With Good Grace (Victorian Vigilantes Book 3)

by Wendy Soliman

  Jake tapped on the door with the handle of his cane and it was opened almost immediately by a large man with a florid face, a receding hairline that compensated for his expanding waistline, and a beaming smile. That smile faded when he espied Jake.

  ‘Who are you, sir? I was not expecting you. Do we have an appointment? I only see people by appointment, you know. I’m far too busy otherwise. Inundated with actors desperate for me to represent them, so I am.’ He examined Jake’s face. ‘With a profile such of yours, I can see that you would be an immediate sensation providing, of course, that you can act. That always helps but is not necessarily an essential requirement.’ He laughed as his own feeble joke. ‘What have you done? Would I have seen you perform anywhere recently? I’m sure I would remember, but still…’

  ‘I am not an actor,’ Jake said.

  ‘Ah, shame.’ The fat man pulled a mournful face. He didn’t introduce himself, but Jake recognised him as Barber from Parker’s description. ‘The most promising ones never are.’

  Barber was not expecting Jake but it was evident that he had been expecting someone else; presumably a lady, given the almost overwhelming amount of cologne he wore and the disappointment he could not hide when he found a male at his door. Jake sneezed as Barber’s almost effeminate perfume tickled his nose, handed him his card and pushed past him into a tastefully appointed outer office. The décor was not in keeping with Barber’s flamboyant character, leaving Jake to suppose that the office had been furnished and decorated by his predecessor.

  There was two good quality wing-backed chairs on either side of a small fireplace, with a table between them, upon which rested magazines and theatre notices. The walls were lined with advertisement boards for various productions. Jake recognised the names of some of the leading actors whom Barber had inherited along with this agency. There was another door, leading to what must be Barber’s private office. He could see the edge of a large desk covered in papers, and one wall was taken up by a large daybed. Jake wondered if Barber lived on the premises or if he used that couch for other purposes.

  ‘Lord Torbay. I have heard of you. Every matron with a daughter of marriageable age despairs of ever catching up with you. I keep my ear to the ground, you see.’ He tapped the side of his bulbous nose. ‘Pays to know what the upper classes get up to when at play. Anyway, Barber’s the name.’ He introduced himself at last, extending a soft, fleshy hand that Jake took in a firm grasp and quickly released, resisting the urge to wipe his own hand on the side of his coat as he did so. Barber was nervous, as evidenced by his sweaty hand. ‘But, of course, you must know who I am. That is why you are here, although I cannot think what service I can be to a gentleman of your stature. No sir, indeed I cannot.’

  ‘I shall not keep you for long,’ Jake said when Barber paused long enough for him to get a word in edgeways. ‘I represent Mrs Olivia Grantley’s interests.’

  Jake examined Barber’s reaction closely as he mentioned Olivia’s name, but he showed no alarm at hearing it; merely sympathy and pleasure.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Grantley.’ He exhaled an expressive sigh that would not have disgraced one of his most talented actors. ‘A charming lady. Such a shame that she was accused of murdering her husband. Anyone with a lick of sense would realise that such a delicate creature would be incapable of such an iniquitous act. However, it all worked out for the best.’ Barber slapped a hand against his fleshy thigh. ‘Damn it, sir, you are the cove who proved her innocence! I knew your name was associated with more than just the aspirations of hopeful debutantes. Allow me to shake your hand for a second time.’ Jake reluctantly extended his hand, wishing that he had kept his gloves on. Barber grasped it in both of his and gave it an enthusiastic pump. ‘How can I be of service to Mrs Grantley?’

  ‘You are acquainted with her?’ Jake knew they had never met but would be interested to hear what the loquacious Barber had to say on the matter.

  ‘Alas not, I have merely seen and admired from a distance. She was often at the theatre with her husband, you know. I purchased this agency from her late husband’s estate but it was dealt with through lawyers. Naturally, Mrs Grantley would not involve herself in men’s business.’

  Care to take a wager on that? ‘You had visitors the other night and a man died on these premises.’

