“Well I shan’t beat about the bush, Miss Bairstow.”
“Julia. Please.”
“My apologies. Julia.” His eyes narrowed, heavy under a wrinkled, officious brow. “It’s just that Inspector Statham told me I should feed you some cock and bull story about following up leads and collating evidence…you know, to make you think we’re making headway.” His fingertips played a nervous melody on the brim of the hat he held at his waist. “But the truth is—”
“You’re getting nowhere?”
“I’m afraid not. Whoever killed your sister managed to get in without breaking a single lock or window, left no fingerprints and escaped without being seen or heard by anyone. Your sister must have put up quite a struggle, though. We found broken crockery on the floor, dents and scuff marks on the cupboards and traces of her hair were found all over the kitchen. Our best guess is she opened the front door to someone who then fought his way in—you don’t have a chain—”
“We never got around to paying a locksmith.”
“I doubt if that would have stopped him at any cost. Georgina tried to escape the back way and that’s where the real struggle took place. Like I said, she fought bravely but the intruder knew what he was doing. Her knife wounds suggest this person had killed before.”
“How so?” She kept her focus on his cool performance, his masculine, understated body language—he stood solidly and averted his eyes only at the most grisly words. Watching him helped deflect from the awful images her mind played out in sickening detail, over and over until she saw exactly how her sister was murdered.
“You really oughtn’t hear the details, Julia.”
“Georgy would want me to know.”
“Very well.” He shifted his weight. His cheek muscle twitched and his eyes filled with pity. “The killer first stabbed her upward between her ribs, which is a fatal wound but not necessarily one an amateur killer would attempt. It was very clean. Then he slit her throat with a single, again very clean, wound.”
Julia felt her eyes darting, desperate to escape the imagery. The scene was closer than it had been even two feet away in the flesh. She clamped her hand over her mouth and turned from Grant. She shut her eyes tight. Someone had planned to end Georgy’s life. What sense did that make? What had she ever done to anyone? A part-time maid and nanny for the well-to-do over on Bond Street and Challenger Row? She would have been twenty-six next birthday. She loved big dogs and adventurous men.
Julia snatched up the brass clock from her bedside table. With a furious scream, she smashed it into a hundred pieces on the wall over her bed. When she looked down, sharp fragments had transformed the comfortable quilt into a surface she daren’t touch.
“Julia, I don’t want you to hear any more.” His gentle hands settled on both her shoulders this time. She flinched.
“It’s quite all right, Constable Grant. I’ve heard enough.” She paused, remembering Georgy’s disdain for propriety. What would she do in a situation like this? Certainly not stand back and hide under a veil. “Grant, what’s your first name?”
“Um, Aloysius.”
Glowing with her sister’s fire, Julia turned—how splendidly handsome he was, the type of man she and Georgy would have squabbled over in an effort to decide who saw him first—and kissed him on the cheek. No reaction at first. She expected him to recoil but instead he stared down at his feet, apparently perceiving her advance as a grief-addled impulse to be pitied, not acknowledged.
But then he looked up and offered her his arm, tears streaming down his face.
Chapter Four
“Walk with me?” Grant had already reached for the doorknob.
Julia plucked her yellow hat from the stand. “Of course. Let us get some fresh air.”
No sooner had she turned the key behind them when Grant let go of her arm to roughly wipe the tears from his face with both hands. He’d heard someone climbing the stairs. Very acute hearing, Julia decided, as she had to hold her breath to discern the faint creaking steps—perhaps two flights below…or three. No, a few moments later there appeared a decorative royal boater with a black feather plume. Next, the woman’s slender shoulders appeared, elegantly clad in a beige leather jacket that lay open at the front and barely reached the lady’s waist. She wore a smart Parisian lace blouse, a full-length black skirt with scarlet trim and pointy brown leather boots with stout high heels. It was a unique and stylish ensemble that screamed ‘more privileged than you’.
“Mr. Grant, is it? How nice to see you again.”
“Lady Law?”
“I did not know you had joined the force, sir.”
