A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [62]
“Did you tell Lenox that she knows her name?”
“Oh, yes, he’s seen the entire rotation of tricks. Now where is that nurse? I won’t be a minute—excuse me.”
At lunch there was only one topic of conversation—George—until Lenox felt at last that just perhaps he had heard enough about his godchild’s hundred charms.
“Won’t you stay to see her after her nap?” asked McConnell when Lenox said he had to go. Toto was checking in on her.
“If only I could, but there’s a stack of blue books I have to read through. We sit in Parliament this afternoon, of course.”
“How could I forget—the opening! We’re quite wrapped up here in the baby. How was it? Did you see the Queen?”
“I did indeed; it was a splendid show. You would have loved it.”
“I wouldn’t have been anywhere but here—now come, say good-bye to Toto, and be sure to tell her how highly you esteem your goddaughter.”
He did indeed have to be at Parliament soon, and as was customary he wanted to spend the few hours before the session milling in the lobby, meeting people and speaking with them. It was a familiar way to plan among the backbenchers.
Still, he couldn’t resist stopping by the butcher’s shop, Schott and Son. Curiously—and perhaps tellingly—it was shuttered and closed.
Back at home on Hampden Lane, Lenox sat in his study reading those blue books (the ones particularly relevant to the Queen’s Speech, which was still being debated in the Commons). Lady Jane was out, and had been since breakfast according to Kirk. Lenox had spoken that morning with Graham, who was at the House speaking to the appropriate people’s political secretaries about water and cholera.
Just as Lenox was preparing to leave there was a knock on the door. Kirk brought in Dallington.
“There you are—I worried I might not catch you,” said the younger man. He smiled. “It’s dashed inconvenient for you to be in Parliament. You ought to have a bit of consideration.”
“I’m leaving now—my carriage should be ready. Kirk?”
“It is standing in front of the house, sir.”
“Would you come along, Dallington?”
“With pleasure.”
Once they were seated, Lenox took out a blue book. “Tell me what you found today; then, rude though it is, I must read.”
“The mother wasn’t in, and neither was Fowler. I spent a few hours skulking around that boxing club.”
Lenox smacked his head. “How can I not have told you? I found the butcher’s shop. Tiberius Starling, of all people, was the one who told me.” Lenox went on and talked through the whole day, catching his apprentice up.
“Remarkable—but there’s something else.”
“Yes?”
“It’s—it’s unexpected news.”
“I’ll manage.”
“Collingwood has confessed to killing Freddie Clarke.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The news would have to wait. That was Lenox’s first thought. He had to be down at the House. In the meanwhile Dallington could go speak to Collingwood.
“Where did you hear it?”
“Jenny Rogers heard first and left a note at my club.”
“Did she give you any other details?”
“No.”
“You say he confessed to killing Clarke—what about stabbing Ludo?”
“I assumed that went along with it.”
Lenox was silent, thinking, for a moment. “Who knows. Incidentally, they’re sending your admirer—Paul—out of the country for a year. Just like that.”
“How did you hear of this?”
Lenox recounted the story of his afternoon: Elizabeth Starling’s fearfulness, Tiberius’s surreptitious aid, Paul’s forlorn face in the window. “Why lie to me? What could she possibly gain by that?” He looked up at the clock on the wall. “I should be at the House already,” he said. “Will you give me a lift in a taxi down there? That way we can speak a little longer. Just give me a moment to gather my