The Matchmaker's Lonely Heart

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  “At any rate, whether my subjects are in a morgue or in a drawing room, I believe Sammy White is the perfect assistant. I’m pleased with his efforts, and to my surprise, he’s quite strong for his size.”

  Amelie smiled, and Michael drifted to her side as Eva described the first photography sitting in which she’d included Sammy.

  The conversation flowed, and Amelie turned to Michael, happy for a private moment.

  “I thought you were brilliant in the witness box,” she said, and he chuckled.

  “That is one of the easier parts of the profession.” He moved closer, leaning a shoulder against the wall and creating a private cocoon for the two of them. “How are you faring?” His voice was low, and her fingers itched to touch his lapels, to pull herself into his embrace.

  “Well enough,” she managed, surprised her voice was unsteady. Though between the heady sensation of his nearness and her continually climbing nerves, it shouldn’t have surprised her at all. “I am nervous. I cannot imagine why Radcliffe would have sent that letter. He knows I will not meet him at the theatre.”

  “You are most definitely not going, and I do not care what he believes he has in his arsenal that will compel your compliance otherwise.” He frowned, finishing his meat pie in one large bite. Wiping his fingers on a handkerchief, he added, “The inquest will finish today, and hopefully the jury will not be long in rendering a decision.”

  She frowned. “Was Alexander worried about going away for a time?”

  “No. He sees himself as Clarissa’s and Mae’s protector, and truthfully, I believe he has been a reliable comfort for my sister.”

  “I feel as though I have brought danger to everybody’s front door.” She had no appetite for the rest of her pie and handed it to Michael.

  He wolfed it down in a few bites and then shook his head, again wiping his fingers clean. “You did not bring danger to anyone. If you’ll recall, it was I who ran you to ground in the park and insisted on your involvement.”

  She smiled. “You did not ‘run me to ground.’ Well, perhaps a little. You were quite fearsome, you know. Stern expression, stern voice, prepared to haul me downtown to the Yard . . .”

  He chuckled. “It had been a long day, and I was running short of options investigating Radcliffe. When I saw you observing him, and then when you admitted to knowing him . . . I suspected the worst.”

  She shook her head. “I was participating in subterfuge, though. My character was not sterling.”

  “Your character is exceptionally sterling,” he said, lowering his voice. “You are a bright spot for me in a frustrating world.”

  “I . . .” She glanced at the others, who were still in animated conversation. “I wish very much for another day at a seaside town. Perhaps not spent hunting for incriminating information on a potential madman, but just . . . together.” When had she become so bold? Had she known a month ago she would be standing much too close to a man who was most definitely not a relative and saying such things . . . the kinds of things one shared with a lover . . .

  Her cheeks burned, and she stared at his chest, rather than his face.

  “Amelie.” His voice was just above a whisper, a rumble she felt resonating clear to her soul. “Look at me.”

  She lifted her face and caught her breath at the way he studied her. As though she were the most important person in the world. As if he would carry her away on horseback to a magical kingdom.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “When this business is finished and you are safe, we will be together. Do you trust me?”

  Her eyes nearly filled with tears, a combination of anxiety and love and too many feelings to hold inside. “Yes.” She nodded. “I do trust you.” She sniffled, and he reached in his pocket for his handkerchief, but it was the one he’d used to clean his hands.

  She laughed and retrieved her own handkerchief.

  They were interrupted by Director Ellis, who called, “Baker, have you seen today’s daily edition?”

  They turned toward the others, and the director held up a newspaper that bore a bold headline on the first page.

  Judge Adams Removed from Bench in Scandal

  Michael’s mouth slackened, and he took the paper, scanning it as Amelie looked on, confused. She looked at Sally and whispered, “Who is Judge Adams?”

  The director motioned to the paper. “He is the judge who blocked the initial investigation into Mr. Radcliffe. We began asking questions just before Radcliffe disappeared to Marseilles to bury his wife, and we were told in no uncertain terms by Judge Adams to leave matters alone.”

