CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
A Quiet Stroll and Many Questions
“. . . there is an expression in her features of something very like deceit . . .”
Bury, Charlotte, The Diary of a Lady-in-Waiting
“Dawson?” said Adam when Rosalind told him what had transpired between her and Mrs. Poole. “What was he doing here?”
Although Adam had said he was going to see about a cab for them, Rosalind found him waiting patiently on the street. When she reached him, they fell into step with each other, silently agreeing that they should walk a ways before they found some conveyance, if they did need one.
This had become their custom, Rosalind realized with a jolt. Somewhere amidst all the other flurry of activities, they had each learned how the other worked, and this now was simply their way.
“Mrs. Poole said he’d come to pay his respects,” she told him. “But I doubt that.”
Adam said nothing. Rosalind turned so she could see his face past her bonnet’s brim. She really, she thought, must get herself one of the smaller, modern ladies’ hats, at least for good weather. It was too difficult to see Adam around her older, broader straw bonnet.
Another jolt went through her. Her thoughts darted ahead of her—to home, to her desk, and to the letter she was keeping. She forced her attention back to the present.
“It seems to me that Mrs. Poole is very good at misdirection,” Adam was saying.
“I take it she was not very forthcoming in her statements for Sir David.”
“In fact, she said as little as she possibly could. She told me that Poole was not home yesterday and that she assumed he had slept at the White Swan, as he frequently did when he was deep in some new business.”
“Do you believe her?”
“No,” he said flatly. “When I talked to the serving woman at the Swan, she told me that she saw Poole come in that morning and that he called for his breakfast.”
“Letitia also told me Poole was away from home that morning.”
“So, they have all said the same and are willing to swear to it.”
“But why that particular point?” asked Rosalind. “What was Poole really doing?”
“What were the family doing?” countered Adam. “Mrs. Poole said that her brother had a collapse that morning and that she was too busy nursing him to take notice of anything else.”
“Yes, Letitia also said as much. Indeed, she said he was much taken by seizures this week.”
“Did she say why Judith was dismissed?”
“I had no chance to ask,” Rosalind told him. “But I now wonder if it was because they could not be sure Judith would lie for them.”
“I was wondering the same thing,” said Adam. “Do you think you could find where she’s going now that she’s dismissed? I’d very much like to hear what she has to say.”
“I think so. She mentioned she makes use of a registry office run by Mrs. Percivale. If they do not have an address for her, I can at the least leave a message. I take it Mrs. Poole said nothing about the dismissal?”
Adam shook his head. “She was holding back a great deal, and it was not simply grief or bad memories.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. When she was showing me out, she very firmly warned me away from the house.” There was something else, as well, something in her face and her eyes. Rosalind felt understanding stir in the depths of her mind, but it was too far down for her to reach.
“Did she say anything of her relationship with Mr. Poole?” she asked. “Or the will?”
“Nothing she hadn’t said before—that Poole had kept the bargain they made when she married him and that she had asked for nothing else. She did say she had spoken with Poole’s attorney about the will, and it was exactly as she expected and that she knew nothing of his business. That he never took her into his confidence about professional matters.” Adam glanced at her. “Were you able to learn anything from Miss Poole?”
Rosalind told him Letitia’s story—how her fiancé’s family had come that morning to break off the engagement and been met with threats of law and blackmail.
Rosalind paused in mid-step.
The world flowed around them—pedestrians, carriages and vans, porters and men with barrows and women with baskets, all the noise and bustle—and she attended to none of it.
When a husband died, a wife frequently took over their business, especially when there was no male relative to do so or there were young children to be supported and cared for.
Mr. Poole’s business was laced with blackmail and theft.
Rosalind remembered Letitia sitting by the fire, trying not to twist her hands or betray the depth of her emotions.
“Letters,” said Rosalind abruptly.
“Which ones?” asked Adam.
“Letitia told me Mrs. Poole threatened to blackmail her fiancé’s family if they tried to break off the engagement. She said she had certain letters in her possession that could cause them embarrassment.”
Adam drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So she did know how to lay her hands on some of her husband’s papers.”
“I thought she must,” said Rosalind. “In the bookroom there were those bound collections of clippings and notes. I keep similar books in my writing room. He would not have them unless they were useful to his business, and he would not keep them in a room where he did no business . . .”
“And if he does business there, where are the papers?” said Adam.
“Did Mrs. Poole move them before we arrived?” said Rosalind.
“That,” said Adam, “would mean that Mrs. Poole already knew her husband was dead.”