by D. M. Quincy
It made perfect sense that a family of abolitionists, who were natural do-gooders, would take in a maid who had nowhere else to turn. “Do you happen to know the name of the family?”
The girl’s pointed look went to the money in his hands. He placed it into her ready palm.
“Sara works for the Price family,” the servant said promptly. “They have a home on the common.”
Chapter Fifteen
The following morning, before venturing out to Clapham in search of the disgraced lady’s maid, Atlas joined Charlton for a late morning meal at a new establishment in Pall Mall known as the Voyager’s Club.
Unlike other gentlemen’s clubs, Voyager’s kept early hours, opening in the morning to serve breakfast and closing by eleven in the evening, hours ahead of other gentlemen’s clubs where gaming continued well into the early morning.
“I thought you might enjoy Voyager’s,” Charlton said as they took their seats in the Eating Room. The morning light poured in through floor-to-ceiling windows, spotlighting paneled walls painted in shades of mustard and gray. “This club draws travelers and diplomats. You might find the library of particular interest, and there is a map room.”
Atlas knew Charlton normally preferred Boodles, a gentleman’s club just down the street. “I gather this is your way of apologizing for your loose tongue,” he remarked after the coffee had been poured.
Charlton winced. “I do beg your pardon. I would never want to cause a rift between you and your sister.”
“Put your mind at ease.” Atlas sipped the hot, bitter libation and was pleased to discover the club brewed a particularly flavorful cup of coffee. “There is no chasm between Thea and me.”
“That relieves my mind. The heated exchange the two of you had the other evening was very concerning.”
“Disagreements between Thea and me are not for the faint of heart.” Atlas blew softly on the steaming cup before taking another sip. “However, we forget about them the following day.”
Distaste marred the earl’s aristocratic visage. “I barely speak with my sister, and when I do, we are most cordial. I do believe a stiff British upper lip is preferable to all of that drama.”
Atlas suppressed a smile. Charlton valued order and courtesy, states of being that were in short supply within the Catesby family. “Relationships between me and my siblings can certainly be untidy,” he acknowledged with a wry smile. “Speaking of my sister, what exactly were you doing with Thea that evening?”
“Which evening?”
“The evening Thea confronted me, when you and she came to Somerville House. You were both attired in evening clothes.”
“Oh, that.” Charlton partook of his coffee with his pinkie elegantly extended. “I happened to run into Thea at a gathering of the London Mathematical Society.”
“The Mathematical Society?” Atlas shot him a skeptical look. “I know why Thea was there, but what exactly is your interest in mathematics?”
“I’m not certain whether you are acquainted with my cousin, Beresford, but he is a member of the society. I found myself at loose ends that particular evening after you declined my supper invitation, so when my cousin invited me along to the monthly meeting, I went to see what all the fuss was about.”
“And what did you learn?”
Charlton grimaced. “It boggles the mind that someone would voluntarily—and, indeed, eagerly—attend mathematical functions.”
“I daresay it’s a highlight of Thea’s month.”
“Naturally, I saw Mrs. Palmer there, and during a break, I happened to mention meeting your young nephew.”
“And she came directly to Lilliana’s to have it out with me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“I wondered how Thea knew where to find me. It is not as though I make a habit of visiting Lilliana at all hours.”
“As much as you’d like to,” Charlton returned drolly. “Yes, I did mention that you’d gone to Lady Roslyn’s to discuss the investigation.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of beefsteak with onions. Atlas’s stomach growled as the heaping plates of freshly cooked food were placed before them. As they ate, the conversation turned to the investigation.
Atlas gave Charlton some of the particulars, although he declined to mention the latest about Elizabeth Archer. He didn’t care to tarnish a young woman’s reputation without proof of any wrongdoing. He also did not specifically mention that Merton and Roxbury’s daughters had visited Holywell Street, but he did reveal that Davis had information about the young ladies that could prove damaging to their standing in society.
Charlton smirked as he chewed his beef. “It would be dashed convenient for you if Roxbury did turn out to be the killer. With the marquess out of the way, you’d have Lady Roslyn all to yourself.”
Atlas sliced off a piece of steak. “He did warn me to stay away from her.”
Charlton’s amber eyebrows drew together. “Did he now?” His mouth twitched with barely suppressed amusement. “Knowing how much you enjoy being told what to do, I’m certain you appreciated that.”
“Wedding the marquess would ensure Lilliana’s return to respectability.” Atlas washed the tender, succulent beef down with a sizable draught of coffee. “If the events of last year were ever to be revealed, she would be protected by his name.”
“Very gallant of you to stand down. But she would also be afforded the same protection as your wife.”
Atlas shot him a skeptical look. “We both comprehend that is not true.”
“I know nothing of the kind.” Charlton pointed at Atlas with his fork. “Yours is an old and distinguished family. Few members of the peerage, myself included, can claim to be a descendant of King Edward III, as the Catesbys can.”
“I’m a man of no title and modest fortune. Roxbury can offer her far more than I.”
“For someone who generally cares nothing for titles or fortune, you do seem oddly fixated with both when it comes to the fair Lilliana.”
Atlas changed the subject. “I need your help with the investigation.”
