A Study in Murder Read online

  Detective Carson stood and approached St. Vincent’s body. He looked around, and studying the floor, waddled, more than walked, from the body to the French doors. Once he had them opened, he returned to the table and picked up an oil lamp, then made his way back to the doors and walked through to the patio, studying the ground. Detective Marsh stood and wandered the room, examining books, the contents of the desk, and even sniffing the ink in the inkwell.

  William took Amy’s empty glass and returned to the sideboard, refilling both her glass and his.

  “Your Mr. St. Vincent was stabbed in the garden.” Carson returned to the room and placed the oil lamp back on the table.

  “The garden?” She remembered now that the doors to the garden had been open when she’d entered the room. “Whatever was he doing in the garden?”

  She hadn’t realized she’d said the words out loud until Carson glared at her.

  “You tell me. It looks like he was stabbed in the garden, then made his way back through the doors and collapsed here.” He pointed to the body. “There is a trail of blood.” Carson walked to her and went down on one knee. She batted his hand away as he touched her foot. “Sir, you forget yourself.”

  He looked up at her, a grin on his face. “The bottom of your shoe is wet.”

  “Of course it is. When I entered the library, Mr. St. Vincent was not here, but the doors were open. I went down the steps and called him, but he did not answer.”

  “He wouldn’t. He was dead,” the detective said unnecessarily as he stood and brushed his hands.

  “I know that now,” she huffed. “Are you always this obtuse?”

  He scratched his head. “Not sure what that means, but probably.”

  So far the man had proven to be anything but obtuse. For the second time in less than an hour she reminded herself that Detective Carson could make her life difficult if he so chose.

  “My good man, might I request that you have Mr. St. Vincent’s body removed and allow Lady Amy to retire for the night? I am sure she will be more than happy to answer your questions in the morning.” William had seemed to grow agitated as the questioning continued.

  “I am sorry, my lord, but this isn’t a high-class ball where you can come and go as you please. This is murder. And we have to investigate. Since she”—Marsh pointed to Amy—“admitted chucking the man, and he’s dead in her house, and you are sitting nice and cozy alongside her, she is our main suspect.”

  Their main suspect? Amy had to fight the desire to either scream or slide to the floor once again in a faint. She fought the black dots that appeared in front of her eyes.

  William stood and placed his hand on her shoulder. “If your only motive for this murder is Lady Amy breaking her betrothal, with no consideration of the sort of person she is, and disregarding all the other reasons why the man could have ended up dead in her library—”

  “Yes. That is our case.” Marsh snapped the notebook shut. “We are expecting the coroner any moment to remove the body, and then we will notify the man’s family. Right now I want this room locked until he arrives. Once he leaves, the door to this room will be kept locked as well as the garden doors, with no one—and I mean no one—allowed to enter until we do a complete examination of the murder scene.

  “I will leave instructions with your man at the door to do that.” He pointed his notebook at her. “Right now, due to your station, we are not taking you to jail tonight. But you are to remain in Bath, no running off to London to any of your la-di-da events until we give you permission to leave. We will return in the morning, along with other members of the department, to examine this room carefully while Carson and I have a conversation with your father, who I suggest you summon from London. We will also need to speak with every member of your staff.”

  Still shaken at their blasé comment that she was a suspect, she licked her dry lips and attempted to slow down her heartbeat. The two men nodded briefly and stood at the entrance to the room until she and William left with them.

  Once the front door closed, she led unfortunate William, who had been caught up in this mess, to the drawing room. She took a deep breath and sat on the settee. “I will have that brandy now.” She nodded to the sideboard in the drawing room, where several bottles of liquor sat. If the mess didn’t end quickly, she might soon be storing spirits in her bedchamber.

  He crossed the room and poured a splash into a tumbler.

  “A little bit more, please.”

  After adding another finger, he returned to the settee and handed it to her. She took a healthy swallow.

