Murder in the Drawing Room Read online

  “Very few ladies would be as frank as you, Miss Fox. You are quite remarkable in that regard.”

  “Frankness is not necessarily an admirable quality. Sometimes life is easier when one is not so blunt.”

  “But an easy life is a dull life, is it not?”

  I smiled. The more I got to know him, the more I liked him. “If I don’t see you before you leave, I wish you safe and happy travels.”

  He took my hand and bowed over it. “I’d like to tell you all about it when I get back.”

  “I look forward to that.”

  From the smile he gave me, I suspected I’d inadvertently given him back some hope. From the way his mother kissed my cheek in parting, I was certain she held out a great deal of hope.

  I sighed. One day, perhaps in the not-too-distant future, I would be too old to be considered a suitable prospect and I could be free of matrimonial-minded mothers, and aunts. Until then, I would need to be on my guard.

  It wouldn’t be easy. Being a member of the Bainbridge household was like being a warrior on a battlefield. I would have to remember to keep my head down and my shield up.

  My breakfast was interrupted the following morning by a brisk knock on the door. To my surprise it was Mr. Hobart. I did not invite him in, since there were two cups and two plates on the table in the sitting room. I didn’t want to get Harmony into trouble. Fortunately he didn’t ask to come in.

  He looked troubled. “Harry is downstairs in my office and wishes to speak with you urgently.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He received a message early this morning. Mr. Warrington has been stabbed.”

  Chapter 9

  Mr. Warrington’s left hand was heavily bandaged when he received us in the drawing room of his Kensington house. It was the first time I’d had access to the scene of the murder, and I found myself more interested in the room itself than Mr. Warrington.

  Apparently Mrs. Warrington had a penchant for dead birds, stuffed and presented to look as though they’d just flown into the Warringtons’ drawing room. There was a sparrow-hawk perched on a branch in the corner, an eagle-owl lamp base, and a pair of glossy white gannets on rocks in a glass cabinet. There were also ostrich and peacock feathers shooting out of vases, and a fan made out of green parrot feathers positioned on the table beside one of the wingback chairs. Both chairs now bracketed the fireplace, whereas according to Miss Jennet, the one in which the victim sat had been turned to face the fire. The wings were so large that it was quite obvious to me that the seated Mrs. Warrington’s face would not have been visible to anyone coming through the window.

  A chill crept over me as I forced myself to focus on what Mr. Warrington was saying.

  “I was walking home from my club last night and she stepped out of the shadows and attacked me.”

  “She?” Harry echoed. “Are you certain it was a woman?”

  “Quite certain. It’s why I was able to fend her off, but not before she cut my hand. Fortunately, the doctor says the wound isn’t deep, but my movement may be affected. We won’t know until it heals. Damned inconvenient, not to mention painful.” He gently rested his hand on the chair arm, wincing slightly.

  “Why were you walking home from your club when you knew your life might be in danger?” I asked.

  Mr. Warrington shook his head and shrugged. “It was foolish. I have no explanation except that my mind has been elsewhere ever since Isobel—" He cleared his throat. “I often walk home from my club of an evening, no matter the weather. I enjoy the peace and quiet of the city at night. It helps me think, and I have a lot to think about these days. Last night, I simply followed my usual routine out of habit.”

  “Do the police know?” Harry asked, indicating the bandaged hand.

  Mr. Warrington nodded. “They’re at the scene of the crime now, looking for evidence. I doubt they’ll find anything. She ran off when I struck out, taking the knife with her.” He clicked his tongue. “They’re treating it as a random attack, unrelated to the letters or the murder. A third fellow has been assigned, this one from the local constabulary, not Scotland Yard, even though I gave them the names of the two detectives I’ve dealt with there already. That makes three different investigations—one for the letters, another for Isobel’s murder, and now this. It seems inefficient to me.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about your attacker?” Harry asked.

  “I’m afraid not. I didn’t get a look at her face. She wore a hood and it was dark.”

  Considering we had only one female suspect, our next step was clear. Our plan to go to the photographic studio would have to wait.

