“I took no notice. I was eager to be off and headed straight to Grosvenor Street to find a hack. If anyone was lurking about, I didn’t see him.”
“What kind of spy are you, Bradmore?” I tsked.
“This wasn’t a covert assignment, madam,” he snapped. “When I’m not working, I can be as oblivious as the next chap.”
George stopped pacing and leveled his gaze at Bradmore. “Have you had any communication with the Romanovs or Irena’s bodyguard, Igor Petrov?”
“She had a bodyguard?” His eyes widened. “A bodyguard named Igor?”
George cocked a brow. “You didn’t know?”
“No, and I can only wish she’d had one sooner, though for all the good he did her, I suppose it doesn’t matter. As to the Romanovs or the Teskeys, I’ve had no contact with them. Do you think they might have something to do with her murder?” He looked doubtful.
George came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “As I said, we’re running low on suspects.”
“Did Miss Teskey ever speak to you about her mother?” I asked.
Bradmore raised his brows. “Her mother? No.” With a sigh, he turned away. “Seeing you two like that while I’m like this”—he raised his hands, jiggling the manacles—“reminds me that I’m likely to lose my fiancée once she hears of my arrest.”
I bit my lip. I did feel some sympathy for the man, but he’d had no right to become engaged while still married to another woman. “Your aunt will pay her a visit, I should think. Perhaps she can salvage your engagement.”
Bradmore’s shoulders sagged. “Aunt Esther knows?”
At that point, our time ran out, and Delaney returned. “Mr. Bradmore’s transport is here.” He turned deliberately to George. “Time’s up.”
George offered Delaney his hand. “Thank you for allowing us a few moments.” He turned back to Bradmore. “I’ll meet up with you at Newgate.”
With that, we left the office and made our way out of the building. “Do you believe him?” I asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, now that I’m representing him, I’d like to, but as no one has come forward to say they saw her alive after he left her, it doesn’t look good for him.”
I sighed. “What will you do now?”
“I’ll report in to the Home Office, just in case they want to step in to aid Bradmore, and then I’ll meet with him at Newgate and work on some sort of defense. You should not come with me. The precinct was one thing, but Newgate really is no place for a lady. Perhaps you should go to the Observer and give them the news that Bradmore is in custody and that he was Irena’s husband.”
“I wish Delaney had let me take that marriage certificate. Mosley would respond better with proof.”
We’d reached the carriage, and George helped me in. “You take the carriage. I’ll find a cab and go about my business. Oh, and you might want to check your bag before you talk to Mosley. I borrowed something for him. But please remember, it’s only borrowed.”
I frowned in confusion as he withdrew and headed up the street. With a jolt, the carriage pulled away. I opened the strings of my bag and looked in it. George had slipped the marriage certificate inside. Delaney was likely to throw him in a cell with Bradmore for this, but my heart swelled with gratitude.
* * *
In George’s absence, I needed a companion for this trip, so I stopped at home to see if Hetty was willing to accompany me. Fortunately, she was both home and willing, and before long, we were on our way to Fleet Street and the Daily Observer. I told her of our progress with regard to Bradmore, and she repeated how she simply couldn’t believe Gilliam would have murdered Irena. Neither of us knew what to think of Igor Petrov.
I relayed the details of my visit with Lady Esther and recalled that I hadn’t mentioned it to George. “As we seem to keep exonerating our original suspects, I can’t help but wonder about the person who wrote the threatening letters to her. If he was following her, he might have known to find her at my house.”
Hetty squinted at me. “You think it might be the husband of her mother? After all these years, why would he trouble himself with her now?”
“Because she’d moved to London. What if Alexei told her who her mother was? Though people seem to think the mother died giving birth to her, Miss Teskey said she was murdered—by her own husband. If you were that man, wouldn’t you be worried about what she might know or, worse, reveal?”
The carriage pulled up in front of the newspaper office, and Hetty and I stepped out. I was as surprised to see the young and lanky Mr. Ryan still at the front desk as he was to see me.
