‘Naturally.’ Lady Rhynde looked about the room for some effective yet polite means of escape.
‘The problem is, of course, that to get such a large-scale undertaking off the ground would require the backing of at least one prominent public figure.’ She placed her podgy hand on Lady Rhynde’s shoulder in a conspiratorial sort of way. ‘Preferably one well-placed in the government ….’
This was the moment Lady Rhynde had been expecting and dreading. Her husband’s position as Home Secretary meant that she was not infrequently seen as an indirect means of access to Sir Dalton Rhynde by those with plans and schemes for reforming or strengthening the law enforcement or criminal justice systems.
‘I believe that the subject of phrenology has been brought to Sir Dalton’s attention in the past, and I have no doubt but that he has given the matter a great deal of thought.’
‘But has he heard of the latest theories of Professor Schlumpf of Switzerland? Some of his ideas elevate the whole subject to new levels of perspicacity and sophistication! Allow me to tell you something of his method, my dear ….’
Lady Rhynde scanned the room again, and this time her eyes met those of Baroness Sowerby. Keen though she was to escape the clutches of Mrs Honoria Rusely, she was a preferable companion to the baroness – but that was of no consequence, for Baroness Sowerby was coming to join them.
‘Ah, Henrietta! We were just discussing the fascinating subject of phrenology and how it might be made use of to weed out criminal types before they have had a chance to transgress.’
‘They do say that prevention is better than cure, Mrs Rusely.’
‘My feelings entirely! Would you care to join our little campaign?’
‘I should be delighted to lend my support.’ Baroness Sowerby was looking up at the two taller ladies, her sharp features betraying no real enthusiasm. And even though she was replying to Mrs Rusely she seemed to be directing her words more towards Lady Rhynde. ‘And with the backing of the Home Secretary, we should in all probability treble our chances of success.’
Lady Rhynde knew this has been said in order to put her on the spot, rather than out of the remotest interest in supporting Mrs Rusely’s cause. She maintained a passive expression, determined to deny Baroness Sowerby the pleasure of knowing that her tactic had had any measure of success.
‘As I was saying to Mrs Rusely, I’m sure this is something my husband is keeping abreast of, and—’
‘I wonder,’ interrupted Baroness Sowerby, ‘whether this same method is effective in detecting other forms of deficiency of character? Say, tendencies towards immoral or disgraceful behaviour.’
Mrs Rusely was a little thrown. ‘Why, I’m sure Professor Schlumpf’s technique can reveal all sorts of predispositions. But what sort of thing might you be referring to?’
‘Well, let us take for example a case of a supposedly upright woman being unfaithful to her husband.’
Baroness Sowerby continued to look primarily at Lady Rhynde, who still failed to react other than with an almost imperceptible tightening of her jaw.
‘I see, well—’
‘You see, preventing crime perpetrated by the lower orders is both laudable and increasingly desirable. But there seems now to be so much immoral, depraved behaviour among the supposedly cultured orders, those who are supposed to set an example to their social inferiors. I myself have personal knowledge of conduct which, if it were to become public knowledge, would not only create a sensation – but might even bring governments down ….’
Mrs Rusely still did not quite know what to make of this unexpected direction in which her favourite subject was being steered. ‘You have certainly opened my eyes to a promising area for investigation. But as regards the criminality of the lower orders ….’
With Mrs Rusely back on track and apparently with a new convert to her cause, Lady Rhynde took the opportunity to quietly slip away – aware that Baroness Sowerby’s steely gaze remained locked on her as she went.
Mr George crushed the slender right hand of Mr Congreave Burke, of Burke, Gadgeon and Burke of Lincoln’s Inn, in both of his own tanned, powerful ones, and shook so heartily that it seemed the latter’s shoulder might pop out of its socket. ‘Thank you once again, sir. I am in your debt – and yours, Mr Bucket.’
‘Now, George. I know you’d do the same for me, and more.’
They sauntered west along Leman Street in the East End. It felt as though it should be a fine, clear day today – albeit a cold one – but the air was very still and a light miasma of mist and chimney smoke hung in the air. Perhaps the hazy sun would burn it off as the morning unfolded. They paused to make a purchase from an oyster man standing at the corner of Leman Street and the Whitechapel Road, and ate their snack straight from the shells as they walked.
‘Who would want to kill Tom Prike, Mr Bucket?’
‘Why is perhaps the question to ask.’
‘But you said you had an idea as to who the last time you visited me.’
‘That I do, Mr George – but it is part of a much bigger matter and I can’t say more at present – except that I want but very little to settle the matter.’
‘Then you’ll get the man who tried to have me hanged for murder? The man who killed poor Tom? Because I can tell you I’ve a mind to—’
‘Don’t go a-getting yourself into any more trouble, old fellow. I have plenty on the man in question, but he’s only one among others.’
When they found themselves in the shadow of St Paul’s Cathedral, Mr Bucket said, ‘This is where I must leave you, for I have another matter to attend to. You get yourself back to the shooting gallery. Your regulars will be asking after you, and business is business.’
‘I shall. But if you need any help – anything at all – you know you only have to ask.’
Mr Bucket touched the rim of his top hat and nodded, then went on his way.
