Hounds of Autumn (23 page)

Chapter 38

T
he next morning, Miss Haynes
set out the clothing that Chloe had worn to Camille Granger’s funeral. It was the only mourning clothing she owned.

“How are you feeling, mum?”

Chloe rubbed her eyes which felt pinched and tight. She pulled on the underclothes that Miss Haynes had laid on the bed.

“I’ll be all right,” She had to be. She needed to discover why Ambrose was killed. There was something tickling the back of her mind from the night before, but she could not identify it. “I am as well as can be expected when one’s husband has been murdered.”

Miss Haynes paused in her activities and shook her head. “Everyone is saying that, but it’s hard to believe it wasn’t simply an accident.”

“It would only be an accident if everyone didn’t know what the Destroying Angels look like.” Chloe pulled her dress over her head.

“I don’t know what they look like,” said Miss Haynes, pulling the dress down and arranging the skirts.

“Neither do I. But from what everyone says, it seems to be common knowledge for those who live here, especially anyone who would pick edible mushrooms.”

“Funny that the master wouldn’t have recognized them. Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

“They were chopped up fine. I don’t think anyone would recognize them in that state.”

Miss Haynes laced up her dress and worked on her hair. She kept glancing at Chloe in the mirror, as if assessing her.

“What is it?”

“I’m just worried about you, mum. I think you should stay and rest for a day or two. Not strain yourself. You’ve been through too much.”

“No. There will be time for resting when we return home. But for now, I have things to do.”

“And when we get back home, we will have to go to your dress shop and order some mourning dresses and things.”

Chloe paused. Of course, she would be dressing in black mourning for at least a year. The thought pleased her, in a dark way. Let the dark veils and black bombazine show the state of her soul. It was fitting.

“Yes, but while I am here, there are things I need to do,” Chloe said.

“The elder Mr. Aynesworth is arranging for everything. He has already sent word to Mr. Sullivan’s solicitor and arranged a cold car to take him to London.”

It took a moment for the thought to register. Ambrose would be shipped in cold storage to London to be buried. She wanted him there, in London with her. Not out in this desolate place. Not near his killer.

“Mr. Aynesworth asked me to tell you that he has arranged an airship to take you back to London the day after tomorrow. The funeral is set to be the next Monday.” She caught Chloe’s eye in the mirror. “I think you should take a day to rest. Please. Just stay in your rooms for the day. I can tell everyone downstairs that you need to have rest and quiet for your nerves.”

“Absolutely not. In fact, I need to be out of these rooms or I truly will fear for the state of my nerves.”

“I think I should insist, mum.”

This was unusual. Miss Haynes had never pressed her mistress into doing much of anything she did not wish to. She knew that Chloe was an active sort of person who hated being confined with nothing to do.

She studied her own reflection. Her appearance was not lovely by any means, but was acceptable. Her hair was in order. She could use a little color in her cheeks, but perhaps she only looked pale because of the dark color of her dress. Her eyes were puffy, but with good cause.

“Why do you want me to rest today? Tell me truly. You know I would be better off with a brisk walk outdoors or time in my laboratory. Lying about in bed will only make my mind twist and turn.”

Miss Haynes sighed and gave her the hand mirror for her to inspect her hair. “The inspector from town is here with a constable. They’re asking questions.”

“That’s good. They should be asking questions. I have a few questions of my own. I expect they are talking to everyone in the house?”

“Yes. But today they said that they wanted to see you.”

“I would expect so,” said Chloe.

“You don’t understand. Once everyone knew that the little girl and Mr. Sullivan were poisoned with the soup, the police wanted to talk to you. They wanted to question you yesterday, but Mr. Aynesworth chased them off. They just arrived a bit ago and asked for you.”

This was a new development. She had not thought that she might be a suspect. But the pieces were falling into place.

“They think I killed my husband.”

“Yes, mum.”

“I will inherit his fortune.” She had not considered this. Ambrose had no other heirs.

“I expect so.”

Chloe stood. “Well, if they want to ask me questions, they are welcome to do so. I have not harmed a soul, and they can ask me anything they like. I have nothing to conceal.”

“I can tell them to come back tomorrow. I could ask Mr. Aynesworth to do it.”

“I appreciate your concern and protection, but I do not require it. Where are they?”

“In the front parlor.”

“Please tell them I will be down in a few minutes.”

“One more thing. I heard that Mr. Granger is no longer a serious suspect. Word is that he threatened to bring down the entire police force. They didn’t have enough evidence to do anything.”

“I didn’t think they would.”

Miss Haynes left and Chloe took another look at herself in the mirror. She straightened her carriage and lifted her chin. Her eyes were too puffy to be imperious and commanding. But yes, she could still cut an imposing figure. Well, as imposing as she was capable of being. If only she were taller. She sailed down the stairs and heard voices from the front parlor.

