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Charlie did the only socially acceptable thing he could think of in the circumstances – he sipped his tea and pretended to ignore Cecilia’s outburst. He wondered why Richard hadn’t intervened earlier, before the situation careered out of control. If Charlie had been here as a gentleman visitor, he would have intervened himself. As a detective, he had learned more about the simmering undercurrents in the house in the past few minutes than he could have gathered in an hour of formal interviewing.
Charlie filed the “throw them all together and light a fuse” interview technique into his arsenal of useful methods and waited for the next round of recriminations to kick off. Meanwhile, he pondered on what he had learned. Not least the fact that both Lawson’s neutral English accent and Alexander’s upper-class drawl had slipped under duress and betrayed their Scottish origins.
But, most of all, Charlie’s attention had been grabbed by Alexander’s excessively angry response to Cecilia and especially his last words: “if you or Henry haven’t been arrested for murder”. To hint that one’s own fiancée or her brother might be guilty of murder suggested that Alexander had strong cause to suspect them. Doctor Alexander had learned only this morning, at the hospital, that Ormsby’s death was murder, not heart failure. Wallace had sent him back to his lodgings to get some much-needed sleep. What had Alexander recalled that brought him to the Ormsby house instead?
Richard closed the door and crept back to his seat. “I must apologise to you all for my sister’s abhorrent outburst. Grief manifests itself in unexpected ways.”
Miss Lawson went back to her seat and picked up her teacup, holding it in front of her lips to cover her glee at Cecilia’s humiliation. Richard shot a daggered glance at her, which Lawson responded to with a sweet, mildly apologetic smile.
Mrs Ormsby patted Richard’s hand, presumably to show she understood his weak excuse for his sister’s rudeness. Charlie couldn’t imagine that Mrs Ormsby would last long in this house after her husband’s funeral, with two stepchildren who made no effort to hide their contempt for her. He hoped, for her sake, she hadn’t had to put up with such insolence when Edgar Ormsby was alive. The widow’s only hope lay in her sensible future son-in-law pulling them all into line. That is, if Gideon Alexander wasn’t lost to the family forever in the wake of Cecilia’s outburst.
Richard picked up his teacup and slid a fragile façade of politeness over his embarrassment. He took the gentlemanly way out, by switching to a safer subject. “Mr Pyke, will you inform Miss Penrose and her ladies that I have written to the Hospital Trustees and pledged my support to the new women’s ward, adding a donation sufficient to appease Mr Horncastle’s ire?”
“That is very thoughtful of you, Mr Ormsby,” Charlie replied, “given the many calls you must have upon your time at present. May I also wish you every success in your business venture. Miss Penrose swears by Mrs Ormsby’s hand cream for avoiding rashes from regular hand-washing.” At this rate, he’d be commenting on the weather next.
Mrs Ormsby raised her head for the first time, revealing swollen red eyes. “Kind of you to say so, Mr Pyke. We will proceed with the venture, in due course.” She cut off his reply with a wave of her hand. “Mr Pyke, you are not here to engage in pleasantries, although I admit it is nice to pretend otherwise for a brief moment. What is it you wish of us?”
“I would like to talk to Miss Lawson first, as we were unable to interview her yesterday.”
Richard squirmed in his seat, not meeting either Charlie’s eyes or Lawson’s. “Miss Lawson felt an understandable need for a walk in the fresh air yesterday, Mr Pyke, after exposure to so much suspicion and anguish. Nelly is very sensitive.”
Charlie kept his scepticism to himself. Lawson had definitely had her feathers ruffled by Cecilia, but you wouldn’t think it to see her now. The Mona Lisa smile was back and all her feathers were in place, from down to primaries.
Charlie addressed Mrs Ormsby again. “Perhaps you would care to have a brief rest, Mrs Ormsby, while I talk to Miss Lawson? I will have to talk to you again after that. Mr Ormsby, would you escort Mrs Ormsby to her room?”
He held the door open for them, giving them no option but to leave. On his way back to his seat, he slipped the glass Cecilia had been sipping from into his napkin. Only four fingerprint samples left to get. He’d have to ask Richard to provide an item from Henry’s room or make an excuse to search it.
Charlie resumed his seat, tucking the purloined glass into his bag. He watched Miss Lawson in silence, waiting for her to make the first move. She bore the scrutiny much longer than most suspects would manage, not even fidgeting. She simply sat, holding her cup in her lap, her Mona Lisa eyes never leaving the flames dancing in the fireplace.
