“I met her on several occasions,” Mrs. Williams responded. “But we weren’t friends. I didn’t approve of the way she treated people. She could be very harsh.”
“In what way, ma’am?” Barnes asked.
She paused for a moment before answering. “She abused the power she had over those who depended on her.” She nodded toward the closed drawing room door. “My maid, the one who let you into the house, used to work for Miss Kettering. Poor Agnes was tossed out into the street without so much as a reference because she accidentally broke a serving platter. Olive Kettering claimed to be a Christian, but I don’t believe she had an ounce of real kindness in her heart.”
“When did this happen?” Witherspoon glanced at Barnes, silently signaling that they had better have a word with the maid before they left.
“Oh, it was three years ago,” Mrs. Williams replied. “Luckily, Dorian happened to be there the night it happened and he knew Agnes to be a fine, hardworking girl. He also knew I was looking for additional domestic help, so as soon as everyone’s back was turned, he slipped down to the kitchen and gave her my address. She came along to see me and I hired her. Honestly, Inspector, depriving someone of their livelihood over a piece of china is cruel.”
“Yes, I rather agree with you,” the inspector said. “Did you feel that Miss Kettering was equally harsh with her relatives?”
She laughed softly and put her empty teacup on the table next to her. “If you’re referring to fact that she’s disinherited her remaining family, then yes.”
“Mr. Kettering told you he’d been disinherited?” Witherspoon eased back in the seat.
“Of course. Dorian and I are very close friends. We have very few secrets from one another,” she said. “Olive also cut her niece out of her will because she didn’t approve of the man she married. As I said, Inspector, Olive Kettering abused the power she had over those around her.”
Witherspoon wondered if Kettering and Mrs. Williams were the sort of close friends that he and Lady Cannonberry were or whether their relationship was a bit more intimate. He could feel a blush climb his cheeks so he quickly forced his mind onto another subject. “Mrs. Williams, did Mr. Kettering ever give you a specific reason for his cousin’s actions?”
She frowned. “I’m not certain I understand your question. Are you asking why she disinherited him?”
“That’s precisely what I’d like to know,” he replied. Mrs. Williams was either a very good actress or she genuinely thought Dorian Kettering had been disinherited. “Mr. Kettering wasn’t very specific about what had so angered Miss Kettering. He merely said they had some strong differences over religion.”
“That was part of the reason.” She nodded her head. “But it wasn’t the only one. Dorian wasn’t shy about sharing his opinion of that group she’d become involved with, the Society of the Humble Steward . . .”
“Servant,” Barnes interrupted softly. “It’s the Humble Servant.” He wondered why so many people kept getting the name wrong. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you, ma’am.”
She smiled and waved her hand to indicate she’d not taken offense and continued speaking. “As I said, he wasn’t shy about sharing his opinion about that bunch, especially that Reverend Richards person. That angered Olive greatly. Plus, she was furious when he went to the United States and then she became even angrier when he came home and tried to share his new ideas with her. Miss Kettering was far more comfortable believing in a vengeful God rather than a loving one, but the real issue between the two of them was far more personal and it’s a very delicate subject, one that I’m not comfortable sharing with you.”
Witherspoon was stunned and couldn’t think of what to say next. Constable Barnes had no such compunction. “Mrs. Williams,” he said softly, “this is a murder investigation and, frankly, Mr. Kettering is very high on our list of suspects.”
“But Dorian wouldn’t ever kill anyone,” she protested.
“Then tell us everything you know so we can make sure he isn’t arrested,” the constable urged. “After all, ‘by the truth, ye shall be free.’ Isn’t that what the Bible says?” He hoped he wasn’t misquoting here. He never paid attention to the readings at church on Sundays. “Surely if Mr. Kettering is innocent, the truth can only help him.”
She bit her lip and her eyes filled with tears. “I suppose you’re right. But it’s such a sad episode and, oh, I feel wretched repeating it.”
“We’re all adults, Mrs. Williams,” Witherspoon murmured. “I assure you, unless what you have to tell us would be pertinent to convicting the guilty party in a court of law, whatever you tell us will be kept confidential.”
