by Amanda Quick
“I see what you mean.” Stoner looked very thoughtful now. “He would have been well aware that it would be quite simple to get away with the murder of a woman like Nellie Taylor. But he would have been considerably more reluctant to murder people such as Miss Bartlett, Mrs. Jervis and Cuthbert because their deaths might eventually attract the attention of Scotland Yard.”
“Granted, he and Trimley do seem to have been on the verge of getting away with the murders. Nevertheless, the sheer number of them does not fit with what Felix has told me over the years concerning Larkin’s usual methods.”
“Perhaps the murders were the result of Trimley’s influence.” Stoner’s mouth twisted in disgust. “He was new to the business of violent crime and may have enjoyed wielding that sort of power.”
Ambrose sat forward again. “As it happens, Trimley’s presence in the affair is the third question that remains unanswered. Why did Larkin take on a partner? It would seem to be the last thing he needed. He had everything a man of his nature could desire—a handsome fortune, a fine mansion, servants, elegant carriages, beautiful women. What more could he want?”
“There is an old Vanza saying. ‘Greed is a ravenous beast that can never be satiated.’”
Ambrose drummed his fingers on the desktop. “And as my father and grandfather were fond of repeating, ‘When you discover what a man desires most in the world, you can sell him anything.’”
“I thought it was Felix’s opinion that Larkin acquired a gentleman partner because he wanted to extend the reach of his business enterprises into the upper classes.”
“That has certainly been the working hypothesis to date,” Ambrose said. “But I have some doubts. Larkin was not the type to trust anyone, let alone a gentleman who moved in much higher social circles. He would have formed a partnership with a man from that world only if he believed it would help him obtain something he wanted very badly, indeed. Money, alone, could not have been the goal. He knew how to get that on his own.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I am thinking,” Ambrose said, getting to his feet, “that Felix and I may have badly underestimated Larkin’s ambitions. But there is someone who may be able to shed some light on the subject.”
“Who?”
“Rowena Hoxton.”
Stoner grimaced. “Good lord, not that silly, brainless social climber.”
Ambrose was halfway to the door. “I see you are acquainted with her. Would you care to accompany me while I pay her a visit?”
41
The day was warm. A brisk breeze had dissipated the customary haze. The outing in the park would have been quite pleasant, Concordia thought, if only the girls had not taken the opportunity to press the subject of her relationship with Ambrose.
“When will you ask Mr. Wells to marry you?” Phoebe demanded on the way home to the mansion. She tugged at Dante’s lead, urging him away from a tree that had caught his interest. “If I were you, I would not wait too long. Someone else might come along and sweep him off his feet.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Concordia said. “As you and Hannah pointed out that first night at the inn, Mr. Wells is getting on in years. You will observe that no other woman has yet come along to whisk him off to the altar. Presumably there is no great threat from that quarter.”
“You’re teasing us, Miss Glade,” Theodora said. “You know very well that Mr. Wells is just the right age for you.”
“Do you think so?” she asked. “A younger man might be less set in his ways.”
“But you are hardly likely to find a younger man,” Edwina said. “Not at your age.”
“Thank you for pointing that out, Edwina.”
“Perhaps you should give Mr. Wells some flowers, Miss Glade,” Theodora suggested. “That would be a very romantic gesture.”
Edwina adjusted Beatrice’s lead. “Women do not give gentlemen flowers.”
“Not in the usual way of things,” Theodora conceded. “But Mr. Wells is not like other gentlemen.”
“No,” Concordia said, going up the steps of the mansion. “He is not at all like other men.”
He is the man I love. That makes him utterly unique in the entire world. And what in blazes am I going to do about that?
Mrs. Oates opened the door and gave the small group an approving smile. “I do believe that bit of exercise did you good. I expect you’ll be wanting a nice cup of tea and some cakes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Oates.” Concordia removed her gloves. “Has Hannah come downstairs?”
“She’s still resting.” Mrs. Oates closed the door behind the girls and the dogs.
“Is Mr. Stoner home?” Phoebe asked. “He promised to tell us about some of the antiquities that he collected in his travels.”
“Mr. Stoner and Mr. Wells both went out right after you did,” Mrs. Oates said. “They said they would be gone for some time. Something about tying up a few loose ends. Now, why don’t you go into the library? I’ll have Nan bring in a tray.”
Concordia walked toward the stairs. “I’m going to check on Hannah first. It is not like her to take to her bed during the day. I’ll join you in the library in a few minutes.”
She hurried up the staircase, her sense of anxiety growing with each step. Hannah was an anxious girl but her health was generally excellent. Perhaps the strain of the last few days had proved too much for her nerves.
The door of Hannah’s room was closed. Concordia knocked softly.
“Hannah? Are you all right, dear?”
There was no response. Deeply uneasy, Concordia turned the knob and opened the door.
Hannah was gone. A folded sheet of paper lay on top of the neatly made bed.
Dear Miss Glade:
Please do not worry about me. I will be home in time for tea. I know that you and Mr. Wells will not approve, but I have gone to the Winslow Charity School for Girls.
