“How long did the shouting continue?”
“Long enough for Mary to clear away the pudding dishes and come back up. I couldn’t decide whether to knock on the door or not when there was a big crash. There was more noise, a shriek, and a second crash. Then it was quiet. We both banged on the door and called in.” The maid’s eyes widened as she recalled the drama.
“And then?”
“It was silent in there for the longest time. Then we heard sobbing and a moment later the master opened the door. He was crying.” Her eyes and mouth were round with amazement.
“How long was the silence? A minute? An hour?”
“A minute, at least.”
“And you didn’t go for another key?” I studied her face carefully.
Her shoulders slumped. “I tried looking in. The key was still in the lock on the inside.”
“What did Mr. Gattenger say when he came out?”
“‘Get a doctor and the police. I can’t wake Clara.’”
If Phyllida was right, Ken Gattenger must have been devastated. “What happened then?”
“I ran for Dr. Harrison, two blocks away. Mary ran for the bobby. Mary got back before me.”
“The inspector has mentioned a burned fragment of paper in this room when the police arrived. Do you know anything about that?”
She shook her head. “The master or mistress probably burned it in the fireplace.”
“Why did you have a fire last night?” I’d seen the ashes, but I was so used to seeing ashes in fireplaces they hadn’t made an impression. With the current heat wave, living in London was like living on the sun. Why would anyone need a fire?
“The mistress asked for it as soon as she returned from her carriage ride with Lady Bennett. I thought it strange, but I laid it and lit it while she dressed for dinner.”
“Did she give you any reason? It was an odd request.”
“I didn’t get a chance to say anything. She just ordered me to do it right then. She looked like she might cry, so I just went ahead and did what she asked.”
“Did Lady Bennett come in the house with your mistress?”
“No, the mistress returned alone.”
I was as suspicious of Lady Bennett as I was of the unknown burglar. “What happened once you lit the fire?”
“I got back to my regular duties. I helped Cook while Mary dressed the mistress and did her hair.”
I patted the girl’s arm. “Thank you, Elsie.”
She pressed her lips together and then said, “Excuse me, ma’am, but what’s going to happen to us? The master’s in prison and the mistress is dead. Will we be chucked out without our pay or a reference?”
I looked at the duke, who shook his head. I kept staring. I wouldn’t allow him to leave a scrawny young girl like Elsie to starve. Finally, he pulled a calling card out of his card case and said, “When the inspector is finished with you and the house is closed up, go to this address and see the housekeeper. She’ll see about finding you and the others a place to stay and employment, at least until we know the fate of your master.”
The maid dropped a curtsy and said, “Thank you, sir. I’ll tell the others.”
She hurried downstairs as Grantham stepped toward Blackford. “Why are you being so considerate of the help?”
“We’ll know where they are. Did you learn anything new, Inspector?”
“Yes. And none of it looks good for Gattenger.” He frowned. “Although the business with the fire seems odd in this heat. Are you two finished here?”
“For the moment,” the duke said. “You did well, Miss Fenchurch.”
“Questioning people is what I do.” Nevertheless, as I walked toward the front door, I couldn’t hide the lightness in my step caused by his praise.
Once we were back in Blackford’s carriage, he asked, “What do you know of Lady Bennett?”
“Nothing.”
The edges of his mouth curved upward. “She’s the widow of an impoverished lord, yet she lives in great style. She’s rumored to be the paramour of a German diplomat, Baron von Steubfeld.”
“A kept woman?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Or a spy.” There was no hint of a smile on his face now. “The baron’s accredited as a diplomat, but in reality he’s the kaiser’s spymaster in Britain.”
“Whatever Lady Bennett is, she caused discord in the Gattenger home. What did Clara burn, or what was she planning to burn, in that fire? And what do I tell Phyllida?”
He looked out the window of the carriage and watched the traffic for a moment. “To come to the Archivist Society meeting tonight.”
“Could you arrange something for me, Your Grace?”
“What is it?”
“I’d like to go to Newgate Prison and speak to Ken Gattenger.”
“Difficult, but not impossible. You’ll find the prison unpleasant.”
“I need to speak to him. It’s important if we’re to understand what happened.”
He studied me for a moment. “I’d forgotten how determinedly you approach whatever needs to be done. It does you credit. I’ll arrange for you to speak with Gattenger. And I’ll accompany you.”
He was the most helpful aristocrat I’d ever met. Only one of the reasons I appreciated the duke.
* * *
PHYLLIDA AGREED TO come to the meeting with us, but she seemed hesitant. She took much longer over her toilette than I’d seen before. She seemed unable to decide what to wear and told Emma to redo her hairstyle twice. She backed away from the hired carriage before we finally talked her into the vehicle.
But once she entered Sir Broderick’s home, her attitude changed. Her chin lifted, and she led us in a stately procession up the stairs to the study.
“Lady Monthalf,” Sir Broderick said, wheeling himself away from the fire to come forward and kiss the glove on the back of her outstretched hand. “I’m so glad to finally meet you. Georgia speaks very highly of you.”
“Thank you for inviting me, Sir Broderick.” She favored him with a sweet smile.
“The pleasure is mine. Please, sit anywhere. You’ll find we’re very informal in our customs within the Archivist Society. It comes from needing to trust each other as much as family.”
I winced as the smile slipped from Phyllida’s lips. “More than family,” she said, taking a half step back.
“In many cases, yes. Let me present everyone to you.” Sir Broderick gestured to each member who was present at this meeting as he introduced them to “Lady Monthalf.”
Jacob, Sir Broderick’s assistant, gave her a deep bow. An East End urchin when he first asked for help from the Archivist Society, he was still deferential to anyone with a title. Frances Atterby, the widow of a hotel owner, greeted her with the genuine warmth she had shown thousands. Adam Fogarty’s bow was stiff, a telltale sign that the injury that had ended his career in the police ached. Then we all stood around, waiting uncomfortably for someone to say something.
“Sit down. I’m tired of twisting my neck,” Sir Broderick growled as he wheeled his way back to his customary spot in front of the fire. I didn’t know how he could abide sitting so close to the heat. The evening was warm, the fire was hot, and sweat poured down my back.
As I took my seat on the sofa next to Phyllida, the Duke of Blackford entered the room. “Good evening,” he said as we all rose and bowed or curtsied. He in turn gave Sir Broderick and Phyllida each a bow. “Has Miss Fenchurch brought you up to speed on this investigation?”
“Not yet. We’ve just arrived,” I said. “Why don’t you tell them?” We all settled in for a long meeting.
The duke nodded, sat in a wing chair facing Sir Broderick, and leaned back. “Kenneth Gattenger is a naval architect who’s designed the newest type of warship, one that will ensure Britain’s dominance on the high seas for years to come. He’s also a newlywed, married only a year. Last night, his wife was murdered while the two of them were alone in a locked room. There was no sign of a break-in. A set of plans to Gattenger’s new battleship design disappeared from the room at the time of the murder, a room where a fire burned on the hearth.”