  Michael looked up at Director Ellis, anger in his eyes. “The paper says that the judge was being blackmailed, and when the inquest into Radcliffe went forward anyway, incriminating evidence was placed in a newspaper man’s postbox.”

  Amelie sucked in a breath. She glanced uneasily at the others and said, “This was Mr. Radcliffe’s doing?”

  “It would seem so,” Director Ellis said, “but we’ve no proof beyond what the paper is reporting. I believe a visit to Judge Adams this evening is in order.”

  “Perhaps he’ll talk more freely, now that he’s lost everything,” Winston said, looking over Michael’s shoulder at the newspaper.

  A quiet bell sounded from inside, signaling the end of the recess. They were making their way back inside the building when a young clerk of the court approached Michael with an envelope.

  “This was delivered for you here, sir,” the boy said.

  Michael took the letter, frowning. “Thank you,” he said absently as the boy left.

  Amelie caught a flash of the envelope as Michael turned it over, and her heart beat into her throat. He grimly broke the wax seal and read the letter’s contents. His face reddened, and he strode away from the group, his fist clenching as he removed his hat and drew back as though to throw it.

  He took a deep breath, then returned to the group, handing the letter to Winston, who read it and passed it to the director.

  “Michael?” Amelie felt numb, frozen to the spot. “What is it?”

  Michael looked out over the crowd. “Is he here, even now?”

  Director Ellis motioned the group to the side of the hallway so others could pass by, then shook his head. “He would not show his face today. He seems to have a flair for the dramatic, however. He wanted you to receive this here, in the midst of the inquest.”

  Amelie thought she would go mad before someone finally shared what was written on the paper, but Michael looked so furious and distraught, she fought instead for patience.

  Charlotte addressed Director Ellis. “Is this something appropriate for us to know? I’ll not be demanding, but if you can share, I wish you would put us out of our misery.”

  Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. “Apologies,” he mumbled, then cleared his throat. “Radcliffe is a solicitor for civil matters that go before the Chancery. That body also hears cases involving institutionalization of those who are infirm, or mad, or—” He swallowed, and Amelie’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “Or like your brother.”

  Dearest Miss Hampton,

  Thank you so much for the candy! Michael gave it to me yesterday, and I have enjoyed it very much. Clarissa is writing this note because her script is much tidier than mine. I shall sign my own name, however. I hope to see you again soon!

  Your friend,

  Alexander Baker

  Michael was unsure how he managed to sit through the rest of the inquest. He vacillated between fury and fear. Director Ellis dispatched a team of constables to take Radcliffe into custody. He was now making veiled threats against a policeman, and Winston and Ellis planned to question him at length.

  Radcliffe had no legal standing to have Alexander institutionalized. Michael’s brother had never so much as put a foot out of line. He was always with family, he had never
harassed or hurt another person in his life. He was gainfully employed from home, making hat ribbons under Clarissa’s watchful eye.

  Radcliffe did not play by the rules, though. He did not give heed to decency or feelings of genuine concern for others. He cared only for himself, and from the sounds of it, had been that way for some time. Whether the responsibility for his character lay with Reverend Flannery or was an accident of birth, Michael did not know nor care. He wanted the man permanently behind bars and to face the consequences of murdering his wife.

  How many officials had Radcliffe managed to blackmail? Did he truly have a network, or was that part of his grandiose illusion? Was Judge Adams the one man he had in his pocket, or were there others capable of fabricating information that would see Alexander locked away in an asylum? Alexander would die in such a place, after enduring torture and humiliation.

  As the group departed from the courthouse, Sally Hampton said she would accompany her nieces back to Hampton House and remain there for the evening. Director Ellis ordered two constables to go with them.

  Amelie placed her hand on Michael’s arm, her eyes wide with concern. “Do what you must to protect them. I will be fine with my family, and I will not meet Mr. Radcliffe this evening. He will be in custody, and we shall be safe at home.”