  Barber’s face paled, ugly red veins that Jake had not previously noticed now prominently criss-crossing his nose and fleshy cheeks. ‘Most lamentable. That poor man.’ Barber shook his head in woeful dismay, causing his jowls to wobble. ‘I was never more shocked.’

  ‘You employ a night watchman?’

  ‘No, sir. His wages are…were…paid by a conglomeration of business owners in this district. There have been a number of burglaries and…well, efficient though the police might pretend to be, they cannot be everywhere. The burglaries had decreased sharply since we employed our man; until two nights ago.’

  ‘Do you keep anything of value in these premises?’

  ‘Nothing at all, I can assure you of that. I cannot think why someone would choose to break in here when it must be obvious by the nature of my business that little or no cash is involved.’ Barber produced a large handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘Oh dear me, no. I flatter myself that I am more discreet than that.’

  ‘Were any other businesses broken into that night?’

  ‘No. We…that is Chief Inspector Drake assumes mine was the first. They intended to move on but the unfortunate night watchman bravely interrupted them, they lost their nerve, having killed the poor man, and fled.’

  That was precisely the conclusion that lazy, inept Drake would reach, Jake knew. ‘Was anything stolen?’ he asked.

  ‘Goodness me, sir, I doubt it. There made a terrible mess so it’s hard to tell. Still sorting it all out.’ He waved vaguely in the direction of his office. ‘Pulled all my papers out but there was nothing of a confidential nature that would benefit anyone else.’ He scratched his head, leaving red marks on his scalp in the wake of his fingers. ‘Deuced odd, and that’s a fact.’

  Jake had not been invited to sit down and so remained standing, leaning one elbow against the mantelpiece. ‘I believe you inherited all of Grantley’s actors when you purchased this agency.’

  ‘Yes indeed.’ He stood a little straighter and grasped his lapels. ‘We are still one big happy family despite the travails of the past few years.’

  ‘I imagine other managers circled your top actors, hoping to entice them away. Some of them are quite well known. Even I recognise their names and yet, excuse me if this sounds blunt, but Michael Denton and others remained loyal to you; a relative unknown.’

  ‘I will have you know, sir, that I have been in this business for years and have a reputation for being a safe pair of hands. Besides,’ he added, almost reluctantly. ‘They are under contract.’

  Of course they would be; Jake ought to have thought of that. He would look into the nature of those contracts; already convinced that for influential people who could afford the best lawyers there would be a way around contractual obligations that no longer suited them. Barber would probably release them, for a consideration, rather than have it dragged through the newspapers that they were dissatisfied with his services. The more he thought about it, the more convinced Jake became that those contractual obligations did not keep Barber’s leading lights loyal. But, quite apart from anything else, pride would prevent Barber from telling him why the likes of Verity Aspin stayed with him, even if he knew the answer himself. Jake suspected that he did not. The man was an affable fool. Jake had spent the past decade rooting out rogues of all guises and was already convinced that Barber was guilty of nothing more sinister than an inflated opinion of his own self-worth.

  ‘What got you into this business, Barber?’

  ‘I was born under the spotlights, or so it sometimes feels. Both my parents were actors and it’s in my blood.’ He gave a self-conscious little laugh. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t act myself. Tried it and got nowhere, but I h
ave forged all manner of useful contacts over the years, so it seemed logical to branch out into management.’

  Jake nodded, having suspected something of that nature. ‘Grantley and Madame Céleste were friendly, I gather,’ he said.

  Barber stood a little straighter and rested his hands on his protruding stomach. ‘As are that lady and my good self.’

  ‘But, unlike Grantley, you do not invest in some of her more avant-garde productions?’

  Barber treated Jake to a mournful look. ‘Alas, much as I admire her taste, foresight and daring, all of my capital was used in the purchase of this agency.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Jake suspected that he would not learn anything else of value from Barber. If he wanted to know why the actors remained under his management he would have to speak to them himself. Even so, that was unlikely to bear fruit. If Grantley was holding something over them, and if one of them was determined to regain that evidence, especially if they did not care about who was murdered along the way, then they were hardly likely to volunteer anything of value.

