Penelope inclined her head in acceptance. “So that’s one possible explanation eliminated—thank you. Let’s turn to the next possibility.” She looked steadily at Lady Latimer. “I understand your agreement with your shoemaker is for exclusive supply. Is there any chance whatsoever that your shoemaker, intentionally or otherwise—for instance, through being burgled—has allowed a pair of shoes to go elsewhere?”
Lady Latimer opened her lips, clearly intending to refute the suggestion, but paused. After a moment of returning Penelope’s regard, her ladyship admitted, “I can’t answer that. I cannot know.”
Penelope nodded. “Which, given the seriousness of the situation, is why you now need to tell me who your secret shoemaker is.”
Lady Latimer glanced at her daughters, then, frowning, looked back at Penelope. “I will undertake to visit and ask—”
Penelope shook her head. “You can’t ask. If the shoemaker has signed an exclusivity agreement with you—which I assume they have?” Reluctantly, Lady Latimer nodded. “Then,” Penelope went on, “your asking will place them in an invidious position. If they admit to losing a pair of shoes, they’ll be admitting to breaking your contract. However, if we”—Penelope indicated Violet and Griselda as well as herself—“as investigators assisting the police, ask in complete confidence, we will have a much better chance of receiving a truthful answer.”
Penelope paused. When Lady Latimer continued to regard her without any sign of capitulating, Penelope stated, “To determine whether the pair of Lady Latimer’s shoes worn by the lady fleeing the terrace might have been lost from the shoemaker’s shop, rather than being one of the pairs your family own, we will need the shoemaker’s direction.”
Lips thinning, Lady Latimer held Penelope’s steady gaze…then her ladyship glanced at her daughters, clearly seeking their advice.
Penelope noted that, although Lady Latimer’s gaze swept all four faces, it came to rest on Cynthia’s.
Cynthia returned her mother’s gaze, then quietly said, “Perhaps if Mrs. Adair and her colleagues would swear not to divulge the information to anyone else? We do, after all, need to discover where that pair of shoes came from, and if not from us, then…”
Penelope waited for five seconds, then offered, “I assure you that our discretion on this matter will be absolute.”
Lady Latimer pulled a face, rather shocking in one who normally kept her expression so controlled. Facing Penelope, her ladyship conceded. “Very well, Mrs. Adair. Your point is well made.” Lady Latimer glanced at Violet’s notebook. “If Mrs. Montague will permit, I will write down the address, and also a short note instructing the shoemaker to speak with you. I assure you that without such a note, she will deny any knowledge of Lady Latimer’s shoes.”
“She?” Griselda showed her surprise. “There aren’t many women in that trade.”
Violet handed Lady Latimer her notebook and pencil. Accepting them, Lady Latimer nodded. “Indeed. Which, I suspect, is how she came to stumble on the means of creating the shoes—she wasn’t content simply doing what all the men were.”
Three minutes later, Lady Latimer handed the notebook to Penelope, open to the page on which she had written.
While Penelope pored over the name, address, and the letter of instruction, Lady Latimer said, “If you please, Mrs. Adair, should you discover that Miss Hook has, indeed, allowed a pair of shoes to…escape her custody, so to speak, do assure her that, short of that lapse being deliberate on her part, I see no reason to take any action regarding the apparent breach of our exclusivity agreement. Accidents happen. We must allow for that.”
Penelope inclined her head. “I will reassure Miss Hook, should such an assurance be warranted. However, there is one further possibility, other than that the shoes derived from Miss Hook’s establishment.”
Lady Latimer frowned, uncomprehending.
It was Griselda who explained. “Lady Latimer’s shoes have been all the rage for nearly a year. Some other enterprising shoemaker might finally have succeeded in duplicating the effect.”
Lady Latimer’s brows rose. “I suppose that is a possibility. I’ve heard of any number of ladies who have had their shoemakers slaving, trying to mimic our shoes.”
“So Miss Hook is not the only possible source, merely the only one we yet know of.” Penelope rose and held out her hand. “Thank you.” Clasping Lady Latimer’s fingers, Penelope inclined her head to the four Latimer girls. “Ladies.”
