Fatal Enquiry (18 page)

“Let’s discuss the incident in Westminster Abbey,” he said after he made a notation. “You assaulted another officer.”

“When?” I asked, all innocence. I can do innocence very well.

“After the service. You began to run and he attempted to detain you. You kicked him in the stomach.”

“Oh, that wasn’t an officer. That was a member of the public.”

“I tell you, he was not a member of the public. He was Lieutenant John Wilkins, a member of our plainclothes division.”

“He didn’t identify himself as such. I can’t be arrested for assaulting a plainclothes officer.”

“Of course you can!”

“Sorry, old bean,” I said, shaking my head sadly. “I have an uncommon good solicitor, Bram Cusp, who will tell you I can’t be arrested for assaulting an officer who isn’t in uniform, unless he is bellowing at the top of his lungs that he’s an officer of the law, which I assure you he wasn’t.”

The inspector rose to his feet. He was a very serious person and unaccustomed to the level of nonsense I was shoveling his way. He left the room and did not return. Score one, I thought, for the visiting team.

I was allowed to send a message to Cusp’s office and then took a nap. A few hours later, I stepped into Great Scotland Yard Street a free man, free as far as a man can be with plainclothes detectives at his heels, and a charge pending. I was to appear early the next week at the Old Bailey for assault upon two police officers, but still, I felt blithe and bonnie as I walked round the corner and entered the offices of number 7 Craig’s Court.

“Hello, Jenkins!” I cried as I entered. “I’ve just been sprung!”

“Well, I never!” he cried, jumping up from his desk. “Where’s the Guv?”

“Heaven knows. Last I saw him, he was sending me off to get arrested. That’s all I know.”

I went over to my desk, sat down in my old, familiar chair, and put up my feet on the corner, the way Barker often did. Late afternoon sunlight shimmered in through the windows.

“God’s in his heaven, all’s right with the world,” I pronounced. “Until the next bloody crisis.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I was in one of the back rooms tying a four-in-hand and feeling relieved to wear clean clothes again, when I heard the office door open. It could have been anyone: someone trying to claim the reward, a potential client who was innocent of Barker’s current situation, another Scotland Yard officer coming to harass me; in short, no one I had any interest in seeing. Jenkins appeared in the doorway, shifting his weight the way he does when he has no idea how to announce someone.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“A female, Mr. L,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “And quite a looker she is, too, if I am any judge.”

“What now?” I muttered to myself, but as I walked to the door, I had a premonition that it was Sofia Ilyanova. I was right. She stood almost with her back to me, looking through the glass into the street as she waited. She held her chin at an aristocratic angle, though I suspected there was something more down-to-earth about her than that. Her pale hair was swept up and secured in place with a small hat and a delicate pearl pin. In between two petite, gloved hands, she held a parasol, the tip resting delicately on the floor. Her dress, an exquisite color of Prussian blue, had a high collar with the merest hint of lace and had obviously been made by a dressmaker of some repute, probably in Paris. Everything about her was exotic and beautiful. It took a moment for me to speak, and when I did, I said the first thing that popped into my head.

“I never expected to see you again.”

She turned slowly toward me, those gold-flecked eyes studying me seriously. “You shouldn’t make assumptions about me, Thomas Llewelyn. As it turns out, I need something from you.”

I gestured toward the visitor’s chair and held it while she sat. Walking around the desk, I took Barker’s seat and regarded her intently.

“You remembered my name, Miss Ilyanova,” I noted, with some surprise.

“As you did mine.”

“It wasn’t difficult. I have never known anyone with a name like yours before.”

“My mother’s family is from St. Petersburg. My father is English.”

“Ah.” I smiled.

I watched Sofia lift a hand to brush a lock of hair that rested against her neck. I admit I had some trouble concentrating. She folded her hands in her lap and toyed with the small pocketbook she carried that matched her dress.

“What may the Barker Agency do for you?” I asked.

“It’s a sensitive matter, I’m afraid.”

I nodded. “That is precisely the sort of case we handle. Are you here in an official capacity?”

“I’m not entirely certain. It’s hard to know where to begin.”

