“Don’t worry, Maggie, I have a plan.”
“Well, I wish you would let me in on it, since we’re a team.”
Just then the constable returned with Detective Brownley and another man.
“Mr. Abbott.” The now familiar detective greeted them as he came around the counter and held out his hand to Clayton. “Nice of you to come to see us.” He turned to the other man at his side. “Superintendent Carlyle, Mr. Abbott.”
The Superintendent didn’t bother offering a handshake and his expression remained dour.
“I’ve come to report a mysterious delivery at my warehouse at Bellerose Trading.”
“Have you, now.” The unsmiling Scot’s brows rose.
“I have no idea how it came to be there. A worker has advised me that some unusual deliveries appear overnight, and then disappear just as easily. Several times in fact.”
“And you claim to know nothing about it.”
“I have been in…at my estate. I do not leave.”
“And yet you’re here now.”
“Because my company’s good name is at stake.”
“So how do you explain this mystery and what is in them?”
Clayton didn’t hesitate. “It is opium, I believe.”
Detective Brownley’s eyes widened, obviously uncertain how Clayton intended to play this scenario. Thankfully, he remained silent and left it up to Clayton.
“Trouble is, whoever is using my premises for their heinous poison left one box of the stuff behind.”
“And you still have it?”
Clayton nodded. . “I have, but I’ve removed it from the premises. Hidden it, if you will.”
“What?” The Scot stepped forward; his cheeks puffing out like those of a bullfrog. “You have no right to hold onto such substances. I can charge you for handling it.”
“You can, but I would have thought you would prefer to catch the bigger fish.”
Carlyle wheezed. “Well, of course, but why hide it?”
“What would you do, sir, if you had lost something and knew others had it?”
“Go after them and get it back.”
“Exactly.” Clayton rested a hand on the man’s shoulder in a friendly gesture. “I have a suspicion who is behind this.”
“So tell me.”
His hand dropped from the Superintendent and he stepped away. “I can’t do that. Not just yet.”
“Now look here, Abbott, this is police business.”
“It is, but I want you to give me three days to find the culprit.”
“Impossible. You’re a public citizen.”
“Exactly again. He won’t expect me to be hunting him.”
“He? You sound like you know him?”
“I wish I didn’t. The man could possibly be...a peer.”
Again, the man’s eyes bulged. “You’re joking?”
“I wish I was. I’d like to prove I’m wrong and that’s why I need a few days. I promise you I’ll keep you informed, and send word when I have him, whoever it is, in my sights.” Clayton held out his hand to the Superintendent. “Do we have an agreement?”
For a moment the man remained mute, staring at Clayton as if summing him up. He turned to Detective Brownley behind him and beckoned him.
The still nervous young detective came up alongside his superior. “Sir?”
“Mr. Abbott is going to play detective.”
Brownley’s eyes widened even further. “He is?”
“That’s what I said. He’ll be in touch with you daily, won’t you, Mr. Abbott?”
“Absolutely.”
“Three days. Not a minute more, do you hear?”
Clayton nodded. “Without doubt.” He shook the man’s hand and then turned to Maggie. “Well, Miss Francis, it looks like we’ve got some investigating to do.”
“What? Don’t be a fool, man. She can’t be involved. She’s a woman.”
“Of course she’s a woman, and canny at that, Carlyle. Besides, two heads are better than one, and all that.” With a wave at the police contingent, Clayton pulled her through the doors and toward the exit, the last words from the stern-faced policeman reaching them as they took the first step. “Bloody fools, they’ll get themselves killed.”
As requested, the cab had waited. “Ye took a while, mister, so the fare’s adding up.”
Clayton fell back onto the seat, eyes shuttered. “Don’t worry, I can pay.”
“Many can’t these days. Don’t know what’s happening, all those beggars on the street.”
“They’ve fought for their country.” Clayton tugged at his scarf, his tone sharp.