The girls all smiled, a trifle weakly, but they were polite and respectful as Penelope, Violet, and Griselda took their leave, with the address of the shoemaker responsible for creating Lady Latimer’s shoes safely tucked away in Violet’s reticule.
CHAPTER 8
There was no chance in heaven, much less on earth, that Penelope, Violet, and Griselda could possibly wait until the next day before visiting the establishment of Myrtle Hook.
As it happened, Miss Hook’s shop was located in New Road in Camden Town, not all that far from Griselda’s house in St. John’s Wood. Given they were headed in that general direction, the ladies paused in Albemarle Street to take up Megan, who Griselda had left playing with Oliver in his nursery, watched over by Hettie.
But when Hettie came down the stairs, Megan on one hip and Oliver balanced on the other, both children’s faces lit at the sight of their mothers, and Penelope, reaching for Oliver, was struck by an idea.
When, minutes later, the carriage rumbled north, it carried Penelope, Violet, and Griselda, and also Megan, Hettie, and Oliver.
The children were delighted with the outing; sitting on their mothers’ laps, they pressed their faces to the windows and watched the houses, carriages, horses, and people, and pointed and laughed.
Pushing her spectacles up again—Oliver had a habit of pulling them down so he could stare directly into her eyes—Penelope was curious to see how her latest idea would play out. The excursion was entirely safe; there could be no danger in a shop open to the public on a busy street—and regardless, her three guards were present, Phelps and Conner having been joined by James, who acted as footman. And not only were she and Griselda spending extra time with their children, Penelope had also noted that said children proved a potent distraction for other adults, especially women.
Both Oliver and Megan could be counted on to smile and chortle and generally act sweetly; if some female needed to be won over or distracted, the children were the perfect accomplices.
They reached New Road and located the shop. Hook’s Shoe Emporium appeared quietly prosperous.
“As it should,” Penelope remarked to Violet and Griselda as they gathered on the pavement. “I can only imagine how much Lady Latimer is paying for those shoes.”
“If they successfully work as Cinderella shoes, then I’m sure her ladyship considers them to be well worth the price,” Griselda said.
Recalling all she’d heard about the desperation in the marriage mart, Penelope inclined her head. “There is that.”
It was now late afternoon; although workers had started to stream home, all the shops were open and busy. James led the way. A bell tinkled as he opened the emporium’s door. Entering, he held the door for their party, then after shutting the door, he stood to attention beside it, waiting, as a footman should, to carry any parcels back to the carriage.
His presence was a subtle indication that purchases were anticipated.
Griselda had been the last to enter the shop. Halting just inside the door, she took visual stock. The emporium was laid out much as her milliner’s shop, with a counter toward the rear, running across the width of the shop and cutting off the public space from the doorway that led into the back room and the stairs that gave access to the upper floor. The space between the counter and the front door was both display area and salon; racks, shelves, and glass cases lined the area, with shoes and boots of all sizes and styles artfully arranged to best entice, while the central space was given over to an arrangement of chairs, stools, and footstools.
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Penelope had taken Oliver to look at some small boys’ shoes. Megan had spotted a ladies’ shoe sporting a fringe, and Hettie had taken her to get a closer look. Violet was strolling down the room, surveying the shoes as she went.
Penelope, seconded by Violet, had suggested that, as owner of a millinery shop, Griselda should be the one to speak with Myrtle Hook. Hoping she could do her friends’ confidence justice, Griselda drew in a breath and advanced on the counter.
One of the young shop girls had left her station to attend to Violet. The remaining girl, a neatly turned out slip of a thing, ventured a small smile. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
Griselda returned the smile. “Indeed, I hope you can. I’m here to see Miss Hook. Please inform her that I have a message from…her most valuable private customer.”
The girl blinked. For an instant, she studied Griselda, confirming that she was both assured and in earnest, then, a frown tangling her fine brows, the girl nodded and stepped back. “I’ll ask. If you’ll wait here, ma’am?’
