by C. J. Archer
“What about the other letter?” Duke asked.
“It’s dated two weeks later, just after Christmas. It gives an update on the Harriet and Mr. Wilson situation, whom it appears she saw on Christmas Day. The rest reads like gossip about mutual friends.”
“Does she sign it in an intimate manner?”
“Not particularly. ‘Kindest regards, Rosamund Fuller.’” I wished we’d read these in Mrs. Pyke’s presence so we could ask her about them. “I wonder if Mrs. Pyke knew her husband was corresponding with Mrs. Fuller.”
Duke scoffed. “I doubt it. What man in his right mind would tell his wife he’s friendly with a younger woman?”
I folded up the letter. “What have you two discovered?”
“Nothing of importance,” Matt said.
Duke returned the letter he’d been reading to its envelope. “These are from friends who live outside the city. They don’t say much about anything.”
Woodall dropped us as close to the entrance of Scotland Yard as he could, but we were quite sure we hadn’t been followed. The sergeant at the front desk sent a constable to fetch Detective Inspector Brockwell, even though we said we knew the way to his office.
I regretted not speaking to Brockwell about the case last night. I also regretted not speaking to him after he spoke to Willie. I was wildly curious about their conversation, but didn’t think it was the right time or place to ask him now, at his place of work.
Brockwell greeted us and led us back to his office. He sat heavily behind the desk with a loud sigh. Like Mrs. Pyke, he looked tired, as though he’d hardly slept. While he usually looked scruffy, he was even more so today. He hadn’t shaved and his tie was crooked and his hair unkempt. It took all my resolve not to lean across the desk and tidy him up.
“Is this about the Pyke case?” he asked.
Matt detailed all we knew about Mr. Pyke’s disappearance, including the latest development of his private correspondence with Mrs. Fuller.
Despite his disheveled and tired appearance, Brockwell gave us his full attention. He always put work first, no matter what turmoil his private life was going through. “Do you think he ran off with her?” he asked.
“We saw her only yesterday,” Matt said. “She hasn’t left her husband, but she might know something, although why she hasn’t told us already, I can’t quite work out. We’ll call on her after we leave here.”
“So what can I do?”
“We’ll get further if the investigation is official. You can send men to check railway stations and ports.”
“And speak to Lord Coyle in an official capacity,” I added.
Brockwell gave me an arched look. “Coyle won’t answer to the likes of me. Besides, he won’t say anything to incriminate himself. He’s far too intelligent to make a mistake.”
Matt stood. “Just do what you can.”
Brockwell shook our hands then indicated the door. Matt and I filed out, but Duke hung back. “So what did you and Willie talk about last night?” he asked.
Brockwell scratched his sideburns. “I, uh, I don’t want to talk about it.”
Duke looked as though he’d argue, but I pushed past him to re-enter the office. “Leave him be, Duke. It’s none of our business.” I straightened Brockwell’s tie then patted his shoulder. “But if you need to talk to me about anything, anything at all, Inspector, I am happy to do so. And so are Duke and Matt.”
“Aye,” Duke said.
Brockwell eyed Matt.
Matt cleared his throat.
“Aren’t you?” I prompted.
“Of course,” Matt said.
Once we were safely back in the carriage again, I asked him why he’d hesitated.
“Because I don’t think I want an in-depth discussion about their romantic life. She’s my cousin. Sometimes it’s best to remain ignorant.”
Duke didn’t agree. “I want to know what it is so I can tell Willie she’s wrong.”
“Why do you think she’s in the wrong?” I asked.
He looked at me as though I were a fool.
I sighed. He was right. It was probably Willie’s fault. But I’d give her the benefit of the doubt, for now.
We drove to the Fullers’ shop and residence, but I entered alone. Not because it was safer for Matt to remain in the carriage, but because this conversation required a woman’s touch. I was immeasurably pleased to see Mr. Fuller wasn’t present, although I suspected he was out the back in the workshop, as I could hear the whir of the machinery.
