Mrs. Grummidge did not look surprised to see us when she greeted us in her snug parlor. As always, her eyes lit up when she saw Jeremy. He graciously accepted her offer of tea, and sat in attendance upon her as if she were the most important courtier in Buckingham Palace. We had not come to socialize, however, and after giving her the news of Rodney Dawkins’s death, I implored her to remember everything she could about Gilbert Barton. “He is the last of your group who has remained unaffected by the murders,” I said.
“Surely you can’t believe he’s in danger?” Mrs. Grummidge asked.
I most certainly did not; if anything, I had the direst suspicions of him, but I knew sharing them with Mrs. Grummidge was unlikely to entice her to give me any information she might have about a boy she had once considered a friend. “No, I do not believe him to be in danger,” I said. “But we must do everything we can to stop these murders. Do you remember seeing an older gentleman at Lizzie’s funeral? He has a white beard and—”
“Looks quite like Father Christmas?” she asked. “Yes, I saw him, but I can’t claim him as an acquaintance.”
I remembered that he had said the same about her. “Does the name Prentice Hancock mean anything to you?”
She screwed her eyebrows together. “No, I can’t say it does.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “We must focus on Mr. Barton. You told me that you never knew where he lived, but have you seen him or heard anything about him recently?”
“No. Mr. Grummidge discouraged me from keeping in touch with the friends of my youth. He didn’t think they were fitting companions for a woman of substance, which is what he fancied me to be.”
More likely, he wanted to keep her as isolated as possible, so that she would have no means of fleeing from his abusive ways. “Could you tell us more about Mr. Barton? Every detail you can recall may be important. Not just a physical description, but one of his character and his interests as well.”
“He was always painfully thin, which is probably what made the chimney sweeps want him for work when he was little, and he never grew very much. He was only a few inches taller than I. Medium brown hair, didn’t wear a beard—at least when I knew him—and he has hazel eyes with a rim of gold. That was his most identifying feature, I’d say. Other than his eyes, he looked quite ordinary.”
“Can you recall any of his interests?” I asked.
“Let’s see … he loved meat pies and I’m sorry to say stole them whenever he could, but you could hardly fault him for that, as the poor boy was hungry nearly all the time. And he always went to watch the football at the Memorial Grounds. He supports Thames Ironworks. I can’t think of anything else. He never had an easy life, Lady Emily, and had very little time for amusement.”
“Was he ever romantically attached to anyone?” Jeremy asked.
“When we were quite young, we used to go for walks together if I could slip away without my parents noticing, but I’m not sure that merits an attachment,” she said, blushing. “He was kind and sensitive, at least when he wasn’t around the rest of the King’s Boys. They were a rough crowd.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” I asked.
“I can’t even recall,” she said. “At least six years ago. Although there was one time, perhaps two months ago now, when I thought I saw him in the street, not far from this very house. I called to him, but he didn’t respond, and I realized it was probably just someone similar to him in appearance.”
Jeremy shot me a questioning glance. “We’ve troubled you enough,” I said. “Forgive the intrusion and please don’t hesitate to reach out if there’s anything you need.”
“Or if you recall anything about your old friend,” Jeremy said. “No detail is too small.”
Frustrated, we left the house. “I wonder…” I let my voice trail as my brain tried to grasp an elusive thought. “If Gilbert Barton is our man—which seems to me increasingly likely—he murdered Mr. Grummidge because of the way he treated his wife. But how could he have known what was going on behind closed doors?”
“Servants are known to gossip,” Jeremy said.
“And they generally can be counted on to have a keen knowledge of everything going on in a house.” Scotland Yard had interviewed the Grummidges’ staff, but they would have had no cause to ask them specifically about Gilbert Barton. I turned back to the house and in less than a quarter of an hour was settled in the housekeeper’s room, speaking to each of the servants in turn, while Jeremy sat with the young widow in her parlor.
Achieving my goal was so simple I nearly laughed. Mr. Grummidge had no valet, but he did employ a man in his mid-twenties who served in that capacity as needed along with fulfilling the combined duties of footman and a butler of sorts. When I asked him about Gilbert Barton, he grinned.
