“I’m glad you agree with me,” Alexander said, turning to slip on the cloak that the footman held out for him. “Come along and let’s pay a call on Bob Parker. It’s before noon—he should still be at Bow Street. Then we’ll go back out and start investigating this from scratch. Throw away everything we think we know and just focus on the facts.”
Bob Parker was not to be found at Bow Street, but a clerk there was able to direct them to a dockside tavern where they found the investigator.
Entering the dark tavern, they found Bob conferring with an evil-looking, one-armed man who was apparently the proprietor.
“My lord, Master Luke,” Bob said, breaking off his conversation and advancing toward them. “I should have known you’d turn up. I was about to send a messenger to you.”
“Indeed?”
“Come back here. I think you’ll be most interested in what we’ve found.”
Apparently there had been a disturbance the previous night, for the remains of broken chairs still littered the floor and several tables listed sadly on their two or three remaining legs. The smell of spilled ale mixed with less savory odors in a noxious stench. Paying no heed to the smell, Bob Parker picked his way around the debris and led them to the back of the tavern.
“Here we are,” he said.
A body lay on the floor, scuffed boots sticking out from under the sailcloth that had been thrown over it in an attempt at decency. Alexander bent down and pulled back the cloth. The body was that of a middle-aged man with weathered features and graying hair. The body lay in a pool of dried blood, and from the stab wounds it was obvious how he had died. The lifeless gray eyes were open, giving the appearance of eternal astonishment.
Luke was the first to speak. “He doesn’t look like a criminal mastermind.”
Alexander replaced the cloth over the body, being sure to cover the face and that ghastly stare. “Are you sure this is our man?”
“Oh yes,” Bob said. “I had the stableboy, Ben, over here and he confirmed that this was the man who paid him.”
“Does anyone know who this was?” Alexander asked.
“His name is John Blackwell. Used to be a trainer himself up Newmarket way till his liking for the drink got him fired. He came to London and eventually wound up in a lodging house just across the way. He was in here yesterday afternoon, boasting of how smart he was and how he’d made a fortune from fixing a race. No one believed he’d have the guts to do such a thing and they all laughed in his face. So he left and when he came back a few moments later he was flashing gold guineas to prove what he’d done.”
“And his new friends were overcome by respect for his criminal genius,” Luke said ironically. “So overcome that they demanded he share his good fortune.”
Bob Parker sighed. “That’s about the size of it. Someone stuck a knife in him. The barkeep isn’t sure who, but a fight broke out over the spoils. By the time the watch got here there were three other dead gents to keep this one company. I had them taken away already, but I knew you’d want to see this one yourself.”
So it was over. It was oddly unsatisfying, and yet he had been on the right track. The criminal was an amateur and a fool. Only an idiot would have flashed gold in a dockside tavern.
“It seems too easy,” Luke said, echoing Alexander’s thoughts.
“That’s the way it goes sometimes,” Bob Parker said philosophically. “But it all fits. Mamzelle Magda even said the man who attacked her seemed like a dockworker. John Blackwell probably recruited him right here.”
“And you’re sure he acted alone?”
“Seems that way. Everyone here says he kept pretty much to himself, except for last night. We’ve spread your blunt around pretty liberally, but still no one’s come forward with any mention of his having a partner. If there was anything to say, someone would have turned informer by now.”
“Thank you,” Alexander said. “I appreciate your efforts. We’ll leave you to finish up here. Send me your report and don’t forget to include your expenses.”
“Very good, my lord. And give my best to Mamzelle Magda.”
Luke held his silence till they had collected their horses and were riding back home. “Why aren’t we celebrating? For a man who just solved a mystery, you don’t seem particularly happy.”
“I am pleased that it is over,” Alexander said. He just wished he could rid himself of the nagging feeling that there was something left undone, something that they were overlooking.
“And annoyed that it ended so easily. Who would have thought our villain would be stupid enough to get himself killed in a tavern brawl?” Luke observed.
“That, too,” Alexander agreed. He felt a curious sense of letdown. While he had been pursuing the wrong leads the case had solved itself. They hadn’t needed him. He could have been an indolent fop for all the help he had been.
“At least Magda will be happy that this is over. And I’m sure you’ll be glad to have her off your hands.”
“Yes,” Alex said. But this thought, too, brought him no satisfaction. Over the week of her stay he had grown used to her quiet presence. He had even sought her ought just for the pleasure of speaking with her, and under his tutelage she was developing into a formidable opponent at chess. But she still insisted on helping with the household sewing to repay him for her keep. Alexander had allowed it, but he had also forbidden his valet to place any garment of his in the mending pile.
He wondered what she would do now that the danger had passed. After this adventure she’d sworn her days as a fortune teller were over, yet positions were not easy to come by. If she wasn’t able to find employment, in no time at all she could find herself reduced to penury. It seemed a shame to have her leave, just when the shadows had disappeared from under her eyes and she had started to lose her unnatural thinness. Perhaps he could convince her to remain for a few days longer, just until she found a situation.
In any event she would be glad to hear that the danger was over. Suddenly he found himself looking forward to giving her the good news.