I waited for Mrs. Fuller to finish with a customer then approached the desk. She recognized me immediately and greeted me stiffly. If she was worried about the disappearance of her friend, she didn’t show it. Indeed, she looked impatient. It was quite at odds with the pleasant way she addressed Mr. Pyke in her letters.
I glanced at the door to the workshop, but it remained closed. “I have a delicate question to ask you, Mrs. Fuller.” I produced the two letters and handed them to her. “It’s about these.”
She turned them over, frowning. “They’re addressed to Mr. Pyke with no return address.” She shrugged. “Are you asking me to read the private correspondence of a man I hardly know?” She handed the letters back with a shake of her head. “I won’t do it. I’m sorry, Mrs. Glass, but I don’t see how it will help you.”
I refused to accept the letters. “Don’t you recognize them?”
She looked at the envelopes again. “The handwriting is familiar. Oh! I know who these are from.”
“Yes. You.”
“No, Mrs. Glass. They’re from my mother-in-law.”
I stared at her. “Your name isn’t Rosamund?”
“No, it’s Anne.” She frowned. “Is that why you’re here? Because you thought I was writing to Mr. Pyke? I can assure you, I hardly know him. My mother-in-law does, however, through her late husband. They were in the guild together and were on good terms.” She glanced at the door to the workshop and leaned forward. “That all ended when my husband took over the business. Or so I thought.”
“Do you know why your mother-in-law was writing to Mr. Pyke?”
“I can hazard a guess,” she said carefully. She studied the letters again, looking tempted to read them now.
“When did you or your husband last see her?”
She clutched her throat as her gaze lifted to mine. “Two days ago. My God. Do you think they ran off together? My husband will be livid.”
“Can you write down her address, please. We’ll call on her now.”
She scribbled the address on the bottom of a notepad and tore it off. Her gaze slid to the workshop door again as the machine slowed and finally stopped altogether. “He’ll never forgive her.”
I thanked her for the address and rose just as the workshop door opened. Mr. Fuller stood there like a sweating giant, his face red from the heat of the machinery and the stuffy room.
I hurried for the front door and stepped outside. The door swung closed, but not before I heard him ask his wife in a loud voice why I was there.
I gave Woodall the address. Thanks to his fast driving and expert knowledge of the city’s streets, we arrived at the small house five minutes later. It was almost identical in every way to Mrs. Pyke’s home, even down to a similar Oriental carpet in the parlor. This one wasn’t as intricately designed, however, nor the pile as thick.
I was relieved to see Mrs. Fuller Senior, until I realized what it meant. She and Mr. Pyke hadn’t run away together, which in turn meant it was more likely that something dreadful had befallen Mr. Pyke after all. I was glad for Mrs. Pyke’s sake, though, in a way. From the beginning, I’d thought him devoted to his wife of twenty-two years and was relieved to see that belief held true. But was it better for her to be an abandoned wife or a widow?
“You and Mr. Pyke are friends,” I said, showing her the letters after we introduced ourselves. “You write to one another.”
Matt had joined me this time, but Duke remained outside. Matt suggested I do most o
f the talking, however, in the hope that she’d confide in a woman.
“We do, yes.” The senior Mrs. Fuller was a tall, strongly built woman with gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. She had a friendly face, but it was currently creased into a frown, her gaze wary. “What is this about?”
“Mr. Pyke has gone missing.”
She covered her gasp with her hand. “Missing! How dreadful. His poor wife. She must be beside herself with worry.”
“You didn’t know?”
She shook her head as she studied the letters. “Did Mrs. Pyke give you these?”
“Yes. He kept them, although I’m not sure why. Do you know?” I asked gently.
Her frown deepened. “We’re just friends. There’s nothing more going on, if that’s what you’re implying. The man is married, for goodness’ sake. Mrs. Pyke is a lovely woman, very sweet. She can’t read, of course, but that doesn’t mean she’s a fool. If she doesn’t know where her husband is, I don’t know why you think I can help.”
“We just thought that, uh, he might confide in you more than he did her. Do you have any letters from him?”