“You know what they say about mushroom hunters?” The man’s voice was unfamiliar to her.

“I don’t believe this is appropriate.” That was Inspector Lockton.

“There are old mushroom hunters, and there are bold mushroom hunters,” said the unfamiliar voice. “But there are no old, bold mushroom hunters.” He laughed, but stopped when he saw her in the doorway. The constable, a heavy man in his twenties with close-set eyes, sat beside Inspector Lockton. They both rose as she entered. She saw a hint of pleasure in the inspector’s expression, but it was gone immediately. He needed to question her about murder, and Chloe knew that he could not allow his past acquaintance with her to interfere.

“Mrs. Sullivan,” said Inspector Lockton. “May I introduce Constable Bell.”

She inclined her head as the constable gave a small bow. She took the seat opposite the two men which placed her with the sunlight in her face. She wondered if the servants and family had been questioned in the same uncomfortable position. Giles jumped up onto the windowsill and sat so he could see both the outdoors and the parlor.

“You would like to question me about my husband’s murder?”

“I would,” said Inspector Lockton. “We understand if you would like us to come back at a later time, after you have had some time to grieve.”

She got the impression that he was saying it as a courtesy and treated it as such. His note pad was already open on his knee.

“No, I am able to talk to you today.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan.” Inspector Lockton licked the tip of his pencil.

“How long had you and your late husband been married?”

His use of the past tense made her pause. She was a widow now.

“Three years.”

“And you will stand to inherit a considerable fortune, will you not?”

“He has no other heirs. No children.”

The thought stabbed her. After three years of marriage, she had suspected that she might be barren. Now there was the certainty that she would have no children. It had not mattered so much before, but now the thought gave her pain.

“And what was the age difference between you and your late husband?”

“Twenty-four years.”

“That’s a large age difference.”

It was not terribly unusual, she thought, especially among the upper classes where young women were routinely married off to older men to acquire titles, fortunes or to solidify social connections. The inspector knew this.

“It is not unheard of. He was a friend of my father’s. He and I have known each other for many years.”

“And you knew he was wealthy when you married?”

“Naturally.”

“And from what I understand, you came from a lower class family. Some sort of financial ruin?”

For an instant, she remembered revealing to him that she had not always been wealthy, but she had said nothing of financial ruin. But then she understood. Of course the police had spoken with Mr. Frick and Miss Haynes. And had either of them lied or said that she came to the union with money, the police would have discovered the falsehood with little trouble. All of the Aynesworths most likely knew of her origins also.

Constable Bell leaned forward. “A younger woman marries a wealthy older man. He dies under mysterious circumstances, leaving her with a handsome inheritance. It just seems strange is all.” He was watching her with too much intensity, his lips parted in anticipation. She would not give him what he sought.

“And what question are you asking me?” she kept her voice low.

“Doesn’t that sound strange to you?” The constable tilted his head slightly. The gesture infuriated her but she kept her face composed.

He was at least five years her junior. He couldn’t have been on the police force very long, and with three recent murders, it would be quite the feather in his cap to aid in the capture of a killer. But he was over-eager and jumping to conclusions.

“Do you think you will marry again, Mrs. Sullivan?” he asked.

She turned her body to face to the inspector, where before she had been facing both men. It was a slight not lost on the constable, who scowled.

“Are you asking me questions to gather information or are the local police now in the habit of making baseless accusations about bereaved women?”

“My apologies, Mrs. Sullivan,” said Inspector Lockton. He gave the constable a long silent look that made him sit back.

“Inspector, my husband was murdered. Josephine was murdered. Someone gave them Destroying Angels and they died horribly. I did not add the mushrooms, but someone did and you need to find this person, not waste time with me.”

“We are doing our best to do exactly that. Now, tell me about the soup.”

She did. She described Ambrose’s sickness, the soup, her search through Ambrose’s books, and her discussion with Doctor Michaels.

“That soup sat there all Sunday afternoon, simmering on the stove. At least, that’s what Mrs. Block told me,” she said.

“Yes,” said the inspector. “Everyone agrees on that point. Please tell me where you were Saturday. You came to visit me, but the household says that you were out of the house most of the day.”

She felt her face grow warm. “I went to look for the hound in the tin mine that I told you about. He wasn’t there. And when I left, I saw the woman named Maggie who lives nearby. I spent some time at her house, and then returned home.”

“Mad Maggie?” said Constable Bell. “You went to visit her? She sells a few things that could kill a man if he took too much.”

“But not Destroying Angels,” said Inspector Lockton. “Now, you say that you went to search for the hound? Why?”

“I’m sorry, but I had to go straight there after I saw you. Your assurances that I could get the hound after the police examined it were not enough. I know that you cannot guarantee that I would have the opportunity to examine it before it was destroyed, so I hoped to find it on my own. I’m sorry.”

