by Amanda Quick
The front door of number seven opened a second time. A man came down the steps with an easy, loping stride. When he passed beneath the gas lamp, she saw that he carried an overcoat. He had taken the time to put on his trousers and shoes but he was still working to fasten his shirt. The ends of a tie flapped around his throat.
“Doncaster Baths,” he said to the driver before he hoisted himself up into the unlit carriage. The vehicle set off at a brisk pace.
“Why the devil do you always pay me a visit at two o’clock in the morning, Wells?” he growled. “Can’t you learn to come at a more polite hour?” He became aware of Concordia on the opposite seat. “I say, you must be the teacher.”
She could not make out his features clearly in the shadows but she liked the sound of his voice.
“Yes, I am,” she said.
Ambrose leaned back in the darkness. “Concordia, allow me to present Inspector Felix Denver. Felix, this is Miss Glade.”
“Good evening, Miss Glade. Or should I say, good morning?” Felix tied his cravat with a few practiced twists. “No offense, but do you mind telling me what that is on your head? The latest fashion in evening hats, perhaps?”
“It’s a towel.” Embarrassed, she reached up self-consciously to touch it. “My hair got wet.”
“Indeed,” Felix said. “I had not noticed that it was raining tonight.”
“It is a rather long and complicated tale. I will let Mr. Wells explain.”
“An excellent notion.” Felix turned slightly in the seat to confront Ambrose. “Explain yourself, Wells.”
“The long and the short of it is, Larkin and his mysterious gentleman partner are both dead,” Ambrose said.
“Both of them?”
“Yes. The unknown partner turned out to be a man named Edward Trimley. He had formed a connection with a wealthy widow named Mrs. Hoxton. It was one of those mutually beneficial arrangements that so often come about in Society. He got the use of her money and connections. She got an elegant escort whenever she required one.”
“Mrs. Hoxton is the benefactress of the Winslow Charity School for Girls,” Concordia put in helpfully.
“So that was the connection to the school,” Felix said, sounding very thoughtful now.
“Yes,” Ambrose replied. “Tonight Miss Glade and I followed Trimley from a ball to the Doncaster Baths. It appears that he went there to meet Larkin. Evidently they had a falling-out. By the time I followed Trimley into the building, Larkin was dead. His body is floating in one of the pools.”
“Where is Trimley’s body?” Felix asked. “Or should I ask?”
“It’s in the alley behind the bathhouse,” Ambrose said in the flat, emotionless voice he had been employing since his return from the roof.
“Trimley’s death was an accident,” Concordia explained quickly. “Ambrose pursued him onto the roof. There was a struggle and Trimley fell over the parapet.”
There was a short, charged silence. Neither man said a word.
Concordia knew in that moment that whatever had happened on the roof of Doncaster Baths, it had likely not been an accident.
“All in all, a rather neat ending to the affair,” Felix said neutrally. “ Unfortunately, it leaves me with no one left to question, doesn’t it?” He paused. “Unless there happens to be a witness or two left?”
“The only witness is the attendant,” Ambrose admitted. “I had a short talk with him earlier, however, and it seems that he did not actually see the murder. He was in another part of the building at the time.”
“Trimley intended to kill the attendant to keep him silent,” Concordia said. “If Ambrose had not interfered when he did, the poor man would be dead.”
“How did the bath attendant come to be involved?” Felix asked.
“He told us that he received a message instructing him to open the baths after hours,” Ambrose said. “It was not the first time he has been called upon to perform that task. It seems that Larkin was in the habit of using the baths for secret late-night meetings with his underworld associates, just as you suspected.”
“I knew something was going on in those baths,” Felix said.
“Larkin used a secret rooftop entrance. That is why you and your men were never able to spot him entering or leaving the baths. Evidently Trimley learned of the route, however. I suspect some of the bath attendants knew about it also, but they, quite wisely, kept their silence and their jobs.”
“What of Nellie Taylor?” Felix asked.
“Trimley called Nellie one of Larkin’s bathhouse whores and implied that she had learned more than Larkin thought it wise for her to know about his plans for Phoebe, Hannah, Edwina and Theodora.”
“So he killed her,” Felix concluded. He was quiet for a few seconds. “Bastard,” he added with great depth of feeling.
“Yes,” Ambrose agreed.
“We believe that Mrs. Jervis, the woman who operated the agency that supplied the teachers to the castle, and Miss Bartlett, the first instructor, were killed for similar reasons,” Concordia said. “They concluded that the girls were the first of a number of well-bred young ladies that Larkin intended to transform into high-class courtesans and auction off to the highest bidders. There is no indication that they knew about Larkin’s or Trimley’s involvement, but they did know how to contact Cuthbert. They made the mistake of trying to blackmail him.”
“Cuthbert, of course, immediately informed Trimley of the threat and Larkin arranged to get rid of the two women,” Ambrose said. “Later, Trimley and Larkin got rid of Cuthbert, too. I must take the responsibility for that business. They reasoned that if I had found him, the police might also.”
“So many deaths,” Felix said quietly. “By the way, how was Larkin killed?”
