Charlotte looked at Amelie as they neared a busy warehouse district. The cab slowed, and Amelie nodded. “I believe it’s just along here.” She pointed out the window, and when the vehicle came to a stop, she stepped quickly outside.
“Now will you tell me what we’re doing?” Charlotte asked.
Amelie paid the driver and turned to Charlotte. “As I was transcribing your mother’s police file, I noticed something that sounded familiar. Fairmont Riverboats.”
Charlotte waited, expecting more.
“You know? Fairmont? They’re the ferries that take passengers into London and back for work or errands and the like.”
“I know what they do, Amelie,” Charlotte said, exasperated. “There are dozens of companies though—more ferries on the waterways than is probably safe. I don’t remember all of their names.”
“I do.” Amelie linked arms with Charlotte. “And this is the docking warehouse where they maintain their fleet.” They approached the large structure that housed ferries in various states of repair. Clanking machinery echoed through the building, along with shouts and conversation.
“Pardon me,” Amelie said, catching a young dockworker’s attention. “Where are the Fairmont offices?”
The worker pointed toward the back of the building where a door was just visible behind a grease-smudged engine. Charlotte followed her cousin, wondering if it was wise to put so much blind faith in her. Amelie expected certain things from people, and she usually got them. Sometimes, however, her judgment was off. Dirk’s presence was a comfort, at least.
Amelie knocked on the door, and a gruff voice answered. She opened the door a crack and said, “Mr. Fairmont?”
“No, I ain’t Fairmont. If ya got a problem, see management.” His eyes widened as he spied the large Scot standing behind them.
“And where might I find management?” Amelie asked with a smile.
“Offices in Central London.”
Amelie waited expectantly, and with a huff, the man scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it over. “Tha’s the address.”
“Thank you, sir!” She smiled again, and the man answered with an impatient grunt.
Before Charlotte knew what was happening, Amelie had them back in another cab and headed toward the new address. By now, the not-knowing had become a game Charlotte was willing to play, and when Amelie looked at her with a bright smile, she didn’t ask any more questions. Even Dirk was willing to go, no questions asked.
In truth, her mind was still back in John’s office with her lips pressed against his. She didn’t think she would ever get over the wonder of kissing him. She’d wanted to kiss him in the Fulbrights’ library, and had she known what she was missing, she’d have indulged. She looked out the window at the passing carriages, horses, and bustling pedestrians, but saw none of it.
“And what are you thinking about, that has you smiling so?” Amelie asked.
“Nothing, just—” Charlotte shrugged. “Usual sorts of things.”
“John sorts of things?”
“Well, no, I’m only—”
Amelie held up a hand. “I can read it in your face.” She smiled, and her eyes softened. “I am so glad, Charlotte! We’ve all waited for so long!”
“Amelie,” Charlotte said, growing increasingly uncomfortable, “we’ve declared nothing. We are not engaged; we are still just very good friends.”
“Mmm.”
“Please, I cannot have rumors spreading.”
“I, madam, am more secure with secrets than a steel trap.” Amelie looked affronted.
“You would tell Eva.”
“Eva does not count.” Amelie sniffed. “Nor do you. The three of us are as one.”
“I am not a potted plant,” Dirk said.
Charlotte gaped at him and then laughed. “That was very funny!”
His answering expression was flat. “I can hear everything you’re saying.”
“Dirk, you don’t gossip with me, and we’ve spent weeks together. I cannot imagine you gossiping with anyone else.”
“Fair enough.”
Amelie smiled. “I wager he would loosen his tongue if plied with enough whiskey.”
“That is why I do not drink.” He didn’t laugh along with them, but Eva nearly fell from the seat when he gave her a barely perceptible wink.
Charlotte looked at Amelie and let out a frustrated sigh. “It is not as though I am hiding anything, it is only that I do not know what is happening.”
“I am glad you’ve finally joined our ranks. I fell in love with a grumpy detective quite against my will, and Eva denied her feelings for Nathan from the beginning.” Amelie paused. “Rather like you and John. They were convinced they were just friends, and you are following suit.”
“I have nothing to say about the matter, except that I do not want anyone to say anything about the matter.”
Amelie nodded and mimed locking her lips with a key and then throwing it over her shoulder. She pointed at Dirk, who blinked deliberately, once, in response.