“I don’t keep them in case…”
“In case of what?”
“In case my son finds them. He doesn’t get along with Mr. Pyke and wouldn’t understand our friendship. He’d think of it as a betrayal. That’s why I never told him that Mr. Pyke and I kept up our correspondence, even after my husband died.” She shook her head. “And now he’s left, you say. I wouldn’t have thought he’d do such a thing, not to his wife.”
“We think he might have been kidnapped.”
She blinked at me. “Why would anyone kidnap him? He’s just a rug maker. He’s not important.”
Matt spoke for the first time. “Did you talk to him in the days leading up to his disappearance?”
She lifted her chin. “We just correspond by letter.”
I was about to say something, but Matt touched my hand. “This is important, Mrs. Fuller. No one need know.”
She blinked down at the letters in her lap. Her deep sigh deflated her chest and she sank into the sofa. “I saw him last Thursday at his shop. I rarely visit him, you understand, and nothing goes on there. We just talk. We’re merely friends.”
“We believe you,” I said. “When you saw him, how did he seem?”
“Now that you mention it, he wasn’t himself. He was worried about being followed.”
“By a man, woman? Someone on foot?”
“It was a man with a touch of gray in his hair. He was in a private conveyance.”
“Did he say what sort?” Matt asked. “The number of horses?”
She shook her head.
“What about the man? Was he slim?”
She frowned harder. “I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
If he mentioned the gray hair to her but nothing else, it’s possible it was the only distinguishing feature. That ruled out Coyle, but both Sir Charles and Mr. Abercrombie had gray through their hair. So did thousands of other men.
The front door suddenly crashed back on its hinges, making my heart leap into my throat. Matt shot to his feet as a red-faced Mr. Fuller stormed into the parlor, his hands balled into fists. He completely blocked the entrance so I couldn’t see Duke.
“Sorry, Matt,” came Duke’s voice from behind Mr. Fuller. “I tried to stop him.”
Mr. Fuller bared his teeth in a snarl, but it was directed at his mother, not Matt or me. “What’s this about some letters, Ma? Why’ve you been writing to Pyke behind my back?”
Mrs. Fuller rose and took a single step toward her son. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing!”
“Let me explain.”
“Explain what? That you betrayed me? Betrayed the memory of my father?”
“That’s not—”
“Don’t pretend nothing is going on.”
“Nothing is going on,” she said hotly.
“I said don’t pretend!”
Mrs. Fuller clutched her throat. She looked close to tears.
Mr. Fuller stepped toward her, but Matt blocked his path. The rug maker’s face turned even redder. “Get out of my way!”
“Not until you calm down,” Matt said.
“Don’t, Matt,” I whispered. “This isn’t our business.”
He turned to me. “India—”
“Look out!”
Mr. Fuller swung a punch at Matt’s face.
Chapter 7
Matt ducked beneath Mr. Fuller’s fist.
Mr. Fuller lost his balance, and Matt took advantage. He grabbed Mr. Fuller’s arm and twisted it behind his back. Duke caught the wrist of Mr. Fuller’s left hand before he could swing another punch.
Mr. Fuller tried to shake them off, but between the two of them, they held the seething giant. Mr. Fuller emanated a low, angry growl, directed at his mother.
I pressed a hand to my rapidly beating chest. Thank goodness for Matt’s fast reflexes.
“Let me explain,” Mrs. Fuller said to her son.
“Explain what? How you’ve been carrying on with a married man?”
“That’s enough!” Mrs. Fuller pinched his ear and dragged him down to her level. “Don’t talk to me like that.”
He winced. “Ow.”
She let him go but continued to glare at him.
The small figure of the younger Mrs. Fuller barreled into the parlor, out of breath. “Thank goodness. I was that worried he’d do something bad when he got here.” She went to her mother-in-law. “Are you all right?”
“I will be when my thick-headed son listens.”
Mr. Fuller struggled against Matt and Duke, but they were too strong for him.
