Gabe’s parents had met Marianne Folgate on the front porch of her Wimbledon home, and now here we were almost thirty years later, standing on the same porch. The handsome cream brick house with the white bay window had probably been built only a decade before Marianne lived there. The notes written by India, Gabe’s mother, stated that it was a big house for one person and speculated she’d lived there with another. The notes had also said she no longer lived there when they went looking for her a short while later.
Gabe’s knock was answered by a maid who’d never heard of Marianne. Since the current occupants had lived in the property for only seven years, she directed us to a neighbor who’d lived next door for over forty.
The maid who answered the neighbor’s door asked us to wait on the porch while she checked if her mistress was receiving callers. A few minutes later, she invited us into a sitting room that looked as though it hadn’t changed since the elderly lady occupying one of the armchairs was a new bride. The green velvet curtains and carpet had faded, but the room felt homely thanks to the dozens of family portraits decorating the walls and the vases full of pink roses and frilly peonies.
Mrs. Pullman picked up a lorgnette from her lap and squinted through it at Gabe. She nodded, as if we’d passed some kind of test, and motioned for us to sit on the sofa. We’d left Alex and Willie with the motor. Little old ladies presented no kidnapping threat to Gabe.
We introduced ourselves to Mrs. Pullman and told her we were trying to locate her former neighbor, a relative of mine.
She tilted her head to the side. “Speak louder, young man. Who are you looking for?”
“Marianne Folgate,” Gabe repeated. “She used to live next door in 1891. Do you remember her?”
Mrs. Pullman’s wrinkles folded together in a frown. “I recall a woman named Marianne, but she wasn’t a Folgate. Pretty little thing, but quite timid. She rarely ventured beyond her front door.”
“Do you recall Marianne’s full name?” I asked.
She cupped her hand to her ear and I repeated my question. Then she studied me through her lorgnette. “If you are her relative, why don’t you know her name?” She might be hard of hearing, but she was still sharp.
“Marianne and my mother lost touch. I’ve never met her, but my mother passed away from influenza and I want to locate what few relatives I have left.”
Mrs. Pullman turned to the wall with the framed photographs of young, smiling soldiers dressed in uniform. Her wrinkles shifted and refolded into a picture of sorrow. “Family is important, especially now.”
“Your grandsons?” I asked gently.
She nodded and turned back to me. “I knew Marianne, but not as a Folgate. She went by the name of Cooper.”
Not Ashe. Even though I wasn’t entirely convinced that Marianne was a relative, a glimmer of hope burned inside me. If she’d been named Ashe, the same as me, it would have been proof of a connection.
Now, the glimmer dimmed. But it didn’t die altogether.
“What can you tell me about her?” I asked. “What was she like?”
Mrs. Pullman settled back into her chair as if settling into the story she was about to tell. “I didn’t know her very well. She was timid, as I said. They both were.”
“Both?” I echoed. “She lived there with someone?”
“Her husband.” She frowned. “You didn’t know she was married?”
“No.” We’d already checked the marriage records at the General Registry Office and there was no record of Marianne Folgate marrying. There was no record of her at all.
“I only saw him once, and not clearly at that. It was so long ago,” she added, somewhat apologetically.
“What did Marianne look like?”
“Pretty. Brown hair. Small stature, very slim. I’m afraid I don’t remember much more than that. They lived here for such a short time and hardly interacted with the neighbors. I invited her to tea, but she always claimed she had another engagement, although I never saw her go anywhere.” Mrs. Pullman frowned. “She apologized profusely for declining. She seemed sad. Sad that she couldn’t join me or invite me inside her house.” Mrs. Pullman shook her head, shaking off the memory. “Perhaps I’m imagining things now, with so much time having passed.”
I leaned forward, wanting her to go on. I was so desperate to hear more about Marianne that I was a little too abrupt when I urged her to continue. “Imagining what, Mrs. Pullman?”
She shook her head again, shrugging. “Don’t listen to me. It’s just the ramblings of an old lady.”
My heart sank. Anything I’d say might sound harsh from my desperation, forcing her to retreat further.
Fortunately I had Gabe at my side. While I couldn’t hide my desperation, he was a master of covering his emotions with a charming mask. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lightly clasping his hands together. “You may have lived a handful of years longer than us, Mrs. Pullman, but from what I can see, your mind is quick.”
She chuckled. “Do you think flattery will work on an old thing like me, young man?”
