Chapter Thirty-One
Frederick
Frederick felt more resignation than guilt when he handed the letter over to Simmons, the agent who studied handwriting at his office on Bow Street. The letter written by Mrs. Lynton to a cousin that was supposed to go out in tomorrow’s post.
The one he had stolen.
The agent had said the brief applications weren’t enough for him to test against. There hadn’t been enough letters in common to compare to the scrap found at Bannister’s.
So, when he’d had tea with Eleanor again, seen the letters by the front door waiting for the morning post, he’d taken one addressed by Mrs. Lynton’s hand.
It had been too easy. He didn’t expect high security in a private residence especially as he’d been invited inside, but there didn’t seem to be enough servants to watch over the house.
No one looked askance at his presence nor when he and Eleanor were together unattended.
Her mother rarely came down, even for meals it seemed.
He couldn’t deny he enjoyed the freedom that gave him and Eleanor, but his gut tensed knowing that she was so unprotected.
He wondered if their butler, Mr. Grosse, would notice that one of the outgoing post was missing from the silver tray in the entry. Would he tell Eleanor? Would she know it had been Frederick who’d taken it?
“Oy, Rollins, Lewis is looking for you.” The agent at the desk next to his looked up from his paperwork.
Frederick tossed his greatcoat over the back of his chair. “And?” He hadn’t spoken to Lewis in some months. He had been Frederick’s partner on the Bow Street Patrol but had remained on the streets while Frederick had been promoted to investigator.
His neighbor blinked. “And what?”
“Where’s Lewis?” Frederick tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “What did he want?”
The man shrugged and turned back to his documents.
Lips pressed tight, Frederick looked around the office. Lewis wasn’t in sight.
“Rollins!” Stauncey stood at the door to his private office. He waved Frederick over, then disappeared back inside.
Frederick went to his office. “Yes, Sir John?”
“Close the door and sit down.”
Frederick did as he said. “I have Simmons analyzing a comparison sample from one of the suspects to the scrap of the letter we found with Bannister’s body.
I know that last judge called such evidence quackery, but one never knows if a different judge will be more receptive to the study.
And Briley reported back. He thinks the bullet was a 13.
2 caliber, most likely shot from a turn-off pocket pistol, or perhaps a pepper-box. ”
Stauncey acted as though he hadn’t heard him. “Are you attending a party at Lady Mary Cavindish’s with all of your suspects?” The magistrate steepled his fingers and stared over them at Frederick steadily.
Frederick didn’t react. He hadn’t wanted his employer to know that particular detail, not until the party was over and, hopefully, he’d learned more for the investigation.
He had, however, told a few of his fellow agents when he’d asked for their assistance.
He wanted to have men outside Lady Mary’s house in case a suspect turned violent or ran. One of them must have snitched.
“I am,” he answered. “This Saturday evening.”
“To what end?” Stauncey frowned. “You think gathering everyone together in a social event will induce the guilty party to confess in front of their peers?” His scornful tone told him what he thought of the idea.
“A confession would be appreciated but not expected.” Frederick tapped his fingers against his thigh. “I do hope that useful information might be let slip in a social situation where I’m certain the wine will be flowing. Lips are tight when questioned by an officer of Bow Street. It can’t hurt.”
Stauncey inhaled sharply. “I don’t approve of using Lady Mary in your investigation. The first murder was at her club. She has a motive, and it doesn’t necessarily align with ours.”
“She wants to find the killer,” Frederick said. “Our goals are aligned.”
“You can’t be that na?ve.” He pulled a snuffbox from his pocket and pulled out a pinch. “She’s a canny woman, I’ll give you that, but it isn’t our policy to partner with civilians.”
“Partner, no.” Frederick shifted. This was delicate territory.
Regardless if Frederick cooperated with Lady Mary and Eleanor or not, they would investigate.
He didn’t want them to have a go at it defenseless, but he also couldn’t disregard a direct order from his superior.
“The lady has been useful, giving me information and access to the ton I didn’t have.
That doesn’t mean I provide her with information. ”
Stauncey gave him an approving look. “You aren’t that na?ve. That’s good to know.”
His good opinion made something inside Frederick wither. His self-respect, most like. He didn’t normally approve of deception, but this misdirection seemed the only way to keep control of the investigation. Keep control of Lady Mary and Eleanor. And without that control, disaster could ensue.
“I’ve asked Briley and Quinton to watch Lady Mary’s house during the party, just in case force becomes necessary.”
The magistrate sniffed another bit of tobacco. “You sound confident this silly party will pay fruit.”
“I don’t know that it will; I don’t know that it won’t.” Frederick ground his jaw. “I want to be prepared just in case.”
Stauncey leaned back. “Understood.”
As he remained quiet after that, Frederick stood to take his leave, thinking the interview over. His employer’s voice stopped him at the door. “Just how prepared are you, Rollins?”
He turned. “Sir?”
“For the consequences?” The magistrate’s dark eyes stared at him, unreadable.
“You’re determined to follow where the evidence leads, but have you thought about what will happen when you make an arrest?
The killer isn’t likely to be an unknown from the streets.
The killer may well be someone with influence. ”
And with that influence came connections.
Those connections would be embarrassed by the results of the investigation.
Those in power would be happier if Frederick arrested a nobody, regardless of guilt or innocence.
It would make them feel better, safer, to pretend that it hadn’t been one of their peers who’d strangled a woman, shot her son to his death.
It would be easier to stay wrapped in their cocoons, content in their ignorance.
Frederick’s arrest would likely tear that sense of safety from them.
And they wouldn’t thank him for it. If someone in power took particular exception, it could end his career.
He knew those were the consequences his magistrate hinted at. Knew that the offices at Bow Street were Stauncey’s top concern. He weighed the justice in this one case against the future harm if this office lost its funds.
But Frederick’s thoughts were of other consequences. Of someone else’s sense of safety being ripped apart.
Of the pain he could cause Eleanor if the person he arrested was the woman he feared had committed these crimes.
As he left the magistrate’s office, he swallowed down the lump in his throat. Simmons would get back to him in the next day or two with an analysis of the writings he’d submitted. Perhaps he would show that the paper in Bannister’s apartment wasn’t written by Mrs. Lynton.
But Frederick didn’t hold out much hope.