Page 29 of Dead Beside the Thames
The man was right. In this rather peculiar case, other than a dead body, clues of substance had been thin on the ground.
Belting his greatcoat more tightly about him, Stokes descended to the pavement. He hailed a passing hackney and, while waiting for it to come around, grumbled, “Napier’s whip being found in Sedbury’s collection surely qualifies.”
Stokes hoped Penelope and her girls would find sufficient evidence during their inquiries at Napier House to rule his lordship either in or out. They needed definitive evidence, not equivocal findings.
The hackney drew up, and Stokes instructed the jarvey to drive to the docks west of the entrance to Regent’s Canal.
While rattling through London’s crowded streets, Stokes mulled over what they thought they currently knew. Ultimately, he concluded, “Lots of possible suspects, but precious few verifiable links putting any of them together with Sedbury on Saturday night.”
Eventually, the hackney slowed, then halted. Stokes looked out and saw the rippling gray-brown waters of the river. He opened the door and stepped out into the brisk breeze that carried more than a hint of fish and rotting vegetation. After paying the jarvey, Stokes turned away from the canal and walked west along the narrow path that ran beside the embankment wall to where Sergeant O’Donnell stood, his gaze trackingseveral constables who were knocking on doors or walking into warehouses.
That morning, together with Morgan, O’Donnell was overseeing a group of six junior constables. As Stokes joined his sergeant, he could see three of the six talking with stevedores and workmen who were lounging outside two warehouses and a shipping office. Two other constables were stopping passersby and those visiting the various establishments and inquiring if they’d been in the area on Saturday night.
Stokes doubted any of the visitors would know anything; most didn’t live in the area and only ventured into it during business hours. The stevedores, workmen, and navvies, however, might prove better prospects.
As if reading his mind, when Stokes halted beside O’Donnell, the experienced sergeant nodded at the constables chatting with the local workers. “I told them to ask that lot if they’d set eyes on a lordly cove like Sedbury anywhere near.”
Stokes nodded. “Good thinking. If Sedbury came to the river under his own steam, he might have visited before.”
“What I thought,” O’Donnell returned, “but so far, no luck.” He cut a glance at Stokes. “Can’t say I’m surprised. The viscount might have been here all right, but finding anyone in this area who saw him on Saturday night well enough to register him as a gentleman and remember it, and we don’t even know where exactly along this stretch he was, well, none of that seems all that likely.”
“Normally, I’d agree,” Stokes replied, “but you never saw Sedbury. Trust me, if he’d been here, someone would have noticed him. He wasn’t just large and massive, but I’m reliably informed that he was so belligerently arrogant, he carried himself as if he owned the world.Thatsort of gentleman the locals hereabouts will always note, if for no other reason than to avoid him.”
“Hmm.” O’Donnell didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Anyways, I sent Morgan and one of the bobbies to ask at all the possible watering holes—taverns, inns, whatever. Seemed best Morgan go in during the day and work his magic on the barmaids. If any of them know anything, he’s sure to get it out of them.”
Stokes grunted in agreement. It was well known throughout the Yard that the baby-faced Morgan could charm information from the crustiest old crone. For him, extracting information from barmaids would be as easy as falling off a stool.
The slap of the waves against the stone wall gave Stokes an idea. He tipped his head toward the river. “I’m going to take a wander along the waterline and see if there are any mud larks willing to talk to me.”
“Mud larks” was the common term for the children of the poor who scavenged for bits and pieces—flotsam and jetsam—that washed up on the tide.
O’Donnell arched his brows. “Could be worth it. They see our uniforms and scarper, but they might be curious enough about you to hang around long enough to listen.”
Stokes hoped so. In his experience, the children who haunted the river—indeed, street children anywhere—were highly observant.
With a nod to O’Donnell, Stokes set off along the embankment, looking for the nearest access to the shore. As he walked, he pretended to be unaware of the suspicious eyes that tracked his movements. In that area, the appearance of the police, especially in any numbers, made people uneasy and wary regardless of whether their consciences were clear or not.
As instructed by Claudia the day before, at precisely ten o’clock, Charlie knocked on the door of Selborough House in Farm Street. After informing the starchy butler who opened the door that he was there to see Claudia, he was immediately admitted and, after handing over his hat and relinquishing his coat, he was shown into the drawing room.
Within minutes, Claudia walked in, smiled, and gave him her hand. “Excellent! You’re on time. Aunt Patricia has given us permission to interview the staff.” When he released her hand, she swung around and gestured to the doorway. “I thought it would be best to use the back parlor. Rather less intimidating.”
“A sound notion.” Charlie fell in beside her, and they walked through the front hall and down a long corridor to a smaller, more comfortably furnished room at the rear of the house. The parlor was well lit via large windows that gave onto a leafy courtyard garden.
Claudia led the way to a sofa set before the main window, sat, and with a gracious wave, invited Charlie to sit beside her.
He did, rather nervously, truth be told, but Claudia’s gaze promptly fixed on the butler, who had followed them into the room.
“Trestlewaite, I believe my aunt explained the need to verify Fosdyke’s movements on Saturday evening through to Sunday morning.” She glanced at Charlie. “Mr. Hastings is here by way of bearing witness to the information I gather. We all thought it best if I asked the relevant questions for the police, rather than have them here.”
“Indeed, Lady Claudia.” A hint of relief showed in Trestlewaite’s expression. “On behalf of the staff, I quite agree. We do not need the police barging into this household.”
“Quite.” Claudia waved him nearer. “If you would step a little closer, we can begin.”
Almost tentatively, the butler came to stand on the opposite side of the low table stationed before the sofa. In that position, the light from the window at Charlie’s and Claudia’s backs fell full on Trestlewaite’s face.
“Now,” Claudia began, “if you would tell us what you know of Fosdyke’s movements from the evening of Saturday to first thing Sunday morning.” Before the butler could speak, she held up a hand. “I ask for what you know, not what you think, believe, or assume.”
The butler frowned slightly. “Well, I know Fosdyke was expected to act as groom when the coachman ferried her ladyship and you, my lady, to the dinner in Audley Street. You left the front hall at seven o’clock, and I recall seeing Fosdyke holding the carriage door for you and your aunt. The coach returned at just after midnight, and the footman opened the door, and as it was raining, James ran down with the large umbrella and escorted you and her ladyship in, and I met you in the front hall.” Trestlewaite frowned. “As I didn’t open the door, I didn’t notice if Fosdyke was with the carriage.”
