Scandal Above Stairs_A Below Stairs Mystery

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Well now,” the sergeant said. “If this bloke ain’t who you thought he was, then maybe your bloke killed him. I’d like to lay my hands on him—what was his name again?”

  None of us had mentioned Daniel by name. Elgin flushed and contrived to look blank.

  The sergeant scowled at us. “I can have the detective upstairs ask you, if you like.”

  Tess went a bad color, but I lifted my chin. “Ridiculous. Our friend is no murderer. It is perfectly obvious what happened—this man and a partner in crime went into the pawnbrokers to rob the place. They had a quarrel, and the second man killed the first. He was a criminal, at some time sent to Dartmoor or a like place. No doubt he escaped, or if he finished his sentence, then he went right back to thieving, as he had no other means of making a living. Depend on it, Sergeant. This is most likely what happened.”

  “That’s as may be.” The sergeant slid his gaze from me to Elgin, as though uncertain what to make of him. “Even so, you’ll come upstairs and talk to the detective inspector in charge of the case. You can put your theories to him. You seem to have believed this lad’s dad was the one killed in the shop, so you need to tell the detective just why you thought so. This way, please.”

  Elgin didn’t move. “Now, Sergeant, why don’t you let my friends go home. I’ll speak to your inspector if you like, but the lady, the lad, and the girl don’t need to remain in a police station.”

  The gesture was kind, but I was not quite sure what Elgin would say when he was taxed, and I wanted to be present to find out. “I will stay,” I said quickly. “But Mr. Thanos is correct. The boy and my servant should go.”

  The sergeant considered, his lips and brow scrunching up as he debated with himself. “They can wait in the foyer,” he concluded. “You, missus, and you, sir, will tell your tale. The inspector might want to speak to the lad though. You do want to find your dad, don’t you?”

  James only nodded in silence, which told me of his deep concern. He usually did not hesitate to make his opinions known. Tess pressed her lips firmly together and moved closer to James.

  We trooped upstairs, thankfully leaving the odor of death behind, though the scent seemed to linger as we ascended to the main hall.

  The sergeant escorted Elgin and me to a room with wooden paneling, a barred window giving onto the back of the building, and a table and four chairs. Elgin and I were directed to sit on one side of the table, while a man in a dark brown suit, his waistcoat buttoned to his chin, which wreaked havoc with his cravat, walked in and dropped a sheaf of papers on the table.

  This man had a thick yellow mustache with sideburns that grew into it, making a half circle on his face. The hazel eyes above a curved nose were impatient, distrustful, and watchful.

  “I’m Detective Inspector McGregor,” he said without so much as a good morning. “I’ll need your names and the name of the man you are looking for. And then you tell me why you thought the dead man was him, and why the sergeant says you have already solved the crime.” He pointed a thick-ended finger at me.

  I wondered whether the detective was married. I thought not, from the state of his waistcoat and lack of a wedding ring—though not everyone wore their wedding rings for every day. A wife would make sure he was properly dressed and had better manners. If he was married, I pitied the woman.

  “Of course,” Elgin said in his cultured voice. “My name is Mr. Elgin Thanos. We are—”

  The door opened abruptly, and another man walked inside. He had graying hair and an equally graying mustache, and blue eyes in a weathered face that had looked upon many terrible things. A soldier, I thought. A former one, anyway. He was better dressed than the inspector, the knot in his tie correct, and he wore an air of authority that had the inspector rising to his feet after an angry glance at me.

  “Sir,” Inspector McGregor said in grudging deference.

  “McGregor, may I have a moment?” The man beckoned McGregor out the door, leaving it open. Elgin and I exchanged a glance then watched as the new man began whispering at McGregor in the hallway. Inspector McGregor listened, his mouth turning down, his expression growing sourer by the moment.

  Finally, Inspector McGregor gave a surly nod and strode away. The other man returned to the room, not closing the door.

  “I am Chief Inspector Moss,” he said. “I apologize for the trouble.” His tone was anything but apologetic. “Go, please, and cease asking about Mr. McAdam.”

