Chapter 34
“Tibbs,” said Pevensey. “I need your help.”
“No, you don’t,” said Tibbs crossly, trying to walk away from Pevensey before he had even begun his explanation. Pevensey followed him down the pavement in front of Bow Street.
“I do. I’m in search of that actress Dolly, and I need help apprehending her. I don’t have time to chase her all over London. And dash it all! Sir Richard ordered us to work together.”
Tibbs folded his arms over his chest and gave a great sniff. The grayish-white stripe in his hair glinted in the sunlight. Pevensey could tell the Runner was striving to overcome his pique enough to play the plum part that Pevensey had offered.
“Mr. Pevensey!” said a cheerful voice.
Pevensey looked up to see Miss Cecil disembarking from Auld Donald’s creaky carriage. His own face must have lit up at seeing her, for he caught a side glance of Tibbs looking at him strangely.
“Just the man I want to see,” she said pleasantly. “Oh, is this one of your associates?”
Pevensey introduced Tibbs, whose recalcitrance had suddenly vanished as he tugged his forelock for a pretty lady. “We’re just off to St. Martin’s,” said Pevensey, “to try to catch an important witness in the case.”
“Who?”
“The dresser. Dolly. She did a bolt.”
“Shall we put Auld Donald through his paces?” said Miss Cecil, assuming without any preamble that she was invited to come along. “I can tell you my news on the way.”
“Very well,” said Pevensey, too eager to have speech with her to make time for prudence. His eyes followed her as she walked over to Auld Donald to give him directions, admiring the simple peach walking dress that she wore.
“Eyes like sapphires, eh?” said Tibbs, elbowing him in the ribs with what was meant to be a good-natured nudge.
“Yes, sapphires,” said Pevensey in low tones, “and I’ll kill you if you mention it.”
“Discretion is my middle name,” said Tibbs.
Pevensey said a silent prayer for patience.
They climbed into the carriage, with Miss Cecil facing forward while Pevensey and Tibbs sat crowded together on the rear-facing seat. “What news was so important that you came all the way to Bow Street?” asked Pevensey.
“I had tea with Lady Fremont and Miss Wedgwood today.”
“Ah, how clever of you to contrive that. What did you discover?”
“First of all, their character. Lady Fremont is most eager to be the perfect wife and mother, and Miss Wedgwood is green with jealousy of Lady Worlington’s engagement to the duke.”
“Did Lady Fremont give any hint that she knew of her husband’s relationship with Miss Clifford?”
“No, and I could hardly ask her outright about it. But I did find out that she brews her own herbal remedies and knows all the lore of plants.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Tibbs crudely.
Pevensey decided to answer his annoying colleague so Miss Cecil was not obliged to. “I believe Miss Cecil is implying that Lady Fremont could brew up a poison if she had a mind to.” He looked at Miss Cecil frankly. “But would she have had opportunity to go to the theater and administer it?”
“I know who would know,” said Miss Cecil. “The children’s nurse would be fully aware if Lady Fremont had gone out for the night, for the woman positively dotes upon her children and looks in on the nursery constantly.”
“I could ask the nurse,” said Tibbs loudly.
Pevensey flinched. Tibbs’ approach would have the nurse running for the river Thames.
“I think you’re needed to find Miss Dolly,” said Miss Cecil, giving Tibbs an earnest look. “I daresay we can’t do that without you.”
His colleague’s chest puffed out a little bigger, and Pevensey almost rolled his eyes. How was it that Miss Cecil had such a deft hand at managing a man like Tibbs? “Let’s discuss the nurse later. Right now, we have Dolly to deal with.”
The old carriage creaked to a halt with the towering steeple of St. Martin-in-the-Fields overhead. “Is she in the church?” asked Miss Cecil.
“Not to our knowledge,” said Pevensey, “but she might have visited the pawn shop down the street.”
“I’ll go around to the back of the shop,” pronounced Tibbs, “in case she bolts again.”
“Very well,” said Pevensey. He was hoping for information inside the shop, not for Dolly herself, but Tibbs’ plan of attack did give Pevensey the chance to enter the shop with only Miss Cecil on his arm.
The proprietor of the pawn shop was a thin man with a reedy voice. “Can I help you, gentle folk?”
Pevensey, who had been in many pawn shops before, reflected that the beautiful lady on his arm was singularly responsible for this respectful reception. Apparently, the proprietor knew quality when he saw it. “We’re looking for jewelry,” said Pevensey. “A gold necklace with an emerald.”
“But Jacob, dear,” said Miss Cecil, “you know that my favorite color is pink.”
Pevensey almost froze in place as Miss Cecil uttered his given name in conjunction with an endearment, but he managed to forge ahead with a pretense of his own. “But Edwina, dear, you know that your complexion looks better with green.”
“How can you say that—” demanded Miss Cecil, as if they were a couple married just long enough to take their bickering into the public eye.
