Finished Off (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 2) (13 page)

The High Street seemed even more crowded as Major drew them past the shops that lined the pavement. Meredith would have loved to gaze at all the fascinating goods in the windows of the haberdashery and the costumer's, and especially the intriguing display in the art shop window.

Time was of the essence, however, since to be absent from the school too long would be bound to arouse the notice of Sylvia Montrose, who would duly report it to Stuart Hamilton.

As it was, Meredith thought with a stab of guilt, she was taking far too long and enjoying this day out far too much. Since she was already in town, however, it would be foolish to pass up this chance to question George Lewis's brother.

At last Reggie brought Major to a halt at the very end of the High Street, and Meredith clambered out of the coach, eager to get the meeting over with and return to Bellehaven.

The woman who answered her knock on the door looked as if she had just been aroused from a deep slumber. Her hair was in disarray, the floral frock she wore seemed to have been thrown on in haste, and her expression was none too welcoming.

Meredith began to wonder if perhaps she'd made a mistake in insisting Reggie stay behind with the carriage to wait for her. Quickly she introduced herself. "I'm so sorry to intrude," she added when the woman just stood there with a blank and rather hostile look on her face. "I wonder if I might speak with your husband. I believe he's the brother of a late acquaintance of mine, Mr. George Lewis."

At the mention of the name, the woman's face changed. "You're a friend of George's?" She glanced over her shoulder, hesitated, then with obvious reluctance beckoned at Meredith to enter.

"I'm afraid it's a mess," she said, rather unnecessarily, as Meredith picked her way over discarded newspapers, a bag of knitting, a pair of work boots, and a dish of what appeared to be the remains of a cat's dinner.

She was right about the cat, as one jumped off the settee with a yowl as she approached.

"I wasn't expecting visitors." The woman sat down on a rocking chair that emitted a loud groan as she leaned back. "I'm Amanda, Claude's wife. He's at work right now, won't be back until six."

Meredith looked at her in dismay. "Oh, I was rather hoping to meet him."

Amanda Lewis gave her a look of pure speculation. "Did George's lawyer send you here?"

She wasn't expecting the question and floundered for a moment. "Er . . . not exactly . . . no . . . that is . . ."

Amanda's face registered acute disappointment. "Oh, I was hoping George had left something for us in his will. I thought maybe he'd had a change of heart."

Meredith frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"I thought he'd changed his mind about the money
Claude wanted." Amanda paused. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Glancing at the cat hairs and dust covering every surface in the room, Meredith inwardly shuddered. "Thank you, no. I have just finished a meal. I do appreciate the offer, though."

Amanda nodded. "I'd better warn you, Claude won't want to talk about George. He's never forgiven him for refusing to lend him the money when the business went bad."

"The business?"

The cat squeezed out from under Amanda's chair and leapt onto her lap. She stroked it for a moment before answering. "Claude was doing all right with the shop. Right in the middle of the High Street it was, with customers passing by every day. Couldn't have had a better spot." She sighed as the cat settled down on her lap. "We had a nice house with a lovely garden where the children had room to run around and play. Servants to look after us, and everything."

"You have children?" Meredith looked around the room for a photograph.

"Two boys and a girl. They're at school right now." Amanda glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "They should be home soon."

Glancing around the room again, Meredith wondered how a family of five survived together in such cramped surroundings. "What happened to your house?" Realizing that was an impolite question, she quickly added, "If you don't mind me asking."

Amanda shrugged. "It's no secret. Claude sold farming equipment, and he was doing well. Then someone bought a lot of expensive equipment from him and never paid him. Claude took him to court, but the farmer had a really sharp lawyer. They said the equipment was no good, that it wasn't worth half of what the farmer paid for it."

"I'm so sorry. That must have been a terrible hardship."

"It was." Amanda stared down at the cat purring on her lap. "Claude didn't have the money to pay for the lease. He
asked George to lend him what he needed. He said George could easily have lent it to him, he had plenty to spare, but he told Claude he didn't trust his business practices. Said Claude would lose everything and wouldn't be able to pay him back."

