“Maybe so, but you can’t be sure any of it’s related to the disappearance of Michael’s sister.”
“Not yet, but we’ll know something shortly.”
“We will?”
“Indeed. We’re going to Her Majesty’s Foreign Ministry Office.” He turned and grinned at me, knowing I would abhor the implication.
I screwed up my face. “Must we?”
“It’s time we find your Slavic man, and the only way to get information about the embassy staffs is through the Foreign Ministry Office.”
“It could take us days to look through all the files for those countries. There’ll be thousands of them. We don’t have the time.”
He looked at me with grim determination. “Unless you have a better idea . . .”
But I didn’t, so within the hour I was stepping into the Foreign Ministry Office. It isn’t that I have anything against our esteemed Minister Randolph Fitzherbert; he is an elegant, thoughtful, and intelligent man who has served our commonwealth admirably. Rather it is the effusive woman one must endure to procure a visit with Mr. Fitzherbert: one Adelaide Crouch.
Colin and I had barely crossed the threshold from the bustling hallway when the young woman leapt to her feet as though her chair had spontaneously combusted. With her hairpin curves and froth of blond hair piled atop her head she looked like a confection better suited to a bakeshop than a government office. She hustled around her desk with her eyes glued solely on Colin, wearing a smile that seemed about to cleave her head at any moment.
“Mr. Pendragon!” she squealed. “What a pleasure to see you.” As she gripped his hands she slid her eyes to me and halfheartedly allowed, “Mr. Pruitt.”
“Miss Crouch.” I conjured up a small smile, but she’d already returned her gaze to Colin.
“Always a pleasure to see you as well, Miss Crouch,” Colin said, leaning forward and kissing her lightly on each cheek, which sent her into a bray of twitters. He was incorrigible.
“Please, Mr. Pendragon.” She batted her eyes at him even as a foolish grin spread across his face. “I keep telling you to call me Adelaide.”
“But of course. Is Randolph in?”
“Stuck in Parliament, I’m afraid. I don’t expect him in for the rest of the week. You know how those old Whigs can be.” She chuckled.
“That I do. I’ve sat through enough of those sessions listening to my father. Dreadful. But tell me, might we impose upon you to show us a file or two in Randolph’s absence? You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.” He flashed his dimples again and I knew we were about to see just how intoxicating she really thought his charms to be.
“Well, I really shouldn’t,” she said as she smoothed the front of her dress in a nervous gesture that nevertheless managed to amplify her undeniable endowments. “What sorts of files are you looking for?”
“We could start with your personnel file, little one, so that I can write great good things about you.”
“Mr. Pendragon . . .” She laughed and waved him off as I wondered how he came up with such inanities. “You’re just playing with me.”
“You must forgive me,” I interrupted, afraid I would lose my lunch if I did not stop these two, “but time is of the essence here and we really are in great need to see the Minister’s files on the Austro-Hungarian embassy staffs. Most specifically the Romanians, Bohemians, Moravians.”
She flicked her gaze to me as her smile dropped. “Ever about business with you, isn’t it, Mr. Pruitt. You really should learn to enjoy yourself like Mr. Pendragon.” And her eyes once again sought his as another smile eased across her face.
“I’m afraid he is right.” Colin sighed as though I had ruptured some delicate mood, and perhaps I had. “The spectre of reality always seems to rear its inexorable head.”
“Well, no harm’s been done,” she said as she continued to stare into his eyes. “You know I understand. It must be such a burden to have harpies badgering you all the time.”
Had Colin not been standing between Miss Crouch and me I would have seriously considered reaching out and backhanding her. But Colin did present bodily interference in that moment, and as my better nature kicked in I settled for giving him a sharp poke to the small of his back to signal the end of my tolerance.
“You give me too much credit.” He chuckled, and I knew I had played into his ego, which only galled me more. “But I am in need of a gander through Randolph’s embassy files for the Austro-Hungarian Empire. If we could start with the Hungarians? I promise I shan’t remove a thing.”
