A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [29]
“Did Ginger or any of Clarke’s other friends go to Inspector Fowler?”
“No.”
“Or Ludo Starling?”
“No. Clarke himself said he wouldn’t be a tale-teller unless Collingwood tried to get him sacked. Which makes it all the sadder, really.”
“That doesn’t mean Ginger shouldn’t say anything. It’s not telling tales if it’s murder. A few coins is obviously a different matter.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t clear. That was just an additional piece of information. The reason Ginger and his lads won’t tell is that they’re trying to establish where Collingwood was during the half hour when Freddie might have been killed.”
“Why? Surely that’s the work of the Yard.”
“Perhaps, but they feel that the stronger their case is, the more likely they’ll be heard.”
“It may be so.”
“At any rate, that’s what I got out of my afternoon at the Bricklayers’ Arms. That and a hundred stories about Freddie Clarke.”
“Did you talk to the lad’s mother, incidentally?”
Dallington swirled the last sip of his brandy and then drank it down. “No. She only stayed for one drink, and then one of Freddie’s friends chaperoned her back to her hotel. When he came back to the pub he said she was dead tired and of course pretty beaten up. Ginger is going out to see her tomorrow.”
“I may as well see her, too.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t think it can hurt,” said Lenox, “and it may help us discover something new.”
“What about Parliament?”
“I’m in too deep now to give it up. I’ll still ask you to look at things, but I want to be a part of it, too. Besides, Graham has made my life much more efficient. And perhaps it will turn out to be simple, and Collingwood will be the murderer as you say.”
“It seems pretty damning.”
“Indeed. Even if he did murder Frederick Clarke, though, I wonder if there was anything more to it than the change he stole from Elizabeth Starling. A job as a butler and a few shillings—are they worth killing for?”
“Don’t forget his father was the butler, too. It could be a matter of family pride.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lady Jane returned rather late in the evening, not much before midnight. For a moment Lenox wanted to comment on this and ask how it was any different from his own late homecoming the night before. He decided against it when he saw her impassive face, set for an argument. She sat at her mirror and began to let down her hair.
“Hello,” he said, standing near their bed.
“Hello.”
“How was your evening out?”
“Well enough as these things go.”
“Where was it?”
She gave him a frosty look and was just about to answer when there was a knock at the door downstairs. Lenox, puzzled, trotted down the stairs, with Jane close behind him. Kirk was still dressed and awake and answered the door as they all stood in the wide hallway.
It was McConnell.
“Why, Thomas, hello,” said Lady Jane. “How are you?”
He was red and flustered.
“Quite well, quite well.” He looked at them blankly for a moment, then seemed to remember his purpose. “I came because Toto is having the baby.”
“Why, that’s wonderful!” said Lady Jane. “Is everything all right?”
“Perfectly—perfectly,” said Thomas in a rush.
There was an awkward silence. Toto’s last pregnancy had ended with the loss of the child some few months in.
“Shall we come back with you?” asked Lenox softly.
“I couldn’t ask you—I couldn’t—”
“We’re coming,” said Lady Jane.
They went in McConnell’s roomy carriage, after Lady Jane had gone to fetch a parcel of things she had laid aside for the day when the baby came. She clutched it on her