Awestruck, Julia curtsied before Grant had a chance to introduce her. And just like that, the most famous woman in Europe was standing before her, giving her—Julia Bairstow—a nod. No more than five foot two, Lady Law, even at first glance, was a mass of contradictions. Her sweet porcelain face would have melted butter, but her eyes—Lord, those big, hazel eyes—held a pinpoint intensity, as though her vision found no obstacle, physical or otherwise. Her dress and slim, stunning figure were aggressively sexual, her strict comportment radiated a potent, charismatic aura yet her voice was rather soft and silly. She reminded Julia of a strict schoolmarm turned adventurer, trapped in the body of a teenaged princess, trying to convince the world she meant business.
No one could deny she had succeeded at the latter.
“Miss Bairstow, is it? You have your sister’s complexion…” Lady Law commented as she stepped to one side, “…and an equally elegant profile.”
“Ma’am.” Not knowing how to respond, Julia flushed red but managed to maintain eye contact.
“Harriet Law. How do you do?”
“How do you do?” Julia’s elocution rose to the occasion. “I did not know you were acquainted with Georgina.”
“She cleant my house on Challenger Row twice a week. A lively and most agreeable girl. I would like to offer my condolences.”
“Thank you, ma’am. She never mentioned—”
“And to extend my services, free of charge, in seeing this investigation through to its conclusion. Georgina performed an admirable service one morning in September, at my neighbour’s house, when young Phyllis Redding gave birth prematurely. I was sadly of little help, for all my scientific qualities, but your sister proved quite the wonderful midwife. The doctor said she spared Phyllis a great discomfort.”
Julia swallowed hard, recalling her sister’s flippant account of the incident. “A girl next door had a baby today. Sweetest thing you ever saw. A mite small but cute as a button. Do you suppose either of us will ever have one, Jules?”
Lady Law’s unblinking stare switched to Grant, then back to Julia. She went on, “I feel obliged to extend to her that same dedication. Too many good people die each year with no one to speak for them.” It sounded rote, like a quotation from her book.
“If Georgina’s murderer is to be brought to justice, I submit that neither Scotland Yard nor the London Constabulary is equipped to achieve it. My sources tell me their investigation has already met a dead end. No offence to you, Mr. Grant.”
Her insignificant nod toward him reeked of petty disdain. “As you may know, Miss Bairstow, my investigative record of over six hundred and fifty cases stands at one hundred percent. I have never failed to identify the guilty party or parties in any instance and my reports have led to the arrest and incarceration of hundreds of dangerous criminals throughout the country. Time is my only handicap. Yet I am willing to set aside all pending cases to see that Georgina’s killer does not escape justice.” She paused. “Do I have your permission to proceed, Miss Bairstow?”
A part of Julia wanted to say no just to see what Lady Law would do, but how could anyone refuse a guarantee like that? The most famous private detective in the world offering her services unsolicited…and gratis? This had to be some sort of publicity stunt. Georgy had never mentioned that she cleant Lady Law’s house…or maybe she had. Georgy’s keyhole tales had featu
red a veritable rogue’s gallery of famous acquaintances over the years, everyone from Phileas Fogg to Rudyard Kipling. Julia couldn’t remember half of them.
“Perhaps Miss Bairstow needs a little time to consider your offer,” Grant interrupted.
Lady Law didn’t hesitate. “I apologize for pressing, I really do, but the longer we wait, the more convoluted the investigation may become. You see, the killer now has a weeklong head start and hindsight is a criminal’s best weapon. It affords him the opportunity to muddy his tracks, to revise his habits and to think omnisciently. Perhaps he will even procure false alibis or emergency funds to flee London, etcetera. The ideal time to start an investigation is within forty-eight hours of the crime. While my untarnished record suggests such constraints are of no import, I can safely say they are indeed vital—if not to the end result, then most assuredly to my own efficiency—for the quicker I can solve each crime, the more crimes I am able to solve. And that, my friends, is where you come in.”
Julia was about to shake her hand and give a gracious nod when Grant, dry-eyed, hands clasped behind his back, stepped forward. “Thank you, ma’am. Miss Bairstow will give you her answer shortly. Now if you don’t mind, we were about to take a ride on an airship.”