  ‘Tell me, have any of your top actors asked if you hold anything personal of theirs? Letters perhaps that Grantley passed on to you. Something of that nature.’

  Barber thought for a moment. ‘You know, I cannot think that any of them have. If they did, I could tell them at once that the only items in the files that Grantley kept on them pertain to their business relationship with this establishment.’

  That was what Jake had feared.

  ‘Thank you, Barber.’ Jake abandoned the mantelpiece and turned towards the door. ‘You have my card. If you discover anything missing, have the goodness to contact me at once.’

  ‘May I ask what interest this business is to Mrs Grantley? You say that you represent her interests, but the good lady has no further connection to this agency.’

  ‘She heard about the break-in and was concerned that someone was trying to tarnish her late husband’s memory.’ Jake somehow managed not to smile at the ridiculous nature of the falsehood Barber appeared to accept. ‘Thanks to you, I shall be able to put her mind at rest.’

  ‘Then I am delighted to have been of some small service.’ Barber bowed low. ‘Please send the lady my warmest regards.’

  Jake managed to leave without having to endure a third sweaty handshake. It was almost time for luncheon. He would return to Grosvenor Square, see if Olivia had made any progress and update her on his own meagre findings.

  He entered his library to find the table covered with neat piles of papers and Olivia and Parker engaged in animated conversation.

  ‘Ah, Jake, there you are.’ Olivia smiled at him. ‘Parker has just been on an errand and was telling me how he got on. You might as well hear it too.’

  Jake listened as Olivia explained about the compromising letters she had found from Lady Marchant. Olivia handed one of them to him. His brows rose as he read its indiscreetly graphic contents.

  ‘Parker and I could not understand why Hubert would not have taken these letters. We know he went through Marcus’s papers whilst I was in prison. So I sent Parker to Cheyne Walk to ask Green. As you know, he is the only servant who came to Chelsea with me from Belgravia. I wanted a fresh start, with as few reminders as possible of Marcus. But Green was unswerving loyal to me, and too old to find another position.’

  Jake smiled. Even at her lowest ebb, she still found compassion for others. ‘What did Green have to say for himself, Parker?’ Jake asked, taking the seat beside Olivia.

  ‘A very great deal. You were right, Mrs Grantley. Those particular papers were hidden. Green knew there was a nook in the wainscoting in your husband’s library. He was in there once and saw him open it. Grantley swore him to secrecy. He was very worried about you when you were in prison and, as he puts it, disgusted with Sir Hubert’s proprietary attitude; the manner in which he acted as though he was now master of the house when you had not even been convicted of wrongdoing. He confirms that Sir Hubert searched every inch of your husband’s library and dressing room, went through every paper and became quite agitated when he could not find what he was looking for. Green suspected that whatever he sought was safely concealed in that nook but felt no pressing need to inform Sir Hubert. Besides, he never asked him.’

  ‘Was there anything else in that nook?’ Jake asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ah, it would have been too much to suppose that whatever Grantley held over those actors would have been concealed there also.’

  ‘Perhaps there were other hiding places,’ Olivia mused.

  ‘If there are, then the papers are lost to us. We cannot gain access to that house now.’

  ‘Green said that when you asked him to clear out the library, he thought of that hiding place and emptied it out.’

  ‘Why the devil didn’t he mention it to Olivia?’ Jake asked.

  ‘He maintains that he tried but you were still recovering from your ordeal, ma’am. You didn’t want to hear your husband’s name mentioned, and especially not Sir Hubert’s. You felt betrayed by the entire family.’

  ‘That is certainly true.’ A glimmer of a smile played about Olivia’s lips. ‘I hope Green didn’t read those letters. The contents would have given him apoplexy.’

  ‘I am sure Green would not read someone else’s correspondence,’ Jake said with acuity.

