“I didn’t grant Mrs. Ainsley entry to your rooms on the night she was killed,” the apothecary elaborated.
“But that’s impossible. If you did not unlock my door for her, then who would have done so?” Hudson asked.
“As I told Chief Inspector O’Rourke, it was my apprentice, Mr. Seward, who was here that evening. He was organizing a recent arrival of stock and tallying the ledgers when she arrived.”
“Is Mr. Seward the young gentleman at the counter in your store just now?” Hudson queried, his voice deceptively calm.
She could see his mind working behind those intelligent gray-blue eyes.
“That would be him, yes,” Mr. Cowling replied.
“If you would be so kind as to replace him at the counter and ask him to answer a few of my questions, I would be most appreciative,” her husband told the apothecary.
“I don’t want any more trouble,” the man said, hesitating.
“Please, sir,” Elysande intervened, unable to hold her tongue a moment longer. “There will be no trouble. My husband only wants to solve Mrs. Ainsley’s murder, which will prove beneficial to your peace of mind and that of your patrons as well.”
Still looking reluctant, the apothecary inclined his head. “I will ask him to speak with you.”
With another bow, the man quit the room, giving Elysande the opportunity to speak to her husband alone, if only just for a moment.
“You believed Mr. Cowling was the one who granted herentrée,” she said. “Why?”
He frowned. “O’Rourke told me.”
“The inspector?” Worry curdled her stomach. “He lied to you, then? For what purpose?”
“I’ll be damned if I know,” Hudson said.
The sound of approaching footsteps prevented further conversation. Mr. Cowling’s apprentice, a younger man with a wiry frame and a shock of bright-red hair, entered the room.
“Your Graces,” he said, sounding a bit nervous as he bowed. “Mr. Cowling said you wished to speak with me.”
“If you would be so kind, Mr. Seward.” Hudson offered the man a friendly smile, which Elysande supposed was meant to ease some of his anxiety. “Given that you were the one who spoke with Mrs. Ainsley on the evening of her murder, and it was you who allowed her entrance to my rooms, I was hoping you might offer some insight.”
Mr. Seward nodded. “I am not certain I have insight, Your Grace. I already offered everything I could to Chief Inspector O’Rourke.”
“I understand,” Hudson said patiently. “However, since the incident occurred in my rooms, and since Mrs. Ainsley was an acquaintance of mine, I am seeking information independent of Scotland Yard.”
Mr. Seward paced to the far end of the room, then reached out to perfect the alignment of some stomach powders on the shelf before turning back to face Hudson and Elysande. “Ask what you like.”
“How did Mrs. Ainsley approach you that evening, Mr. Seward?” Hudson asked, once more firmly in his role of investigator.
“I heard knocking above,” said Mr. Seward. “A bit of a commotion which was unusual for the time of the evening. I went outside to investigate, and that is when I discovered a lady attempting to gain entry to the rooms.”
“Did she seem distressed?” Elysande asked, although she knew she ought to hold her tongue. She had never conducted an interview such as this. Yet, her mind was whirling with all the possibilities.
It was not so very different from when she aided Papa. Those occasions, too, involved the solving of a problem. The logical collection of all the information available. Testing, trying, creating a prototype. In this instance, they were attempting to solve the problem of who had murdered Mrs. Ainsley.
“She was in good spirits,” Mr. Seward answered slowly, as if truly considering the question, perhaps even reliving the moment when his path had crossed with the dead woman. “She told me…”
He paused, his gaze going from Elysande to Hudson, and then back again.
“What did she tell you?” Hudson prodded, his voice firm.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” Mr. Seward was looking at Elysande now, a flush tinting his clean-shaven cheeks. “She told me her gentleman friend had asked her to await him here, but that she had no means of entering.”
Hudson had told her he had not invited Mrs. Ainsley to his rooms. She believed him. And yet, Mr. Seward’s words still nettled. She could not entirely keep the jealousy at bay. Perhaps a small part of her remained determined not to trust the man she had married. The vulnerable, frightened part of her. She knew Hudson had not married her because he had been entranced by her beauty. Or because he had fallen in love with her as Papa had with Mama. Rather, he had married her because he had been given no other choice.