"How awful, not to trust your own brother."

"Well, they weren't real brothers, you see. George's father took Claude in off the street when he was five. Never knew his real name so Mr. Lewis gave him his name, though he never did make it legal."

"Still, if he was treated like a brother . . ."

Amanda's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "George was a banker, wasn't he. He knew all about how to handle money. Besides, he was probably right about Claude. My husband was always giving stuff away. Said it made him feel important. He wanted people to think he had plenty of money to throw around, when really we were barely scraping by because of what he spent on the house and gardens. It was all for show." She uttered a bitter laugh. "Lot of good it does him now."

Meredith leaned forward. "That must have been really difficult for you."

"I always knew it wouldn't last, and I was right. We lost the shop, couldn't pay the servants what we owed them, so we had to sell the house to pay our bills." The despair in her eyes when she looked around the room gave Meredith chills. "This is all we can afford for now. It costs a lot to clothe and feed a family. I take in laundry, but it's hard work and doesn't pay much."

"I'm so sorry." Meredith was feeling more depressed by the minute. "I can understand why your husband felt such bitterness toward Mr. Lewis."

"He'll never get over it." Amanda picked up the cat and buried her face in its fur for a moment. "He blamed George for all our troubles. Don't tell him I told you, but he took up drinking after we lost the house. Goes out every night to the Pig and Whistle, he does, and sometimes he doesn't come home all night."

"I'm sorry. Something like that can be very difficult to live with."

"Yes it is." The cat yowled and she put it back down on her lap. "The funny thing is, I don't think George had the money to lend to Claude. They say he embezzled money from the bank, though I don't believe that for one minute. George wouldn't do something like that."

Surprised to hear her defend her brother-in-law after he'd caused them so much trouble, Meredith asked, "Why is that?"

Amanda gave her a sharp look. "Well, you knew George, didn't you? He was a good man, not weak, like my Claude. He turned down a life of luxury to stay with his wife."

The cat yowled again, and she picked it up and lowered it to the floor. "There's this really rich widow, Blanche Pettigrew, she owns the Sandalwood Estate out on the east highway. She wanted George, from what I hear, and was at the bank every day offering him anything he wanted if he'd leave his wife and go away with her. He could have lived like a king, but he chose to stay with Dorothy and the children. That's the kind of man he was, but then you probably know that."

"Yes, of course." Feeling guilty for her deception, Meredith shifted uneasily on her chair.

"He wouldn't have been happy, anyway." Amanda brushed cat hairs from her lap. "From what Dorothy told me, that Pettigrew woman was really demanding. Then there was her nephew . . ." Amanda paused, frowning in concentration. "Will Barnard, that's his name. He lives with Mrs. Pettigrew. She doesn't have any children of her own. Will was really nasty to George. Probably thought he would steal his inheritance. He would have given George plenty of grief, I'm sure of that."

"It certainly sounds like it."

Amanda nodded. "Well, like I said, Claude won't want to talk about George. To tell you the truth, Mrs. Llewellyn, it's best that you don't wait for him. Like I said, he goes drinking after work, and not just beer, neither. If he comes
home with a bellyful of spirits and you start talking about George . . . well, it might not be good for you, that's all I'm saying."

"Of course. I quite understand." Meredith rose to her feet.

"Then again, he might not come home at all." Sighing, Amanda pushed herself out of her chair. "It's getting more and more frequent. He was out all night the night George and Dorothy died. Said he passed out on the way home and didn't wake up until the next morning." Her face suddenly crumpled. "That poor little baby. My heart breaks for that child. And Emma . . . such a sweet child. To die all alone like that. I would have taken her, but Claude put his foot down. Said we couldn't afford to take her in."

Meredith tried to remind herself that Emma would probably have died even if she had been taken in by Amanda. But at least she would have passed on with familiar faces around her, instead of strangers in that dreadful place.

Deciding that she didn't like Claude Lewis one tiny bit, Meredith moved toward the door. It was just as well he hadn't been home, she thought, as she descended the dark and grimy stairs to the street. She might have given him a piece of her mind. After what she had heard about him, that would most likely have been quite an unpleasant experience.

