Chapter 17
A s we drove away from the hospital, Alex confirmed that the date of Arthur Cody’s visit to Ambrose occurred mere weeks before his arrest. The question was, why did he visit?
Given Ambrose was the bookmaker behind the entire operation, and Cody doped horses for him, it was likely the two worked closely together. Perhaps Cody wanted to verify whether Ambrose would tattle. Perhaps he only learned where Ambrose was living in 1916. The timing was even more curious when his arrest was taken into account. Had his visit to the hospital triggered his arrest somehow?
I felt as though all the details were there, just jumbled. We needed some clarification.
Hopefully Mr. Goreman could provide it. As a jockey in 1891, he was listed in the ledger as accepting payments. As a trainer now, he knew all the players in this dangerous game.
We found the jockey-turned-trainer at his stables, west of the city. It wasn’t as large as Yew Tree Lodge, and not all stalls were occupied, but it was well maintained. Just like the last time we’d spoken to Mr. Goreman, he was with the veterinarian, Mr. Wellington. The two men were giving their full attention to the same horse they’d been watching at the racetrack and didn’t see us approach. I overheard Mr. Wellington lament that the horse may never fully recover. As if it understood, the horse nudged him with its nose. Mr. Wellington rubbed it, murmuring words of comfort.
Mr. Goreman kicked something over. With the lower half of the stall door closed, I couldn’t see what. “Why the devil am I paying you then?”
Mr. Wellington spotted us and jutted his chin in our direction.
Mr. Goreman followed his gaze. A flicker of irritation registered on his face before it was replaced with a smile. He greeted us warily. “I answered all your questions. I doubt I have anything useful to add.”
“We have a confession,” Gabe said. “We’re not researching the use of magic in the racing industry for my mother. We’re consultants for Scotland Yard, investigating the death of Daniel Barratt.”
“I knew it! Your questions about throwing races were highly suspicious, not to mention offensive. Anyway, my comments stand. I can’t help you any more than I already have. I don’t know the fellow you speak of.”
“He was involved in the same scheme as Arthur Cody, the groom from Arlington Stables who was arrested for cocaine dealing.”
Mr. Wellington grabbed his bag from the back of the stall and pushed open the door. “I’ll check on the other horses.”
Mr. Goreman emerged, too. “Did you confront Arlington? I’m sure he didn’t admit to being in league with Cody, but hopefully you scared him a little.”
“Why hopefully?”
“Just in case he’s still cheating. He’ll stop if he thinks you’re onto him.”
“Do you have any reason to believe Arlington is, or was, doping his horses?”
“I would never accuse a fellow trainer of such a thing.”
Willie barked a protest. “You didn’t accuse him, but you did imply.”
“We’ve learned a thing or two since we last spoke to you,” Gabe went on. “We now know that Arthur Cody was being paid by an illegal bookmaker to dope horses in 1890 and ‘91.”
“Which bookmaker?”
Gabe continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “We also know that the iron magician, Reggie Ferryman, was paid by the same bookmaker, as were several jockeys.”
“Ah. I see what you’re implying, but I want to assure you, I did not throw races for anyone.” He tugged on his waistcoat hem. “Who was the bookmaker?”
“We’re not interested in bringing the participants of that scheme to justice. We merely want to find out who killed Daniel Barratt, and possibly his wife and children. Finding out what happened to them is our main priority.”
Mr. Goreman swallowed and nodded. The mention of Rosina and the children seemed to rattle him.
“Now that you know you won’t be in any trouble, perhaps you can answer truthfully,” Gabe went on.
“I have been truthful.” Mr. Goreman’s tone wasn’t nearly as arrogant as earlier.
“We have evidence that proves you were being paid by a bookmaker to throw races when you were a jockey, and?—”
“What evidence?”
“—and we know that bookmaker was Ambrose Arlington.”
Mr. Goreman paled. “He’s dead. He can’t tell you anything.”
“He’s not dead.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s being cared for by medical professionals who specialize in patients unable to look after themselves. He can’t communicate, so we’re trying to piece together the facts without his help. Who else knew about Ambrose’s scheme?”
Mr. Goreman pressed his lips together.
Willie huffed out a breath. “Answer the goddamned question! He already told you we don’t care who was paid to throw races. You ain’t going to get into trouble, unless you killed Daniel Barratt or his family.”
Mr. Goreman glanced at Alex. When Alex nodded, the trainer gave in. “I don’t know anything for certain, merely my own suspicions. I only suspected Cody was involved after his arrest in ’16 for cocaine importing. I suspected the farrier magician was being paid by Ambrose much earlier—when he was dismissed from Epsom in early ’91. It made sense that Ambrose would have an iron magician in his pocket. The farrier’s dismissal was also the beginning of the whole thing unraveling.”