  I got to my feet, hiding my start that Chief Inspector Moss had called Daniel by name. “Do you know where he is?” I asked him.

  “No.” Moss sounded angry, both that I’d asked and that he didn’t know. “Good morning, madam, sir.”

  That seemed to be that. Chief Inspector Moss indicated the open door, in a hurry to see us go. Mr. Thanos gave him a cordial nod and escorted me out of the room.

  We made our way downstairs and back to the foyer where we collected James and Tess, James sending me an appealing look. I kept my silence, not wishing to discuss the matter within earshot of the milling constables, and heaved a sigh when we emerged onto the street, at liberty once more.

  Elgin had a hired coach waiting for him, which he kindly offered for our use. In ordinary circumstances, I would have thanked him politely and asked him to find a hansom for me, or I’d have walked to an omnibus or all the way home. I was not a frail creature.

  But James was wilting, though trying manfully not to show it, and Tess did not look much better. For their sake, I accepted Elgin’s offer.

  Tess refused to ride inside. “I’ve never ridden in a coach with a toff in me life,” she declared. “And I ain’t about to start now.” Before I or Elgin could argue, she scrambled up to sit beside the coachman, giving him a cheery, “Hiya!” as she plumped down on the seat.

  James hesitated, uncertain, but I caught him by the arm as he helped me in, and more or less dragged him inside. James landed next to me on the seat, leaning back into the corner like a frightened dog.

  Elgin pulled the carriage’s door closed once he was settled opposite us, and the coach moved forward. “Who the devil is that creature?” he asked, pointing to the roof, more or less in the direction of the coachman’s box.

  “Tess? She’s another of Daniel’s—I mean, Mr. McAdam’s—strays,” I explained. “I suppose we all are.”

  Elgin gave a laugh. “A good way of putting it, Mrs. Holloway.” He’d forgotten to remove his spectacles and gazed at me without squinting. Daniel said he ought to wear them all the time but was embarrassed by them.

  I told James what had happened in the interrogation room, which had been very little. Inspector McGregor had been less informed than we had. Chief Inspector Moss seemed to know Daniel—which meant he likely was aware Daniel had been pretending to be the pawnbroker. Had we just met Daniel’s employer? But if Daniel was working for the police, why didn’t Inspector McGregor know anything about it?

  James looked morose. “So, where’s me dad got to? If there was a fight, and that bloke was killed—was my dad there? Or did he run after the killer? Or . . .”

  He trailed off, but an alarming number of possibilities presented themselves. Daniel could have been captured by the murderer and taken away, perhaps killed elsewhere, his body at the bottom of the Thames. I did not like to think so.

  I had to acknowledge the fact that Daniel himself might have killed the man who lay in the morgue. If so, he could be anywhere by now, in any guise.

  I hoped he had fled. I would rather have him turn up in Paris, right as rain, than be deceased in the Thames, even if I could not be near him to scold him for giving us a fright.

  “We ought to go to the pawnbrokers,” I said. “Daniel might have left some indication of what happened.”

  Elgin shook his head. “Constables were all over it when I was there, not many hours ago. Guards were stationed in the street to not let anyone inside. I
suppose they worry about looters.”

  Indeed, a deserted and unguarded shop would be a target. While each bit of the jumble of things had not been worth much by itself, a thief could make himself quite a bit of money selling the whole lot.

  “Well, I will have to investigate later, in any case,” I declared. “The family will want their midday meal, and I am already behind. Drat Mr. McAdam. He’ll lose me my place.”

  My light tone made the other two grin but did not assuage my fear. I could only pray that Daniel was alive and well and would turn up with his usual energy when I least expected it.

  * * *

  * * *

  I had to say that riding in Mr. Thanos’s hired coach was a comfortable way to travel through the metropolis. My backside was far less bumped than it would have been on an omnibus or even a hansom. Plus, this coach smelled as though it had been cleaned a time or two—some of the cabs I’d ridden in had been quite disgusting.

  The coachman halted in front of number 43 Mount Street, and Elgin politely stepped out to hand me down. One reason I liked Mr. Thanos was that he treated all people with equal respect and friendliness, whether one was a cook or an earl’s daughter or a youth who’d grown up on the streets. He saw no difference between us—indeed, I don’t believe he was aware there was any.

