Will Thomas - Fatal Enquiry

“Nightwine, of all people,” I finally managed to say.

“I see you are acquainted with his name, at least. Suffice it to say he was not the father I had always dreamed of having.”

“But you were in London first,” I said, remembering I had seen her the morning before we had gone to St. Katharine Docks.

“He sent me ahead to prepare for his arrival. What could I do, Mr. Llewelyn? I am wholly and completely dependent upon him. I haven’t the resources to return to Russia on my own.”

“Why didn’t you leave him?” I implored. “What made you stay?”

“I was only sixteen then. He monitored my correspondence with my grandparents and I have no friends. What could a young girl possibly do that could gain her freedom from her own father? In the eyes of the law, I had no choice. We have now traveled together for years, every year worse than the one before. If I knew how to escape him, I would do it now without hesitation.”

“Is that why I found you in front of our offices that day?”

She nodded. “I was trying to pluck up the courage to go inside and talk to Mr. Barker.”

“Why didn’t you do it then?”

“I had to be sure that I could trust him or that he would protect me. My father would consider this a betrayal worthy of death.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but my employer is a wanted man. I was myself until just this very morning.”

“I know, Mr. Llewelyn. That was my father’s doing. I believe he has cast doubt upon Mr. Barker’s character in order to destroy him. I have stayed here overlong already. I must get back before he suspects something.”

“Stay,” I urged. “Stay and I will get you to a safe place. You’ll never have to see him again.” I tried to imagine where I would take her, but my brain was suddenly foggy. I couldn’t take her to the house in Newington; I didn’t know what I would find when I got there. The barge where we had found brief refuge was not suitable for a young woman of her position, and the flat had been discovered.

“I mustn’t stay now,” she said calmly. “Whatever I do must be done with great care. Don’t worry, Mr. Llewelyn. My immediate situation is not dire. I have simply determined that my position is no longer tenable and I will do anything in my power to change it.”

“Then how may I help?” I asked, frustrated indeed. “I am at your disposal.”

“You’ve helped already,” she said. “You’ve listened. I will come back when I can, and perhaps together with Mr. Barker, we’ll find a way out of this. In the meantime, I will look for evidence of a crime that could have my father arrested.”

“You must not place yourself at any greater risk.”

She stood, and extended a hand. “You’ve been most kind, and I appreciate it. I believe you genuinely care what happens to me.”

I stood and took her gloved hand for a brief moment before letting it go. “I do. I’m here if you need me.”

“I’ll remember that,” she said, and then she slipped out the door.

In a rush, I suddenly thought of all of the things I should have asked her. How did she know about Barker? Why had she come here, knowing he was on the run, with a price on his head? What could she realistically expect from us, anyway? I was still contemplating the feel of her delicate gloved hand in mine when Jenkins came strolling in a minute later.

“Was I right?” he demanded. “A looker, wasn’t she?”

“I commend your taste in women, Jeremy.”

“What was that about, Mr. L?” he asked.

I looked at him and shook my head. “I only wish I knew.”

Behind Barker’s green leather chair there is a small table with a wooden panel hanging above it, adorned by his family crest: a rampant lion surrounded by fleurs-de-lys. It looks very old, and may in fact be, but it hides a very modern safe. I opened that safe then, and replenished the money which we had spent since this case began. I seriously hoped that wherever the Guv was at that moment, he too would have a good meal to eat and a bed for the night.

“I’m going to the British Museum,” I said to our clerk. “Lock up if I’m not back by five-thirty.”

Jenkins’s mind was still back on Sofia Ilyanova. I had broken the news of her unfortunate parenthood.

“I don’t believe it, Mr. L. A girl that pretty can’t be related to a devil like him.”

“A girl cannot help her parentage,” I replied.

“Speaking of females, I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Ashleigh is in town, and she’s none too pleased. You’re to go to Brown’s Hotel as soon as you can to see her.” Our clerk was lank limbed, lank haired, loose jawed, and unsteady on his feet. He’d had a merely passing acquaintance with his straight razor recently and his clothing looked as if he’d slept in them.

“Did she have any message for Barker when he returns?”

“No, sir. Only you.”

I called the Brown to say I was coming and caught a hansom cab to Albemarle Street. The hansom is a modern marvel, the gondola of London, gliding noiselessly upon rubber wheels. It felt an incredible luxury after walking everywhere for the last week. I stretched out on the seat, without the Guv to occupy two thirds of the vehicle, thinking it was hard to believe that I had started the day by being arrested. I read somewhere that testing and licensing of London cabmen was very stringent. They had to know every street and how to get there in the shortest possible time, as well as which roads were being repaired. I relaxed and let my current cabman whisk me to my appointment with Mrs. Ashleigh, while I took a few moments to puzzle over Sofia Ilyanova.

I wasn’t contemplating matrimony, of course, but I had to admit she had a face to look at over the breakfast table every morning. Ivory skin, moonlit hair, and golden eyes lined in black velvet. She’d be worth sweeping the front steps for, or whatever it is that husbands did for their wives these days. But I stopped myself right there, because she was the daughter of Sebastian Nightwine, the most treacherous man in London.

I alighted at Browns’ and even paying the cabman was a delight after having scrimped money for several days. In my clean suit I easily passed inspection by the desk clerk, and after notifying him to ring Mrs. Ashleigh’s room, I buried myself behind the latest edition of The Times. While Barker and I had been occupied, apparently the world continued revolving. There had been a fire in Hammersmith and a rise in the price of corn on the exchange. However, there was no notice that a desperate enquiry agent had just been loosed on unsuspecting London.

“Thomas!” Philippa Ashleigh asked at my elbow. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since last night, ma’am.”

“I think we can dispense with the formalities now. We’ve known each other over a year.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t believe the Guv would approve. You know he is old-fashioned.”

“Old-fashioned,” she repeated, placing the emphasis on the first word rather than the second. Fashioned-forged-if you prefer, in the old ways, with the old tools. I thought it captured his essence very well.

“Where is he, Thomas?”

“I don’t know. He sent me off to the Foreign Office, and then called in an anonymous tip to have me arrested.”

“You must be exhausted and starved. Let’s go in and have tea.”

She led me into the dining room and we were seated. In just a few minutes the waiter had brought us sandwiches of cold tongue, pâté, and cucumber with watercress. He returned with cheese, pickles, and deviled eggs, with a pot of tea. As soon as food was present, my stomach had a kind of spasm from going on so little for so long, and I had to stop myself from cramming all the food in front of me into my mouth at once. Mrs. Ashleigh picked at her food and drank lots of tea and did not make me feel bad for acting gluttonous. The desserts came next: puddings and sweets, and treacle tarts. At some point I stopped myself and gave a relieved sigh.