Atkins turned on Godfrey. “You knew about this? You’ve been harboring a possible murderer. Where is he?”
Godfrey’s lips tightened. He seemed to deliberate. Then said, “This way, Detective Sergeant.” He preceded them into the hallway. “Coats, Tillis,” he ordered.
Atkins was still wearing his, but the butler appeared immediately, holding two coats almost as if he’d anticipated them.
When he helped Phil into hers, she expected Atkins to say something, but he seemed to have given up getting rid of her.
Enfin, she thought. Maybe he would finally begin to accept her help.
Godfrey led them through the house and out the side door to the walkway that would take them into the woods and to the cottage. He walked quickly, not waiting to see if they followed, and for a moment Phil wondered if he was trying to get ahead of them to warn Sheffield.
But when they got to the steps where the walk ended and a smaller path led into the woods, he stopped. “The fog is still heavy in places, please follow me closely.”
They went single file, Atkins insisting that Phil go ahead of him, which was chivalrous, she hoped, but probably more utilitarian to keep her within reach.
They soon came to the cottage. The lights were out even though it was getting dark. Atkins stepped abreast of Godfrey and held out his arm. Shook his head.
It all looked rather slow motion in the fog.
Godfrey came to stand by Phil, and Atkins motioned them back. He reached into his coat and pulled out a rather large revolver.
Godfrey started forward, but Phil grabbed his arm, shook her head.
Atkins turned the knob and, standing well to the side of the doorframe, pushed the door open, waited for four of Phil’s pounding heartbeats, then went inside.
Phil and Godfrey stood rooted to the spot. No gun reports, no sounds of scuffling.
Still they didn’t move.
The glow of a lamp filled the doorway.
Dreading what she might see, Phil let Godfrey lead the way. He peered inside then ushered her through the doorway. It was empty. Atkins was just coming out of the back rooms. Shook his head.
Isaac Sheffield was gone. The papers he’d piled on the desk, the briefcase, all gone. The only thing that lingered was the faint aroma of a pipe tobacco she knew all too well.
Atkins ran past them and out the door.
“Detective Atkins, come back, it’s easy to get lost in the fog.” Godfrey followed Atkins out.
Phil ran to the door, looked to her left, where the men had gone. She couldn’t see either of them.
Just like men. She’d probably have to go rescue both of them.
They appeared at her right like two lost phantoms and went back into the cabin, leaving her on the stoop like a servant.
She followed them inside.
“Do you know where he is?” Atkins demanded.
“No. He asked if he could stay here while attempting to recover funds that had been stolen from his company.”
Atkins shot a look at Phil. “I suppose you knew about this, too.”
“Only because I followed Godfrey.” She lifted her chin. She had no intention of letting him scold her like she was some naughty schoolgirl. “Which I might add, it’s a good thing I did. Or you might not know about him being here at all.”
“Look, Atkins, you can’t think that Sheffield killed Perry. He’s completely loyal to the company and the family. He’s been moving heaven and earth to save it.”
“You said that. Save it from what?”
“Perry stole funds to invest in some scheme. Evidently he lost everything. At least, Isaac hasn’t been able to find the money. I don’t know how many people have lost their investment or if it can be reclaimed. Fauks stock has already plummeted. If the company fails, it will inevitably start another panic. I don’t know that the economy can handle another blow this soon. Discretion is imperative.”
“My job is not the economy.” Atkins’s features stood out starkly in the lamplight. “Bringing criminals to trial is. And right now I have the murders of two people on my hands. Hands that have been tied, I might add, from the outset. I’ve been thwarted at every turn. I don’t know whether that was your doing or Mr. Pratt’s. But because of that, another murder has occurred.”
“Now see here.” Godfrey held up his hand. “Isaac Sheffield is not a murderer, but if you need to call out a full-scale search for him, go ahead.”
Phil piped in before the men could come to cuffs. “I wouldn’t bother, if I were you, Detective Sergeant.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Not much, but I have a good idea that Isaac Sheffield did not run.”
