“I can imagine their heartbreak,” Colin said. “But surely the baby brought no small measure of comfort.”
“The baby?” Mrs. Gillespie asked, her eyes narrowing.
“Their grandchild. We know all about it.” Our guest would never be able to resist Colin when he took on this tone, his voice full of warmth and confidence and strength. He leaned toward her and whispered, “I do a certain amount of work for the Crown, you understand. There is very little about which I am not informed.”
Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Oh, I see, Mr. Hargreaves. Well, then I need hardly tell you that they only had the child’s best interest at heart. No one in his right mind would have acquiesced to sending an infant to India. Only imagine the diseases to which she would have been exposed.”
“Quite,” he said. “London is a far safer place.”
“I entirely agree,” Mrs. Gillespie said. “Which is not to state that it doesn’t have many troubles of its own.”
“Do you visit Mrs. MacMaster often?” I asked, marveling at the ease with which my husband had got our visitor to admit so much.
“Alas, that is my part of the heartbreak.” Mrs. Gillespie blinked, her eyes filling with tears. Colin handed her an immaculate handkerchief. “Thank you, Mr. Hargreaves. Maggie explained to me that everything had to be secret or else poor little Annalise was bound to be dragged to India by her father, and she didn’t wish me to be vulnerable to a man of so little honor. Who knew what he might attempt if I had any information as to their whereabouts? It was for my safety as well as the baby’s that they told me nothing.”
“Beyond that they were fleeing to London?” Colin asked.
“That’s correct. No one could ever find them in London. It teems with too much humanity for any person to be located in its grimy bowels. Although I must say, Lady Emily, that your home is lovely. And so near the park. That must be a comfort when the yellow fog comes. But I’m being impolite. Do, please, forgive me. I had no intention of insulting the place you have chosen to live. The truth is, I’m a bit nervous.”
“Would you like to see your friend?” Colin asked.
“I would, very much so, but only if it wouldn’t cause harm to little Annalise.”
“Don’t you think that keeping her from a loving father has caused her harm?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I understand hesitating to send a tiny babe abroad, but the child is nearly twelve years old now.”
“I shall never forgive that man for taking Maggie’s only daughter from her. He caused Catriona’s death, the same as if he’d murdered her.”
“Did Catriona not have the right to marry a husband she loved?” I asked. “We all of us know the risks of childbirth.”
Mrs. Gillespie paused, then took a deep breath, and then sat very still. “You are too right about that, Lady Emily. Catriona saw her mother suffer through four confinements with poor outcomes. Still…”
“My husband and I both understand the MacMasters’ motivation for protecting their grandchild. But you witnessed the pain they suffered in losing their own children. Surely they, of all people, shouldn’t cause the same grief in another parent?”
“So much time has passed,” Mrs. Gillespie said. “But that awful Mr. Jones…”
“Did you know him well?” Colin asked.
“I can’t say I did, but what I saw I didn’t like.”
“That’s most unkind,” he said. “He’s lost his wife and was told his daughter died as well. Surely a Christian woman like yourself would not want to be party to such a dreadful lie.”
“I never did like it much,” she said. “But what could I do? I haven’t the slightest idea where they are. I swear to you, Mr. Hargreaves, Maggie never told me anything about their plans other than that they were going to London.”
“But you were as close to her as a sister,” I said. “Think carefully. Where would she want to live if she were here? What did she require in a house? Did she have any hobbies or passions that she would not have abandoned despite the move?”
“She’d always wanted a little conservatory for her plants. They had a nice-sized bay window at the house in Edinburgh, and she had at least a dozen Wardian cases for her ferns. She used to joke that she was seized with pteridomania. You’re too young to remember it, Lady Emily, when the disease, such as it was, swept through the country. Fern fever! As a young lady, Maggie took countless trips collecting them. Of course, it wasn’t a fever when gentlemen did it, but you know how we ladies are treated. As soon as we settle upon something interesting to pursue, it’s labeled a mania and we’re called hysterical. At any rate, Maggie loved Edinburgh and had lived her entire life there. Her husband, taking her away from it, would have made sure to give her a hothouse for her ferns. It was the least he could do to ease the transition away from everything she knew.”
“Is there anyone else in Edinburgh you would have expected her to keep in touch with?” Colin asked.
“Only the Blackleys, a lovely couple who lived nearby, but they both succumbed to influenza seven years ago. I hope Dr. MacMaster doesn’t know. I’m sure he’d blame himself. If he’d been in Edinburgh, he would have treated them, and they would have had a fair chance at surviving. Angus always had a way of coaxing people to keep on living. It’s a pity he couldn’t do it with Catriona.”
We sat in silence for a moment until, at last, Colin spoke. “I am most appreciative of your candor.”
“You’re going to find Maggie, aren’t you, Mr. Hargreaves?”
“I hope so.”
Mrs. Gillespie swallowed, hard. “I would so like to see her again. Do you think…”
Colin smiled and took her hand. “I shall do everything in my power to reacquaint you with your friend. You may count on me.”
