Charles Finch - A Stranger in Mayfair

“How is she?”

Toto stood up and gave Lenox a squeeze on his forearm. “You wouldn’t believe how clever she is-really, you can’t imagine. Just think, she knows her name!” She followed this remarkable news by attempting to prove it, calling, “George, George!” over and over again until the baby seemed to tilt her head in their direction. “See!” said Toto triumphantly.

“Remarkable! I know many a grown woman who hasn’t learned that trick.”

“I know you’re teasing me, but I’ll let it pass because I’m so happy. Do you know, I never realized that all babies have blue eyes! Did you know that?”

“I didn’t. Does Thomas have some scientific reason to explain it?”

“Speaking of people who don’t recognize their names-his eyes don’t leave her face when he’s in the room. He won’t get on the floor as I will, or give her a thousand kisses as I do, but lor! How he loves the little speck.”

“I say, I know it’s rude of me, but could I bother you for a bite of food? It would help me admire her better-I’m famished.”

“Oh, yes! In fact, you know, Nurse should take her away; we mustn’t agitate the poor thing with too much attention, she says. So I can join you in lunch.”

“Is Thomas here?”

“I forced him to leave the house. He’s at his club, looking through a newspaper. I doubt he’s actually reading, though-just worrying that I’ve burned the house down in his absence, I imagine, and boasting to anyone he meets as if there weren’t thousands of children born every day, some of them in the middle of fields. Here, find me that bell-there it is-that will get Shreve in.”

Her happiness was infectious. “You look awfully well,” he said.

“Thank you, Charles. All credit for that must go to Jane. She saw me through all the difficult bits.”

“I’m glad.”

Shreve came in, and Toto asked for food. “Will a beefsteak do for you, Charles?”

“Splendidly.”

“Let’s have that, and some potatoes and carrots-and for my part all I have a taste for is bubble and squeak.” This was a cabbage and potato dish. “We need something to drink, too, don’t we. Whatever’s at hand in the cellar for Mr. Lenox, please.”

“Very good, madam,” said Shreve and retreated.

There was a footstep in the hall and a muffled exchange of words between Shreve and another gentleman-and of course it was McConnell.

“There’s the child!” he said. George wriggled happily on the ground. “Lenox, have you seen anything so fine?”

“Indeed not,” he said. A faint pain passed through him; he wondered again whether he would ever experience McConnell’s happiness.

“I asked Shreve to give me a bit of lunch, too.”

Now Lenox looked at the doctor in earnest, and it startled him. If there had been a change in the house-in Toto, even in Shreve-it was nothing to the complete change in Thomas McConnell. Where before he had been sallow, jaundiced, and aged beyond his years by anxiety and idleness, now he seemed a man with vigor and purpose: pink, upright, with brightened eyes and a twitching mouth that constantly threatened to burst open into a smile.

“Did you tell Lenox that she knows her name?”

“Oh, yes, he’s seen the entire rotation of tricks. Now where is that nurse? I won’t be a minute-excuse me.”

At lunch there was only one topic of conversation-George-until Lenox felt at last that just perhaps he had heard enough about his godchild’s hundred charms.

“Won’t you stay to see her after her nap?” asked McConnell when Lenox said he had to go. Toto was checking in on her.

“If only I could, but there’s a stack of blue books I have to read through. We sit in Parliament this afternoon, of course.”

“How could I forget-the opening! We’re quite wrapped up here in the baby. How was it? Did you see the Queen?”

“I did indeed; it was a splendid show. You would have loved it.”

“I wouldn’t have been anywhere but here-now come, say good-bye to Toto, and be sure to tell her how highly you esteem your goddaughter.”

He did indeed have to be at Parliament soon, and as was customary he wanted to spend the few hours before the session milling in the lobby, meeting people and speaking with them. It was a familiar way to plan among the backbenchers.

Still, he couldn’t resist stopping by the butcher’s shop, Schott and Son. Curiously-and perhaps tellingly-it was shuttered and closed.

Back at home on Hampden Lane, Lenox sat in his study reading those blue books (the ones particularly relevant to the Queen’s Speech, which was still being debated in the Commons). Lady Jane was out, and had been since breakfast according to Kirk. Lenox had spoken that morning with Graham, who was at the House speaking to the appropriate people’s political secretaries about water and cholera.

Just as Lenox was preparing to leave there was a knock on the door. Kirk brought in Dallington.

“There you are-I worried I might not catch you,” said the younger man. He smiled. “It’s dashed inconvenient for you to be in Parliament. You ought to have a bit of consideration.”

“I’m leaving now-my carriage should be ready. Kirk?”

“It is standing in front of the house, sir.”

“Would you come along, Dallington?”

“With pleasure.”

Once they were seated, Lenox took out a blue book. “Tell me what you found today; then, rude though it is, I must read.”

“The mother wasn’t in, and neither was Fowler. I spent a few hours skulking around that boxing club.”

Lenox smacked his head. “How can I not have told you? I found the butcher’s shop. Tiberius Starling, of all people, was the one who told me.” Lenox went on and talked through the whole day, catching his apprentice up.

“Remarkable-but there’s something else.”

“Yes?”

“It’s-it’s unexpected news.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Collingwood has confessed to killing Freddie Clarke.”

The news would have to wait. That was Lenox’s first thought. He had to be down at the House. In the meanwhile Dallington could go speak to Collingwood.

“Where did you hear it?”

“Jenny Rogers heard first and left a note at my club.”

“Did she give you any other details?”

“No.”

“You say he confessed to killing Clarke-what about stabbing Ludo?”

“I assumed that went along with it.”

Lenox was silent, thinking, for a moment. “Who knows. Incidentally, they’re sending your admirer-Paul-out of the country for a year. Just like that.”

“How did you hear of this?”

Lenox recounted the story of his afternoon: Elizabeth Starling’s fearfulness, Tiberius’s surreptitious aid, Paul’s forlorn face in the window. “Why lie to me? What could she possibly gain by that?” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “I should be at the House already,” he said. “Will you give me a lift in a taxi down there? That way we can speak a little longer. Just give me a moment to gather my things.”

As they rode down toward Parliament, Dallington suggested an idea. “What if Paul Starling killed Freddie Clarke?”

“What evidence is there of that?”

“No evidence, to speak of, but it would explain why he’s leaving the country.”

“So he also attacked his own father and framed Collingwood, whom he passionately defended to me? I don’t think so. On top of that his spirits were awfully high at our dinner there, weren’t they? He hardly seemed to have something so great on his conscience as murder.”

“Not all men have consciences,” retorted Dallington.

“I don’t believe it. Still, you’re quite right to interrogate the decision by Ludo and Elizabeth. Here’s a thought-what if Paul knows something about the murder?”