  ‘No, he maintains that he did not,’ Parker affirmed. ‘He simply looked at the dates on them and slipped them into the file for that particular year. He felt that if they were important then you would come across them when you felt able to look at Grantley’s papers.’

  ‘Dear, faithful Green,’ Olivia said with a sigh. ‘Always so worried about my sensibilities.’

  ‘We must assume that Sir Hubert knows about these letters, because I gather your husband shared most things with him.’ He looked to Olivia for confirmation and she nodded. ‘Well then, if he is as desperate as we think he is, it stands to reason that he would want possession of them so that he could blackmail the lady.’

  ‘What ought I to do with them?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘They should to be returned to Lady Marchant; but not yet. Not until we have got to the bottom of this business. In the meantime, with your permission, I shall lock them in my safe. Better…well…safe than sorry.’

  ‘By all means.’ Olivia screwed up her nose. ‘How did you get on, Jake?’

  ‘Sir Hubert did not reach the Garrick Club on the day he disappeared. I am now perfectly satisfied on that score. And the mystery A.C. did not appear either. So I went to see Barber.’

  ‘Colourful character, ain’t he,’ Parker said, chuckling.

  ‘Indeed.’ Jake sighed. ‘He maintains all the top actors stayed with him because, in his own words, he is a safe pair of hands. Oh, and because they were under contract.’

  ‘I saw a copy of one of Marcus’s contracts somewhere,’ Olivia replied. ‘I kept it.’

  ‘Good. I will take a look at it later. Barber, unfortunately, told me little so unless your husband’s papers throw up any further clues, then we are no further forward. I might pay a visit to Madame Céleste to see if she can cast any light, but this afternoon I shall remain here with you, Olivia, and help you go through the rest of the boxes.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She glanced out of the window as fat raindrops fell against the glass. ‘Oh dear, Tom will be disappointed. I told him that if the weather held Jane would take him to the park this afternoon so that he could sail his boat on the lake.’

  ‘It had best wait until tomorrow,’ Jake replied, peering through the window at a rapidly darkening sky. ‘This looks set to continue for the rest of the day.’

  Olivia shook her head. ‘You have clearly never had to tell a three-year-old that a day is not an eternity.’

  Jake laughed. ‘Speaking of Tom, any news on the purchaser of the boat he had taken such a liking to?’

  Parker repeated what little he had found out.

  ‘We are chasing our tails,’ Olivia cried,
throwing up her hands in frustration. ‘And we’re no nearer to tracking Hubert down. I have written to Margaret, as you asked,’ she added, ‘and I’m hopeful of receiving a reply by tomorrow.’

  ‘Parker, this afternoon I want you to do the rounds of the homes of Sir Hubert’s friends here in London. Talk to the servants, see if they have heard or seen anything that might point to his whereabouts.’

  ‘Margaret said she had spoken to them all,’ Olivia reminded him.

  ‘I doubt very much she has spoken to the servants, and they often know more about what goes on in a household than their masters do. I don’t anticipate finding Sir Hubert hiding out with one of them,’ Jake replied. ‘But he might have other friends willing to shelter him that his wife doesn’t know about.’

  ‘You are thinking of a lady?’ Olivia asked.

  ‘Indeed.’ Jake smiled at her. ‘Sir Hubert is blessed with good looks and coercive charm; attributes which I feel persuaded he would not hesitate to exploit to his advantage.’

  Olivia’s mouth turned down. ‘Rather as Marcus did.’

  ‘Exactly so.’

  ‘Right,’ Parker said. ‘I’ll see to it right away.’

  Olivia stood, compelling Jake to do so also. She found the list Lady Grantley had provided of her husband’s closest friends and handed it to Parker. He scanned it and nodded.

  ‘I know where to find all of ’em,’ he said, leaving the room with the list clutched in his hand.

  ‘You look pale,’ Jake said, resuming his seat after Olivia had taken hers and reaching for her hand. ‘This has been too much for you. I am sorry you had to read those letters. I wish I could have spared you that.’