  They had no sooner settled into their chairs than their peace was shattered by a loud voice at the front door. Amy cringed and cast an apologetic glance at William. She drew herself up as Papa appeared at the doorway, a scowl on his flushed face.

  Aunt Margaret stood alongside him, her elegant brows raised. “Oh my dear, dear girl, what have you done this time?”

  CHAPTER 4

  William stood as Papa and Aunt entered the room. Beginning to feel the effects of the sherry and brandy, Amy thought it best if she remained seated. The look on Papa’s face as he cast his regard in William’s direction had her wondering if William planned to take his leave. Desperate at what she assumed would be his imminent departure, she said, “Stay for tea, my lord?”

  “Wethington, is it not?” Papa strode across the room in the direction of the sideboard. She’d forgotten how Papa knew just about everyone in the ton. “Care for a drink, my boy?” He tossed the words over his shoulder.

  Boy? She didn’t think William would care too much for that moniker.

  “No, sir.” Maybe William was also feeling the effects of the liquor, which was unlikely, since men seemed to handle it much better than women. Or maybe her father’s supercilious presence overwhelmed him.

  “Cook is sending in tea, Papa.”

  Papa ignored her and poured a brandy, then looked at Aunt Margaret with raised brows.

  “No, thank you, Arthur. I believe I need a clear head to keep the two of you from adding to the body count.” Aunt Margaret settled on a comfortable chair and regarded her and William with curiosity.

  Papa poured a brandy for himself and waved William to the settee across from where Aunt Margaret sat, her back rigid. “Take a seat and see if you can explain to me why my daughter is in trouble once again.”

  “Papa, I am not in trouble once again.”

  “Is there a dead man in my library?”

  She raised her chin. “Yes.”

  He waved his glass, the liquid swirling around. “Is he not the man to whom you are betrothed?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Obviously. ’Tis hard to marry a dead man. Was he dead when he arrived?”

  Lady Amy shook her head. Heavens, the man could shoot questions at a person so rapidly she wasn’t sure what was up and what was down. He’d done that to her for years, which was how she’d found herself betrothed to St. Vincent in the first place.

  He gulped the rest of his brandy. “Then, to my way of thinking, you are in trouble once again.”

  Amy drew herself up. “Certainly you don’t think I had something to do with his murder?”

  “Of course not.” Papa rose and headed back to the sideboard. He refilled the glass a bit more generously than the last time. “However, the fact remains, according to Stevens at the door, St. Vincent was hale and hearty when he arrived, and now he is cold and lifeless.” He shook his head. “Nasty business.”

  Stevens entered the room, pushing a cart with a teapot and several cups and saucers, along with a tray of tarts and biscuits. Aunt Margaret motioned for him to bring the cart next to her, where she would pour tea for those who wanted it.

  Amy needed a very strong cup of tea at that moment to clear her befuddled head so she could deal with her father.

  Papa studied the liquid in his glass. “Perhaps you can enlighten me as to why I found a letter on my breakfast table this morning with a note from my lovely daught
er that she had broken the engagement I had arranged for her. Then I take the day’s last train to Bath to discuss this turn of events and find two members of the Bath police leaving my house and a corpse in my library.”

  Amy accepted a teacup from Aunt Margaret, her stomach rebelling at the idea of any of the tarts or biscuits her aunt offered her. William took a cup with a nod and a smile at Aunt.

  “I informed Mr. St. Vincent a few nights ago that I wished to break our engagement.”

  “’Twas considerate of you to inform me of this before it happened.”

  “I intended to tell you. But I thought it best to get it over with when I found out some disturbing information about Mr. St. Vincent.”

  Winchester waved his hand for her to continue.

  “Tonight he called on me. Unfortunately, I never learned what his intention was, because by the time I arrived in the library, he was already dead.” She shuddered. “A knife in his chest.”

  Papa swung his attention to William. “How are you involved in this, Wethington?”

