Jasper opened the door, and a gust of wet wind nearly ripped it from his hand. He helped Leo to the ground and shouted to the driver above a clap of thunder to wait. They expected to return to the train station immediately after the reading of the will, which was to commence on the hour.
Fighting the pummeling wind, they dashed toward the open front door, where a younger man in footman’s clothing, and an older man in more formal butler’s attire, stood waiting for them. Both had grim countenances, which were in line with the rest of the intimidating manor.
“Welcome to Cowper Hall, Miss Spencer, Inspector Reid,” the older man said in a placid, solemn tone as they entered.
The sound of their arrival echoed off the ceiling of a large entrance hall. It was cold and dark, except for the glow of a few electric lamps. A luxury, Leo imagined, for a home so far out of town. Tapestries and paintings of hunting scenes hung on the walls, but her eyes were drawn to movement at the first-story balustrade above. There stood an older man, tall and lean, draped in dim light. He turned swiftly and strode away before she could see his face.
“I am Decamp, Viscount Cowper’s butler. The family is waiting for you in the library.”
Leo returned her attention to the two men who’d admitted them to the manor. The footman came forward to take her coat, hat, and handbag. As Jasper removed his damp hat and overcoat, the panels of his suit jacket shifted, revealing the leather sheath strapped to his side. His police-issued revolver was secured in it. Police constables and sergeants weren’t offered weapons; however, detectives were, and Jasper didn’t go many places without his, especially after it had come in useful a few times. Leo didn’t expect any trouble at Cowper Hall, but the sight of his Webley put her a little more at ease.
They followed Decamp through the entrance hall in silence, their footfalls muffled by the length of an enormous runner laid over the entirety of the entrance hall floor. It was not an exaggeration to say her whole house on Duke Street could have fit inside this one room.
While walking at a brisk pace, Leo stayed close enough to Jasper to feel the brush of his sleeve. Decamp turned through a pair of tall doors that led into a library that was just as overwhelming in size and formality as the entrance hall. Somber and masculine, with mahogany-paneled walls, green baize carpet, and bookshelves packed with leather-bound tomes, the room also had a long reading table set near the hearth. Four people were seated there, waiting, all attired in mourning black. Their eyes, filled with suspicion, settled on the newcomers.
“Detective Inspector Jasper Reid and Miss Leonora Spencer,” Decamp intoned, before sweeping out an arm and indicating that they should approach and take their seats.
At the head of the table, a man in a gray tweed suit and a pair of gold, round-rimmed spectacles stood quickly, as gentlemen often did when a woman entered a room. The only other man at the table uncurled from his chair with reluctance, barely straightened his back, then dropped into his seat again.
“Thank you for attending, Inspector Reid, Miss Spencer,” the bespectacled man said. “I’m Mr. Corman. I wrote to you both on behalf of my former client, Mrs. Francine Stroud. Please do take a seat, and we can begin.”
Jasper pulled out a chair for Leo, who sat stiffly while the two other women seated at the table, somewhere in their late twenties to early thirties by Leo’s estimation, looked on with barely concealed hostility.
“Thank you for waiting,” Leo said, her voice slightly tremulous. Jasper took his seat next to her.
Only the solicitor replied, with a polite “Of course.”
Clearly, Francine Stroud’s decision to include two strangers in her will had upset the rest of her family.
Glimpsing toward the doors to the library, which Decamp had closed firmly behind him when he’d left, Leo wondered why the viscount was not present. It had been he, she gathered,standing at the balustrade. Had he not been invited to the reading of his own daughter’s will?
“It would be prudent for introductions first, perhaps,” Mr. Corman said. “Inspector, Miss Spencer, may I present?—”
“Can we just get on with it, Corman?” the man sulking in his chair spat.
The woman seated next to him, her blonde hair pulled back into an austere bun and bound in black netting, tried to lay her hand on his. He jerked away and muttered something under his breath.
“Forgive my husband,” the woman said after being rebuffed. “This is a difficult time, and my mother’s request for the two of you to attend, that she has perhaps bequeathed you something…well, it is terribly strange.”
“We are in agreement,” Jasper replied. “I take it you are Mrs. Stroud’s daughter?” He looked to the woman seated one chair down from the solicitor. The two women were similar in looks, though Leo thought the one who’d spoken was slightly older and possessed more refined features.
Mr. Corman cleared his throat. “Yes, as I was saying, may I introduce Mrs. Stroud’s daughters, Mrs. Helen Dalton and Miss Nadia Stroud.”
“And this is my husband, Anthony,” Helen Dalton offered.
Leo suppressed the automatic urge to give the standard reply:Pleased to meet you.It wasn’t pleasing to her at all. Nadia Stroud, less attractive than her older sister, appeared bored and slouched back in her chair in a masculine manner. She had a cut crystal glass of spirits in front of her, as did Anthony Dalton.
“We are as confounded as you appear to be as to why we were summoned,” Leo said. “Mr. Corman?”
The solicitor was the only one here who could put everyone’s confusion to rest. He took his seat and opened a leather briefcase on the table in front of him.
“There is the usual business to discuss, of course, however, recognizing that Inspector Reid and Miss Spencer would be strangers to the family, Mrs. Stroud had asked that I first address the bestowment of their portion and then allow them to depart.”
Leo exhaled in relief, even as Anthony Dalton again huffed and muttered to his wife, “Why do they evenhavea portion? What was your mother about?”
Next to her, Jasper tensed as he directed a probing glare across the table toward Mr. Dalton. Although, as rude as he was being, Leo understood the man’s question. She’d tried—and failed—to speculate what Francine Stroud could have possibly wanted to bequeath to the two of them. The woman had been Emmaline’s sister, and she would have known Gregory Reid. But how had she known of the two children her former brother-in-law had taken under his wing after the deaths of her sister, niece, and nephew?
The solicitor overlooked Mr. Dalton’s complaint. Opening a folio, he withdrew a sheet of paper. Peering through the thick lenses of his spectacles, he read, “To Mr. Jasper Reid and Miss Leonora Spencer, I bequeath all property title to, and ownership of, the residence at Number 19 Craven Hill, London.”