“My help? Is this your artless way of attempting to divert me from discussing your pursuit of the lovely Lilliana?”
Atlas bristled. “There is no pursuit.” He learned forward. “I am quite serious about needing your assistance. Gordon Davis was having an affair with a married titled lady who lived in Mayfair.”
“Was he?” Charlton shook his head. “The scoundrel.”
“Lilliana has been attempting to learn the woman’s identity through the ladies of Mayfair but has had little luck.”
“And you want me to inquire among the gentlemen of Mayfair.”
Atlas nodded. “The gentlemen . . . as well as the ladies you might know particularly well.”
“Ah, you are referring to pillow talk.” Charlton no longer kept a regular mistress, as far as Atlas knew. The earl had dismissed his most recent ladybird shortly after Atlas’s carriage accident the previous year. Since then, the earl had taken to engaging in very discreet liaisons among the Mayfair set. “Very well. I’ll see what I can learn. What do you know about this Davis’s lady love?”
“Very little. Apparently they met before the lady married and continued their affair after she wed.”
“Hmm. Not much to go on, but I shall try.” Charlton was distracted by something behind Atlas’s shoulder. “Oh, look, there’s Merton.”
Atlas shifted in his seat to find the viscount standing on the threshold surveying the Eating Room. “It appears that he’s alone.”
“Didn’t you say you wished to speak with him?”
Atlas nodded. “Merton had as much of a motive to kill Gordon Davis as Roxbury.”
“So you say. Both of their daughters face ruin for some mysterious reason you refuse to reveal.” Charlton stood up and waved to get Merton’s attention. “I understand you are being discreet, but your moral rectitude can be tiresome at times. It definitely gets in the way of an interesting conversation
.”
Atlas watched him. “What are you doing?”
“You need to speak with Merton. There’s no time like the present, I say.” Charlton caught Merton’s eye and gestured for the viscount to come and join them.
As Merton weaved his way through the busy diners, Atlas said, “I can hardly ask him delicate questions about his daughter with you present.”
“No worries. I’ll make myself scarce.” He turned to greet the viscount. “Merton, good day. Are you alone? Do join us.”
Merton cast a wary glance at Atlas, who nodded in greeting. “Thank you, but no. I am meeting Harrington here.” He gestured toward the plates on the table. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your meal.”
“You are not intruding,” Charlton said amiably. “We’d welcome the company, wouldn’t we, Catesby?”
“Absolutely.” Atlas swallowed his last bite of beef, his hunger thoroughly sated. Now he had a craving to satisfy his curiosity as well. “Do join us, my lord.”
Charlton beamed. “There, it’s settled. Have a coffee with us while you wait for Harrington to appear. The man does have a tendency to run late.”
Left with no graceful way to refuse, Merton took a seat. Charlton did the same while gesturing for the server to bring coffee for Merton.
“Oh, look.” Charlton popped up again before his arse hit the seat. “I believe I saw my cousin Beresford heading to the library. Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen. I need a word with him.”
He was gone before either man could react. When the server appeared with the coffee, Merton stopped him. “I’ll have ale.”
Even though the man was having spirits at breakfast, Atlas knew he couldn’t count on the viscount being foxed so early in the day, so he decided to be direct. “I am investigating Gordon Davis’s death.”
“Why would you bother?” Merton sniffed. “The man was a plague.”
“His sister works for the Duke of Somerville.”
Merton’s eyes widened. “Somerville asked you to look into Davis’s death?”
“Davis’s sister believes her brother was murdered.” He paused while Merton’s ale was set down before him.
“I fail to see what any of this has to do with me.”
“I know Davis took Lady Lavinia and Lady Adora Bradford to Holywell Street.”
Merton’s face flushed with anger. “I should call you out for impugning my daughter’s reputation.”
“I have no wish to harm your daughter—or Roxbury’s, for that matter—and no one will hear of their visit from me.”
Merton took a long drink of his ale, his cheeks still red. “What is it that you want?”
“I understand Davis demanded money to keep quiet.”
Merton exhaled. “He did. We paid him, and that was the end of it.”
“When was the last time you saw Gordon Davis?”
“That same afternoon when he took our daughters to . . . that place.” Merton’s face contorted with disgust. “Naturally, Roxbury informed me of what happened, and when Davis returned to the house, I met with him in my study and relieved him of his duties.”
“Did he ask you to pay him to keep quiet at that time?”
Merton shook his head. “No, I never saw him again after that. Roxbury dealt with him. I paid my share to Roxbury, and he gave it to Davis.” He stood abruptly, almost upending his chair. “Harrington is here. Excuse me.”
As Atlas watched Merton go, he heard someone call out his name.
“Atlas Catesby.” The voice came from behind him. “I thought that was you.”
Atlas stood to greet Edward Hughes, the acquaintance who worked at the East India Company. “Hughes, it is good to see you.”
Hughes smiled as he shook Atlas’s hand. “There’s still a spot for you aboard one of our cargo ships, should you care to take it.”
“The thought of seeing India is most tempting,” Atlas said, “but I have matters that keep me in London for the moment.”
“Do send a note if you change your mind. Although, I cannot guarantee the spot will remain open.”