“Lady Harleigh, have you come back to write for us?”
“No, Mr. Ryan. I haven’t come to do any writing, but I am here to see Mr. Mosley. I do hope he’s in.”
“If you give me just a moment, I’ll go and check.” He slipped through the door to the back offices, allowing the sound of raised voices and the clacking of typewriters to flow through until the door swung shut behind him. I took note of his new confidence. This job was doing him good. I wondered if he was getting along any better with Mosley just as I heard the man bellowing—even through the closed door. Some things never changed.
Mr. Ryan returned to the front desk and guided us around to Mosley’s office.
“Lady Harleigh.” Mosley stood behind his desk and indicated we should be seated. Ryan closed the door as he left. “I hope you’ve come with some news, ma’am. I’ll lose readers if I don’t print something new soon.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have an actual culprit for you, Mr. Mosley, but I do have something to report.” I pulled the marriage certificate from my bag and handed it to him. “Proof that Miss Teskey was married to Mr. Bradmore. He had it in his possession when Delaney brought him back from France.” I told him about our visit to the police station this morning. “I brought this so you can see for yourself, but I must return it to Delaney as soon as may be.”
Mosley studied the document. “Then you do have a culprit for me. This Bradmore fellow is the killer.”
“Killer? No, no. You are being far too hasty, Mr. Mosley. There’s no proof Bradmore killed her.”
“Maybe not, but the police have arrested him. If he’s going to Newgate, he’s to be charged with the crime. I can certainly print that, and I intend to do so immediately, before someone else does.” He gave me a hard stare, taking in what must be my shocked countenance. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To clear Hazelton’s name?”
“Yes, of course, but it’s by no means certain that Bradmore is a murderer. There are other suspects.”
“Who?”
Hetty’s glare dared me to say Gilliam’s name, while Mosley drummed his fingers on the desk with impatience.
“There was a man who was threatening her.”
Mosley heaved a sigh. “Does this man have a name?”
“You are applying a great deal of pressure, Mosley. I am working as quickly as I can.”
“I’ve a deadline to meet, and I see no reason not to print this story.”
“Well, please stop short of accusing the man of murder.” I picked up the marriage certificate to return it to my bag and noticed Irena’s birth date. An idea began to take form. “Mr. Mosley, how long has the Observer been in operation?”
“A good forty years or so. Why?”
“Do you have copies of all the old papers printed?”
“We do, and again, I’ll ask, why?”
“I’m hoping some of those old papers might help me find out who was threatening Miss Teskey. While you write your story, I’d like to do some research.” I showed him Irena’s birth date and asked for the papers dated around that time. “Perhaps two weeks both before and after.”
“What do you hope to find?” Hetty asked.
“Miss Teskey’s mother.”
* * *
Mosley settled us in an office across the hall from his. Mr. Ryan brought in an armful of newspapers and swept aside the origin
al occupant’s work on the desk to make room.
“Tell me what to look for, and I’ll help,” Hetty said.
We were seated on opposite sides of the large desk, the papers stacked between us. “We’re looking for death notices for a young woman. They may or may not mention that she died in childbirth. Society finds it unseemly to announce the reason for death under these circumstances.” I opened the center drawer of the desk and found paper and pencils. “When you find one, write down the name and date.”
What followed was a solid hour of studying small print until it floated before my eyes. Hetty refolded her last paper and placed it on the finished stack, then let out a shriek.
“Just look at my fingers!” She held the offending appendages in front of my face. Indeed, they were completely covered in newsprint. I cautiously examined my own, which were every bit as bad. “This never happens at home,” she said.
“That’s because Jenny irons the newspapers before you read them. It sets the ink.” I folded my last paper and added it to the stack. Hetty had pulled out a handkerchief and was attempting to remove the ink from her fingers. “There’s no point in doing that yet, Aunt.”
“Aren’t we finished?”
“I hope not.” I reached for her notes. “How many did you find?”
