I promised I would and hurried away, heading for Piccadilly and making my way east along it. I turned south at Haymarket and dodged crowds through Charing Cross until I reached Great Scotland Yard.
I didn’t bother with the sergeant at the desk this time but went straight to the edifice of the Public Carriage Office, intending to take myself to Inspector McGregor directly.
A constable in the courtyard moved to intercept me. Before I could begin to argue with him, a heavy hand fell on my arm.
I recognized the touch, so I did not struggle away. “I am here to speak to Inspector McGregor,” I informed him. “The Lofthouses are leaving for the Continent.”
“So it seems,” Daniel said.
“Of course you’d know what I rushed here to impart,” I said in annoyance. Truth to tell, I was quite happy to see Daniel, and anything he said would not dim my immediate joy. “Shall we speak to Inspector McGregor together?”
“No.” Daniel moved his grip to my elbow and steered me back through the courtyard toward the street. “I want you nowhere near Scotland Yard, in case Monaghan decides to detain you.”
I shot him a startled glance. “He would not dare.”
“In his current mood, he might. Now, it is your afternoon out—let us get you to Clover Lane.”
“Do not placate me, Daniel McAdam. I still have a friend in the Belgrave Square house, and it is my fault she is there. I must—”
“You must go to the Millburns’,” Daniel said firmly.
We’d emerged to Charing Cross by that time, Daniel guiding me unyieldingly. Once in the Strand, Daniel let out a piercing whistle, similar to the one James had used only a few weeks ago. A hansom immediately pivoted in a sharp turn and pulled in next to us.
I clung to Daniel’s hand as he assisted me in, fearing that if I let go, he’d send the hansom on and fade into the crowd. I relaxed when he climbed in beside me and the cab jerked forward, taking us in the direction of Cheapside.
“You must tell me what the devil happened,” I said once wewere rumbling along the cobblestoned street. “Was Lord Peyton murdered?”
“I don’t know.” The furrow in Daniel’s forehead told me his frustration matched mine. “No one is certain whether it was an accident, a natural death, was self-inflicted, or a murder. The viscount was found at the foot of the staircase, his wheeled chair at the top of it. No one, not even Fagan, knows why he was in the upstairs hall or how he came to fall.”
“Someone must have killed him, then,” I said with conviction. “If he was an invalid, how could he throwhimselfdown the stairs?”
“He could stand,” Daniel said. “Shakily, and only if he held on to something, usually Fagan. He would last for about thirty seconds before he had to sit down again. Lord Peyton had some sort of palsy, and even his doctor wasn’t certain exactly what his ailment was. He might have heaved himself out of his chair for some reason, lost his footing, and fallen. According to everyone in the household—Inspector McGregor and his men questioned them all—they heard him cry out, and then the crash of him on the stairs.”
I winced, not liking to picture the poor man, whether he was a villain or no, desperately trying to stop himself as he tumbled to his death.
“He might have been asleep or under the effects of laudanum,” I suggested. “To prevent him struggling or calling for help when the murderer pushed him to the top of the stairs. Not waking until he knew he was falling.”
“As I have not been able to see the scene of the crime, I am guessing as much as you are,” Daniel said. “The back wheels of the chair are large enough that Lord Peyton could propel himself about, though he didn’t like to. It was difficult for his weakhands, but hecouldhave taken himself into the hall. From what Fagan told Inspector McGregor, the chair wasn’t at the edge of the stairs, but a few feet back. Lord Peyton could have tottered the short distance himself for whatever reason he thought he should. Or he might have had a seizure of some kind. He pulled himself to his feet to shout for help but wasn’t able to summon anyone before he fell.”
“The police surgeon will be able to determine whether Lord Peyton had apoplexy or his heart had given out, won’t he?”
“Possibly.” Daniel scanned the traffic around us, as though watching for followers. “The actual cause of death was a broken neck, so the examiner might not bother to search for other ailments. Even Monaghan does not seem that interested. The subject of Monaghan’s investigation is dead, and he’s satisfied the man can cause no more trouble.”
I heard the skeptical note in his voice. “But you are not?”
“I’m not convinced Lord Peyton was a criminal mastermind who was planning and funding bomb attacks around London. He is for Irish Home Rule, but so are others in the Lords and Commons, without resorting to violence. Viscount Peyton had sympathy for those who need to better their lives, but I believe there his complicity ended. I went over all of his correspondence and his accounts multiple times, and a less guilty-looking man, I have never met.”
“Mr.Monaghan was adamant though.”
“He was,” Daniel said. “I thought Monaghan would be all over that house this morning, digging into every corner, but he’s lost interest, it seems.”
“Rather an odd reaction.”
“Monaghan is a rather odd man. He turned me away when I asked him why he wasn’t following the investigation onPeyton’s death. Which means either there is something he doesn’t want me to know, or he was wrong about Peyton and refuses to admit it.”
“Well, you did your best,” I said emphatically. “Monaghan cannot go back on his bargain that he’d let you go because he was wrong about the culprit.”
“He can, and he will,” Daniel said, a bleakness in his eyes. “I haven’t put myself into sufficient danger to satisfy him yet.”
