Page 86 of A Devil in Silk
Bentley feared they were chasing half-truths. Murray’s hatred of Tarrington was plain, but that didn’t explain why Lavinia blackmailed her patrons.
“Tell me something.” He fixed Murray with a steady gaze. “Could Lavinia commune with the dead?”
Murray laughed. “Commune with the dead? Lavinia couldn’t summon a flea, let alone a spirit. Silas Scarth’s the one with the skill. He hired her. She was the mouthpiece, the pretty face spouting his words while he pulled the strings. He told her what to say, what to do, and now she’s paid the price.”
The news came as no surprise to Bentley. “Did Tarrington know your sister was a fraud?”
“No one knew,” Murray said, shaking his head. “Lavinia guarded that secret like her life depended on it. Maybe it did.”
“Is it possible Tarrington found out?”
“Scarth might have told him.”
“Do you know where we can find Silas Scarth?” Daventry asked.
Murray shrugged. “I’ve not seen him since the seance. He was meant to bring the drink that stops Lavinia from choking. Maybe he poisoned her wine instead. Or maybe Tarrington killed them both.”
The room fell still as they contemplated the chilling possibility. Poison was the weapon of the weak, yet effective enough to conquer the strongest foe.
“Is that why you went to Scarth’s lodging house?” Bentley said, remembering someone else had knocked on Mrs Morven’s door looking for Silas. “To find proof he’d killed your sister?”
Murray exhaled sharply. “I did go. When Scarth disappeared, I assumed he’d taken Lavinia’s box of trinkets. I only wanted to see if he’d hidden it at the house. But I took nothing. The woman let me in, so it’s hardly a crime.”
Daventry’s eyes narrowed. “And that’s why you attacked Lavinia’s landlord tonight? You thought he had stolen the box?”
“Of course he’s stolen it,” Murray blurted, then caught himself, realising extortion was a crime. “I only meant to return the trinkets to their owners. Lavinia used them to better connect with the dead.”
Daventry laughed. “I hope you can afford a good barrister, Murray. You’re tripping over your own feet. How long had Lavinia been blackmailing her patrons? Be advised, I have the chest and her notebook.”
Murray blanched, sagging back in the chair like a man watching the prison doors swing shut. “Lavinia’s been promisingto deliver salvation for a year. She didn’t mean no harm, only wanted to bring peace to those carrying burdens.”
“Peace?” Bentley’s laugh was short and bitter. “Like paying the boatman for safe passage? Hand over your jewels, whisper your sins, and hope she rowed you to paradise?”
His mother would have sold every worldly possession for a few reassuring words from Marcus, anything to quiet the grief that still hollowed her eyes.
Clara gave a curious hum. “There were whispers about someone watching Lavinia’s house, a woman seen loitering in the shadows. Did Lavinia ever mention trouble with her patrons? Anyone who might have threatened her?”
Murray looked at her like they were stupid questions. “People hounded her night and day for answers. That’s why she told Scarth she planned to retire, leave London, and settle by the coast.”
Though Bentley doubted it was a strong motive for murder, perhaps Miss Nightshade was blackmailing Scarth as well. If only they knew where to find him.
Daventry stood, gesturing for his agents to secure the shackles around Murray’s wrist. “You’ll be taken to Vine Street. I'll provide Inspector Mercer with the details. It will be his decision whether you’re charged with fraud and extortion.”
Murray protested his innocence, but Daventry remained firm. With a curt nod, he ordered the men to lead the prisoner away.
As Murray’s cries for clemency died, Bentley drew Daventry aside. “There’s been an important development. It concerns the Rosefield Seminary and why Lavinia thought she could blackmail Miss Dalton.”
His interest piqued, and looking somewhat impressed, Daventry stepped closer. “I was going to suggest sending an agent to the seminary. Hopefully you’ve saved me the trouble.”
Bentley explained what he’d learned this morning, but made no mention of Clara being there.
“My mother has spent the last forty years believing in a curse. Somehow Miss Nightshade knew about it. After what we’ve heard this morning, I suspect Silas Scarth told her.” Though that would mean he’d received the information from the nether realm. “Or perhaps Tarrington is responsible.”
Daventry folded his arms across his chest and thought for a moment. “The inspector believes there’s a connection between a reform fanatic who attended the seance and the article Miss Picklescott was writing about the Factory Bill.”
From Daventry’s tone, it was evident his suspicions lay elsewhere. The man was rarely wrong and had earned the Home Secretary’s trust.
“But you disagree?” Bentley said. The papers scattered over Miss Picklescott’s floor mentioned the Factory Bill and were probably left by the killer to lead them astray.