“I have just the thing,” trilled the pawn broker, apparently deciding that Pevensey was the one with the purse. He reached inside a case beneath the counter and pulled out a gold filigree necklace with an emerald pendant.
“That’s perfect,” said Pevensey, lifting the jewel up to the light.
“Well,” said Miss Cecil, wrinkling her nose. “It’s no Rundell and Bridge, that’s for certain.”
“I believe if you look at the tiny emblem on the back of the pendant,” said the pawnbroker, “you will see that this piece was indeed created by Rundell and Bridge.”
“Then how are you selling it here?” asked Miss Cecil, feigning a look of shock. “It’s not stolen, is it?”
“Madam,” said the pawnbroker, as sternly as his reedy voice could manage, “this shop does not deal in stolen articles.”
“Exactly as I was telling you, dear,” said Pevensey. “Everything’s all above board and in order. I imagine some poor gentleman in hard times was forced to pawn this necklace.”
“A gentlewoman,” said the proprietor, “but you have the gist of it.”
“But what if the poor woman finds the money somehow and comes back to claim it?” said Edwina, affecting an air of distress. “How long have you had the necklace, sir?”
“It came in only yesterday, but I am certain the seller has no plans to redeem it. In fact, she said she had other jewelry to sell as well.”
Pevensey felt a gentle pressure against his wrist as Edwina laid her forefinger against his pulse, encouraging him to speak. “I wonder if my wife would like her other jewelry. Maybe there'll be something in pink. Do you think she’ll be back today?”
The pawnbroker shrugged. “She said she might.”
“Perfect,” said Pevensey. “Perhaps we’ll stop in at the corner for a bite of steak pie and then come back to see.”
“Or perhaps we should stop in at the church, dear,” said Edwina. “You know you’ve been meaning to give a little something for the parish fund.”
“Hmm,” grumbled Pevensey, giving a wave to the proprietor as they saw themselves out.
“Goodness!” said Edwina once they were a sufficient distance away not to be overheard. “That was a very productive visit.”
Pevensey grinned, still feeling a tingling where her fingertip had brushed against his wrist. It had been productive in more ways than one. “I don’t really have to give anything to the parish fund, do I, Mrs. Pevensey?”
By Jupiter! That name fit her well.
She gave a cheerful laugh. “Certainly not. I’ll wait in the carriage while you alert Tibbs. And then I think we should stay here on guard for a while, don’t you?”
“It might be better if you went back to Baker Street in the carriage,” said Pevensey, “rather than wasting your afternoon in a closed carriage with two disreputable officers from Bow Street.”
“Oh, I think Tibbs will want to keep waiting at the back door of the pawn shop, so I may have to waste my afternoon in a closed carriage with just one disreputable officer.” She gave him a humorous wink.
“And don’t worry—I intend to bore you to tears with a detailed description of all my travels in the lake country. ”
“We’ve found the apothecary,” announced Sir Anthony as he and Lady Compton swept back into the parlor at Baker Street. Gerald, carrying a bag of sticky sweetmeats, was with them, licking his fingers contentedly and then rubbing them against the rented sofa.
“Oh!” said Helena, awakening from the brown study she had fallen into after Geoffrey had left. The tea tray was still on the table, but she did not even know what time it was. “Where did you find him?”
“Three blocks from Ralph’s flat,” said Sir Anthony. “He keeps a register of all his customers.”
“Of course he does,” interjected Lady Compton. “An apothecary can’t be too careful—we live in such lawbreaking times.”
“And he has a record for six o’clock in the evening on the night in question,” continued Sir Anthony. “One bottle of laurel water to Mr. R. Aldine.”
“I asked him how potent the medicine was, and it sounds like it’s no more dangerous than the draught I mix up.
A few drops of the laurel tincture diffused in water.
One would have to drink a whole pint of it to suffer any harmful effects.
And there was far less than a pint in the bottle your husband bought. ”
“Thank heaven!” said Helena. “I knew that Ralph had nothing to do with poisons.” She thought of his poor body, wracked with painful coughs, and felt a painful twinge of her own as the baby moved within her belly. “I wish I could bring him medicine in the prison.”
“We’ll all go tomorrow and visit him,” said Lady Compton decisively.
“How kind you are! Surely, you do not mean to spend all your time on us. You must enjoy town too while you are here—see the sights with Gerald, visit the drapers and the milliners, and attend some social gatherings.”
“There will be plenty of time for that,” said Lady Compton, “once your Ralph is out of danger. Gerald!” she said, turning her head and seeing the boy seizing a piece of plum cake without being invited to do so. “What would Mr. Whitmore say?”
“He would say, ‘Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres,’” said the boy, in a credible impersonation of his stern tutor.”
“By Jove! So he would,” said Sir Anthony, erupting into a gale of laughter.
“We must all have a piece of plum cake to celebrate,” said Helena. “Mrs. Mabley would not want it to go to waste. And we’ll pack a piece to bring to Ralph tomorrow. You shall give it to him, Gerald.”