“Then where the hell is he?”
“I believe he’s been kidnapped.”
Both men stared at her.
“Lady Dunbridge, really,” Godfrey said.
Atkins eyed her speculatively. “What do you mean by kidnapped? Who kidnapped him? And why?”
“I mean kidnapped and I don’t know why or by whom.”
“Then how on earth do you know?”
Phil had no idea what to tell him. She knew she couldn’t tell him what she really suspected. That some other agency was ahead of him. The telltale remnants of Mr. X’s tobacco hadn’t been a mistake. He would never be so careless. He’d left that clue deliberately.
Guiding her toward something. And he’d left it because he wouldn’t be visiting her tonight to tell her in person. He’d taken Sheffield somewhere, probably for questioning. Thwarting Atkins again.
What a mess. Four people, all who wanted to get to the truth, none of them trusting the other, Atkins constrained by his superiors, Godfrey either constrained by his or willing to do whatever he had to do to contain a scandal, Mr. X for whatever reason, and Phil sent here to investigate by some unknown person or agency for some unknown reason.
She couldn’t tell them that. Not only would they laugh themselves silly, they would most likely throw her in the lunatic asylum.
And they were getting nowhere. This was such a stupid way to do business.
“Women’s intuition,” she said finally.
Atkins threw up his hands.
Godfrey smiled. “We can’t argue with that, can we, Detective Sergeant?”
Was he humoring her? She didn’t like the look behind his eyes. She’d supposed until now he had been on their side. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure.
“And as such,” she continued, “I think we should return to the house and … and continue our investigation over a cocktail.”
Atkins’s mouth dropped open, Godfrey did a double take.
She didn’t blame them. They must think she’d gone stark raving mad. Because in that split second she had come to a disappointing conclusion. She would have to solve this murder without them. And to do that she needed to get back to the house.
“My nose is cold, my feet are wet, and my coat weighs two stone. I’m going back to the house.” She didn’t wait for them to acquiesce but strode out of the room. If ever there was a day for split skirts it was today and she’d changed out of hers and into her checked foulard for luncheon instead. It was probably ruined from tromping through the woods.
It was a stupid thing to be thinking at such a crucial moment, but it occupied her mind with something besides murder. And she needed to keep her composure intact and her tongue silent to be most effective.
It had occurred to her more than once that she might be no more than a pawn in some game of powerful men. Fine. She was up to the challenge. She’d carry on whether they liked it or not, with or without them.
She started up the path, her eyes and ears alert for any sound that shouldn’t be there. Something that would tell her that Sheffield and whoever took him were hiding nearby.
All she could hear were her two companions’ footsteps behind her.
Had the others moved out of hearing distance, perhaps even out of the area? They might now be sitting in a comfortable office somewhere grilling their prisoner.
But was Sheffield the murderer? If he had killed Perry why would Godfrey hide him, and given him access to Gwen? Were finances more important than friends and family? To many, they were.
When they reached the house, Godfrey continued inside but Atkins pulled her aside.
“What is going on here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Godfrey is going ahead to have me called off this case. I don’t know why he called me out here in the first place if he was just going to obstruct my progress. And you. I don’t know what game you’re playing but it’s no place for an amateur.”
“Amateur?” She clamped her mouth shut to keep her temper in. She had almost said she was no amateur. But her employer “relied on her discretion” and almost a decade in London society had taught her the importance of discretion when it mattered most.
She did, however, see the need for more study in her future.
“I want you and Lily and Preswick out of here immediately.”
“It’s too late to leave. It’s coming on night, too dark to see the roads.”
“Lady Dunbridge, I know you’re trying to help, but you’re out of your depth. Two people are dead. A killer is out there. This is not some game for the amusement of a bored dilettante. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“You arrogant—” She broke off. “You care about my safety?”
“Of course I do.” He cleared his throat. “I would for any citizen.”
“I’m not a citizen.”
“Don’t quibble with me. You’re going home.” He took her by the arm and steered her into the house.
