I nodded as I folded the dough to put into its pan. “You’d have said so right away if you had.”
“I went to Limehouse and other places where Chinese families live. I asked about. No one has seen him—few had even heard of him.”
“Did you make your inquiries in Chinese?” Tess asked. “Maybe they didn’t understand you.”
“My grasp of the language is rudimentary, I admit,” Daniel said. “But I know men in Chinatown who interpret for me.”
“Of course you do,” I said. “Daniel has all of London in the palm of his hand.”
“Don’t make fun of me, Kat.” He spoke teasingly, but his expression was somber. “I did learn a few details about Zhen, however. He’d boarded with a family in Limehouse, and while he didn’t tell them much about his business, they put things together. They discerned that he’d journeyed to London to find his father—whether they knew that father was an Englishman, I don’t know, and I didn’t mention it. They said he went out one evening and never returned. They were not terribly surprised when I told them he was dead.” He reached into his coat. “They let me take his things.”
He spread out a knotted handkerchief to reveal a pitifully sparse collection—a few English coins, a paper written in Chinese, and a piece of card, very dirty, but I saw the word Kew on it.
I lifted the card. It was flimsy, a souvenir from Kew Gardens with a drawing of plants and the pagoda. The card had been folded and unfolded several times, worn around the edges and the fold.
“So he did go to Kew,” I said. “Before the night he was killed, I mean, or he wouldn’t have this. To meet Sir Jacob? We still do not know for certain why Sir Jacob went there the evening of his murder.”
“Or someone sent this to Zhen as a message, luring him to Kew to be killed.”
“I wonder why Zhen did turn up that night,” I said thoughtfully. “Was he looking for . . .” I trailed off, choosing my words, as there were too many ears in the room. “Sir Jacob’s plants? Or did he arrange to meet the killer? Perhaps Zhen knew who killed his father and was demanding money for his silence.” More blackmail.
“Don’t matter know, does it?” Tess asked. “Whatever he believed, whoever he met, they did him over.”
“Poor lad.” I touched the kerchief. Along with the clothes on his back and the letters Inspector McGregor had found in his pockets, this had been all he’d had, or at least all Zhen had brought with him from his faraway home.
“I hope Mr. Li hasn’t met the same fate,” Daniel said.
As did I. “Mr. Li strikes me as a man who’s been down a few streets,” I said. “He wouldn’t fall for someone luring him to Kew in the middle of the night, even if they did claim they had valuable knowledge for him.”
“No, but someone could have set a trap of a different kind,” Daniel said quietly.
“Or Mr. Li might have done the luring,” Tess said.
“I know.” I was not happy about that. “But my first instincts told me he was innocent, and those instincts usually aren’t wrong.”
“I trust them.” Daniel’s eyes held warmth. Before I could respond, he turned away. “I must get my hands on James. Things I need him to do.”
“You won’t be able to order him about much longer,” I warned him. “He’ll be a man soon.”
“I have a little bit of time.” Daniel stole another tidbit of beef. “I must make use of it. Good afternoon, ladies.”
He tipped his cap to Elsie as he went through the scullery and ran up the outer stairs with a spring in his step.
“I’m right that you need to marry him,” Tess said to me decidedly. “That man needs looking after.”
I longed to answer her with a quelling witticism, but absolutely none came to mind. I could only frown at her and tell her to go back to work.
* * *
• • •
Mr. Davis returned at five o’clock, just as I sent up tea to Mrs. Bywater, who was home from her calls.
Cynthia also returned, entering through the kitchen to report to me. Lady Harkness was recovering, she said, and neither Mrs. Knowles nor Mrs. Tatlock had been seen since the night Cynthia had sent them away.
“Did you have a fine day out, Mr. Davis?” I asked him after Cynthia had gone to join her aunt for tea.
“Yes, yes. Most productive.” Mr. Davis removed his hat, used two fingers to straighten his hairpiece, and continued down the hall toward the butler’s pantry.
