The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [87]
‘Everything,’ said the housekeeper briefly. ‘Her appetite is quite incredible, and I suspect she is buying sweets and tarts and the like whenever she goes out. Her papa must have given her a large amount of pocket money.’
‘That doesn’t sound like my worthy brother-in-law,’ remarked Emerson.
I ignored the remark. ‘Tell the nurserymaid not to permit her to buy such things. Too many sweets are not good for her.’
‘I have told her, madam, but she is young and rather timid; and Miss Violet . . .’
‘Yes, I know, Mrs Watson. I will have a little talk with Miss Violet. And perhaps another nurserymaid? I have forgot which it is, Kitty or Jane.’
‘Jane, madam. Kitty expressed some doubts as to her ability to handle the duties required.’
‘That was after she had met Miss Violet, I expect. Well, Mrs Watson, try another of the maids. Were none of the applicants who responded to my advertisement suitable?’
‘No, madam. I hired one young person to replace Jane; she had excellent references, from the Dowager –’
‘Very well, Mrs Watson. As usual, I leave it to you. Emerson –’
‘I must be off,’ exclaimed Emerson, stuffing the rest of his slice of toast into his mouth. ‘Have a pleasant day, my dear. Have you any particular plans?’
I looked at him. My look was severe and unsmiling; but although I take care never to admit it to Emerson, for fear of making him vain, the sight of him seldom fails to soften my resentment. The keen blue eyes, now a trifle narrowed with anxiety, the firm lips, now wearing a tentative smile, the broad brow with its tumbled waves of black hair – every lineament of his face touches chords of tender memory.
‘I am going to Scotland Yard, Emerson,’ I said quietly. ‘I wonder that you need to ask, since you heard me make the appointment with Inspector Cuff.’
‘I heard no such thing,’ Emerson cried indignantly. ‘But I might have known you would go. There is no use, I suppose, in asking you not to go? No. I thought not. Oh, curse it!’
He stamped out, with, I was pleased to observe, all his old vigour. I do not like to see Emerson subdued and apologetic; those little differences of opinion which add so much to the enjoyment of marriage lack their usual spice when he does not meet me on equal terms. (And I am bound to say that such occurrences are extremely rare.)
‘Scotland Yard, Mrs Emerson?’ the housekeeper said uneasily. ‘I trust you have no complaints concerning any of the servants?’
How the dear innocent woman had managed to remain ignorant of our activities I cannot imagine. I hastened to reassure her. ‘No, Mrs Watson, it is another matter entirely. I am about to interview a man wrongly accused of murder and free him from captivity.’
‘How – how nice, ma’am,’ said Mrs Watson.
The fog was lifting by the time I reached New Scotland Yard. Inspector Cuff was delighted to see me.
‘My dear Mrs Emerson! I trust you suffered no ill effects from your adventure of last night?’
‘No, thank you, I am in excellent health. You were expecting me, I suppose?’
‘Oh yes, ma’am. In fact, in anticipation of your visit I had the suspect brought here from Bow Street.’
‘Suspect? He is under arrest for murder –’
‘My dear Mrs Emerson?’ Cuff smiled angelically. ‘I don’t know where you got your information. Perhaps your informant was guilty of a certain amount of dramatic exaggeration. We have simply asked Mr Ahmet to assist us in our investigations. You know that according to the standards of British justice, every man is innocent until proven guilty.’
‘A very pretty speech, Inspector. Yet the fact remains that Mr Ahmet is in police custody, and that you have yet to explain to me why you determined to detain him. What is your evidence? What, in your no doubt honest but unquestionably misguided opinion, was his motive for murdering Oldacre?’
‘Perhaps you would prefer to speak with him and form your own opinions,’ Cuff said, with the greatest politeness imaginable. ‘This way, Mrs Emerson, if you please.’
A sturdy uniformed constable guarded the captive, but one glance assured me no such precaution was necessary. Ahmet