“Then we should visit Mrs Pickering and take her statement.” Beatrice was desperate to know if her father had asked pertinent questions or if he’d deliberately avoided recording anything that might identify the villain. “And we must discover why Alessandro D’Angelo sought my father’s help.”
At some point she needed to take Dante’s statement, too, have him relive that dreadful carriage ride. He might hold a vital clue to the mystery and be totally unaware. But he wasn’t ready to make the journey, not yet.
“Agreed. You said you wrote to Mrs Pickering. Did someone in Tidworth give you her forwarding address?”
Beatrice frowned. Did he not know what happened to the housekeeper? “Mrs Pickering is still the housekeeper at Farthingdale. When you sold the estate, the new owners wanted someone with experience.”
Dante closed his eyes briefly, pinched the bridge of his nose, heaved a sigh. “When I inherited, I told Lorenzo I wanted rid of Farthingdale, wanted to sell it intact, and he dealt with the matter on my behalf.”
“I see.”
And she did see. Dante didn’t wish to hear of people haggling over his parents’ belongings. Had he kept nothing from the house? Did he regret the decision? Was that why he clung to the brooch, or was it nothing more than a useful piece of evidence?
“Perhaps I will take coffee,” she said, pushing to her feet. “I shall nip and ask Mrs Gunning to make a pot, as we’re likely to be here all day. I won’t be long.”
Beatrice left him alone and went in search of the housekeeper.
“You must ring if you need anything,” Mrs Gunning said.
“Mr D’Angelo is studying evidence, and I didn’t want to disturb him.”
Mrs Gunning gave a sad sigh. “He’s been here for hours, said he couldn’t sleep, said that by reading about what happened to his mother in the alley, he hopes to become numb to the words.”
Beatrice touched Mrs Gunning’s arm. “Once we find the culprit, I’m certain he will focus on building a bright future and not wallow in the memories of the past.” She wasn’t certain at all, but lived in hope.
The woman offered a weak smile. “I pray you’re right, miss. But I’m not sure it’s good for him, reliving it day after day.”
No. Most people would break under the pressure.
Beatrice returned to the study to find Dante staring at the wall, lost in thought. “Mrs Gunning will bring coffee and biscuits shortly.” She smoothed her skirts and returned to sit in the chair opposite the desk. “I thought we might send Mr Sloane to Farthingdale. He has a manner most women find appealing. No doubt Mrs Pickering will melt beneath the richness of his voice and the warmth of his emerald stare.”
“You find Sloane’s manner appealing, Miss Sands?”
“In a brotherly way. I had the pleasure of meeting his wife two weeks ago. Vivienne came to Howland Street to help me with Mrs Emery’s case.” She’d suggested Beatrice meet Dante, thought they’d have a better chance of success if they worked together.
“Sloane vowed never to marry, but he fell in love.”
“They seem happy.”
“Ridiculously so.”
While Dante gave no cause to think he was anything but delighted for his friend, those dark eyes held a hint of sadness.
“Are we agreed?” she said, concentrating on the matter at hand. “Mr Sloane will go to Farthingdale and take the housekeeper’s statement?”
“Yes.”
“And I thought Mr Cole could investigate Mr Coulter. It’s best you’re not seen in the vicinity of Wilson Street. If Mr Coulter knew your mother, then there’s every likelihood he knows you.”
“Agreed.”
“Have you thought where we might begin our enquiries?”
Silence descended like a hazy mist of suspicion.
“Your father struck me as a man of means. When he died, what happened to his property?” Dante must have realised he sounded quite blunt, and so softened his tone. “There’s a chance the attacks are unrelated. Perhaps the culprit wished to silence your father and had no choice but to dispense with the witnesses. Was he working on another case before Alessandro hired him?”
What? He suspected Henry Watson was the intended target? Surely not. No. She couldn’t bear the thought of innocent people losing their lives because of her father’s profession.