Hudson was more than aware his change of situation had led to bitterness and resentment from some of his former colleagues. It mattered not to them that he had inherited nothing but bad debt and a mountain of ceaseless obligation along with his title. He had become a duke, and that title was forever beyond the reach of most men in all of England, let alone the members of Scotland Yard.
“I have just finished,” he answered O’Rourke coolly, careful to keep his expression neutral.
Whereas his previous interactions had never led him to believe O’Rourke was the enemy, he had reason to think otherwise now. His suspicions had been raised.
“You have a few moments more, then, to speak about the death of Mrs. Ainsley, I trust?” the inspector asked.
He inclined his head. “I always have time to aid in the efforts of solving a crime. I may be the Duke of Wycombe, but that is all which has altered. Please do find a seat. Would you care for coffee or tea?”
“None, thank you,” Chief Inspector O’Rourke declined, though he did accept Hudson’s invitation to sit, settling himself in a chair. “I took my coffee this morning with Mrs. O’Rourke.”
Hudson sat as well, wondering what the devil this new interview could possibly be about. He stretched his long legs before him, crossing them at the ankles in an indolent pose he hoped would affect an aura of comfortable ennui. “Tell me what it is you require from me, Inspector.”
“I wished to pay you the courtesy of informing you that a new witness has come forward, a young woman who was in the vicinity of your rooms at the time of the victim’s murder.”
A new witness? Hudson frowned, considering this revelation. “Several days have passed since Mrs. Ainsley’s death. Why would the witness only come forward now?”
“As you know, the time can be lengthy between a crime’s commission and word spreading sufficiently to those who might assist in its solving.” O’Rourke offered him a smug smile. “One of my most challenging cases involved a woman who had disappeared for three months before her closest kin—a brother she was in a rift with—contacted Scotland Yard. She had been strangled, her hacked-apart corpse left in potato sacks strewn all over London. I don’t suppose you will recall the case, being as young as you are.”
The inspector’s pointed words were a reminder of another reason why some Scotland Yard colleagues disliked him. He had been promoted within the ranks quite quickly. His determination and ability to solve cases efficiently and with haste had led him to his prominent role. He had been chosen above men who had been a member of the ranks for far longer.
Men such as O’Rourke.
He offered a mild smile, wondering if O’Rourke expected him to cower before the mentioning of the abused corpse or grow angry at the thinly veiled condescension toward his age. “I am more than aware of the nature in which a case unfolds. My surprise in this instance is not drawn from ignorance but rather from the significant public cry Mrs. Ainsley’s murder has raised.”
“The lady in question was traveling through the city unescorted,” O’Rourke explained with a grim smile of his own. “She was, regretfully, involved in an affair of a somewhat scandalous nature, and struggled with the ramifications of coming forward with her tale. Her conscience won over her desire to keep her husband from learning about her nighttime endeavors.”
So, the lady in question had been meeting a lover. Hardly surprising. Nor was her wish to keep her sins a secret if her husband was not the forgiving sort.
“And what new clues has this witness offered?” he asked, knowing there was a reason for O’Rourke to pay this call.
A reason, too for the self-satisfied air the inspector wore this morning as blatantly as his coat and well-trimmed mustache.
“She reports that she saw a man entering your rooms at approximately ten o’clock in the evening.” O’Rourke raised a brow. “The man she described is tall and dark-haired, broad of shoulder, lean of hip. He was wearing finely tailored clothing and had a squared jaw, and eyes that were either blue or green. In short, the man resembles you, Your Grace. As you know, the post mortem suggested the victim died at approximately half past ten.”
Ah.
Here it is.
O’Rourke believed he had amassed more evidence pointing toward Hudson’s guilt.
“Quite a bit of detail for the lady to report on a dark night,” he observed calmly. “Particularly when the streetlight near the apothecary was not functioning that evening. One wonders how this witness would have been capable of discerning eye color.”
He knew so from his own investigations. The darkness had likely rendered the escape of the murderer much more efficient. As far as Hudson had been aware, no witnesses had seen anyone at his rooms aside from Maude herself. And even that sighting remained clouded with suspicion and questions.
The Inspector’s nostrils flared. “The light of the moon was strong that evening. Nearly a full moon.”
Hudson’s irritation rose. “There is another problem with your theory, Chief Inspector O’Rourke. At ten o’clock in the evening, I was at the Black Souls club with several other gentlemen who will be more than happy to vouch for my presence there.”
Surely Chief Inspector O’Rourke would have already interviewed the members of his club if Hudson were indeed the prime suspect. To have neglected such a step would have been shabby. Vainglorious. But then, O’Rourke certainly was an arrogant sort of chap.
“I will require their names,” the Inspector said flatly. “An inquiry will need to be made. However, in the meantime, I would have you accompany me to Scotland Yard so that the witness may determine whether or not you were the man she saw that evening.”
He saw through the inspector’s ploy. But he was not about to be bested at his own game.
“I will not be accompanying you to Scotland Yard until you speak to the witnesses who can confirm I was at the Black Souls until after one o’clock in the morning.” Truly, he was amazed O’Rourke had not done so to confirm his alibi already.
“Your Grace, we can do this quietly to minimize damage to your reputation, or you can cause an uproar the gossips will feast upon,” O’Rourke said coldly. “The choice is yours. I highly recommend accompanying me to Scotland Yard this morning.”