Back at the house he found Magda in her room, occupied as usual with some sewing chore. But her reaction to the news that she was now out of danger was somewhat less than the joyous celebration he had pictured.
“That’s good to hear,” she said, as if he had brought her news of the weather.
Her lack of reaction puzzled him. “I don’t think you understand. We’ve found the man who fixed the race and tried to kidnap you. You’re safe now, and Bow Street is convinced of your innocence.” He could hear the anger creeping into his voice, but he made no effort to moderate his temper. The least she could do was show a little gratitude.
“I knew I was not to blame,” Magda said, but there was no passion in her voice. Just the same dull listlessness that had greeted his pronouncement. “I am grateful,” she said and paused to take a shuddering breath. “I am grateful for what you have done.”
There was something wrong here.
“Have you told Luke? He will want to know,” she said hurriedly.
“He knows.”
“I think you should go tell him. Again.” There was another pause as she drew in a shuddering breath.
Moving closer, he could see the thin sheen of sweat on her forehead; she had dropped whatever she was sewing to hold one arm clutched around her middle. “Yes, go. You should go, now,” she babbled.
Concern for her now overrode his earlier pique. “Magda, what’s wrong? Are you all right?” he asked, dropping to his knees next to her chair. Taking her free hand in his, he found her pulse. It was far too rapid. With his other hand he brushed the curls away from her forehead. Her face was warm to the touch, but not warm enough to explain the beads of sweat on her brow or the glazed look in her eyes.
“I do not feel well,” she said, stating the obvious. “Just leave me alone.” She closed her eyes for a moment as a spasm of pain seemed to grip her, then swallowed convulsively.
“How long have you felt like this?” It must have come
on suddenly, he thought. She had seemed fine this morning at breakfast.
“Not long,” she said, feebly attempting to push his hand away. “Please go. I don’t want you here.”
“I’ll ring for a maid,” he said, reluctantly releasing her hand. He stood up and crossed over to the bellpull to summon help.
Magda made a half-groaning, half-sobbing noise. He turned to see her lean over the arm of the chair and become violently ill. He grabbed the chamberpot and in two swift steps he was back at her side. Holding the chamberpot under her with his left hand, he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders as convulsions wracked her body. It was agony to witness, but eventually the fit passed and she was able to straighten up.
Easing her back in the chair, he went to the washstand and splashed cold water on a linen towel, then came back and began to tenderly wipe her face.
“I told you to leave,” she whispered. She tried a smile but it was a feeble effort.
Dammit, where was that maid? Alexander yanked on the bellpull again, with a force that could have set church bells pealing. He wasn’t good with sick people, and he understood her desire to be alone. He was like that himself, hating anyone to see him when he was vulnerable.
“I think you’ll be easier if we lie you down. Do you feel up to being moved?”
Magda nodded. “I think so,” she said, leaning forward and grasping the arms of the chair as if to stand. He ignored her feeble efforts and lifted her in his arms, easily carrying her the short distance to her bed. Sweeping aside the satin coverlet, he piled the pillows for her head, then laid her down. Next he unbuckled her half-boots, a liberty she would surely have protested were she not so ill. He cursed the quirk of his mind that could notice the fineness of her ankles even as he worried over her condition.
He drew the coverlet over her. There was a soft rap at the door. It was about time. “Come in,” he said.
The door opened but the figure that appeared was not a maid but rather the butler, Dugan.
“My lord!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I rang for a maid, not a butler,” Alexander said testily.
“Yes, milord, but that is the problem. I was on my way to tell Miss Beaumont that several of the maids have taken ill, and the rest are too busy to run her errands. Of course, if I had known it was you—”
Alexander was quick to pick up on the implied disrespect. So Dugan thought Magda a bother, did he? It was time that someone set him straight. “In case it has escaped your notice, Miss Beaumont has fallen ill as well. I want someone up here to clean up this mess, and send a footman for the doctor.”
Dugan was smart enough to realize he had made a mistake. “At once, my lord,” he said. “I will see to it personally.”
A faint moan from the bed warned him that Magda was going to be sick again. He reached her just in time. It seemed her body was determined to rid itself of whatever she had ingested. The second spasm was not as bad as the first, but the shuddering convulsions that gripped her went on for much longer. He could do nothing but sit next to her, holding her in his arms and trying to lend her some of his strength.
“This is worse than dying,” she said finally. “I can’t imagine why you are staying.”
“You’re going to be all right,” he promised.
“I will never eat again,” she vowed weakly.
With that she leaned her head against his chest in apparent exhaustion. He continued to hold her, not willing to disturb her peace, while a housemaid cleaned up the mess and a footman arrived with fresh towels and water. He knew his servants were wondering at his presence in Magda’s room, but let them wonder. Looking down at her he could see that she had removed the bandage earlier today. The slash on her neck had healed to an angry red scar, but in time that too would fade.
More puzzling was her illness. It must have been something she ate, and it was surely no coincidence that some of the maids had fallen ill at the same time. But what could it have been? Tainted fish? Spoiled meat? Or something more ominous?
“That’s all clean now, my lord,” the housemaid Annie said, breaking into his thoughts. A stout, motherly woman, she had been part of the household for as long as he could remember.