  Michael rubbed his head. His thoughts were so splintered he hardly knew what to think. He finally nodded. “I’ll go back to the Yard with the others while they question him. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.” He paused. “I am so sorry, Amelie. I am sorry to have involved you in any of this.”

  She shook her head and clasped his hand. “I would not chose to be anywhere else. Now, go.”

  The women left with the constables, and Michael raced to join Ellis and Winston. The trip back to their offices was quiet, unbroken only when Ellis said, “He may have dirty politicians and corrupt judges, but I have my share of honorable resources, as well. Your brother will be safe and left alone, I give you my word.”

  Michael nodded his thanks and glanced at the director. It was well known in law enforcement circles that Ellis’s father was a high-ranking member of Parliament and that the father and son were not warm with each other.

  “Director,” Michael began, “I do not mean for you to compromise your own—”

  Ellis looked at him askance and smiled. “I made a vow I would never use my father or my birthright or my position in society to further my own career. But it would be irresponsible of me if I did not appeal to a member of Parliament over an injustice perpetrated against the family of a distinguished detective and servant of the Crown.”

  Michael exhaled, feeling a small flicker of hope. He had spent the entirety of Alexander’s life protecting him from those who would hurt or mock him. His mother had loved the baby even when others told her there was something wrong with the boy. Anyone who knew Alexander knew the opposite was true. His father had passed shortly before Alexander’s birth, so it had fallen to Michael to fill the role. He loved Alexander with his whole soul, and as he stared out of the carriage window at the fading light, he fought back tears of anger and abject fear.

  “We will not let anyone take your brother,” Winston said, seated across from him and watching his face. “Do you understand? I will stand armed at the door, myself.”

  Michael realized his partner was serious. “Thank you, Nathaniel.” He nodded. “My thanks.”

  “My family lives less than a thirty-minute drive from the cottage where Clarissa and Alexander are staying. When we get to the office, I’ll write a quick message and send it on the mobile post train. They’ll receive the message in an hour, at most, and they can go to the cottage to be sure all is well.”

  Michael swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I hate for them to be in harm’s way.”

  “We have a few servants who are more than equal to the task. When my mother learns of the situation . . .” Winston smiled. “She will raise the hounds of hell. She does not suffer injustices of this sort.”

  “We’ve not discussed much about your family, Winston,” Ellis said. “What . . . where . . .” He paused, pursing his lips. “What did your father do?”

  Winston smiled. “This and that.”

  You may find that the quickest way to a woman’s heart is to take her for short holidays when she least expects it. Women quite adore surprises and the like, and you’ll find yourself on the receiving end of her delight and gratitude.

  —The Gentleman’s Guide to Efficient and

  Profitable Courtship by Sir Percival Prancey

  Radcliffe’s carriage was not due to arrive for another hour, and the Hampton House residents were restless. Amelie borrowed a dustrag from Katie and had gone to work in the parlor, dusting surfaces that bore not a speck of dirt anywhere. Charlotte was in the kitchen, rolling out dough for a pie, and Eva was in her darkroom, organizing supplies and tidying up. The house was a flurry of quiet activity, save for Sally, who stood at the parlor window and looked out into the fog.

  “You love him—Detective Baker?” Sally turned to face her.

  Amelie swallowed. She hadn’t expected the question yet. She nodded. “I do. I do love him.”

  “Has he proposed marriage?”

  “I suspect he plans to do things in their proper order. He’ll speak with you first, most likely.” She managed a smile. “I do not know how much of that sort of thing will be on his mind until all of this mess is settled.” She clenched the dustrag. “Alexander is like Dennis, Aunt Sally. If he is taken—”

  “He will not be taken.” Sally’s expression hardened. “We have enough clout and money among us to protect him. Enough coins cross the right palms and the world will spin in the other direction, if you wish it.”