Gabe’s lips twitched at one corner. “You see right through me.”
Her whole body shook with her deep chuckle. “Very well, I’ll oblige since you’re trying so hard.” She grew serious. “This is just my opinion, mind, and I didn’t see an awful lot of Mr. and Mrs. Cooper. But from what I can recall, they were both anxious people.”
“What do you mean?” Gabe asked.
“They rarely left the house. They kept the curtains closed, and I never saw or heard them in the garden. At first, I thought Mr. Cooper demanded his wife remain indoors and not befriend anyone. I thought she was afraid of him. She was young, you see, and if she’d chosen unwisely…well, some marriages are rotten from the start. I kept an eye open for Mr. Cooper, to get my measure of him, so to speak. If he seemed cruel then I would have tried to help her, be a shoulder for her to lean on. I watched every day for him, expecting him to leave for work in the mornings to go to the city, and return in the early evening. But he didn’t. Whatever he did for a living didn’t require him to keep regular hours. Mr. Pullman saw him leave the house after dark a few times, but I saw Mr. Cooper go out during the day only once. I remember it even now because he was so strange. He kept his hat low to hide his face and he looked over his shoulder as he walked.”
“He was afraid, too,” I muttered.
“I believe so, Miss Ashe.”
“You say Cooper walked that day,” Gabe said. “Did he keep a carriage?”
“No.”
“What about other staff? A housekeeper or maid?”
“I can’t recall, I’m sorry.”
Gabe gave her a sympathetic smile. “It’s all right, Mrs. Pullman. Thank you for your time.” He rose.
I stayed seated. “Mrs. Pullman, how long did they live next door?”
“Only a few months, three at most.” She frowned in thought. “They left overnight, without a peep.”
Gabe and I exchanged glances. “You didn’t hear the removalists?” he asked.
“No. The owner kept the house furnished so they only needed their personal belongings. Other tenants before the Coopers rarely stayed long, although usually longer than them. There were no new tenants after they left and the house was sold not long afterwards.”
I sat forward, eager to hear more. “Who owned it in 1891 and leased it to the Coopers?”
“I don’t know. I never did learn his name. He never lived there himself.”
We thanked her and the maid saw us out. We returned to the motorcar and sat inside with the engine off while Gabe repeated what we’d learned for Alex and Willie’s sakes. It allowed me time to begin to piece together what little of the puzzle we possessed. The more I learned about Marianne, the more I wanted to find out more. Mrs. Pullman had painted a picture of a mysterious couple who’d made a lasting impression on their neighbor, despite living a mere three months next door.
Willie gazed at the nice house where Marianne Cooper née Folgate had lived. “I wish I’d taken more notice of her in Ninety-one, but I never thought we’d be looking for her almost thirty years later.”
“My parents would agree with that.” Gabe turned to me in the back seat and offered a small smile of encouragement. “At least we have something to go on with. I’ll ask our lawyer to find out who owned that house when the Coopers lived there. Hopefully he’ll still have a record of his tenants. They would have needed to provide former addresses before leasing the property.”
I wasn’t so sure finding the owner would help. It was so long ago. If he was still alive, it was very likely he’d not kept records dating back that far. But Gabe seemed enthused. Whether he was acting that way to keep my spirits up, or he was simply in need of something to do, I wasn’t sure. I’d come to realize that Gabe needed an occupation, something to keep him both physically and mentally active. If he allowed boredom to creep in, the memories of war crept in too. Like many returned soldiers, he wanted to keep them at bay.
Any boredom he might be experiencing was soon alleviated, however, and in rather dramatic fashion.
Daisy entered the library late the following morning wheeling her bicycle. I’d spent most of the morning cataloging books in the attic but had come downstairs for fresh air and to ask the professor for his advice about one of the books. We looked up upon her arrival and smiled.
“Just in time for tea,” Professor Nash announced as he rose. “Park your vehicle, Daisy, and join us in the reading nook.”
I picked up the book and followed Daisy into the library proper as the professor headed upstairs. She removed her hat pin and hat as she walked and patted her hair. A library patron happened to wander out from between the stacks at that moment and suddenly stopped, his sharp intake of breath audible in the silence.
Daisy was caught off guard, but quickly recovered. She cast him a cheerful smile and a “How do you do, sir” before continuing on to the reading nook. The patron watched her go, until he realized I’d noticed him staring.
