Finished Off (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 2) (16 page)

"Yes, madam."

The butler withdrew, and Meredith turned once more to the widow. "You were saying, Mrs. Pettigrew?"

To her intense disappointment, the woman's expression was once again frozen in indifference. "I was saying nothing, Mrs. Llewellyn. I'm sorry I'm unable to enlighten you. Perhaps my nephew will be more accommodating."

The doors swung open again before Meredith could think of a suitable answer. The young man who strolled in wore the same bored expression as his aunt. Dressed in a dark maroon smoking jacket and white cravat, he sported a monocle in one eye and carried a lit cigar.

Mrs. Pettigrew introduced her. "My nephew, Will Barnard." She gave the young man a meaningful look that wasn't lost on Meredith. "Mrs. Llewellyn would like a word with you before she leaves."

In other words, Meredith thought wryly, get rid of her. Well, she wasn't about to be dismissed quite so easily. "I won't take up too much of your time," she said, giving Will Barnard her brightest smile.

He sent his aunt a wary glance.

"Mrs. Llewellyn seems to believe that we have information about George Lewis's private affairs," Mrs. Pettigrew said. "I have assured her I have no such knowledge and cannot help her. Since you have had dealings with the man, perhaps you can answer her questions."

Her nephew shifted his gaze back to Meredith. "I really don't know if I will be of any help. I barely knew the man."

"Well, then, in that case, perhaps you would be so good as to escort Mrs. Llewellyn to the front door." Mrs. Pettigrew gave Meredith another of her chilling glances. "If you will excuse me. I feel a headache beginning."

"Oh, of course." Having been thoroughly dismissed, there was nothing Meredith could do but follow Barnard to the doors. As he opened them, she turned back to the widow. "I do hope your health will shortly improve, Mrs. Pettigrew."

"Thank you, Mrs. Llewellyn. I hope you eventually
find an answer to your questions." Her expression most certainly portrayed the opposite.

Not that Meredith could blame her. Mrs. Pettigrew obviously would not want her pursuit of George Lewis to be public knowledge. Apparently George had told his wife about it, who had then related the news to Amanda, but it seemed unlikely that the knowledge had gone any further than that.

Will Barnard led her down the hallway without comment, but she was determined to persuade the young man to at least consider answering her questions.

"You live in a beautiful home," she told him as they reached the front door. "Quite magnificent. The drawing room is so elegant, and I adore those horses on the mantelpiece. Staffordshire, aren't they?"

Will shrugged. "I have no idea. I don't pay attention to my aunt's furnishings. I do know they are worth a great deal of money. They are one pair of a very limited edition. Actually, George Lewis also had a pair of them in his home."

She waited until he had opened the door, and then turned to him with a smile. "I understand you take care of Mrs. Pettigrew's business at the bank."

Will pulled a face. "Not exactly. I keep the paperwork, but my aunt prefers to visit the bank personally and alone." He hesitated, then added, "At least she used to, that is."

"Until Mr. Lewis passed on."

A flicker of wariness crossed his face. "Precisely. Not that it's any of my business."
Or yours
, his expression added.

"You must have heard, I assume, that Mr. Lewis had been embezzling funds from the bank."

Will's cool gray eyes were devoid of emotion when he looked at her. "Actually, no, I didn't know. I don't suppose it matters now, does it, since the man is dead."

"Such a tragedy." Meredith busied herself pulling up her gloves to her elbows. "A great loss, the whole family dying out like that. First the mother, father, and baby, and then that little girl dying all alone. So very sad."

Will shrugged. "I suppose. These things happen. I hardly
knew the man, and never met his family, so I can't really say."

"They had such a lovely home. It's completely ruined now, of course."

"Is it? I wouldn't know. I don't even know where it is." He stepped outside and pushed the door open wider, indicating quite clearly that she should leave.

Meredith decided she didn't like this indifferent young man very much. She needed to tolerate his company a little longer, however, if she were to find out a little more about the late George Lewis.

"I noticed a motor car in the driveway when I got out of the carriage." She gave him her brightest smile. "Is it yours?"

