Page 80 of A Fearless Heart
“Very good, that’s helpful. Continue as you were, and I’ll let Miller know that not everyone ought to be sacked.” Gabe returned the notebook with a little slap and strolled away, leaving a confused constable behind.
He lost no time in moving toward the servants’ area by the kitchen, and then through the back to the yard. He found the coachman exactly where he ought to be, patching a corner of the leather seat on the carriage. The coachman was a surly type, though he warmed considerably when Gabe pressed a few coins into his palm as he asked what he wanted to know.
“You want me to tell you where Huxley went that day? Aye, nothing very interesting about it. Stopped at the haberdasher to pick something up. Then went to the Hotel Napier for about an hour—”
“Hotel? Was he meeting someone there? Did he mention a name?”
“Not to the likes of me, he wouldn’t.”
“What was his mood going in, and then coming out?”
“Ah, he was about the same. I doubt he was meeting a woman, if that’s your question,” the coachman said, with more shrewdness than one might expect. “And anyway, the hotel isn’t the sort that would stand for such meetings.”
Gabe nodded. “After the hotel, did you take him home?”
“No, I drove him to White’s, but only so he could retrieve a particular walking stick he’d left there. He scarcely got in the door before he was coming back. Then we returned to the house.”
“And the master didn’t go out again for the rest of the day?”
“He didn’t use the carriage or any of his horses, that’s all I know.”
Gabe thanked him and walked out to the mews, thinking hard. Huxley went on several errands, which would seem to make it impossible to know when he might have been given the poison, or by whom. However, nearly all of those errands had been quick ones, or were not places where he would have eaten or drunk anything. The only exception was the hotel, where he’d remained at least an hour and easily could have ingested the poison during that time.
So Gabe would go to the hotel. But before he did, he decided a little help would be in order. He sent a message to Cady’s house, but it was directed to the Disreputables—specifically Jem.
The lanky servant met Gabe an hour later at the location specified, not far from the hotel. As Gabe had requested, Jem was outfitted in the manner of a valet rather than his usual wear as a driver and hostler.
“Aye, sir?” Jem asked. “What’s going on?”
“There’s been another killing. I believe that the latest victim may have been given the fatal dose of poison while he visited someone at the Hotel Napier. I’m going to ask the hotel staff about him and find out if any of them remember seeing him and which guest he visited—”
“Could have been a worker,” Jem said.
“What?”
“Didn’t have to be a guest. Maybe he had a relationship with one of the people who work at the hotel.”
“Possible, but I doubt it. The coachman said it wasn’t a destination Huxley usually stopped at. But what I want you to do is walk into the lobby, looking as if you’re expecting to meet your employer. Wander around, take note of all the doors and windows and how many people are working there. Do it as if you’re planning to rob the place, because that’s what you’ll be doing later.”
“And what’s so valuable?”
“The guest book. If I don’t get an answer today, I’ll need to comb through the names of everyone staying there on the day Huxley died. With luck, you’ll be able to use a few of your comrades to sneak in and copy out the content of the book tonight, or within a few nights. We don’t have much time.”
Jem gave him a sly grin. “And here we thought that guarding Lady Arcadia would be dull. All right, sir. Let me go in first, and then in a quarter hour you come along. That’s enough time that no one will connect us, though no one will anyway. People generally never notice anything that doesn’t involve themselves.”
Gabe nodded, and held up the newspaper he’d purchased as a prop. He could easily while away fifteen minutes or so.
Jem strolled off, and Gabe dutifully remained. That day’s issue of the paper he’d purchased was not particularly thrilling, though he did note that a reporter had already written about the death of Huxley in an article on the front page headlined with “Untimely Death of London Gentleman Raises Questions.” Gabe had to agree. There was a column on upcoming events in the city. There would be a parade to commemorate May Day that would be attended by the royal family. There was going to be a charity tea at Kew Park to pay for the education of some of those orphaned by the war, so for the price of three shillings you got tea and cakes, a rose to plant at the grave of a soldier (or elsewhere, for those not directly affected), and the warm feeling that surely your good works negated all the evils of the war. Finally, the opening of a new art gallery promised to be the talk of London, thanks to the display of “tasteful” nudes depicting several ancient goddesses “painted with every detail in glowing color.” Gabe was about to flip the page when he saw a name that leapt out at him.
AROUND TOWN: Lady A——— O——— of Kent has been seen in the city in the company of her brother, Lord C——. Does this recent arrival herald a new entrant to the fray on the field of glory known as the marriage mart? The daughter of the late Lord Calder is not yet known to be engaged to any gentleman.
He grimaced. That didn’t take long. He half wondered if reporters hid in the shrubbery along the roads into town, waiting to pounce on newcomers. More likely, though, someone simply noticed that the Osbourne town house was now open and in use. He could only imagine what the papers would print if the gossip from Kent made its way to the city.
That was just one more reason to solve this case as quickly as possible, so Cady could return to Calderwood and live without being the subject of scrutiny. Just as he was about to get up and walk toward the hotel himself, he saw Jem returning.
“What happened?” Gabe asked, concerned.
“Nothing much. I got your guest book.” Jem pulled a cloth-bound book from under his jacket.