Eventually, Lawson placed her teacup on a side table. “I shan’t apologise for slapping Miss Ormsby. Somebody had to. However, in all honesty, I must confirm her statement that she was using Mrs Ormsby’s perfume, when I found her in the Ormsby’s private bathroom.” Lawson paused for effect. “What Cecilia was doing before I entered, I cannot say.”
“I will be sure to ask her, Miss Lawson,” Charlie replied.
“If I was you, Mr Pyke, I would be asking her about Henry’s whereabouts too. Cecilia is not as stupid as she pretends to be. She and Henry are as thick as thieves.”
Charlie knew Lawson was trying to convey the impression of a dutiful servant, driven to an uncharacteristic act of anger against Cecilia. Her rapid return to her habitual submissive posture and lack of expression left him with the sense of a river flowing under winter ice. Time to break through the rigid surface with a pickaxe.
“Is Lawson the name you were born with?”
Lawson turned as pale as the chip of ice he’d just broken off. “I don’t have to answer your questions. You are not a policeman.”
“I am a private detective hired by the man you hope to marry, Miss Lawson. Do you want me to summon Richard Ormsby to clarify my right to ask questions?”
Lawson’s terrified glance at the door gave her answer. “I am engaged to no man. I am merely a lady’s maid in this household.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s true, Nelly Lawson. You are more a confidante than a lady’s maid, and one of the few people trusted with unrestricted access to the workroom. Richard is in love with you and you will do anything to marry him, whether it is for his wealth or for romantic reasons.”
She glanced at the door again, her icy composure cracked through to the fears running beneath. “I do love him. I would never, ever do anything to hurt Richard. Or Siobhan ... Mrs Ormsby ... after all she has done for me.”
Charlie sat back and waited. Not long this time. Now the outer ice was fractured, the words came gushing through.
“If you must know, I took my mother’s surname when I ran away from home. My father was a vicious drunkard. Innes, his surname was, and I was glad to leave that name behind. He would have killed all of us with his drunken rages eventually, so I saw a chance to make a better life and I took it. What better place to be than half a world away from the brute? Siobhan looked after me on that long, horrible voyage. She made me feel as if I was worth something – that I deserved a decent future. Whether Richard marries me or not, I will be honoured to work by Siobhan Ormsby’s side. We will make her business a success for the betterment of those in need.”
Charlie had heard the slightest creak of the door easing open during this heartfelt declaration and wondered if she had heard it too. He prayed Richard wouldn’t barge in. “And if he does marry you?”
Lawson’s voice softened. “I will continue my work, but I will also be the happiest woman in the world. I don’t care whether Richard is a pauper or a lord. Not everyone craves riches, you know. Most of us are happy with a comfortable home and loving companions.”
“Very commendable, Miss Lawson.” Charlie caught the quick flick of her eyes towards the door, confirming his impression that Lawson was playing to an audience. “If you care so little for wealth, why did you take the trouble to listen at doors to hear what Doctor Ormsby was up to? And why did you steam open Ormsby’s new will and search through his documents?”
The ice closed over again in an instant. “I most certainly did not.”
Richard barged in, with Agnes trailing behind him, her eyes wide.
Richard moved across the room swiftly, taking Lawson’s hand and pulling her from the chair to his side. “That is quite enough, Mr Pyke. Nelly has been exemplary in her behaviour from the first moment I met her, when she was mopping my sick mother’s fevered brow on the ship. I can assure you, without reservation, that Nelly had nothing to do with my father’s death. She would never stoop to eavesdropping. And steaming open Father’s will? Absurd.”
Agnes skipped around Charlie’s chair, coming to a stop in centre stage. “Nelly told a fib. I’m not allowed to tell fibs.”
“Agnes–” Richard began.
Charlie interrupted. “What was Nelly fibbing about Agnes?”
“Nelly does like to listen at doors,” Agnes said. “And I’ve seen her in Daddy’s study, searching through his papers. See, Mr Pyke, Nelly’s gone all red.”
“Nelly, it’s not true, is it?” Richard’s words trailed off at the sight of Lawson’s defiant glare.
Agnes did a little twirl to recapture her audience’s attention. “Nelly told Mummy that Daddy was going to take all the money from her hand cream. My Mummy’s very clever at making things. Everyone says so.”