When Mr Bucket rang the bell of 22 Upper Grosvenor Street he was greeted by a maid and shown in, and after the shortest of waits in the parlour he was led up to the drawing room. Lady Rhynde’s usually youthful and healthy complexion looked paler, something accentuated by the darker patches beneath her eyes. She raised a smile upon seeing her visitor, but it did not contain the radiance the detective had seen formerly. There was an envelope in her hand, which she seemed to have forgotten she was holding, because after a moment she glanced down at it then hastily stuffed it into the decorated canvas bag sitting on a little stool beside her.
‘Mr Bucket! This is quite a coincidence because I was intending to contact you.’
The inspector nodded towards the bag. ‘You were going to Great Scotland Yard?’
She laughed, but it was rather forced, rather sad. ‘Oh, no. I think for the Home Secretary’s wife to visit the police headquarters might set too many tongues wagging and I’m not sure your commissioners would welcome it. No, I was going into town. I have … an engagement. You can ride in my carriage and discuss whatever it is you have come to see me about if it’s not taking you out of your way.’
‘That’s very kind. Where exactly is your ladyship heading?’
‘I’m going to … I have some business in the Strand. Would that inconvenience you too much?’
‘Not at all, your ladyship. Not at all!’
The truth was, it would inconvenience him completely in as much as it would be in completely the wrong part of London for his next port of call.
Lady Rhynde’s Landau carriage was drawn by a pair of horses and was, not surprisingly, the plushest, most comfortable vehicle in which he had ever travelled.
‘The top can be opened in the summer, I take it?’
‘Indeed.’
‘This is the type used by the Lord Mayor, I believe?’
‘I think so.’
‘If Mrs Bucket could see me now!’
‘Perhaps she will!’
Mr Bucket withdrew his gaze from the streets and placed his hands squarely on his thighs. ‘So, your ladyship, what is it th
at troubles you?’
‘Troubles me?’ For a second she looked like a schoolgirl caught stealing from a sweetie jar.
‘There was something you wanted to see me about.’
‘Oh! Well, there is nothing the matter, exactly. Let us just put it down to the vacillations of a silly woman. Or perhaps it’s a lack of nerve. You see, I have decided – and if you are cross with me I shall quite deserve it and you mustn’t pretend otherwise – not to pursue the matter of my stolen ferns.’
Mr Bucket studied her impassively. Lady Rhynde glanced at him for a second, then quickly turned her attention to the view through the window.
‘You are not a silly woman, if I may be so bold. This is a surprising turn of events.’
‘I have wasted your time and I feel most ashamed. But it is only ferns after all and I should hate to think that some person with no previous stain on their character might suffer terrible public humiliation on my account.’
‘But how does your ladyship know that the ferns were stolen by some otherwise respectable person?’
‘I … I got the impression the last time we met that that was the direction in which your investigations were leading.’
The carriage rattled along the cobbles of Pall Mall and into Trafalgar Square, where the newly completed Nelson Column dominated the view.
‘I didn’t see any signs of your butler, Chuddersby, today.’
‘He is my butler no more. He left suddenly without working his period of notice – simply told the cook to relay to me that he would not be back. My husband is furious. Still, it means he shall have no references when he next seeks a job.’
‘Yet your ladyship still doesn’t suspect him of having anything to do with the theft of the ferns?’
‘I know he—’ She caught herself in mid-sentence. ‘His sudden departure is a nuisance, but he had never given me any cause for complaint or reason to doubt his loyalty.’
‘Well this is a pity, for I do believe that the solving of this case to be but a simple matter.’
‘For a man of your undoubted abilities I’m sure it is. But still, I have reached a decision and would prefer you to act no longer on my behalf. Others will no doubt wish to continue, but I wish my name to be left out of it – and once again I apologize for wasting your precious time.’
‘Oh, but it ain’t been wasted ma’am, rest assured.’
They rode in silence for a time. Mr Bucket’s brows were furrowed. Several times he appeared about to speak, yet each time thought better of it. The carriage came to a halt close to Somerset House. Mr Bucket climbed down first and held out his hand to assist Lady Rhynde.
‘Are you sure this is where you wish to be, Mr Bucket? I will be quite happy to instruct my driver to take you anywhere you wish.’
‘This is as good as any place for me, your ladyship,’ he assured her as he replaced his hat and patted the top so that it sat square and tight. ‘Quite close, in fact, to the offices of the Morning Chronicle.’
‘I suppose it is. It had not occurred to me. Is that where you are bound?’
‘No. But I think you are, that’s what I think. And I only hope your ladyship is not making a big mistake.’
Her face flushed. ‘Whatever can you … Mr Bucket, please don’t press me on this. I beg you.’
‘I caught a glimpse of the address on the envelope before you put it in your bag. Begging your pardon, ma’am, but ladies such as yourself don’t normally go a-visiting newspaper editors in person. And they don’t normally drop charges of theft when the case is almost done. It all adds up to something not right, that’s what it adds up to. Crime or no crime, I find myself deeply concerned on your ladyship’s behalf.’