Daisy often elicited stares from men. She knew it, too, and rather enjoyed the attention. Even with her back turned, I suspected she knew the man admired her. It was why she kept her arms raised to her hair and swayed her hips. Wearing trousers gathered at the ankle and a white Grecian style blouse tied at the waist, she cut a fine figure from behind.
She was still smiling when she sat. “You should have come to the Buttonhole with me last night, Sylv. It was such fun.” She kicked off her left pump and rubbed her toes. “My feet are on fire today after all the dancing, but it was worth it.”
She’d asked me to attend the nightclub with her, but I’d declined. I had to work today and Daisy liked to stay out late. She didn’t have employment, although she was auditioning for roles in the moving pictures. “I told you not to go alone.”
“What was I supposed to do? You wouldn’t come. Anyway, I met people I knew there. Actors, writers, artists…I move in very artistic circles now. Oh, and that fellow Huon Barratt was there, the professor’s ink magician friend.”
“They’re hardly friends. The professor traveled with Oscar Barratt, but he doesn’t know his nephew very well.”
Unlike his adventurous and enterprising uncle, Huon was a wastrel with no employment and no desire to find any. He lived alone in his father’s London townhouse and seemed to spend much of his time drunk or asleep. His parents let him be, unsure how to deal with a son who’d come back from the war alive but now wanted to lose himself in a dissolute lifestyle. The horrors of war manifested itself in the returned servicemen in many different ways. Gabe needed to keep busy, while Huon preferred to numb his senses with alcohol.
“He asked after you.” Daisy smiled slyly. “I think he likes you.”
“I’m not interested in Huon.”
“Why not? He’ll be a challenge, I grant you, but you could be good for him. You’re steady and reliable, which is something he needs right now.”
“Just what every man desires—a steady and reliable woman.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re not dull, Sylvia. That’s not what I meant.”
“I’m not interested in Huon Barratt. Not even a little bit.”
She sighed. “Pity. His family has money. And of course, there aren’t many options anymore. We need to snap the available men up when they’re keen or we risk staying spinsters forever.”
It wasn’t something I liked to voice when there were so many horrid outcomes from the war, but she was right. Many men our age had died. In ten years, it wouldn’t surprise me if the spinsters of my generation outnumbered the spinsters of all other living generations combined. But I couldn’t bring myself to encourage Huon’s interest; not even to capture that rare commodity, an eligible bachelor.
The patron who’d admired Daisy came to tell me he was leaving and that he’d return tomorrow. He’d been in every day this week to research magic for a book he was writing. We didn’t allow patrons to borrow the books so he read them here. I accompanied him to the front desk where he signed himself out. As he left, he passed Gabe, Alex and Willie arriving.
“Have you heard from your lawyer already?” I asked.
“That’s not why I’m here.” Gabe’s ominous tone had me eyeing him carefully. “We need to speak to you and the professor.”
I led the way to the reading nook, more than a little concerned. That concern was alleviated somewhat when Willie clapped Daisy on the back and greeted her with enthusiasm. She wouldn’t be that cheerful if there’d been another kidnapping attempt on Gabe. She’d have locked the door behind her and searched every inch of the library before relaxing.
“Hello, Willie, Gabe. Alex,” Daisy added, as if he were an afterthought. While she met Willie and Gabe’s gazes, she did not look directly at Alex when she greeted him.
She’d got it into her head that he disliked her, that he thought her silly and spoiled. I didn’t agree. That was her own opinion distorting her perception. She might appear confident to the world, but she doubted herself. Growing up in a privileged household meant she’d never had to fend for herself, never had to save every penny, never needed to work. On the surface, she seemed spoiled, yet she was sweet and kind and never put herself above others. She saw me as her equal, despite our vastly different backgrounds. Indeed, I’d go so far as to say she thought herself beneath me because she lacked my education and common sense. It wasn’t her fault. She’d been brought up never having to apply herself to get what she wanted. She’d been blessed with an inheritance but only a limited education, which prepared her for marriage to a gentleman of good breeding but not gainful employment. It was the reason she was pursuing careers that didn’t require an education, merely a vibrant personality. She had that in abundance.
She tucked her shoulder-length strawberry blond hair behind her ear in a self-conscious move and resumed her seat on the sofa.
Willie dropped onto the cushion beside her. “Had any more auditions, Daisy?”
“Just one. It’s for the part of a duchess.”
Willie thumped her on the arm. “I can see you as a duchess.”
Alex leaned closer to me. “It doesn’t require a great stretch of the imagination.”
