John paced through his office feeling irrationally dissatisfied with his inability to travel back through time and interview the people who were present at Katherine Duvall’s death. Of course, if he could travel back through time, he might as well go to the event itself and prevent it. At the very least, observe it.
He rubbed the back of his neck as he read over the witnesses’ testimonies again. The sergeant who conducted the interviews had moved, but it would prove worthwhile to track him down and ask about his own memories of the event.
He heard laughing and good-natured bantering coming from the common area just outside his office, and then a knock sounded on the door. “Come,” he called out.
Michael Baker and Nathan Winston entered, the former rolling his eyes as the latter chuckled. “It was a fair wager, Michael, and the lads clearly agree with me.”
John frowned, pulling himself away from his papers and blinking.
“What’s amiss?” Michael asked immediately.
“Something’s amiss?” Nathan echoed and looked at John, his chuckle fading.
John shook his head, exasperated. “Why are you assuming something is amiss?”
Michael pointed a finger at John. “Your neck is stiff, and you’ve been pacing.”
Nathan leaned against the round table, and Michael perched on the edge of John’s desk. “More news of Charlotte’s mother?”
John nodded and shared the facts he’d gathered, ending with the details Dr. Neville had shared.
Michael whistled low under his breath. “Someone did not want the details of this incident made public.”
“Certainly looks that way,” John agreed, tossing the papers on his desk and sinking into his chair with a sigh. “Three of the gentlemen present on the night of the death are current members of Parliament, and two of them are currently supporting additional funding for the Metropolitan Police. I do not imagine they would look kindly on a few pointed questions about whether one of them might have had been involved with an ‘accidental drowning’ that wasn’t entirely an accident.”
Michael gestured to the papers on the desk. “May I?”
“Of course.”
He scanned the list of names and shuffled through the witness statements. He paused and glanced at Nathan. “You’re acquainted with James Carter, are you not?”
Nathan nodded. “Carter Textiles. We were rivals for generations until both companies carved out their own places.”
“What do you know of him?” John asked.
Nathan lifted a shoulder. “Decent fellow, seems straight with his business practices. Was rather hedonistic as a young man, if memory serves; made a bid for my mother once.”
“Did she ever consider his suit?” Michael asked, amused.
Nathan snorted. “I should say not. She was already married to my father at the time. I remember my father speaking of the Carters with derision, but it wasn’t until I got on in age and learning the mechanics of the family business that my mother shared the details.”
“The fool is fortunate your father didn’t thrash him,” Michael remarked as he continued looking through the pages and then handed some to Nathan.
“He’s fortunate my mother didn’t thrash him. She has no time for nonsense.”
Michael looked at John. “It says here that the boat was a small passenger ferry with a salon aft, atop which sat a deck with waist-high rail.”
John nodded. “The captain was toward the center of the craft, but he had his back to Mrs. Duvall. The assertion is that she had apparently been drinking, then she slipped and fell, cracking her head on her way into the water. I’ve spoken with Sally Hampton, who asserts Katherine did not have a stomach for alcohol.”
The men continued studying the file, each lost in thought. Nathan finally said, “I’ll admit, I’ve hoped we would learn that Mr. Duvall was confused and that it was nothing more than an accident. But it seems clear that someone murdered Katherine Duvall and was never held responsible.”
“Look at this list of attendees,” Michael said. “It is full of money and influence. Three future MPs, whom we all know had parents that began their political ambitions for them in the cradle, the heir to a textile fortune, and their respective wives or fiancées, each of whom bears either titles or money.”
John nodded. “Childhood friends of the Hampton family, each with ties to Katherine. James Carter was the only one of the four James’s who hadn’t known her for decades.”
“What of David Duvall? How did he fit in with this group of socialites?” Nathan asked. “Charlotte said he was significantly older than Katherine. I would imagine his participation in these events was a means of placating his wife.”
“Or keeping a watchful eye on her,” John mused.
Michael raised an eyebrow. “Jealous older husband, beautiful young wife who had former romantic ties with a friend?”
“Or,” Nathan added, “former romantic interest who couldn’t stand to see her married to another.”
“Perhaps a young wife who suspects a continuing assignation between her husband and a former lover.” John stared into space, envisioning each scenario. It was when he imagined Katherine, looking exactly like Charlotte, that he winced.
On that thought, he asked both men, “As adults, have your wives or Charlotte crossed paths with any of these people?”
Michael lifted a shoulder and looked at Nathan, who pursed his lips in thought. “Eva has probably met at least one of them at events in the past few years. My mother is associated with the wives of several members of Parliament, many of whom often hail from backgrounds in trade, or their husbands do, so they do not have a harsh view of new money.”
“Charlotte is the very image of her mother,” Michael said, holding up the autopsy photograph of Katherine. “Are you wondering about their possible reactions to the sight of her doppelgänger?”
