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“They were as thick as thieves, so you can draw your own conclusions.”
“Can you hazard a guess what the author might be referring to?”
“It could be any number of sins.”
“There are many?” Harry asked.
She gave him a cool look. “That’s something Mr. Hardwick could answer better than me. As I said, Vernon didn’t confide in me. Marriage didn’t make us close. It merely tied us together…until death.”
A chill crept across my scalp and down my spine.
“Did your husband receive any threatening letters before his death?” Harry asked.
“Have I not made it clear that I wouldn’t know, Mr. Armitage?”
“Forgive me. I thought you might have come across something when you cleared out his study.”
She twisted the wedding ring on her thin finger, around and around. “I haven’t had the strength for the task yet. You may look for yourselves, if you like.”
Her offer was unexpected, given her curt responses so far, but most welcome.
She rang the bell, and the housekeeper entered the drawing room. Mrs. Rigg-Lyon asked her to show us to the master’s study. I wondered why she didn’t join us to oversee our search, until I saw her slump into the sofa when she thought we were no longer looking. It was as if she was keeping herself upright through sheer force of will, but that no longer became necessary when we left. I admired her strength.
Mrs. Rigg-Lyon may not have overseen our search, but the housekeeper didn’t leave the room. She didn’t get in the way or disturb us, but stood guard by the door. I wasn’t sure if she was doing so to report back to her mistress, or to make sure we didn’t steal anything.
I checked the desk and drawers while Harry searched the bookshelves. I didn’t find a threatening letter, or any correspondence. It occurred to me that Mrs. Rigg-Lyon had lied to us and had already removed incriminating evidence. It would explain her acquiescence to our request. The study was certainly filled with the sorts of things a polo-loving gentleman might have, including the same Tattersalls catalog that we’d found in Mr. Hardwick’s possession.
I stared at it. WhydidMr. Rigg-Lyon have the horse auctioneer’s catalog? Panther wasn’t retiring. He’d said so in his celebratory speech on the day of his murder. He didn’t need to buy another polo horse.
There was something I wasn’t quite seeing, dots I couldn’t quite connect. It was frustrating, like an itch I couldn’t reach.
I was about to show the catalog to Harry when he asked the housekeeper to open the safe he’d found behind a painting. She hesitated before complying and allowing him to withdraw the contents.
He set aside jewelry boxes and removed documents. He flipped through them, stopping when one caught his attention. He showed it to me.
It was a contract for the auction of Panther at Tattersalls. Across the top, someone had written WITHDRAWN in black ink.
Thiswas the connection, the one that tied together several of the disparate threads we’d uncovered. But I needed a little more information. I needed to be sure.
Harry replaced the contents back into the safe, including the contract, and the housekeeper locked it.
We returned to the drawing room where we thanked Mrs. Rigg-Lyon for her assistance. She gave us a tight, brief smile. It was the first time I understood the curtness behind her responses. It wasn’t poor manners. It was pain. Years of good breeding had instilled in her to be the perfect hostess, to greet guests with smiles and invite them to tea. But the cancer that ravaged her body turned her smiles into grimaces and left her unable to entertain guests.
The kindest thing we could do was leave her in peace.
Harry and I were of like mind about our next steps. We headed to Tattersalls on the western edge of Knightsbridge Green. It wasn’t auction day, but it was busy nonetheless with a regal thoroughbred being put through its paces in the enclosed internal yard. One of the staff there directed us to the manager’s office, located in one of the two buildings flanking the arched entrance. The manager was too busy to speak to us, but his assistant was keen to help when we explained who we were and why we were there. I suspected he fancied himself as an amateur detective.
He searched through the large ledger of upcoming auctions for polo horses and found the entry for Panther. Beside the entry were the letters WD.
“It’s code for withdrawn,” the assistant explained.
“Is a reason given?” I asked.
“No, but there is a note to say the owner withdrew it. The other one wasn’t withdrawn, though.”
“Other one?”
The assistant pointed to an entry for Leopard, Mr. Hardwick’s horse. “They were sired by the same horse, a champion polo mount in his day,” he said as he read. “Hardwicks is listed as the breeder of both horses, as well as the owner of Leopard. The owner of Panther is Rigg-Lyon. It’s he who withdrew it from sale.”
