Chapter 22
Detective Inspector Teague was fortunately at Scotland Yard when Hadrian and Tilda arrived.
Hadrian mostly listened as Tilda informed Teague of everything they’d learned at the Albion and from Bannet.
Teague was especially thrilled with their discovery of Oscar Mobray as Miss Chadwick’s elocution tutor and lover, as well as the likelihood that he was also the kidnapper and an actor at the Albion.
Teague was as keen as they were to confirm that connection. He took the leather from Maud Brimley as evidence and promptly locked it in his drawer.
“Since the evening performance is already underway at the Albion, I suggest we go to Savoy Street,” Tilda said. “It’s probably too much to hope we find luck there, but I think we’re due.”
Teague flashed a brief smile. “We are, indeed. Yes, let’s investigate Savoy Street.” He looked at Hadrian. “Do you mind if I ride with you whilst I dispatch Wycombe, Mercer, and others in the police van?”
“You have a standing invitation to ride with me,” Hadrian replied.
After Teague spoke with Wycombe and instructed him to gather Mercer and the others and meet them at Savoy Street with the van, he, Hadrian, and Tilda made their way to Hadrian’s coach.
Hadrian addressed Leach. “We’re going to Savoy Street, but we don’t know exactly where or even what we’re looking for. Why don’t you pull to the side and park the coach once we’re there?”
“Yes, my lord.” Leach held the door as they entered the coach.
As soon as they began moving, Teague slapped his hand against his thigh. “Your information was so engaging and helpful that I forgot to tell you what we learned today—it pales in comparison. We have a description of the man who assisted Spring-heeled Jack with his leap the other night.”
Tilda and Hadrian exchanged an eager look. “I imagine he’s large to have pulled Mobray up,” Tilda said.
“In fact, he is,” Teague replied with a nod. “A neighbor saw a very tall—well over six feet he said—broad-shouldered man carrying several items, including a rope, from the chandler’s building the night of the performance.”
Hadrian and Tilda shared another look, but Hadrian spoke this time. “That could be Jesson.”
“The prop master at the Brittania?” Teague asked.
“Yes,” Tilda replied. “Though the cap definitely came from Larkin at the Albion, and I didn’t have the sense that Jesson would need to purchase such items from Larkin.”
“It’s possible he did—so that the cap wouldn’t be traced to him,” Teague suggested.
They arrived in Savoy Street and Leach parked the coach. When they were all on the pavement, Teague turned to Leach. “The police van will be along shortly. Please stop the driver and direct him to pull in front of you. Tell Wycombe I said to wait until I fetch him.”
Leach nodded. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
Savoy Street wasn’t terribly long, running from the Strand almost to the Thames embankment. Tilda took Hadrian’s arm, and Teague walked on her other side.
The Queen’s Chapel of the Savoy was on the right up ahead. Tilda glanced at the opposite side of the street from the church and nearly tripped. “There’s a tobacconist.”
Hadrian sucked in a breath. “Perhaps Mobray lives there.”
“Because Lady Priscilla’s garments smelled of tobacco,” Teague said anxiously.
It was good the cloak and nightgown had carried the scent of tobacco, or Hadrian and Tilda would have had to explain why they suspected Mobray lived in that building. They crossed the street. The tobacconist was still open.
“I’ll ask if Mobray lives upstairs,” Teague said. He hurried into the shop.
Hadrian tipped his head back and surveyed the stone facade of the building. The shopfront was painted black with gold lettering that read FINE TOBACCO AND CIGARS. A simple cornice sat at the top, and he idly wondered if Mobray practiced leaping up to it from the pavement.
“Mobray may be up there now,” Tilda whispered. “I should have brought my father’s pistol.”
“I have mine, and Teague has his,” Hadrian said.
Teague came from the shop, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Mobray lives upstairs on the second floor in the back. The shopkeeper lives on the first floor. He hasn’t noticed anything odd in recent days or weeks.”
“Anyone who consistently visits Mobray?” Tilda asked.
“No,” Teague shook his head. “But I want to question him more thoroughly after we apprehend Mobray. I’m in a hurry to get upstairs.
” He looked up the street. “There’s the van.
I see Leach intercepting them. I’ll run and inform Wycombe that we’re going upstairs and to follow us.
” He started to go then looked back at them. “Do not go up there without me.”
Hadrian was fairly certain he heard Tilda mutter something. “We won’t let Mobray escape,” he assured her.