They came to a stop outside a tall building with a light gray façade, and, after paying the driver, Amelie led the way to the broad front door.
Inside they found a reception area and long hallway. Different names were printed on nameplates, and lack of a receptionist required them to wander the corridor until they saw one labeled Fairmont Riverboats. Amelie looked at Charlotte with a shrug and cracked open the door.
Inside was a young woman sitting at a typewriter. She looked up as they entered. “Yes?”
Amelie gamely stepped forward. “Miss . . .”
“Streatfield.”
“Miss Streatfield, I am Mrs. Baker, this is Miss Duvall, and accompanying us is Mr. Dirk. We are on a rather . . . odd journey. Do you know much about the history of Fairmont Riverboats?”
Miss Streatfield’s brow wrinkled. “I know some of the history, I suppose.”
Amelie looked at Charlotte and then tried again. “For example, do you who might have been managing the company in roughly 1869?”
“The old Mr. Fairmont was the original owner. I suppose that would have been him. It was a much smaller company then. I can ask our current president. He is the owner’s son.”
“Is he here today, by chance?” Amelie asked.
“Yes, he is. I’ll see if he has time to answer your questions.”
Charlotte glanced at Amelie. Was she looking for the captain who had piloted the boat the night Katherine died?
Miss Streatfield disappeared into a side office and then reappeared, motioning to the cousins. “Mr. Fairmont will see you now.” She smiled and stepped away from the door.
The man was in his early forties, and his face bore a pleasant, if bemused expression as he stood from behind his desk to greet Amelie. He then turned to Charlotte and his demeanor changed. His face slackened, paled, and he sat down hard in his chair. “Miss Streatfield,” he managed, “close the door.”
Dirk stepped inside and took up his post before the secretary could follow the command.
Amelie looked at Charlotte. “I believe we are in the right place, Miss Duvall.” She took a seat, and Charlotte followed.
Once Mr. Fairmont recovered from his initial shock, he cleared his throat. “Duvall. Are you kin, then?”
Charlotte nodded. “Daughter.”
The door clicked quietly closed.
“Uncanny.” He reached inside his desk and withdrew a cigarette that he lit with shaking hands. He took a long drag and blew smoke to the side, watching Charlotte the entire time.
“Were you there the night of the accident?” Charlotte asked. She didn’t see any need to delay the conversation with small talk. “You would have been close to twenty, I suspect?”
“Twenty-one. I was helping my pa. Carter Textiles—the son, in fact—had hired the boat for the weekend. We were to sail up and down the river, wherever the party wanted. We had just the one ferry, and a job like that was big business for us. My pa took special care of the boat—polished her until she shined.”
Charlotte’s heart beat faster. “Your father was questioned by police, and his statement was that his back was to the people on the deck. Did you witness the accident?”
He shook his head. “The boat, you see—” He pointed to a framed photo behind his desk. “The wheel is down here in the middle, covered. The deck is behind, above the salon. We didn’t see anything.”
“But you heard something?” Amelie asked.
“Screaming.”
Charlotte swallowed.
“Duvall,” Mr. Fairmont said. “Never will forget that name. Or her face.” He looked at Charlotte and shook his head. “I wish my pa was here. He felt responsible, you know. Happened on his watch, he said.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Charlotte said. “I would like to know exactly what happened that night, though.”
“You read the police report, you said.”
Charlotte nodded, trying to decide how much to divulge. While she was thinking, Amelie interjected. “Mr. Fairmont, it is a credit to your father that he built the business from one ferry into such a successful endeavor.” She smiled. “Or perhaps it happened while under your management?”
He shook his head. His eyes flicked to Charlotte and back to Amelie. He seemed most comfortable leaving his attention anywhere that wasn’t on Charlotte. “Wasn’t too long after the accident that my father inherited some money. He put it into the business, bought a whole fleet. He worked hard,” he said, taking another drag on the cigarette, “even with the inheritance. It wasn’t like we got everything just handed to us.”
He sounded defensive. Charlotte decided to risk a guess. “Perhaps Carter Textile felt responsible for your father’s trouble? Maybe the ‘inheritance’ came from them?”
“I don’t know where it came from.” Mr. Fairmont’s voice was sharp. “My pa said good things happen to good people, and that’s that.”