“We were?” Julia butted in.
He blinked at her. “Yes, don’t you remember? The Dover flyover I was telling you about. Professor McEwan begins his descent today.”
“Oh, the iron mole!” Julia enthused, cottoning on to his little escape plan. “I’m such a flibbertigibbet today.” She turned to Lady Law. “Yes, he was just about to buy me lunch on the Pegasus while we watch Professor McEwan’s burrowing machine. Apparently they are aiming to reach the earth’s core. I wonder where he will pop up when he reaches the far side?”
“Timbuktu,” scoffed Grant, offering Julia his arm. “Good day, Lady Law.” He turned his back before she had a chance to reply. What was it about her that he disliked so much? Where had they met before? Might they have been lovers?
“Actually, the Pegasus does not depart until eleven-fifteen.” Lady Law swept ahead of them onto the staircase and without turning her head, continued, “Miss Bairstow and I have almost two hours to chat before then. Am I right in assuming she wishes to accept my offer?” She was unbearably arrogant, but it was still an invitation Julia was not about to decline, not if it meant catching Georgy’s killer.
“Yes, I would be extremely grateful.”
Just before the next flight of steps, Lady Law turned and flashed Julia a narrow yet bonnie smile that made her look like a shy teenager posing for a class photograph. “I am glad. And what I have to ask will not take long, I assure you. Do you attend church, Miss Bairstow?”
“At Easter and at Christmas, otherwise only occasionally.” What on earth does church have to do with anything? “Georgy and I always go—went—to the carol service at St. Paul’s.”
“I only ask because I prefer to interview my clients in church. It may sound unorthodox but there is nowhere more conducive to trust and forthrightness. One need not think of it as a confessional, but even the farthermost pew in a church holds that same spiritual ease, that confidence where two people can talk softly and withhold nothing.”
“In which holy place will this interrogation take place?” Grant mocked, his entire demeanour now ice-cold.
“Wherever Miss Bairstow likes. The church was only a suggestion. If it is better to go someplace—”
“No, no, church is fine,” replied Julia. “I would feel more comfortable in a church.”
“Wonderful. I have transportation waiting outside. My driver will take us. And Mr. Grant, I will make sure Miss Bairstow arrives at the Pegasus platform in plenty of time.” With a quick, devilish wink, she added, “It will also give you the opportunity to change out of your uniform, sir.”
Grant mumbled something and then let go of Julia’s arm at the reception desk. “Lady Law, good day. Julia, I will see you shortly.”
She loved that he had called her Julia in public.
“Promise I won’t be late.” She grinned and offered him her hand, which he kissed like a gentleman.
Lady Law left him with another incomplete nod.
Outside, a bizarre, two-wheeled brass vehicle waited by the kerb. It appeared to be a kind of steam-powered penny-farthing bicycle with a scaled-down front wheel. Its rear half incorporated a compact steam engine with twin cylinders over the smaller wheel. Instead of pedals, pistons powered the front wheel via two outward-pointing, v-shaped cylinders and two smaller crank wheels on a long axle. Julia had never seen anything so…clumsy-looking.
“A new toy?” she asked.
“A prototype, yes.” Lady Law handed her a pair of goggles and ushered her around the far side, to a two-seated sidecar. This ran on three wheels and was attached to the penny-farthing’s frame by two long brass pipes. Julia frowned. The contraption didn’t look safe at all.
“I find it best to set trends, not follow them,” Lady Law added.
The driver, a gaunt man with the face of a starved ox, wore a canvas trench coat and a leather cap. He motioned to help Lady Law into the sidecar, but she waved him away like he was a pesky Portobello bum. Julia was all too glad to be given the VIP treatment, however, and grinned to herself as she climbed into the rear compartment, delighting in the knowledge that, for all Lady Law’s fame and fortune, when it came to dealing with ordinary folk she hadn’t the manners of a cancan dancer
Genuflecting on a weekday in an almost empty church put Julia in a strange, melancholy mood. Without Georgy at her side she didn’t feel like praying, and who could she whisper the day’s gossip to? The loneliness seeped through her. Then she thought of Aloysius Grant and his invitation to the Dover flyover—a marvellous first date, even though it wasn’t really a date. He’d improvised it on the lam. Or had he? He’d seen to her every want over the past few days, often personally. A senior constable had the power to delegate, but Grant had, it seemed to Julia, used every excuse to spend time with her. He’d telephoned her employers to ensure she would still have both jobs after her week off, helped her put together a shopping list and checked up on her three times a day despite having two constables watching the hotel day and night. Grant had become her guardian angel in blue.