“I didn’t pull the body out of the pool,” Ambrose said, “but from what I could tell, it appears that he may have been struck on the back of the head, knocked unconscious and left to drown. If it weren’t for the circumstances and the identity of the victim, it might have been possible to pass it off as another bathhouse accident.”
“As was the case with your client’s sister,” Felix mused.
“Precisely.”
“Well, what’s done is done,” Felix said. “On balance it is probably for the best. I would have liked very much to question Larkin, especially, about his business enterprises. But, in truth, it would have proved extremely difficult to bring a case of murder against either man. There was no hard evidence against Larkin, and Trimley’s status in the social world would have made it very difficult to bring him to justice.”
“The most unfortunate aspect of this affair,” Ambrose added, “is that it will likely not be long before someone else steps up to take Larkin’s place.”
“It is the way of things,” Felix agreed philosophically. “But on the positive side, it does ensure my continued employment. As long as there are villains, there will be a need for the police.” He studied Concordia in the shadows. “May I ask how you came to be soaked to the skin, Miss Glade?”
“Trimley pushed me into one of the pools,” she said.
“When I arrived in the baths, Trimley attempted to use the elderly attendant as a hostage,” Ambrose explained. “There was something of a stalemate. I did not have a gun. Trimley did.”
“I see,” Felix said.
“Concordia distracted Trimley by pushing a cart full of linen at him. There were a few moments of confusion and chaos during which Trimley shoved Concordia into a pool.”
“Ambrose is being far too polite about the matter,” Concordia said. “In point of fact, he had the situation more or less under control when I came along and attempted to rescue him. I fear I upset his plans for the evening to a considerable degree. But I must say, he made adjustments very quickly.”
“Yes, Ambrose was always very good at adjusting to changing developments.” Felix sounded amused. “The talent came in handy in the old days.”
“You two have known each other a long time,
I understand?” Concordia said, trying to keep her tone very casual.
The cab halted in the street in front of the Doncaster Baths. Felix opened the door and stepped down onto the pavement. He turned to look at Concordia. In the light of the streetlamp she saw that he was an exceedingly handsome man. She could also see that he was greatly amused.
“Didn’t Ambrose tell you, Miss Glade? He and I were business associates once upon a time. We did very well together until John Stoner came along and insisted upon turning us into honest men.”
“Stoner also made us his heirs,” Ambrose said. “Which rendered the whole point of our earlier careers somewhat moot, to say the least. What’s the use of being a thief if one does not need the income? We were both obliged to seek out other professions in which we could make use of our particular talents.”
37
You consult for Scotland Yard?” Concordia watched from the darkened cab as Felix Denver crossed the street and walked toward the gentlemen’s door of the Doncaster Baths.
“On an occasional basis.” Ambrose rapped on the cab roof to signal the driver to move off. “My path as a private inquiry agent frequently crosses Felix’s. That is what happened at the start of this case. When I realized that Nellie Taylor’s death might be connected to Larkin, I informed Felix immediately.”
“When did the two of you first meet?”
“A few days after the murder of my father. We were both attempting to steal some clothes that had been hung out to dry in a garden. We fought over the prize, a very nice pair of trousers. In the end we decided we could do better working together.”
“How did Felix come to be on the street?”
“His parents succumbed to a fever when he was twelve. By the time I met him, he had been on his own for a year. A very hardened criminal, to be sure. I learned a lot from him.”
“How did the two of you meet Mr. Stoner?”
“You could say it was in the course of doing business. We broke into his house, employing our customary strategy. Felix kept watch. I went inside. Stoner caught me.”
“Good heavens. It’s a wonder he didn’t summon a constable and have you both arrested.”
“Stoner is an unusual man in many ways.”
“So are you and Felix Denver.” She paused. “When will you inform your client that the men responsible for her sister’s death are both dead?”
“Soon.”
“The news will no doubt bring her peace of mind.”
“Some, perhaps,” Ambrose said. “But I suspect it will not give her what she seeks. Justice and revenge make thin gruel. They can provide some basic sustenance but very little in the way of true comfort.”
The bleak edge on his words wrenched her heart. “Are you always like this at the conclusion of a case, Ambrose?”
“What the devil are you talking about?”
“Do your spirits always sink for a time after you have found the answers?”
For a moment she feared he would not respond.
“You are a very insightful woman, Concordia,” he said at last. “How did you guess?”
“I expect you become depressed at the end of a case because you feel, deep in your heart, that what you have discovered will not truly comfort your clients. You think that, in a way, you have somehow failed them.”
“In the end, I cannot give them what they believe they are buying when they do business with me,” he said.
“Ambrose, that’s not true.” She leaned forward and caught one of his hands between her own. “You do not understand what it is that you are in the business of selling. You are not providing your clients justice or vengeance.”
“That is why they come to me.”
“They may believe that, but justice and vengeance are commodities provided by the law, the police and the courts. Sometimes those institutions give good value. Sometimes they do not. Either way, it has nothing to do with your profession.”
His hand tightened abruptly around one of hers. “If that is true, then it would seem that I have little to offer to my clients.”