A few moments later, Teague had returned, and he led them into the building. There was a door to the right, that presumably led to the shop. A gas sconce flickered in the stairwell.
They started up the stairs, trying to move quietly. By the time they reached the first floor, Wycombe, Mercer, and another constable had caught up to them.
Another sconce lit the stairs up to the second floor. It did a poor job of illuminating the landing, but it was better than darkness.
Teague moved onto the landing then turned and motioned for Hadrian and Tilda to step aside. Then he gestured for Wycombe and Mercer to join him.
Hadrian could feel Tilda’s tension beside him as Teague and the others went to the doorway to the rear rooms. Teague knocked. The air thickened as they waited. There was no response.
Teague knocked again. “Mr. Mobray?”
The waiting, though only a few moments, became interminable. Still there was no response.
Turning his head, to Wycombe, Teague nodded. He tried to open the door, but it appeared to be bolted. Wycombe, who was the largest of the three of them, took Teague’s place and pushed at the door with his shoulder. The door opened, and Tilda took a step forward.
Hadrian grasped her forearm. “Wait,” he whispered. What if Mobray was just inside? He released her as the three men went into the room.
“I can’t stand this waiting,” Tilda muttered.
Fortunately, it wasn’t too long before Wycombe came back out, his features a mask of disappointment. “Mobray’s gone. Looks as though he left in a hurry. You can come in.”
Tilda strode behind Wycombe into Mobray’s lodgings. Entering the open doorway, Hadrian agreed with the assessment that he’d departed quickly.
The main room—there was another visible behind the first—contained a seating area with a worn, blue velvet chair and a mismatched faded settee in what was likely once a garish red and yellow.
A glazed bookcase stood against the wall opposite the main doorway, its doors open with most of its contents remaining.
A man in a hurry would not pack many books, as they would be too heavy to carry.
Hadrian recognized the desk that sat to the left of the bookcase.
It bore a lantern and the book Hadrian had seen in a memory. The mirror he’d seen wasn’t there.
He walked to the desk, removing his gloves and tucking them into his pocket.
Picking up the book, the name on the spine returned to him before he read it: Enfield.
He flipped open the cover and read the title, The Speaker, or, Miscellaneous Pieces Selected from the Best English Writers.
It was a book on elocution. He should have thought to determine what Enfield had written.
Discovering the title of this book might have led them in this direction sooner.
Before he could draw Tilda’s attention to what he’d found, the room changed.
It was full daylight, not the approaching twilight of the present moment.
He stood in this very room near the table by the window carrying a cup of what smelled like tea.
He looked across the sitting room where there was a cupboard.
The door was ajar, and in the shadows inside of it, Hadrian barely made out a hand.
He wasn’t able to investigate it further as he moved through a doorway into the bedchamber. It was a bedchamber with an iron bedstead along with a washstand and dresser. A woman lay in the bed, her eyes closed as her dark hair caressed her bare shoulders.
The memory-holder approached the bed, and the woman opened her eyes. It was Delia Chadwick. Her lips curled into a happy smile. If Hadrian was experiencing Mobray’s memory, he could again confirm the man felt deep love for Delia. Why had he killed her then?
The effort to make sense of the memory brought a stab of pain through his temples. His vision clouded, and he was once more holding the elocution book, not a teacup. He’d returned to the present.
His inability to investigate the cupboard and what he’d seen troubled him. Pivoting, he moved toward the cupboard.
Tilda intercepted him, her gaze darting to the book he still held. “What’s that?”
He handed it to her lest he see another memory, which he wasn’t opposed to, but he needed a moment’s respite. “I found it on the desk. It’s the book I saw with the silver filigree mirror on top of it. It’s a book about elocution.” He grimaced, regretting his inaction with the author’s name.
Tilda’s brows shot up. “Did you see a memory when you picked it up? You look unfocused.”
“Yes. I think it belonged to Mobray. He was carrying tea into the bedchamber where Delia was awaiting him in bed. But there’s something about this cupboard.” He moved toward it and opened the doors.
A gasp shot from Tilda’s mouth. The cupboard was the length of the main room, perhaps eight feet in length. It was about four feet high. Inside, there was a thin pallet.
“In the memory, this door was ajar and I was sure I saw a hand in the shadows. I think this is where he kept Lady Priscilla and Miss Redmayne.” Hadrian crouched down and reached inside and touched the pallet.