“What do you mean?” Gabe asked.
“Ferryman’s dismissal left a hole in Ambrose’s operation. Although he was paying jockeys—and Cody, as it turned out—he stopped winning as much as he used to. Ferryman’s magic ensured the horses that wore his spell-infused iron shoes always won. Using just jockeys and doping in his scheme was a less precise science. Fewer winnings meant we weren’t getting paid as much, which annoyed those of us left. Ambrose’s wrath kept me working for him, and probably others, too. I was terrified of asking to leave. I felt trapped. If I wanted to continue to work as a jockey—if I wanted to continue to have all my limbs—I had to keep doing as Ambrose asked. But Ferryman’s departure without incident made me wonder if I could leave without consequences, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if others also started to consider walking away.”
Ferryman had been dismissed from Epsom in February, a month before Ambrose’s riding accident. Daniel had written the note for Oscar in February, telling him where to find the ledgers and begging for his help. Mr. Goreman’s assumption was right; he wasn’t the only one who wanted to leave the scheme after seeing Mr. Ferryman depart without repercussions. Daniel did, too.
“What was Ambrose Arlington’s reaction to your request to leave?” I asked.
“He was furious. His temper could be something to behold when he unleashed it. He doubled down on his threats, and I believed he’d follow through if pushed. So, I stopped pushing. It seemed Ferryman was special.”
The lack of repercussions for Ferryman was probably due to his magic. The magician could rain iron down on Ambrose with the whisper of his spell. Ambrose was just as afraid of what Ferryman could do as Goreman was of Ambrose.
“Did Ambrose’s family know what he was up to?” Gabe asked.
“How could they not know?” At Gabe’s arched brows, Mr. Goreman sighed. “I can’t say for certain, but you must admit it looks likely. Cody was employed at their stables and was doping their horses. Surely Ignatius was suspicious. And Syme. He was assistant trainer to Ambrose at the time. After Ambrose’s accident, he was promoted. He married Ambrose’s sister, ensuring his place in the family. Just as Ferryman’s arrest left a hole in the cheating operation, Ambrose’s accident left a hole in the family order.”
It was a bold suggestion, but it had merit. It also sent my mind reeling in another direction, one that cast an even more sinister shade across our investigation. What if Ambrose’s fall from his horse wasn’t an accident? What if someone had purposely startled the animal? It put Mr. Syme squarely in the picture, but I couldn’t rule out Mrs. Syme, either. She may have hoped her father would promote her to the position of trainer. Some siblings could be ruthless when family fortunes were at stake.
Despite the heat, a shiver prickled my skin.
“There is another candidate for the murder of that fellow, Daniel Barratt,” Mr. Goreman went on, frowning. “Although I’m uncertain of the timing. He died that year, too, but I can’t recall precisely when.”
“Who?” Gabe asked.
“Lord Coyle. He approached me shortly after Ambrose’s accident, telling me he was going to resume the illegal bookmaking operation. I don’t know how he knew about it, but he knew I was involved. He threatened me, just as Ambrose had. Nasty fellow. Anyway, he died before he could make a go of it.”
Coyle’s name didn’t come as a complete surprise. It had appeared in the hidden ledger. We were aware he knew the magician players—Daniel Barratt and Reggie Ferryman. It stood to reason that he learned the other names, too, and decided to revive the scheme. If it gave him money or power, Coyle seemed like the sort of man who would want a share.
None of us told Mr. Goreman that Coyle couldn’t have killed Daniel, because he was already dead himself.
“One more thing,” Gabe said. “You mentioned you suspected Arthur Cody was doping Arlington-trained horses for Ambrose’s operation.”
“I didn’t suspect him until after his arrest.”
“He visited Ambrose in 1916, shortly before his arrest.”
Mr. Goreman’s eyes widened. “He knew Ambrose was alive?”
“We find it too coincidental that he was arrested mere weeks after the visit.”
“Now look here. His arrest was nothing to do with me. I’m telling the truth. I didn’t know he visited Ambrose. I didn’t even know Ambrose was alive until you told me! Nor did I know Cody was doping horses at that point. I’ve been a trainer since 1910 and hadn’t worked as a jockey for several years before that. I would have been no use to a race fixer anymore. If you want to find out who told the police about Cody, look to the stables where he worked. Ignatius Arlington is as ruthless as his son was. Ask yourselves why he let the world think Ambrose was dead. What sort of father does that?”
