The Viscount Always Knocks Twice by Grace Callaway
Chapter Twenty
The meeting with Dr. Abernathy took place in Billings’ study. Footmen were posted outside the door and ushered in Violet, Richard, Emma, and the duke, locking the door behind them. Clearly, Billings wanted no interruption and no gossip leaked out to the other guests.
Their host was at his usual position at the desk. Behind him, the painting of the dead game fowl formed a rather apropos backdrop, given the grisly topic of the meeting. Ambrose and Marianne were already present, and Dr. Abernathy, the beetle-browed Scottish physician, was talking with Thea and her husband, the Marquess of Tremont.
Violet brought Richard over to introduce him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, my lord.” Thea’s hazel eyes twinkled. “My little sister has said so much about you.”
“Thea,” Vi said in mortification.
Richard’s jaw turned ruddy. “Good things, I hope.”
“Exceedingly good things,” Thea said cheerfully.
Tremont, a handsome man with gilded hair and grave eyes, put his two cents in. “Anyone who can keep up with Violet is an intrepid fellow in my books.”
More than once, her brothers-in-law had been placed on chaperone duty.
“Crumpets, I only lost you that once,” Violet muttered. “Now I never hear the end of it.”
“As everyone has arrived, we can begin.” Ambrose, standing by the side of the desk, called the meeting to order. “Dr. Abernathy has graciously come from London to conduct an examination of the deceased, Monique de Brouet. If you would share your results, Doctor?”
Dr. Abernathy inclined his head. “Let me say at the outset that Mr. Kent charged me with discovering the cause of Madame de Brouet’s death. Given that this is a science yet in its infancy,” he said in his thick brogue, “I cannot guarantee the accuracy of my conclusions, only give you my best estimation of the truth.”
“You’re all we have,”—Billings gave a dismissive wave—“and that’s better than nothing.”
Bristling, the good doctor drew himself up. “What I have to share is based on careful observation and consideration of the facts. It is most assuredly better than nothing.”
“Go on, Doctor.” Ambrose shot a warning glance at their host.
“Verra well. I found a laceration on the victim’s right temple, approximately an eighth of an inch deep, one inch wide and three inches long. Those dimensions match those of the mantelpiece ledge in the library. The blood on the mantelpiece corroborates its connection to the injury.”
“We already know she hit her head,” Billings said. “Was it an accident?”
“That I cannot conclude from the physical evidence.”
“Then we’re no better off than where we started,” the banker said in disgust. “In that light, I don’t want to drag this matter out any further. Kent, you will close the investigation and tell Magistrate Jones it was an accident—”
“On the contrary, Madame de Brouet’s death was no accident,” Dr. Abernathy said.
“You said so yourself: you don’t know whether she fell or was pushed into the mantel,” Billings retorted.
“That is true. But I do know what killed her. And it was no accident.”
Vi worked it out first. “You mean… it wasn’t the blow to the temple that killed her?”
“Precisely, Miss Kent.” The physician gave her an approving nod.
“Then what caused her death?” Richard said.
“Asphyxiation.” At the silence that greeted his pronouncement, the physician added, “I believe she was smothered.”
~~~
Monique de Brouet was murdered… and Wick’s ring was in her hand?
A deep chill pervaded Richard’s gut.
Kent’s brows drew together. “Will you elaborate upon how you arrived at that conclusion, Dr. Abernathy?”
“Of course.” Dr. Abernathy’s pedantic tones reminded Richard of his old professors at Eton and Oxford. “To begin, I do not believe that the wound at the temple was sufficient to cause a fatality. There would have been some bleeding, yes, and the victim might have lost consciousness for a brief time, but I do not think she died from the blow. This led me to look for other clues as to the cause of death, and I found several. For one, the deceased had bloodshot eyes, a common sign of asphyxiation. Second, there was bruising around her mouth and nose, again consistent with smothering. Given that, I examined the victim’s oral cavity and discovered several distinct fibers.”
“Fibers of what?” Kent said.
“A yellow fabric of some sort.”
The investigator stroked his chin. “From, say, a pillow?”
“The most common weapon,” Abernathy agreed. “I found one yellow pillow on the sofa in the library that could be a match for the fibers. But the lack of blood on this particular pillow makes it an unlikely culprit given the victim’s profuse bleeding. This leads me to believe that the murderer used a similar pillow—and took it with him because of the telltale stains on it.”
“From a decorating standpoint, the presence of a second yellow pillow makes sense,” Mrs. Kent said. “Pillows oft come in matching pairs; it would be odd to have just one of a design.”
“Billings,” Kent said, “will you alert your staff to look for the mate to the yellow pillow?”