“Oh, Mr. Hargreaves, you’re pure barry, aren’t you? I’d well believe there’s nothing you can’t do. Your wife is a lucky lady.” She winked. “I’ll leave you to it. You can find me at Mrs. Kyles’s boarding house near King’s Cross Station if you need me or if you do find my poor Maggie. I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Until Tuesday, that is. Then I’ll be heading back to Edinburgh. I believe I’ve told you everything that could be of use, but if you find otherwise, I’ll answer any other questions you might have in the meantime. I suppose too much time has passed to make secrets worthy.”
Colin showed her out. I can’t remember when I’ve seen a lady so pleased to find herself on his arm. Myself excluded, of course.
Soon after they left the room, Mrs. Elliott came to me. “I’ve uncovered a bit of information for you about the MacMasters’ former servants,” she said. “Would you prefer to speak in the library?”
“Here is fine,” I said, motioning for her to sit down.
“I’m afraid there’s not much to say, but I’m hopeful that the little I have learned may prove useful. First, my friend in Edinburgh informs me that her sister works with a girl who had been a maid in the MacMasters’ household. She was quite young at the time and has not the slightest idea where they might have gone, but she insists that the baby in question—Miss Catriona’s—was not stillborn. Not only did she hear the infant crying, she saw it placed into the coach the family traveled in when they left Scotland.”
More confirmation that the child—Annalise, if Mrs. Gillespie was correct—was likely to still be alive. “She knew they were leaving Scotland?” I asked.
“The belief among the servants was that Dr. MacMaster couldn’t bear to stay in the country now that his daughter was dead. As for the employment agencies here in London, one of them has a Charlie Long on their list. He was a stable boy for Dr. MacMaster. I’ve summoned him here for what he believes is an interview for the position of groom. You may expect him in approximately an hour.”
“That’s very good work, Mrs. Elliott, thank you. I’m in your debt.”
“We’ll see about that. Davis will, of course, speak to him first.”
“Very good. I’ll be in the library. Davis may send
him to me there when he’s finished with him.”
Colin had joined me in the library before Charlie Long appeared. A man of approximately thirty, well-groomed and neatly turned-out. I felt a pang of guilt at not having a position as a groom waiting for him. My husband apologized for the pretense, gave him a concise description of the situation we faced, and asked if he had any idea where the MacMasters were now living.
“Well, sir, I can’t rightly say I know.” Charlie had refused our offer of a seat and was standing, ramrod straight, in front of Colin’s desk. “I did spot the doctor once about six or seven months ago, coming out of the Parsons Green underground station. I shouted hello to him, but I don’t believe he recognized me.”
“Was there anything unusual about his appearance?” Colin asked.
“No, not beyond the fact that he wasn’t carrying his doctor’s bag. I don’t think I ever saw him out and about without it in Edinburgh.”
“Why did you leave Scotland?” I asked.
“My wife’s family is from London and she wanted to be closer to them. Who was I to argue? I still can’t believe she agreed to marry me. We’ve been here seven years now and it feels like home.”
“You’re from the north?” Colin asked.
“Derbyshire.”
“I thought I recognized the accent.”
“I figured you would, you living at Anglemore Park and all.”
“You’re familiar with the estate?”
“My great-grandfather was in the stables there.”
Colin grinned. “Marvelous stables, those.”
“Indeed, sir.”
“Can you think of any information about your former employers that might help us to locate them?” my husband asked.
“I don’t believe so, no, sir. Only that Dr. MacMaster did love the railway. That sprung to mind when I saw him at the underground station. It occurred to me that if he lived nearby, he’d be able to watch trains crossing the Thames at the Fulham Bridge. He liked to watch them in Edinburgh, I remember that much.”
“Thank you, Mr. Long,” Colin said. “I’m impressed by your candor and your demeanor and shall ask Davis if he can find a position for you in our stables. We only keep a small staff on when we’re not in town, but can always use a good man.”
I had no doubt that within the hour, Charlie Long would be sporting Hargreaves livery. Colin rang for Davis, had a quick, private word with him, and sent the would-be groom off with our butler, beyond the green baize door.
Now that we were alone again, Colin rose from his desk and sat next to me on a settee. “All we need do now is find a house with a conservatory in walking distance from both the Parsons Green station and Fulham Bridge. How difficult can that be?”
“Perhaps we could arrange to have a special locomotive pull a train over the bridge—something rare enough to entice him to come out and watch. Are there such locomotives?”
“None spring to mind. Not that it matters, as I know you’re being facetious. Any slightly more reasonable suggestions?”
“I could wander through the neighborhood pretending to be suffering from an injury that requires a doctor’s care,” I said.
“And when a doctor other than MacMaster appears?”
“I’ll adopt a Scottish brogue and insist on seeing one of my fellow countrymen.”
“Sometimes you terrify me, my dear.” He ran his hand through his dark curls, his eyes bright. “I love this bit, when you’re so close to the solution you can almost touch it, but at the same time, it all feels impossible. We’ve achieved more than I would have thought possible. It’s all but confirmed that the MacMasters did, in fact, come to London, and that they brought their granddaughter, very much alive, with them.”
“Annalise,” I said. “I wonder if Mr. Jones will like the name.”
“I shouldn’t think he’d care what she’s called, so long as he can see her.”