The inspector nodded and made a note. “Did you do anything else when you were out on the moor?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you collect poisonous mushrooms while you were out? I have to ask.”

“Of course not. I don’t even know what they look like. But apparently everyone else who lives around here does. My maid and I may be the only ones who are unable to identify a Destroying Angel.” She gave them a pointed look.

“But your husband was a naturalist. He would have known. He could have told you.”

“But he didn’t. He had no cause to.”

“The doctor said that you and the youngest son were looking through your husband’s books when he was ill. That there was a book on mushrooms.”

“Yes, there was a mycology book. But I looked at it after Ambrose was already sick.”

But there was no way she could prove it. The book had been sitting in Ambrose’s temporary study since they arrived. She had access to it at any time. And she had the time to collect mushrooms on the moor, save them until she could give them to her husband, watch him die and inherit his fortune.

“Just a moment,” she said. “What happened to the rest of the pot of soup after Ambrose and Josephine ate from it? Surely they did not finish all of it.”

“Mrs. Block said it vanished. The killer must have come back to empty it out.”

Chapter 39

C
hloe looked past the men
and out the window at the sound of approaching hooves. Giles, who was still sitting on the windowsill, tipped his head, watching. Ian dismounted his horse and handed the reins to the waiting groom. He was unshaven with dark shadows under his eyes and he looked exhausted and a little wild. She thought back and realized that she had not seen him at all since they had taken Josephine to Doctor Fleming’s house.

“That’s the oldest son?” Inspector Lockton asked the constable.

“Yes.”

“You don’t know the family?” Chloe asked.

“I was called in from Exeter for the Granger murder.”

Of course. A town like Farnbridge would not require its own inspector. She thought of his office, with no name on the door. So Lockton was a stranger here too.

The front door banged and Alexander took off outside toward his brother. Ian turned to him with a dark look, full of hatred, anticipation and a kind of pleasure. Alexander shoved his reddened face into his brother’s and said words Chloe could not make out.

“Someone should stop them,” she said. She looked from the constable to the inspector. “They’re going to hurt one another.” Neither of them made any move.

Alexander was shouting something at his brother while Ian stood tall and still, his fingers slowly flexing and unflexing. Chloe got the impression of a sleek black jungle cat, waiting for the right moment to spring. The inspector and constable had moved closer to the window and showed no indication of intervening. She rushed out the front door but froze on the bottom step.

“You say another word, and I swear, I’ll kill you,” said Alexander.

“More killing, brother? I thought you might have had enough of that by now.”

“I haven’t hurt anyone.”

“No? Deborah Walker is dead as is her daughter. Both of them erased, just as you wished.”

“That wasn’t my fault. I never did a thing to either of them.”

“And there it is,” said Ian. “Perhaps you should have done something for them.”

“For that tart? I wasn’t the first to soil her. What, did you expect me to marry her?”

“No, but you left her to make her living on the street and raise her daughter—your daughter—in a boarding house.”

Alexander raised his hands in a gesture of indifference and took a step back. “What’s it to me where she went? And who knows if the child was even mine? It’s only the word of a loose woman.”

“Don’t call her that,” Ian’s voice was very soft, almost gentle.

“Why not? Did you love her? Were you jealous that I got there first, brother?”

“Don’t be an imbecile. I felt sorry for her.”

“But that’s not why you helped her. Oh, but I know why.” A mocking smile curved Alexander’s mouth.

Ian did not answer.

“I’ve seen how it is with you two, don’t think I haven’t. I’m not the idiot playboy you take me for.”

Alexander turned as if to go and then spun around to punch his brother. In one fluid movement, Ian grabbed his wrist, twisted it and with his other hand, struck his brother in the jaw. Ian released him and Alexander reeled backwards. Ian had a look of pure pleasure.

“Father isn’t here to help you, you worthless animal,” Ian said in a smooth voice. “You never should have been born. You have brought nothing but pain and suffering your entire life. I would be doing the world a favor to remove you from existence.”

“You’re mad.”

“Am I? But you are the one who killed Uncle, are you not? He knew about your irresponsibility and your gross indiscretions.”

“What reason would I have for that? The girl was already here, the letters were already in the hands of the police. My life was already ruined because of you.”

“Because of me? I did my best to clean up your messes. And you were right. It was never for your sake, you feckless arse.”

Alexander charged him and got in one good punch to Ian’s mouth. Ian touched his lip, looked at his fingers and smiled.

“There we go, now. First blood.”

Ian leapt forward and punched Alexander in the face so hard that Chloe heard a dense, muffled crunching sound. Alexander shouted. Ian did not even pause, but kept punching and hitting until he was straddling his brother on the ground. The whole thing had only taken moments.