The driver set the vehicle into gear, making a clicking sound of disgust. “That may be, but a man can’t make a living with them holding out their grubby hands for a shilling. It ain’t right, I tell you.”
Maggie looked to Clayton and instinctively her hand covered his, giving it a squeeze. “They’re merely words, Clayton. Just words.”
He glanced toward her and her heart fluttered.
She shut those thoughts right back down.
“Is this one of those sticks and stones moments, Maggie?”
“I suppose so, but like you said, we can only do what we can.”
“Right,” the cab driver said. “Where to, mister?”
“Belgrave Square Gardens, if you please.”
At Maggie’s questioning look, Clayton confirmed their destination.
“We’re heading to Edward’s familial home. The hunt begins.”
As the driver headed from Marylebone towards Belgrave, neither Clayton nor she spoke. Maggie couldn’t help but wonder how people had forgotten so quickly what they’d spent the last four years fighting for. It seemed as if they just wanted to get on with their lives and forget about the poor souls who’d fought so valiantly. What would happen in ten, twenty, or fifty year’s time? Would the war be forgotten as if it never happened?
###
Traversing neglected roads, their driver slowly made his way down Park Lane and through Hyde Park Corner and while she did not favor his disparaging talk of the returned soldiers who were forced to beg, his skill at dodging the numerous potholes proved remarkable.
Driving through the London Maggie remembered, she tried not to think about the last time she’d walked here.
Armistice Day should have been a happy time. The cheering crowds, joyous that war was over. Yet she had been sad—and alone.
But no more.
A tiny wave of warmth wrapped around her heart and she stole a sideways glance at Clayton. She wasn’t alone any more. Now she had a place to belong—sort of.
As they drove along the south side of Hyde Park, Maggie spied the tip of the Serpentine and leaned forward, craning her neck to see more.
“What is it?”
As Clayton shifted closer, her heart fluttered, but she pointed toward the Serpentine’s gentle curve. “When I was little my father would bring me here in the summer and I would take off my shoes and socks and paddle for hours. We would pretend we were at the seaside. She exhaled a sigh, not for the memory of what she had lost, but the joy it still brought to mind. “It was so wonderful.”
“As childhood memories should be. Free and easy, innocent of what life will bring.”
She cast a last wistful glance towards the river as they drove from view and the driver directed their taxi finally into Knightsbridge and Belgrave Square.
The pall of the December day on the wane cast a shadow over the square. Soon it would be dark.
While Clayton paid the driver, Maggie took in the façade of the house in front of her. Sad and derelict came to mind. Unloved and forgotten. A shiver slid down her spine and she tugged the collar of her coat tighter. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
Clayton turned from the departing taxi, his brows shooting skyward. He took a step toward the house, then stopped, arching his head back. His hat tipped off and he snatched at it just before it hit the water-soaked cobbles. “What the hell
is going on here?”
“Is it the right house?”
Clayton glanced at her. Confusion darkened his eyes. “It is, but...” He shook his head. “Edward is Lord Edward Hindmarch, the sixth Earl of Darlington. This is meant to be the family’s London home.” He scratched a hand across his jaw. “Edward’s father died in a hunting accident just as the war started and Edward was the sole inheritor. Because of all the death duties, etcetera, he was excused from going to the front.”
“He didn’t join up?”
Clayton’s mouth pursed. “No. He had to sort this lot out.”
“So what has happened?”
Clayton dragged a hand through his hair. “I wish to hell I knew, but I’m sure going to find out.” He held out a hand to her. “The only way we’re going to solve this mystery and find out who is using my company to hide their poison is to find Edward, and if he’s here I’m going to get to the bottom of this bloody debacle.”
No hint of light shone from any of the Georgian windows, the curtains were all drawn, giving it rather an eerie exterior. “Perhaps no one is home.”
“Wishful thinking.”
“Let’s just say I’m beginning to realize detective work is for the brave. How do we get in?”