We left Mr. Goreman scratching his balding head with one hand and gripping the top of the stall door with the other. He looked like a tired old man having a very bad day.
Willie glanced at him over her shoulder as she trudged ahead of us to the Vauxhall. “Someone ratted on Arthur Cody in ‘16, but I don’t reckon it was him.”
“Whoever it was, they may have also killed Daniel years earlier,” Gabe said. “Cody got off lightly.”
Gabe opened the door of the Vauxhall for me, but we both became distracted by the approach of the veterinarian, his steps brisk, purposeful. I thought he wanted to speak to us, but instead he placed his bag into the back seat of the large burgundy Daimler parked next to our vehicle.
Gabe decided he wanted a word with Mr. Wellington. “You’re also the vet for Arlingtons, aren’t you?” he began.
“That’s right.” Mr. Wellington put up a finger to make a point. “I didn’t know about that cocaine-doping fiend, though. He left before I took Arlington on as a client.”
“Did you know Mr. Arlington has a son named Ambrose?”
“I saw him trackside from time to time, before his accident.”
“After the accident, did Ignatius Arlington ever mention him to you? Or mention him in your presence?”
Mr. Wellington blinked in surprise at the question. “No. Never.”
“Did his wife, Ambrose’s mother?”
“I didn’t have any dealings with Mrs. Arlington. Just Ignatius, his daughter and her husband.” His frown deepened. “Now that I think about it, neither of the Symes have mentioned Ambrose either. In fact, I’d forgotten all about him until now. It’s as if he never existed. It is a little odd, but understandable given his death must have upset them terribly.”
Gabe didn’t tell him Ambrose was alive. He thanked him and climbed into the Vauxhall. We drove off ahead of Mr. Wellington.
“I reckon Goreman’s right,” Willie said. “The Symes and Arlington know more than they’re letting on. They must have known Cody was doping the horses, and if they knew he was guilty, then it means they knew he was doing it for Ambrose.”
“Especially Syme,” Alex added. “He was assistant to Ambrose. You can’t live and work with someone and not know they’re the brains behind an illegal bookmaking operation.”
I wasn’t entirely convinced. I’d lived with my mother for years and not known a single thing about her life before she gave birth to me. Even so, I was suspicious of Syme, too. “Mr. Syme may have had a double reason for wanting to get rid of Ambrose—to step into the void he left as head of the race-fixing operation, and the void he left in the family.”
Willie stabbed her finger in my direction. “He didn’t leave a void in the family. Ignatius had a daughter.”
“You’ve met Ignatius. Do you believe he valued her as equally as he valued his son?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Idiot.”
I suspected she was referring to Ignatius Arlington, not me, considering she stopped arguing.
Alex slowed at the intersection and waited for a horse-drawn cart laden with barrels to pass. “I agree that Syme may have wanted to get rid of Ambrose in order to take over the role of trainer and male heir, but not the race-fixing operation. He may have known about it, but he didn’t continue it after Ambrose’s accident. The operation seems to have come to an end in ‘91.”
Gabe glanced in the side mirror, something he did frequently to make sure we weren’t being followed. “We’re losing sight of the investigation’s purpose. We’re not looking for a motive to get rid of Ambrose. We’re looking for Daniel’s killer. The only relevance Ambrose has to the case is that he organized the race-fixing operation and it finished when he was no longer capable of running it. He couldn’t have killed Daniel. Nor could Coyle, the only other person who knew Daniel was involved.”
“That we know of,” Willie pointed out.
Gabe nodded. “What happens to a man’s belongings after the family are told he will never recover and never return home?”
It would be the same thing that happened to his belongings if he died. I knew that process all too well. Going through my brother James’s things after we’d been told of his death had been extremely difficult. “The family will look through them,” I said. “They would throw some things away and keep others.”
Gabe gave a rueful smile. “If we assume the task fell to his parents, then Mr. and Mrs. Arlington would have stumbled across details about his secret bookmaking scheme. Yet Ignatius denied knowledge of it when we confronted him.”
“Vehemently,” Alex added.
“He must know more than he let on. He probably knows the names of everyone in Ambrose’s operation. If he confronted Daniel Barratt and asked for the ledgers, but Daniel refused to hand them over, then perhaps Ignatius killed him to keep him quiet. For a proud man and a well-known trainer, having his son’s name bandied about as a race fixer and corrupt bookmaker would have been devastating, not just to his pride, but also to the family business.”