“I understand.” The two men chatted briefly before exchanging farewells.
Charlton reappeared, passing a departing Hughes on his way back to the table where Atlas sat. “I have another puzzle for you to solve,” Charlton said as he drew near.
“Oh?”
“There’s been a robbery.”
“A robbery?” Atlas asked. “Where?”
“Here at the club.”
“When?” He straightened, his interest piqued. “What was taken?”
“I’m not certain exactly when, but the thieves got away with a bundle of silver. Will you come and speak with the butler?”
Never one to resist a good puzzle, Atlas followed Charlton through the back corridor to where the butler, a trim and tidy older man, awaited them with a grim expression on his face.
“Hurley,” Charlton said to the man. “This is Mr. Catesby, who is quite clever at solving puzzles.”
“What exactly was taken?” Atlas asked the man.
“Silver candlesticks. When I went to retrieve them from the plate closet this morning, they were all gone.”
“Who else has a key?”
“No one, sir. Just myself.”
Charlton asked, “May we have a look?”
“Certainly, my lord.” The butler led the way to the plate closet, where the lock on the massive double doors had been forced. Atlas examined the interior, which was stacked with porcelain plates and saucers.
“When did you notice the candlesticks were missing?” Atlas asked.
“This morning, sir, when the breakfast tables were being put in readiness. I came to get the candlesticks and found this.”
“When did you last see the silver?”
“Last evening at eleven.”
Atlas considered the possibilities. “I would like to examine all of the back and side doors, the windows, roof, and gutters.”
The butler, who was not familiar with Atlas, looked askance at Charlton.
“Mr. Catesby is an excellent investigator,” the earl reassured him.
The butler inclined his head. “We’d be most pleased to have your assistance, sir.”
Accompanied by the butler and Charlton, Atlas spent the next several minutes checking all of the club’s possible points of entry and found no evidence of a break-in.
“It seems,” Atlas said, once he’d completed his search, “that the thieves came in through the front door and left the same way.”
The butler’s eyes went wide. “We have a hall porter, sir, who is here all evening. He would surely have seen any intruders.”
Charlton exchanged a look with Atlas. “I imagine Mr. Catesby would like to speak with this porter.”
They went in search of the hall porter, who’d been on duty since the previous evening. Bernard Mullins, a grizzled older man with ruddy cheeks and twinkling eyes, seemed eager to be of assistance.
“I stayed behind once the theft was discovered,” Mullins told them. “I presumed Bow Street would be along.”
“You heard nothing all evening?” Atlas asked. “No one came or left after the club closed last night?”
“No one,” Mullins said. “Except for the sweeps.”
“The chimney sweeps?” Atlas asked. “When did they come?”
“At around five o’clock this morning.”
The butler’s face reddened. “Why did you not mention this earlier?”
“I did not think it signified,” Mullins said.
“Who let them in?” Atlas asked.
“I did,” Mullins answered. “They banged on the door, and I opened it for them as I always do.”
Atlas turned to the butler. “Was the chimney due to be swept?”
The butler shook his head. “Not until next week.”
Atlas turned back to Mullins. “How did you know they were the sweeps?”
“They said it, didn’t they?” Mullins said. “Said they were from Pope’s on
Argyll Street and that they were to sweep the chimney in the pantry.”
Atlas looked to the butler. “Are you familiar with that service?”
The butler nodded. “We do use that service, sir.”
Atlas turned back to the night porter. “Did you recognize the particular men who came? Have they been here previously?”
“Can’t say that I did.” He shrugged. “They send different people all of the time.”
Atlas studied the man. “How long were they here?”
“Well over an hour,” Mullins answered. “They said it took a while because the chimney was very foul.”
“Did they take much soot with them?” Atlas asked.
Mullins nodded. “About half a sack full.”
Atlas turned to the butler. “You might want to check with Mr. Pope to see if he sent sweeps this morning.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler appeared agitated. “You may be certain that I will.”
A familiar voice called from behind them. “Mr. Catesby. I might have known I’d find you in the midst of my latest investigation.”
Atlas turned to find Ambrose Endicott, the Bow Street runner, lumbering toward them. “Hello, Endicott. I presume you remember the Earl of Charlton.”
“I do indeed.” Endicott tipped his hat. “How do you do, my lord?”
“Very well,” Charlton said, “as long as you do not implicate Mr. Catesby in this investigation.”
Endicott chuckled at the earl’s reference to the last time the three men had all been together the previous year. “I do believe in this case Mr. Catesby is safe from suspicion, my lord.”
Charlton, who had an appointment to keep, took his leave, while Atlas remained to relay to Endicott what he’d learned so far. “And so,” he said in conclusion, “I suppose it is time for your men to visit the fences in St. Giles, Seven Dials, Westminster, and White Chapel.”
“Yes, indeed.” Endicott scribbled notes in his worn notebook. “First, we will stop by Pope’s to see if he sent his men to sweep the chimney in the pantry.”
Satisfied that Endicott had the burglary investigation well under control, Atlas prepared to take his leave. As he waited for his coat and hat to be brought to him, Endicott paused and scratched his chin with thick fingers.