Their host’s nod was reluctant.
“So one hypothesis would be that Monique hit her head, loss consciousness, and came to… only to be smothered by a pillow?” the duchess said meditatively.
“That would be a logical possibility, yes. And there’s one more thing.” The physician removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket and placed it on Billings’ desk. Unwrapping the linen, he removed a thin gold chain, letting it dangle for all to see.
“This was caught inside the bodice of the victim’s gown. The chain is broken. It might have happened during the attack, but I can’t be sure.”
Richard had a sudden hunch.Had Monique been wearing Wick’s ring on that chain? If so, the killer might have seen it and recognized the golden opportunity…
Billings rose, his face set in determined lines. “We can’t let any of this leak out.”
“For the safety of the guests—” Kent began.
“Trust me, my associates can take care of themselves. As for the others,”—Billings waved a brusque hand—“I’ll hire on extra footmen for security. Moreover, Magistrate Jones has insisted upon posting his men at the gates. He’ll be monitoring everyone going in and out. Now I’ll leave the rest to you, Kent—but do it tactfully, understand? Discretion is everything.” Billings straightened his waistcoat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have guests to attend to.”
After the door closed behind him, Kent said with a scowl, “Did he just tell me to solve a murder tactfully?”
“I’m afraid so.” Mrs. Kent touched his arm. “Never mind him, darling. We need to focus on our strategy.”
“Quite right,” Strathaven said. “Now that we know how the victim died, we’ll have to refine the list of suspects.”
“Beginning with Miss Ashe,” the duchess said. “Strathaven and I did speak with the maid she mentioned, Mary, who attested to the fact that she helped Miss Ashe to bed. We don’t know that Miss Ashe stayed there, of course, but she can be vouched for from one to two in the morning.”
“If, as I estimated, Monique’s death occurred an hour or two before she was found—thus between one and three in the morning—that gives Miss Ashe at least a partial alibi,” Kent muttered. “Given Dr. Abernathy’s conclusions, I propose that we draw up a new list of all those who had a connection with the victim. Who might have a motive to kill her.”
“Lord Wormleigh ought to be on that list,” Violet blurted.
Kent’s gaze swung to her. “Why do you say that?”
Her eyes met Richard’s briefly; he sent a prayer up that she knew what she was doing.
“Because I, um, heard some ladies gossiping about it last night. At the ball. I don’t know who they were since there was a screen between us. But they, um, claimed a servant saw Lord Wormleigh and Monique having words the night she died, and Wormleigh was seen outside the library later on that evening.”
“Excellent observation skills, dear.” Her Grace sounded impressed.
Violet flushed, squirming a little. Richard could tell it made her uncomfortable telling her family a lie. On the other hand, she couldn’t very well announce the truth: that she’d overheard Mrs. Sumner and Price whilst she and Richard had been hiding together beneath the wardrobe.
“Yes, well done, Vi. We’ll put Wormleigh at the top of the list.” Kent jotted in his notebook.
“Cedric Burns should be on there as well,” Richard said, “seeing as he was Monique’s colleague.”
Kent scribbled. “Any progress on the victim’s maid?”
The duchess shook her head. “The sleeping draught that the housekeeper, Mrs. Hopkins, gave Jeanne put the woman out like a light. Jeanne was still asleep this morning. But after this meeting, I’ll try to speak to her again.”
“I’ll go with you. If anyone knows a lady’s secrets, it’s her maid,” Mrs. Kent said.
Fear came as a sudden rush. In the commotion, Richard had forgotten about the maid and what she might know. Wick had said no one knew about his affair with Monique, but he probably hadn’t considered the woman’s servant. Was Jeanne aware of her mistress’ lovers? Would she identify Wick as one of them?
“May I come too?” Violet said quickly. “I met Jeanne before, so perhaps she’d be willing to talk to me.”
“Good thinking,” her sister said.
Violet looked at him, and the message in her eyes was amazingly clear.
Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it.
With no better options, he exhaled, nodding slightly. The truth was that it felt good to have someone at his back. To have someone he could… trust.
“Three interviews gives us a place to start,” Kent said. “I’ve also heard back from my partners, Mr. Lugo and Mr. McLeod. They will be handling the investigation on the London end, questioning Monique’s known associates and searching her residence for clues. They expect to report here in three days’ time.”
Three days.The news further wound the coil in Richard’s gut. In London, the investigators might discover evidence of Wick’s affair with Monique. They might place him on the list of suspects. An invisible net was closing around Wick.
Looking at Violet, Richard saw his own emotions reflected in her eyes. Concern—and steady determination. The hourglass had been tipped. They had three days’ time to find the true killer and prove Wick’s innocence.
