Death of a Fop (Bow Street Consultant series Book 1) (3 page)

She returned swiftly; and Caleb Armitage perused the neat, fastidious hand and its careful entries.

“You keep good clear accounts, ma’am” he said in approval. “Presumably Mr Churchill kept back a considerable sum with which to gamble; and turned out to be bamboozled by some peep-o-day boys so he outran the constable and turned out to be a real Johnny Raw. And then there’s suddenly the dibs flowing; a honey fall as you might say. Reckon I might have to find out if I can who held these vowels; PDV the initials say. Well, I can’t say I’m familiar with the initials from the Hells I know; but then, you have to realise, Ma’am, that the vowels of one man might be staked by another; or even sold.”

“Oh dear!” said Jane. “Would – would knowing who he had lost money to help solve his murder?”

“That? Well maybe not, Ma’am” said Armitage “But knowing who he paid off; ah, now that
might
put us onto the right track. See, whilst I hesitate to tell a beautiful woman that her husband sounds a dashed shady character, up to something havy-cavy, I cannot help thinking that there’s more ways to redeem vowels than cash.”

“I fail to comprehend your meaning” said Jane.

Armitage sighed.

“Mrs Churchill, if you weren’t taking this so calm, I’d never be even telling you a tenth of this; but you’ve been good enough to be open and to search for things to help me. And I’m bound to say I see little affection for your husband in you even allowing for a swell mort – I mean, a class lady – like you to hide emotion from a fellow like me.”

Jane sighed.

“Let us say that the honeymoon was swiftly over and many scales fell from my eyes” she said.

“Ah, that’s what I thought” nodded Armitage. “And forgive me, but yesterday the thought crossed my mind that you might have paid to have him killed. But then I thought, Caleb, my boy, any professional wot did that would take his purse. And that was professional enough. And what’s more, he’d been bound, surgeon says; after he’d been on the slab, there was marks on his wrists, and marks under his nails like someone had shoved a needle up them. Oh Lord!” as Jane swayed in her chair. Caleb Armitage leaped up and pulled the bell pull hard, hearing the jangle somewhere below.

The door opened and Fowler came in.

“’Ere, Ferret, wotever yore name is” the East End emerged briefly more strongly in Mr Armitage’s alarmed voice “Go get the lady’s maid and smellin’ salts or somfink!”

Fowler raised an eyebrow and crossed to Jane.

“Mrs Churchill, would you like Ella?” he asked.

“No thank you Fowler” said Jane “If you will pass my reticule, my vinaigrette is in it.”

Fowler did as he was bid, fetching the ridiculous confection of silver net on the soft feet of a well trained servant. He gave the impression of despising Caleb as much as Caleb despised him for being, in his own vernacular, a man-milliner. Jane took the little filigree silver box from her reticule to inhale the pungent scent from within it.

Fowler withdrew again at a sign from Jane, now a better colour. She spoke, her voice hardly shaking,

“My husband was tortured; and you spoke of more than one way to redeem a debt. Both of those things puzzle me. I have been fearing that he has been luring the unwary into gaming hells for the consideration of having his own debts written off. But why that might lead to torture I cannot see.”

Caleb Armitage nodded. She was not afraid to face the unpalatable this lady; and she had a long head on her.

“As any decent lady might be puzzled” he said. “And there’s more ways to recoup that debt than being a trapan, that’s someone as leads the gullible to be gulled; though it’s something to keep in mind. If someone from a less than salubrious background as we might say had obtained your husband’s vowels, a favour might have caused them to be signed off; working in a solicitor’s office, the favour perhaps of an advance look at a brief to a barrister; or a will; or the removal of a copy of a will leaving a previous one extant; or any one of a number of such activities. And whilst a man might be upright enough to refuse in normal circumstances, a man facing social and financial ruin might find himself tempted as would be outside of his normal code.”

“You are tactful, Mr Armitage” said Jane, dryly “Though I should say from the experience of my marriage that my husband’s code might prove remarkably elastic if his own image and comfort were in any wise at stake. I find your suggestions shocking but not, I have to say, wholly surprising. And in some ways not as bad as persuading poor gullible fools into debt to what I believe might be called Captain Sharps.”

