Page 92 of A Whisper at Midnight

Teague moved the chair he’d been sitting in back to where it had been, then went to stand behind his desk. A few moments later, Oliver Chambers came in carrying his hat, his face lined with worry.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Chambers,” Teague said. “What brings you here on the day of your brother’s funeral?”

Oliver Chambers straightened, pushing his shoulders back as he faced the inspector. “I came to confess to Louis’s murder. I killed him.”

CHAPTER 19

Two things were evident to Tilda in the moment immediately following Oliver Chambers’ confession. First, he was lying. He’d no more killed Louis than Hadrian had. Second, he was trying to save Beryl. She’d already deduced that he was likely Beryl’s lover, but now it was certain.

Tilda looked up at Oliver. “How long have you and Beryl been having an affair?” She felt the stares of all three men in the room but did not move her gaze from her subject.

“We weren’t having an affair,” Oliver said quickly. “At least not like you may think.” His face burned crimson, and Tilda recalled that she was speaking to a former curate. His morals were perhaps slightly more intact than those of his degenerate, deceased brother.

“Please explain,” she urged with a patient smile.

“I love her. I have for some time.” His shoulders slumped, making him appear as defeated as he sounded.

“And does she reciprocate your sentiments?”

Oliver rotated his hat in his hands. “I believe so.” He didn’t sound completely convinced.

Tilda wasn’t sure Beryl was all that trustworthy, particularly after the way she’d behaved with Hadrian earlier.

“You realize you can’t marry her,” Teague pointed out.

Since Beryl was Oliver’s brother’s widow, they would not be permitted to wed. It was a ridiculous law.

“I know. That is why we have tried to stay apart.”

“But you haven’t been entirely successful, have you?” Tilda prodded. “Do you enter your brother’s house through the back door to visit Beryl?”

Oliver’s eyes rounded. “No, we would usually meet somewhere and then go for a ride in my brother’s coach.” His neck flushed, and he looked away.

“Has this been going on since you returned to London?” Tilda asked.

Again, Oliver blushed. “It started during a visit last autumn. I came to see my mother on her birthday.”

“Why did Louis give you twenty pounds in December?” Hadrian asked.

Oliver snapped his gaze to Hadrian. “How do you know about that?”

“The payment is recorded in the household ledger,” Hadrian replied. “Were you in need of funds? Since you are now investing in your brother’s drapery shop, it seems you were not.”

Oliver shrugged. “He assumed I needed help. He and I inherited less from our father than Daniel did. And I inherited the least of all. Louis felt bad about that. I gave it to Beryl as I knew he’d decreased her pin money.”

Tilda arched a brow at Oliver. “How ironic since it seems Louis sold some of her jewelry, and the funds from that likely went to you and then on to her. I wonder if she would prefer to have her jewelry back instead.”

Oliver clutched the hat to his chest. “That is why I gave her the money,” he said quietly. “She told me that Louis had been stealing her jewels.”

Teague crossed his arms and fixed an expectant stare on Oliver. “If you indeed killed your brother, why would you put the knife you used to stab him in Beryl’s dresser? Surely you would know that would make her appear guilty.”

Blanching, Oliver sputtered.

“And were you also poisoning him?” Teague asked. “How and when did you administer the poison? How did you gain access to the house?” When Oliver said nothing, Teague uncrossed his arms. “You didn’t kill your brother, did you?”

“No.” Oliver made a sound rather like a whimper as he cast his gaze toward the floor. “I can’t watch Beryl go to prison.”

“If she killed her husband, she will hang,” Teague said darkly.