by Kate Parker
She staggered back, cursing. Blood flowed down from her nose. I went after her and punched her again. This time she went down and stayed there.
Only then did I realize police whistles were shattering the calm of the West End neighborhood. I looked up to see several uniformed constables and Inspector James Russell surround us.
“She shot my father,” I told anyone who would listen.
“It’s all right,” my father said, endeavoring to sit up as he gripped his arm. “It just hurts.” His expression was pitiful. “And there’s a lot of blood.”
“Someone get a physician. And arrest her. She killed Roxanne Hughes,” I told James, pointing at Lady Westkirk as he reached me. “She and Jeb Marlowe.”
“Who is she?” James asked as he handed the pistol to a sergeant.
“I’m Lady Bianca Westkirk.” She sat up then, her face bloody, her hair falling about her shoulders, and her dress torn and dirty. But as she spoke, she lifted her chin and looked down her nose at James.
“We were sent over here to find you, Lady Westkirk. Your husband, Lord Westkirk, has been found dead. Murdered. You’re to come with us,” James told her.
That feeble old man? He could barely remember what day it was. I hardly knew him, but I was sorry to hear of his passing. That he was murdered sounded incredibly unfair.
At James’s signal, one of the constables went to handcuff Lady Westkirk and she slapped him. A second bobby tried to help and was struck for his efforts. Finally, four burly constables were needed to restrain her.
Meanwhile, another constable brought the satchel over to James. “There’s a lot of money in there, sir. Maybe one or two thousand pounds.”
“Where did the money come from? Was it Lord Westkirk’s?” James asked the handcuffed woman.
The fight out of her now as she sat on the pavement, her arms clamped behind her, Lady Westkirk pouted and looked away.
“It probably came from the Marlowe Club. You might want to go inside and find out how they raise money,” I told him. “I went upstairs, and it is even more interesting than the gaming on the ground floor.”
Lady Westkirk faced me then, giving me a look that should have struck me dead. Since she was handcuffed and the police had the gun, I made a face back at her.
James ignored us as he sent two constables and another detective into the club.
Then as James was arranging transport to Scotland Yard for Lady Westkirk, the gun, and the money while a physician from the crowd surrounding us saw to my father, more noises came from the front of the house.
A battered Jeb Marlowe, no longer looking lucky, came out of the club closely followed by Mr. Sumner. I realized Marlowe’s arm was twisted up behind his back in his captor’s grip. “Someone want to arrest this kidnapper?” Mr. Sumner asked.
“Who are you and who did he kidnap?” James said, walking over to them with two constables.
I hurried after them. “Inspector Russell, this is Mr. Sumner, assistant to the Duke of Blackford. I told the duke and duchess that my uncle had been kidnapped, and the duke sent Mr. Sumner to assist us in freeing him.”
James looked over the larger man with the massive scar along one side of his face and then looked at me. “How did you know your uncle was here? And where is he?”
At that moment, Uncle Thomas wobbled out the front door of the club, looking worse than when I’d seen him in the basement. “Could someone help me?” he asked in a piteous tone.
A constable rushed over and helped him down the stairs.
“Why don’t you assist your uncle while I deal with this,” James said, looking askance at the confusion around him.
I hurried over to Uncle Thomas. “Why don’t you sit on the steps while the inspector organizes things?”
The constable walked away to help his colleagues.
My uncle sat on the second step and then looked up at me with a grin. “Why don’t I?”
I looked over my shoulder and found James couldn’t see my uncle’s face. “Are you all right?”
He gingerly felt his nose and then rubbed his right knee and ankle. “Nothing that time won’t heal. How’s Henry?”
At least he didn’t call him my father. “He was shot in the arm.”
He looked horrified. “Merciful heavens. Criminals are getting more violent all the time.”
“How are Grandpapa and my cousins?” None of them had appeared with Uncle Thomas.
“Well away from here by now. We’re letting Mr. Sumner take the credit,” Uncle Thomas assured me.
I was immediately suspicious. “Why? Is there a reason why you don’t want anyone to know they were here? A tangible reason?”
In the light of the streetlamp, I could see my uncle grin. “Ah, Emily, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
That told me all I needed to know. They’d stolen something while they were in there. Maybe a lot of somethings. Jewelry. Cash. Artworks. I decided to change the subject before James joined us. “Had you met Mr. Sumner before tonight?”
“No, but he’s a handy man to have in a fight. Military trained and served in the colonies, I’d guess, but I think he’s been in London for years doing something else. At any rate, we were glad to make his acquaintance.”
James came over, bringing Mr. Sumner with him. “Mr. Sumner tells me he heard a cry for help in the back and went to investigate, but you, your father, and the rest of the people in the club were all out front. I wonder who he heard.”
“My grandfather and my cousin Joe came with me and they went to the basement looking for my uncle while I looked for him upstairs. Mr. Marlowe has several thugs in his employ and there was quite a to-do trying to free my uncle. I believe it was Joe who called for help.” I tried to look innocent, which was difficult in a ruined ballgown.
I gave Lady Westkirk a look that said I would destroy her for the damage to my gown. In return, she gave me a wicked smile.