“Ah, that’s where a misspent youth comes in.”
“Misspent? What did you do?”
“That, sweet Maggie, is a story for another time. Now I suggest we don’t try and enter via the front door.” Instead, he lead her along the side alley and along to the service steps. “If my memory serves me right, this will take us directly into the kitchen. In the past, these doors were left unlocked because of the delivery of food goods and the ice man at all hours.”
At the top step, Clayton hesitated, looked left and right to ensure no one had followed them or was watching. Except the meow of a cat digging into a pile of rubbish, the alley was deserted. The animal’s wild gold eyes stared at them in the dim light, a fish carcass clamped in its mouth. He flicked his tail twice as if to say this is mine, keep away.
Maggie held her breath as she descended the steps after Clayton. He tried the door handle. It didn’t budge. He tried again. And again. And still the door didn’t move.
“I thought you said they’re usually not locked.”
“It’s not.” Clayton stepped back from the battered door and eyeballed the lock. He tested the handle. “It slides round and back easily enough. There's been a lot of rain lately so maybe the wood has swollen shut.” He again leaned hard against the door and pushed.
Nothing.
Pushed again.
Still nothing.
“There’s only one thing for it.” He quickly searched the alley, satisfied they were alone except for the cat in its feeding frenzy. He took two steps back and thrust himself at the door. It rattled hard in its hinges, then opened as if hit by a gust of wind, offering a ghostly creak to accompany the eeriness of the moment.
“Come on.”
Across the flagstone floor, she tried to muffle the sound of her footsteps. “Where are the staff?”
“Obviously long gone, if the state of this kitchen is anything to go by.”
Maggie glanced around the room. True, it was a shambles. Dirty plates with half eaten food, most of which was already moldy, lay atop the wooden worktable. She screwed her nose up at the distinct odor of rotting food. The cat’s meowing reached in from the alleyway.
“Can you hear anything, anyone?”
“Not a dicky bird.” Clayton stood at the bottom of the stairs. Nodding for her to follow him, they took the steps from the kitchen up to the first floor that was at street level. A gloomy shadow cast across the walls, the dank smell of stale air permeating everything.
Clayton walked to the front door. “I don’t think Edwards’s here. If he were he would have heard us by now. I guess spying isn’t our forte.”
“Speak for yourself, I’m twinkle toes.” And to prove her point, she pirouetted on the spot.
“Bravo, bravo.” Clayton clapped at her antics. But such lightheartedness proved short-lived. He glanced to the stairway leading to the upper level. “I’m afraid it’s back to business.” He yanked on a light cord by the front entrance and the foyer lit up. “We might as well have some light while we’re searching. I’ll check upstairs if you can check these rooms.”
Alone?
A swift spiral of fear plunged the length of Maggie’s spine, but she refused to show Clayton any weakness and offered him a silent nod of agreement.
He took the stairs two at a time, and she stayed in one spot for a moment, eyeing the faded grandeur. Paint peeled off the walls and tiles were missing from the mosaic-tiled floor, giving the home an unloved aura. For such a beautiful house to be in a sad state was a shame. Standing and staring at its rundown state would not help their cause. She had to find...
What exactly?
They had hoped to find Edward, at best, or at least some hint of his skullduggery and if not...
Maggie didn’t want to think of the consequences for Clayton because he had no other explanation to offer the authorities.
Hands deep in her coat pockets as she made her way into the study, she rubbed the tiny button between her fingers. Nothing seemed untoward there, nor the dining room. In the small library she exhaled a sad sigh. The room was so far removed from the grand library at Bellerose with its wall-to-wall bookshelves all crammed full. This room barely had a dozen books and to even give it the title of library seemed rather farcical.
What had happened to them all? Paintings, too, were missing, the wallpaper showing signs of discoloring where the artwork had been for so long yet now gone.
As she came back out into the foyer, Clayton came down stairs. She looked at him with hope, but he simply shook his head.