Richard gaped at his stepsister. Disbelief quickly turned to anger, as her words sank in. He swung around to Lawson, grabbing her arm. “Nelly? What’s this about my father taking the money from the hand cream?”
Lawson wrenched free of his grip. “You’re so hopelessly naïve, Richard. I had to stoop to deceit in order to protect your interests. Your father was playing you all like puppets, making you dance to his tune while he plotted behind your back. He could see from your business plan that the hand cream would make a fortune and he wanted it for himself. I didn’t kill him, but I’m not sorry he’s gone.”
Richard’s expression wavered between fury and pain. As Charlie watched, Richard gathered his emotions behind rigid muscles. “And you told my stepmother all this, but didn’t think to tell me? I can see you are right, Lawson. I have been a played for a fool.”
“Richard, dearest, I was going to tell you. There was no time...” Lawson swiped away a tear and made a dash for the door before Richard could reply.
“Nelly, come back here, right now.” Richard waited less than a second for her not to obey, before running after her.
Two pairs of feet ran up the stairs, followed by a door slamming. Seconds later, Richard hammered on Lawson’s door and called her name. He stomped back down the stairs and through the house, leaving by the French doors, presumably to let off steam in the garden.
Agnes remained behind, observing Charlie with her head perked to one side and a small smile playing over her rosebud lips. “Can you make anything else besides paper angels?”
Charlie set aside a whirlwind of thoughts and tore a sheet of paper out of his notebook. “Do you like swans? Flowers? How about an elephant?”
The elephant received a vigorous nod. As Charlie folded, Agnes watched intently. “You’re right about your mother, Agnes. My friend says her hand cream is marvellous.”
“Is that your kissing friend, Miss Penrose? Mummy says she is going to be a doctor. Is that really true?”
“It is. Miss Penrose is very clever, like your mother. She is in your brother’s class at medical school.” The elephant was beginning to look more like a lopsided teapot as Charlie waited for her response.
“Stepbrother,” Agnes corrected.
“Have you seen Henry recently, Agnes?” Charlie heard a door close upstairs. Light footsteps moved towards the stairs – he didn’t have much time.
“Cecilia has,” Agnes said. “I heard her say so. But you’ll have to ask Betsy to find out where Henry is hiding.”
“Betsy the maid? How would she know?” The memory of the pretty, flirtatious housemaid using Henry’s first name so casually triggered an inappropriate thought. Was he going to waste an opportunity to question this inquisitive little girl for the sake of propriety? Not likely. “Are Betsy and Henry kissing friends?”
“Eww, no.” Agnes screwed up her face and shook her head emphatically enough to make her curls swing. “Henry ignores Betsy now, but Betsy told me Henry used to play with her and the other children on the ship, even though he wasn’t supposed to. Betsy only had a bunk, not even a proper cabin, or so she says.” Agnes paused to observe his reaction. Not seeing a suitable level of shock and awe, she upped the ante. “Henry sneaks out of his room at night to go into town with Duncan Grant, the gardener. Betsy is jealous because she can’t go and have fun with them, like she used to on the ship when they were children.”
Charlie handed over the elephant-teapot, which Agnes promptly undid to see how it was made. There were so many urgent questions requiring answers. Should he track down Lawson to demand proof of her original surname, which she had probably discarded long ago? Question Mrs Ormsby about her origins? Go after Alexander to find out why he suspected Cecilia and Henry? Or find Betsy in the hope she would lead him to Henry Ormsby?
Fate intervened, in the form of Mrs Ormsby, who appeared at the door, straightening her rumpled hair. “What on earth is causing all the uproar in this house? Cecilia is locked in her room, Nelly didn’t answer my knock, and Richard appears to have left the house.” Her gaze went straight to Agnes, with a what-have-you done-now look.
“Mr Pyke made me an elephant, Mummy.” Agnes examined the refolded paper critically. “I think it is an African one, on account of the large ears, but it is rather hard to tell.”
“Go find nanny, Agnes, and stay in the nursery.” Mrs Ormsby accompanied her daughter to the door and waited for her to go upstairs, before taking a seat. “What has my little mischief-maker been up to now, Mr Pyke?”
Charlie saw no need to sugar-coat the truth. “Agnes saw Miss Lawson going through your husband’s papers and steaming open his new will. She also overheard Miss Lawson tell you that Doctor Ormsby intended to take over your natural remedies business. Richard was upset at both her dishonesty and her decision to tell you what she found, rather than him.”
