Page 42 of A Ruse of Shadows
Mr. Constable obliged. But those offered nothing of interest. Each time Mr. Underwood came in with money, signed his name in the ledger, commended Mr. Constable on his excellent work, and left.
There was something entirely self-contained about Mr. Underwood’s venture into boxing. The night before, Mumble had commented incisively that they seemed more interested in Mr. Underwood than in his boxers. By the same token it could be said that Mr. Underwood appeared more interested in his boxers than in boxing as a sport.
“I have one last request, if you will humor me. I’d like to know about the parties that inquired after Mr. Underwood. If I can find them, perhaps they might have something to tell me.”
Mr. Constable hesitated.
Charlotte added, “And no need to tell me anything about the first party. I assume they came at the behest of the crown.”
The accountant stared at her for a moment, his fingertips scratching against the leather binding of the notebook. “All right, then. I won’t say anything about them. I’m sure, Mr. Herrinmore, you also wouldn’t wish me to divulge the specifics ofourconversation.”
“To the contrary, sir,” Charlotte said generously, “I shall have no quarrels with your disclosure to all and sundry that Edmond Herrinmore, on behalf of Mr. Harold Nelson of Manchester, has inquired after Mr. Underwood’s dealings with you, in order to ascertain whether he is likely to return and make trouble for Mr. Nelson, if the latter were to take Mr. Underwood’s former boxers under his wing.
“However, I do understand your hesitation, and I commend you for your scruples. Shall we do it another way? Let me tell you my conjecture. If I’m wrong, please say so. But if I’m right, you need say nothing.”
Before the startled accountant could object, she said, “The first party, which came late last year, represented the crown—and we needsay no more about them. The second party, I am guessing, consisted of a woman who claimed to be Mr. Underwood’s fiancée.
“She was beautiful and distressed. Perhaps she was interested in your records on the boxers’ stipends and perhaps she wasn’t. But the main objective of her visit was not that. Instead, she was terribly interested in whether you had directed payment to another woman on Mr. Underwood’s behalf.”
“You know Mrs. Anderson?” Mr. Constable blurted out.
Mrs. Anderson? Was she the other woman—or Mrs. Claiborne under a different guise?
“Was she a brunette who spoke with a French accent?”
“Not at all. She was fair-haired and spoke the Queen’s English.”
“Indeed.”
“She—” Mr. Constable stopped himself, as if remembering that he had just been praised for his discretion.
“I imagine she came not too recently,” said Charlotte, “but also not too long ago. Let’s say, sometime between when Mr. Underwood’s money ran out in April and the middle of June.”
Which would have been roughly six weeks ago, around the time Mrs. Claiborne had to decamp from the villa to the much more cramped town house.
“How—how do you know all this? She came at the beginning of June,” said Mr. Constable, once again forgetting to cleave to a professional tight-lippedness.
Charlotte ignored his question—her deductions had the greatest impact when they were shrouded in mystery. “I already know that Mr. Waters and Miss Ferguson called on you, so naturally they must form the third party who came before me. I take it they came very recently, within the past ten days—perhaps even within this past week.”
“True, on Monday.”
Five days ago then. “And were they, like me, interested in prior parties who had inquired about Mr. Underwood?”
“Why, they—” Mr. Constable started. He stood the notebookstill in his hand on its bottom edge and tapped it several times against the surface of his desk. “I’m afraid I cannot and should not say anything more on the matter.”
Charlotte nodded gravely. “Again, I commend you on your circumspection, Mr. Constable. You wouldn’t happen to have the address for either this Mrs. Anderson or the boxers, would you?”
Mr. Constable exhaled. “I cannot help you with that at all, Mr. Herrinmore. Both parties declined to leave addresses.”
Charlotte could imagine Mumble and Jessie learning about the existence of a woman in Mr. Underwood’s life from the insufficiently guarded accountant. But assuming this Mrs. Anderson was indeed Mrs. Claiborne in disguise, how had they obtained her address if she hadn’t given it here?
She rose. “I thank you for your patience and generosity, Mr. Constable. You have been most helpful.”
Mr. Constable winced.
Fourteen
After she left Mr. Constable’s office, Charlotte could not find Mumble or Jessie. Jessie had already left for the day, having taken an earlier shift to help with the tea shop’s baking—the proprietress didn’t trust bread from nearby bakeries not to be adulterated with alum, chalk, or plaster of paris. And the bookbinding shop where Mumble worked as an apprentice was closed for the Jewish Sabbath.
