Page 37 of A Murder in Mayfair
Walsh had made a sport of other men's ruin. He had gambled with lives, traded dreams for dust, and reveled in the destruction he left behind. He had built a kingdom atop broken men, and now the kingdom had come crashing down around him.
The question was no longerwhyhe had been murdered. That answer was painfully clear. The real question—the dangerous one—waswhoamong the wreckage had finally struck the fatal blow.
As despicable as Walsh had been, he hadn’t deserved to be murdered. There were other ways to bring about justice. Ruinhim socially, publicly. A well-placed trap during a card game could have exposed his cheating. The silver mine scheme might have been unmasked as fraud. Either scandal would have been enough to see him banished from polite society.
But who had chosen the more final route? Could young Bellamy have done it? Or Finch or Danforth, for that matter? Perhaps even someone else entirely. An as-yet-unknown hand in this grim affair.
Someone had blood on their hands, and I wouldn't rest until I uncovered the truth.
Chapter
Fifteen
SHADOWS AT WALSH HOUSE
Before I could even pen a note to Julia asking for an audience, I received one from her. She begged my forgiveness for asking me to leave and asked if I could pay a call on her. There were matters she wished to discuss. I wasted no time making my way to Walsh House.
Upon my arrival, that residence loomed before me like a half-finished portrait—grand, certainly, but lacking warmth. Though the morning sun glinted off its stone façade and the ivy was neatly trimmed, something about the house struck a dissonant chord. As though its very walls knew that the man who had ruled it was now nothing but a name, soon to be etched on a tombstone.
The mourning draperies had already been drawn across the Walsh House doors. Heavy black crepe swathed the entrance like a shroud, an outward symbol of grief that did little to mask the turmoil coiling through the place.
I was admitted at once and shown to the morning room, where Julia awaited me.
She stood by the window when I entered, clad in mourning black, though her gown was cut simply and lacked the dramatic veils and embellishments society so often demanded of grieving widows. Her posture was ramrod straight, her fingers tightly interlaced. She turned as I approached and managed a pale smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Rosalynd,” she said, her tone apologetic. “Thank you for coming. I apologize for my behavior yesterday. I shouldn’t have asked you to leave.”
I gently took her hands in mine. “You were overwrought. Understandable given the circumstances.”
“Thank you for understanding and attending to me in my hour of need.”
“I came because I care, Julia. And also, because I’d like to ask some questions.”
A flicker of something—wariness, perhaps—crossed her face. She gestured toward the settee. “Of course. Let’s sit.”
The silence stretched between us as the maid brought in tea and withdrew. I waited until the tea had been poured and the maid dismissed before setting my cup aside and folding my hands in my lap.
“What was it you wished to discuss, Julia?”
She hesitated, her gaze flickering toward the door, then to the fire, as though gathering the courage to speak. At last, she exhaled slowly, the tension in her posture belying the calm she tried to maintain.
“It’s about Walsh,” she said. “Or rather, the mess he left behind.”
I said nothing, sensing she needed to unburden herself before I offered judgment or sympathy.
“The butler came to me yesterday. The staff hadn’t been paid in weeks, and the grocer has refused further deliveries. The coal merchant sent notice. No more fuel until the outstandingbalance is cleared. I had to scrape together what I could from my personal allowance just to put food on the table.”
I was horrified by what she’d just revealed. “Surely he hadn’t neglected the accounts entirely.”
She gave a small, hollow laugh. “He didn’t neglect them, Rosalynd. He depleted them. Not only that, he’d been selling off valuables, piece by piece. I suspect he was gambling heavily. Again.”
“Did you know?”
“I suspected,” she admitted, her voice growing thinner. “But I never imagined the extent. And now there’s nothing but unpaid bills and dwindling credit. I fear for what may happen to myself, the household. But most of all, I fear for my child.”
“You did right to tell me,” I said gently. “We’ll find a way through this. Together.”
Julia gave a faint nod, though the lines around her mouth remained tight with worry.
