‘They must have done. It explains why my wife received a strange letter from someone claiming to be him.’
‘Perhaps the same person also harmed your wife.’
‘Impossible! The events are ten years apart. This has nothing to do with what happened to Alexander.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Because no one harmed Jane. She fell in an accident.’
‘You seem rather sure about that, Mr Stanton.’
‘Because she was my wife. I knew her! And no one would have harmed her.’
‘Even though someone harmed her brother?’
‘There is no connection whatsoever. How many times must I repeat myself?’
‘How much money did your wife owe her brother at the time of his disappearance?’ asked Detective Sergeant Joyce.
Robert gave a laugh and wiped his brow. ‘Not this again. Why is this relevant to Jane’s accident?’
‘It will help your cause if you answer our questions, Mr Stanton.’
‘Fine. I understand Alexander lent Jane some money. But I couldn’t tell you how much. It was a private arrangement between them.’
‘Surely you earn a good salary in your job at the bank, Mr Stanton?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘And so you were more than able to provide for your wife.’
‘Yes, I was perfectly able to provide for the both of us. So now you’re going to ask me why she borrowed money from her brother, aren’t you? The answer to that is I really don’t know. Like I said, it was between Jane and Alexander. It was nothing to do with me. I don’t know what she needed the money for.’
‘Do you think it’s odd your wife borrowed money from her brother when your salary was adequate for the pair of you?’
‘Possibly. But it was ten years ago. I really can’t see how it can be explained now.’
‘Can you guess why your wife would have needed that money?’
‘I’m totally unable to, I’m afraid. I really don’t know.’ He wasn’t going to admit his gambling and investment losses to the police. It would give them yet another reason to poke around in his business. ‘Perhaps my wife was helping a friend in need,’ he said. ‘A friend in an embarrassing situation perhaps, and she didn’t want to tell me about it.’ He threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘I don’t have any answers to this. It’s no use you asking me the same question over and over. I don’t know why Jane borrowed the money and I don’t know how much it was.’
‘Alexander Miller’s death meant the debt no longer needed to be repaid, did it?’
‘That’s right. He died with the debt left unsettled.’
‘And while your wife Jane was no doubt very upset about his disappearance, it was also convenient for her.’
‘That’s a strange way of describing the situation, Detective. I know for a fact that her debt to her brother never entered her mind after he disappeared. She was merely worried about his safety and nothing else. She never once rejoiced in the fact she didn’t have to repay him the money. It was a very difficult time for the pair of us. We moved into Alexander’s flat a couple of months after his disappearance because it needed looking after. But Jane had to wait seven years before she could apply to a court to receive the probate from his will.’
‘She gained materially from his death.’
‘Because she was the next of kin. Now if you’re suggesting Jane had anything to do with her brother’s disappearance, then I find your suggestion offensive, Detective. I will not entertain the idea that my wife could have harmed her brother just because she owed him some money. That’s quite ridiculous.’
‘Or perhaps it was you who harmed Alexander Miller on your wife’s behalf?’ said Detective Sergeant Joyce. ‘Perhaps he was pestering her for the money to be repaid? It clearly bothered him because he mentioned it to his friend. Perhaps the pair of you came up with a solution to silence him?’
‘No!’ Robert slammed his palm down on the table. ‘That is nonsense, Detective. Pure nonsense!’
Chapter 44
Augusta rubbed at the sticky marks on the cover of The Phoenix and the Carpet by E. Nesbit. Fortunately, a little soap was enough to remove them so she didn’t have to resort to anything stronger. The book cover had an attractive embossed design of blue, red, and gold and she felt hopeful she could restore it to its former glory.
Some pages in the book were torn, but they were all present. It would take a while to patch up the pages, but Augusta felt it was a worthwhile task. And it was a welcome distraction from the shocking news of Jane Stanton’s death.
Please be careful, Mrs Peel. Louisa Bradshaw’s warning echoed in Augusta’s ears. A cold fear niggled her, and she did her best to ignore it. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she felt frightened.
But a man had broken into her flat. Mrs Bradshaw had been threatened. And now Mrs Stanton had been murdered. Who was behind this? And what could they be planning next?
Augusta had assumed Mrs Stanton had ordered someone to steal the letters from her flat. But that seemed impossible now. What about Robert Stanton? Had he ordered the burglary? Had he murdered his wife?
The more Augusta considered the case, the more confused she felt. Could Tom Connolly be the mastermind behind it all? Having met him, she doubted it. But she had been proven wrong in the past.
Philip called on her late that afternoon. His expression was despondent as he perched himself on a stool by her workbench.
‘I’m going to inform Mr Ramsden that I can no longer work for him. His wife spotted me again today.’
‘Oh no. How?’
‘In a department store on Oxford Street. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time loitering about in shops on Oxford Street. Charlotte Ramsden was speaking to a sales assistant about dining sets. I was hiding as best I could and pretended to be examining some tea towels. When the conversation between Mrs Ramsden and the sales assistant ended, she unfortunately headed straight for the tea towels. I couldn’t get away quickly enough, so there she found me.’
