Richard’s jaw turned ruddy. “Good things, I hope.”
“Exceedingly good things,” Thea said cheerfully.
Tremont, a handsome man with gilded hair and grave eyes, put his two cents in. “Anyone who can keep up with Violet is an intrepid fellow in my books.”
More than once, her brothers-in-law had been placed on chaperone duty.
“Crumpets, I only lost you that once,” Violet muttered. “Now I never hear the end of it.”
“As everyone has arrived, we can begin.” Ambrose, standing by the side of the desk, called the meeting to order. “Dr. Abernathy has graciously come from London to conduct an examination of the deceased, Monique de Brouet. If you would share your results, Doctor?”
Dr. Abernathy inclined his head. “Let me say at the outset that Mr. Kent charged me with discovering the cause of Madame de Brouet’s death. Given that this is a science yet in its infancy,” he said in his thick brogue, “I cannot guarantee the accuracy of my conclusions, only give you my best estimation of the truth.”
“You’re all we have,”—Billings gave a dismissive wave—“and that’s better than nothing.”
Bristling, the good doctor drew himself up. “What I have to share is based on careful observation and consideration of the facts. It is most assuredly better than nothing.”
“Go on, Doctor.” Ambrose shot a warning glance at their host.
“Verra well. I found a laceration on the victim’s right temple, approximately an eighth of an inch deep, one inch wide and three inches long. Those dimensions match those of the mantelpiece ledge in the library. The blood on the mantelpiece corroborates its connection to the injury.”
“We already know she hit her head,” Billings said. “Was it an accident?”
“That I cannot conclude from the physical evidence.”
“Then we’re no better off than where we started,” the banker said in disgust. “In that light, I don’t want to drag this matter out any further. Kent, you will close the investigation and tell Magistrate Jones it was an accident—”
“On the contrary, Madame de Brouet’s death was no accident,” Dr. Abernathy said.
“You said so yourself: you don’t know whether she fell or was pushed into the mantel,” Billings retorted.
“That is true. But I do know what killed her. And it was no accident.”
Vi worked it out first. “You mean… it wasn’t the blow to the temple that killed her?”
“Precisely, Miss Kent.” The physician gave her an approving nod.
“Then what caused her death?” Richard said.
“Asphyxiation.” At the silence that greeted his pronouncement, the physician added, “I believe she was smothered.”
~~~
Monique de Brouet was murdered… and Wick’s ring was in her hand?
A deep chill pervaded Richard’s gut.
Kent’s brows drew together. “Will you elaborate upon how you arrived at that conclusion, Dr. Abernathy?”
“Of course.” Dr. Abernathy’s pedantic tones reminded Richard of his old professors at Eton and Oxford. “To begin, I do not believe that the wound at the temple was sufficient to cause a fatality. There would have been some bleeding, yes, and the victim might have lost consciousness for a brief time, but I do not think she died from the blow. This led me to look for other clues as to the cause of death, and I found several. For one, the deceased had bloodshot eyes, a common sign of asphyxiation. Second, there was bruising around her mouth and nose, again consistent with smothering. Given that, I examined the victim’s oral cavity and discovered several distinct fibers.”
“Fibers of what?” Kent said.
“A yellow fabric of some sort.”
The investigator stroked his chin. “From, say, a pillow?”
“The most common weapon,” Abernathy agreed. “I found one yellow pillow on the sofa in the library that could be a match for the fibers. But the lack of blood on this particular pillow makes it an unlikely culprit given the victim’s profuse bleeding. This leads me to believe that the murderer used a similar pillow—and took it with him because of the telltale stains on it.”