"It is, indeed." For a moment his expression took on a more affable look. "A recent gift from my aunt."

"My goodness." Meredith turned to take another look at the shiny bright red motor car. "You have a most generous aunt." She turned back just in time to see a hint of resentment in his face.

"Actually it was in payment for . . . ah . . . a spot of business that I took care of for her."

Meredith studied his face with interest. "That must have been quite an extensive effort on your part to earn such a remarkable compensation."

The look on his face told her he regretted having disclosed so much information. She would get no more out of him.

She was proved right when Will said brusquely, "Well, good day, Mrs. Llewellyn. Thank you for calling."

Retracing her steps to where Reggie waited with the carriage, she wondered about the mysterious business matter Will Barnard had taken care of for his aunt, one that had resulted in such a generous gift. Blanche Pettigrew, with her beauty and wealth, could not be accustomed to rejection. Having been so thoroughly scorned by George Lewis, had she taken her revenge on him by ordering her nephew to burn down his house?

Neither Blanche nor Will had shown the least remorse over the tragic deaths of the Lewis family. It was certainly a possibility. Especially so, in light of Will's interesting comments about the horses. For how could he know that George Lewis had a pair of them in his home if Will had never been inside it?

It was an interesting question, and one worth pursuing, if she could only work out exactly how to do that.

Chapter 12

"I wonder what the suffragettes have got planned
next." Olivia stood looking out of the kitchen window, her pensive expression drawing a frown.

"You'd better not let Mrs. Wilkins hear you mention suffragettes." Grace dragged a large china platter out of the soapy water in the sink and laid it on the draining board. "She said she didn't want to hear one mention of the word or she'd box our ears."

Olivia sniffed. "I don't know how we're supposed to be members of the WSPU if we can't get days off to go and protest. I didn't even manage to break any windows the last time we went. That bobby chucked me in the wagon before I had a chance to throw one rock."

"Just be glad I got you out of there." Grace shuddered. "I hate to think what they would have done to you in prison." Grace didn't say so, but she was jolly glad they couldn't join the protestors again for a while. So far their attempts to support the suffragettes had brought them nothing but trouble.

Olivia picked up the platter and started drying it with her tea towel. "Yeah, it would have been quite an experience.
Think of all the stories I would have heard, though, from the other women prisoners."

"If they'd been able to talk." Grace lifted a delicate bone china soup tureen out of the water. "It would be a bit hard, wouldn't it, with a flipping tube stuck down their throats."

Olivia sighed. "I s'pose so. In any case, we won't be able to go protesting until we get that blinking attic cleaned up. That's going to take us weeks."

"No it won't." Grace waited for Olivia to put the platter on the table, then handed her the tureen. "We got a lot done already."

"Yeah, I s'pose." Olivia started wiping the tureen, once more staring out the window. "Anyhow, I got a wedding dress out of it, didn't I." She turned the tureen over. "I wonder what else we'll find up there."

"Whatever we find up there we'd better leave it alone." Grace swished her hands around in the water and came up with a china jug. "I still say that wedding dress will bring you bad luck."

"Well, I'm not superstitious, so there. I don't believe in bad luck." Olivia turned to put the tureen on the table. The platter took up too much room, though, so she had to scoot it over with her elbow to put the tureen down.

As she nudged the platter out of the way, the tureen slipped from her hand. She tried to grab it, missed, and the heavy dish crashed to the floor, splintering tiny pieces of china all across the red tiles.

Grace stared in horror at the mess on the floor. "Blimey," she muttered, "now you've gone and done it."

Olivia's cheeks were pale as she stared down at the shattered china. "Gawd, that was our best bit of bone china. Wilky will have my hide for this."

Feeling sick, Grace gaped at the mess. "See?" she muttered. "I told you that dress was bad luck."

Later that afternoon in the teacher's lounge, Mere
dith recounted the details of her visit to the Sandalwood
Estate while Essie drank in every word and Felicity pretended not to be interested.

Essie's eyes widened when Meredith speculated on the possibility of Will Barnard setting the fire in the Lewises' house. "Do you really think he was the one?" she said, her hands clasped at her chin. "What are you going to do about it?"