“You are wrong. You provide them with something that they cannot obtain anywhere else.”
“What is that?”
“Answers.” She realized that his grip had become very fierce. He was holding onto her hand as though she could pull him to safety. “You give your clients answers to some of the questions that keep them awake at night. It is a gift beyond measure. Knowing the truth may not bring justice or a sense of vengeance but it is vitally important to many people.”
In the light of a passing lamp she saw that he was looking out the window into the night. His face was starkly etched and shadowed, just as it had been the first time she saw him in the stables at the castle.
After a while he turned back to her.
“I have never thought about my career in the way that you just described it,” he said. “You make me see it in a different light. You make me see many things differently. How do you manage that, I wonder?”
“I expect it is the teacher in me. You, sir, are in the business of providing answers. I am not in that line, however.”
“What is your line?”
“My task is to teach my students how to ask the right questions.”
THE DOGS GREETED them joyously when Ambrose opened the garden door of the mansion. The first thing that struck Concordia was that the house was unexpectedly warm and well lit for that hour of the night. The fires should have been banked hours earlier, she thought.
“There you are.” Mrs. Oates appeared from the kitchen, a tray of tea in her hands. “About time you two got home.” Her eyes widened when she caught sight of Concordia. “What on earth happened to your clothes, Miss Glade?”
“It is a long and somewhat complicated story,” Concordia said, patting Dante.
“Pardon my curiosity, but is that a towel you’ve got wrapped around your head?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Miss Glade suffered an unfortunate accident this evening,” Ambrose said. “She needs a warm fire and a robe.”
“Certainly, sir. The library is quite cozy. She can wait there until Mr. Oates gets the fire going upstairs in her bedroom.” Mrs. Oates bustled off down the hall. “Come along. I was just taking some tea in to everyone.”
“The girls are still awake?” Concordia asked. “But it is nearly three in the morning. They should have been in their beds hours ago.”
“Everyone wanted to wait up for you.”
Mrs. Oates went through the door of the library. Bright, cheerful laughter floated through the opening.
Ambrose ushered Concordia into the room. “Brace yourself. I have a feeling it is going to be some time before any of us goes to bed.”
“I don’t understand.” Concordia went briskly into the library. “Why is everyone up and about at this hour? The girls need a proper night’s rest. You know very well that I feel quite strongly about such matters.”
She stopped short at the sight of Hannah, Phoebe, Edwina and Theodora. The four were seated around a table. Each held a hand of cards. There was a small stack of coins in front of every girl.
The four were not alone at the table. An elegant, silver-haired gentleman sat with them. He had a deck of cards in his long fingers.
“Good heavens,” Concordia said in her most carrying voice. “Are you young ladies engaged in gambling?”
The giggling halted suddenly. The girls stared at Concordia in openmouthed shock.
“Oh, no, Miss Glade,” Phoebe said quickly. “We were just performing some extremely interesting experiments to test the laws of probability.”
“How odd,” Concordia said. “It looks exactly like a game of cards, complete with wagers.”
“Miss Glade,” Edwina burst out. “What happened to your clothes?”
Theodora stared. “He has ravished her again.”
“Ruined,” Hannah whispered. “Just like Lucinda Rosewood.”
The lean, distinguished-looking man at the game
table rose with a supple grace that belied his obvious years.
“Home from the ball at last, I see.” He surveyed Concordia in her gentleman’s topcoat and towel. Then he looked at Ambrose, who still wore his footman’s shirt and trousers. “A costume affair, was it?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Ambrose walked toward the brandy table with an air of determination. “Concordia, allow me to present John Stoner.”
“Mr. Stoner.” Concordia adjusted her spectacles. “So you are alive, after all, sir. I must say, this is a pleasant surprise.”
Stoner laughed, a rich, hearty sound that warmed the library more effectively than the fire on the hearth.
“I trust you are not too disappointed.” He bowed again, this time over Concordia’s hand.
The glint in his eye made her smile.
“On the contrary,” she murmured. “It is a relief to know that you are not buried in the garden.”
“Not yet, at any rate,” Stoner said cheerfully. “Come and sit by the fire. You look as if you could do with a glass of brandy.”
She had been through too much tonight to waste her energy on what would no doubt be a thoroughly useless lecture concerning the evils of gambling, Concordia decided.
“What a splendid notion,” she said.
38
Some time later Concordia sat in front of a cozy fire in her bedroom, bundled in a nightgown, robe and slippers. Hannah and Edwina were curled on the rug at her feet. Phoebe perched on a chair. Theodora drew a brush slowly and methodically through Concordia’s hair, holding each long section out to be dried by the flames.
“Both Mr. Trimley and Mr. Larkin are dead?” Phoebe asked.
“Yes.” Concordia had answered the question several times in the past twenty minutes. But she was patient in the face of the girls’ need to be certain. “You are all safe. Neither of those two men can harm any of you.”
Hannah wrapped her arms around her knees and gazed uneasily into the flames. “Now that there is no more danger, are you certain that you want to keep us with you, Miss Glade?”