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Toby could hear the child sobbing as Harry Harrigan carried her up the grand staircase, with Blanche Harrigan patting the child’s head and making soothing noises. The child lifted her tearstained face and fixed her eyes on Toby as if pleading for help. For the second time that day, he felt a flash of recognition; something in the eyes and the shape of her nose.
Mrs. Pearson and Lady Sylvia trailed up the stairs behind the Harrigans. Mrs. Pearson’s expression was grim, and Lady Sylvia had not ceased to glower since the moment Celeste had rejected her attempts at mother-child bonding.
“That didn’t go well,” Toby said.
“What else did Lady Sylvia expect?” asked Mr. Champion from his seat beside the fire in the Earl’s study.
“The child really thought she was going to see her mother,” Toby said. “I mean, she thought she would see Vera Chapman.”
“There must be some resemblance between Lady Sylvia and Vera Chapman,” said Champion. “The child was fooled for a moment.”
“A very brief moment.”
“Yes, very brief indeed,” Champion agreed. “Come in and close the door.”
Toby closed the heavy oak door and took a seat across from his employer. “I’m glad to see you here, sir. Are you feeling better?”
“No, not in the least, but duty calls. It’s the least I can do for the Earl. He was a good man in his own way; a product of his age. I know that everything is changing and you young people are running the world now, but the Earl and I understood each other. It was appropriate for me to be here for the reading of the will.”
“Any surprises?” Toby asked.
“No, none. A few bequests to loyal servants and nothing for Mrs. Pearson. The Earl did not care for her.”
Toby maintained his silence, keeping his opinion to himself.
“Something for old Ruddle. We shall have to look into whether that bequest can go to his son if Mr. Ruddle doesn’t recover.”
“Have we heard anything from the hospital?”
“He’s still unconscious. If he dies, I’m afraid it will be a murder charge for Terry Chapman.”
“I don’t think it was him, sir. I met him and he didn’t strike me as dangerous. Very confused, but not dangerous.”
“Shell shock,” said Champion. “I saw it myself in the Great War. The mind can only take so much, and then it snaps.”
“He was afraid of his own shadow,” Toby argued. “I can’t imagine him attacking someone.”
“Hmm.” Champion was silent for a moment, his tired eyes assessing Toby. “The Earl should not have died,” he said eventually.
“He was very ill.”
“I am very ill,” Mr. Champion countered, “but I am not ready to die, and neither was Lord Dennis.”
“But cancer ...”
“Yes, I know, I know. The King died of cancer, and so you will say that if the King could not be cured, then the Earl could not be cured. I agree with you in principle, Whitby, but I am convinced that the Earl’s time had not yet arrived. We had spoken on the telephone and he was planning to make some changes.”
“To his will?”
“I believe so. Of course, he could not change the fact that he had gifted his estate to his daughter. That was done some years ago and could not be undone. But there were other matters causing him concern. I imagine he had discussed them with Alderton. No doubt Alderton had made a note.”
Toby leaned forward. He had to ask. “Do you think that Mr. Alderton was killed by someone who wanted those notes?”
Champion’s eyes flashed. “Of course I do, don’t you?”
“I didn’t like to say.”
Champion nodded. “Quite right! We must leave the police to deal with the matter. We are still the legal representatives of the Blanchard family. It is not appropriate for us to tell them of our speculations.”
“So you think it was one of them?” Toby asked.
“I can see no other possibility.”
Champion sat back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. Toby hesitated. Without Alderton’s notes, no one would ever know what had passed between Alderton and the Earl. Toby could do nothing about that, but there were other secrets that needed to be brought into the light of day, and they had become Toby’s responsibility. All he needed was permission to ruffle a few aristocratic feathers.
“What would you like me to do, sir?”
