Chapter 11
Beth took the news of Polly Spender’s unhappy end in silence, her lips pressed tight as though she did not trust herself to speak.
She listened as Harry laid out the strange circumstances of the hidden room, and Oliver’s suggestion that Polly and the maid involved in the deception of the builders renovating the house might be one and the same person.
At last she shook her head, her expression stony.
‘I knew she was in with a bad lot, but I never thought she’d turn up dead.
’ Her gaze met Harry’s. ‘How did it happen? Was it murder?’
‘I don’t know. A broken neck could be caused by an accident or a fall, I suppose.’ A vision of Polly’s waxen face flashed across Harry’s mind and she shuddered. ‘But she didn’t get there by accident. She was placed there for Scotland Yard to find.’
‘Not Scotland Yard,’ Beth corrected. ‘For Sherlock Holmes to find, which puts a very different spin on things. It takes a nasty sort of mind to turn death into a game like that.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said simply. ‘I’m afraid it does.’
Beth took a brooding sip of her pint. ‘The other thing I don’t understand is how they knew so far in advance that there’d be anything worth nicking.
’ She cast a sideways look at Harry. ‘I’ve come across a burglar or two in my time and they’d never go to this much trouble unless they were sure there was a big prize at the end. ’
It was a thought that had occurred to Harry.
The theft had happened overnight, but it had been months in the planning.
Someone had known about the connection between Lord Delaware and Prince Rupert, and had predicted it would present a lucrative opportunity.
They had also discovered the exact date that the opportunity would arrive, and had executed the crime with masterly precision.
They were bold and audacious and supremely confident, and it appeared they had no fear of getting caught.
Their name – or at least the name they hid behind – was Professor Moriarty.
‘I don’t think we’re dealing with ordinary burglars,’ she replied.
‘I think it’s an organised gang, the one behind the Lord Robertson job last year.
Dora Grubb is in prison for that but the jewellery she stole was never recovered.
I’ve always wondered what happened to it. ’
Beth’s gaze was shrewd. ‘You’re thinking of our friend Mr Pole.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Harry said, and sighed. ‘There must be a hundred shops like his in the city, and more than a few that don’t ask questions about where the valuables they’re offered come from.’
The other woman snorted. ‘A few? It’s the perfect cover to fence stolen goods.
But here’s the thing – most criminals would stab each other in the back if there was something in it for them.
I reckon a smart gang might have one or two places in London they trust to shift what they steal, and no more. ’
It made sense, Harry had to acknowledge.
‘Which brings me onto something important. Whoever this gang is, they’re dangerous.
Polly is dead and – well – I’d rather the same thing doesn’t happen to you.
’ She took a breath and met Beth’s gaze.
‘I don’t want you to undertake any more investigating on my behalf, and if you decide you don’t want to work for me in a domestic capacity then I’ll understand that too. ’
Beth shook her head. ‘Not blooming likely. I told my mum I’d found a job and she’s already spent half my wages on new clothes for my sisters.’ She eyed Harry knowingly. ‘Besides, you’re not going to stop investigating, are you?’
‘No,’ Harry admitted. ‘But it’s one thing putting myself in danger. I can’t do the same to anyone else.’
‘I see,’ Beth said, folding her arms. ‘So you’ve told Mr Fortescue to sling his hook as well, have you?’
Harry paused. ‘No, but that’s different.’
‘Because he’s an important lawyer and you need his help.’
‘Yes,’ Harry said, uncomfortably aware that was only part of the reason she hadn’t suggested to Oliver that he back away.
‘Thing is, you need my help too. I can go places you can’t, talk to people who wouldn’t give you or a fancy lawyer the time of day.
’ Beth leaned forward. ‘And Polly makes it personal. She wasn’t a bad kid and she doesn’t deserve to be treated like a piece in a game.
If I can do anything to catch the monster who did that, I will. ’
It was no less than Harry expected. Even so, she still felt honour-bound to press the point. ‘But—’
‘But nothing,’ Beth insisted. ‘You ain’t getting rid of me that easily – there’s still the matter of your brother’s dodgy engagement, for a start. The clock’s ticking on that score – this is her last weekend at the Hot Spot, remember?’
Harry ran a weary hand across her face. After the shocking discovery of Polly’s body, the problem of Serafina Eccleston had fallen down her list of priorities.