Mrs Ormsby sank into the armchair and closed her eyes. “It was very wrong of Nelly to snoop like that. And wrong of Edgar to be so deceitful. For the record, I don’t believe Edgar would have taken over the business. According to Nelly, he had jotted his thoughts on Richard’s proposal – just thoughts, not necessarily a final decision. Naturally, if Edgar invested in the business, he would have some say, but he had no need of further wealth. I would have talked him around. I always do.”
Charlie kept his views to himself. He doubted her naïve enough to believe a rich man was ever satisfied with what he had, when further wealth was attainable. Time to see what lay beneath the widow’s superficial charms.
“Did you know Miss Lawson before the voyage, when she went by another name?”
Mrs Ormsby jerked her head up. “I met her on the ship. Nelly doesn’t like to talk about her past, but I gather her father was violent, poor girl.”
“What of your own past, Mrs Ormsby? Your previous husband’s name was Conway, I believe, or am I wrong in that?”
“What a strange thing to ask, Mr Pyke. Why the sudden interest in my past?”
“The past is what makes us who we are, Mrs Ormsby.”
She perked her head to one side, looking uncannily like an older version of her daughter. “Surely it is our character that makes us what we are, not our past.”
“But our character is inevitably shaped by our past. I must ask you again, Mrs Ormsby, what was the surname of your first husband and why did you choose to leave Scotland for New Zealand?”
“I have a marriage certificate to prove my married name was Conway, née Anderson. My first husband was a good man who became swept up in the excitement of the new inventions of our era. He lost all our money investing in electrical therapeutic devices.” She paused to shake her head. “Don’t ask, it was a fool’s venture. My husband had a delicate constitution. He didn’t last long in the debtor’s prison. New Zealand was offering paid passage for qualified nurses. It seemed a better option than staying to watch the bailiff uplift the last of our belongings.”
Mrs Ormsby made her tale sound plausible, just as Nelly Lawson had. Charlie prided himself on sniffing out lies and misdirection, but these two had him stumped. If their stories were true, they both had plenty of practice at surviving in a harsh world. “Does the name Iain Thayne mean anything to you?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Mrs Ormsby hesitated. “My husband may have mentioned him once. I seem to recall the name came up at his interview for the surgeon role in Dunedin. It’s a long time ago, but I do remember Edgar being upset. An old rivalry, I assume.”
Charlie tried a change of tack. “Did you see Mr Horncastle outside your workroom on Saturday morning?”
A faint blush painted Mrs Ormsby’s cheeks pink. “I only went to see if the workroom door was properly locked. I admit I pretended not to see Horncastle, assuming he wanted to dissuade me from my support of the women’s ward. That man is like a dog with an old bone, refusing to let go. As if I didn’t have enough to do with the supper party that evening and the salon still to be decorated. Rather than talk to him, I exited via the stable.”
Mrs Ormsby waited for the next question. When Charlie let the silence drag, she filled it.
“Mr Pyke, I didn’t kill my husband. Edgar could be frustrating, but I did love him. When you meet someone you cannot live without, you will know what it is like, even if others do not see the attraction.” She perked her head to one side again. “But perhaps you already know that feeling? Do people ask your beloved what she sees in you, never looking beyond the surface differences to the character at the heart of you both?”
She threw his tactic right back at him, letting the question hover in silence. When Charlie didn’t answer, she smiled knowingly, as if he had poured out his heart. These darned women and their intuitions. The police force would be well served by recruiting a few to refine the interrogation techniques currently used.
Charlie had intended to ask about the first Mrs Ormsby’s death, but now it seemed pointless, as well as offensive. “That will be all for now, Mrs Ormsby, unless you have anything further to add.”
She rose and smiled again – a genuine smile that had him smiling back. “You have made a good choice, I believe, as I did. You need never doubt you are loved for who you are, Mr Pyke.”
When she had left the room, Charlie realised he was still smiling. Mrs Ormsby was either one of the nicest and most perceptive women he had ever met or a master manipulator. He was fairly sure that she was the former, but was that not merely proof of the latter? Charlie sat alone longer than he intended, but even another slice of the delicious lemon cake did not resolve the conundrum. Eventually, he brushed the crumbs off his waistcoat and went in search of Betsy Dean.