“It’s going to take days, Mr. Pendragon.”
I saw a flicker of concern flit across his face before he cracked a tight smile and said, “All the more time to spend in your company.”
“Oh, Mr. Pendragon . . .” She smiled. “Well, I suppose it would be all right. I’ve never known the Minister to refuse you any request and I would never want to be the one to stand in your way.” Her voice had suddenly developed a huskiness and I began to wonder whether I was missing something. “We keep the Hungarian and Austrian staffs up here, but the rest are down with the clerk.” She finally disengaged herself from Colin and headed to the door of an attendant room filled with tall wooden filing cabinets.
“We won’t need to see the Austrian staff, but I’m afraid we likely need to look at the rest,” he called as she disappeared from sight. “Are you out of your mind?!” He rounded on me in a harsh whisper. “We need her cooperation. Would you please try to control yourself?!”
“She called me a harpie,” I shot back.
“Then stop acting like one.”
My jaw dropped, but I managed to keep from uttering what had streaked across my mind as Miss Crouch returned with a great stack of files cradled in her arms.
“Here are the dossiers on the Hungarian staff.” She heaved the pile onto a low table across the room. “If you’d like to see any complete files just let me know and I’ll have Record Keeping pull them. It can take a day or two, but you know I’ll do everything I can to get it expedited for you, Mr. Pendragon. I’ll have to go and have the rest pulled for you. What order do you want them?”
Colin shrugged uncomfortably. “Alphabetically? Shall we say the Bohemian staff next? Perhaps we can sort through two countries a day?”
She smiled. “That will take quite some time.”
“Yes . . .” And I noticed he didn’t sound nearly as enamored as she did.
“I’ll go and fetch the Bohemian files for you.”
“I’ll come with you,” he piped up with renewed vigor. “You certainly can’t be expected to haul those files around by yourself.”
“So chivalrous, Mr. Pendragon,” she said, and I knew I’d been set up. “And perhaps I could interest you in some tea while we’re downstairs? It’ll take a few minutes for the clerk to collect the dossiers anyway. . . .”
“A brilliant idea.” He gave her a generous smile as he turned to me. “You know the man we’re looking for. . . .” He didn’t bother to say the rest; he didn’t need to; he hadn’t seen the man with Mademoiselle Rendell; only I had. No matter, I’d be happy to have the two of them away from me anyway. “I’ll fetch you a cup.”
“Oh no, Mr. Pendragon, you mustn’t,” Miss Crouch said with a distinct note of pleasure. “If anything were to spill on the files it would be the end of me. The Minister would be livid.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I chirped a bit too merrily as I took a seat at the table.
I’d hardly gotten the words out before Miss Crouch inserted her arm through Colin’s and ushered him toward the hall. “The café is right by the clerk’s office,” she purred. “They have the best nibbles there.”
“I’ll get you a nibble.” Colin smirked at me. “You can eat it after we’re done.”
“No thank you. I don’t need a thing. Please, just go.” And with that Miss Crouch swept him out the door.
The vacuum left by their absence was refreshing even as I stared at the daunting task b
efore me. I hoped I would recognize Mademoiselle Rendell’s companion if I saw him. A handful of minutes at the back of a poorly lit pub were hardly the best of conditions under which to remember a face. Nevertheless, I flipped open the first folder and set to work.
The first photo showed a great bulbous-faced man with a dimpled chin and more hair sprouting from his ears than the top of his head. This, the attendant description stated, was the Hungarian ambassador’s attaché, a career politician with more vowels in his name than consonants. It was not the man I’d seen huddled with Mademoiselle Rendell, and while I wasn’t surprised by this immediate failure, I wondered why the fruits of a search are never borne out beneath the first leaf overturned.
I threw the file aside and plunged into the next few, saturating myself in a world filled with men named Bela, Adelbert, Fodor, Lasio, and Vilmos. None, however, proved to be my bearded target.