  William straightened in his seat and placed his teacup and saucer on the table alongside him. Papa could do that to people. “I called to bring a book to Lady Amy that she wished to borrow.”

  “Continue.”

  “When I arrived, there was excitement among the staff and screams coming from Lady Amy, who seemed to be in distress. I found Mr. St. Vincent lying on the floor in your library with a knife in his chest. I asked one of the servants to summon the police.”

  Her father nodded and took another sip of brandy. Then he turned toward her. “I assume, given the facts as they are, that you are the suspect?”

  No point in showing outrage at her father’s words, since that was the case. “Most likely. The detectives who were here were not very pleasant.” The tea had helped to clear her head from the liquor and calm her nerves. She was feeling more in control of herself. Which was always important where Papa was concerned.

  “’Tis their job to be unpleasant toward suspected murderers.”

  Her chin rose in the air. “They told me I was not permitted to leave Bath.”

  Papa rubbed his temples. “I shall have my local solicitor call on me in the morning to see if he can recommend a barrister.”

  Lady Amy’s eyes grew wide. “You think I will need a legal representative?”

  “Of course you do, young lady. You broke your engagement with Mr. St. Vincent. He shows up here—God only knows why—and ends up dead with a very large knife stuck in his chest. I doubt if the Bath police would believe a maid or a footman was overcome with the need to do away with the man.”

  “Excuse my interruption, my lord, but there was other evidence the detectives uncovered while they were here.”

  When Papa only nodded in his direction, William continued. “Lady Amy had gone into the garden to see if Mr. St. Vincent was there when she didn’t find him in the library, so her shoes were wet from the grass. One of the detectives noted that Mr. St. Vincent was stabbed in the garden and left a trail of blood to the library, where he collapsed.”

  Papa shook his head. “Well done, my girl. Well done.”

  Amy closed her eyes and sighed.

  “May I ask a question, my lord?” William asked.

  “Go on,” her father said.

  “May I be present when the barrister calls? I heard the exchange between the detectives and Lady Amy, and as she was a bit distraught during the questioning, I might be able to remember things that will help.”

  “Or hurt,” Lady Amy said.

  “My lord, the coroner has arrived.” Stevens entered the drawing room, still looking a bit out of sorts.

  “Fine. Lead them to the library.” Lady Margaret walked over to Amy and extended her hand. “Come, my dear, you best get some sleep. I will have Cook fix a tisane for you.”

  Amy took her aunt’s hand and rose. She felt the result of all the evening’s events and wanted more than anything to gain her bed. Hopefully, Papa would not notice how wobbly on her feet she was.

  “My lady, I left the book you wished to borrow in the library. Perhaps it is best if I bring it home with me.”

  “What book is this?” Papa asked.

  “Unsolved Gruesome and Ghastly Murders of London by Melvin Fulsom.” William’s voice lowered at the end when Papa’s brows threatened to fly off the top of his head.

  “Lord Wethington, I think it is probably best if you took the book home once we are able to enter the room. In fact, how much would it cost me to have you burn the thing?”

  * * *

  After a disturbed night’s sleep, Amy was summoned from her bedchamber by Lacey, who still looked a bit pale. “Milady, Lord Winchester has requested your presence in the drawing room.”

  “Thank you, Lacey.”

  The maid twisted her hands in her apron. “Oh, milady, do you suppose they will hang you?”

  The little bit of breakfast Amy had managed to swallow earlier made a reappearance at the back of her throat. “Of course not, Lacey. I did nothing wrong.”

  Taking a deep breath, she rose from the seat by the window, where she pretended to read a book to get her mind off the events of the prior evening. She’d tossed and turned all night, unable to forget the sight of St. Vincent staring up at her with blank eyes, his body stiff and pale.

  Whatever had he come to see her about, anyway? She’d made it clear their betrothal was at an end. Was it possible the reason for his visit had something to do with his murder? She rubbed her palms up and down her arms, feeling as though she would never be warm again.

