Страница 46 из 83
“And they left the body at Abel Smith’s, just as he said,” Hester agreed. “Yes, that sounds possible.” She could not keep the slight disappointment out of her voice. Also, it might have helped Monk if Baltimore’s death had had something to do with land fraud on the railway. It would have tied the present to the past and vindicated his belief that Arrol Dundas had been i
“Should we tell Constable Hart?” Margaret asked hopefully. “That would solve the murder and get rid of the police.” The kettle started to whistle behind her. “And get rid of the driving force behind the usury at the same time!” She turned to the kettle and scalded the teapot, then put in the leaves, then the boiling water.
“Not yet,” Hester said cautiously. “I would like to know a little more about Mr. Baltimore first, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. But how?” Margaret carried the teapot over to the table and set it down beside the milk and the mugs. “Can I help? I might be able to scrape an acquaintance with someone of whom I could ask questions… or you could. I wouldn’t know what to say.” There was the very faintest color in her cheeks, and she did not quite meet Hester’s eyes. “We might be able to take something useful to Sir Oliver if we could prove a co
“That would be a good idea,” she agreed. “I’ll write to Livia Baltimore and ask if I can call upon her tomorrow evening with further information about her father’s death. If I send the letter with a messenger, I’ll have a reply long before I need to go.”
Margaret looked startled. “What are you going to tell her? Not that her father was at Portpool Lane, surely?”
“Well, not the reason, anyway.” Hester smiled with a downward twist of her mouth and reached for the teapot.
Hester sent the letter early in the morning, paying a messenger to take it to the Baltimore house in Royal Square, and before lunch the answer was returned that Miss Baltimore would be delighted to receive her that afternoon, and awaited her call with pleasure.
Meanwhile, Margaret had made discreet enquiries and arranged for herself and Hester to visit with her brother-in-law, who was acquainted with business matters and could tell them what was publicly known of Baltimore and Sons, and perhaps a certain amount of that which was rather more privately believed. An appointment was made for the following evening.
In the middle of the afternoon Hester left Fitzroy Street wearing a pale blue skirt and jacket, and a hat-a piece of apparel she loathed-and carrying a parasol against the bright, fitful sun. She had been given the parasol as a gift and she had never even unrolled it. Nevertheless it lent an air of respectability, suggesting young ladies who had time and care to consider guarding their complexions from the sun.
She took an omnibus from the Tottenham Court Road, and was happy to walk the last few hundred yards to the front door in Royal Square. She was admitted immediately and conducted to a small sitting room clearly kept for the ladies of the house to receive their guests. It was furnished in a very feminine ma
Livia Baltimore was waiting for her expectantly. She was dressed in the obligatory black of mourning, and it made her fair skin look drained of all color. The moment Hester was in the room Livia stood up, coming forward from the chair where she had been sitting, her book put down with a marker to keep the place.
“How kind of you to come, Mrs. Monk. I was hoping that with all your work for the distressed you would not forget me. I am sure you would like tea?” Without waiting for an answer she nodded to the parlor maid to confirm the instructions.
“Please sit down.” She indicated one of the chairs as the door closed and she resumed her own seat. “You look very well. I hope you are?”
It would probably be polite to talk about a variety of subjects, as was usually done. None of them mattered; it was simply a way of becoming acquainted. It was not what one said but the ma
“Yes, I am,” Hester replied, relaxing into the chair. “Of course the area is in some difficulty at the moment, and some of the women are being beaten, simply out of temper and frustration because there is no business.” She was watching Livia’s face as she spoke. She saw the young woman’s struggle to hide her distaste at the “business” in question. It was something she knew very little about. Well-bred young ladies were barely aware of the existence of prostitution, never mind the details of the lives of those involved. If she had been asked before her father’s death, she would have known even less, but unkind tongues had made sure she was acquainted with at least the rudiments now.
“There are police on every corner,” Hester went on. “Nobody’s pockets have been picked in a couple of weeks, but there is less and less in them that would be worth the trouble. People are going elsewhere when they can, which I suppose is natural. I don’t know why, but police make even honest people nervous.”
“I don’t know why they should,” Livia responded. “Surely i
“Perhaps too few of us are entirely i
Livia sat motionless. “Yes?” Her voice was little more than a whisper. She blinked, ignoring the tears brimming her eyes.
“I went to the house in Leather Lane where his body was found,” Hester said gravely, pretending not to notice. She did not know Livia well enough to intrude. “I spoke to the people there, and they told me they had no part in what happened to him. He died elsewhere and was moved in order to implicate them, and I assume to remove suspicion from someone else.”
“Did you believe them?” There was neither acceptance nor rejection in Livia’s tone, as if she was deliberately not daring to hope too much.
“Yes, I did,” Hester said unequivocally.
Livia relaxed, smiling in spite of herself.
Hester felt a stab of guilt so sharp she questioned whether she should be there at all, telling this young woman things which were true, and yet so much less than the whole truth. It would inevitably lead her to knowledge which would destroy forever the memories of happiness and i
“Then he could simply have been set upon in the street?” Livia was saying eagerly, the color returned to her cheeks. “Whoever killed my father then used his death to try to have some kind of revenge on Mr. Smith, and of course escape blame themselves. Have you told the police this?”
“Not yet,” Hester said guardedly. “I would rather know more first, so that they believe me. Do you know why he would be in the Farringdon Road area? Did he go there often?”