“Gil? Oh, yes. One of my best mates, he is. He’s not in trouble, is he?”
“No, no,” I said, not being entirely honest. “Were you aware that he and Mrs. Grummidge were friends in their youth?”
“Blimey. Is that right? He never breathed a word of it to me.”
“Samuel, it’s very important that you answer this question honestly,” I said. “Did you ever mention to him Mr. Grummidge’s treatment of his wife?” The man’s face clouded. “No one would begrudge you for having done so. It would be difficult for any of us to stand by silent in the face of such a situation.”
“I should’ve done more, madam,” he said. “I did ask Gil for his advice about it, but what could I do? I was in no position to stop my employer, and I need this job.”
“What did Gil suggest?” I asked.
“He said it wasn’t my place to interfere, but that if Mrs. Grummidge asked for my help, I should do whatever she wanted. Of course, she never did ask.”
“And when did this conversation take place?”
“I reckon three or four weeks ago.”
“Where does Gil live?”
“Over in West Ham, not far from the football ground. I don’t know exactly where.”
“It is crucial that I speak with him,” I said. “How can I reach him?”
“I meet him at the pub every Thursday night. That’s my evening off. But you could find him tomorrow at Memorial Grounds. He never misses a match.”
“He’s a Thames Ironworks supporter, I understand.”
“Not quite, madam. They’re West Ham United now. Changed the name just a few months ago. Same blokes, though. Not sure what the fuss was all about, but then I’m a Villa supporter. Born and bred in Birmingham.”
I thanked him for his help, and asked him if he would be willing to help me identify his friend at the grounds before the match. He agreed, so long as Mrs. Grummidge didn’t object, and naturally, she didn’t. I felt a bit uneasy at being so underhanded with him, but I could not risk missing the opportunity to find Gilbert Barton. Even if the man’s motives for murder were pure—so far as motives for murder could be—people cannot be allowed to mete out justice outside of the courts. No civilization could stand for that.
At my direction, Jeremy next drove to Mr. Hancock’s house. He would have received my note of warning hours ago, but I wanted to speak to the man face-to-face. He might be able to tell me where I could find Mr. Barton. Overruling Jeremy’s protests, I insisted that he remain in the motorcar while I went inside, hoping Mr. Hancock would be more inclined to confide in me if I was alone.
I was shown into the parlor at once, and found Mr. Hancock already there. His eyes no longer looked so kind as they had on our previous meeting, and his smile seemed more sinister than warm. He did not offer me any refreshment as I took the seat across from him. There could be no denying that he no longer considered me a friend.
“Your note was a revelation,” he said. “You have not been entirely honest with me, Lady Emily. I do not appreciate deception.”
“Nor do I, sir,” I said. “This, however, is not the time for recrimination. I have cause to believe that your life is in danger and am here only to warn you.”
He laughed. “You are an earnest little thing, aren’t you? Do you really believe that some disgruntled reprobate can trouble me with hollow threats?”
“Gilbert Barton may do more than make threats.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know him.”
“Of course you do. Don’t you see that there’s nothing to be gained by lying to me? I know all about you and the King’s Boys. And I know that Mr. Barton is behind three murders.”
“Whoever this Barton is, he’s nothing to do with me.”
“That is categorically untrue,” I said. “Please, if you have any idea where I might find him, tell me.”
“I know nothing of the man.”
Frustration surged in me. “What happens to you is of no consequence to me. I’d hoped you could lead me to Mr. Barton, and, in doing so, help me to save your life. As you refuse, I can only plead that you heed my words: be vigilant, Mr. Hancock, or you’ll be the next dead king.”
He laughed again. “You are prone to dramatics, aren’t you? I admit you are a clever girl, and I do appreciate your concern for my humble self. But you need not worry your pretty little head about my safety. No one in the East End would dare touch me. I am, after all, the only person here who bothers to try to give anyone a better life. Your erroneous conclusions about my other business activities notwithstanding, I assure you I am in no danger. As for you, however, you will find yourself in a far more uncomfortable position should you continue with your current course of action. There’s no love for anyone like you in the East End.”