Griselda assented with a nod and watched the girl disappear behind the curtain that screened the entrance to the back room.
The girl returned within a minute. With a “Miss Hook will be with you momentarily,” the girl left the counter to tend to Penelope and Oliver, who was somewhat inarticulately demanding to try on some boots.
Leaning on the counter, Griselda watched the performance and couldn’t help but grin.
Two minutes later, the curtain was thrust aside and an older woman, a decade or so older than Griselda, stumped out. Myrtle Hook was a heavy woman with a ruddy complexion and wispy red hair, but her eyes were shrewd in a face that bore the stamp of determination, softened by a level of satisfaction. Griselda got the impression that Myrtle Hook had worked hard for what she’d wanted and was now relatively content with her lot.
While Griselda had been studying Myrtle, the shoemaker had been returning the favor. As quick to pick up the telltale signs of class among her customers as Griselda was, after a glance at Penelope, Violet, Hettie, and the children, and James standing to attention by the door, Myrtle was, understandably, a trifle puzzled.
Griselda smiled. “Yes, we are all together.” Myrtle would have heard the shop bell ring only once. Glancing at the others, Griselda said, “While I suspect we are interested in your wares, our primary reason for calling is due to a problem your most valuable customer has encountered that, entirely incidentally, necessitates our looking into the details of the special shoes you make.”
Suspicion filled Myrtle Hook’s eyes. Griselda met her resistance with a gentle smile. “I’m a milliner, Miss Hook. While our professions might be complementary, they are not sufficiently similar that I would have any use for your secrets. As for my friends, they are not connected with trade of any sort, as I’m sure you can tell.” Griselda had been holding Violet’s notebook below the counter, out of sight. Raising it, she opened it to the page containing Lady Latimer’s note. “Your special customer gave us this letter to serve as introduction. It makes her wishes plain.”
Griselda offered Myrtle Hook the notebook. Retrieving a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from the capacious front pocket of the leather apron she wore, the shoemaker took the book and read.
Reaching the end of the note, Myrtle humphed. Then she raised her gaze to Griselda’s face and opened her lips—
The bell tinkled again. Both Myrtle and Griselda glanced toward the door and saw a lady with two girls, both clearly her daughters, come sweeping in.
Myrtle’s gaze fastened on Penelope’s town carriage drawn up outside the shop. Conner, too, was standing on the pavement beside the door, attempting to look unobtrusive but, although not wearing livery, he, James, Phelps, and the carriage screamed of the quality of customers patronizing Myrtle’s emporium. Myrtle grinned. “The longer you and your friends remain, the better the day for me.”
As if to prove the point, the door opened again and two more ladies came in. From the way they looked around, it was plain they had not previously been in the shop.
Myrtle grunted. “It might be as well if you and your friends come through to my office.”
Retrieving the notebook, Griselda nodded. “The children can remain here with the nursemaid, if you like?”
Myrtle considered the toddlers for an instant. “No. You’d better bring them with you. My girls and the customers don’t need the distraction.”
Griselda glided about the shop, gathering the others. Myrtle flipped back the end of the counter and beckoned them through. The others followed Myrtle past the curtain. Griselda brought up the rear, setting the counter to rights, then slipping past the curtain to join the others in the small cubbyhole that served as Myrtle’s office.
It was crowded with all of them in there. Myrtle rummaged in a tin and produced two hard biscuits. She gave one to Oliver and one to Megan; Hettie had balanced both children on the top of an upturned crate in one corner. Thanking Myrtle on behalf of the children, Hettie crouched before the crate and watched over the pair while they ate.
Returning to the chair before the desk pushed against the end wall, Myrtle sat. Griselda had already slipped into the visitor’s chair. Violet and Penelope had elected to stand against the wall at her back.
Myrtle considered the three of them, trying to read their faces, then she focused on Griselda. “So what’s this about?”