John nodded. “Charlotte is nearly as old as her mother was when she died. I’d love to see their reactions to her now. I didn’t know to look during the funeral.”
“What do you hope to accomplish?” Nathan asked.
John sighed and shrugged. “We do not have the resources to manage a full investigation of a crime that was committed more than twenty years ago, especially one that was successfully hushed at the time by people who have even more to lose now if the truth were known.”
“There are implications for Charlotte, as well,” Michael said. “If anything were to come to light that shines negatively on Katherine, Charlotte could suffer social consequences. She would say she doesn’t care, but I daresay she would if it harmed her career.”
Silence followed, and John felt a sense of futility, knowing full well that even if he were to uncover facts and evidence of the crime, he’d have a time of it convincing a crown prosecutor to pursue the case. Unbidden, he remembered Charlotte’s face when she looked at her mother’s autopsy photo, the unspoken anguish mixed with awe.
He shook his head, wondering how to handle a situation that was looking more impossible with every passing moment.
I must know.
That had been her answer to Dr. Neville when he’d asked exactly what Nathan had just asked John.
“I’ll do what I can on my own,” he finally told the two men, “regardless of outcome. Then Charlotte can at least rest easy knowing we tried.” The statement rang false. Of course she wouldn’t rest easy, and the look the other two exchanged suggested they knew it too. “Her safety is paramount. I hope to keep any responsible parties from thinking she is the person digging for old details. Perhaps then someone won’t try to kill her.”
Michael cleared his throat. “Amelie has suggested to me several times that I ought to ask if you’ve fallen in love with Charlotte.”
“Of course, I have.” John braced his elbows on his desk and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He heard what he’d said and slowly lifted his head. “That is, of course I love her, with the same affection I feel for all of you.” Heat rose in his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d blushed. What on earth had he just said?
Nathan stood and stretched, eyeing John dubiously. “If you start looking at Eva the way you look at Charlotte, we’ll be having a talk.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
Michael also straightened and dropped the papers back on John’s desk. “It was obvious before she even went away to school, my friend.” He gave John a half smile as Nathan opened the door. “Funny that I noted it before my romance-afflicted wife did.”
“They don’t always notice everything, you know,” Nathan said as they exited the room. “Eva had no idea that my sister . . .” His voice faded as he closed the door.
John put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He knew the two men weren’t gossips, but their wives could pry information out of a rock. What would Charlotte think if his blurted non-confession made its way to her ears?
She would think what she’d always thought: that they were dear friends and that was that. She was practical. She’d never been giggly or insipid. She wouldn’t corner him and say, “Michael said you’re in love with me. Is that true?”
John wasn’t stupid. He was well aware that he and Charlotte had been dancing dangerously close to crossing an invisible line. He’d nearly thought she might kiss him in the carriage after leaving Dr. Neville’s office, and he’d desperately wanted her to. But she was vulnerable and had been crying, and he’d decided to be protective and brotherly. If she had kissed him, however, he’d not have objected.
He nearly laughed, and then groaned instead. Not have objected? He’d have been over the moon. Every moment spent with her and not touching her grew more difficult by the day. Michael said that John’s growing affection for Charlotte had begun before she’d even left the country. Was that true?
Probably. He sighed, low and irritated. He’d missed her to the point of a physical ache in his chest. He’d forced himself to not write and beg her to come back home. And when she’d returned earlier than she’d planned because of her father’s letter, he’d forced himself to not track her down before the funeral.
It was as if he’d known, beneath everything, how desperately he wanted her. Michael and John had teased Nathan years ago about his obvious love for Eva, but he’d insisted he wouldn’t pursue it for fear of ruining the friendship. Something in that sentiment must have stuck in John’s brain, because he’d done exactly the same thing with Charlotte.
He’d need to tread carefully from this point forward. He would follow her lead, because the last thing he wanted to do was sacrifice their friendship on the altar of his own desires. To not have her in his life at all would be worse than loving her from a safe distance. The biggest obstacle of all, however, was his personal devotion to her dreams. He would never ask her to give up her career for him.
He forced himself up, shoving on the desk for leverage, darkly amused at his state of affairs. He was in love with his best friend, whose mother had most likely been murdered by someone to whom John was beholden for political favors. His parents were rudely disdainful of her, she was embarking on a new career that left no options for marriage, and in the end, she had no idea he was enamored of her.
He hadn’t known it himself before the last ten minutes.
He rotated his head on his neck, his muscles tight with stress. He donned his coat, checking his appearance in the glass. He would be attending a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a Met-sponsored charity endeavor in the East End later. He gritted his teeth when his thoughts flew again to Charlotte, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her as he passed the hospital.
“As if she stands out front all day,” he scolded his reflection. “You are ridiculous, man!” With that, he grabbed his hat and gloves, and left his office with a satisfying door slam.