainly had enough maids to know, and seen dozens of others.
But then Tucker would also lose her position at Serafina’s death. And she must know that she would be suspected before anyone else if an overdose was discovered. After the years of looking after Serafina, no one would believe her capable of doing such a thing accidentally.
That left only the far uglier thought that Nerissa Freemarsh had killed her aunt for personal reasons: possibly the inheritance of the house and whatever money Serafina possessed, before it was too late for her to enjoy it-or perhaps before the money had been spent on Serafina’s care.
He would have to interview the household staff. There was no one else who could answer the difficult, probing questions he needed to ask. He stared up at the firelight patterns on the ceiling and tried to think of facts, physical evidence, anything at all that could prove who had given Serafina the extra laudanum. Nothing came to mind. Whoever had done it would have cleaned up after themselves. The house would be dusted and polished every day, the dishes washed, everything put back into the cupboard or onto the shelf where it was normally stored. All household staff would have access to all parts of the house, though it was likely that only Tucker and Nerissa would spend time in Serafina’s bedroom, and perhaps one of the housemaids.
Had anyone else been there? Would they have been noticed? And what reason would they have to harm Serafina … unless they had been paid by someone? But no, that thought was absurd.
By midnight the fire had burned down. Narraway stood up, turned off the lights, and went upstairs to bed. He had not thought of any solution to his quandary, except to investigate personal motives. He had little more than a week before Duke Alois arrived in Dover.
In the morning he decided to ask Vespasia’s opinion. He dressed smartly, as was suitable for a visit to a lady for whom he had not only a deep affection, but also a certain awe.
“Victor! How pleasant to see you,” Vespasia said with some surprise when he was shown into the withdrawing room a little after ten o’clock. She wore a highly fashionable dress of a pale blue-green shade with white lace at the throat, large sleeves, and her customary pearls. She was smiling. She knew, of course, that he had come for a specific reason.
“Well?” she inquired, when she had sent the maid for tea.
He told her briefly the thoughts he had entertained the previous evening. She listened to him in silence until he had finished, merely moving her head fractionally every now and then in agreement.
“There is one thing you have apparently not considered,” she observed. “Nerissa is not a particularly charming young woman, and, judging from her present position as companion to her aunt, she has no great means of her own.”
“I know that,” he said. “Maybe she decided not to risk Serafina spending all of what would be her inheritance.”
Vespasia smiled. “My dear Victor, there is another consideration far more urgent in a woman’s mind than mere money.” She noted his expression with amusement. “Nerissa is not plain in appearance, but she is quite unaware of how to flatter or charm, to amuse, to make a man feel high-spirited or at ease. She is also rapidly coming toward the end of her childbearing years. At the moment her prospects are good; but if Serafina were to have lived even another five years, which she might have, then it would have been a different matter. Her present lover may not be willing to wait so long for Nerissa to come into her inheritance.”
Narraway froze. “Her present lover! Are you certain?”
“Yes. But I am not certain if it is an affair that has any realistic hope of ending in marriage. If it does not, then privacy may be all that she desired.”
“But surely Serafina Montserrat would be the last woman on earth to interfere in an affair, let alone disapprove of one?” he said reasonably.
“Perhaps. But Nerissa may not have realized that. I am not sure whether she is fully aware of Serafina’s earlier life. These are things it might be profitable for you to discover.”
“Yes,” he agreed, ceasing the conversation while the maid brought in the tea and Vespasia poured it.
Vespasia smiled at him. “Tucker will know,” she remarked, taking one of the tiny crisp cookies off the plate. “Treat her with respect, and you will learn all kinds of things.”
He thought for a moment. “If this lover of Nerissa’s is serious, might he have killed Serafina, to preserve the money Nerissa could inherit? With the house, it would make him very comfortable.”
“Possibly.” Vespasia’s face expressed her pity for such a thought, and her contempt. “Which is why it is important that you discover who he is.” Her eyes softened with a deeper kind of sadness. “It is also possible that his reason was nothing to do with money, or with Nerissa at all, except insofar as she gave him access to Serafina, and her disintegrating memory.”
“I know,” he agreed. “I will investigate that too.”
AFTER LEAVING VESPASIA’S HOME, Narraway rode in the hansom to visit Serafina’s doctor, consumed in thought. He was starting to realize how much more difficult detection was than he had originally appreciated. He was guilty of having taken Pitt’s skill very much for granted in the previous years. He did not even notice the brilliant blue sky darken over, or the people on footpaths hastening their steps. He did not see the first heavy spots of rain. He was unaware of the swift change in the weather until one man lost grip of his umbrella and it whisked into the
