Page 37 of Murder at Madame Chambon's
The moon hung low in the sky, larger and brighter than usual.Or so it seemed; mirroring the intensity of his emotions.
But beneath the surface of his infatuation, unease gnawed at him.
Why would Evelina suddenly declare herself not good enough for him?Who was her father, a man she claimed to barely know?
Had he made his fortune in trade—for undoubtedly, he had made a fortune?The size of her dowry and the fact Dunstable was a man in need of funds was something William had heard whispered at Whites.
Was Evelina perhaps embarrassed by this possible connection to trade?Certainly, ten years ago this might have been a consideration—for an aristocrat—but it was nothing now.
The vibrant energy of the Haymarket swirled around him: theater-goers like himself but also the less savory characters of the night.Prostitutes, painted and brazen, thrust out their hands and, yes, he was not totally insensible to their plight but the idea of paying for sex repulsed him.
Clearly, Dunstable had had no such reservations, and although visiting a brothel hardly warranted the fate that had been visited upon him, the thought that the man had almost married his innocent and perfect Evelina sent shivers down William’s spine.
Turning a corner into Fleet Street, William was passing beneath an awning, momentarily shielded from the busy street, when the doors of a nearby shop swung open and two gentlemen emerged, causing William to sidestep to avoid a collision.Apologies were exchanged, and then recognition dawned.
“Lord Bellingham!”exclaimed Hamish McTavish, the editor ofManners and Morals, and husband to the beautiful Lady Bradden.The city had been abuzz with the story of Lady Bradden’s reunion with her long-lost father eighteen months prior.William had briefly met McTavish at a Christmas gathering, and now he nodded in acknowledgment, about to continue on his way.
“Are we talkin’ Lord Bellingham wot went to a concert with Miss Tarot this evenin’?”a little man beside McTavish interjected, lacking in manners but not in boldness.William wasn’t sure if he should dignify such rudeness with a response.His personal affairs were no one else’s concern.
McTavish, clearly embarrassed by his companion’s impertinence, cleared his throat.“Forgive my photographer’s lack of finesse.This is Archie Benedict.We’ve been working late to get the latest magazine to print.Lady Bradden learned from Miss Tarot that she was attending a concert with you, and I happened to mention it to Benedict.Lady Bradden wanted me to offer her regards to Miss Tarot and inquire if she needs a friend in the capital.”He glanced around cautiously, almost as if afraid of being overheard.
William couldn’t comprehend why these two near-strangers were discussing Miss Tarot with him.It felt like an invasion of his privacy, as if he were being spied upon.
“After all, she is new to England,” McTavish added.
“She is an Englishwoman, and her family is very English,” William replied.“I’m sure she would appreciate Lady Bradden’s kindness, though she may not lack the friends your wife imagines.Good day to you, gentlemen.”
“Do you have a moment, Lord Bellingham?”McTavish’s hand lightly touched the sleeve of William’s coat.He gestured toward his office with a nod of his head.“It’s a matter of delicacy that cannot be discussed in the street.Our meeting is opportune.”
Uncertain of what to expect, William reluctantly acquiesced.The little man, Archie Benedict, followed them inside, locking the door behind them, and a sense of foreboding settled over him as William ascended the stairs to McTavish’s office.
“McTavish, I fail to see why you employ such cloak-and-dagger tactics to speak with me,” he protested as McTavish retrieved a bottle of brandy and uncorked it.“I would have willingly engaged in conversation if you had asked.”
“It’s about Dunstable’s murder,” McTavish began, almost uncertainly.“The police have asked me to keep certain details out of the newspaper at the same time as passing on to them anything that might have a bearing on the case.”His eyes flicked to the amber liquid in his cut-glass tumbler which he raised a few inches from the desk top.Then he sent an incisive look at William, saying, “I stumbled upon some information that may be of interest toyou.It concerns Miss Evelina Tarot.”
William’s heart skipped a beat.Cautiously, he asked, “What about her?What could she possibly have to do with Dunstable’s murder?”
“Not Miss Tarot, personally, of course.But… do you know Captain Blackheath?”
Surprised, William replied, “I served with the blackguard in the army many years ago, but I certainly did not call him friend.”
“Blackheath was in the same house at the time Dunstable was murdered.Do you know where that was?”
“I heard it was at that vile Soho pleasure house, Madame Chambon’s, but I’ve not seen it reported in the newspapers.”Lord Bellingham scowled.“But what has this good to do with me?I was nowhere near the place.”
“No, which is why you are not a suspect.But Blackheath is,” said Mr.McTavish.“You see, I have been asked by certain people high up the chain to keep the matter as discreet as possible, and out of the newspapers, while also furnished with certain particulars in the hopes of, in fact, discovering the killer.”A look of discomfort crossed McTavish’s face as he seated himself opposite.The photographer remained standing by the table.
“Some of these particulars that have been unearthed during the investigation,” he went on, “while not directly associated with Dunstable’s murder, may have consequences that could cause difficulties foryou, my lord.”McTavish drained his brandy.“That is, if you have an interest in Miss Tarot.”
“Good God, sir, what has Dunstable’s murder got to do with Miss Tarot?And what business is my private life of yours?”
“None, whatsoever,” the newspaper man replied hastily.“However, my wife, who has taken Miss Tarot’s happiness greatly to heart on account of her own trials leading up to her reunion with her father, Lord Lambton, has begged me to furnish you with information that—she believes—is necessary to safeguard the happiness of both you and Miss Tarot.Or rather, that may spare you both unnecessary pain if...”
“If, what?”William knew he spoke too harshly, but this was not a subject to be trifled with.
“If matters progressed too far.”
“Good God, sir, what is it to you whether I make Miss Tarot my bride or not?She is a creature beyond reproach, and I object to your insinuations that she is involved in any wrongdoing—”