She looked down at her hands. “He was disinherited because of me,” she whispered. “Oh, he tried to tell me that it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his lunatic cousin wanting complete control over everyone’s life, but I knew the truth. It was because of me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand. There isn’t anything illicit about two adults having a friendship,” Witherspoon pressed. “You’re a widow . . .” His voice trailed off. Perhaps she wasn’t widowed.
“My husband died ten years ago,” she said quickly as she guessed his thoughts. “But that had nothing to do with Olive’s reaction. She wanted Dorian to marry someone else. Someone she thought more suitable. She kept hinting that he was getting on in years and that it was his duty to take a wife so he could set an example for others. When he finally told her he had no intention of ever marrying, she was enraged. They had a horrible argument and she told him she was cutting him out of her will.”
“Olive Kettering knew that you and Mr. Kettering were close friends?” Barnes asked. He watched her carefully. Whether she understood it or not, Emily Williams might have just put herself on the suspect list. They only had her word that Kettering hadn’t decided to leave her in order to get back in his cousin’s good graces and her will. A middle-aged woman desperately in love and being abandoned by that lover might be tempted to take matters into her own hands. And he suspected that Emily Williams loved Dorian Kettering very much.
“Oh yes, Dorian was discreet about our relationship, but he certainly didn’t hide the fact we were seeing one another. When Olive began pressuring him to marry, and he wouldn’t, she accused him of wanting to marry me instead of a suitable woman from his own background. Which is ironic, really, as I have no wish to be married again.”
Witherspoon drew back in surprise.
She laughed. “Don’t look so stunned, Inspector, not every woman wants to be married. I had one good marriage and my husband was a good man. However, I like my freedom, and as much as I love Dorian, it suits the both of us to stay independent. He tried telling that to Olive, but she wouldn’t listen. From what Dorian tells me, once the woman gets an idea in her head, she simply won’t let facts get in the way of her opinion.”
Witherspoon nodded. “Mr. Kettering said he was here with you on the morning of the murder?”
“That is correct,” she replied. “We’d planned on going to a lecture at the British Museum and then having luncheon at Piero’s Restaurant. But with the weather being so terrible, we changed our minds and stayed in.”
“What time did Mr. Kettering arrive?” Barnes asked.
She frowned slightly. “I don’t recall the exact time—I don’t remember looking at the clock—but it must have been about nine. That’s when he was scheduled to arrive for our outing. The lecture was at ten and we wanted to give ourselves plenty of time to get there. I don’t recall that he was late.”
“What lecture were you going to hear?” Barnes asked. That was the sort of fact that was easy to check.
“It was one being given by Mr. John Parrington, the archaeologist who’s been working in Turkey. Dorian wanted to hear him because he recently excavated one of the first Christian churches ever built,” she replied. “But as I said, the weather was so awful we were both afraid it might have been canceled and we didn’t want to risk going all that way for naught. So we spent the morning together here and he left right after luncheon. Now, if there isn’t anything else, I do have another appointment.”
Witherspoon glanced at the constable, who gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. “We’ve no more questions.” He got to his feet. Barnes closed his notebook and stood up as well. “Thank you for your help, ma’am,” Witherspoon said politely.
“You’re quite welcome, Inspector.” Emily Williams rang for the maid. “The maid will see you out.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Would it be alright with you if I used your cloakroom to wash my hands?” Barnes requested.
“Of course.” She smiled graciously and turned her gaze to the open doorway where the maid waited. “Please show the constable to the cloakroom and then see them out. I’m going upstairs to get ready to go out. Please send one of the street boys to fetch me a hansom. I’ll need it in fifteen minutes,” she instructed as she got up.
The maid nodded and motioned for the two policemen to follow her. The inspector stopped in the foyer while Barnes followed the maid down the hallway toward the cloakroom. Witherspoon gave a polite bow of his head as Emily Williams went past him and up the staircase.