If he would only stop teasing her, they might get along swimmingly. It raised her hackles and made her either want to tease him back or ignore him altogether.
She must not have been able to think of a good retort because she chose to present him with her shoulder. She smiled at Willie. “You should have come to the Buttonhole last night. The music was jazzed.”
“I’ve been busy.” She jerked her head at Gabe.
“Oh, yes, of course. He needs protecting.”
Alex crossed his arms over his chest. “I can take care of him on my own.”
Willie wrinkled her nose and pretended to think about it. “Nope. You need me. You ain’t ruthless enough.”
“You mean I won’t shoot first and ask questions later.”
Daisy laughed but tried to hide it with a cough. She didn’t want Alex knowing she thought him amusing.
Gabe glared at his cousin and friend in turn. “I can take care of myself, something I’ve proved time and again. You should both go to the Buttonhole with Daisy tonight. You need to get out.”
“And deprive you of my sparkling company?” Willie shook her head. “I can’t do that to my favorite cousin.”
“I thought my father was your favorite cousin.”
“My favorite cousin under thirty.” Willie nudged Alex’s foot. “You should go with Daisy. You like to dance. You’re real bad at it, but everyone’ll be too drunk to notice.”
Alex looked caught. Teasing Daisy was one thing, but he didn’t want to be blatantly rude to her, yet it was clear he didn’t want to go out alone with her either. It would be an unequivocal statement that he liked her. “Ah, Professor Nash! It’s good to see you, sir.”
The professor approached carrying a tray. “Thank you, Alex. It’s good to see you, too. Let me put this down and I’ll fetch more cups.”
“We can’t stay,” Gabe told him. “We came to see you and Sylvia about Lady Stanhope’s visit.”
The professor sat on the spot Daisy vacated for him. “When she brought the magician-made untitled books to us?”
“Untitled?” Willie asked.
Professor Nash explained that the term referred to unpublished manuscripts in industry circles. “She told us she purchased them from a bookbinder. He claimed the paper held magic.”
“Was his name Adolphus Littleproud?” Gabe asked.
The professor pushed his glasses up his nose. “Yes. How do you know his name? I don’t recall mentioning it to you.”
“My father told us,” Alex said. “Littleproud is dead. Murdered the night before last.”
I gasped. “How awful.”
“Do you have to be so blunt about it?” Daisy said as she reached for the teapot.
Alex shrugged. “Just stating a fact. The victim’s wife found Littleproud’s body yesterday morning and notified the local constabulary, who quickly realized it was murder.” Alex cleared his throat and glanced at Daisy. “Suffice it to say, it was obvious the death wasn’t natural.”
Gabe took over the story. “Cyclops was assigned to the case. Last night, when Alex and I dined with his family, Cyclops told us about it in passing. It immediately piqued our curiosity. It seemed too much of a coincidence to hear about a bookbinder in Paternoster Row twice in one day. I wasn’t entirely sure it was the same man until now.”
“Will you consult on the case?” I asked.
Gabe nodded. “Now that we know there’s a link between the victim and Lady Stanhope’s magical purchase, Cyclops will see it’s arranged.” The mention of magic would necessitate the involvement of Gabe, Scotland Yard’s consultant detective on all cases magical in nature.
“We need to question her,” he went on. “But first, what more can you tell us about her books?”
The professor and I exchanged glances. We shook our heads. “There’s nothing more to tell,” I said. “She was going to get the paper verified by a magician, but we don’t know who.”
The professor absently accepted a teacup from Daisy. “You don’t think she killed him, do you?”
“No,” Gabe said at the same time that Willie said, “Everyone’s a suspect until they’re not. Even you.”
The professor’s eyes widened. “Me?”
Willie chuckled. “The look on your face is priceless, Prof.”
“Were there any witnesses?” I asked.
Gabe shook his head. “No one saw or heard anything. Time of death was around midnight. Mrs. Littleproud entered her husband’s shop on Paternoster Row yesterday morning at seven after he didn’t come home.”
It would have been a dreadful discovery for the poor woman.
“We’ll speak to her after we check the crime scene,” Gabe went on. “I doubt Cyclops missed anything, but fresh eyes can’t hurt.” He picked up his hat from where he’d left it on the desk. “Do you want to come, Sylvia?”
I blinked at him. “Me? Why?”
“Mrs. Littleproud will be upset. Having a woman in the interview might help.”