“Just the one. Poor woman. She and the baby died.”
“I found two myself.”
I read Hetty’s notes twice before I allowed myself to believe it. Jane Stoke-Whitney passed away at her home in Chelmsford on January 24. The very date Irena listed as her birth date. I forced myself to remain calm. Irena might have had no idea of her exact date of birth, since she was sent so quickly to the Teskeys. This could all be a coincidence. Then I recalled Lady Esther had mentioned a visit of dignitaries to Saint Petersburg, including some members of Parliament. I wondered when Stoke-Whitney became an MP.
Leaving Hetty staring at me, I slipped from my seat and crossed the hall to Mosley’s office. The editor jumped as I pushed open the door. “I need a list of the members of Parliament from eighteen seventy-five. Is there a way to find that?”
He pointed a finger at me. “You’ve found something. I see it in your eyes.”
“I’m not certain, but I’ll know more when you find that list.”
Mosley grunted as he pushed himself up from his chair and moved around me and through the doorway. After taking a breath, he let out a shout. “Ryan!”
The young man popped his head around the swinging door at the end of the hallway, leading me to believe this was their standard form of communication. Mosley told him what we were looking for and followed me into the other office, where Hetty waited.
I joined her at the desk and explained my theory about the husband of Irena’s mother and why he might have wanted her to leave the country. In failing to achieve that goal, he might have murdered her. “We have three names of women who died at the time of Miss Teskey’s birth. Now I want to know if any of them had husbands who were MPs at the time.”
“And then what?” Hetty asked. If one of the husbands was an MP, what does that prove?” She frowned. “What I don’t understand is why someone hasn’t contacted Miss Teskey’s real father. Surely he knows the name of her mother.”
“I would certainly hope so. However, Alexei is currently out scaling the Rocky Mountains or learning how to hunt a buffalo. In other words, he is not near a telegraph office. Michael sent him word of his daughter’s death. We asked him to send another cable, inquiring about Miss Teskey’s mother, but I have no idea how long it will take to obtain an answer.”
Ryan came in, carrying a large book. He dropped it on the desk and opened it to a marked section. “This should be the list you need.”
“Wait.” I reached out to stop Mr. Ryan as he was about to leave. “There’s something more.” I turned to Mosley. “I need any information you can find about a formal visit to Saint Petersburg. A big one. Several dignitaries would have gone, and prominent members of Parliament and their wives. I need to know if it happened around April of seventy-four and who went on this trip.” I gave him a helpless look. “Would you have that information, or do I ask too much?”
“We’re a newspaper, Lady Harleigh. A trip such as that would be news.” Mosley gave me a wink. “We’ve got it.”
The two men left us to retrieve the documents we needed. I checked the three women’s names against the list of MPs for 1875. The only one that matched was Stoke-Whitney. He had been a member of Parliament for some time. When I looked up, Hetty was watching me.
“Come now,” she said. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I shook my head. “I don’t know if I’m even willing to think it. If I find this woman was part of the group who visited the Russian royal family nine months before she died giving birth, it doesn’t prove she was Miss Teskey’s mother, but it certainly raises my suspicions.”
She patted my hand. “I suppose that means we’ll have to wait to hear from her father.”
“Yes, we’ll simply have to verify it with him.”
“Then why do you look so distressed? You are in a far better position than you were just yesterday. Hazelton is no longer under suspicion. You will soon find out if this man has anything to do with Miss Teskey’s death.”
“That’s not true. We may find out if this man’s wife was her mother, and I feel quite certain she was. But even if Alexei gives us his name, proving he murdered Miss Teskey is another matter.”
Mosley and Ryan returned with a new stack of newspapers. Shuffling through them, Mosley glanced at the front pages. Finally, he stopped and pulled one out. “Here it is. Delegation travels to Saint Petersburg to visit the emperor and his family.”