“Do? What would I like you to do?” The old man sighed. “I don’t know, Mr. Whitby. I am troubled by this situation. Mr. Harrigan seems a decent enough man, for an American, and I can see that Mrs. Harrigan dotes on that child. Their lives have been marked by tragedy, and I have no wish to spoil their obvious joy in this child, but can we really believe this story? Mrs. Harrigan insisted that the child resembles her son, but I have to say that she bears very little resemblance to Lady Sylvia. We have no evidence of the marriage beyond the word of Lady Sylvia and some records that may or may not be forged.”
Toby thought of the child, whose temper tantrum only accentuated her terror in being dragged away from all that was familiar. The little girl was more than a piece in a legal puzzle, and her future hung in the balance.
“That poor child is alone now,” Toby reminded him. “Nick Malloy died in a mining accident, and Mr. Harrigan suspects that Vera Chapman is dead or, at the very least, she has disappeared. What will happen to the child if we challenge her identity?”
“The lack of any other plan does not change essential truth.” “No, sir.”
“If she is truly Vera Chapman’s child, then we should take her to her grandmother, Mildred Chapman.”
“Oh, no.” The words flew out of Toby’s mouth before he could stop them. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he tried to place the tempestuous little girl into Mildred Chapman’s sullen keeping.
“Are there no tests that can be performed?” Champion asked. “I am not au fait with modern technology. Is there no way to test the child’s parentage?”
Toby shook his head. “There is no exact science, sir. We can match her blood type against that of her supposed parents, but it is nothing definitive. Through blood typing, it is possible to say that someone is not the father or even mother of a child, but it cannot prove the reverse. Blood typing can only show that the blood types are compatible or incompatible, leaving millions of possibilities of people who have the same type of blood. The U.S. Army has a record of the blood type of Malloy and Jack Harrigan.”
“And has this test been performed?”
“According to Mr. Harrigan, it has.”
“Do we believe him? I am under the impression he wants to make his wife happy.”
“He showed me the test results. It is quite possible for either of the men to be the father.”
“And what about the mother?”
“That’s a test that is not usually necessary.”
“Well, in this case it is necessary. Have the tests been performed?”
“I don’t think we can test Vera Chapman; she is either missing or dead.”
“Then we shall test Lady Sylvia.”
Toby shuddered at the idea of asking the new Countess to submit to a test. “Surely that request should come from Mr. Harrigan.”
“No, it should come from us, Mr. Whitby. We have a duty beyond that of Mr. Harrigan. Make the request.”
“Yes, sir. Should I do it now?”
Mr. Champion leaned back wearily in his chair. “Not today. We all have enough to contend with today. It will keep for a few days. Wait until after the funeral.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Champion reached into the breast pocket of his old-fashioned morning coat. “Miss Clark has received a message for you, Mr. Whitby.”
He handed Toby a page torn from a message pad.
“She has been unable to reach you at your flat, and you have not been in the office—”
“I was in Southampton, sir.”
“That’s what I told her. I am afraid that Miss Clark does not approve of you, Mr. Whitby.”
A little pop of anger fizzed through Toby’s brain. Was it really up to Anthea Clark to approve or disapprove? Miss Clark was the secretary, and he was the solicitor. Since when did he answer to Miss Clark? Perhaps he should tell Mr. Champion that the prim and proper Anthea Clark was a devotee of women’s romantic fiction. The angry words and temptation to ruin Miss Clark’s reputation died unspoken as he looked at the message slip.
“Detective Sergeant Slater?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Perhaps he has found out something about Mr. Alderton.”
“If that were the case, I would hope he would share it with me. However, it is you he wishes to see. Perhaps you have been careless with your motor car.”
Toby continued to stare at the card. Slater wasn’t interested in motor cars and traffic violations.
“Did he say anything to Miss Clark?”
“Only that he wanted to speak to you urgently.”
“Just me?”
“Yes, just you.”
“But why?”
Mr. Champion had grown impatient. “Don’t ask me, ask him. There’s a telephone in the hall and I suggest you use it.”