Garden of Lies(60)
Otford waited until the door closed behind Griffith. Then he cleared his throat.
“I believe I see where you are headed here, sir,” he said. “Do you really think that a high-ranking gentleman like Lord Fulbrook may be involved in these murders?”
“I don’t know,” Slater said. “I am still collecting information. The sooner you conduct your interviews, the sooner we will have some notion of what is going on.”
“Understood, sir.” Otford bounced to his feet and grabbed the last sandwich off the tray. “I know exactly how to go about gaining information from servants. My parents were in service. But I can tell you right now that no one will talk to me unless I make it worth their while.”
“I will instruct my butler to supply you with some bribe money.” Slater tugged on the velvet bellpull. “Webster will also take care of your rent.”
Otford chuckled and headed toward the door. “Very kind of you, sir. Look forward to working with you on this project. With a story this big and your financial backing, I will be able to launch my magazine.”
He disappeared out into the hall.
Ursula looked at Slater. A deep curiosity burned in her eyes.
“You did a favor for the director of a museum in New York?” she asked without inflection.
“I warned you that I had a checkered past, Ursula.”
She smiled ruefully. “As do I.”
“Perhaps that is an indication that we are well-suited to each other.”
“Some pasts are more checkered than others. But given what has happened, I suppose you are due an explanation.”
“You are entitled to your privacy,” he said. “Everyone has secrets.”
“Unfortunately, it appears that mine are no longer hidden.”
THIRTY-ONE
Ursula drank a little more tea and set the cup aside. She got to her feet and went to stand at the window, looking out into the garden.
“I suppose I should thank you for following me to the cemetery this afternoon,” she said.
“That’s not necessary,” Slater said.
She was not certain what to make of his quiet patience. Most men would have been aghast to discover that they were conducting a liaison with a woman who was being blackmailed; one who had been involved in a notorious divorce scandal; a woman who carried a pistol to a meeting with an extortionist.
“I wasn’t going to kill him, you know,” she said after a moment. “Otford wasn’t worth getting myself arrested and hung for murder. But I thought that I might be able to frighten him into leaving me alone.”
“It was a perfectly reasonable plan.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Do you think so?”
“It suffered from the usual problems associated with a spur-of-the-moment strategy but, yes, overall, not a bad plan. It might have worked.”
She found his approval quite cheering.
“I must say you handled him very well,” she said. “A plate of sandwiches and a little money and suddenly he is working for you.”
“He believes that he’s working in his own best interests and that is true in some respects. I have learned that most people are amenable to projects in which they see a personal benefit.”
She smiled. “Do I detect a note of cynicism?”
“I consider myself a realist, Ursula.”
She was almost amused now. “Yet you are the ultimate romantic, Mr. Roxton.”
He appeared to be blindsided by that remark. When he recovered his expression went hard.
“What the devil makes you say that?”
“I am very much afraid that you had the grave misfortune to be born with the spirit of one of the old chivalric heroes, Slater. You employ a ragtag household staff that no one else would hire. You returned to London to guard the inheritance of your two half brothers even though the title and the money should have come to you by right of blood. You do not feel at home here but you stay because of the responsibilities that were thrust upon you. And you insisted on getting involved in what most would call a foolish, utterly ridiculous scheme to investigate a murder because you were afraid I might be in danger.”
He shook his head. “Ursula.”
He stopped, evidently out of words.
“Yes, Slater, I’m afraid you are doomed to play the hero.”
“That’s nonsense.” He got to his feet and crossed the room to stand beside her. “What matters is finding out who slipped the note containing the information about your real identity and your address under Otford’s door.”
“The only person who knew the truth about me—at least as far as I am aware—was Anne Clifton. She must have confided the information to someone in the Fulbrook household. But why would she do that?” Ursula blinked tears out of her eyes. “I trusted her. I thought she was my friend.”
Slater put his arm around her and hugged her close. “Not everyone is worthy of your trust.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Ursula freed herself from his grasp and hurried across the room to her satchel. She took out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “I knew Anne was reckless in some ways but we had so much in common. And it’s difficult to go through life without having at least one other person know the truth about oneself.”