“Excellent. Is he investigating? Does he believe Erica was murdered? What killed her?”
Daniel stifled a laugh. “Bombard me with one question at a time, please. McGregor was not investigating, because it is not his case. The Sydenham police did the postmortem, and they have not called for any assistance from Scotland Yard. I gave McGregor all the details so he can insist on looking into it if he sees fit after he reads the reports.”
“I see.” I stemmed my impatience with effort. “What did the postmortem find?”
“The conclusions have not yet been written up.” Daniel released me. “On the other hand, I have acquaintances in the coroners’ offices, and I was able to discover the preliminary results. Mrs. Hume did die from ingesting a noxious substance, that is clear. What that substance is, they do not yet know. They’ve ruled out the most obvious poisons—arsenic, strychnine, prussic acid.”
“Then it is something much more obscure. I feared it might be.”
Daniel nodded. “The coroner wished to call it accidental food poisoning, as Sir Arthur had also been ill. Tainted food not well cooked, the hamper passed from hand to hand, left to sit in foul air. Death by misfortune.”
“You say he wished to. Did he not do so?”
“McGregor wired the Sydenham coroner and told him to search more diligently. To look for more exotic poisons. It might take some time, but rest assured, the true cause of Mrs. Hume’s death will be uncovered.”
“You mean you bent Inspector McGregor to your will.” I sent Daniel a warm look. “He’d never have bothered otherwise.”
Daniel rubbed his forehead. “Bent him to my will is going a bit far. But yes, I persuaded him. You should be flattered that he resisted until I said you thought there was something untoward going on in Baron Covington’s household.”
I gazed at him in surprise. “That convinced him? Inspector McGregor dislikes me entirely.”
“No, he does not. McGregor realizes that when you get a whiff of something, so to speak, then it is a true problem. He grumbles and growls, because he knows he will have to work harder on an obscure crime. You’ve been proved right too many times.”
“I must always catch him in a bad temper, then.” I was not certain whether to be gratified or alarmed by the inspector’s faith in me. “I suppose he does know how to smile?”
“If so, I’ve never caught him at it.”
“Well, perhaps one day.” I rubbed my gloved hands. Summer was still a month away, and the unheated room was cool. “Now then, Daniel, you did not expect me to meet you in secret, in the dark, simply to tell me that no one knows what killed Erica Hume. Or to tell me you have convinced Inspector McGregor to help. What else has happened?”
“How well you know me.” Daniel began his crooked smile, the one that had made my knees weak the first time I’d met him. “I do have a favor to ask.”
“I might have known.”
By the way James scowled, folding his arms tightly, I assumed he did not approve of this favor. Strange, because James usually stood by his father in all things.
“It is delicate.” Daniel rubbed his forehead once more, a sign he was uncomfortable. “You know I am watching a prominent man.”
“The Duke of Daventry.”
“I suppose Errol told you his exact identity,” Daniel said. “My brother has been turning up wherever I go, playing the harmless and somewhat dim-witted vicar.”
“Mr. Fielding agrees with me that I should be more informed.” I had asked Mr. Fielding to find out what Lord Clifford was up to, but so far he’d told me nothing of that.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Well, I will have to tell you all, if I am to ask you to help me.”
“You ought to, yes.”
“Please cease the reproving stare, Kat. I hate being less than honest with you, and your looks can skewer me to the bone.”
“Serves ya right,” James put in.
Daniel did not admonish his son, which told me more than anything else that Daniel was worried.
“Daventry is a family man,” he began. “Very keen on it, is a devoted husband and has grown children he is very fond of. He is believed to be funding anarchists—as Errol no doubt told you—but his enemies might be touting this idea to ruin him. My guv’nor sent me in because I can be careful about these distinctions.”
“Commendable.” I made an approving nod. Daniel was always fair.
“On Thursday, the Duchess of Daventry is hosting a lavish garden party at their estate in Surrey. They also have a house in Berkeley Square, which is where I am living at the moment—as far as the duke is concerned, I am the young cousin of an old school friend who is now in Canada and out of touch. The weather is fine enough that the duchess wants a garden party at the Surrey estate for several hundred guests. The duke and duchess give generously to several charities and are celebrating the success of those endeavors. They extended the invitation to me, but the duchess is keen that I bring a young lady. She believes I ought to be married by now, with a wife to look after me.”
“It is the fashion this month,” I said, even as my misgivings grew. “Mrs. Bywater and Cynthia’s mother have renewed their wish that she be wed as soon as possible. Did you wish me to ask Cynthia to accompany you? Pretend she is your fiancée or the like?”
“No, no. Lady Cynthia is known to the duke and duchess, and probably to many of the guests who will be there. Her presence would raise far too many questions and cause a scandal.” Daniel avoided my gaze. “I am asking you to do it.”
My dismay, which had begun when he began his explanation, now struck me sharply.
“My dear Daniel, I cannot possibly.” My voice rang to the dark corners of the room, and the words whispered back to me under the wavering candlelight. “Apply to Miss Townsend. She has played your lady before.”
“Miss Townsend too would be recognized. In Paris she could bring off the deception, but she never could here. Her father is high in the government, close friends with Gladstone. If the duke is guilty, I do not want to put him on his guard.”
My heart thumped, my throat closing. “Surely you must know other young ladies in your . . . line of work.”
“None that I trust. I trust you, Kat. And you are unknown.”
“I am a cook,” I said firmly. “If you are thinking to dress me as a grand lady, you are mad. Even in a costly frock I could not be mistaken for anything but a domestic.” I removed my gloves in jerks and spread my hands. “You see?”
My fingers, plump and capable, were flecked with burns and nicked here and there, the palms dry and calloused from hard work and strong soap. Though I kept my nails neatly trimmed, they were a far cry from the soft manicured ones of ladies like Cynthia and Miss Townsend.