  Amelie nodded. Sally was a force, and Amelie relied on it. “I should like to be that person,” she said, more to herself than her aunt. “The one who makes everything right.”

  Sally crossed the room and took the dustrag from Amelie’s hands, setting it on the mantel. “Dearest. Do you not know that you already are? All three of you. You make everything right for me.” Sally’s eyes misted, and Amelie shook her head.

  “Oh, you mustn’t do that, Aunt Sally, or I shall become a puddled mess.” She kissed Sally’s cheek and laughed.

  “Has anybody seen Sammy?” Eva asked from the door. She wrinkled her forehead. “He was to have helped clean the darkroom, but Mrs. Burnette said she’s not seen him in nearly two hours. I’ve searched the house top to bottom and even spoken with the gentlemen upstairs.”

  Amelie swallowed. “He was to remain here all day for his chores.” She took a breath. “This is new for him, this routine and responsibility. Perhaps he went to the train station for a treat.” Please, please, Sammy, be at the train station for a treat.

  Eva shook her head. “I do not think so. He was looking forward to helping me. He is learning the names of all my different supplies.” Eva bit her lip and looked at the front entrance. “He was very excited.”

  Amelie looked uneasily at Sally. The thick dread that had knotted in her stomach when she found the note on her pillow tightened again.

  Charlotte appeared in the doorway, her apron, hands, and forehead dotted in flour. “Is he here?”

  Eva shook her head. “Nobody has seen him.”

  Charlotte frowned. “Surely the constables would have noticed him leaving.”

  Amelie felt a spark of hope, and Eva dashed for the front door. She yanked it open and called to the constable who was making a circuit from around the side of the house.

  “Yes, miss?”

  “Have you seen my assistant, Sammy? So tall, blond hair, respectable shirt, trousers, and suspenders?”

  “Not today, miss.”

  “What time did you arrive for your shift?”

  “Two hours ago, miss.”

  Eva stilled, and Amelie saw her fingers tigh
ten on the door until they were white. “That was the last time he was seen here,” Eva said.

  Charlotte and Amelie joined Eva at the door.

  “When you arrived to change out with the other two constables, did the four of you chat for a time? Talk together, during which time the boy might have slipped by?” Charlotte asked.

  The constable scratched his neck. “I s’pose so, miss. I do apologize. I’ll ask Constable Russ if he saw the boy.”

  They waited at the open door as the constable disappeared into the fog again, then heard him calling out to his partner. He returned quickly and said, “Russ did see the boy, ma’am! He was walking that way toward a carriage sitting just outside that door.” He pointed two doors over. “A nice, expensive carriage.”

  “Did he get in the carriage?” Charlotte asked.

  By this time, Constable Russ had also come around the corner. “He did, miss. Next I looked, it had driven away.”

  Amelie stepped back from the door, followed by Charlotte, and then Eva, who closed it quietly. She leaned against it and looked at Amelie and Charlotte, her pretty features tight with worry.

  The clock struck half past six, and Amelie reentered the parlor and slowly sat down near the fireplace. “Radcliffe was to have sent a carriage to collect me in thirty minutes. Presumably, he has already been taken into the station for questioning, but . . .” She trailed off, wondering if Sammy’s disappearance was connected to Radcliffe’s mad plans.

  Sally walked the length of the room and back. “I ought to have just installed a carriage here as I’d planned.”

  “Sally?” Amelie asked.

  “When you girls moved here, you said you did not want a carriage, but that you would travel to work and back by omnibus and cab—like others who come to the city.” She put her hands on her hips. “After tonight, that changes. You may still travel to work as you wish, but it will be by private carriage for your own safety.”

  Charlotte tried to find a clean place on her pinafore to wipe her hands. “We must get word to the detectives that Sammy has disappeared, possibly abducted. Given his connection to us, it would not be a surprise in the least. Sammy has become a regular fixture in this house, and anyone observing our comings and goings would know it.” She nodded toward Sally. “I do see your point about the convenience of a carriage.”