  We thanked Mr. Warrington and made to leave.

  “One moment.” He collected a large envelope from the table beside his chair and handed it to Harry. “Before I went out last night, I was feeling nostalgic. I spent some time alone in Isobel’s bedroom. I suppose I wanted to feel closer to her again, to remember how things used to be between us in the beginning and not how it was at the end. We were fond of one another, once. Not in love, but we were friends. Anyway, I found these in the drawer of her dressing table.”

  Harry opened the envelope and peered inside. He immediately closed it again and glanced at me with wide eyes.

  Mr. Warrington shifted in his chair. “Yes, they are quite inappropriate. I suggest you don’t show them to Miss Fox. A young lady should not be subjected to the images contained in those photographs.”

  Now I was intrigued even more.

  “I’m loaning them to you in the hope you can identify the fellow, Armitage. He is clearly my wife’s lover and perhaps he can help you with your investigation. It crossed my mind that he might be the one who wanted me dead. Perhaps he’s even colluding with the woman who did this.” He lifted his bandaged hand. “Please see that they don’t fall into the wrong hands—or anyone’s hands, for that matter. For obvious reasons, it would be damaging to my reputation if they did.”

  “Did you find the negatives too?” I asked.

  Mr. Warrington shook his head. “I wasn’t looking for them, however. I’ll conduct a more thorough search this morning. If I can’t find them, does that mean the studio still has them, do you think?”

  “Most likely. Or it could be that Mrs. Warrington destroyed them. If she did that, I’m not sure why she kept these.”

  “Keepsakes?” He shrugged.

  “There are no negatives at the studio,” Harry said.

  I frowned.

  “How do you know?” Mr. Warrington asked.

  “I checked.”

  I glared at Harry, but he ignored me.

  He got up to leave, but I hadn’t finished. Mr. Warrington should be made aware of something. It was his reputation that could be ruined, after all, if copies were made from the negatives.

  “There’s something you should know,” I began. “The studio where those were taken has a reputation for making copies from the negatives of their more risqué images and reproducing them on cards. Those cards are sold to collectors.”

  Mr. Warrington paled. His Adams apple bobbed furiously. “What do you mean by collectors, Miss Fox?”

  “Sailors, dock workers…”

  His eyes closed and he buried his face in his good hand.

  “If it’s any consolation, they’re not the sort of men who would recognize Mrs. Warrington.” It was hardly a consolation at all, really. It was highly likely that collectors of that sort of material existed beyond the docks. It wasn’t out of the realms of possibility that the cards could be obtained by men within the Warringtons’ circle. Mr. Warrington may not have loved his wife, or even liked her much at the end, but he would be utterly humiliated if his friends saw her naked image.

  He dismissed us with a wave of his hand, without looking up or speaking. We saw ourselves out, Mr. Henderson being nowhere in sight.

  I held out my hand as we walked off. “May I see the photographs?”

  Harry tucked the envelope under his arm. “No.�
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  “I’m hardly going to faint at the sight of them. I am not delicate.”

  “Even so, these photographs are very…very…” His cheeks pinked.

  “Inappropriate, yes I know.” I beckoned with my fingers. “Hand them over, please.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “I couldn’t live with myself if I was to blame for ruining your innocence.”

  I barked a laugh. “I am hardly innocent.” Too late, I realized how that sounded. It was my turn to blush, and I did it much more fiercely than he. “I didn’t mean to imply… That is to say…” Damnation. I couldn’t possibly tell him what I meant. The truth was, I was innocent. I’d only been kissed once. I hadn’t been overly enamored with the man, but I’d wanted to see what all the fuss was about. The kiss had been a disappointment, all dry lips and a great deal of awkwardness.

  Telling Harry that would be beyond humiliating, however. I gave up asking to see the photographs.

  We walked on in painful silence, heading in the direction of the omnibus route that traveled to Camden Town. Even though we didn’t discuss it, we both had the same idea—to ask Mrs. Parker where she was last night.

