“What do you know of Mrs. Matthews?” I asked.
“I met the woman several years before at a benefit for orphan children that I sponsor. Lovely woman, very caring of the orphans, I thought. Then after her son’s death she seemed to disappear, overwhelmed with grief I heard.
“Dreadful tragedy. There were other rumors, as there always are.” She looked at me then. “About Sir Edward. There wererumors of affairs, and he was more determined than ever to make Argosy the premier shipping company.”
“What do you know about the man?” I then asked.
Affairs were one thing, and not unexpected with the physical abuse that Adelaide Matthews had spoken of. But I needed to know more. It was important for what I had planned.
“Quite ruthless in his business dealings it seems. There are rumors that he intimidates those whose cargos his ships carry. He approached Mr. Munro some time back regarding shipments of our whisky. He wanted his company to have exclusive right to the cargos.”
I had not heard this before, but then those were matters between my aunt and Munro.
“Sir Laughton knew of some past...situations for other cargos that seemed to disappear when they reached foreign ports. Often at great loss to the owners. And there were rumors that the cargos somehow found their way to markets abroad, with considerable profit to Matthews, of course.
“Sir Laughton advised against making any business arrangement with Matthews. He thought it much better to keep Old Lodge whisky exclusive where we could control the price. I daresay the man was correct. It has been a most lucrative arrangement.”
Ruthless. Stolen cargos—that was the only way to describe it. Someone who had abused his wife, and turned his back on the only son he was likely to ever have over an affair and the child that came of it, and then refused to either acknowledge or help the child’s mother.
What was such a man capable of? Had he willingly allowed Ellie Sutton to disappear with her claim that she saw the murderer that night?
What did he know about that night? And now Ellie Sutton was dead.
Were the two murders somehow connected?
Brodie was not responsible. That much I was certain of.
I finished the whisky in my glass and stood to go to my room.
My aunt took my hand in hers.
“You will take care, of course.”
Once more, I was certain she had a certain way of knowing what I had decided to do. Or perhaps it was simply that she knew me so well.
Much like herself?
“Of course,” I replied.
“And do take the hound with you when you leave in the morning,” she added. “I will be off to have luncheon with my ladies.”
I had asked that supper be brought up my room. It was waiting for me when I finally arrived—I had a great deal of work to do before tomorrow.
It was very near midnight when I finally stepped back from the chalkboard. I had added the additional notes from my meeting with Mrs. Matthews, and information my aunt had provided.
Rumors? Perhaps.
Sir Laughton, my aunt’s lawyer, was known to be very thorough when it came to protecting the interest of his clients, and one client in particular. My aunt had known him for over forty years and he had never failed to protect her interests, along with Munro who managed her affairs from day-to-day.
I took a long bath in the adjoining chamber, then slipped beneath the covers on the bed.
It was not uncommon to have trouble sleeping, my thoughts churning with clues in a case. Except when I was with Brodie...
My plan was set. And oddly enough, I had no trouble sleeping.
I rose early the next morning and quickly dressed. It was barely half-past eight o’clock when I went downstairs and encountered Lily with Rupert. She had dressed as well.
“Yer leavin’ now? Is it about Mr. Brodie?”
