Lady Lawrence released a choked sob, and Holmes pulled out from inside his navy blue coat a handkerchief and handed it to her. “Thank you,” she replied meekly, as she accepted his proffered piece of cloth to dab away her tears.
“His name was Adam Stone, sir,” she told him, folding the handkerchief in her hands and setting it down upon her lap, “He was my fiancé.”
“How did he die, madam?” Holmes prompted. He slowly shifted in his seat, propping an ankle upon his knee.
“He was found in the park early yesterday morning; a bullet hole straight through the chest I hear,” she stuttered, the color in her cheeks fading. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears.
Holmes hands shot out to grasp her face; gently his thumbs brushed back the dam of liquid droplets that threatened to spill from her eyes, “No tears, madam,” he said sternly.
Lady Whitney’s startled expression answered him; and I also, could not help but wonder at his eccentric action.
As I digested what the lady said, I nearly jumped to my feet at her admission. She spoke of the man in the newspaper! Holmes must see the connection too, I thought eagerly. I looked to Holmes and began to clear my throat, when Holmes shot me a warning look before retracting his hands from the lady’s face. For some reason, he must have felt it was better for the lady not to know that we knew of the situation. I sunk down to my chair again, and forced myself to listen astutely.
“Who was the killer?” Holmes asked with no trace of alarm in his voice.
“No one knows, sir, and that’s what I’m here to find out,” she said.
“Was Mr. Stone a very likeable man, Lady Lawrence?” Holmes cocked an eyebrow.
The lady nodded, “If you mean to ask whether he had any enemies, I’ll gladly answer no. He was very agreeable and was the soul of amiability and kindness, Mr. Holmes.”
I observed the skeptical expression upon Holmes face as he continued to interrogate the girl, “How did you meet the man?”
Lady Lawrence blushed, “I have a habit of riding my horse through the park in the mornings. One day I got thrown from my horse and sailed into the pound as I was riding by. Adam, er, Mr. Stone was there to assist me out of the pound and escort me home.”
“I see,” said Holmes, “And from then on Mr. Stone began courting you? How long was the courtship, may I ask?”
Again the lady blushed a pretty pink, “Three weeks, sir.”
“Your father approved of this match?”
A look of uncertainty passed through the lady’s eyes, “Um…Yes, I do think so.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, upon the fourth week since my season began, Mr. Adam offered for my hand in marriage. I was very happy and I agreed to his proposal. He told me not to worry about my father, and assured me that he had already consulted him.”
A shadow crossed Holmes face as he absorbed her given information, “And you have not, since the proposal, yet spoken to your father about your engagement?”
The lady nodded, “I trusted Mr. Stone. He was as very much in love with me as I was him.” It was apparent the girl had placed great faith in her fiancé.
“Yes; but it is a very foolish thing to do, madam,” Holmes told her.
“Do you know if he had any debts?” He continued.
“Of course not!” She shouted with outrage on her deceased fiancé’s behalf, “He was a respectable man; and besides,” she said haughtily, “He had told me his shipping investments were pulling through and that his wealth had been increasing.”
“Hm…,” Holmes sighed.
“Please, sir, do all that you can to bring forth his murderer; I want justice served to him.”
“Do you know what he had been doing the day prior to when he was shot madam?”
“No, I’m not sure. He could’ve—“a light flickered in her eyes, “Wait a moment. Why yes I do! He had visited me early that afternoon, asking me how much my father was giving up for my dowry. After he had visited, he told me he would be at Whites. It is a polite gaming hall for gentlemen, I believe,” she said.
“Whites, you say? Well now, I’m quite familiar with the place; yet I have not had the pleasure of being acquainted to a Mr. Adam Stone.” A light gleamed in Holmes eyes.
“There are many men there, I suppose,” she said.
“Is it a particular hobby of his to do a little gambling, my lady?”
“Gambling? I don’t know, sir,” she admitted quietly, looking down at her hands, “I really don’t know.”
Holmes patiently waited in silence for her to continue while I burned with a million things I wished to shout at the girl.
“Gambling probably isn’t a factor in his death. He doesn’t have any debt,” she repeated once more, “of that I’m sure!”
“And you’ve consulted his bankers?” Holmes asked with renewed interest.
Lady Lawrence shook her head, “No, sir. He told me! And I’m positive he would not lie to me.”
I watched as Holmes nodded to appease the lady, “Does this man have any family?” I couldn’t help but ask.
From what I observed, the lady half jumped from her seat, while Holmes just turned to smile at me. “Yes,” Holmes said, “I was just about to ask that, very good Watson.”
The lady stared at me for a while before turning her attention back to Holmes, “Can he be trusted?”
“I trust him, my lady.” The detective answered.
Satisfied with his answer the red-head continued, “Mr. Stones lived with his mother and younger sister. They live on the outskirts of town, or so he informed me.”
“Was he in good relations with his family?”
“I’ve told you, he is very agreeable, therefore I can only assume he treated his family with great respect.” Lady Whitney replied.
“And do you know if his mother or sister any had enemies of the sort?” Holmes pried lightly.
“I—I don’t really know much of his family, Mr. Holmes,” she stuttered.
“One last question,” Holmes said to her, “When did he propose?”
This time the lady’s entire face burned a deep crimson, “The afternoon before his murder.
Part Four