“Poor lamb,” she said, looking at Magda. “Why don’t you give her over to me and I’ll bundle her into a clean nightdress. Make her feel more the thing.”
There was sense in her words, for Magda’s gown was soaked through with sweat. But he didn’t want to let her go. He had the absurd feeling that if he left her something terrible would happen. “I think she’s sleeping,” he said.
“No,” Magda replied, lifting her head off his chest. “You should go. I am better now, really.”
It was a lie. She had stopped vomiting, but her eyes were sunken into her head and her fair complexion had been replaced by an unhealthy gray pallor.
“Please,” she said. He could not resist the appeal in her dark eyes. He freed his arm from under her shoulders, then gently eased her back against the pillows.
“I’ll be back to check on you in a while,” he promised. Turning to Annie, he said, “Be sure to send for me if she gets any worse.” He knew Magda would never call for help on her own.
“Yes, milord. We’ll do just fine,” Annie said, shooing him out the door.
He paused on the threshold as she turned her attention to Magda. “There now, you poor lamb,” she said. “Just sit up a moment and I’ll have you all set. Poor thing. Who would have thought all my girls would fall sick at once? But like I told the girls downstairs, that’s what they get for being above themselves. Fine chocolates aren’t for the likes of us, I said, and it only serves you right that they disagreed with you. Still, it was kind of you to send them down—”
“Chocolates?” Alexander strode back into the room. The two women turned to look at him. “What chocolates?”
“The ones you sent,” Magda whispered.
“I sent no chocolates.”
“But of course you did,” Annie said, as if he were a forgetful child. “And Miss Magda here sent them down to the girls in the servants’ hall.”
“When did they arrive?”
“After lunch, I think,” Magda said. “I had a few, but it was such a large box that I sent the rest downstairs.” It was clearly an effort for her to speak, and she paused for a moment to catch her breath. “Is something wrong?”
“No, nothing,” Alexander lied. He had to get downstairs to find those chocolates. Now. Before the evidence was destroyed.
Later that afternoon he told the story to Luke.
“Were you able to save a sample for me?” Luke asked.
“No, they were all gone before I got there. Apparently there’d been about a dozen pieces in the box. Magda had two and then gave the rest to the servants. Some of the maids had a whole piece and others had half-pieces. Some of them felt hardly ill at all, and no one was as sick as Magda.”
“But if she’d been a little greedier, or the poison a little stronger…” Luke’s voice trailed off.
The implications were frightening. It could easily have been a fatal dose. While he and his investigators had been off congratulating themselves on their cleverness, someone had tried to murder an innocent young woman under his protection. He was filled with a burning rage as he thought of how close he had come to failing her, to losing Magda forever.
“Any idea as to what poison was used? It could give us a clue to our villain,” Luke said.
“No. Dr. Finlay said it could have been arsenic, but it could easily have been something else. Without a sample of the chocolates, it’s impossible to be certain.”
“Pity.” Luke’s tone was one of a professional regarding a particularly challenging case. If he shared any of Alexander’s outrage, it was impossible to tell from his demeanor. “But how did he know she was here?”
Luke’s coolness and ability to see all sides was normally an asset, but for the first time Alexander found it an annoyance. Didn’
t Luke care that Magda had almost died? “Whoever did this knew a great deal. The package was addressed to her by name. And the card was supposedly signed by me, indicating that they knew I was not at home.”
“Someone could have been watching the house and waiting for you to leave,” Luke surmised. “Yet I should have seen him. It isn’t like me to be so careless.”
“You’re not the only one who was careless. I learned Mademoiselle Magda left the house yesterday afternoon. She went out with a housemaid to buy thread and have a talk with a blasted shirtmaker on New Bond Street.” Alexander still couldn’t believe the extent of this folly. Dugan’s ears must still be ringing after the dressing-down that Alexander had given him. What matter that the butler saw no harm in such an errand? He never should have allowed Magda to leave the house without Alexander’s permission. Never.
“Anyone could have seen her there and followed her back here,” Alexander added.
“Anyone except the recently deceased John Blackwell, who, according to all accounts, spent yesterday afternoon drinking.”
It was a conclusion Alexander had reached hours before. If the trainer had seen Magda, surely he would not have spent his last hours drinking and boasting of his good fortune. Besides, poison was a very different method from the bungled attempt at kidnapping.
“It looks like this attack was entirely separate from the horse race, which means we’ve got not one villain here but two. And whoever sent the package today addressed it to Mademoiselle Magda.”
“It seems someone out there has a grudge against Gypsy fortune tellers. Have you told Magda that it was poison?”
“She was still sleeping when I last looked in on her.”
“But will you tell her?”
“She deserves to know.” He didn’t relish the idea of telling Magda that someone had just tried to kill her. Again. With the whole of London as potential suspects, he would have to use all his wits to keep her safe until he could find this new villain.
Magda spent the afternoon wracked by fits of cramps and nausea, comforted by the motherly Annie. A doctor had come to call but his questions had made her cross and she seemed to recall him saying that it was not a severe episode and would wear off soon enough. If she had been able to raise her head she would have told him exactly what she thought of his expert opinion.
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