My heart sank for a moment. Perhaps she was here to investigate the whereabouts of a past lover, or had become involved in an unsavory scandal. She seemed too genteel a lady to be a part of some unpleasant affair, but I knew it was possible. Obviously she would be sought after by men, and likely on two continents. I looked at her striking face, aware of the concern etched on her features, and suddenly wanted to thrash whoever had caused her this kind of distress.

“It’s my family. My father, actually.”

“Your father?” I repeated. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

There were things I was supposed to be doing at that moment: putting the office affairs in order after they had been neglected for days, checking the incoming correspondence, and following Barker’s instructions to research Shambhala. I wasn’t supposed to be taking on new clients or wasting the agency’s time talking with beautiful strangers. However, there was something about the urgency with which she had made her plea that made me feel even Barker would have listened to her, had he been there. I was conscious of the fact that with my employer gone, I was representing the agency. I furrowed my brow, concentrating, as she composed herself to speak.

“I was raised by my mother until I was sixteen years old,” she said quietly. “She was abandoned by my father before they could wed, and in shame, she was sent by my grandparents to the provinces on the Siberian border where I was born. In spite of the conditions, it was a good childhood, actually. She and I were quite close. The only tension we ever had between us occurred when I asked about my father.”

She paused, looking at me carefully. “You must understand that when you’ve never met your father, you think about him all of the time. You convince yourself he’s sure to be the greatest man you’ve ever known, and will ride in on a white horse someday and take you away from everything. And, of course, when he finally comes, he will be as desperate to know you as you were to know him.”

I shook my head almost imperceptibly. “This is going to end badly,” I murmured.

“Of course it is. How could it not with such high expectations?”

“Pray continue,” I urged.

“When he came, at last, nothing turned out as it was meant to. He swept into my mother’s life again, much as he had the first time, delighting her with promises of what their lives would be like. They would have money, friends, position; all of the things she had been robbed of before. I was so happy to finally meet him. He was handsome and debonair, just as I imagined. I convinced myself there must have been a good reason for him to have stayed away all of those years. But instead of our being rescued, it all went horribly wrong.”

“What happened?” I asked.

She paused, adjusting one of her gloves. “He killed her, of course.”

“Killed her!” I exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, he didn’t do it with his bare hands, nothing as blatant as that. He’s more subtle. I was a trifle to him that he momentarily wanted: the seed of his bloodline. He hired a solicitor, planning to strip my custody from her. He made her life a living hell, denying her at the last moment everything he had promised before. My mother was never strong. She took her own life with prussic acid, but I know it was truly he who killed her.”

“What happened then?”

“I assumed I would go to live with my grandparents, or if they would not take pity on me, they might settle me with a family in our village. Before that could happen, my father petitioned for custody and won, thanks to a substantial bribe to the court. He plucked me out of Russia and we have lived a nomadic existence ever since.”

“Is he in London now?”

“He is, and I’m little more than a common servant to him. My grandfather sends him a quarterly allowance which is supposed to be for my welfare, though I rarely see a penny of it.”

I was trying to find a delicate way to point out that she did not look as though she were in need, but she replied before I could form the words.

“It’s the dress, isn’t it?” she asked, looking down. “I suppose I look like the kind of spoiled child who would say anything to get what she wants, but as a colonel’s daughter, I am expected to dress the part. I mean nothing to him at all.”

“Colonel’s daughter?” I asked, a dim light beginning to dawn. I just wasn’t certain what it was, yet.

“Yes. He’s a colonel in Her Majesty’s Army. Perhaps you’ve heard his name: Sebastian Nightwine.”

I sank back in Barker’s chair, trying not to show my shock. I realized at once that it was undeniably true. All one had to do was look at her golden amber eyes to know she was her father’s daughter.

“Nightwine, of all people,” I finally managed to say.

“I see you are acquainted with his name, at least. Suffice it to say he was not the father I had always dreamed of having.”

“But you were in London first,” I said, remembering I had seen her the morning before we had gone to St. Katharine Docks.

“He sent me ahead to prepare for his arrival. What could I do, Mr. Llewelyn? I am wholly and completely dependent upon him. I haven’t the resources to return to Russia on my own.”

“Why didn’t you leave him?” I implored. “What made you stay?”

