“How did she come by her fortune?”
“Ah...”
“Where’sMr.Davenport?” he shot at her before she’d had a chance to fully think about the first question, not that she knew where Mrs. Davenport had gotten her money. She also didn’t have the least little idea what had happened to Mr. Davenport except to think he’d died sometime in the distant past. Mrs. Davenport never spoke about that man, leaving Gertrude with the impression it was a painful topic for the woman.
“I believe Mr. Davenport is dead,” she settled on saying.
“And he was a wealthy gentleman who left his fortune to his wife?”
“I would assume so, but again, I’m the paid companion, not a confidante.”
Officer Huntington nodded in a satisfied manner before he bent his head and began scribbling furiously on his pad of paper.
“What could you have possible gotten that was worthy of being written down from what I’ve just disclosed?” she asked, leaning forward and trying to make out the words he was still scrawling across the page.
“Resentment is a fine motivator for criminal acts, Miss Cadwalader,” Officer Huntington replied as he continued writing. “I’m beginning to get a clearer picture of what transpired, and I do believe what we’re looking at is a disgruntled employee who was trying to frame her employer for theft.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You wanted to be more of a daughter figure to this Mrs. Davenport, and yet she saw you as nothing more than an employee.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Gertrude said, wincing just a touch when she heard the slight bit of doubt in her tone, that doubt giving her pause.
Hadshe been holding resentment against Mrs. Davenport?
With her fingers once again drumming a rapid tattoo against the table, she considered that idea, fighting the urge to fidget when truth reared its ugly head.
It could be a distinct possibility that Officer Huntington wasn’t completely off the mark.
She’d convinced herself over the past few years that she continued working for a woman who possessed very peculiar and obviously arrest-worthy pursuits because she needed to earn a wage. But in all honesty, companions in possession of good breeding were difficult to find, so she could have left Mrs. Davenport’s employ at any point in time and found other employment easily, but for some reason, she’d stayed.
Whyhadshe stayed?
“You mentioned you lost your parents at a relatively early age, Miss Cadwalader,” Officer Huntington said, dragging Gertrude from her thoughts. “That right there, if I were to hazard a guess, is what is behind your resentment toward Mrs. Davenport. You wanted her to embrace you as more of a daughter figure than an employee, although I’m sure you were also hoping she’d make you the beneficiary of her estate if she is, indeed, without much family. How old were you when your mother died?”
“Ten,” Gertrude said as Officer Huntington began writing again, far more words than it should have taken to record her age. “I do hope you’re not adding that nonsense about my wanting Mrs. Davenport to make me an heiress.”
Officer Huntington ignored her, writing a few more sentences before he began looking through his pages and pages of notes. “You mentioned Mrs. Davenport suffers from melancholy. May I inquire as to whether that melancholy has increased since you’ve been in her employ, and if so, could you possibly be the reason behind that increase?”
If Officer Huntington wasn’t in possession of a lethal-looking weapon attached to his belt, Gertrude might have contemplated stalking out of the interrogation room. However, since he was in possession of a gun, and she was all but certain he didn’t believe in coddling a prisoner who happened to be a lady, she settled for remaining silent, earning a grunt from him in response before he applied himself to his notes again.
The very idea he’d broached the topic of her purposefully drawing Mrs. Davenport into increased melancholy was laughable. If anything, she’d done everything in her power to lessen the depressed state her employer frequently embraced because, by doing so, she was hoping to find a bit of redemption, as well as relief, from the regret she harbored because of the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death.
The moment that idea took hold, Gertrude realized it was nothing less than the truth, but before she could contemplate the idea further, there was a brisk knock on the door. A second later it opened, revealing Harrison, who immediately strode across the room, clear temper in his eyes.
Bracing herself for the anger she knew was about to be directed her way, and not blaming him for that anger because she’d been caught red-handed on board his ship with his sister’s possessions and had gained entrance to that ship by spouting a lie, she could only blink in stunned surprise when he sent her a small smile and then turned his attention to Officer Huntington.
“I’m here to see Miss Cadwalader released.”
Officer Huntington pushed back his chair and stood up. “Who are you?”
“I’m Mr. Harrison Sinclair of Sinclair Shipping.”
Officer Huntington seemed to size up Harrison, and as he did so, Gertrude did the same. What she saw caused a laugh to bubble up in her throat, one she forced right back down again.
Harrison was dressed in one of the most outlandish outfits she’d seen him wear to date. A pink jacket brought attention to the darkness of his face, while the most unusual trousers she’d ever seen on a gentleman were done up in blue with tiny little clovers marching all over the fabric. His hair was pulled into a knot on the very back of his head, tied with a piece of frayed rope. Knee-high boots splattered with mud and in need of polishing completed his outfit.
Even though he didn’t possess an ounce of what those with any fashion sense would call style, to her, he was the most stylish and handsome gentleman in the entire world at this particular moment. And ... she realized, even if she’d never admit it out loud, that she’d fallen ever so slightly in love with the man.