“Lovely choir, are they not?” Lady Law whispered. Her reverent gaze toward the balcony over the altar lasted a good half minute, after which she led Julia to the middle of a pew near the rear of the church. St. Bartholomew’s was a tall, cavernous building, one of the oldest in London. A stupendous brass pipe organ behind the altar dominated the front of the church. The choir’s beautiful rendition of “Bring Flowers of the Rarest” soared among tight-ribbed rafters and ancient stone alcoves, the faint echoes of chords dovetailing high above.
Lady Law sat on the wooden seat then leant forward, shifted a tatty leather hymn book to one side. “Is it not the most calming sensation? That meeting of mind and moment. The whisper in an empty church. An unsurpassed solace, surely.
“What was the last thing you and your sister talked about?” Lady Law kept her gaze on the empty pew in front of her.
“I beg your pardon, but what does that have to do with—”
“Perhaps nothing. But it is usually a good way to set the client at ease when thinking of a loved one. Remembering them in an everyday context is one of the best ways to break the ice. I know how hard it can be, Miss Bairstow.”
“You lost someone?”
“My father…in India, when I was small.”
Julia stole a glance at Lady Law from the corner of her eye. “A coincidence then. Georgina and I were also born in India on a tea plantation. Our parents emigrated here when I was nine, but it was a shock when they found out how little a rupee bought in England. To make matters worse, one of Father’s speculative investments flopped and we fell from being moneyed landowners to working-class civvies in a matter of months. The old story, I suppose: the grass is greener ‘til it ain’t.”
“…E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me, still all my song shall be, nearer, my God, to Thee…” sang the choir, already on to the next song in their practice session.
“Nicely put, Julia. May I call you Julia?”
“Of course…” Julia waited for a reciprocal offer.
“England is the land of opportunity,” continued Lady Law, her soft voice settling into an affected, storyteller’s rhythm, “but only for a tiny, tiny minority. My father tried his hand at various small business enterprises here—a whole raft of them—throughout his twenties and thirties, without success, before he accepted a job as cartographer on a privately funded Himalayan expedition. Good money, good enough for my mother to sail to India and live with her uncle, a retired sergeant major. That’s where I was born. I spent less than a year with my father, all told, between his expeditions, before he was killed in the Zulu massacre at Isandlwana. That was the summer of my fourteenth birthday.”
“When did you move to England?” asked Julia, feeling closer to this superior woman than she had ever thought possible.
“When I was seventeen. My mother forbade it—insisted a single girl of no standing was doomed to a life of poverty in London. And she was right. By all trends and wisdom I ought not to be a lady with a title. Women marry into nobility or accumulate a fortune in business or, more often, inherit their place in that world. So how is it, you ask, that an unattached girl toting thirty pounds and no references managed to conquer Britannia herself?”
“I have not read your book, I am sorry to say.”
A sweet, feminine titter. “I will summarise it for you, Julia. It simply essays that justice, like any of Nature’s forces, is about balance. The same decade that poisoned London with Jack the Ripper also saw me arrive, from equal obscurity, with the means to apprehend him. If there is one way to describe my gift, it is as the antidote to an ever-worsening criminality. Muggings have become more vicious, killings more rife. I have at my disposal an intuition I cannot explain and it has stricken fear into the hearts of all potential criminals. I do not claim any supernatural gift. On the contrary, I consider this talent to be nature at its clearest. Every evil done can be undone. Wherever a natural poison is found in the world, nature also stocks a remedy nearby. I am here for a reason, of that I have no doubt. God gave me this talent for deduction and I will use it to assist the law as long as I am able.”
The Mysterious Lady Law Page 3