“Where are they now?” James asked, sounding as if he didn’t believe me.
“Joe took Grandpapa home. He was injured trying to free Uncle Thomas.” Injured could mean anything. I wasn’t lying. Not really.
“Inspector,” I added, “I have something for you.” I reached into my bag and pulled out the little gold container.
“Thank you.” James signaled for one of the constables, murmured something to him as he handed off the gold box full of cocaine, and turned back to us as the constable hurried away. “I’m going to need statements from all of you, but it’s late. I’d like for all of you to come to Scotland Yard tomorrow morning to give your account of this evening.”
Sumner turned away.
“Mr. Sumner, if you would give your details to this constable here, you are free to leave for this evening,” James told him.
Sumner nodded to James and spoke to the constable who hurried to us with his notepad and pencil. Then the former soldier strode away.
James turned his attention back to us. “I already have your details. I want you two, your father, your grandfather, and everyone else from your family who was here tonight to be at Scotland Yard in the morning. Am I clear?”
“Completely, Inspector. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ll see about getting my father and uncle home to their families. They’re both in need of medical care.” I helped my uncle to stand.
“And be sure to take care of that jewelry you’re wearing. There are plenty of thieves about,” James said.
I nodded, my cheeks on fire. James suspected my jewelry had been stolen sometime in the past. I couldn’t deny I had the same thought.
As my uncle got his feet firmly under him, the other inspector came out of the house and murmured to James. They conferred a little while, glancing from time to time at Lady Westkirk and Jeb Marlowe, who were now both handcuffed. After watching them, I whispered to my uncle, “What did they find in the club?”
“From the looks on their faces, I suspect a whole list of charges for both Jeb and his lady friend.” Uncle Thomas pu
t a hand on my shoulder to help him walk as he limped forward.
“How did you get injured after you were freed?”
“The fight continued another minute or two, and I was struck on the leg with a coal shovel. Unfortunately, it was wielded by Petey.”
I swallowed my laughter. “He is clumsy.”
Uncle Thomas grumbled as he winced in pain.
“Is Bianca Westkirk the woman Mr. Marlowe was in love with a few years ago? The one Gran called ‘the tart?’” I asked.
Uncle Thomas chuckled before groaning. “The very same. And it does appear Mum was right.”
We joined my father, whose arm was bandaged. His jacket lay on the ground next to him, and I could see his shirt was bloody.
“You’re a mess, Henry,” my uncle said.
“I’m still prettier than you,” my father said with a grin that ended in a grimace as he moved his arm. “Help the old man up, will you?” he said to me.
It took both Uncle Thomas and me to get my father standing, and then we moved the few feet to the automobile. “So,” my father said, tossing his jacket on the back seat, “who’s going to drive?”
The two men looked at each other and their bloodied limbs and burst out laughing. I knew it would be a long night.
I looked around for James to say good night to him, but he was disappearing through the front doorway of the club with the other inspector. I wondered what they had found.
Then I watched my father and his brother try to figure out how to get into the automobile and, more important, drive. And then there was the matter of cranking the engine to start it.
I knew I’d be better off walking home.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When my father and uncle were ready to leave, I climbed into the back seat. It required lifting my skirt obscenely high in front of the bystanders who lingered, but it was late and I was too tired to care. I suspected I’d have to climb out and walk. I muttered my opinion, but my father insisted that I have faith.
Fortunately, a constable was still available out front of the Marlowe Club who knew something about motor-cars and enjoyed working with them. My uncle convinced him to crank the motor while my uncle reached over from the passenger seat and fiddled with the choke as well as other buttons and levers I didn’t know the name of. My father sat in the driver’s seat and worked the pedals.
When the auto roared to life, my uncle gave the bobby a jaunty wave and we drove off, nearly sideswiping a carriage as we left. The constable shook his head, the carriage driver shook his fist, and the horses pranced skittishly down the street. I tried to ignore how close we had come to disaster.
Our drive across London was salvaged only by the lateness of the hour. My father and uncle tried to synchronize their movements in driving the automobile, but this only resulted in the vehicle hopping as the engine made grinding noises.
Steering was problematic. With both men trying to maneuver the vehicle, and with different ideas about where the vehicle should be, we came dangerously close to other objects. We nearly collided with a goods wagon, causing shouts and threats. At one corner, we bounced off the curb and nearly took out a streetlamp. The few pedestrians out stared at our weaving path and ran into alleys if we came too close. By the time we reached the East End, the two brothers were cursing at each other.
If they weren’t so busy trying to keep the automobile from stalling, they would have come to blows.
Steering became particularly difficult in the narrow alleyways near my grandparents’ house, but by then both men had figured out how to cooperate on their steering while shifting gears and working the pedals.
When we pulled into the barn and were greeted by the whole family, half of them holding lanterns, the brothers collapsed into each other’s arms and slapped each other on the back. All their anger was forgotten once they accomplished their task and made it home.
Garrett and Tommy helped me down from the back seat. “Wow, what happened to you?” my cousin Petey asked. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”
“I ruined my best ballgown in the service of catching a killer and rescuing Uncle Thomas,” I told him, my nose in the air.
