“I suppose you make a valid point in her favor.”
“Perhaps it was a robbery. Or he owed a wagering debt he hadn’t paid.”
“Maybe. Still, it can’t hurt to at least speak with her.”
He nodded. “I’d like to see her and offer my condolences.”
“I suppose there is no time like the present to get started. Shall we pay Mrs. Mallard a visit?”
Chapter 16
The Mallard home was in Mayfair not far from Aunt Charlotte’s residence—which, unfortunately, added weight to the notion that Bishop would have had ample time to drop Daisy off and then make his way over there to do the deed that ended Mallard’s life.
Upon their arrival, she and Bishop had been escorted into one of two front parlors to wait while the butler went to inform Mrs. Mallard of their arrival. Daisy had caught sight of a dark wood casket in the parlor across the way. In this room, the mirror over the fireplace had been turned to face the wall. Black bunting had been draped here and there. A somberness filled the house. She was astounded activity was occurring in the residence and it hadn’t been locked up until a culprit was caught.
“Do you know how he made his money?” she asked Bishop, who was wandering through the room as though striving to memorize every aspect of it. If she’d had any doubts regarding whether he’d been here before, they were laid to rest. He seemed as unfamiliar with the place as she.
“He was a barrister, although a good bit of his fortune was inherited.”
“He may have represented criminals or other wrongdoers in the courts, then. Do you think he could have had a falling-out with one of his clients?”
From his study of a pastoral painting, he glanced over his shoulder at her. “Bad enough to exact revenge that would take not only Mallard’s life but that of the person who did him in if he were found out?”
She shrugged. “Let’s say you’re arrested for this crime. You hire a barrister to defend you in court. Yet still you’re found guilty. Would you not place some of the blame on the man you’d engaged to ensure you were declared innocent?”
“I wouldn’t bloody well pay him for his services.” He scrutinized the various aspects of the room. “Still, murder seems a bit extreme.”
“If you were hanged, is there no one who would want to punish him for failing you?”
He glowered. “You have incredibly dark thoughts, Marguerite.”
“I have read too many murder mysteries, I suppose. I’m simply striving to determine a motive that would result in such a violent act.”
Footsteps sounded, and Bishop returned to her side. She couldn’t help but think that together they made a formidable alliance.
Wearing all black, her hands clasped tightly before her, Mrs. Mallard walked into the room and came to an abrupt halt, her brow furrowing. “Mr. Blackwood, I was expecting only you. My butler didn’t mention that you’d brought someone with you. Are you in the habit of traveling about with one of your maids?”
“First, my condolences on your loss. While I knowyou wished a divorce, I imagine the unexpected turn in the situation has been quite upsetting.”
“It has indeed.”
“Miss Townsend, as it happens, is an inquiry agent. She was incognito while in my residence at the behest of the husband of one of my ladies. Based on her experience, I thought she might be able to provide some insight into what happened here.”
“That’s incredibly thoughtful of you. However, Scotland Yard seems to have the matter well in hand.”
“Still, I’m rather curious regarding the details.”
“It seems fairly straightforward. Someone entered our residence and killed him.”
“Where?” Daisy asked.
As though still in shock, the woman slowly shifted her gaze from Bishop to Daisy. “As I stated. In this very residence.”
Daisy felt remorse at hammering the widow during such an emotional phase of her life, because, even if she hadn’t wanted to remain with her husband, she surely couldn’t have wished the worst upon him. However, based on her limited experience working with Swindler, she knew time was of the essence, that with each passing hour clues had a tendency to begin fading until they no longer existed. “I apologize for not being clearer. I meant in which room.”
“Oh, I see. Yes, of course. The library. The police closed off the chamber, locked it, and took the key with them. They don’t want us in there until they’ve completed their investigation, whatever that means. They took him away. I don’t know when they’ll return him, but I’ve had the casket readied. He was not a patient man, my husband. He’d be rather unhappy about a delay in his burial. He was a stickler for arriving at destinations promptly.”
The widow was rambling, whether from nerves or unease or worry. Or maybe she was merely uncomfortable talking about unexpected death. “Any notion as to which door they used to break in?”
