Page 25 of A Measure of Menace

“Then it was about money,” Cynthia said. “Mark my words. I will wager that dear Papa summoned Mr. Dougherty to the club on his own to beg him to continue investing, so Papa could recoup his losses. Mr. Dougherty must not have been the soft mark Papa thought he was, and so Papa lost his temper. This is not a mad guess on my part—it has happened before. Papa has never learned how to gracefully bow out if a mark won’t take the bait.” She peered at me in sudden consternation. “Mrs. H.? Are you well?”

I had frozen, my pencil stiff in my fingers. Realizations washed over me, both enlightening me and making me feel a complete fool.

“We’ve been looking at this the wrong way around,” I said, my voice cracking. “Cynthia, do you think I could speak to your father? Immediately, I mean?”

Cynthia’s brows climbed, though whether from my request or because I’d called her by her given name without any honorific in front of it, I could not say. When I was agitated, I sometimes forgot social rules.

“I believe he’d talk to you,” Cynthia said. “Why? What are you pondering?”

“I want to ask him before I tell you my speculations. I might be completely wrong.” I jumped to my feet, thrusting my notebook and pencil into my apron pocket.

I rushed to the door, which was opened by Daniel, who’d come to my side as soon as I’d stood.

He and Mr. Thanos did not try to follow as Cynthia and I swept out of the parlor and made for the stairs. They tacitly understood that Lord Clifford might grow alarmed if we all descended up on him, and I was grateful for that understanding.

Cynthia and I went up into a quiet house, no one in sight. The staff must all be in the servants’ hall, or some already retired for the night. I hadn’t seen either Mrs. Redfern or Mr. Davis as we’d hastened to the backstairs, but the two of them sometimes holed up in Mr. Davis’s butler’s pantry when the family was away. They’d sample the wines, to make certain they were good enough to serve at table, of course.

Cynthia had no qualms about marching to her father’s bedchamber on the second floor and hammering on the door.

“Papa? Make sure you are covered. I am coming in, and I have Mrs. Holloway with me.”

I heard Lord Clifford squeak something, and then Cynthia pushed her way inside. Lord Clifford had not locked his door, but I had the feeling a flimsy lock would not keep out Cynthia when she was this angry.

Fortunately, Lord Clifford was not abed or even undressed. He sat at a writing desk, pen in hand. He shoved whatever he’d been working on under another piece of paper and scrambled to his feet as his daughter stormed inside. I followed more quietly.

“What is it?” Lord Clifford’s exhausted and sad tones stirred my sympathy. “I wish to be left alone.”

“Why did Mr. Dougherty visit you at your club on Sunday?” Cynthia demanded. “Were you touching him for money?”

Lord Clifford flushed, but he lifted his chin. “Of course, I was. Jacoby let him go too easily. I thought I could convince Dougherty to put in another investment, but he proved uncommonly stubborn. Some wealthy blokes are. Dougherty is so tight-fisted his fingers must cramp. He wouldn’t budge, damn the man. I thought I’d try again that night, but as I say, his man turned me from his door.”

“Your lordship,” I said before Cynthia could continue any remonstrations. “What does Mr. Dougherty look like?”

“Eh?” Lord Clifford blinked at me, as though just becoming aware of my presence, then he shrugged. “Ordinary. Pretentious man of the City, who’s made so much money—or his father did and left the business to him—that he forgets about those in straightened circumstances. Doesn’t care, really. He made his twenty thousand pounds and left me in the hole.”

“Can you describe him exactly, please?” I slid out my notebook, hoping my pragmatic gesture would cut through his dramatics.

“Ah. Yes, well. Tall, I suppose. A bit taller than I am. Tidy. Everything combed and groomed. Dark hair going to gray. Full beard kept overly tamed?—”

“Bushy eyebrows?” I broke in. “Stare like polished steel? Rather rude manner to anyone he feels is beneath him?”

“Yes.” Lord Clifford regarded me in bewilderment. “That’s the chap exactly. How do you know?”

I snapped the notebook shut—I hadn’t been writing in it anyway. “Because Mr. McAdam and I saw him today. He was coming out of Mr. Jacoby’s establishment.”

I’d seen writing on the piece of paper he’d dropped that Grace had handed back to him, but at the time, I’d been too concerned for Grace to realize what I’d noticed. It had been a receipt with some number on it, and I’d also made out a few words that looked like Shires, Ea?—.

Reginald Shires, Earl of Clifford.

Why should Mr. Dougherty have a receipt or whatever it was, with Lord Clifford’s name on it? I had no idea what the paper was about, but it plus the fact that he’d emerged from Mr. Jacoby’s place of business formed a stronger a connection between the two men.

“That is why I said we were looking at things the wrong way around,” I went on. “You and Jacoby weren’t swindling Mr. Dougherty, your lordship. I believe both Jacoby and Dougherty were swindling you. They must have been in league with each other. It was one of them who suggested you consult Mr. Mobley for your share of the funds, wasn’t it?”

Chapter 11

“But does that make the pair of them murderers?” Mr. Thanos asked when Lady Cynthia and I had returned to the housekeeper’s parlor.

Lord Clifford, after my revelation, had still been tired but less sorrowful. He’d uttered many profanities when I’d finished my announcement, and the defiant glitter had returned to his eyes.

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