“Well, come in the house and let’s get a look at all of you,” Gran said. “And we’ll see if we can’t repair the gown.”
“I need to get home. I’ve got to open the shop in the morning,” I told her.
“Nonsense,” my grandmother decreed. “Sleep here. I’ll find something for you to wear to bed. I’ve already sent a message to Noah to tell him you’d spend the night here so he wouldn’t worry.”
I looked at her, surprised she’d been concerned that Noah might be anxious. “Thank you.”
She smiled and put her arms around my waist. “Thank you for helping to bring the whole family back safely tonight.”
I hugged her. “That’s what families do.”
* * *
At sunup, I declined an offer of a wonderful-smelling breakfast and hurried home in the plain dark muslin gown I’d worn to my grandparents’ house before I had put on my evening gown. Once back at the flat, I changed into a green dress with white lace trim that went well with my reddish hair and fair complexion and joined Noah for some tea and toast.
“I got the message from your grandmother. You must have had quite an evening,” Noah said. “Pass me the jam, please.”
Images from the previous evening—Uncle Thomas tied up and bloody, fighting with Lady Westkirk, my father bleeding from a gunshot wound—flashed through my mind. “Nothing I want to repeat. And I have to go to Scotland Yard this morning to give my statement.”
“Which of your father’s clan has been arrested?”
I smiled. “None, actually. They’ve arrested the two people who killed Lady Theo Hughes and kidnapped my uncle.”
“Why did they kidnap him?”
I felt suspicion grow in the back of my mind. “I suppose I’ll find out this morning. Will you and Jane be able to manage without me for a few hours?”
“We’ll have to. You can’t ignore a summons from Scotland Yard. We’ll say you’re out on an appointment.” He took a sip of his tea. “Will you see Inspector Russell this morning?”
“I hope so.” After seeing me aid my father’s family last night, I wasn’t sure he wanted to see me.
After I opened the shop and gave Jane a brief account of where I’d be and what to expect in the shop that morning—gossip being a staple of aristocratic life—I put on my green spring hat with plenty of white roses on the flat brim and traveled by omnibus to Scotland Yard.
From the gate, I was escorted to one of the entrances and led upstairs to a hallway where I was told to sit and wait. I wasn’t sitting in one of their wooden, straight-backed chairs for long before my grandfather, Cousin Joe, Uncle Thomas, and my father joined me.
We greeted each other and then Uncle Thomas sat next to me and asked, “Have you seen Jeb Marlowe?”
“Don’t you mean Lucky Marlowe?” I asked.
“Bet he doesn’t feel too lucky today,” Joe said.
My grandfather silenced him with a stern look.
“I’ve always known him as Jeb,” my uncle said. “And I’d really like to talk to him now, away from her ladyship.”
“Why did they kidnap you?” I couldn’t figure out the reason.
“They were afraid if the two of us talked, you’d realize they were the ones who’d killed Lady Theo, or Lady Roxanne, or whatever her proper name was, and have the police stop them from sailing for Australia.”
“They said that?” I was amazed. If they said that in front of my uncle, that must mean they didn’t expect him to live long enough to tell what he’d heard.
“Yeah.” He exchanged a look with my father, who grimaced.
“When is the ship supposed to sail?”
“Noon today.”
We’d stopped them just in time. I didn’t want to think how close the killers had come to escaping.
At that moment, I heard me
n’s voices coming toward us. As they came around the corner, I saw a middle-aged man in a well-made black suit and vest with a high white shirt collar haranguing a uniformed constable. “—should be hanged,” he was saying.
“If you’d please wait there, sir—”
“My lord. I’m Lord Westkirk now.”
“My lord,” and with that the constable gave him a slight bow, “the inspector will see you soon.”
The new Lord Westkirk looked us over. Uncle Thomas had obviously been in a fight, my father’s arm was in a sling, and Joe was sporting a black eye. Even my grandfather looked bruised. He nodded to me and sat in a chair a little distance from us.
“My condolences on the death of your father,” I told him. “I’d met your father recently and he was a lovely man.”
“He was completely barmy, marrying that woman.” He stopped to stare at me. “You’re not a friend of that woman, are you?”
“If you mean Lady Westkirk, no. We were involved in stopping her from escaping until the police arrived,” I said, gesturing to my father and his family.
“Good. She should hang for what she did.”
“What did she do to your father?”
“She killed him.” He folded his arms over his chest and scowled.
I decided to try again. “How did she kill him?”
The man’s face twisted in grief for a moment. “Early last evening, she sent the nurse after a glass of milk for my father, and when the nurse returned, my father was dead and that woman had fled the house.”
“Are you sure he didn’t die naturally?”
“There were marks from a small pair of hands around his throat.”
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry,” I told him. And if she’d murder her elderly husband, was there anyone she would hesitate to kill? Her actions were as reprehensible as anything I’d read about in the penny press. She and Lord Theo were a pair, and Lucky Marlowe was no better. I was glad none were free any longer to hurt their fellow man.