Alex suddenly stepped on the brake pedal instead of downshifting through the gears as he often did. He turned the steering wheel to the right at the intersection, but London was straight ahead.
The abrupt change of direction caused me to slide across the seat into Willie, while her hat tumbled onto her lap then the floor. She pushed me off her and swung around to look behind. “Someone following us?”
“No. Sorry.” Alex shrugged his massive shoulders. “This will take us to Derby Stables Road faster.”
Willie snatched up her hat from the floor. “Can you give us some warning next time? Sylvia looks like she’s about to faint from the fright.”
“I do not faint from fright, thank you,” I snipped. “But a little warning would be nice, Alex. That and something to strap us into the seats.”
We stopped at a roadside teashop called Kettle and Cake for a light luncheon. The sign claimed they served the finest fruit buns in England, but Willie declared it to be untrue, after eating four.
We stopped once more to refuel and unfold the Vauxhall’s convertible top, securing it in place so we wouldn’t get wet if it rained. Clouds rolled in, although they weren’t dark. If it did rain, it would be light. The cloud cover did lock in the day’s heat, however, and with less air circulating around the cabin, the ride to Yew Tree Lodge became increasingly uncomfortable.
We found Mrs. Syme talking to a groom outside one of the stalls. She didn’t look pleased to see us, and somewhat reluctantly told us we could find her father and husband in the tack room. She led us there herself, calling out as we approached.
The tack room was neatly arranged, with most equipment hanging on the three walls around a long, central table. Saddles were positioned over iron racks, while bridles hung from hooks above them. The room smelled of leather and horse. It made me think of the Hobsons and their leather magic. They would feel at home in here, even though their specialty was boots. The leather would soothe them. The same could be said for an iron magician. If he knew a spell to make iron move, like Mr. Ferryman did, then such a magician had many weapons nearby.
Ignatius Arlington’s reception was even frostier than his daughter’s. “What do you want now?”
Gabe launched into our reason for being there, not bothering with a preamble. “We called on your son at the Putney Hospital and Home for Incurables.”
“What!” Mr. Arlington exploded.
I was more interested in the reaction of the Symes. Mr. Syme’s worried glance flew to his wife. She pressed a hand to her throat. It shook.
“It was known as the Putney Private Asylum for Incurables when you admitted Ambrose,” Gabe went on.
“We know,” Mrs. Syme said, her voice a mere whisper.
The veins in Mr. Arlington’s forehead protruded like welts, and spittle foamed at the corner of his mouth as he spluttered. “How dare you invade our privacy! Who is your superior? I’ll be filing a complaint.”
“Address it to Detective Inspector Bailey at Scotland Yard,” Gabe said mildly. “As I was saying, we visited your son. We hoped he could communicate in some way and help us with our inquiries, but unfortunately not.”
“He couldn’t help you even if he could speak!” Mr. Arlington snapped. “Your investigation has nothing to do with him.”
“That’s not true, as you’re well aware, sir.” Mr. Arlington continued to protest, but Gabe spoke over the top of him. “Ambrose was operating an illegal bookmaking scheme from this very property, something you discovered after his accident when you went through his belongings.”
Mr. Arlington fell silent. Perhaps he was surprised by how much we knew, or perhaps he’d simply run out of steam. The veins in his forehead subsided and he looked like an elderly man on the cusp of giving up.
It was left to his son-in-law to ask Gabe what he meant. “What illegal bookmaking scheme?”
“Come now, Mr. Syme, don’t pretend innocence. As Ambrose’s assistant, you know precisely what I’m referring to.”
Mr. Syme glanced at his wife again. She’d gone quite pale.
Gabe filled the taut silence, before one or both of them had the chance to deny their involvement. “Ambrose paid a farrier magician to place a spell on horseshoes and Arthur Cody to dope two of your own horses, Arabian Prince and My Tribune. There may have been others, but they’re the ones we’re aware of. The horses won when they shouldn’t have. Once they gained a reputation after winning several races, Ambrose had the farrier and Cody stop. He also paid jockeys to throw races. Meanwhile, he took illegal wagers. He probably had someone place legitimate bets on his behalf to launder the money. You knew what Ambrose was doing, Mr. Syme.”
The room suddenly felt airless. Mr. Arlington staggered. Alex caught him. He tried to lead him to a stool, but Mr. Arlington shook him off. He brought his fist down on the table. “This is nonsense. My son is innocent!”
A cry escaped from Mrs. Syme. She spun around to hide her face, but not before I saw tears fill her eyes.
