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Aunt Butty marched straight to my motorcar and climbed in without saying a word. Meanwhile I headed for the red phone box outside the station and put in a call to Varant, whose butler answered on the third ring.
“His lordship is not available,” he said, rather huffily, I thought. Then he hung up before I could ask to leave a message. I’m fairly certain the man did not approve of me.
“Varant isn’t at home, so that’s out,” I said as I got behind the wheel and gave Aunt Butty a long, hard stare. “What are you up to?”
She didn’t answer but stared straight ahead. “Drive to Louise’s.”
Since she had that look that said I would get nothing more out of her, I started the car and pulled out into traffic. A horn blared behind me. I ignored it.
“I don’t know what Louise Pennyfather is supposed to do about it.” Louise was a bit of a character and frankly, a terrible influence on my aunt. Or perhaps it was the other way ‘round. Either way, they managed to get up to all sorts of shenanigans when in each other’s company.
“Louise may not be able to do much, but her husband can,” Aunt Butty said meaningfully.
She was no doubt correct. Mr. Pennyfather did something mysterious which involved a lot of travel for the government. I often suspected he worked with Varant who also did something mysterious for the government—sans travel, typically—though neither gentleman would confirm or deny. It was most frustrating.
I barreled through the narrow streets of London, occasionally blasting my horn at those who annoyed me, as one does. Aunt Butty hung on to her hat with one hand and her handbag with the other, quietly muttering under her breath. I do not think her words were repeatable in company.
Turning down a street lined with elegant Georgian houses, I nearly barreled over a workman crossing the street. He gave me the finger. I gave him one back. And we each went cheerfully on our way.
At last I pulled up to Louise’s house and Aunt Butty let out a sigh of relief. “I do wonder who taught you to drive.”
“Felix, of course.” Felix being my late husband. He’d taught me the basics, being of the mind that women should know how to take care of themselves, up to and including driving. I took it from there.
The Pennyfathers lived in a Georgian townhouse similar to mine across the street from a small, private park. Their door and shutters were painted forest green, while the walls were cream to match the rest of the houses which marched up and down the street like identical soldiers.
We hadn’t had time to rap on the door when it swung open revealing Louise in a wildly patterned muumuu clutching a small dog to her chest. It yapped excitedly.
“Hush, Peaches,” Louise ordered the dog in stentorian tones before issuing another order to the young maid hovering in the hall behind her. “Take their coats, Gladys. There’s a girl. Come. There’s tea in my own personal drawing room.”
“How’d you know we were coming, darling?” I asked, knowing Aunt Butty hadn’t rung her.
Louise turned her long, narrow face toward me. She’d the unfortunate overbite of much of the aristocracy which gave her a rather horse-like appearance. She was a lovely woman, but handsome she was not.
“It was in the cards, dear. I read them this morning. It was very clear.” And as if that settled things, she strode into the drawing room.
Cards? I mouthed to Aunt Butty who only shrugged helplessly.
Louise’s private sitting room was a little snug at the back of the house. A merry fire burned in the grate. Next to it sat a cozy armchair covered in mauve velvet with a matching footstool. Within easy reach was a round games table over which was draped an exotic floral shawl edged in black fringe. Instead of holding a game, tarot cards were spread out across it in a cross pattern. I hadn’t taken Louise for the superstitious type.
“Sit, sit.” She waved at the mauve velvet settee across from the grate, and Aunt Butty and I sat obediently. A rosewood coffee table was laden with a silver tea service and trays loaded with tea sandwiches, biscuits, and an entire Victoria sponge on a crystal cake stand. Maybe the cards really had told her we were coming.
“Let me guess,” Louise said as she poured tea. “You’ve come about that paramour of yours.”
“Former,” I clarified. “Don’t tell me the cards gave that away, too.”
She snorted inelegantly. “Hardly, dear. I read the paper.”
“Oh.” I snagged a spice biscuit and bit into it. It had just a touch too much cinnamon, but since someone had been heavy handed with the sugar, I wasn’t going to complain.
“Now tell me. What’s happening with the investigation?”
It was no surprise whatsoever that Louise thought we were investigating something.