I stood to read over his shoulder. “There. The list of delegates.” I ran my finger down the short column until I came to the name I’d been expecting. “Arthur Stoke-Whitney and his wife, Jane.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“You cannot print this, Mr. Mosley.” I barely restrained myself from stomping my foot. Mosley, lacking in such discipline, slammed his palm on the desk.
“This is news, Lady Harleigh. You can’t stop me from printing it.”
“What we have at this point is nothing more than idle speculation, and you know it. Something like this isn’t even worthy of the Miss Information column.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and seemed to be wrestling with his more responsible self. When he dropped his hand, his gaze landed on Mr. Ryan, who stood in the doorway. “What are you gaping at?” he growled. “Get yourself back to work.”
Ryan fled the room, and I placed a hand on Mosley’s arm. “Any insinuations you print now will only give rise to a lawsuit from Stoke-Whitney. I’ll take the information to Inspector Delaney. I don’t know if he’ll do anything about it, but at least you and I will have done our best.”
With one enormous sigh, Mosley pushed away from the desk. “I’ve missed the deadline for the morning edition, anyway, and I already ran the story about Bradmore.” He waved a hand over the newspapers and documents spread out on the desk. “Show that to Inspector Delaney, but you tell him if he doesn’t pursue an investigation into this Stoke-Whitney bloke, I’ll be at his desk first thing in the morning to find out why.”
“An admirable plan, Mr. Mosley.”
He made me promise to send him word of Delaney’s intentions regarding Stoke-Whitney. Then Hetty and I returned home, where to my surprise, Gilliam’s motorcar waited in the street.
“I’d forgotten Herbert planned to call today.”
“Herbert, is it?” I nudged her shoulder with mine as we stepped through the door.
Hetty was beaming. She barely paused to leave her coat with Mrs. Thompson and check her hair in the mirror before opening the doors to the drawing room in an elaborate sweep.
“A letter’s come for you, my lady,” Mrs. Thompson said as she took my coat.
I picked up the letter from the tray in the hall and joined Hetty and Gilliam in the drawing
room.
“I hope this isn’t an imposition,” Gilliam said. “I told Mrs. Chesney I’d call on her today, so I thought I’d best wait for her return.”
“Of course not. Shall I order refreshments, or are you planning on taking my aunt for a drive?”
I know he made some answer, as I heard his voice, but he lost my attention as soon as I looked down at the letter in my hand. It was from Arthur Stoke-Whitney. I fumbled with the paper as if I had ten thumbs, and finally revealed the message. He did not consent to my sponsorship of his daughter in light of the scandal involving my fiancé. Just a few hours ago, I might have been highly offended by his answer, but at the moment, all I could see was his handwriting.
A quick check out the window told me the carriage had already gone. I turned back to Gilliam and Hetty on the sofa, in conversation. “Mr. Gilliam, forgive me, but I must beg a favor of you.”
The man had been in mid-sentence and turned a surprised gaze at me. “Of course, Lady Harleigh. Consider me at your service.”
“Excellent, excellent. Give me just one moment to write a note.” I waved absently, then hurried to the library to write a request for Delaney to call on me and bring the threatening letters with him just as soon as may be. In my haste, I nearly stumbled over Jenny in the hallway. I sent her to fetch George and Petrov and returned to the drawing room, where my companions waited.
I handed the note to Gilliam and asked him to take it to the inspector at his precinct. “If at all possible, I’d be grateful if you could bring Delaney back with you.”
He picked up his hat and gloves and gave me a curious look. “I’ll do my best to convince him.”
As Hetty walked him out, I darted back to the library, where several newspapers lay on my desk. I rifled through them until I found the article about the gala for the Russians and the picture of Stoke-Whitney. It was not a great likeness, but it would have to do.
Hetty blocked my way out. “What are you doing? Why the sudden urgency?”
“Urgency? I suppose that’s just in my mind, but all the pieces are coming together, Aunt Hetty, and I simply must find out if I’m right.”
A Fiancée's Guide to First Wives and Murder Page 24