  I was conscious of Harry looking directly ahead, his gaze not diverting from the pavement. My face remained hot until we sat down on the bus. Finally, as the vehicle jerked forward, my brain emerged from the fog of embarrassment it had descended into.

  I remembered something. “You told Mr. Warrington you’d checked the studio for the negatives and hadn’t found them.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Did you break in last night?”

  “Yes, and I don’t regret not telling you. You would have insisted on coming, I would have insisted you didn’t, and we would have argued. I don’t wish to argue with you.”

  “We’re arguing now.” I huffed out a frustrated breath. “First the photographs and now the break-in. You must stop excluding me from the investigation.”

  “I’m not excluding you. It’s for your own protection. I didn’t want you getting caught.”

  “And I don’t want you getting caught! If I’d accompanied you, I could have kept a look out and whistled if someone came near. I have experience with break-ins, you know. If you’d been caught…” I shook my head. “It would have been dreadful.”

  He blinked at me. “You were worried about me,” he said flatly.

  “Yes, of course. You have more to lose than me. You have a criminal record already, for one thing, and your father’s reputation is at stake. If I were arrested, my uncle would make sure it was swept under the carpet. All I’d endure would be his lecture. If you were arrested, you could have been sent to jail and your father forced to leave his job.”

  “I wasn’t caught.”

  “Not this time. Next time, tell me when you’re going. If you insist I don’t accompany you, you can take Victor. He’s rather good at getting into locked rooms.”

  We turned the corner sharply and I slid across the seat into his side. I quickly shifted back to my end, but not before my face heated once more.

  “So you didn’t find the negatives,” I said to distract myself.

  “No, but I only looked under W for Warrington and H for Henderson. There were a lot of negatives and two constables kept pacing past the shop. I was worried they’d see my lamp’s light.”

  “So if they used a false name, they could have been filed elsewhere.”

  He tapped the envelope. “Considering the nature of the photographs, it’s likely they did. Either that, or they bought the negatives and destroyed them.”

  I eyed the envelope on his lap. “It doesn’t matter to us anyway. We can hopefully identify the lover from those.”

  “I’ll take a closer look after we interview Mrs. Parker again.”

  It was an argument I wouldn’t win. Not in an omnibus anyway, and perhaps not at all. I tried not to let it bother me, but it galled to be left out of part of the investigation. So much so that I gave Harry the silent treatment for the rest of the journey to Camden Town.

  Neither of us spoke until we turned the corner onto Arlington Road. Up ahead, Mrs. Parker stood in her doorway, addressing a giant of a man on her doorstep.

  I caught Harry’s arm and we stopped. “Wait. Something’s going on.”

  “Indeed. You’re talking to me again.”

  I ignored the jibe. “She’s looking this way!”

  We pretended to be friends greeting one another on the street, all the while I watched Mrs. Parker out of the corner of my eye. She handed the man some papers which he flipped through before pocketing.

  “Money,” Harry said with certainty. “She’s paying him.”

  The giant pocketed the bills then headed towards us.

  “He’s coming this way,” I hissed. “We have to leave.”

  “Stay calm. Don’t let him see your face.” He held the envelope between us, pretending to discuss it.

  I bent my head as if reading the writing on the front of the envelope where in fact I was watching the man lope towards us, his strides purposeful. He was huge, as big as Goliath, but with shoulders that strained the seams of his coat. His features were just as broad. His brow protruded like a Neanderthal ledge over sunken eyes, and his prominent nose dripped. He sniffed then swiped at his nose with the back of his hand. He did not wear gloves, probably because he couldn’t find any that fit those large paws.

  I held my breath but he passed without noticing us. Once he turned the corner, I released my breath and glanced towards Mrs. Parker’s house. She had retreated inside.

  “The local thug?” I asked Harry. “Do you think they even have one around here? It’s rather a quiet area.”

  “Wherever he’s from, I’m certain she was paying him to perform a duty for her. Something either outside of the law, or barely in it.”

  “It wouldn’t be for attacking Mr. Warrington last night. He said his attacker was a woman. He couldn’t possibly have mistaken that caveman for a female.”