She really ought to relay what Beth had discovered to Seb, so that the family might at least ensure Rufus could not elope with the girl before all the facts were known.
The trouble was that she had yet to uncover anything that proved Serafina had nefarious intentions.
Her use of an assumed name was questionable, but Harry couldn’t help feeling it was perfectly reasonable – probably even sensible – that she preferred to conceal her identity while working in an illegal club.
Hadn’t Harry done the same when she’d visited the Hot Spot?
Beth was absolutely right – they needed more information and they needed it soon.
‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ she said, sighing.
‘Although I confess I have no idea what to do about it.’
Beth tapped her nose. ‘Leave that to me. I’ve got an idea.’
‘You’re not going to take the job at the Hot Spot, are you?’ Harry said, frowning.
‘No,’ Beth replied. ‘But Serafina don’t need to know that. I’m going to catch her going into the place this evening, see if I can get her to spill the plan.’
Harry raised her eyebrows. ‘Surely she won’t tell you.’
The other woman grinned. ‘Ah, but we’re friends now. And I’m a good listener.’
It wasn’t without risk, Harry thought, but it was a good deal less dangerous than their visit to Solomon Pole’s shop.
She dug into her shabby handbag and pulled out a set of keys.
‘These are for my apartment. Obviously, you don’t start your domestic responsibilities until Monday morning but if you need somewhere to stay tonight, you’re welcome to use the settee again. ’
Beth took the keys. ‘That’s very generous of you. It shouldn’t be a late night, but I’ll keep it in mind.’ She fixed Harry with a determined stare. ‘So, what’s the plan with Pole? You going to tell Scotland Yard what we suspect?’
It was the sensible course of action, Harry knew, and she thought Oliver would probably agree.
But Sherlock Holmes did nothing without data and she was well aware that she had no evidence to present, nothing but the suggestion that Solomon Pole was more than he seemed.
She needed something tangible before she went back to Inspector Wells, and there was only one logical place to look.
Turning to Beth, she smiled. ‘How do you feel about a visit to the circus?’
After returning to the poster to check the time of the matinee show, Beth suggested they call into the dressmaker she had visited before their visit to the Hot Spot. ‘Just in case the bruiser from the pawnbroker’s shop has a good memory. A different hat might confuse him.’
Recalling the glitter of intelligence behind his eyes, Harry agreed, and took the added precaution of purchasing a new coat for each of them to wear.
The quality was excellent and the prices so much lower than those at Selfridges that Harry considered them to be a bargain.
‘If it’s not too much trouble, we’ll collect our old coats on the way back from the circus,’ she told the dressmaker, as Beth admired her reflection in the mirror.
‘As you wish,’ the dressmaker said, hanging Harry’s drab brown coat on a hanger as though it was made of the finest silk.
‘I feel fancy,’ Beth said as they made their way back to Liverpool Street to catch the train to London Fields. ‘Is this an ostrich feather, do you think?’
‘Donated by a grouse,’ Harry replied, recognising the cream and brown stripes. ‘It suits you.’
‘My mum won’t know me when I go home,’ Beth grinned. ‘She’ll put my rent up.’
The journey to London Fields was short and uneventful.
Hackney wasn’t an area of London Harry knew but she was not surprised to see it was heavily industrialised.
Factories dominated the skyline to the east, belching smoke from vast chimneys, turning the grey day even more leaden.
Beneath the clouds, dilapidated houses and shops skulked along the edges of litter-strewn roads, as though huddling together for protection.
Harry did not need to ask for directions to the circus; the train had been filled with well-dressed passengers and children, many of whom had alighted at London Fields station and were clearly bound for the same place.
She and Beth followed the crowds as they turned the corner, and saw for themselves the iron railings of the park gates and the vast green space beyond.
In the distance, flags fluttered cheerily from the top of an enormous red and yellow tent, while several smaller, less colourful tents sat nearby.
At the park entrance, a young woman on a unicycle was jiggling back and forth, balancing in one spot as she waved the crowds onwards.
Just beyond her, a juggler tossed an astonishing number of apples and oranges into the sky, grinning at the gasps of the appreciative audience as he caught the fruit and sent it flying again.
‘See sword juggling and many more marvels at Cuthbert’s Travelling Circus,’ he cried.
‘But don’t delay, today’s our last day!’