stuffed his hands into his pockets, stared down at the carpet as he outlined the pattern with the toe of his shoe. “I suppose I really didn’t know her well enough to make a judgment about what she would or wouldn’t do, but Mary Archer a blackmailer? I don’t believe it.” He raised his gaze to mine. “How would she even go about it?”
A good question. “I suppose she could have contacted her victims through the post.”
“Her victims!” He raised his hands and face toward the ceiling. “Her victims. How ridiculous that sounds.”
Though not without sympathy, I was beginning to lose patience with the man. “Forgive me, Charles. I’m aware these people are not all innocents, but I don’t know what to call them other than victims.”
He waved a hand in my direction. “Apologies, Frances. I understand how odd it is that she collected all this information, but we all have idiosyncrasies. I can’t keep two thoughts in my head at the same time. You, it seems, dabble in solving crimes. The fact she collects gossip and scandal does not make her a blackmailer.”
“Perhaps, as we examine these files, we’ll find another reason for them. But remember, if she wasn’t blackmailing anyone, that makes you an even more likely suspect to the police.”
He twisted his lips into a sad half smile. “Point taken. I just wish there were another way to prove my innocence than ruining a dead woman’s reputation.”
He moved back to his seat, and we both continued with our reading. Over several hours and a few cups of tea, I’d gathered a small stack of possible blackmail victims while Charles continued to find none. While we shared the silence of the room, I pondered his questions. Where did this woman find the audacity to threaten so many prominent people with exposure unless they paid for her silence? This was so different from the woman I thought I knew.
And where did she find her information? Mary didn’t move about in society much, at least not as of late. Since her husband died, she lived a subdued life in a quiet part of town. I assumed she had a small income from her own family. Enough to allow her to live alone, but it would hardly provide for attending social events.
I worried my lower lip while I considered Charles’s defense of Mary. He’d made his case well. He’d planted a seed of doubt. And that was another thing that bothered me. He had made a good case. With barely a word of the gibberish I’d become used to hearing from him. Perhaps he was not as foolish as I’d thought.
Chapter 6
Several hours later, I left Charles in possession of George’s library since I could no longer focus on the words before me. Back home, I found Hetty relaxing on the sofa in the drawing room with a glass of some amber liquid.
When Aunt Hetty first arrived in London, I’d been surprised by her taste for strong spirits. I’ve since found they have something of a restorative value and from time to time I join her. I eyed her glass. Whisky or brandy? Either would be welcome at this point.
“Has Graham left already?” I moved directly to the drinks cabinet.
Hetty raised her brows. “He left about an hour ago. About the same time the girls returned. You’ve been gone for most of the day, dear.”
My gaze darted to the clock on the mantel. Goodness, nearly time for dinner already, yet we’d accomplished little to nothing. I decided on sherry and poured a small glass.
“You look rather done in,” Hetty said. “Come sit down and tell me what you’ve been doing all day.”
“Surprisingly little, considering how exhausted I feel.” I took a sip and seated myself next to my aunt.
“You mentioned reviewing some documents this morning.” She placed her glass on the tea table and turned her scrutiny on me. “What type of document could provide evidence of a murder? And why does Hazelton have them?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you what the documents are, but you know Mr. Hazelton occasionally works with the authorities when discretion is required. It is definitely required in this case, so he accepted the responsibility of reviewing the documents.” I gave her a helpless smile. “Sorry I don’t know what else to call them, but they’re of a very confidential nature and may lead us to another suspect.”
Hetty dropped her hands to her lap. “Do the police still believe Mr. Evingdon murdered her?”
“I don’t know if they actually believe it, but he is a suspect and, at the moment, he’s rather an attractive suspect.” I took a sip of sherry. “Unfortunately, he was near her home the evening she was murdered. He also saw a man leaving Mrs. Archer’s house, and the police are checking into that as well. But until such time as they find the other man, or we find something in the documents that turns the direction of the investigation, Mr. Evingdon will remain under suspicion.”
“Then you must find something.”
I twisted around to find Lottie in the doorway. Heavens, how long had she been standing there?
“Why haven’t the police exonerated Mr. Evingdon by now?” she asked, stepping into the room. I winced as she banged her knee on the tea table but she seemed barely to notice.
“It’s not quite that simple, dear. I’m afraid a police investigation can take some time.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked. “Mr. Evingdon could never do something so horrible.”
I was surprised by the conviction in her voice as well as her determined expression. Before I could reply, Mrs. Thompson ushered George into the room and I turned my attention to him. His weary step and troubled expression told me the heavy satchel in his hand wasn’t the only burden he carried.
“Ah, have you come to dine with us, Hazelton?” Hetty asked.
“Dine?” Lottie glared her outrage. “A man’s life may hang in the balance.”
George stared. Blinked. Then turned his gaze to Hetty. “Under other circumstances, I’d be delighted, but as it happens, I’m seeking only a moment of Lady Harleigh’s time.”
Hetty stood and took Lottie by the arm. “Dinner will be another quarter of an hour at least. We’ll just retire to the library and allow you use of the room.”
Lottie opened her mouth to speak but, with a tug from Hetty, allowed herself to be led from the room. I gestured for George to take a seat beside me and inclined my head toward the satchel. “Has something developed?”
He slumped down beside me. “Not as much as I’d like. I visited the coroner this morning for further details of Mrs. Archer’s murder. Since then I’ve been focused on identifying the man Evingdon saw leaving her house.” His lips compressed in a thin line. “If she was spending time with another gentleman, they were both very discreet about it. No one has heard of anyone connected to her.”
“Then the man he saw was not another suitor?”
“It seems unlikely. I need to move on to questioning her neighbors and in the event one of them is our unknown man, I’d like Evingdon to go with me. He might recognize him. Will you carry on searching for suspects through these notes?” He indicated the satchel.
“I’d