  “Or fought him off. But what about the night before? Perhaps she paid him to kill Mr. Warrington in his home.”

  “Then I hope she only gave him half for killing the wrong person.”

  He chuckled. “Your sense of humor is a little dark at times.”

  “You laughed.”

  I headed off and he fell into step beside me. I knocked on Mrs. Parker’s door and smiled at her when she opened it. Before she’d even drawn breath, Harry put his hand up to ensure she didn’t slam the door in our faces.

  “What do you want now?” she growled.

  “First of all, we want to know who that man was,” Harry said.

  She rocked back on her heels, her gaze wary. “A friend.”

  “Why did you pay your friend?”

  “He loaned me money so I was paying him back.”

  “Does your husband know about the loan?”

  “It’s my money and my business. I can do what I want.” She thrust her chin out at me. “I hope he treats you with more respect than he’s treating me.”

  “Mrs. Parker,” I went on, “where were you last night?”

  She frowned. “Why?”

  “Just answer the question, please.”

  Her tongue darted out and she licked her bottom lip. She was delaying answering. “I called on a friend. She can vouch for me. Do you want her name and address?”

  She must be very confident in her alibi if she was offering up the details unasked. That meant she was either telling the truth or she knew the friend would lie for her. Either way, we weren’t going to learn anything there.

  Harry stepped away and Mrs. Parker did indeed slam the door. We headed back along Arlington Street. Instead of continuing on to the omnibus, however, Harry spotted two constables strolling along the pavement outside the row of shops.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said, rushing off.

  I waited in case the omnibus arrived so I could detain it while he spoke to the constables. He returned just as driver pulled on the reins. We climbed in and pai
d the conductor for our journey.

  “Well?” I asked as we sat. “You seem satisfied. What did you find out?”

  “That caveman’s name is Ricketts. Bob Ricketts. They know him well. He’s a local low-life who terrorizes the shopkeepers, demanding money to leave them alone. If they refuse, he destroys their stock.”

  I pulled a face. “That doesn’t sound like the sort of friend the wife of a Scotland Yard sergeant would have.”

  “But it sounds exactly like the sort of person you would hire if you wanted to kill someone.”

  We returned to Harry’s Soho office to discuss the evidence. I told him to go up ahead while I bought two coffees from Luigi. When I entered the office of Armitage and Associates, Harry was drawing up a list of suspects.

  “Have you had a proper look at the photographs yet?” I asked as I handed him a cup.

  He glanced at the drawer of his desk. “I have.”

  “And?”

  He picked up the pen and dipped it into the ink pot. “Mrs. Warrington’s face is clear; the lover’s is not.”

  “Is he turned away from the camera?”

  “His head is cut off at the neck.”

  “What about distinguishing features? Was he tall, for example?”

  He wrote something on his notepad. “It was hard to tell.”

  “Why? Wasn’t he standing next to her? Mrs. Warrington was average in height—”

  “He wasn’t standing.” He picked up his cup and gulped a mouthful of coffee before turning his attention to the notepad once more.

  He was avoiding looking at me. Those photographs must be inappropriate indeed.

  I set my cup down and waited.

  A moment later, Luigi burst into the office without knocking. “Harry! Harry, come quick! The café’s on fire!”

  “Bloody hell.” Harry sprang up and raced out of the office behind Luigi.

  I didn’t have much time. I opened the top drawer and spilled the contents of the large envelope onto the desk. There were three photographs in all, and each one made me blush fiercer than the last. Mrs. Warrington’s face was only clear in one of the images, and her lover’s face couldn’t be seen in any. Indeed, he only appeared in two. One of the photographs showed Mrs. Warrington standing in front of a tropical beach scene alone, her face obscured by a large hat. In the second, she stood beside a man, but the photographer had cut off their heads. In the third, Mrs. Warrington was lying down on the sand covered floor, facing the camera. The man lay behind her, his arm around her and his hand cupping her breast. Positioned behind her like that, his face wasn’t visible.