Page 25 of Cloaked in Deception (Spencer & Reid Mysteries #4)

Chapter Thirteen

On his way to Bloomsbury from Westminster, Jasper had been struck with conflicting moments of buoyancy and dread.

Buoyancy, because asking Leo to dinner, and the smile she’d tried to hide when she accepted, had given him an unexpected sense of victory.

Dread, because the notion of calling upon Stanley Hayes weighed on him like lead ballast.

Stanley had been an arrogant prig in Sir Eamon’s office the day before, and his opinion of Jasper had been clear.

However, the revelation that either his wife or his daughter had been seen emerging from Martha Seabright’s home needed to be addressed.

Jasper required answers, and though that lead ballast shifted down to his feet now that he was climbing the front steps, he had a duty to perform.

He lifted the shiny, brass Hand of Fatima knocker and brought it down twice.

He released it quickly; he’d never liked the door knocker style of a small hand clutching an orb.

To his mind, it had the appearance of someone reaching through the door, despite its alleged ability to ward off evil and bring good luck to the household.

He considered, too, that the heat was making him more irritable than usual.

The day’s humidity had turned the air in London into a Turkish bath, heavy and still.

He found himself wishing for another rainstorm, if only to clear away the rising stink of horse dung, rotting food, sweat, and sewage.

When the door opened, he was met by a short man in footman’s livery. His hair had been curled purposefully at the nape to give the appearance of a justice’s powdered wig.

“The servant’s entrance is directly below.” He sniffed, then began to close the door.

“Detective Inspector Reid from Scotland Yard,” Jasper said, simultaneously holding up his warrant card and stopping the front door with his foot. The servant glared in offense but pulled the door open again. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Hayes.”

“Mr. Hayes is out,” he snapped.

“Then I would like to speak to Mrs. Hayes. This is a matter of some importance.”

“Jasper?”

His attention diverted from the servant’s stern disapproval to where Constance was descending the staircase into the foyer. Jasper drew in a bracing breath and tucked his warrant card away. He hadn’t known if he would see her, but he’d come prepared for the possibility.

“It is all right, Gerard; let the detective inspector inside,” Constance commanded in the smooth, cultured voice of someone who was accustomed to giving orders to servants.

Jasper entered the bright and spacious entrance hall.

“Thank you, Gerard,” she said, and after a sharp nod, the servant left them.

“Why have you come here?” she asked Jasper once they stood alone.

She didn’t invite him into the front sitting room like any other guest would be, but he didn’t take offense.

He wasn’t technically a guest of the family’s and had, after all, thrown her over.

By her cool expression, she hadn’t yet forgiven him.

“I’d like to speak to your mother. It’s regarding an inquiry. Is she in?”

Constance clasped her hands before her, and her brow formed a haughty arch.

She was quite beautiful, with blonde hair fashioned in an elegant, upswept twist, blue eyes fringed by dark lashes, and a figure that had, on occasion, set his pulse racing.

However now, his heartbeat remained steady.

Seeing her again had not inspired more than a twinge of guilt for his having waited so long to end their courtship.

“My mother?” Constance asked. “How can she possibly be of interest to you in one of your inquiries?”

“That is a discussion I’d like to have with her.” Jasper was aware that he sounded rude, and yet he was unable to avoid it. “Is she in?” he inquired again.

“No,” Constance bit off. “She is not.”

He swept a look up the staircase. “Are you staying here now?”

The question was meant to tip her off balance, and it seemed to work. Her expression softened. “I’m only paying a call. I still have rooms at the ladies’ boardinghouse.”

Jasper had wondered how her parents handled the news that their daughter was working as a typist for The Times —women of their ilk did not work, and they certainly did not live in boardinghouses.

But it seemed Constance had stood up to her parents and maintained her independence. He found that admirable.

“When do you expect your mother to return?”

She folded her arms. “I don’t expect her at all. She has left London.”

Alarm sharpened its claws in his back. “When was this?”

“An hour ago, or so.”

Somehow, he managed to suppress a frustrated groan. So, Mrs. Hayes had snooped in Martha’s home and then fled town right away? She’d found something, perhaps.

“Your father left with her?”

At her open glare, he guessed the barrage of questions was not welcome. “He and my brother left yesterday morning. Why are you so rabid to speak to them?”

