A Stranger in Mayfair - Charles Finch [93]
He thought about it and then gave an honest answer. “I don’t know.”
Chapter Forty-Six
It was time to go confront Ludo once and for all, he decided. The die was cast. He would wait for Dallington—it was the case in which the lad had had the most involvement, and it was his due to be there at the end—and then go. Whether the murderer was Paul or, as he now suspected, Ludo himself (but why?), the truth would have to come out soon.
When Dallington arrived back some hours later he looked tired. “I’ve been all over this blasted city,” he said, “without finding a trace of Paul Starling.”
“No? Perhaps he really did leave from Norfolk, as Elizabeth said. I didn’t think it possible.”
“No, I don’t think he did. He was booked into a first-class berth on a ship called the Bruce, which carries indentured servants from Trinidad to other colonies and ends here. It makes port in three cities along the way.”
“Has it left?”
“It has—yesterday—but I couldn’t establish whether he was on it.” Dallington, who had been in the doorway, strode over and mixed himself a rum with tonic water. “The chap who books passengers on the Bruce gets paid when the ship leaves, and apparently he drinks himself half to death every time. I didn’t have the heart to visit forty different taverns in the Dials, so I came back.”
“Nobody else might have seen him?”
“They might have, quite easily. Whether they did or not—well, it’s a busy dock, of course, and none of them were impressed by my vague questions about Paul Starling.”
Lenox nodded. “Thank you for trying,” he said. “It was well done to find out that he was booked on the Bruce.”
“I daresay he’s on board, having a whale of a time playing cards with these poor indentured fellows,” said Dallington. “But where does that leave us?”
Lenox stood up and, despite a wave of lightheadedness, said, “At the end. We must go and confront Ludo.”
Dallington looked impressed. “Fair enough. Let me finish my drink and we’ll go. Won’t he be at Parliament, though?”
“We’re not sitting tonight—tomorrow is the great debate about home rule.”
It was dark out, the days shortening, and still there was a threat of drizzle in the air. Lenox, impatient, didn’t bother waiting the fifteen minutes for his own horses to be rubbed down and his carriage to be readied, and instead hailed a cab. The drive was a short one.
They arrived at the Starling mansion in time to hear Elizabeth Starling’s usually gentle voice saying, “Now polish it again!”
“Yes, ma’am,” came the tearful reply.
Dallington reddened and clicked his tongue indignantly—the girl was Jenny Rogers, as they could both hear.
It wasn’t Elizabeth who answered, however; they heard her footsteps (or someone else’s) walking briskly away from the entrance after they had knocked.
It was Tiberius Starling who opened the door for them. “No damn butler,” he said moodily.
“That will be fixed soon enough,” answered Lenox with a broad smile. Then he noticed a fresh red welt on the old uncle’s cheek.
He didn’t say anything, of course—manners forbore it—but Tiberius must have seen his glance. With the occasionally excessive frankness and confidentiality of old gentlemen, he leaned into them and said, “That devil woman did it. Threw a book at me, one I had left lying on the table. She’s in a fearful temper. About Paul, I expect.”
“I’m extremely sorry to hear it,” said Lenox.
“Come in—Ludo’s at his desk.”
Elizabeth Starling was indeed in a fearful temper. It was no wonder, of course. Her son was gone, in all likelihood off to the colonies, and either the boy or his father was a murderer.
Ludo’s face again fell when he saw who his visitors were, and he started to say what he had before. “A damn intrusion” was his greeting to them, “a nuisance of the first order and—”
Lenox interrupted him. “I had an interesting discussion with Inspector Fowler. About your friendship.”
Ludo, nonplussed, stopped talking for a few seconds. “Oh?” he said at last, in an attempt to be brazen. “At least he’s competent enough to be