The work was proving as tedious as I’d feared, made worse by the fact that facial hair was obviously de rigueur for Hungarian men. It seemed the axiom was proving to be true that we all eventually begin to resemble one another based on our overwhelming desire to fit in. My spirits sank with the flip of each new tintype.
I glanced up at the clock and saw that an hour and a quarter had already passed. The Hungarian files before me were barely more than half-exhausted and I began to wonder where Colin and Miss Crouch had gotten to. A cup of tea and few triangles of bread with cucumber or watercress could hardly take more than a half hour or forty-five minutes to consume at the outside. And as for the Bohemian dossiers, Miss Crouch had said they would take a few minutes for the clerk to pull, not better than an hour. I only hoped she and Colin were having fun as I grudgingly flipped open the next file before me.
A sudden burst of high-pitched laughter turned my gaze to the hallway. It seemed the indolent duo was back. I glanced at the photo in front of me and found myself staring at yet another pair of deep-set, black eyes, this time belonging to a man with enough facial hair to resemble a bear. No details could be garnered on either the shape or depth of his face given its almost complete carpeting of fur.
“We have returned,” Colin announced with high spirits, his arms cradling another huge load of files.
“Smashing,” I groused as I flipped the folder shut.
“Have you had any luck?”
“No!” I snapped in spite of my efforts not to.
“Then I have good news for you.” He beamed, his voice sparkling in defiance of my mood. “While the clerk was collecting the files from Bohemia, I had the most interesting conversation with him.”
“Oh, it wasn’t him,” Miss Crouch fairly gushed. “You figured it out by yourself.”
He gave her a quick smile before turning back to me. “The man is practically a historian. He looks like he’s worked there for longer that I’ve been alive. He reminded me of the alliance between Russia and Bulgaria seventeen years ago.”
“Bulgaria?”
“Forged by Czar Alexander the Third. Do you recollect your history lessons?” he prodded.
“I think I was otherwise occupied that semester,” I drolled.
“He freed the Bulgarians from Turkish rule,” Miss Crouch said. “Everybody knows that.”
“Well, at least the clerk downstairs does.” I smiled acerbically.
“When he said that it suddenly struck me that if we’re looking for someone involved in illicit doings being run out of a Russian-backed pub, you can be sure the Russians would want to remain beyond reproach should the activity ever be discovered.”
“So what’s your point?”
“That’s why the man you heard wasn’t Russian. Deniability.”
“Okay. So what does that have to do with the Bulgarians?”
“Bulgaria owes the Russians for their release after five hundred years of Turkish oppression. If the Russians are up to something, you can be sure they’re funneling it through their most grateful ally. That man you heard wasn’t Hungarian or Bohemian or Moravian. . . .” His grin stretched across his face.
“He’s Bulgarian,” I answered, finally understanding.
“We shouldn’t have any more files to go through than these.” He set the pile down in front of me, revealing the Bulgarian insignia on their cover.
We both began poring through the stack of files, Colin flicking them open and shoving them under my nose while Miss Crouch hummed at his shoulder when not leaning over him in a feigned attempt to be useful. More than twenty minutes elapsed in that way, fraying my nerves to the point of rupture, when I suddenly caught sight of the face we’d been searching for. Heavily bearded, darkly complected, black eyes set within a full, round face, he looked like so many of the men I’d been sifting through, yet there were distinct differences here. His nose was broad and flat and his forehead short, and I knew it was the man I’d seen in the booth with Mademoiselle Rendell.
I hoisted the photo into the air and practically shrieked that we’d found him. “Outstanding.” Colin beamed, and for a moment I thought he might be about to hug me.
Only Miss Crouch looked disappointed.
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“Let us learn all we can about . . . ,” he leaned in over the file, “. . . Vitosha Harlacheva. I believe he’ll be the person through whom we shall lure Miss Rendell.”
“Who?” Miss Crouch asked with a note of displeasure in her voice.
“A woman caught in some nasty business,” he muttered.
“How terrible,” she said, but there was no fervor in her words.