“And how are we to arrange that? Advertisement in the papers?”
“That might scare them off,” Colin said. “Where’s the morning post? Have the photographs arrived from Edinburgh yet?”
We rang for Davis, but he was still with Charlie Long, so a footman brought us the mail from the day’s first delivery, including a stiff, slim parcel from Scotland. Inside, the six promised pictures showed a middle-aged couple over the span of several years, solid looking, well-dressed but not flashy. He possessed a nose one would be hard-pressed to forget—it made aquiline seem discreet—and wore a beard in each of the photos. As for his wife, she looked a cheerful sort, with eyes that wanted to smile. I suspected that standing still long enough for the photograph to be taken had taxed her.
“I’ll call for the carriage. I quite fancy a walk through Fulham.”
“Only a walk?” I asked. “How about a walk and the sudden onset of a mysterious disease?”
“No diseases, mysterious or otherwise,” Colin said, giving me a quick kiss. “We’re unlikely to spot the MacMasters, but it’s possible we’ll find a shopkeeper who recognizes them.”
“Recognizes them and knows their new name.”
“Precisely.”
6
“When we find them, what shall we do?” I asked my husband, who had me tightly by the arm, guiding me along the streets of Fulham and around Parsons Green. Doing my best to keep an optimistic air about me, I smiled broadly.
Colin pulled a face. “It’s most fetching that you show no signs of either frustration or of giving up.”
“As if you would ever give up.”
The carriage had dropped us off more than four hours earlier, and we had visited every shop, park, and public house we could find, as well as having spent significant time in the underground station, Colin interviewing those employed there while I watched, hoping to catch a glimpse of one of the MacMasters. No one at any location recognized the photographs we showed them.
“What about local surgeries?” I asked. “Dr. MacMasters may not be practicing, but it’s conceivable that he has befriended those who could have been his colleagues.”
“That’s an excellent suggestion, Emily,” Colin said. We made our way back to The Spread Eagle, one of the public houses we’d gone to earlier in the day. The landlord waved when he saw us—Colin had given him a handsome tip despite the fact that he’d had no information to share—and asked if we’d like a drink.
“Half a pint of ale, please,” I said, grinning when I saw the look on my husband’s face. He muttered something I couldn’t hear to the landlord and then joined me at a table near the front window. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if the MacMasters walked by, just past this window?”
“Lovely, indeed,” he said, putting down our drinks. “Ale?”
I shrugged. “Why not? I might like it.” I took a sip. It was more bitter than I had expected but would be rather refreshing on a warm day. The landlord smiled as he approached us.
“Right, Mr. Hargreaves. Here’s a list of the physicians nearby, all of them my wife and me could recall. I hope it helps.”
Colin thanked him and took the sheet of paper. “Finish your ale, Emily, and let’s get back to it.”
In short order, we had called on each of the doctors. None of them admitted to recognizing the MacMasters. “I’m afraid all we’ve done is alert them to the fact that we’re looking for them,” I said. “We’ll scare them into a new hiding place.”
“Discretion could only get us so far. In the end, if they flee, they flee, but we’re doing our best to locate them before they can leave. That is, after all, what we promised Mr. Jones. He was aware of the risks.”
“What about the local vicars?” I asked. “Surely the MacMasters attend church.”
“I’d guess at a larger parish than a smaller one,” Colin said. “Less likely to attract the attention of the vicar.”
“All Saints Church is near Fulham Palace, where the Bishop of London lives. I remember they rebuilt it when I wasn’t more than ten years old. My father objected to the destruction of the medieva
l building. He wrote a letter to The Times about it. I quite enjoyed seeing his name in print, although my mother objected to me being allowed to read the newspaper. At any rate, one of the primary reasons for wanting a new structure was that the old one was too small.”
“It seems as good a place as any to try.” We walked down Hurlingham Road to Church Row, entered the church through a door that must have been older than the building, and found the vicar in the nave, giving instructions to his organist. When he’d finished, he turned and welcomed us.
“I’m Reverend Smith. Are you new to the neighborhood?”
“No,” Colin said, and introduced us. “We’re here in the hope that you might recognize the people in these photographs.” He passed over the pictures, which the vicar studied.
“Ah, yes, the Overtons. They look much younger than they do now, but the years are not always kind, even to the good-hearted.”
“Do you know where we might find them?” I asked.
“Odd to have so many photographs of people you don’t know.” The vicar’s face was kind, but his tone brooked no nonsense.
“We’ve come on behalf of Annalise’s father,” Colin said.
“Annalise? Her father died before the girl was born. Fell in in India, I believe.”
“No, I’m afraid he didn’t.”
“I know the Overtons well enough to assure you they are not liars,” Reverend Smith said.
“Liars has the wrong connotation,” I said, and explained for him the circumstances of Annalise’s birth and the MacMasters’ flight from Edinburgh. “While I cannot condone their choices, I understand what motivated them. Now, though, it would not be right to stand in the way of the child getting to know her father.”
“The Overtons are good people. If they have chosen to keep the girl from her father, they must have sound reasons.”
Upon the Midnight Clear Page 5