Caleb Armitage gave a sigh of relief. Suggesting to this bang-up swell mort that her husband might be involved in such fraud had always been the sticking point. And she had the imagination and the realism to accept that he might be even worse.

“I shall have to ask at the place he worked if anything has been moved or gone missing” he said apologetically.

“Oh quite” said Jane “Perhaps you would escort me to the place so that I might ascertain my legal position with regard to my husband’s allowance from his uncle; as I have a daughter of the marriage to maintain and can therefore scarcely easily undertake work as a governess should I be entirely destitute.”

“I cannot think that any reasonable uncle would cut off the allowance that feeds his great niece!” said Caleb Armitage.

Jane gave him a tight smile.

“I expect that will depend how much Frank has disgraced his name and whether his uncle will decide to cut off root and branch of an unsatisfactory heir” she said. “Frances can at least probably be reared in the nursery of Frank’s father, dear Mr Weston, and his wife; for Frances is a year and a half younger than her half-aunt. And I believe that dear Mrs Weston will present her husband with another
petit paquet
before long too. But it would be nice not to have to be a slave to other people’s children in which situation I will not be able to watch my own daughter grow up” she added wistfully.

“Well, Mrs Churchill, perhaps it won’t be so bad as that” said Caleb. No, this woman would not have her husband killed; too much was at stake, and though she might risk it for herself, he had never known a devoted mother who would risk her child – and he could read the devotion for this child Frances in Mrs Churchill’s eyes. It was a relief; because the torture had been nasty. He cleared his throat. “A professional murderer – such as a lady might hire to get rid of an inconvenient husband – might be told to beat him well; but this looks like something deliberate to ask questions. And I may say your husband was not badly hurt so one may presume he talked.”

Jane nodded.

“He would” she said “Frank does – did not like discomfort. It is hard to imagine him dead, even now; I apologise for the wrong tense.”

“Ah, and something else I’ve noticed” said Caleb, feeling even more relief “Someone what has done away with a party readily mentions them in the past tense; because they already started to think of them dead before even they are, and certainly by the time the news is broke.”

“Fascinating” said Jane “You have read a lot from me and I have always considered myself hard to read; there is much skill in your profession concerning the reading of people.”

“Well some does it more than others, ma’am” said Caleb flushing slightly. “But if you agree that your husband would rapidly cave in then whoever killed him knows whatever it is they wants to know.”

Jane paled.

“Might he have hidden a will or documents of some kind
here
?” she said “The doors are locked at night but one hears terrible stories….”

“Well, Ma’am, the thought that you might be in some danger had crossed my mind” said Caleb “And if you will permit me to help you search I would be grateful; and perhaps you might find me a corner to sleep in the servants’ quarters for a night or two; I’m handy with my fambles – hands that is – when it comes to a mill. A fight” he translated. “And I do have barking-irons – pistols.”

“That would be a relief to my mind” said Jane “But I hardly think that sleeping with the male servants in the basement will answer; anyone who breaks in would head for the family quarters to search or – or to find out if I knew anything. And – and if they threatened Frances….. you must sleep in a guest room to be near at hand.”

“It ain’t proper ma’am” protested Caleb.

“You are staying in a professional capacity” said Jane, decisively, ringing the bell.

Fowler arrived in his usual silent fashion.

“Fowler, Mr Armitage believes that the felons who did away with your master may be looking to steal something; work he may have brought home from the office” she temporised crisply. “You are to see that the bed in the blue room is made up and warmed for Mr Armitage who will be staying over to protect Miss Frances and me from possible attack.”

“There ain’t no need to make up a bed” said Caleb hastily “I shan’t be sleeping deep like; I’ll take off me boots and lie down on the coverlet.”

“If it is to be for more than one night, Mr Armitage, you should sleep properly for at least a portion of the night or you will be too tired to do your duty” said Jane. “I would suggest that you retire early and Fowler will awaken you after he has locked up for the night. Then when the servants rise, you might sleep properly again for another hour or two.”

“That would answer admirably, ma’am” said Caleb with some admiration “They won’t come into a wakeful household, nowise. Whoever
they
might be” he murmured to himself by way of a parenthetic addition.