“Nothing,” I assured her. “We tried to get in to see Hale, but that dratted North won’t let me anywhere near him. Nor will they let him out on bail.”
“Detective Chief Inspector North,” Aunt Butty clarified, taking the massive slice of cake Louise offered her. “Right full of himself, that one.”
“How do you want me to help?” Louise asked, leaning back in her chair and taking a sip of tea. Peaches had taken up residence in front of the grate and was snoring softly.
“We were hoping you might have a word with Mr. Pennyfather,” Aunt Butty said, referring to Louise’s husband. “Perhaps he has some pull?”
She mulled it over. “While I doubt he can get anyone out of jail, I’m certain he can get you in to see him. Gladys!” She raised her voice in a bellow.
The girl appeared, looking rather terrified. “Yes, madame?”
“Bring me the ‘phone immediately,” Louise said imperiously.
Gladys looked like she might hyperventilate. “The cord won’t reach, madame.”
“Good lord, must I do everything myself?” Without waiting for an answer, Louise rose from her seat and strode from the room. Within moments, her strident voice floated back.
“I don’t care if he’s meeting with the Prime Minister himself. Get my husband on the line this instant, or I shall have you dismissed!”
Apparently, the fear of Louise Pennyfather was greater than the fear of the PM, for within seconds it was clear her husband had come on the line, although her tone didn’t change. “There you are. Something must be done... There’s been a murder... No, no one we know... Ophelia is involved... Ophelia, Lady Rample, dear. You’ve met on numerous occasions... Butty’s niece... Yes, that’s the one... No, of course she didn’t murder anyone. It was her lover.”
I winced both at the use of the term and at the implied accusation against Hale’s innocence. Aunt Butty helped herself to another rather large slice of cake.
“No, dearest, I realize you can’t get him out of jail... Of course not. Wouldn’t dream of it... I simply want you to get Ophelia in to see him... Really? Excellent... Yes, I will see you tonight. Cook is serving roast duck.”
Louise’s heels did not click across the foyer, but rather clomped forcefully. She was one of those people you expected would live in the country and ride to the hounds, but she much preferred the city and detested horses. An oddity among English society.
“It’s done,” she announced as she reentered the room and took her seat. “He’ll arrange for you to visit in the morning.”
“Thank you, darling.” The thought of Hale languishing another night in a jail cell didn’t sit right with me, but there wasn’t much that could be done. So I snagged a second biscuit.
Over more tea, biscuits, and cake, we discussed the ghastly details of Dottie Davis’s death, Hale Davis’s arrest, and what it all could mean. At some point Louise brought out the sherry.
“I think we must first figure out who had a motive to kill Dottie Davis,” my aunt said, holding out her empty sherry glass for a refill.
“That’s easily done,” Louise said, obliging. “They always say to look at the husband.”
“Which is exactly where they did look, but I know Hale is innocent,” I said.
“Very well, let’s say that he is,” Louise said easily, refilling her own glass, “who is next?”
“Ophelia.” Aunt Butty nodded in my direction.
“Don’t be daft.” I shot her a glare and snagged another biscuit.
“Think about it. You had a very close, personal relationship with her husband,” Aunt Butty said.
“They weren’t married at the time,” I pointed out.
“Even better,” Louise said. “You have an excellent motive. Jealousy.” She picked up the tarot cards and shuffled them before laying one on the table. “Yes, you see. The Moon.” She tapped the card with her fingernail. “It represents jealousy.”
I wondered if she was stacking the deck. “Nonsense. I’m not jealous of Dottie. I’ve no wish to be married again. Men are very lovely until you marry them. Then they become tiresome and tell you what to do with your own money.” Although, of course, I was jealous of the fact that Dottie got to be with Hale and I didn’t, I supposed.
“What’s the motive for the murder?” Aunt Butty asked.
Louise shuffled the deck and laid down another card. She looked up, face a mask. “Seven of Swords.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Her expression was dark. “Revenge.”
––––––––
I AM NOT TYPICALLY an early riser, but the next morning found me at the front desk of the police station at precisely nine in the morning. Despite a fairly late evening with Aunt Butty, I was eager to see Hale. And not just to ask him about the murder, though that was certainly part of it.
