Page 17 of A Devil in Silk
The sergeant nodded. “I’m afraid I must ask about the nature of your relationship. Just for the record.”
“We’re friends, almost like family,” Bentley said, omitting to mention he found Clara’s disregard for rules attractive. In truth, he’d admired her long before her accident, but that was of noconsequence now. “I’m acting as her chaperone in her brother’s absence.”
The word chaperone tasted sour on his tongue, a reminder of the only role he was allowed to play.
She shot him an irate look. “I was prepared to come alone, but some men are far too insistent.”
“Be thankful I was. A woman was murdered before our eyes.” Indeed, once the culprit was apprehended, they would be called to give evidence at the Old Bailey.
“Miss Picklescott said you received a disturbing message, ma’am.”
She frowned. “Miss Picklescott?”
“The lady who sat beside you on the sofa.”
Bentley made a mental note of the name.
“I’m inclined to believe it’s all nonsense, Sergeant,” Clara said, though her composure had faltered at the mention of her mother. “You spoke of the theatre, and I suspect everything that occurred here tonight was staged. Except for poor Miss Nightshade’s shocking death, of course.”
The sergeant flicked back through his notes. “So you don’t know anyone named Agnes?”
“Yes, Agnes was my mother’s name.” Her smile faltered for the briefest moment, so fleeting another man might have missed it, but Bentley didn’t. “She died eight years ago.”
“I’m not sure there’s anything more we can tell you,” Bentley said, keen to take Miss Dalton home. “We didn’t pour the wine. We’re not carrying a secret vial, nor did we force Miss Nightshade to drink from every vessel.”
Unlike Lord Tarrington.
Did that not make him the prime suspect?
Sergeant Brown snapped his notebook shut and slipped it back into his coat. “It’s late. I’ll need you both to call at the Vine Street station-house to make a formal statement in the next dayor two.” He glanced at Bentley, a flicker of reverence in his eyes. “If you’d prefer, my lord, the inspector can call on you at home. Save you the trouble of visiting the police office.”
And let Miss Dalton enter a building full of petty criminals alone? “We’ll visit Vine Street together sometime after noon tomorrow.”
After taking Miss Dalton’s address, the sergeant escorted them upstairs, where members of the audience were giving their versions of events to officers from Vine Street. Suspicious eyes shifted to Miss Dalton as she passed through the hall.
Outside the emporium, darkness deepened, as if the spirits mourned the loss of their fallen spokeswoman. A few carriages stood idle, while a restless crowd gathered across the dim street, drawn by a morbid fascination.
Bentley cupped Miss Dalton’s elbow and drew her aside. “Let me hail a hackney cab and see you safely home.”
She met his gaze, a tremor in her voice when she said, “I don’t want to go home. I won’t sleep. I can’t help but fear Miss Nightshade opened a door to the nether realm and failed to close it again.”
“None of it was real.” He doubted the medium had ever communed with spirits. “Nothing we witnessed from Lavinia Nightshade in the basement gave me cause to believe she possessed supernatural powers.”
“But she knew my mother’s name.”
“Tarrington knows your brother and would have mentioned the minor detail. It was all an elaborate show to justify the expensive tickets.” He’d wager the lord had made a tidy profit in the process to purchase more strange curiosities from abroad.
Her shoulders sagged. “Poor Miss Nightshade. Perhaps you’re right, and she was all bravado. Surely the spirits would have warned her not to drink the wine tonight.”
“I doubt even the spirits could have predicted the tragic turn of events.” He would never forget the cold fear in the young woman’s eyes as she fought for breath. Why was she so terrified if she knew what lay beyond the veil?
“This was hardly the thrilling night I longed for,” Miss Dalton said, removing a lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbing a tear from her right cheek. “And certainly not one I hope to recall in my dotage.”
“There’ll be others … other thrilling experiences, I mean.” Not ones marred by misfortune. The question was: Would she include him in her plans, after he had all but invited himself along? “Your list is quite extensive. Do you have it with you?”
“No, and there’s nothing on the list that can be accomplished on a grim night or without proper planning.” Her sad sigh tugged at something deep inside him. “But thank you for purchasing the tickets. I’m sorry the night took a tragic turn. Neither of us expected to become suspects in a murder investigation.”
They weren’t truly suspects. They hadn’t poured or served the wine, assuming that’s where the villain placed the poison. After tomorrow, the event would be a sad and shocking memory, one they would struggle to banish from their minds.
