A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [91]
Lenox smiled despite himself. “You said—”
“Can you imagine what that meant to me? My brothers and sisters worked the worst jobs—dipping matches or out with my father—and so had I. It was on a lark that I applied to be a peeler. I had always had good marks, when they could afford to keep me in school, but to be selected, Mr. Lenox—to be chosen—can you understand that? Birth selected you; I had to wait fifteen years. And then, the greatest day of my life, when I was plucked from the constables and allowed to train as an inspector! Can you imagine the honor, to a boy like me?”
“Yes,” murmured Lenox.
Fowler, who had been at the window, now faced Lenox. “I’ve given this work every ounce of my being. You know that.”
“I thought I did.”
“I cannot apologize for accepting money. I needed it, not for myself alone, and after thirty-eight years the Yard is going to turn me away. That—no, that I could not brook.”
Lenox didn’t know what he should do with this information, but he knew what he would do. Nothing, as long as Fowler pointed him toward the truth. His own conscience wasn’t strong enough.
“Listen,” he said rather desperately. “You said Collingwood would be out of Newgate next week. Why?”
Fowler waved a dismissive hand. “Paul Starling will be out of the country by then,” he said and drained his drink.
Chapter Forty-Five
“Just a moment—Paul Starling?”
Fowler looked at him. “You didn’t know?”
“I assumed it was Ludo.”
“Why did you think Paul was being sent away on such short notice?”
Lenox looked stunned. “I know Collingwood took the blame because he wanted to protect Paul, but it didn’t add up for me. What can the motive have been?”
Fowler shrugged. “I don’t know. Mr. Starling saw it all happen, apparently. He laid out the facts before me, and I decided that a young man’s life could still have value.”
This inflamed Lenox. “What about Frederick Clarke’s life? That didn’t have value?”
Fowler sighed. “I didn’t say it was easy to look in the glass every morning as I shave, but I’ve explained to you why I did it already.”
“There’s a mother sitting in a hotel in Hammersmith right now, crying her eyes out.”
“Would it really have helped her to know that Paul Starling was in prison? Between his father’s connections and his youth he wouldn’t have swung for it, I don’t think.”
“Leave all that aside—how does Ludo being stabbed fit into this theory?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps it was a way to pin the blame on Collingwood.”
“My God!” said Lenox. “Don’t you see that the stabbing suits Ludo perfectly as an alibi, not his son? Did you even bother to find out that Ludo was Frederick Clarke’s father?”
Fowler blanched. “His what?”
Lenox was in no mood for explanation. “There’s every chance Ludo killed the boy and blamed Paul to keep them all safe.”
“There’s—no, it was Paul! The mother knew about it, too—she came here weeping, begging me for lenience!”
Lenox chuckled grimly. “I see now why Ludo came to me, at least. I never quite understood that. He must have wanted someone to bribe, and thought he would test the waters with both of us. My reaction was less civil than yours, apparently.”
“I assure you Paul—”
“How did you intend to get Jack Collingwood out of Newgate, can I ask?”
“Telling them the truth! Ludo said he would come forward and confess that he had seen his son do it.”
“You believed him? The stupidity, man—my God.”
Fowler looked horrified. “But he swore—”
“To a man who had accepted a bribe from him! What pressure could you have exerted on him, may I ask? No—I must be off.”
Lenox stood up, and his head, which had felt quite under his control as he sat, gave a twinge and started to throb like a heartbeat. Nevertheless he just managed to turn to the door.
“Wait! Lenox!” cried Fowler, standing up, too. “What about me?”
“You?” Lenox paused, and remembered the story about Fowler in the peelers. “Do you have enough money now?”
He nodded slightly. “I suppose.”
Lenox saw that there