Page 29 of Schemes & Scandals

ChapterTwelve

Yep, gotta love Victorian detective work, where even McCreadie wouldn’t see a problem interviewing a witness over a pint. We get Lewis settled in with a fresh drink, and Gray takes one for himself, to be hospitable. I’m tempted to ask for a glass of water, but... there’s a reason why beer is so popular in historical times. It’s not that everyone was a lush, downing a “small beer” with breakfast, giving beer to children and such. It’s that beer—or cider or wine—is safe to drink where water might not be. Boiling it for tea helps, but I won’t find tea here, so I settle on a small glass of beer. While the beer itself might be safe, I can’t say as much for the smudged glass. Welcome to the time before running hot water and cheap soap.

“I know about the missing letters from Lady Inglis,” he says. “Lord Simpson came and spoke to me.”

I hesitate. “He told you they were from Lady Inglis?”

“No, but I cannot see his other mistresses penning him letters, and I know he’s been receiving them since he hired me, so they must be from Lady Inglis. A fine lady, that one. He really ought to marry her.”

“So we’ve heard,” I murmur.

“I can understand him liking the actresses and such, but I do not get the sense Lady Inglis would mind if he continued that, discreetly, of course. She is a very sensible lady. And that house could use a mistress.”

“Has Lady Inglis indicated she’d like the position?”

“As lady of the house? No. She teases him about its management, and he says she’s welcome to do it for him, but she says she has her own household to manage. The solution, clearly, is to marry. Her house is much nicer, and they could boot out that sodding brother of his.”

I press more. I really do want to know whether Lady Inglis has given any sense that she’s unhappy with the arrangement or would like to marry Lord Simpson. Lewis has seen none of that.

So why should she want to marry a man of equal rank, with a lesser home, a loutish brother, and multiple mistresses? The question confuses Lewis. She’s a woman without a man. Of course she must secretly wish to marry.

This is one of the things that astounds me about the Victorian male. How he can see a woman enjoying an independent life and say, “That poor dear, if only she had a man.” It’s not just men, either. Older women say the same thing. Of course, the older women who say it are all married and may just not want other women having things they do not.

I conclude that Lady Inglis has given zero indication of wanting to marry Lord Simpson. Lewis just thinks she should, for the convenience of his former employer, who is in need of a good domestic manager.

“You seem fond of Lord Simpson,” I say. “It was an amicable parting?”

Lewis shrugs. “I would have preferrednotto have been sacked, but his lordship assured me I will receive excellent references. Apparently, Lord Simpson did not think I would do well overseas, and while I would have appreciated the chance to prove otherwise, that is his choice, and he paid me well.”

I glance at Gray. I’m asking whether he wishes to continue this line of questioning, but he only uses it as an opportunity to swing the interview back to the stolen goods.

“So you knew of the letters,” Gray says.

“Yes, sir. And if you are going to ask whether I took them, I almost wish I had.”

Gray frowns.

Lewis gives a low laugh and leans back in his chair. “I’d be a wealthy man if I did. Wealthy enough, that is. Seems very unfair, if you ask me. Had I stolen from his lordship, I’d be buying passage on a ship to America with a pocket full of money to make my fortune there. But no, I was an honest chap, and so I have nothing.” Lewis shifts in his seat. “All right, his lordshipdidgive me a few quid for my honesty, but it’s a sad world when a man would have gained more for admitting he was a thief.”

“I... do not understand,” Gray says.

“Lord Simpson says whoever stole the letters wants money for their return. He offered me fivehundredquid to quietly return the letters. Alas, being an honest man, I could not claim it.”

Lewis sips his beer and continues, “I even thought perhaps I could say I stole the letters and burned them, but he required the return of the letters.” He shakes his head. “That will teach me to be honest.”

I see Lewis’s point, even if he is belaboring it. Simpson meant well, but his execution was flawed.

Could Lewis still have stolen the letters? Maybe he knew Simpson had no intention of paying and just wanted a confession so he could put the screws to his former valet and get those letters back for free. Or Lewis could be playing it safe and waiting for the payout. Except the payout isn’t actually the safe bet here because if Lady Inglis decides not to give in to the blackmail, he’s stuck with the much smaller reward of income from publishing the letters.

Lewis doesn’t strike me as a guy who’d think through all the angles. If he stole the letters and Simpson showed up on his doorstep, he’d freak out. If Simpson offered to pay the full amount of the blackmail, he’d jump at it.

Also, Simpson doesn’t strike me as someone who’d offer money and then replace it with threats. No, I suspect Simpson really would try to buy back those letters, and if Lewis had them, he’d hand them over.

After we wrap up the interview, I run this all past Gray, who agrees with my logic. Lewis hardly seems like a wily blackmailer. And the Lord Simpson Gray knows isn’t going to get a confession and then refuse to pay.

Lewis isn’t a vengeful former employee. He’s a guy who has been let go but paid well for the inconvenience. He’ll spend his holidays drinking and seeing his girlfriend and then, in the new year, he’ll take Simpson up on that offer of references to get a new job.

That clears our most obvious suspect.

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