Claude Lewis sounded like the kind of man one would go out of his way to avoid. Hostile and bitter—not the sort of man one would want to offend.

She paused at the bottom of the steps, one hand on the door leading to the street. Hostile enough to burn the house down? Amanda had told her that Claude had stayed out that whole night. He would know how to get into the house. He could have easily attacked his brother in his sleep, perhaps his wife, too, and set fire to the house in a drunken rage.

Definitely a possibility. But how on earth would she prove it? Frustrated, she stepped out onto the street. This
detective business was far more complicated than she'd ever imagined. Perhaps she should just go to the police with her suspicions and let them find out what really happened that night.

It was definitely something she needed to think about.

Chapter 10

"Reggie, I need to stop by the pig and Whistle again
on our way home."

Opening the door of the carriage, Reggie looked at Meredith in surprise. "You want to go back to the pub, m'm? But it's closed for the afternoon. Won't be open now until five o'clock."

"I don't want a drink, Reggie." Meredith climbed up onto her seat. "I want to speak to the proprietor. I'm sure you can arrange that."

"Well, yes, m'm, but—" His expression changed from puzzlement to apprehension. "Ah . . . I see. You want to investigate him."

"Not exactly."

"Someone else at the pub then?"

Meredith leaned forward and lowered her voice. "You and I will get along much better, Reggie, if you'll stop asking so many questions. Be assured I will tell you anything you need to know. In fact, I would like you to accompany me when I question the proprietor."

"Oh, of course, m'm." Looking excited at the prospect, Reggie closed the door and climbed up onto his perch.

As they jogged once more down the High Street, Meredith went over the conversation she'd had with Amanda. It certainly seemed that her husband had strong reasons for hating his brother. It was hard to imagine anyone's hatred being powerful enough to kill an entire family. It was terrible, indeed, what too much spirits could do to the mind.

Deep in thought, she was startled when Reggie brought the carriage to a halt. They had arrived at the Pig and Whistle without her noticing.

The proprietor, a rotund gentleman with a nose that glowed like the evening sun, seemed most unsettled when Reggie presented her. Although he seemed reluctant to talk to her, he graciously invited her and Reggie into his parlor, and offered her a glass of ale.

"Thank you, Mr. Willoughby, but I have already partaken of your excellent brew and quite enjoyed it." Seated on a sagging armchair, Meredith smiled up at him. "I really think it would be wise to refrain from enjoying another."

Reggie, on the other hand, leapt at the chance of free ale. He sat across the room, frothing glass in hand, while Mr. Willoughby took a seat on the other side of the fireplace.

"My wife will be sorry to have missed your visit, Mrs. Llewellyn," he said as he settled himself more comfortably. "She's visiting relatives in Brighton at the moment."

Meredith nodded. "It's a very pleasant town to visit."

"It is, indeed." He gave her a hard stare. "Now what, may I ask, is the purpose of your visit today?"

"I have some questions about one of your customers, a Mr. Claude Lewis. I was hoping you'd be able to answer them for me."

Watching his face closely, she saw wariness in his eyes. "What's old Claude been up to now?"

"Ah, so you do know him."

"Yes, indeed. He's a regular at the Pig and Whistle."

"Yes, so I understand." She paused, arranging the words in her head. "I expect you know he recently lost his brother and family."

Willoughby shook his head. He had a long, wispy mustache and muttonchops, and looked rather like an aging walrus. "Such a terrible tragedy, that. Poor little mite, the daughter, watching her whole family go up in flames, then getting sick and dying like that. Terrible. Terrible."

"It was, indeed." Meredith drew a steadying breath. "I don't suppose you happen to remember that night?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Willoughby rubbed his chin with a roughened hand. "It was pouring with rain that night. Good job it was, it helped to put out the fire or that whole house would have burned to the ground. Not that it helped the Lewises much, of course. I heard the fire wagon go by. They had to pass right by here on the way out of town."

"So you remember the night well."