Both Alex and Willie narrowed their gazes at him but didn’t say anything. I expected they were thinking the same as me. Gabe required no help questioning upset widows.
“Go on.” Professor Nash gave me a nod of encouragement. “It’ll do you good to get out and about.”
“To a crime scene?” Daisy asked. “That’s not my idea of a good day out.”
“You weren’t invited,” Alex said. Realizing it sounded somewhat nasty, he tempered it with, “You wouldn’t want to see the shop. I’m sure it’s unpleasant.”
Gabe put his hat on his head. “Sylvia can stay in the motor for that part.”
Willie gave a grunt of amusement. I shot her a little smile. She understood the meaning behind it perfectly. Given the shaky start to our acquaintance, it was the friendliest gesture we’d exchanged.
The professor followed us to the front door, teacup and saucer in hand. “May I just confirm…I am not a suspect for the murder, am I?”
Willie threw her arm around him. “I was only joking, Prof. Of course you ain’t. If you were going to kill someone, it would be in self-defense with a gun or knife. You wouldn’t torture a man then watch him bleed to death.”
“Willie!” Alex scolded. “The ladies.”
It was Professor Nash who’d gone pale, however, not Daisy or me. She wrinkled her nose, while I pulled a face.
“Who would torture and kill a bookbinder?” I murmured.
No one had an answer to that.
I collected my purse and hat and waited to exit the library behind Daisy. She wheeled her bicycle out, following Willie who’d gone ahead to scout the vicinity for potential kidnappers.
“So did you get the part of the duchess?” she asked Daisy.
Daisy put a foot on the pedal but didn’t mount the bicycle. “No. The director offered me a part as a sales assistant instead.”
“At least you got a part. Many don’t.”
“I’m only in one scene and all I do is wrap up a tie or something equally dull. I don’t even look at the camera. I’m supposed to just be in the background, along with a dozen other girls.”
“You’ll get a good role sooner or later. You can’t be this pretty for nothing.” Willie patted Daisy’s cheek.
Daisy giggled. “Thank you for saying that. You are sweet. Isn’t she sweet, Alex?”
Alex regarded Daisy first then Willie, a deep frown scoring his brow. “That is not a word I’d ever use to describe her.” He watched Willie stride off to the lane’s exit. When Daisy went to mount the bicycle, he grasped the handlebars to steady it for her even though she was capable of balancing it herself since her toes could reach the ground.
She waited, but when his mouth opened and closed without uttering a word, she said, “May I leave or are you going to just stand there?”
“I, uh, just wanted to say…” He cleared his throat. “You would have been an excellent choice to play a duchess.”
She stiffened. “I heard you the first time.”
“No, I meant he made a mistake. The director, that is. You’d be great on screen.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm.” She glared pointedly at his hand.
He let go of the bicycle and stepped back, folding his arms over his chest as he watched her ride off.
Gabe clapped him on the shoulder. “Better luck next time.”
“I was trying to be nice.”
“I know.”
“I don’t really care if she doesn’t want to accept my friendship.”
“If you say so.”
Gabe watched as Alex strode off along the lane.
I fell into step alongside him as we followed. “You need to coach him on how to talk to women.”
“I’m not sure the man whose engagement failed should be giving anyone relationship advice.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself. What happened between you and Ivy wasn’t your fault.”
He walked on, his strides purposeful.
I quickened my step to keep pace. “Many relationships forged during the war have ended in peacetime. Yours wasn’t unique.”
When he didn’t slow down, I caught his arm to stop him. I wanted to get my point across. But he simply stared back at me through eyes that had lost their spark.
“What you needed when you didn’t know if you would come home again is different from what you need now. Don’t blame yourself for that, Gabe. It’s natural.”
His face remained impassive, unreadable.
I suddenly felt foolish for speaking sentimentally when I’d never even been courted by a man. I was far less qualified than him to give relationship advice. I didn’t even have my parents as an example to follow. I let go of his arm. “So I hear, anyway. I’m not an expert.”
He huffed a cynical laugh. “It seems neither of us are equipped to interfere in Alex and Daisy’s relationship, if that’s what their little dance can be called.”
I smiled, relieved he was making light of my bumbling attempt at giving advice.
He caught my hand and gently squeezed. “Thank you, Sylvia. I appreciate it.” He let go and indicated I should walk ahead of him through the narrow exit to the adjoining street.
My heart lifted. My attempt may have been bumbling, but he understood my message. Hopefully one day he’d believe it.