Mr. Arlington pushed past us and strode out of the tack room. No one tried to stop him. He wasn’t going to give us the answers we needed. He would deny Ambrose’s involvement until he had no more breath left in his body. The Symes, however, might talk.
Mr. Syme needed no prompting. “Ambrose’s scheme ended with his accident. I can assure you, these stables have been clean since then. Ignatius made sure of it.”
“Cody continued to work here,” Alex pointed out.
“Yes. As did I, even though I knew what Ambrose was up to, as you said. I can’t speak for Cody, but I can tell you that I was coerced into the scheme by Ambrose. He told me to turn a blind eye to his activities or suffer the consequences.”
“What consequences?” Gabe asked.
“Dismissal from my position here, at the very least. Physical harm if necessary. Call me a coward, but I was a young man without family to protect me. My position here meant everything to me.” He touched his wife’s shoulder, but she shook him off. His hand dropped to his side. “Ignatius understood my predicament and graciously allowed me to stay on after he found out.”
“Thanks to me,” Mrs. Syme muttered.
“Yes.”
She sniffed but didn’t turn back around.
“Did you know who else was involved in Ambrose’s operation?” Gabe asked.
“Other than Cody? No. Ambrose didn’t confide in me. I wasn’t actively involved. I never knew the man whose death you’re investigating.”
“And you, Mrs. Syme? Did Ambrose confide in you?”
She turned to face us. Her eyes were dry, and the color had returned to her cheeks. It was as if she’d put on a mask, hiding her emotions. “No, he did not. We weren’t close. Far from it. I despised him. He was mean with a nasty streak that our parents never saw. My brother was especially cruel to those he considered beneath him.” She glanced at her husband. “I wasn’t at all surprised to learn that he was doping some of our horses. He didn’t care about them. He didn’t care about anyone except himself. The day of his accident was the best day of my life, because it meant I was finally free of him. I know that sounds heartless, but that’s how I felt.”
Part of me wanted to take her hand and tell her that I didn’t think she was heartless, but I suspected she wouldn’t want anyone to show forgiveness or understanding. It might shatter the mask.
“Your father prefers to remember him differently?” Gabe asked.
She huffed a humorless laugh. “My parents learned what Ambrose was like only after his accident. Not only did they discover that he was a crooked bookmaker who doped our horses, but I told them a few home truths. We both did.” She nodded at her husband. “I think the grooms did, too. Ambrose’s accident left quite a few people breathing a sigh of relief. My mother refused to believe the worst of it.” Mrs. Syme’s gaze dipped before she raised it again to meet Gabe’s. “She kept his memory alive with photographs around the house, and she visited him on his birthday. But after her death, my father removed all visible signs of Ambrose’s existence. He’s ashamed that his only son, his pride and hope, was a horrible human being, but he would never admit it. That’s a step too far for him.”
Mr. Syme moved closer to his wife but didn’t touch her. She noticed his show of support, and some of the rigidity left her shoulders.
“Years later, Arthur Cody wanted to restart Ambrose’s race-fixing scheme, didn’t he?” Gabe said. “But his arrest put an end to that. His arrest came about after an anonymous tip. Did either of you inform the police that he was importing and selling cocaine?”
Mr. and Mrs. Syme shook their heads.
“Do you know who might have?”
Again, they shook their heads. “His arrest placed a stain on our reputation that we’re still trying to remove,” Mrs. Syme said. “It would have been better for us that his activity was never discovered. So, no, no one here informed the police.”
“Ambrose’s accident occurred in March 1891, and Daniel Barratt died in April, so Ambrose couldn’t have killed him. It’s likely that someone who knew Daniel was keeping the books for Ambrose wanted those books destroyed. Do you think Cody was capable of murder?”
“He wouldn’t want anyone to know he was doping horses,” Mr. Syme said. “But I don’t believe he was the type to murder a man. He just wanted to make some extra money.”
His wife agreed with the assessment of his character. “He wasn’t a saint, but I doubt he was a murderer.”
“Eliminating him narrows the list of suspects.” Gabe waited to see if either of the Symes would save him from suggesting a theory they might not like. But they did not, so he continued. “Your parents discovered Ambrose’s scheme when they went through his belongings. They found out who was involved in it. They knew about Daniel.”
“You’re accusing one of them of killing Daniel Barratt?” Mr. Syme asked.
Mrs. Syme gasped. “That’s an outrageous accusation!”
Something behind us caught the Symes’ attention. Their jaws dropped. Their eyes widened in alarm.
We swung around.
Mr. Arlington stood in the doorway, glaring at us along the barrel of a shotgun. “Get out! Get off my property! NOW!”