Page 29 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
“Most probably, Quimby would have offered them to other newspapers.” She peered at the other photographs. “With a scene like this one”—she tapped the sixth print—“the forecourt before the museum with the museum in the background, he might even have had an arrangement with some don or the university to supply such an image. That’s the sort of photograph we see in some of the booklets we print for the university faculties and colleges.”
Digby pointed a stained finger at another of the prints. “I’m pretty sure that building is near the new station.”
“So”—Izzy scanned the photographs—“we have two of Hyde Park, one of Regent’s Park, one in Fleet Street, one of the museum, one near the new station, and lastly, a scene of ships clustered about a dock along the Thames.”
Digby stared at the picture of the docks. “He musta taken that one from London Bridge—you can see some of the people walking along by the railing, and there’s a bit of a carriage, too.”
She studied the photograph, then glanced over the seven prints. “There are people in all of them.”
Gray was examining the seven prints lined up on his side of the desk. Of the Hyde Park scenes, one showed several groups of ladies strolling the snow-dusted lawns, while the other featured clusters of riders on and about Rotten Row. The Regent’s Park picture was of multiple couples and groups taking the air, while the one in Fleet Street was a view, taken from the other side of the street, of a conglomeration of men on the pavement outside a coffeehouse. The photographs of the museum courtyard, the building by the new station, and the docks likewise included multiple people.
“Not just people,” he said, “but a lot of people, and given the clarity of these prints, all those people will be recognizable to anyone who knows them.” He met Izzy’s eyes. “It’s not hard to imagine that someone might have had reason not to want one of these photographs to be published in a newspaper.”
She nodded. “Our theory that Quimby was murdered because of one of these photographs seems sound.”
Gray noticed Digby sneaking a glance at the clock on the bookshelf and dug into his waistcoat pocket for the sovereigns he’d put there earlier. “You’ve done well, Digby. I’m sure Mr. Quimby would be proud of these photographs, and with any luck, we’ll be able to use them to track down his killer.”
Digby blinked. “You think?”
“We do,” Izzy assured him.
“Here.” Gray held out two shiny gold coins. “From me and Mrs. Molyneaux for all your hard work.”
Digby’s eyes widened to saucers at the sight of such largesse. “Oh my!” He glanced at Gray, then at Izzy. “But I only did what Mr. Q taught me.”
“You gave up your Saturday afternoon to help catch Mr. Quimby’s killer,” Izzy said, “and we wouldn’t have even known to find the negatives for these if it wasn’t for you working so closely with Mr. Quimby. He wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but you happily worked alongside him for months, and I know he thought highly of you.”
Gray caught Digby’s hand, turned it upward, and placed the two coins in his palm. “My advice is to put one away for a rainy day and use the other to treat yourself and your family.”
Digby stared at the coins resting in his palm. “Oh, sir!”
Gray went on, “You did something no one else could have done, Digby, and you’ve helped us enormously. Thanks to you, we—and the police—have clues to follow, and follow them we will. But you’ve done your part for today. You’d best be off to enjoy your reward.”
Izzy smiled at Digby. “Your mother must be wondering where you’ve got to. Off you go now, and take a well-earned rest tomorrow, and we’ll see you on Monday morning.”
Digby slowly smiled and ducked his head. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to leave, then swung back. “And I’ve cleaned the darkroom like Mr. Q would have wanted.”
“Thank you, Digby,” Izzy replied. “I appreciate that.”
Still standing before the desk, Gray watched the lad happily doff the dustcoat and swap it for a threadbare jacket, then cross the foyer to the front door.
Once the door had shut, Izzy looked up at him. “Thank you for paying him. He’s the sole provider for his mother and sister, and that will allow them to have a few nice things.”
Gray reclaimed the armchair. “He seems a likeable lad—very eager to please.”
“He always tries hard.” She looked at the photographs. “And clearly, he’s taken in a lot of what Quimby taught him.”
Gray also refocused on the prints. “These really are excellent photographs.”
She nodded, but was already scrutinizing the scenes again.
He gathered one set of prints and did the same, then shook his head. “I’ve been away too long. I can’t identify anyone. Can you?”
“Three of the ladies walking in Hyde Park, two of the riders, and two ladies and three gentlemen in the Regent’s Park picture. I can’t see anyone else I recognize, but Mama and Marietta might be able to put more names to the faces.”
To his ears, she didn’t sound all that certain. He tapped the prints he was holding against his fingers. “I know someone who will likely be able to put names to most of those in the society scenes—the ones in Hyde Park, Regent’s Park, and possibly even the one of the museum.”
He caught Izzy’s eyes when she glanced up. “I’ll go and ask—” He broke off and grimaced. “I’ve just remembered they’re in the country.” He tipped his head. “That said, they’re not that far away. I could drive north tonight, see them and pick their brains tomorrow, then hie straight back.”