“You can’t send me packing—besides you haven’t searched Elva’s room here, have you?”
“I am about to do just that.”
“I’ll help you.”
“Thank you but not necessary.”
“Are you expecting to find clues? Are you conversant with where ladies hide things?”
His eyes narrowed. “Elva was a servant and I’m a policeman—a public servant.”
“Touché,” she said, trying not to show her chagrin.
They moved down the hallway. Fortunately Elva’s body had been removed. By the coroner? Did one live in the area? Or by one of Godfrey’s staff?
Phil’s patience broke. “You need me—you don’t know anything that’s been going on here.”
He slowed, looked around, then yanked her behind the stairs.
She’d been here before and gotten an earful. “This is cozy.”
“What do you know?”
“Let’s see, where shall I start.”
“Don’t push me.”
She didn’t want to push him, she wanted him to cooperate and help her. “I’m perfectly willing to help. Besides discovering Sheffield’s whereabouts, dragging Elva out of a noxious room, finding Mrs. Kidmore-Young, shall I go on? The family is frightened; they will never tell you the truth for fear of naming someone they love. You know that as well as I. But I’ve learned this so far.
“Elva, the latest victim, has been nervous ever since Perry was killed.”
“That’s only natural.”
“Perhaps, but I think there is more to it than that.
“Gwen just today said Elva wanted to talk to her about something that she was worried about. But then Gwen had her attack and they didn’t speak. Now Elva’s dead.
“I’ve had Lily and Preswick getting to know the servants and listening for anything that they might have seen or heard and are too frightened to tell.
“I talked to Sheffield. He explained what he’d been doing. I believe him.” She held up both hands as if to ward him off. “But I haven’t ruled him out.”
She stopped to take a breath and to think. She’d gotten carried away. And she still hadn’t told him about her theft of Perry’s wastepaper basket. She’d been trying to protect Maud, but for all she knew, the Jeffrey twins could be cold-blooded killers and not the silly naïve girls they appeared.
“I…” She braced herself. “I found two interesting scraps of paper in Perry’s wastepaper basket.”
“What?” he exploded.
“Shh. I was trying to protect a young lady’s reputation and inadvertently discovered something else, which I would have told you but we all came out here and you were nowhere to be found.”
“Uh-huh. And what were these tidbits?”
“One was the corner of what Preswick says is a stock ticker tape. The other was a crumpled newspaper article about the War Department’s test of spy balloons.”
“And?”
At last, he seemed interested. “The War Department has been testing those balloons all week. Tomorrow’s exhibition isn’t just a festive day for spectators.”
“How do you know this?”
“I saw them when I was at Holly Farm. Bobby said they’d be at it all week.”
“And how do you see this as being important in this investigation?”
“Simple, Detective Sergeant. Godfrey, Perry, and lots of money. The War Department needs steel.”
“That’s a lot of supposition from a newspaper article.”
But she’d heard the shift in his voice. He was actually listening.
“And the scrap of stock. I don’t know how that fits. Sheffield says Perry embezzled the company funds and they’re about to go under. He also said Perry used it to buy stock in another company in competition for a government contract for steel.”
Atkins blew out breath.
“And rumor has it that company is worthless, now that J.P. Morgan has bought out some Tennessee company and has secured the monopoly on steel.”
“So someone is in possession of a lot of money or a lot of worthless paper.”
“Exactly. But who?”
“Amazing.”
“What is?”
“You, Lady Dunbridge. I don’t know how you do this, but it’s further than I’ve been able to get.”
“Because you play by the rules. Actually so do I, but it’s a different set of rules.”
“I think I prefer mine.”
“But you have to admit, in some instances, mine will allow me to get the job done.”
“I could get in a whole lot of trouble.”
She smiled. “My dear Detective Sergeant, my guess is, it isn’t a state totally unknown to you.”
He laughed in spite of himself. “You are…”
“Anxious to catch a killer. Let us go.”
