Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [72]
“What is it like?” Emily asked quickly. “What is it like exactly? Do you remember?”
“Certainly. About that size.” She held her finger and thumb apart about three quarters of an inch. “Round. Gray enamel, with ‘Hellfire Club, 1881’ on the front in gold letters and a pin across the back. Why?”
“And where was his name?”
“On the back, under the pin. Why?”
“Written how?”
“What do you mean?”
“Copperplate, Gothic, Roman?”
“In … copperplate, like a signature, only neater.” Her expression quickened. “Why?” She drew in her breath. “Are you thinking we could duplicate it? Have another one made? But what could we do with it?”
“Well, if there are two,” Emily was still juggling ideas in her mind, “it will at least raise doubts as to which one is real. One of them has to be false! Why not the one found in the prostitute’s room? At least it would prove that someone could get a false one made and put it wherever they wanted to.”
“Yes it would,” Tallulah agreed with alacrity, sitting forward. “Where should we put it?”
“I’m not sure.” Emily was still thinking. “I suppose somewhere it could have fallen accidentally, so Finlay couldn’t find it. At the back of a drawer, or in the pocket of something he never wears.”
“But if we find it,” Tallulah pointed out, “they will know that we put it there, or they might do.”
“Obviously we can’t find it,” Emily agreed. “But we can arrange for the police to search again, and they can find it themselves.”
“How can we do that?”
“I can. Don’t worry about it.” Emily was certainly not going to explain that Superintendent Pitt, in charge of the case, was her brother-in-law. “I’ll think of a way.”
“Won’t they check up on all of us, to see if we had the copy made?” Tallulah went on. “I would! And Tellman may be a horrible little man, but I’ve a feeling he’s awfully clever, in his own way. And Mr. Pitt might come back again. He speaks beautifully, even though he’s a policeman, but underneath the good manners I don’t think he’d be fooled either.”
“Then it’s your job to see that you and your mother can account for your time, and if possible that Finlay can too,” Emily said decisively. “There’s nothing we can do about your father. I’ll take care of getting another badge made. You must draw it for me, as precisely as you can, the right size, with the writing exactly like the other one.”
Tallulah was alarmed. “I’m not sure if I remember exactly.”
“Then you’ll have to find out, from Finlay, without him realizing why you want to know. Don’t ask any of the other members. They might know what you are doing, and even if they wouldn’t intentionally betray Finlay, they might to save themselves, even without meaning to.”
“Yes …” Tallulah said with increasing conviction in her voice. She rose to her feet, stopping for a moment as the heat and the dizzying perfume overcame her.
Emily stood also.
“Yes. I’ll start straightaway.” Tallulah straightened her shoulders. “I’ll draw the badge for you and send it in the post. You’ll receive it tomorrow. Emily … thank you! I don’t know why you should befriend me like this, but I’m more grateful to you than I can say.”
Emily dismissed it as gracefully as she could. It embarrassed her, because she had done it out of boredom and her own sense of having done nothing valuable for months, and of being unnecessary to anybody.
They parted at the entrance, surprised to find that everyone else was gone too. It was already well into the hour appropriate for final calls, or even returning home if one was thinking of an early dinner before the opera or the theater.
Tallulah was as good as her word, and in the midday delivery the following day, Emily received a letter from her, hastily and sprawlingly written, and accompanying two rather good sketches of a badge, both front and reverse. One was in minute detail, larger than scale so it could be seen easily; the other was less exact but of precisely the same size as the original. The materials were also described. With it was a five-pound note, neatly folded, to cover