  James scrambled down then reached up to help Tess descend. She put her hands on James’s big shoulders and braced herself to leap from the wheel, landing lightly on her feet. “Ta, then,” she called up to the coachman, who looked less annoyed than he had when she’d first climbed to him. Tess seemed to have a way with her.

  I thanked Mr. Thanos and began to follow Tess to the stairs, but Elgin put his hand on my shoulder. “I say, Mrs. Holloway.” He cleared his throat. “Will you convey my regards to Lady Cynthia? She is well?” His tone was anxious.

  Ah. I paused to give the question the attention it was due. “She is much better,” I assured him. “She did feel the pall of grief, but she is a hearty soul and has been recovering rapidly. I will certainly tell her you asked after her.”

  “Good. Good.” Elgin tried to straighten his cravat. “And is she . . . does she . . .” He gave a resigned sigh. “Oh, drat it all. I suppose it is no good to think I will encounter her again. Unless she darkens the library archives at the British Museum, or the pub near Bedford Square—scholars like myself meet there.” He sent me a hopeful look.

  “I do not know about that,” I said. “But there is a gentleman’s club in Leicester Square that she and her friends try to, as she puts it, crash. You will likely find her there on Wednesday nights.”

  Elgin gave the house above us an admiring look. “The cheek of the girl.” Then his face fell. “If it’s a members-only club, they might not let me inside.”

  “Ask her to accompany you,” I suggested. “Good morning, Mr. Thanos, and thank you for your kindness.”

  “Eh? Oh. Right.” Elgin tipped his hat to me, brushed his spectacles on the way down, realized he still had them on, and yanked them from his face, his cheeks reddening. “Good day, Mrs. H. That is—Mrs. Holloway. James, lad, don’t dash away. We’ll put our heads together and see if we can’t find your wayward father.”

  James came to him, animation in his step. “Right you are, Mr. Thanos. Be back soon, Mrs. H.” He hurried to the coach, leaping inside with Elgin behind him. Elgin raised his hand in farewell to me, and the carriage moved off.

  Tess waited for me at the door to the scullery. I ducked inside and hung my bonnet on its peg, realizing I still had my cook’s cap on—now slightly squashed beneath. A sight I must have looked. My coat, a lighter one for spring, went next to the bonnet.

  I plucked my apron from its hook, unpinned my cap and fluffed it out, and moved to the mirror on the scullery wall to set it back on. The mirror’s backing was coming off, making dark spots in the silver.

  The reflection showed Tess right behind me, almost on my heels. “So who’s he when he’s at home?” she asked. “Gent with the specs? A good friend of Mr. McAdam, is he?”

  “Mr. Thanos,” I said. “Yes, they are quite good friends. Mr. Thanos is very bright. He did well at Cambridge, I believe.” Daniel had told me Elgin had baffled his professors, who could not keep up with his quick mind.

  “Mr. McAdam likes all kinds, don’t he?” Tess observed with a shake of her head.

  “He does indeed.” I put a stern note in my voice. “Such as you and me.”

  Tess’s eyes widened. “No offense, I’m sure. Want me to peel more onions?”

  She swung away in her energetic fashion and sailed into the kitchen. I followed once I had my cap and apron adjusted to my satisfaction, but stopped short inside the doorway.

  Lady Cynthia sat at the kitchen table, dressed in a man’s suit, reading a copy of the Sporting Times. The footmen and maids went about their business around her, used to Lady Cynthia running downstairs to avoid what she called the stifling atmosphere above stairs.

  As soon as Cynthia spied me, she threw down the paper and came to her feet. “I saw you rush off in a hansom, Mrs. H. Where did you go, and what the devil has happened?”

  8

  “Errands,” I extemporized, mindful of the scullery maid who washed dishes; Charlie, the boy who kept the fire high sitting in his favorite corner; and Mr. Davis, who leaned to watch us from the servants’ hall as he vigorously rubbed a cloth over a silver tureen. “Now there is much to do. I have tarts to make and greens to buy. Tess, we need to go to the market.”