The students are allowed outside to take their exercise on the grounds for twenty minutes three times a week. Today is one of those days. There is a small opening in the wall that is concealed by a hedge. I hope to use it to catch the attention of my friend Joan. I must let her know that all is well with me. She will be very concerned.
Yrs. Vry. Truly,
Hannah
Concordia lowered the note and looked at Mrs. Oates, Phoebe, Edwina and Theodora, who had all come upstairs on Concordia’s heels, and now stood crowding the doorway worriedly. “This is dreadful. She did not have any money. She must have walked. It will be a wonder if she has not gotten lost.”
Phoebe bit her lip and exchanged a look with Edwina and Theodora before she turned back to Concordia.
“I think she may have had enough money for a cab, Miss Glade,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Concordia asked.
“Last night Mr. Stoner showed us how to open some of the secret drawers in the old chest in the library,” Edwina explained. “We found some bank notes and coins in one of them. Mr. Stoner said that we could keep them. We divided them up among us.”
“That was the money that we used to place our wagers when Mr. Stoner demonstrated the theory of probability to us,” Theodora said. “Hannah had just won a rather nice sum when you and Mr. Wells walked through the door.”
Edwina looked stricken. “If Miss Pratt discovers Hannah trying to speak with Joan, she will put her into the cellar.”
“I suppose the only thing we can do is wait and hope that Hannah returns quickly,” Phoebe said, looking miserable.
Concordia rose. “I cannot leave this to chance. I am going to the school. When Mr. Wells and Mr. Stoner return, tell them what has happened.”
42
The shock of hearing of Mr. Trimley’s death has, of course, completely shattered my nerves.” Rowena Hoxton put a hand to her ample bosom and gave Stoner a wan smile. “And now there is talk that he may have consorted with a man who is rumored to have had criminal connections. I simply cannot believe that I was so utterly deceived.”
“I understand.” Stoner accepted a cup and saucer from the maid. “That is why I came at once this morning after I heard the gossip. I did not want you to think that you had been abandoned by your acquaintances in Society merely because of your extremely unfortunate association with Edward Trimley.”
Hoxton’s eyes widened in horror. “But I knew nothing about his connections to the criminal class.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Stoner made a tut-tutting sound with his tongue and teeth. “You know how it is in Polite Circles, however. Perception is all.”
“Oh, dear.” Mrs. Hoxton looked stricken. “Surely no one will believe that I was aware of Mr. Trimley’s activities in the underworld?”
“I’m quite certain that the damage from this affair can be contained,” Stoner assured her.
Ambrose stood quietly, his back to the window, and cloaked himself in the unobtrusive aura of the role he was playing, that of Stoner’s assistant.
He could not help but admire Stoner’s deft handling of Mrs. Hoxton. After all these years, he thought, he could still learn a thing or two from his mentor.
Mrs. Hoxton fixed her attention on Stoner. “What do you mean?”
Stoner winked knowingly. “As it happens, I am in a position to, shall we say, correct some false impressions that may or may not have been formed by certain members of Society.”
Mrs. Hoxton went pale. “Oh, dear,” she said again.
“Now then, if you will supply me with a few details concerning your association with Trimley, I will see to it that the proper version of events is put about in certain quarters.”
“I am very grateful to you, sir. What do you wish me to tell you?”
Mrs. Hoxton’s relief was pathetic to behold, Ambrose thought. The woman was absolutely terrified of the possibility of being embroiled in a scandal.
Stoner leaned back in his chair, hitched up his trousers and crossed his legs in an elegant fashion. “Did Trimley ever discuss two young ladies named Edwina and Theodora Cooper with you?”
“The Cooper twins?” Mrs. Hoxton frowned, baffled. “What do they have to do with this matter? I heard they both perished quite tragically several months ago.”
“Indeed. Did you ever have a conversation about them with Trimley?”
“Well, yes, as it happens, I believe I did mention them to him.” Mrs. Hoxton waved an impatient hand. “But only in the most casual manner.”
“Can you recall why the subject arose?”
“I don’t see what this has to do with nipping a scandal in the bud.”
“Bear with me, Mrs. Hoxton,” Stoner said. “I assure you that I know what I am doing.”
“Yes, of course. Forgive me. It is just that I am so rattled this morning.” She took a fortifying swallow of tea and put down her cup. “The subject of the Cooper twins came up in the course of a silly little game that Trimley wanted to play.”
“What sort of game?”
“He challenged my detailed knowledge of persons who move in Society by asking me to name several young ladies of good families who rarely came to London. All of the girls had to fit a certain list of requirements that he set down.”
Ambrose did not move. He knew that Stoner had gone equally still.
“What were the requirements?” Stoner asked.
“They had to reside in the country, have very little in the way of close family and they all had to be heiresses.” Mrs. Hoxton snorted softly. “I must say, it was not much of a challenge for me. I came up with the Cooper twins and two other names almost immediately.”
43
The Winslow Charity School for Girls appeared every bit as bleak and forbidding upon second viewing as it had the last time she had come here, Concordia thought, going up the front steps. The warmth of the afternoon did not appear to have made any impression upon the dark windows of the old mansion.
