Page 4 of A Murder on London Bridge
CHAPTER 2
LADIES OF DISTINCTION DETECTIVE AGENCY
The morning after our wonderful supper, I arrived at the Ladies of Distinction Detective Agency to find it buzzing with energy, a sign of the insanity unfolding around us. Our office was being readied for our big move.
With three full-fledged lady detectives, one full-time gentleman detective, one assistant lady detective, a new gentleman detective, a bookkeeper, and a receptionist, our current space had grown increasingly cramped. To accommodate our growing needs, we’d recently signed a lease on a stunning four-story Georgian terrace on Essex Street, conveniently close to the Underground and the Middle Temple barristers. The larger space wouldn’t just allow us to work more comfortably. It would lend an added air of legitimacy to our already well-respected agency.
But, as with all good things, there was a price to pay. The move date—just a week away—meant that alongside our usualbusy caseload, workmen were bustling in and out, packing and preparing. Needless to say, at the moment, it was utter bedlam.
Boxes were piled like miniature cityscapes around Emma’s office, their labels hastily scrawled in thick black pencil:Case Files – Confidential,Surveillance Equipment,Tea Things – Fragile. One had already begun to lean drunkenly to one side, rescued only by a nearby chair leg. Movers tramped in and out with the solemnity of undertakers and the clumsiness of overgrown puppies.
Despite it all, Emma remained serenely poised behind her desk—what little remained of it. The blotter had vanished, the lamp unplugged, and someone had packed away the inkwell. Only her elegant fountain pen and a teetering stack of folders kept her command post from looking entirely deserted.
I sat across from her—on the edge of a chair that had clearly been earmarked for wrapping, judging by the twine coiled beneath it. Somewhere down the corridor, something made of glass shattered. No one screamed, which I took as a good sign.
Emma tapped a folder with one perfectly manicured finger. “The Harwood case. Allegations of a missing will. Touchy family dynamics. Best if you handle it.”
I nodded, taking it from her. “And you’re still following up on the Langford affair?”
“Yes. A question of forged paintings and a very self-important baronet who insists he knows better than an expert’s analysis. I’ve half a mind to let him be swindled, just to teach him humility.”
We both smiled, then turned as a loud thud shook the doorframe. One of the movers muttered something apologetic and edged back out with a framed photograph tucked under his arm.
“I’ve asked Mr. Clapham to handle that criminal matter from Sir Frederick,” Emma continued. “Something to do with a forgedtrust deed—maybe criminal, maybe civil. Given his experience as a detective inspector at Scotland Yard, he’s best equipped to sort that tangle.”
“He does seem to thrive when something borderline illegal crops up,” I said fondly. “Like a bloodhound with a whiff of scandal.”
Emma didn’t disagree. “Aurelia, as always, is up to her elbows in infidelity inquiries.”
“She has an uncanny gift for spotting lipstick on collars and lies on lips,” I agreed. “Sometimes I wonder if she wasn’t secretly married to a rake in a past life.”
“She’d have frightened the poor man into virtue,” Emma said lightly.
“What about Major Lane?” I asked. We’d brought him on to handle the sorts of cases best left to a man—particularly those involving gentlemen’s clubs and private dealings where a lady’s presence might raise eyebrows.
“He’s working with Colonel Fairleigh,” Emma replied, flipping to the relevant page in her notes. “Retired cavalry. Apparently, a substantial amount of brandy and a set of antique dueling pistols have gone missing from his study. He refuses to believe his son took them and insists someone’s trying to undermine his honor.”
I stifled a smile. “Let me guess. He wanted someone he could talk to man-to-man?”
Emma’s lips twitched. “Naturally. And Major Lane knows exactly how to salute and nod in all the right places.”
I arched a brow. “Just don’t ask him to dance. He claims it’s against his principles and possibly his sense of balance.”
Emma chuckled, then flipped to the next page in her notes. “Now, as for Mellie, I’ve assigned her to assist both Aurelia and Clapham this week, depending on who needs the extra hands.She’s improving steadily, but she’s not quite ready to take on clients of her own.”
“She’s enthusiastic, if nothing else,” I said, glancing toward the window, where I could see Mellie across the courtyard, talking with a vaguely familiar lady. “We all have to start somewhere.”
Emma nodded and glanced around at the semi-packed room. “Yes, well. We’ll survive the move—somehow. In a week, the new offices will be up and running. Until then, we’ll continue operating amid boxes, confusion, and the occasional furniture mishap.”
Another crash echoed down the hall.
Emma didn’t even flinch. “That, I believe, was the umbrella stand.”
Mellie poked her head into the room. “Another case just came in—a missing bracelet from Lady Dorsett. She believes one of her guests pocketed it at her last soirée.”
I sighed. “Another theft case. Valuables are disappearing rather frequently all across London.”
Emma stacked the files neatly. “That makes for six new cases just this week.”