  “You’ve only just returned.” Mr. Davis crossed to the kitchen doorway, tureen in hand. I could smell the washing soda, vinegar, and lemon juice in his polish that he made himself. He refused to buy polish from a shop, he said, because who knew what sort of chemicals were put into such concoctions? I agreed. Every day we read of scientists who pour beakers of liquid together and create some substance with an unpronounceable name that we have done just fine without for centuries.

  “Elsie,” I called to the scullery maid. “When you’ve done with the dishes, bring out the soup pot and make sure it’s clean. I’ll do a vermicelli soup today with clear stock, fry some sole in butter, and have veal cutlets for meat. And I need to make tarts—break up the loaf of sugar in the larder and put it into a large bowl for me. Charlie, make sure the fire is stoked high, as I’ll have to cook everything quickly. Mr. Davis, I imagine you’ll have that tureen clean for me by the time I need it. Tess, you must learn to buy the food we are to eat, so off we go.”

  Tess, who’d just hung up her hat, blinked at me a moment, then caught on, yanked down the hat, and jammed it back on her head. “Right you are, Mrs. Holloway.”

  “I beg your pardon, your ladyship,” I said to Cynthia, who had sunk back into the chair, watching as the staff scrambled to obey me. “We must go at once, or the best produce will be gone.”

  I hesitated, waiting for her to dismiss me, because of course I could not simply turn around and rush out when a lady of the house was present.

  Cynthia raised her brows, her slim chest in her man’s waistcoat rising. She seemed to understand, because she came to her feet again and waved a long-fingered hand. “Yes, yes, go on.” She moved her gaze about the kitchen, taking in the servants who had frozen as soon as she’d risen. “Carry on, you lot.”

  Folding her paper under her arm, Cynthia marched to the stairs and started up them. In a few moments, the door above clicked closed, and she was gone. The servants let out their breaths and returned to their duties, the scullery maid taking up the singing she liked to do as she washed.

  I reflected, as Tess and I made our way out of doors again, that poor Lady Cynthia was out of place in both worlds. She’d never be servant class—she couldn’t help her birth—but she was uncomfortable in the world of upper-class ladies and gentlemen. They didn’t like her reading the racing news and riding horses hell-for-leather, and driving rigs, and she didn’t like to
put on lacy frocks and discuss the difficulty of finding a good lady’s maid. The chemical-making professors at the lofty universities could devise new forms of fuel for our lamps every year, but they could not formulate a way for a person who feels herself outside of things to have a happy place in the world.

  “Are we really going to the market?” Tess asked as we reached the street. The day had turned cool, clouds obliterating the sunshine.

  “Of course we are,” I said. “I had intended to all along, except we were distracted.”

  “By a dead body? Oh aye, missus, I’d say that was distracting. What we going to do about Mr. McAdam?”

  “Everything we can.” I shivered, and not because of the wind. I wanted to find Daniel, make certain he was all right. “But if we wish to keep our places, we will get the master and mistress their midday meal.”

  So saying, I walked briskly to South Audley Street and turned north this time, heading to Grosvenor Square and Oxford Street beyond it.

  The best place to go to market was Covent Garden for produce and many other wares, Smithfield for meat. But that was only if one rose early and hastened through the wakening city to choose the best foodstuffs before every other housewife, cook, kitchen maid, chef, and restaurant staff got there too.

  When I could not go to the main markets or send someone in my stead, I made do with shops and greengrocers—after all, that is what they are for. A number of shops have sprung up in and around Mayfair to cater to the wealthy households.

  “You must cultivate a good rapport with the grocers and butchers in your neighborhood,” I told Tess as we walked. “If they like you, they’ll save the best bits for you and knock a few pence off the price. Now, if they don’t like you, they’ll try to sell you spoiled meat, sugar that’s half full of sand, and flour that’s mostly powder. You have to watch them, my girl, so look sharp but be ever so polite.”

  “Are you saying they try to swindle you?” Tess asked in indignation. “Huh. And people call me a bad ’un.”