I stepped into the passage to watch him shrug out of his coat and hang it and hat on a peg inside the pantry’s doorway. He made no move to tell me anything further, so I returned to preparing for supper.
I was searing breadcrumb-encrusted sole filets in my frying pan, the scent of baking meat pies seeping from the oven, when James came rushing into the kitchen. “Mrs. H.—where did my dad get to?”
Tess paused her chopping in concern, but I could not look up from shaking the fish around the buttered pan, lest it burn.
“Has something happened?” I asked over my shoulder. I was not unduly concerned, as James was wont to rush about excitedly, and often asked after his father here.
“Mr. Thanos has a message for him.” James fished a folded paper from his pocket. “I think it’s very important.”
“Don’t you know?” Tess reached garlicky fingers for it, but James held it back.
“I can’t read it, can I?”
“Well, I can,” Tess said impatiently. “Give it here.”
“No, no. I mean, I know my letters. But this ain’t them.”
I scooped the filets from the pan and set them on a plate—they were so thin they were already done. I wiped my hands as I approached James, whose face was red with windburn and worry.
He handed me the paper, which hadn’t been sealed in any way, only folded into quarters. I opened it and looked over the contents in perplexity.
The single page was covered with numbers—a few letters poked their way in here and there, but they looked like Greek writing.
“Mathematical formulas, I believe,” I said. “What they mean, I have no idea. Would your father?”
James shrugged his large shoulders. “Maybe. Mr. Thanos said I was to get it to Dad, and he’d know what to do. You haven’t seen him?”
“Much earlier, and he went off looking for you.”
“He found me then. Not since?”
“No.” I studied the strings of numbers, my worry rising. “I wish I knew what these meant.”
“That Mr. Sutherland might,” Tess said. “He and Mr. Thanos have the same book learning, don’t they?”
“Mr. Sutherland is the gent what gave this to me,” James said. “Dad sent me to be a lookout for him and Mr. Thanos today, in case the killer goes hunting for them. Mr. Sutherland comes out and says Mr. Thanos is in a bother about getting these numbers to a fellow who’s giving a lecture tonight—the chap is using some of Mr. Thanos’s theories, he says, and Mr. Thanos was supposed to assist, but he don’t want to leave Mr. Sutherland alone. So he asked me to take the formulas to Dad to give to this bloke. Mr. Sutherland said he couldn’t understand them, as he knows languages, not mathematics, but they looked important to him.”
I scanned the paper once again, but I could see nothing more than I had before. The letters spelled out no messages that I could discern.
“Why didn’t Mr. Thanos instruct you to go directly to the lecturer?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe Mr. Thanos thought the lecture hall wouldn’t let in a scruffy lad like me.” He sounded more concerned than offended. “Mr. Thanos’s message was to give these to Dad, and Dad would know where to take them.”
“Then I say that we must find your father.” I gave James a sharp look. “But the person who would most likely know where he is, is you.”
James scrubbed his hair. “He ain’t in his usual places, and he ain
’t at home. That’s why I thought he might have come to see you again.”
“Blast the man.” I thought rapidly, and then untied my apron strings with quick tugs. “Tess, finish supper. Have Mr. Davis help you if need be. It’s simple tonight—just the fish and the pies, and fruit for pudding.”
Tess glared indignantly. “You’re rushing off to have adventures, just like that, are you? I can help look for Mr. McAdam.”
“I do not intend to search for Daniel—a needle in a haystack that would be. You stay here so if he arrives, you can tell him where I’ve gone. James, you and I are off to speak to Mr. Thanos and Mr. Sutherland. I do believe they are in grave danger.”
* * *
• • •
James guided me to Howland Street, a lane off Tottenham Court Road. The houses on this road were plain brick affairs, the sort to house rooms for gentlemen who studied at the nearby British Museum and other places of learning.
Mr. Sutherland had taken lodgings in a house in the middle of the row. A woman with narrow shoulders and large hands opened the door to our knock and gave us an inquiring look.