Godfrey was waiting for them when they reentered the hallway. He didn’t seem at all surprised to find them coming out from behind the stairs. “I’ve asked Tillis to hold dinner for a half hour. I thought you would want to get out of those wet clothes before you dined.”
He turned to Atkins. “Alas I am unable—”
“I will need to see the maid’s room,” Atkins said, cutting off the rest of Godfrey’s apology.
Phil knew what he was going to say. That he was unable to invite Atkins to dine with them. Ridiculous of course, he could probably seat fifty at table. A slap? Yes. Also a backhanded compliment that he recognized Atkins as someone worthy of being apologized to.
“You’ve been called back to town.”
“Godfrey—” Phil began.
He stopped her with a flick of his hand.
There was a standoff that seemed to go on forever, and Phil couldn’t think of a thing that would help the situation.
“You may search the maid’s room,” Godfrey said. “I’ll have someone show you to the servants’ wing, and then they will show you out. Nothing personal, Detective Sergeant.”
“Good to know.” Still Atkins deliberated. Then he reached into his pocket.
“I’ll be staying nearby with friends.” Atkins handed Phil a card. “The telephone exchange is written there.” He glanced at Godfrey. “In case you need me.
“Mr. Bennington.” Atkins strode toward the servants’ stairs without a backward look. The footman barely got there before him. Phil knew he was fuming, and she didn’t blame him.
“Really, Godfrey.”
“I hated to do it, Philomena. He’s a good man. You can tell, you know.”
“Then why?”
“He can be trusted, but some of his superiors can’t be. And being an honest man…” He shook his head. “He’s between a rock and a hard place. I couldn’t take the chance.”
“What is going on here, Godfrey?”
“On my own honor, I don’t know. And I would feel much better with Atkins on the case, but I have my superiors, too.” He clicked his fingers and a footman came to relieve them of their coats.
“A half hour then?” He walked off to the back of the house.
Lily was waiting in her room when Phil walked in. She jumped up from the dressing table bench. “What’s happening out there? Is Elva really dead? Madam?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Phil was suddenly tired. Her body ached, her head ached, her heart ached. For Elva, for John Atkins, for Lily, whose past she didn’t even know.
“They say downstairs that someone tried to kill Mrs. P-r-r-att. But I don’t think so. Elva was afraid for herself.” Lily’s mouth worked. Phil didn’t know whether to comfort or pretend she didn’t see. But Lily turned away, answering the question for her.
“Did she tell you what she was afraid of?”
“No. She didn’t say. But I could tell.”
Because she too knew fear?
“What will you wear into dinner, madam? The others have gone ahead.”
“It hardly matters,” Phil said, sinking onto the dressing table bench. “My peach silk taffeta, I suppose. As soon as dinner is over, I’ll complain of a headache. You and Preswick will meet me here.”
“Are we going to catch the killer-r-r?”
“We’re going to try. The detective sergeant is searching Elva’s room.”
“Why?”
“I suppose, in case she was trying to poison Mrs. Pratt.”
“Not Elva. She is dead and not her mistress. And she ador-r-red Mrs. Pratt—madam.”
“Fetch me a gown, then hurry back to the servants’ quarters and see if the detective sergeant finds anything.”
Lily had gone to the door of the dressing room, but she stopped. “You don’t think they were after Mrs. Pratt, do you, madam?”
“I don’t know, but whoever did this was willing to kill many people in order to reach his goal. Murder is bad enough, but that is diabolical. I’m going to suggest you serve Mrs. Pratt until we get back to the city. I don’t think he will try again so soon.” Phil stopped. “But not if you’re afraid.”
“Me? I hope he tr-ries. I will slit his thr-roat.”
Phil gritted her teeth as a chill ran up her spine. “I don’t think that will be necessary, and please, Lily. Do not put yourself in harm’s way.”
“I am not afraid.”
“But I am. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Lily blinked.
“Now get me into this gown. I don’t want to be late for dinner. And you don’t want to miss anything belowstairs.”