“What was their destination?” he asked rather than answer. She wasn’t pleased. Her lips pressed thin, and her blue eyes flared.

“How is that any of your business?”

“Miss Hayes, I must insist you tell me where they’ve gone.”

Either their voices had carried, or the servant she’d dismissed had stayed close behind a door because Gerard returned to the foyer, a questioning glance thrown between Constance and Jasper.

“Is there a problem, Miss Hayes?” He likely hoped he might be allowed to show Jasper the door.

She held up her hand. “Everything is fine. But I do think the inspector will be leaving shortly.”

“Constance.” The use of her given name snagged her attention and her ire. Before she could rebuke him, he continued, “It is imperative I speak to them.”

She drew out the moment until Jasper expected that she would turn him out after all.

But then she exhaled, and her tensed shoulders dropped as her resistance melted away.

“My father and brother left for Beechwood, our home in Hampshire, yesterday. I arrived here an hour ago to learn that Mother had followed them. Her note to me said that she needed to take the country air.”

Why they had not all gone together stood out as odd to him. From the muddled expression Constance wore, she felt the same.

“They left unexpectedly without saying goodbye to you,” he presumed. When she nodded, Jasper looked to the servant still waiting to toss him out. “Did Mrs. Hayes leave here earlier today, alone, for an hour or two, and was she wearing a hooded blue cloak?”

“What an odd question,” Constance exclaimed. “Did someone see my mother out somewhere and tell you?”

He would not, under any circumstances, reveal who had seen her mother or where it had been. Constance already despised Leo, and Jasper didn’t want anyone in the Hayes family to know who had seen Mrs. Hayes. “I need an answer,” he said, deflecting Constance’s question.

Gerard sought instruction from Constance. She nodded, albeit reluctantly.

He replied tartly, “Yes. She was out, and she was wearing the cloak you describe.”

“What happened when she returned?” Jasper asked.

“She ordered her maid to begin packing and alerted the rest of the staff that she was leaving London posthaste. We are to send the rest of the belongings behind them.”

“Was there anything that happened that could account for her and her husband’s impulsive departures?”

Again, the servant sent Constance an imploring look. She gestured toward Jasper with an impatient flick of her fingers. “I’m curious myself, Gerard. Tell the inspector what you might know.”

What Gerard thought of the order was plain on his face, but he relented. “Two nights ago, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes had quite a row. We could hear their shouting from where we were belowstairs.”

That had been the night of the benefit dinner. Stanley claimed they hadn’t attended because his wife was ill.

“What were they arguing about? Did you hear anything specific?”

The servant shook his head. But as with so many people Jasper had questioned in his career thus far, Gerard’s lie showed in the twitch of a facial muscle and the lack of eye contact with him.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Jasper asked.

“Gerard?” Constance said, her tone clear: He was to speak. And she appeared to be just as curious as Jasper.

“I did go up, but only to be certain all was well,” he confessed. “They were in Mrs. Hayes’s bedchamber, and when she raised her voice, I heard…” Here he paused, as if torn. But he sighed and went on. “I heard her ask, ‘How could you lie to me?’ ”

“What else did you hear?” Constance asked, alarmed.

“Not another word. I knew straightaway that I shouldn’t be listening and returned downstairs.”

For once, Jasper wished the servant had done what many servants were wont to do: eavesdropped.

Constance dismissed him with a prim nod. Then, with a circumspect glance toward the retreating servant, she gestured Jasper toward the sitting room. Once they were inside, she lowered the haughty shield she’d erected around herself when he’d first arrived.

“I called on my mother yesterday afternoon,” she began. “She had been weeping. Her eyes were swollen and red, and though she claimed she was only feeling ill, I suspected it wasn’t that. Now, after what Gerard overheard, I know for certain it wasn’t.”

The argument between Stanley and his wife had been the cause, surely.

“And at the time of your visit yesterday, your father had already left London?”

Constance nodded. “And George, with him.”

Her younger brother. By a good ten years, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Did she say anything of note to you yesterday? You must have asked why your father and brother had gone without saying goodbye.”

“I did, of course,” she said. “Mother said Father had unexpected business to attend to and that George yearned for the country and his horses.”

She shrugged, as if she had easily believed her mother’s reasoning. Jasper, however, did not.

“Where is your family’s home in Hampshire?”

She balked. “You’re not going there, are you?”