Читать книгу A Lady's Guide to Gossip and Murder - Dianne Freeman - Страница 11

Chapter 3

Pleased I’d made some sort of decision, I was eager to take action. I left the ladies in the drawing room and slipped through my library out to the back garden. Then out my back gate and in through the gate to George’s garden. In this manner I avoided the front door and any chance a passing neighbor might see me calling on a single gentleman.

I caught a glimpse of George through his library window. Seated at his desk, he leaned back in the chair, as if not completely absorbed in his work, one ankle resting on the other knee in a relaxed attitude. I paused, drinking in the sight of him. George had become a very important part of my life in recent months. Longer than that, really. He came to my aid the night my husband died, well over a year ago. And his gallantry saved more than one reputation.

Since I’d moved in next door to him, he’s been part guardian angel, part friend. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him in an emotional sense, but there could be no doubt about my attraction to him. Watching him now, I longed to caress that rugged face or run my fingers through his dark, wavy hair. I blew out a breath and lifted the trailing curls off the back of my neck. Goodness, I must learn to curtail my imagination. Particularly since I didn’t know how he felt about me.

George was an honorable man and had asked me to marry him not long ago. At least I think he did, but that’s neither here nor there as his proposal, if it was one, only arose from some manly sense of duty. My late husband had married me out of his duty to fill the family coffers with my dowry. I’d rather avoid making that mistake again. Besides, I’d only just gained my independence and the single state suited me well for the time being. I rested my hand against the glass. George was far too much a gentleman to be interested in a dalliance.

Not that I was, of course. Heavens, no! My face burned as I damned my imagination.

I saw his posture stiffen seconds before he drew his gaze up to the window. I gave him a bright smile and waved my fingers. In return he gave me a look of enduring patience. He inclined his head to the left, indicating that I should meet him at the doors leading into the drawing room.

“Good afternoon, Frances,” he said, holding open the French door.

“Good afternoon, George. I hope you’re well?” I stepped past him and into a room so masculine in style it felt as if it belonged in a gentlemen’s club rather than in a home.

“To what do I owe this surreptitious visit?”

“Well, I’m afraid I have rather bad news to report.” I preceded him into his library.

“Indeed?” With a gesture, he invited me to take a seat in one of the wingback chairs near the window, then waited for me to do so before seating himself next to me.

“It’s about Mr. Evingdon and Mrs. Archer.”

His inquisitive expression quickly turned to a frown as his brows drew together. “Evingdon and Mrs. Archer? Why are their names linked?”

I took a deep breath and continued. “I imagine you’ve already heard Mary Archer has been murdered?”

“Yes, I did. Such a tragedy.” He tilted his head slightly to the left. “I wasn’t aware you knew her.”

“As one knows anybody in society. At least I thought I did until Inspector Delaney called on me today.”

His brows formed one dark line. “Frances, don’t tell me she had some type of gossip about you?”

“Not gossip. She had facts—pertaining to the battle Graham and I had about my bank account.” I stopped abruptly as I absorbed what George had just said. “How did you know the reason for Delaney’s visit?”

George’s face registered his astonishment. “How did she know about your bank account?”

“Don’t change the subject. Who told you she was collecting information about people?”

“We’ll get to that. First, tell me how this pertains to Evingdon.”

“I introduced him to Mrs. Archer and they were becoming acquainted and keeping company for the past few weeks. Today he and I spoke at the Argyles’ garden affair. He told me he no longer wished to pursue the connection.”

George leaned back and rubbed his hands down his face. “And you relayed this conversation to Delaney?”

I gave him a helpless gesture. “How could I not? He asked how I knew Mary and I could hardly leave out the fact that I’d attempted to make a match between her and my cousin.” I looked down at my hands, fidgeting in my lap. “I’m afraid he sees Charles as a suspect. In fact, I believe he hopes he’s the murderer so he doesn’t have to go through all the files of information Mary seemed to be collecting.”

“I can understand that, but what Delaney doesn’t know is that I will be the one going through those files.”

“You?” George’s lips twisted in a grimace of pain as if the thought of reading all the juicy gossip was torture to him. I, on the other hand, would be champing at the bit to get my hands on it. I sighed. So many inequities in this world. “How did that come about?”

“A friend in high places called in a favor.”