Meredith uttered an unhappy sigh. "I don't think there's anything I can do about it. Every time I think I'm getting somewhere, I realize I can't prove anything. It's all ifs and maybes. The constables are not going to arrest anyone on such nebulous evidence."

"I suppose not." Essie sighed with her. "It's terrible to think he might have got away with the murder of three people. Especially that little baby."

"If you ask me," Felicity said, raising her head from the book on her lap, "you are wasting your time, Meredith. Obviously you are getting nowhere, and sooner or later Hamilton is going to find out what you're doing. I hate to think how he'll react to that. Especially when you tell him you're doing it for a ghost."

Essie gasped. "Oh, you couldn't possibly tell him that, Meredith."

Meredith smiled. "Don't worry, Essie. I have no intention of telling Mr. Hamilton about my ghost. I do wish I knew where to go from here, though. Emma is going to be so disappointed in me."

"She can't be disappointed," Felicity murmured, her head down over her book again. "Ghosts don't have feelings."

"If you'd seen the tears on her face, you wouldn't say that." Meredith picked up her knitting and began clicking her needles in rapid rhythm. "I can't get that vision out of my mind."

"She cries? Oh, my." Essie buried her face in her hands. "That would break my heart."

"The tears aren't real, either. The child is dead."

Meredith frowned. She was used to Felicity's blunt
manner, but sometimes it rankled. "She was alive until a few days ago," she said crisply.

Felicity sounded exasperated. "All I can say is that if there really is a ghost, it's certainly causing a lot of trouble for a child who's no longer with us. Give it up, Meredith, before you land us all in trouble."

Meredith lapsed into silence. She couldn't give up. Not as long as that tearful face haunted her. There had to be a way to find out what really happened that night. Something, somewhere, to tell her what she needed to know.

After a lengthy silence, Felicity snapped her book shut and rose. "Well, I have to go and teach those little hooligans how to converse with French nobility. Though when they will ever need to use it, goodness only knows. I should be teaching them how to invade the London men's clubs and set fire to their nasty little derrieres."

Essie gasped. "Felicity! How could you!"

"I only wish I could." Felicity waved a hand at them both and sailed out the door.

Meredith gave Essie a wry grin. "Felicity will never change, I'm afraid. She will always be a rebel at heart." She tucked her knitting away in its bag and got to her feet. "I must get back to my office. I still have all that cash we raised at the summer fete in the safe. I really should take it to the bank and open up an account now that we've started a new art studio fund."

Essie scrambled up from her chair. "I think a new art studio is such a good idea. I'm so glad the school board supported it."

"Yes, but it's not safe to leave money lying around like that. Too much of a temptation. I should have thought of it when I went to the bank in Witcheston. It will be some time, I'm afraid, before we raise enough money to add the new studio."

"You certainly need another one. Your classroom is so cramped for space, you hardly have room for the easels."

"Which is why we must hold all these fund-raising
events. I should have asked Mr. Hamilton for a new art studio instead of another horse."

Essie stared at her. "You asked for another horse? Is something wrong with Major?"

"Other than the fact he is getting too old to go far these days, no. I just don't like to overburden him."

"Poor Major." Essie started for the door. "It's a good job we don't have to go into town too often."

"It is, indeed." Though, Meredith thought, as she headed for her office, if ghosts kept appearing in her bedroom demanding justice, she might end up spending more time traveling around the countryside than in the classroom. She could just imagine what Stuart Hamilton would say to that.

Arriving at her office, she found Roger Platt seated at her desk, reading something he obviously didn't want her to see, since he hastily folded the magazine and tucked it inside his coat.

"Mrs. Llewellyn!" He shoved the chair back and jumped to his feet. "I didn't realize you were back. I thought you were still gallivanting around town with the handyman."

He'd made it sound insulting, and Meredith longed to slap him. "I completed my urgent business earlier than I expected." Glaring into his eyes, she added, "I trust you completed the proposals for the next fund-raiser?"

He looked blank for a moment, then said hurriedly, "I was just getting to it, m'm. I'll finish it in the library. It should be quiet in there now."