Page 35 of Schemes & Scandals

“Dare I hope your evening went better?” he says.

I head up the stairs to join him. “Pour me a drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

“It smells as if you’ve already had a few.”

“Is that judgment of my drinking habits, Gray?”

“No, it’s knowledge of your drinking habits, which suggests you may regret another.”

“It was a few sips of a pint to be polite,” I say.

“The glass was dirty?”

I sigh. “It always is.”

“Poor Mallory. Let me get you a proper drink, then, clean glass and all.”

From what my visit to the print shop suggested, we’re not looking for someone who seriously intends to sell the letters. If they had thought they could, they don’t seem to have made any inquiries to that effect. So we’re most likely dealing with someone who fully expects Lady Inglis to pay. This is useful because it suggests some knowledge of her finances. As she said, five hundred pounds certainly isn’t pocket change. It seems to be about as much as someone could expect to pay. Otherwise, they’d be left with letters they can’t actually sell.

Of course, that could all be pure luck—they just happened to pick the right figure—which is why our first stop the next day is to the suspect least likely to know Lady Inglis’s finances.

It seems early to be calling on an actress. They’re not known for being morning people, especially in this era, when an ingenue like Miss Howell might be picking up some cash on the side. Not the sex trade per se, but entertaining—providing a pretty bit of scenery for a late-night party.

However, what kept Gray out late last night wasn’t only inconsiderate clients. It was the stop he made afterward, to what seems to have been a far less staid sort of gentlemen’s club than the one I got a peek at earlier.

It can be hard to remember that Gray is only my age. He seems older, with the weight of his era and his responsibilities. But he is a young man and a bachelor at that, and so I don’t doubt he knows where to go for late-night entertainment, the sort with gaming tables and actresses on their off nights.

From there, he learned that Miss Howell was not known to frequent such establishments... or any other sorts of establishments that might be popular with pretty young women whose acting careers don’t pay the bills. Miss Howell actually has a day job working in a dress shop.

That is where I find her, and not even in the front, where I’d expect to find a pretty and poised young actress. She’s in the back, working with several seamstresses. Even when the shop girl calls her forward, I think there’s been a mistake. The young woman presented to me is small and plain looking, with the sort of red hair that isn’t quite as flattering as Isla’s.

When the clerk summons her, I say, “Miss Mary Howell?”

“Yes?”

“I am terribly sorry to bother you. It is about Lord Simpson. Might I speak with you outside? Iamvery sorry for the interruption.”

She gives no sign of confusion or consternation and only smiles. “I will not refuse the excuse for a break. Yes, let us walk.”

We head outside. Gray has stayed on the street for this interview. It makes more sense for me to speak to Miss Howell alone. I still spot him dressed in a shabby jacket and cap to blend in as well as he can. He’ll tail us, but he’s been warned to keep his distance. It’s midday, and I doubt I need protection from Miss Howell.

“I wish to say in advance that Lord Simpson did not send me,” I say. “I was given your name by another, and Lord Simpson will be piqued to hear we have spoken.”

She frowns at me. “I have trouble even imagining Charlie in a state of pique, and if this would upset him, I am not certain we should speak.”

“He has had an item go missing,” I say. “My employer and I have been hired to find it.”

She brightens at that. “Are you Pinkertons?”

There’d been a time when I’d have been flattered by the question. To young Mallory, the Pinkertons were swashbuckling American Wild West detectives. Sherlock Holmes on horseback, with a pair of six guns at his side. I know better after having chosen the Pinkertons for a high school history report. While I’m sure there were real detectives among them, they were union breakers and corporate thugs, hired to protect the wealthy, not the innocent.

I laugh softly. “Not quite. We are private investigators of a much more discreet nature.”

Her eyes still glimmer. “Detectives? Oh, please tell me you are a detective. I am an actress, and my company is putting on a murder play, with a woman detective, and I wanted the part, but the director says the only women detectives are elderly spinsters.”

“You can tell him he is wrong. Anyone may be a detective, and the best are the ones no one expects, which may be elderly spinsters or...” I gesture at myself.

“Oh, this is terribly exciting. You say Charlie has lost something?” Her eyes round. “No, you said it had been stolen. And he did not wish to give my name because that would imply I could have stolen it. That is very sweet of him, but most shortsighted. In a proper mystery, one cannot rule out suspects simply because one does not wish to accuse them.”

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