  Grabbing a thick plaid woolen shawl that Aunt Margaret had brought her from her last visit to Scotland, she scooped Persephone into her arms and made her way downstairs. The knocker on the door sounded as she reached the bottom step. Stevens opened the door and stepped back to admit William.

  Not quite sure why, Amy felt a bit calmer at the sight of him. He bowed to her after handing off his gloves, hat, and coat to the butler. “Has the barrister yet arrived?”

  “I don’t know. I was just summoned to the drawing room.”

  Papa and another man both rose as she and William stepped through the doorway.

  “Ah, here is my daughter now.” Papa came from around his chair and took her hand in his to draw her forward. “This is Lady Amy.” He nodded in William’s direction. “And the young man I told you about who happened upon the scene last night. Lord Wethington.”

  At least he hadn’t called him boy again.

  Both men shook hands.

  “Amy, Mr. Nelson-Graves is a barrister and has agreed to assist us in this matter.” He turned toward William. “He has been highly recommended by my solicitor, Mr. David Hearns.”

  Ever the hostess, Amy gestured to the chairs forming a slight semicircle around the low table near the fireplace. “Shall we be seated? I will send for refreshments.”

  They managed small talk about the weather, politics, and the arrival of spring while they waited for the tea cart. Amy wished they could just get to it. The horrid detectives from the police the night before had never mentioned what time they would be arriving for their return visit.

  The housekeeper entered the room, followed by a footman pushing the tea cart. With Amy feeling as unsettled as she did, she asked Mrs. Brady to pour so she would not scald one of the men with hot tea to add to her crimes. She continued to smooth her palm over a very contented Persephone. The movement was a comfort to her and a joy to her beloved dog.

  The latch on the drawing room door clicked softly as the servants left, and the group grew silent. Mr. Nelson-Graves cleared his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if you told me, in your own words, Lady Amy, how the events of last night progressed.” He placed his teacup in the saucer and picked up a pad of paper and a pencil.

  Her stomach churned, and she looked to William for support. Prior to now, her friendship with him had been lengthy, but confined to not much more than a few dances at the Assembly Rooms and debates at the book
club. However, she felt connected to him. Most likely that happened when two people stood side by side and gaped at a bloody murdered man at their feet.

  William nodded at her, and she took a deep breath. “A few days ago, I summoned Mr. St. Vincent to my home for the purpose of advising him that I intended to call an end to our betrothal.”

  “And why was that?”

  Amy glanced over at Papa, hoping she had misunderstood this question. “Why was what, Mr. Nelson-Graves?” She took a delicate sip of tea, hoping she looked very innocent. Perhaps that would work when the detectives arrived.

  The barrister looked up from his notes. “Why did you break your engagement?”

  “I felt that we no longer suited.”

  Papa snorted and jumped up. He strode across the room and poured himself a brandy. He held the bottle up. “Lord Wethington?”

  “No, thank you, my lord. The tea is fine.”

  Papa returned to his seat. “Not for me. Don’t care how early in the day it is. I don’t like my daughter being under suspicion of murder.” He waved at Nelson-Graves, who had stopped writing to observe Papa. “Continue.”

  The barrister looked at her. “And how did Mr. St. Vincent take this news?”

  Papa leaned back, swirling the brandy around in his glass, his eyes never leaving her. Although he had harangued her into accepting Mr. St. Vincent, he’d said many times that he only wanted what he thought was best for her. Not unlike other women of her station. Marriage, a home of her own to manage, and children to raise.

  He’d told her years before that since he’d not been successful with his sister, he would not make the same mistake twice. Hence his determination to push Amy headlong into marital bliss.

  Truth be told, marriage was not something she had anything against, except she wanted more from a lifelong commitment than merely convenience. Her ideal marriage partner was just that. A partner. Certainly not someone who would expect to rule her life and oversee her every move. “I’m afraid my interview with Mr. St. Vincent did not go well.”