While he waited for the constable to reappear, the inspector spent his time studying his surroundings. The foyer, while modest in size, had walls covered with the palest of pink silk wallpaper, which he knew was very expensive. White marble tiles covered the floor, and on the wall opposite the door was a huge mirror in an elaborate gold leaf frame. He was no expert, but the paintings on the drawing room walls had looked very decent and he’d also noted two Dresden figurines, a table full of porcelain snuffboxes, and a set of silver candlesticks.
Apparently, Emily Williams had plenty of money of her own.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, sir,” Barnes apologized as he strode up the hall with the maid on his heels. He nodded to the girl as they reached the foyer. “And thank you, Miss Agnes, you’ve been very helpful.”
She grinned, opened the door, and they took their leave.
As soon as they were down the walkway and out of earshot, Barnes said, “I had a quick word with the maid, Inspector, and Mrs. Williams isn’t being completely honest with us.”
“Ah, I suspected you had a reason for wanting to ‘use the cloakroom.’ ” He chuckled. They’d reached the pavement. “Let’s go up to the corner. We’ll have better luck getting a hansom up there. What did the maid tell you?”
“At first she confirmed Mrs. Williams’ account and said that Mr. Kettering had arrived at nine,” he said. “But then we chatted a bit about how foul the weather had been that day and she let it slip that when Kettering had come to the house, he’d come in the back door because he wasn’t just wet, his coat and trousers had been covered in mud.”
The inspector thought for a moment. “Covered in mud, that’s odd.” He raised his arm and waved at a cab that was dropping a fare in front of the bank building farther up the street.
“That’s what I thought,” Barnes agreed with a nod of his head. “It might have been raining cats and dogs but the most likely place he could have gotten mud on him was in Olive Kettering’s back garden. So I pressed Agnes just a bit harder and she finally admitted that it was almost ten o’clock when Dorian Kettering arrived, not nine.”
“And the two properties are close enough together that, even on foot, he could have murdered his cousin and gotten here by ten,” the inspector said. “I don’t suppose that the maid thought to ask Kettering how he’d gotten so muddy?”
“Agnes told me that when he came in, he said he’d taken a shortcut through the park because there weren’t any cabs about,” Barnes said. “Which could be true, sir. Park grounds are dreadfully muddy at this time of year.”
“But if it were true that he got muddied coming through the park, why did Mrs. Williams lie to us about the time he arrived?” The inspector frowned. “Why not just tell us it was almost ten o’clock and not nine?”
“Perhaps, sir, because she’s afraid he might have actually committed the murder.” The hansom pulled up and Barnes looked at Witherspoon expectantly. “Where to, sir?”
“The Society of the Humble Servant,” he replied. “Your comments this morning on the way here have set me to thinking. I’d like to have another word with the Reverend and Mrs. Richards. Honestly, Constable, one minute we’ve no real suspects and the next we find out that everyone we’ve spoken to has been less than honest.”
Barnes gave the driver the address and then swung in next to Witherspoon. “Do we have time to get there before we need to get to the funeral, sir?” he asked.
Witherspoon pulled his watch out of the inner pocket of his overcoat. “It’s only just half past nine and the funeral isn’t until eleven thirty. I think we can manage it. St. Matthew’s Church isn’t far from the Richards house.”
“Mrs. Fox is a decent enough sort,” the maid commented as she cast a shy glance at Wiggins.
“’Ow many staff does she ’ave?’ Wiggins asked. He’d gone to Brook Green hoping to find one of Olive Kettering’s servants to talk with when this young lady had come around the corner of the house. He couldn’t believe his good luck and so he’d followed her. She’d meandered across the green and he’d had a devil of a time keeping far enough back so she wouldn’t see him. She’d sat down on a bench on the far side of the green and he’d stopped nearby and dropped to his knees, pretending to look for a lost sixpence. After spending a few moments crawling around on his hands and knees, she’d finally asked him what he was doing and he’d made contact.
Her name was Rosemarie Lewis and she was a housemaid for Bernadine Fox. Her brown hair was tucked neatly under her black straw bonnet and her eyes were brown, her complexion pale, and her features thin and sharp. Wiggins guessed she was about sixteen. She was out this morning instead of taking her usual afternoon out because her mistress was going to a funeral. Chatting her up and getting her to agree to come for a cup of tea had been dead easy.