She had chosen the most severely tailored of the gowns that Ambrose had commissioned for her, a dark blue dress with a discreet bustle, high neck and long, tight sleeves. A pair of high-button boots, kid gloves and a straw hat trimmed with a single velvet bow completed the effect. There would be no weeping veil to conceal her face today.
She had given the question of how to approach the matter of recovering Hannah a great deal of close consideration during the cab ride to the school. It did not seem likely that she could simply knock on the door and inquire as to whether or not Hannah was on the premises. Edith Pratt had, after all, been involved in an illegal scheme involving the girl. She was unlikely to admit that she now had her in the mansion.
If, indeed, Hannah was here and not already halfway back to John Stoner’s mansion.
That was the most difficult aspect of this thing, Concordia concluded. She had no way of knowing if Hannah had been discovered or if she was safely on her way home.
She banged the knocker with great force three times.
The door was opened by the same faded-looking Miss Burke, who had ushered Concordia into Miss Pratt’s office on the previous occasion.
No trace of recognition appeared in the woman’s face. “May I help you?”
Concordia brandished the notebook she held in one hand. “Kindly inform Miss Pratt that Miss Shelton is here to see her. You may tell her that Mrs. Hoxton sent me.”
The name of the school’s benefactress had a very motivating effect upon Miss Burke.
“Please follow me, Miss Shelton. I will show you to Miss Pratt’s office. She is discussing the week’s menus with Cook at the moment. She feels there is far too much food going to waste and that the quantities of vegetables and meats that are ordered must be further reduced. But I will let her know that you are here. I’m sure she will be with you shortly.”
Miss Burke led her quickly down the hall and opened a door.
“Thank you.”
Concordia swept into the office. Miss Burke closed the door quite smartly and hurried away in search of her employer.
Concordia surveyed the room. Little had changed since her last visit. Edith Pratt’s expensive-looking gray cloak hung from a hook near the door. The plaque with the list of Golden Rules for Grateful Girls was still positioned squarely behind the desk. Mrs. Hoxton and the Queen still gazed regally down from their framed photographs.
Concordia studied the desk and considered the wisdom of searching it again. Perhaps she would discover some reference to Hannah.
A muffled voice echoed in the distance from the far end of the hall.
“I’ve never heard of a Miss Shelton.” Edith sounded thoroughly irritated. “Can’t imagine why Mrs. Hoxton would send her here.”
That settled the matter, Concordia thought. There would be no time to go through the desk drawers.
She composed herself for the part she intended to play and turned to face the door.
The cloak hanging next to the door caught her eye. It did not look quite right. There were large, dark patches around the hem.
Concordia moved closer and quickly shook out the heavy folds. There were more damp patches on the front. It appeared the headmistress had been caught in a spring shower.
But it had not rained recently.
Concordia’s pulse, already beating uncomfortably fast, lurched into a pounding staccato. A shuddering thrill of comprehension seared her nerves.
A cloak might well have gotten soaked in such a manner if the person wearing it had been standing too close to a large pool of water when a body happened to topple into the depths. The resulting splash would have carried for some distance. Calm yourself. Think carefully. Don’t leap to conclusions.
There were many ways in which the cloak might have been accidentally dampened, she thought. She was tempted to speculate along the lines of a body falling into a deep pool merely because of recent experience.
Nevertheless, Edith Pratt had been connected to this affair from the beginning. The assumption was that she had been a minor actor in the deadly play, that her only role had been to conceal the girls on the groun
ds of the charity school.
But what if everyone had misjudged Pratt’s part in the drama?
Concordia touched one of the darkened sections of the garment. The folds were most certainly damp, but not soaking wet. Once thoroughly saturated, a heavy woolen cloak such as this one would take a long time to dry completely indoors, she reflected.
“I shall have to make it clear to Mrs. Hoxton that I cannot be interrupted on a whim.” Edith’s voice was much closer now.
Miss Burke’s mumbled response was too low for Concordia to make out the words.
She could scarcely breathe. She had to get Hannah out of this place. The dark cellar was the least of the possible terrors here. If Pratt was as deeply enmeshed in the affair as the wet cloak indicated, she might well murder the girl to conceal her secrets.
Dear God, what if the worst had already happened?
The door opened with some force. Edith strode into the room, her handsome face pinched with a mix of impatience and irritation.
“Miss Shelton? I am Miss Pratt. What is all this about having been sent by Mrs. Hoxton? I was not told to expect anyone.”
“Of course you were not informed,” Concordia said, instinctively sliding into her most authoritative tones. “I am the founder and director of the Society for the Protection of Female Orphans. It is our mission to make certain that young girls in orphanages and charity schools are properly cared for. Perhaps you have heard of my group?”
Edith stiffened. “No.”
Concordia smiled thinly. “That is unfortunate. As it happens, Mrs. Hoxton has commissioned me to conduct a surprise inspection of this school.”
Edith’s jaw dropped. “What are you talking about? Mrs. Hoxton has never before seen fit to inspect the school.”
“Your kindly benefactress recently read a piece in the papers regarding the deplorable conditions at a certain orphanage. It seems that young girls were being sold to brothel keepers. You may have noticed the report?”