Page 20 of Speculations in Sin

A man in a dark suit, with a shock of blond hair and a thick mustache of the same color, stepped out of the bank’s door and slapped his hat onto his head with a satisfied air.

There was no reason this man should choose that moment to look up at the wide window in which I stood. Glittering eyes locked onto me, and the confidence the detective inspector had displayed suddenly evaporated.

Inspector McGregor sent me a scowl that would have singed a lesser woman to the bone. As it was, I simply gazed back at him.

Turning abruptly from me, Inspector McGregor gestured to the constables with the snap of his hand, then strode past the wagon, every step betraying irritation.

The slam of the wagon’s iron door echoed up and down the lane. The horses started, jostling Sam away to the nearest nick.

6

I swung back from the window to find Cynthia regarding me with worry, Miss Swann and Mr. Zachary in indignation.

“Who was killed?” I asked them.

“Really, madam.” Miss Swann’s tones could freeze the tea in all our cups. “It is hardly a seemly thing to discuss.”

“But possibly important,” Cynthia returned. “After all, I’m asking your bank to take care of my funds.”

“As Miss Swann said, there was an argument between two clerks that became unruly,” Mr. Zachary said. “Nothing more, I assure you. The head clerk should not have hired Mr. Millburn at all. He has an unsavory background, as it turns out, but he managed to hide it from all of us. He has been rooted out and will trouble us no more.” Mr. Zachary spoke as one washing his hands of all responsibility.

My temper flared, but I knew it would do no good for me to rail at him. I balled my hands and settled for pinning Mr. Zachary with a grim stare that made him turn to avoid it.

Poor Joanna. I wondered if Inspector McGregor or anyone from the City police would bother sending word to her that Sam had been arrested. Sam would be taken to the City lockup, as this road lay within the square mile of London. What Inspector McGregor from the Metropolitan Police had been doing here, I wasn’t certain. The two forces never mixed except in very special circumstances.

“What was this quarrel about?” Cynthia asked, continuing in her guise as worried investor. “Anything to do with the shareholders’ funds? Or was it personal?”

Miss Swann broke in. “The problem had nothing to do with shares. I assure you, your money will be quite safe here.”

“Mr. Stockley did not even work on the same floor as Mr. Millburn,” Mr. Zachary put in.

He flushed as Miss Swann turned a harsh gaze on him—he’d blundered and given us names instead of deflecting our attention from the situation.

“And all will be well?” Cynthia widened her light blue eyes in a childlike expression.

“Indeed.” Miss Swann exuded relief that she finally understood. “The bad man has been taken away, and tranquility will resume.”

As if her words were a command, the hall outside the office quieted. Footsteps retreated, and doors closed firmly, rendering the house silent once more.

“I am certain the matter is settled,” Cynthia said. “Do send the prospectus to my uncle, Mr. Zachary. He will instruct me on how to proceed.”

“Delighted to, your ladyship.” Mr. Zachary’s relief matched Miss Swann’s. “You may be assured your funds will be in safe hands.”

He came around the desk, primly upright. He did not do anything so familiar as to offer to shake Cynthia’s hand, but he gave her a shallow bow.

Miss Swann, once more cued, opened the door and ushered us out. She did no bowing or curtsying apart from a deferential nod to Cynthia. Miss Swann did not look at me at all as I scurried past her, but she made clear her disapprobation that I’d asked questions without the permission of my betters.

The young man who’d herded us upstairs waited restlessly halfway down the hall. Miss Swann relinquished us to him and disappeared back into the office. She’d successfully handed us off to the next player in the chain, and her part was done.

“I apologize for the disturbance, your ladyship,” the young man said as we joined him. “A slight problem with the lower staff.”

“A man was murdered,” Cynthia said as she strode past him, making him jog to keep up with her. “That sounds like more than a slight problem.”

I slowed, letting them go ahead of me. Cynthia and our guide reached the stairs at the same time, and the young man spluttered as Cynthia charged down the staircase without waiting for him to lead.

Neither noticed they’d left me behind. Once the hall was deserted and silent, I grasped the handle of the door from which agitated voices leaked and peeked inside.

I found a large room crammed with standing desks in face-to-face pairs, a narrow corridor of space between the rows. The bookcases I’d expected to find in Mr. Zachary’s office lined the walls, filled with books and stacks of papers that threatened to tumble down in any draft. Each desk held cubbyholesstuffed with more papers. How anyone found the exact sheet they sought was beyond me.

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