“I was only sixteen then. He monitored my correspondence with my grandparents and I have no friends. What could a young girl possibly do that could gain her freedom from her own father? In the eyes of the law, I had no choice. We have now traveled together for years, every year worse than the one before. If I knew how to escape him, I would do it now without hesitation.”

“Is that why I found you in front of our offices that day?”

She nodded. “I was trying to pluck up the courage to go inside and talk to Mr. Barker.”

“Why didn’t you do it then?”

“I had to be sure that I could trust him or that he would protect me. My father would consider this a betrayal worthy of death.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but my employer is a wanted man. I was myself until just this very morning.”

“I know, Mr. Llewelyn. That was my father’s doing. I believe he has cast doubt upon Mr. Barker’s character in order to destroy him. I have stayed here overlong already. I must get back before he suspects something.”

“Stay,” I urged. “Stay and I will get you to a safe place. You’ll never have to see him again.” I tried to imagine where I would take her, but my brain was suddenly foggy. I couldn’t take her to the house in Newington; I didn’t know what I would find when I got there. The barge where we had found brief refuge was not suitable for a young woman of her position, and the flat had been discovered.

“I mustn’t stay now,” she said calmly. “Whatever I do must be done with great care. Don’t worry, Mr. Llewelyn. My immediate situation is not dire. I have simply determined that my position is no longer tenable and I will do anything in my power to change it.”

“Then how may I help?” I asked, frustrated indeed. “I am at your disposal.”

“You’ve helped already,” she said. “You’ve listened. I will come back when I can, and perhaps together with Mr. Barker, we’ll find a way out of this. In the meantime, I will look for evidence of a crime that could have my father arrested.”

“You must not place yourself at any greater risk.”

She stood, and extended a hand. “You’ve been most kind, and I appreciate it. I believe you genuinely care what happens to me.”

I stood and took her gloved hand for a brief moment before letting it go. “I do. I’m here if you need me.”

“I’ll remember that,” she said, and then she slipped out the door.

In a rush, I suddenly thought of all of the things I should have asked her. How did she know about Barker? Why had she come here, knowing he was on the run, with a price on his head? What could she realistically expect from us, anyway? I was still contemplating the feel of her delicate gloved hand in mine when Jenkins came strolling in a minute later.

“Was I right?” he demanded. “A looker, wasn’t she?”

“I commend your taste in women, Jeremy.”

“What was that about, Mr. L?” he asked.

I looked at him and shook my head. “I only wish I knew.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Behind Barker’s green leather chair there is a small table with a wooden panel hanging above it, adorned by his family crest: a rampant lion surrounded by fleurs-de-lys. It looks very old, and may in fact be, but it hides a very modern safe. I opened that safe then, and replenished the money which we had spent since this case began. I seriously hoped that wherever the Guv was at that moment, he too would have a good meal to eat and a bed for the night.

“I’m going to the British Museum,” I said to our clerk. “Lock up if I’m not back by five-thirty.”

Jenkins’s mind was still back on Sofia Ilyanova. I had broken the news of her unfortunate parenthood.

“I don’t believe it, Mr. L. A girl that pretty can’t be related to a devil like him.”

“A girl cannot help her parentage,” I replied.

“Speaking of females, I forgot to tell you that Mrs. Ashleigh is in town, and she’s none too pleased. You’re to go to Brown’s Hotel as soon as you can to see her.” Our clerk was lank limbed, lank haired, loose jawed, and unsteady on his feet. He’d had a merely passing acquaintance with his straight razor recently and his clothing looked as if he’d slept in them.

“Did she have any message for Barker when he returns?”

“No, sir. Only you.”

I called the Brown to say I was coming and caught a hansom cab to Albemarle Street. The hansom is a modern marvel, the gondola of London, gliding noiselessly upon rubber wheels. It felt an incredible luxury after walking everywhere for the last week. I stretched out on the seat, without the Guv to occupy two thirds of the vehicle, thinking it was hard to believe that I had started the day by being arrested. I read somewhere that testing and licensing of London cabmen was very stringent. They had to know every street and how to get there in the shortest possible time, as well as which roads were being repaired. I relaxed and let my current cabman whisk me to my appointment with Mrs. Ashleigh, while I took a few moments to puzzle over Sofia Ilyanova.