Page 34 of Across Space and Time

“Thank you, Mr. Rhodes. How old is Mr. Henries?”

“I’m not exactly sure, sir, but probably late thirties.”

Hugh wrote down the details. “Do you have a picture of him, by chance?”

“No, sir,” Mr. Rhodes said, crinkling his hat in his hands again.

“That’s all right. What is your relationship to Mr. Henries?”

“We both work for the same man, sir. The Duke of Westchester.”

Hugh nodded. “What is his position there?”

“He is a gardener, sir, for the orchard at His Grace’s estate. And he also helps me in the stables.”

“You work in the stables at the Duke’s estate?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hugh nodded. “I see. How long ago did Mr. Henries disappear?”

“Yesterday afternoon, sir,” Mr. Rhodes said.

“And he did not say where he was going?”

“No, sir,” Mr. Rhodes said, twisting the hat brim so severely that Hugh worried it would never return to its original shape. “I asked His Grace about it, and he told me that John had left to go deal with a family emergency and probably would not be back for some time.”

Hugh blinked and looked up at him. “And you do not believe this explanation?”

“Well, sir…” Mr. Rhodes swallowed. “I would, except I had been talkin’ to John just minutes before he vanished, and he was going to help me with one of the mares who was expecting a foal any day now. He was very excited about it. And, when I checked his room last night, his things were still there. Nothin’ had been touched. But then this morning, everything was gone. Not a scrap left in it. Which seems mighty odd if he was going to be comin’ back.”

“Can you describe the last conversation you had with Mr. Henries?” Hugh asked.

Mr. Rhodes nodded. “It was very normal, sir. We talked about the mare, and John said to come get him any time of the day or night when she started to labor. He wanted to be there. He loved that horse, sir. Always had a soft spot for animals, he did. This was by the stables, sir. And then he headed for the orchard, and I didn’t see him again.”

“And you do not think that he had to rush away due to a family matter?”

“That’s what I thought, sir,” Mr. Rhodes said. “But all of his things still there, no horses missing from the stable, and no one having seen him go, it just… It didn’t sit right with me, sir. It’s very unlike him. He’s usually very responsible. I can’t see him leavin’ without telling someone. And no one I talked to mentioned a call or a letter arriving for him.”

Hugh frowned as he made notes on the paper. While it was still possible that Mr. Henries had vanished due to a sudden emergency that had called him away, the fact that no one saw him leave was concerning.

“Can you describe him?”

“Hmm, a little taller than me,” the man said, gesturing with his hand. “Pretty slender, brown hair. Not much to look at, a sort of forgettable face, except for his teeth.”

“What about his teeth?” Hugh asked.

“Poor man had no top front teeth,” the man said, pointing to his own yellowed ones in demonstration. “Got kicked in the face by a horse when he was a teenager, swallowed ‘em both, never had the money to get false ones.”

Hugh’s mind immediately went back to the fifth corpse lying in the morgue only a short distance away. A tall, slender man with no front teeth. Could that man, burned beyond recognition, who disappeared the evening of the fire at Elysium, be John Henries, the missing gardener? It could just be a coincidence, but Hugh was getting a sinking feeling in his gut that things were starting to fall into place. “Do you know if John Henries had any connection to the Elysium Bakery and Emporium in Fleet Street?”

“Oh! Yes, sir, that was part of the reason I wanted to report him missing,” Mr. Rhodes said, rubbing at one of his muttonchops uneasily. “You see, he disappeared yesterday, and then that fire happened last night. And his sister, Elizabeth, worked in a bakery, and I thought it was on Fleet Street. I heard there were some poor souls found dead inside. Just curdles my stomach, sir, that it might be John’s family, and he might not know. Or…” Mr. Rhodes’ voice dropped off, giving Hugh a pained look. Hugh could read the unspoken, Or he might be amongst them in those eyes.

“Elizabeth what?” Hugh asked.

“Oh, um… Williams? Willburn?”

“Wilcox?” Hugh suggested, and the man’s eyes lit up.

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