A Stranger in Mayfair

Chapter Eight

Still, he hadn’t forgotten the murder. Lenox was particularly eager to see Ludo Starling again, if for no other reason than to further analyze the man’s behavior, which had on their first encounter been so strange. The lie about his wife, for instance. The odd braggadocio of his claims about a palace-bestowed title.

Alas, between the meetings and the reading he had to do, there was no time for it. The task thus fell to Dallington and, of course, Scotland Yard. Inspector Fowler. He had replied to Lenox’s inquiring note with a few perfunctory lines explaining that the Yard had the case well in hand and that outside interference could only hinder the course of the investigation. The note was distinctly unfriendly, if not hostile.

On the second evening after Lenox saw his new offices, Dallington came by with a report. Kirk announced him.

“Who’s this new chappie buttling for you?” asked the young lord. “Surely Graham hasn’t handed his notice in?”

“Not at all, no. He’s become my political secretary. Kirk was Jane’s butler for many years.”

Dallington frowned. “My parents were always trying to make me be a political secretary to some sniveling politician. No offense, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I never saw the good in it. Parliament would burn to the ground before they made me a Member of it, and unless that was your goal it was just a job with long hours and no pay.”

“We haven’t spoken about your parents in some time.”

“Oh?”

“Would it be intrusive of me to ask what their current mood is-on the subject of your new career, I mean?”

“Middling, I’d say. They haven’t thrown themselves off a cliff yet, anyway. It helped when you spoke to Father.”

“I’m glad.”

“But leave that aside-how about Frederick Clarke?”

“Well?”

“What can you possibly mean by saying ‘Well,’ for God’s sake?” asked Dallington with an irritable scowl. “I hope you don’t think I’ve found the murderer or anything like that.”

Lenox chuckled. “No. I only wondered what progress you had made.”

“Too bloody little progress.”

“What have you done?”

“Whatever I could. I was hoping to convince you to come speak to the family with me.”

“Why?”

“Ludo Starling looks at me like I’m a leper.”

“He judges you on outdated information, I fear.”

“It’s not as if I reeled in there on a bender. I was altogether respectful. But he simply said that it was up to the Yard now and turned me out. It was dashed uncomfortable, to be honest.”

“What have you been doing instead, then?”

“Anything I could think of. I interviewed housekeepers and footmen up and down the street. None of them said anything interesting, unfortunately.”

“They knew him? Clarke?”

“Oh, yes, from the shops and the alley-the one where he died. None of them had ever exchanged more than fifty words with him, though. Said he was extremely deferential and polite.”

“That’s a piece of information, at any rate. It makes it less likely that this was a crime of passion or anger.”

“Yes, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Anything else? Did you ask about the scabs and wounds on his hands?”

“Nobody knew a thing about them. Several people said how large he was, however. If he was in a fight it sounds as if he wouldn’t have been easily overmatched.”

“Which was perhaps one of the reasons an ambush was the murderer’s soundest course. You’ve done quite well.”

“Only that from two days! You could have solved the thing and been to Bath and back in that time.”

Lenox laughed. “Not true. Still, it’s important to speak to Ludo’s family. What do you say to going now? I’m meant to be reading a blue book”-these were the dense parliamentary briefs all Members received for scrutiny-“but it’s deathly boring.”

“Just what I’d hoped for,” said Dallington. “I have a cab outside. Is Lady Jane in?”

“She’s with your mother, in fact.” Jane and the Duchess of Marchmain were close friends. “Give me a moment to gather my things.”

They pulled up to Ludo’s large, rambling house not twenty minutes later and knocked on the door. The butler-Lenox remembered that his name was Jack Collingwood-opened the door and ushered them in. At odds with the majority of his profession’s practitioners he was very young, perhaps thirty or a bit younger. While he went to fetch Ludo, Dallington whispered that he was the son of the Starlings’ old butler. That accounted for his age.

Ludo looked much more composed now than the last time Lenox had seen him. “Hello, hello,” he said. “How do you do, Charles?”

“Quite well, thank you. You’ve already met John Dallington?”

“Of course, yes. Good to see you again. Although as I said to him, the Yard can handle things from now on.”

“Would you mind if we spoke to a few people in the house?” asked Lenox. “I have a spare evening.”

“I really think-the Yard has been excellent. Mr. Fowler was here just this morning.”

Then why did you ever come to me? Lenox thought. All he said was, “He’s excellent, yes, but perhaps another set of eyes could see something new.”

“Two more sets,” said Dallington and grinned.

Ludo grimaced but relented. “Of course,” he said. “With whom would you like to speak first?”

“Have you been through his room at all?”

“Oh, no. The maid stripped off the sheets but left everything else as it is. For his mother, you see. We thought she might want to look over his things before they’re packed up.”

“When does she arrive?”

“Today. She’s traveling by post.”

“What’s the delay? It’s been four days.”

“I don’t know,” said Ludo. “Perhaps she had to find someone to look after her public house.”

Lenox shrugged. “At any rate, it might be valuable to speak to her. But that’s for tomorrow. Shall we have a look at the room? We need to know more about Frederick Clarke.”

“By all means,” said Ludo.

From the rather glum front parlor where they had been sitting, Ludo took them into the entry hall. There he led them through an unobtrusive door, painted the same color as the walls, and downstairs to the servants’ quarters. The largest room downstairs, the kitchen, was bright and busy with cleaning up after supper. Down a slim hallway to the right was a row of doors.

“Which one was it again?” said Ludo to a pretty young girl. “Frederick’s room?”

“It’s the last on the right, sir.”

The chamber when they reached it proved exceedingly modest, with only a bed and a small side table in it. There was one closet, too. On the side table were a stack of books and a candle that had burned down to a snub.

“Bring a lamp!” called Ludo down the hallway, and a moment later the same girl scurried down with it.

“Are you Jenny Rogers?” asked Dallington.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“How the devil did you know that?” asked Ludo.

“She doesn’t look like Betsy Mints, aged forty, cook, to me,” said Dallington.

“You’ve been looking into my household?”

“Yes.”

“Quite routine,” said Lenox.

“Still, I say, it’s a bit awkward,” said Ludo.

“We’ll need to speak to you soon, Miss Rogers.”

“You’re not a suspect,” added Dallington, still smiling. Lenox sighed. His apprentice couldn’t resist a pretty woman.