Mrs. Fuller Senior took the moment of silence to say her piece. “It’s true I’ve been writing to Mr. Pyke for some time. We’re friends, nothing more. He was a friend to your father, and I am friends with his wife, and now they’re both friends of mine.” She waved the letters in front of his face. “Read these. They’ll show you that you’re being a fool.”
Mr. Fuller stopped struggling. “Why did you write to him and not his wife?”
“Because she can’t read.”
“Oh.”
His wife poked him in the chest. “What do you say to your mother?”
“Sorry, Ma,” he mumbled.
She cupped her ear. “I can’t hear you.”
“Sorry, Ma,” he said louder.
Mrs. Fuller Senior humphed and crossed her arms. “You owe an apology to Mr. and Mrs. Glass and their friend too.”
He gave us sheepish apologies, and Matt and Duke released him. He tugged on his waistcoat. He’d left the shop without his jacket, his sleeves still rolled to his elbows.
His wife took his arm. “We have to get back. I left the children in charge of the shop. Are you sure you’re all right, Rosamund?”
“I will be when they find poor Mr. Pyke.” She fixed her son with a stern glare. “You didn’t have anything to do with him going missing, did you?”
“No!” Mr. Fuller cried. “I don’t like him, but I wouldn’t hurt him.”
His mother clicked her tongue. “You and your competitive nature. It’s not his fault he makes lovely rugs. If you knew what was good for you, you’d go into business with him, not cause trouble. He could do with a young, strong man like you about the workshop, not to mention an assistant who can read and write.” She nodded at her daughter-in-law who nodded back.
Mr. Fuller dipped his head, his bluster and fury having lost steam.
“I do hope he’s all right,” Mrs. Fuller Senior said. “But what I don’t understand is, why would someone kidnap him? Or hurt him, for that matter?”
“Because some in the wool guild fear him,” I said, avoiding looking at her son and daughter-in-law. “After he spoke up in the newspapers about being a magician, they fear he’ll take customers away from them.”
Mrs. Fuller Senior clicked her tongue. “The guild master is a fool. He should be speaking c
almly to his members, and urging everyone to sit down and discuss the new developments rationally. But instead, I hear he’s joining in with those rioters. And he and Mr. Pyke used to be friends too! He should be ashamed.” She shook her head. “I have a mind to march down there and tell him how to run the guild myself. He might listen to me. He used to respect my husband.”
“Don’t make trouble for me, Ma,” Mr. Fuller whined. “I can’t afford to get on his bad side.” He took his wife’s hand and allowed her to lead him out of the parlor.
Mrs. Fuller Senior pinched the bridge of her nose and released a breath. “My son is a good man, Mrs. Glass, but he has a hot head and that stops him using it properly, sometimes. But if you’re thinking he did away with Mr. Pyke, I can assure you he’s not the sort who’d kidnap or murder anyone. He hasn’t got the stomach for it.”
“Do you know anyone in the guild who does?” Matt asked.
She nibbled on her lower lip. “I don’t like casting aspersions, but you should look to the guild master. Like I said, he and Mr. Pyke used to be friends, but they had a falling out some time ago, and I’d wager Mr. Pyke’s revelation in the papers didn’t go down too well with him. He also likes to think he’s the best wool man in the business, so finding out that Mr. Pyke is the best would have been a blow to his pride.”
“Does he make rugs too?” I asked.
“He runs a clothing factory, but you’ll find him at the guild hall most of the time. His son mostly runs the mill now.”
We thanked her and left, asking Woodall to drive us to the woolen guild’s hall.
I took a moment to admire my husband, seated across from me. “That was quite a confrontation. I thought Mr. Fuller had the upper hand, on account of his size, but you both handled him as if wrestling giants was something you did all the time.”
“We’ve dealt with bigger and meaner men that that,” Matt said.
“Aye, and Matt did the hard part. I just came in at the end.” Duke frowned at him. “Have you been lifting weights?”
“It’s the magic in the watch. Ever since I used it after the shooting, I’ve felt stronger.”