“Stop it now!” yelled Chloe and ran toward them.

Ian was methodically pounding his brother’s face and had gotten in a few good hits, but Alexander twisted and threw him off. The men scuffled in the dirt, grunting and thrashing.

In a moment, Constable Bell was there and he pulled Alexander in one direction while Inspector Lockton pulled Ian in the other. Alexander was shouting curses, but Ian wore a satisfied smirk as he watched his brother. Alexander’s nose and mouth were bleeding. Even his teeth were covered in blood. As for Ian, the area around his eye was turning red.

Dora and William were yelling nearby while Robert stood watching from the doorstep.

“I swear to God, I will kill you,” said Alexander as he looked up from the blood on his handkerchief.

“Please. Do try.”

“Stop this!” cried Dora. “Just stop it! You leave him alone,” she said to Ian who gave her a cold look.

After awhile, Dora and Robert escorted Alexander into the house to tend his nose. Someone would most likely be sent to fetch a carriage. Doctor Fleming would certainly be getting his fill of the Aynesworth family.

The constable and inspector were speaking with William in the doorway. Ian had walked a little way down the drive, and he glanced toward the side of the house. Beatrice was half hidden in the building’s shadow. Her hands were at her sides and though tears streaked down her cheeks, she did not seem aware of them. She was watching her brother-in-law.

He took a look at the front of the house and then walked toward Beatrice. He stood before her for a moment in the shadows before she crumpled into his chest. He slowly, very slowly, placed his hand on her back.

“The girl was Alexander’s?” Inspector Lockton appeared beside Chloe.

She blinked and turned to him. “Oh, I believe so. Ian pretended that she was his child to spare Beatrice from shame. At least, I think that’s what happened.”

“Who else knows this?”

“Everyone now, I suppose.”

“Did Mrs. Aynesworth know that the child was her husband’s when the girl came?”

Her stomach turned cold. It was impossible. Beatrice would never harm anyone. Besides, she could not have anticipated that the girl would eat the soup. “I believe she had an idea, but you would have to ask her yourself.”

“I don’t believe Mrs. Aynesworth set out to harm the girl, if that is what you are thinking. From what I understand, your husband was the target and the girl’s death was an unfortunate coincidence.”

“Sadly, the killer can only hang once for both of them.”

They walked together back into the house. Constable Bell held the door and followed them into the front parlor where they took their seats. Well, that was a bit of excitement. The inspector flipped through his notebook.

“Is there any reason why someone would want your husband dead?” asked Inspector Lockton. “Ian said that your husband knew about Alexander’s illegitimate daughter. Is that true?”

She didn’t know what Ambrose knew, not really. It gave her a pang to know that he had kept secrets, even if she had kept some herself. “I don’t think he knew. Or if he did, he did not share it with me.”

There was a silence. Inspector Lockton turned to Constable Bell. “Would you please check on the family? I want to make sure the brothers do not do more violence to each other. And if everything is calmed down, please ask the elder Mr. Aynesworth to come speak with me.”

The constable left and Inspector Lockton shut his notebook and tossed it onto the table between them. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Tell me, who do you think killed your husband?”

“What did he know that would cause someone to murder him, you mean? If I knew that, the killer would be in your custody already.” She adjusted herself in her seat and sighed. “Ambrose was about to talk to Mr. Baxter about some business arrangements and everyone knew it. Something about investments and publishing my husband’s work in Boston. But there was no danger of him telling Mr. Baxter anything damaging to the family or endangering Dora’s impending nuptials. Others already knew about Josephine, so there was no cause to silence Ambrose. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” said the inspector.

There was only one thing that did make sense, she thought bitterly. A young woman marrying an older man, poisoning him and inheriting his fortune.

The constable returned, along with William.

“Mr. Aynesworth,” said Inspector Lockton, rising. “I am going to post a guard at your house. Constable Bell and another officer will be remaining here for the rest of the day. Other officers will come tonight to relieve them. No one, not even a servant, may leave the premises without notifying Constable Bell or his replacement. They will be keeping a log.”

“What are you on about? We are not prisoners in our own home,” said William.

“No, you are not prisoners, but someone in this house killed Ambrose Sullivan and Josephine Walker. Until we know who it is, we cannot risk the perpetrator escaping.” He stepped through the parlor door and pulled his coat from the doorway mechanical. William followed him.

“Everyone down to the bootboy or scullery maid who needs to leave for any reason will notify Constable Bell,” the inspector said. “And anyone who has necessary business in town must be accompanied by a constable.”

“We are being held under guard? You must be joking. Are you saying that if we want to go anywhere at all, we have to ask permission from your people?”

“That is precisely what I am saying. And please, Mr. Aynesworth, think of it as a security guard.”