“Nothing, damn it. I even went through some paper work cast aside by his bed, but nothing jumped out at me.” He thrust the papers toward her. “Can you tuck them in your bag? Maybe you’ll see something I missed.” He turned toward the kitchen and she went to follow. He held his hand up to stall her progress. “Wait here. I’m heading into the rear garden while there’s still a smidgen of daylight. If I remember rightly, there are a few sheds that were once used as stables. Maybe he’s hiding there.”
“So you think he’s still here?”
“I’ve no idea.” He threw up his hands as he cast a depressed gaze around the once grand entrance. “Look at this place. Art missing. Furniture. Family heirlooms.”
“Stolen?”
Clayton’s lips pursed in a downward curl. “Who knows? Stay inside and keep warm. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Spinning on his heels, he headed along a hallway that disappeared beneath the stairwell. She heard a door open and close.
Standing in the double height entryway, she suddenly felt really alone, and really scared. Goosebumps chased up and down her arms and that single button in her pocket seemed to be the only warm thing. She clutched at it.
Why was it so important?
Her father used to say she had the second sight of the gypsies; that she had a rare intuitiveness. Well, she knew that the button she held so tightly was somehow important to this whole conundrum. Of that she was certain.
With Clayton already gone several minutes, she eyed the stairs leading to the second floor.
Go and look, Maggie.
She glanced back to the vast emptiness of the entrance and renewed fear clamped around her heart. She could be up and down before he got back.
He’d already checked.
She swiped her tongue over her lips, instinct firing. Just a quick check. That’s all.
Not giving herself time to reconsider, she headed up the stairs. The eyes of the few remaining familial portraits glared down their autocratic noses at her.
Ignoring them, she progressed to the next floor where the bedrooms were set out along the hallway. Each door opened to a room devoid of furniture. No beds, drawers, robes. Nothing. Empty and abandoned.
&n
bsp; She came to the last door in the hallway and opened it. Her jaw gaped as she spied a room still furnished—in fact, luxuriously so, with a canopied bed, lush carpets and gilded chairs. Everything looked antique—and expensive.
Why was this room still so inhabited and not the others? What had happened to the rest of the furniture? The house seemed almost bereft of life? Sad.
Still unsure what she was looking for, she was about to leave the room when she spied a mannequin with a jacket slung over the fabricated torso. The finely tailored black jacket caught her attention.
Clayton had one similar. A sort of membership jacket, that could be worn not just at the Dinner Club, its deep navy and detailed brass buttons hinted at the very best of tailoring.
Maggie took a step closer and lifted the jacket from the mannequin. She held it aloft. The brass buttons down its front glittered beneath the newly born moonlight.
All four of them.
Four?
Clayton’s jacket had five and they were all present and accounted for.
Maggie withdrew the button she’d found so close to where Josephine’s diary had been, and held it up to the jacket. The same button, the same carved design.
Except this jacket was missing a button.
The day Edward Hindmarch arrived he’d been wearing such a jacket. Was the missing button his? Maggie peered closely at the jacket and its buttons. It had to be. But what use was the diary to Edward?
The sound of tinkling glass shattered the silence and she dropped the jacket back in place, quickly dousing the bedroom light. Clutching the button in her fist, she scampered back down the hallway and to the top of the stairs.
About to descend, she heard footsteps.
“Clayton.” She waited. Listened. But there was no reply.
Fear and indecision held her captive. She hesitated a fraction too long—long enough for the shape of a man to emerge from the library. A man who wasn’t Clayton.
Chapter Ten
“Where is he?” The man’s thickly accented question threw Maggie offguard and she struggled to comprehend him at first.
She fought for bravado and took a step down the stairs, wondering as she did so, if that was a step too close and foolish. She played for time and played ignorant, praying Clayton wasn’t too far away. “I don’t know.”
Saving the Soldier's Heart (The Emerald Quest Book 2) Page 11