Caleb procured a hackney carriage to carry himself, Mrs Churchill and her abigail to the solicitor’s premises; and by the afternoon that same abigail had finished making up a mourning gown for her mistress by rapid and clever conversion of a white muslin; new sleeves and bodice of black crepe had been cut and applied and three black crepe flounces had been added to the skirt, the lowermost mimicking the three inch hem that was customary on mourning costume.

“Are you sure it is all right Ella, to have the black on the white?” asked Jane anxiously “White is acceptable until full mourning is to be had… and my silk gown has gone to be dyed…. You have done a remarkably economic job with that old crepe cape, Ella, if you think it looks well enough…”

“You look a treat Mrs Jane, and as proper as could be asked with such an unexpected event” said Ella firmly “When your silk comes back from the dyer we shall send this so it is black all over; don’t you fret, Mrs Jane my dearie.”

Jane sighed.

Black was
not
a colour that flattered her; though her complexion was not so pale as to be made to look washed out, the unrelieved black of her bodice did make her look paler even so. Slightly worried grey eyes looked too large in her oval face; and she sighed again. It was quite improper to be considering her appearance when she was but newly become a widow.

Well if she looked young and tragic and sufficiently attractive perhaps Mr Chorleigh would be moved to help her by interceding with Uncle Jasper. She tripped downstairs to meet with Mr Armitage and the Hackney cab. She was glad of the quilted petticoat she had had the forethought to put on; muslin was not a practical fabric for February, though enough young girls desirous of being fashionable braved the cold to wear it even in midwinter.

They were crossing the metropolis from Jane’s home in the newer north west residential portion of London to Gray’s Inn Road, where the solicitor’s firm had its office, close to the bustling centre of legal activity, the Inns of Court, so that that a barrister might readily be briefed on behalf of a client. Chorleigh, Wright and Jekyll’s was not the sort of partnership that would readily encourage litigation in their clients; this was far too public and vulgar a thing for any of their clients to be involved in. However in the case of a juicy piece of tort on the part of a third party, or a suit contesting a will drawn up by some other solicitor was a situation in which Chorleigh and Partners might condescend to go to the bar. Their office was in a tall building that somehow managed to be both facelessly modern and seedy looking, exuding an air of respectable, but uninviting shabby-gentility.

“Your husband…. Ah yes, the nephew of Mr Jasper Churchill…. He applied to me almost a year ago to see if it might be possible to break an entail if his uncle agreed…. Quite impossible I fear…. Living beyond his means I suppose; well so far as the legal situation is concerned Mrs Churchill in the event of his death the entail passes directly to any offspring you have and will be broken on the event of the death of Mr Jasper Churchill; have you offspring?” Mr Chorleigh was not what one might describe as fat; but he was carrying some
embonpoint
which he swelled towards Jane after the fashion of a pouter pigeon displaying and doubtless with similar motive. His pigeon grey waistcoat did nothing to dispel this impression.

“We have a daughter” said Jane “As to any others it is too early to say. Though I believe it unlikely” she added. “Does that mean that the portion of the income that Mr Jasper Churchill has been paying to my late husband will continue to cover the needs of our daughter?”

“That I shall have to communicate with Mr Churchill over; but I cannot see that there would be a problem” said Mr Chorleigh. “If you have been used, however, to high living you may find that you will need to make small economies…..”

“Oh I do not believe that I shall be requiring as many servants as Frank thought necessary,” said Jane, “and I have not myself enjoyed any high living so I do not believe there will be any difficulties. However, there may be a few complications regarding my husband’s death; perhaps Mr Armitage here will explain.”

Mr Chorleigh had been glancing rather doubtfully at Jane’s companion; he wore respectable enough clothes with a reasonably good quality wool coat and good quality buckskins and boots that had a military look. He might pass as an affluent tradesman or even a clerk; and what role he fulfilled Mr Chorleigh could not guess.

“It appears” said Caleb, proceeding to stretch the truth for the lovely and dignified lady, “That Mr Churchill may have been placed under duress; threats to harm his lovely wife and daughter; and this lead to his untimely death. I’m from Bow Street; an Officer of the Law. And in case he was told to remove wills or other documents from your office it is my dooty to ask you to discreetly check if any such documents ‘ave been moved, misplaced or dahnright gone missink” his accent emerged again under the outraged stare of the solicitor.