The Paid Companion | Herophine

Chapter Twenty Six

Hero tried to intervene to redirect the conversation. “Mrs Glentworth, you mentioned that your husband had a third friend ...”

“Look around you.” Mrs, Glentworth waved the hand in which she held the handkerchief. “What do you see of value? Nothing. Nothing at all. Over the years he sold the silver and the paintings to raise money to purchase items for his laboratory. In the end, he even sold his precious snuffbox. I thought he’d never part with it. He told me he wanted to be buried with it.”

Josephine took a closer look at the portrait above the mantel. It showed a portly, balding gentleman dressed in old-fashioned breeches and coat. He held a snuffbox in one hand. The lid of the case was set with a large, red, faceted stone.

She glanced at Hero and saw that he was studying the portrait too.

“He sold the snuffbox that he carries in that portrait?” Hero asked.

Mrs Glentworth sniffed into the handkerchief. “Yes.”

“Do you know who bought it from him?”

“No. I expect my husband took it to one of the pawnshops. Probably got very little for it, too.” Mrs Glentworth’s jaw trembled with outrage. “Not that I saw any of the money, mind you. He never even bothered to tell me that he had sold it.”

Hero looked at her. “Do you happen to know when he pawned it?”

“No. It must have been shortly before he managed to kill himself with that electricity machine.” Mrs Glentworth used the mangled handkerchief to blot up a stray tear or two. “Perhaps that very day. I seem to recall that he had it at breakfast that morning. He left the house to take his exercise and was gone for some time. That was no doubt when he went to find a dealer.”

“When did you notice that the snuffbox was gone?” Josephine asked.

“Not until that evening when I found his body. That afternoon I had gone out to pay a call on a friend who was ill. When I returned, my husband had already come home and locked himself in his laboratory for the day, as was his custom. He did not even bother to emerge for dinner.”

“That was not unusual?” Hero asked.

“Not at all. When he got involved in one of his experiments he could spend hours in his laboratory. But at bedtime, I knocked on the door to remind him to turn down the lamps when he came upstairs. When there was no answer I grew concerned. The door was locked, as I said. I had to get a key to open it. That was when I ... when I...” She broke off and blew her nose.

“When you found his body,” Josephine completed gently.

“Yes. It was some time before my nerves recovered to the point where I noticed that his snuffbox was gone. Then I realized that he must have sold it that very day. Heaven only knows what he did with the money. It was certainly not in his pockets. Perhaps he decided to pay off one of his more pressing creditors.”

There was a short silence. Josephine exchanged another knowing glance with Hero. Neither of them spoke.

“I never thought he’d part with that snuffbox, though,” Mrs Glentworth said after a while. “He was very attached to it.”

“Was your husband alone in the house while you were out that afternoon?” Hero asked.

“Yes. We have a maid, but she was not here that day. She is rarely here anymore. She has not been paid in some time, you see. I suspect that she is searching for another post.”

“I see,” Hero said.

Mrs Glentworth gazed around with a resigned air. “I shall have to sell this house, I suppose. It is my one asset. I can only pray that I will get enough for it to pay off my husband’s creditors.”