“Mr. Thanos still here?” James asked hurriedly.
“Mr. Thanos?” The woman blinked baleful eyes, clearly not recognizing the name.
“A guest of Professor Sutherland,” I told her.
Her expression cleared. “Oh, the two university gents. No, dear, they went out.”
“Out?” I repeated faintly.
I knew in my bones that Mr. Thanos’s message had been a plea for help. Whether or not the formulas meant anything, Mr. Thanos had used them as an excuse to send James running for Daniel. Mr. Sutherland had taken the paper to James in the street, because it wouldn’t be unusual for a man who lived in this house to summon an errand boy, and a page full of mathematics would have been innocuous had James been waylaid and searched.
The two gentlemen had been taken somewhere, I firmly believed. The ploy was not as effective as Mr. Thanos had hoped.
“Where did they go?” I asked the landlady in desperation.
“Don’t know, dear. A hansom came ’round.”
“Did you hear where they told the driver to take them? Please, it’s very important.”
The woman shook her head. “The world of academics must be an exciting place, I’m sure. Lots of arguing and hasty talk upstairs all last night and throughout today—I didn’t understand a word of it.” She considered, too slowly for my taste. “Now, let me think. One of them said something about a garden. Maybe they wanted a look at Regent’s Park. Or maybe Kensington Gardens.”
I was off as soon as she said the word garden, the rest of her speech fading into the darkening afternoon.
James sprinted next to me, his youthful gait easily keeping up with mine. “Where are we going, Mrs. H.?”
“I need a cab to the nearest Metropolitan station. You run back to Mount Street and find Lady Cynthia and tell her what’s happened. Then hunt down your father, no matter what you have to do to find him.”
I waved my arms at a hansom, which in no way slowed for me. James rushed at another, nearly grabbing the horse’s bridle before the growling cabbie halted his rig. I scrambled aboard, and told the cabbie where I wanted to go.
He started the horse, and I shouted around the door. “Tell Lady Cynthia to take herself to Kew Gardens, at once. And find your blasted father!”
The cab slid around a corner, heading for the underground stop at Portland Road. I saw James leap into the air, yelling, “Right you are, Mrs. H.!” before he came down at a run and was gone.
21
The journey to Kew Gardens took far longer than I liked. I had to change my train at Notting Hill Gate, and then I bumped westward, sometimes in tunnels, sometimes mercifully aboveground, but at last the train slid to a halt at Kew Gardens station.
It was growing dark, and the gates to the gardens would be closing soon. I ran for them, dodging through the crowd flowing out.
“Mrs. H.!” Lady Cynthia materialized out of the shadows, dressed in trousers and greatcoat. “What has happened? James came barreling in as I was readying myself to go to Bobby’s and told me to dash to Kew as fast as I could. Mr. Thanos is here? And Sutherland? Why?”
“Because Sir Jacob and his son were murdered,” I said hurriedly. “And the search for the tea continues. We must run.”
I caught her hand and dragged her along toward the Temperate House. Cynthia, bewildered, jogged beside me.
“The tea truly is here? And why didn’t Thanos simply send for us?”
“Because the killer would not let him. I’ve thought it through—we have a man fluent in Chinese, together with a man who knows exactly what the stolen tea is worth, because it belongs to his family. What else is needed? A botanist, perhaps? One who knows where the tea would be kept at Kew Gardens.”
“Mr. Chancellor?” Lady Cynthia gazed at me in surprise. “Good Lord—he is behind this? But what about Mr. Li? Is he here too?”
“He is, if I am not mistaken. Mr. Thanos, unfortunately, has been caught up in the madness.”
Cynthia shot me a frightened look. “We must rescue him, then.”
“Exactly why we are here,” I said then saved my breath as we hurried down the muddy path.