Griselda chose her words with care. “A few nights ago, a lady wearing Lady Latimer’s shoes was seen fleeing the scene of a murder. Lady Latimer and her daughters were in the same house at the time, attending a ball. However, there are reasons to suspect that the lady who fled wasn’t Lady Latimer or any of her daughters. Which leads to the question of whether any other lady could have, somehow, gained access to a pair of Lady Latimer’s shoes.”
It took Myrtle a moment to follow the argument, then she scowled. “If you’re saying that I sold someone else—”
“No. We’re not even suggesting that, much less saying it.” Griselda’s tone pulled Myrtle up short. “But this is murder in the ton, the police are investigating, and it’s all quite serious, so, rather than involve the authorities directly, Lady Latimer has asked us to look into all the possible ways that some other lady might have come to have a pair of these shoes.”
“For instance,” Violet said, “you might have been burgled and lost a pair of the shoes through no fault of your own.”
“Or one of your workers might have been tempted and sold on a pair without your knowledge.” Penelope met Myrtle’s gaze. “Lady Latimer wanted us to assure you that any such accident outside your control would not be seen by her as a violation of your agreement.”
Myrtle studied Penelope for a moment, then blew out a breath. “All right. I understand—at least why you’re asking. But all I can tell you is that we haven’t lost any of our pairs of those shoes. Her ladyship and I—we were that careful when we set up the system, the ordering, the way we send the shoes to her, and so on. None have gone missing. And as for any of my workers stealing a pair, that’s nonsense. They’re all relatives of sorts, so that would be like stealing from themselves. And on top of all that, we run a very tight process on those shoes. There are never more than two pairs being made at any time, so it’s impossible for any to go missing without us noticing.” Turning to her desk, Myrtle pulled out a slim ledger. “This is the Latimer account. Those shoes are difficult to make, the materials are expensive, and the construction is time-consuming, so they end very costly. Against that, her ladyship pays me well. But because of the cost, we keep everything written down, you see.” Myrtle showed them a page of the ledger. “Every hour, every skein of thread, every last crystal.”
Violet had stepped forward to peer at the ledger. Straightening, she said, “With that degree of oversight, you would know instantly if anything went missing.”
“Exactly. That’s what I’ve been trying to say.” Myrtle closed the ledger. “If some other lady was wearing shoes like the ones we make, the
y didn’t come from here.”
“Hmm.” Penelope digested that; she had hoped that Myrtle’s shop would prove to be the source of the lady-on-the-terrace’s shoes. She frowned. “If those shoes didn’t come from here, then we’re looking for some other shoemaker.” She refocused on Myrtle. “You haven’t heard of any competitor, perchance?”
Myrtle snorted. “They’ve all been sweating in their shops trying to copy my shoes, but, so far, I haven’t heard of any succeeding—and I’m sure they would crow if they did.” She paused, then pulled a face. “I’m sure that, at some point, someone will succeed, but as far as I know, no one has yet.”
Penelope considered, then asked, “Would it be possible for us—the three of us—to see how you make the shoes? If we knew the details, there might be some way to check if anyone else has started duplicating them. I take it that there are critical points in the construction that are not common. Anything uncommon would give us a possible avenue to follow.”
Myrtle’s resistance showed in her face, but, no doubt recalling Lady Latimer’s instructions that she was to give the three ladies who called on her every possible assistance, she debated, then, eyes narrowing, said, “As none of you are shoemakers…if you will each swear on your mother’s grave that you will never divulge anything of what I show you to anyone so that it becomes common knowledge or is passed on to some other shoemaker, then, yes. I’ll show you.”
Griselda and Violet immediately put their hands over their hearts and swore the required oath.
Penelope frowned. “My mother’s not dead.”
“Your father, then,” Griselda said.
Frown evaporating, Penelope complied, rattling off her father’s title in the process, which made Myrtle’s eyes grow round.
But Myrtle duly nodded and heaved her bulk out of her chair. “Leave the little ones here—they’ll be safer.”
The Curious Case of Lady Latimer's Shoes: A Casebook of Barnaby Adair Novel (The Casebook of Barnaby Adair) Page 13