I sat back and crossed my arms. “I hate when you drop tiny crumbs of information, rather than reveal the whole story. What friend?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

Undaunted, I pressed on. “How high?”

He smiled wickedly, knowing he was driving me to distraction. He leaned across the arms of our chairs until I could see the dark ring circling the lighter green of his eyes. Funny, I’d never noticed that before.

“It’s a secret,” he whispered, his breath tickling my lips. “I can only tell my wife.”

I leaned back and gave him a scowl, pushing all thoughts of his lovely eyes from my mind. “I’ve warned you to be careful about that, George. Someday I may call your bluff.”

With a satisfied smile, he sat back in his chair. “Then I live in hope.”

“Now you’re trying to distract me. At least tell me why you’ve been given this assignment rather than the police.”

“Apparently some of the information in Mrs. Archer’s possession is rather sensitive, and potentially damaging, to more than one important family or career. My friend didn’t trust the police to keep that information to themselves. He used his influence to have the files reviewed by a liaison to the police.” He shrugged. “That would be me.”

“Considering she has personal information about me as well, I’m relieved to hear you’re handling this.” I gave him a narrow-eyed examination, wondering how much he’d tell me. “Based on my discussion with Delaney, the theory is she was blackmailing many people and one of them decided to end it by murdering her. You are to go through her information and determine the most likely suspect?”

“Essentially.”

I frowned. I still found it hard to believe Mary would stoop to blackmail. “Is there any evidence that she’d actually blackmailed anyone? Banknotes stuffed in a drawer? Large deposits to her bank account? Has someone actually made an accusation?”

George smiled. “Good questions, Frances. I’ll be sure to ask them. The police were called in yesterday and I received this assignment today. I haven’t read the report yet and they can’t check with her bank until tomorrow. With any luck, some fool gave her a bank draft rather than currency. But in any event, I expect the police will make note of any large deposits.”

“Then the whole idea of blackmail is only a theory.”

“At this point, yes.” One brow crept upward as he examined me. “It sounds like you don’t subscribe to that theory.”

“I find it rather far-fetched to say the least. Delaney turned my world upside-down this afternoon, casting two respectable people in a very dark light.”

“Two?” He took my hand from the arm of the chair. “Never say you believe Delaney’s suspicions of Charles.”

“Are they any more incredible than suspecting Mary of blackmail? How would she even know where to begin with such an endeavor?”

“One begins by collecting information, and to my understanding, she certainly had that.” He leaned forward in his chair. “What do you really know of Mrs. Archer? Her financial situation may have suffered since her husband’s death. Perhaps she needed the money desperately and saw no other way.”

“I could make an equally compelling case against Charles. Perhaps he fell in love with Mary and she scorned him. Strong emotions can turn someone to violence.”

George dismissed my charges with a simple wave of our intertwined hands. “He and I have been friends for most of my life. He is neither quick to anger nor violent. Men of his size don’t have to resort to violence. Just a glare from him is intimidating enough.”

“Maybe Mary wasn’t intimidated.”

“Why are you making this argument? Do you really think he could be a murderer? He’s your cousin, for heaven’s sake.”

“He’s a cousin to Reggie and Graham, neither of whom are known for a surplus of integrity.”

“Neither are they known for murderous inclinations. Did Delaney tell you how she was murdered?”

“No.”

He leaned closer. “She was strangled, with a man’s bare hands. Can you picture Evingdon becoming so angry or violent he could wring the life from someone?”

I winced and turned away. Heavens, no. Not Charles. I could not imagine him harming anyone in such a way. I returned my focus to George, shaking my head. His expression was one of relief. Perhaps I should drop this argument. At least for the present.

“So, we’re back to Mary as blackmailer then. When will you delve into all her salacious memoranda?”

“I’m to pick it up tomorrow, unless of course Inspector Delaney arrests Evingdon for the murder.” George dropped my hand as he stood. “I should pay him a call and make sure he survived the interview. Did Delaney march straight over there?”

“I’m sure he did.” I rose to my feet and brushed the wrinkles from my skirt. “Let me go with you.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “Why do you wish to go?”

“Sympathy? He may have had feelings for Mary. He may be wracked with grief.”

“He’d just told you he was dropping the connection.”

I lifted my chin and dared him to argue further. “Fine. Then I’m going out of guilt. I brought this trouble to his door. Not only did I introduce him to Mary, I also sent Delaney after him.”