If Louise’s cards were to be believed—and I wasn’t entirely sure they were—the motive for Dottie’s murder was revenge. Aunt Butty and I had gone over the matter at some length and had come to the conclusion that the one person who might want revenge was Hale himself. Which I didn’t believe for a moment. But there it was. Hard to argue with facts, especially since North was already headed in that very obvious direction.
North himself met me and very reluctantly led me through the bullpen to the cells. “This is against my better judgement,” he said rather waspishly.
“I thought your job was to collect evidence, not judge,” I said with a pointed look.
He glared at me from under his bushy brows. I was fairly certain he muttered something rude, but his mustache was large enough to hide the movement of his lips.
“Maybe you should mind your own potatoes,” North muttered.
I ignored him, as I often did. I knew it annoyed him. He showed me to the very last cell where Hale sat, elbows on knees, looking morose. He glanced up as North rattled a key in the lock.
“You got a visitor.” He waved me in then locked the cell behind me, which caused a frisson of unease. “I’ll be down the hall. Yell when you’re ready.” And he strode off.
Hale slowly rose. “Ophelia. What are you doing here?”
“Heard you got yourself in a spot of bother, darling.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“I know.”
He was across the cell in two steps and took me in his arms, burying his face against my neck. He inhaled deeply, then let me go so suddenly I staggered a bit.
“I’m sorry.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
I wanted to tell him it was perfectly fine. That it was what I wanted. That I wanted more. But there was so much between us that was in need of sorting, and his wife was, well, dead. Murdered.
“How are you?” I asked instead.
He shrugged. “Well as can be expected, I guess. I’m a bit shocked. Everything...” He shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
I sat down on the cot and waited for him to join me. When he did, I said, “That’s what I’m here about. What happened with Dottie?” Her name left a nasty taste in my mouth.
“The police say someone murdered her.”
“Please, darling. What happened after you left France.” Left me.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “She told me she was pregnant with my child, so we got married the day after I returned to London. And then she had a miscarriage.”
“I’m so sorry, Hale.” How devastating that must have been for him. Except—
“Don’t be,” he said dryly. “Turns out she was never pregnant at all. She just thought if she married me, she’d get a free ride to America.” He snorted. “Not anytime soon. I got no plans to go back. I’m booked for the next six months at The Lion Club. Or at least, I was. Hopefully they won’t sack me.”
“She lied to you?” The thought was horrifying. I knew women did it, but I thought it was ridiculous. And frankly, it indicated a woman of no character or morals. “How did you find out?”
“A friend of hers. Kitty Leonard. She told me the truth.”
“Interesting. I wonder why this Kitty was so forthcoming?”
“No idea,” he admitted. “But I was angry when I found out. I left Dottie. Went and stayed with one of my new bandmates. Been staying there since.”
My first thought was, “Why didn’t he call me?” I stuffed that down for later examination. Right now we had bigger fish to fry. No wonder the police thought him guilty. The woman had lied to him, tricked him into marriage, and then when he found out he’d left her.
“What about the night she was killed? Don’t you have an alibi?”
“Sure. But the police won’t listen.”
I stiffened my spine. “Well, they’ll have to listen to me. Tell me, and I’ll check it out. Prove to them you’re telling the truth.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course I would. I still—” Love you. Care about you. “I still believe in justice.”
“I was at a pub in Chinatown.”
“There are pubs in Chinatown?” I asked, surprised. It was not somewhere ladies generally went. Not that ladies generally visited pubs, either.
“There are pubs everywhere.”
“Which pub was it?”
“I think it was called the Golden Lilac.”
I lifted a brow. “What sort of pub name is that?”
“Well, maybe it was the Golden Flower. I don’t remember.”
“Very well.” I stood from the cot and adjusted the cuffs of my gloves. “Leave it with me. I’ll have you out of here in no time at all.”
He stood, and I half expected him to kiss me. But he didn’t. He shook my hand like a bloody gentleman. “Thank you, Ophelia. I owe you one.”
“You’re gonna owe me more than one, doll face.” Then I sashayed from the cell. Let him see what he’d been missing.