“So you think this man has something to do with Angelyne’s disappearance?”
“He’s the first person she went to see after our visit. Mr. Harlacheva is the key. I’m certain of it. But right now . . . ,” he looked over at me, “. . . we must pay a visit to the late Earl’s partner, Warren Vandemier. If you’re up to it.”
“Of course I am,” I answered too quickly.
“Good,” he said, but his eyes hesitated a moment too long. “Because I suspect he has some information that will help. I’m not at all pleased with our progress on that account. Every day that goes by makes the trail colder, and I will not be stymied by that infuriating family.”
“Why, Mr. Pendragon,” Miss Crouch enthused, “are you investigating the murder of the Earl of Arnifour?”
“I’m not investigating it.” He turned to her. “I am solving it.”
CHAPTER 18
A light rain had begun to fall in direct opposition to my mood, which had begun to rise the moment we’d left the Foreign Ministry Office.
Once Colin had been able to study Mr. Harlacheva’s slim dossier we had made a hasty exit, much to the disappointment of Miss Crouch, who was even further vexed to realize that we would not need to come back over the ensuing days, either.
I tugged the brim of my hat farther down over my forehead to keep the rain off my face while I waited for him to hail a cab. The inclement weather had succeeded in driving nearly everyone into a carriage and I began to wonder if we were going to have to walk. I was just beginning to resign myself to such a fate when Colin suddenly lunged into the street and seized the reins of a passing horse, tugging it to the side of the road.
“ ’Ey!” the driver bellowed from under his tiny awning. “Wot in the bloody ’ell do ya think yer doin’?”
“Official business!” Colin bellowed right back. “You will take us across town and you will do it quickly and safely.”
“Like ’ell I will. Piss off. I’m done fer the day.”
“You will take us where I say or you’ll be done for good,” Colin said as I grabbed the carriage’s door and leapt in before he could get it moving again, and despite the withering look I received as I ducked inside, I was grateful to be out of the rain.
“It’ll cost ya extra!” the man growled back at us.
Colin shoved in next to me and hollered back, “Move!”
Twenty-five minutes later we had gone all the way across town and w
ere back in Whitechapel, a distance that should have taken us twice as long. Five minutes after that we were sitting before the well-cluttered desk in the tight, slovenly office of Warren Vandemier.
The late Earl’s associate was a man of middle years, probably not more than a handful ahead of Colin, though harder looking in every way. Heavy lines creased his face into a perpetual frown that confirmed Warren Vandemier had led a difficult life. He was jowly, but not fat, though there was a noticeable bulge about his midsection. His brown hair was short and curly, with a liberal infusion of gray flecks along the crown of his face. To me he looked exceedingly tired, the weight of the existence he’d managed to scratch for himself having taken its toll in his rounded shoulders, hollow eyes, and leaden manner. Yet, when he spoke, he lit up with the passion of a much younger man, winking and gesturing with great animation. He seemed to come alive only when thusly engaged, for as soon as he shut his mouth his demeanor once again collapsed in on itself.
Mr. Vandemier’s official occupation was property manager, the collector of rents for the noble gentry who did not dare venture down to the flophouses and sweatshops that comprised at least some of their financial holdings. But we were here about his unofficial trade.
“. . . and the Arnifours . . . ,” he’d been blathering on about inconsequential inanities from the moment we’d sat down, as evidenced by the crown sailing between Colin’s fingers for the last several minutes, “. . . also had a fair bit of property at one time in this neighborhood.” He smiled like an overzealous teacher who has no idea that his class is trading spitballs behind his back. “That’s how the Earl and I became acquainted. I managed a few buildings for him. I’m the best there is, you see.” He leaned forward and winked for what seemed the hundredth time. “I have a way with the scrubbier classes. I was born here. Right around the corner, in fact. My success is all my own.” He leaned back in his chair with a satisfied grin, though it was a bit hard to decipher given the ruts creasing his face that begged to belie his good fortune.
The Arnifour Affair Page 11