The Temperate House had sprung first to my mind when Mr. Sutherland’s landlady mentioned a garden. Young Zhen had been killed there, and I had the feeling he’d been searching for Sir Jacob’s tea plants. Sir Jacob might not have left anything in his will to his illegitimate son, but he could have told Zhen about the stolen tea, giving him the secret to vast wealth. The murderer had either found Zhen or lured him here, perhaps pretending to help.
I led Cynthia to the side door of the Temperate House, where Daniel had let us out the day Zhen had been found. It was unlocked.
Wouldn’t they bolt the side doors first before closing up for the night? I wondered dimly. To shunt any stragglers out the front door?
Whatever decisions those in charge of the gardens had made, they hadn’t yet secured the door. I did not pause long to worry—I simply stepped inside.
No rain beat upon the roofs this time, and one chance ray of the setting sun flared against the glass. The walls and ceiling blazed like a sheet of diamonds, so bright I screwed my eyes shut.
When I opened them again, the light had winked out, dusk falling quickly.
Shadows made the arching trees seem to sway, and palms reached black fingers across the glass sky. A stiff breeze sprang up the walkway and then cut off, as though a door somewhere had been opened and slammed shut.
I did not want to look at the spot where Zhen had been found, but I couldn’t help myself. The crushed bushes had been trimmed back. The setting was as lush as ever, the scent of night-blooming flowers heady.
The place was deathly silent. Cynthia shivered and pulled her coat close.
We moved to the main hall, its enormity breathtaking but equally silent. I thought we’d find the caretakers or perhaps a lingering botanist caught up in his research, but we saw no one.
I pointed to the corner where a spiral staircase ran up to the railed gallery along the high windows. From there we could look over the greenhouse and see if anyone lurked.
Cynthia would not let me go first. She didn’t speak but rather firmly pushed past me and began the ascent, making sure her boots made no noise on the metal steps. I gathered my skirts and followed her, holding hard to the railing with my gloved hand.
Once we reached the top, we looked down on greenery, succulents, flower beds, and trees, many of which grew taller than the gallery. The wide, main walkway below bisected the hall, and several other walks met it at right angles.
The greenery whispered and moved, and I saw that a few top windows were open, likely to regulate the temperature inside. It was warm in here, though not much warmer than a fine spring day.
&nbs
p; Two men came down the main walk from the north end of the building. Cynthia drew a breath to call out, but I stilled her with a hand on her wrist.
“Is he here?” Mr. Thanos asked the taller man at his side. “Jove, we need to find him. What’s this way?” He pointed down a side path.
“I don’t know. More shrubbery, it looks like.”
“If we find him, what then?” Mr. Thanos sounded worried.
“Let us concentrate on locating the fellow first.”
They took the path, voices drifting away. I tiptoed along the gallery to keep them in sight, Cynthia nearly treading on me to keep up.
She whispered into my ear, “Why aren’t we going to them? Helping?”
I held up my finger to hush her. We reached the spot where the two men had left the main walk, and I clasped the rail and looked down.
The two gentlemen wandered along the side path, the taller and the shorter in nearly identical suits. Black hair and red showed below their tall hats. They looked about for a moment then returned to the main walk, moving to the next intersecting path. Cynthia and I followed like ghosts above them.
“There you are!” Mr. Sutherland cried suddenly. He struck out with a walking stick, right into a stand of palms. “Come out of there, blast you.”
A man unfolded from the greenery, giving the stick a wide berth. The last of the dusky light showed me a wispy beard against a dark silk robe.
Mr. Li.
I wanted to gasp and rush down the stairs. Mr. Li was alive and well—and Mr. Sutherland looked to be afraid of him. He kept the tip of the walking stick pointing at Mr. Li’s chest.
“Well?” Mr. Sutherland said. “Did you find it?”
“No.” Mr. Li’s voice was calm. “I did not.”
“I don’t believe you, old chap. Where is the botanist?”
“Mr. Chancellor has gone.”
“Eh?” Mr. Sutherland said. “Why? I thought . . .”
Death in Kew Gardens Page 22