‘Mr Bucket, I am most grateful but still I implore you—’
‘Now, I have half an idea as to what’s behind this, and no doubt you could tell me the other half if you thought it might benefit you. My duty, as I see it, is to persuade you that it will benefit you. And I say that not as a police officer but as a man, and a man of honour, at that. You see, if the half of an idea I have is right, then I see this as something which will be forever hanging over you if left unchallenged, whereas I feel confident I can take care of it in a way that will put an end to it permanently – and no one will ever know. Don’t you see? No one. Ever.’
Her searching eyes held his for a second, then she took him by the arm. ‘Please come this way, Mr Bucket. There is a place where we may talk in private.’
XVIII
GORDON WAS EXPERIENCING not a little apprehension at the thought of having to chaperone Mrs Scambles from Mr Bucket’s sister’s house in Camden Town to her own home in Bloomsbury. Several irreconcilable feelings jostled to gain the upper hand in his mind. He could not forget his distaste for Eleanora’s sudden cold and mercenary attitude towards her husband once she discovered that he – and by the same token, she – was in debt, nor his shock at her unashamed and explicit advances towards him. And yet…. Her husband had seemed such a cold and intimidating man – and still possibly even a murderer – that perhaps her lack of feeling for him was at least, in part, justified. And Gordon would have been fooling himself not to admit that her great beauty, her physical and personal allure, presented a challenge to his resolve. He was after all, to put it crudely, in the invidious position of a man with normal desires, yet one who was without female companionship at an age when most men were married and settled.
Mrs Scambles, who had been forewarned by Mr Bucket, was ready for him. As soon as he saw her distant figure from the hansom window, dressed in a lustrous green skirt and matching tunic-like top which was tailored to accentuate both her slender waist and full-bosomed figure, bags at her feet, Gordon experienced that same strange mixture of stimulation and wariness bordering on intimidation as on other occasions. Yet when she drew closer he was surprised to see a rather subdued expression on her face.
‘Good day, Mr Gordon.’
She smiled, but she had insisted on them addressing each other by their Christian names when they last encountered one another. Had Mr Bucket said something to her? Had she been crushed by Gordon’s previous rebuff?
‘Hello, Mrs Scambles. I hope you are well and looking forward to returning to the comfort of your own home?’
‘Oh, I have been most comfortable here, sir. I am used to a larger house but the warmth and hospitality I have received have more than made up for it.’
‘Oh. Right … well, then—’
‘Shall we go?’
‘Of course. Allow me to carry your bags.’
She made no attempt to speak to him as the carriage got under way, and his own efforts – as always in such circumstances – were not of the most adept kind. She was neither unfriendly nor antagonistic towards him, merely quiet in a resigned sort of way. Gordon soon felt himself in the strange position of shifting from being offended by Mrs Scambles’ blatant advances to feeling like the guilty party for apparently having hurt her feelings. She was a lady in a strange and frightening situation, and one with normal feelings and desires yet which fate had prevented from being satisfied. Even if he had acted correctly, had he done so in a harsh and unfeeling manner?
The staff at her house in Russell Square also seemed to have had advance warning of her return, since as soon as their hansom hoved into view they all paraded out and lined up along the pavement in front of the building like soldiers on parade. Mrs Scambles removed a lace handkerchief from her pocket, and Gordon noticed that a tear was trickling down her cheek.
He gently touched her arm. ‘You are obviously well liked by your servants!’
Instead of placing her hand on top of his as she almost certainly would have done on previous occasions, she simply continued to gaze out at the scene before them, dabbing at her eyes. ‘One would like to think so. I must say, it is very affecting.’
When they entered the house she spent some time looking all about her as if seeing everything for the first time, and it brought home to Gordon how disturbing this business
must have been for her. One’s home is normally a place of refuge, the place to which one can retreat and escape from difficult times, and Eleanora Scambles had been denied that basic source of comfort for a number of days now. While the rest of the staff went about their business, a maid was sent away to arrange for some coffee. He and Eleanora settled in the drawing room.
There was an awkward silence for a while, which Gordon eventually felt compelled to break.
‘So, it must be good to be home, Mrs Scambles!’ He immediately admonished himself for uttering such a feeble statement.
‘Yes. Very heartening, thank you.’
Eleanor was sitting on the edge of a chair some feet away from him, perfectly upright and with an admirably straight back. In a way, the downcast look in her sad blue eyes and the slight but curvaceous pout to her lips made her look more attractive – perhaps in a more vulnerable sort of way, even, than usual.
‘And you are sure you were well cared for at the home of Mrs Bucket’s sister?’
‘Very well indeed.’ She still didn’t look at him, and now Gordon began to feel like an intruder.
‘Mrs Scambles … Eleanor. If I spoke in such a way as to offend or hurt you at our last meeting, then I really do hope you will accept my sincere—’
‘It is I who should apologize. I let my womanly feelings rule over my intellect and placed you in an impossible position.’
‘But if you don’t mind my saying so, you seem troubled, preoccupied. If it was not my words which caused it, perhaps sharing your burden would be of some help?’
She looked directly at him for the first time, then rose from her chair in a decisive way. ‘I take it that returning me to my home is a sign that the danger is past, that an arrest has been made?’
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