“Mr. Fairmont,” Amelie said in a voice that successfully soothed toddlers, “nobody is questioning your father’s hard work, and I’m certain he was a good man. You seem like a very good man too. I’m sure the money your family received was given in gratitude.”
Mr. Fairmont nodded, but he seemed increasingly nervous. Agitated. Had the money actually been given to the Fairmonts to ensure their silence?
“Are you certain you didn’t see anything?” Charlotte asked. “My mother wasn’t a drinker, and she was comfortable in and on the water. With so many people there, I simply can’t believe nobody saw anything.”
“It was crowded,” Fairmont agreed. “By the time I reached the deck, it was swarming with people.”
Amelie tipped her head. “How long do you believe it took you to run from the wheel to the deck?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know—by the time I heard screaming, I’d guess about ten seconds.”
“Did you hear one scream at first? Several?” Charlotte pressed.
“I don’t know, it was chaos! It’s a blur in my mind. Anything I saw would be in the police report.”
“Your witness statement isn’t in the police files,” Amelie said, frowning. “You’re certain they took one from you?”
“Yes. Wrote it all down.”
“What, exactly, did you tell the officer?” Charlotte asked.
“I can’t remember, I tell you! I’ve tried to forget it. I had never seen a dead body before.” He glanced at Charlotte. “Apologies,” he mumbled.
“Not necessary,” Charlotte said quietly. “You saw them pull her out of the water?”
He nodded. “They did try to save her, push out the water and such.” He shook his head. “There were so many people everywhere and screaming and crying. It was all my pa could do to get the boat to shore. Glasses full of liquor spilled, one of our crew lost consciousness. I slipped and fell on someone’s walking cane, bruised my . . . myself something good.”
Charlotte smiled. “I trust your bruises healed.”
He nodded, releasing a shaky breath. “Miss Duvall, I am so sorry about your mother. There was nothing anyone could have done.”
“And you believe in your heart that it was an accident?” Charlotte asked, sliding forward in her seat as though to rise and leave. She wanted the question to sound like an afterthought, when in reality, it was the most crucial one of all.
“Police said it was. Guests said it was. So, yes, it was.”
Charlotte nodded. She suspected it was the most they would pry from the man. She wasn’t without sympathy—he seemed to have been genuinely traumatized. They thanked him for his time, and he moved to stand.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Amelie reassured him and waved him back down.
He sank into his seat again, likely in relief.
The cousins were quiet as they left the offices and hailed a cab. “We may never learn what he told police,” Amelie finally said, frowning in thought, “but if they really took his statement, where is it? And secondly . . .” Amelie looked at Charlotte and Dirk. “Who paid the Fairmonts off?”
Later that night, Charlotte sat in her office at the hospital with Dirk. She was exhausted, but the hustle of the hospital was a mirror of her own training while she’d been in school. She’d learned how to eat and sleep when she could afford the snatches of time. The influenza outbreak seemed to be tapering, thankfully, and they’d lost only one child that day rather than three the day before.
Charlotte’s hands were raw from constant washing in a carbolic solution, and she was grateful to see the nurses’ quick efficiency in the patient wards and that they kept themselves to impeccably clean standards. With luck, the caregivers would avoid contracting the illnesses themselves.
She was grateful to finally have a few moments to stop working and eat a quick supper. The morning seemed an eternity away. Had it really been the same day that she’d visited John in his office and gone with Amelie to question Mr. Fairmont?
She poured some tea and flicked the napkin open, murmuring thanks to the staff who worked tirelessly in the third-floor kitchen. Many of the patients Delaney served ate better in the hospital than they did at home. She dove into the stew meat and potatoes with relish.
Dirk was as quiet as ever, but she knew he absorbed everything around him. Charlotte suspected his unwillingness to babble—or engage in long conversation, even—might have contributed to his legendary mystique. She’d gotten one thing out of him, however; he had a sister and a seven-year-old niece.
“Will you go home for the holidays to visit your family?” she asked.
He nodded.
“And what gift will you take to your niece?” Charlotte smiled, picturing a redheaded little girl, perhaps not so unlike herself.
“She enjoys rugby.”
Charlotte choked on her sip of tea, then laughed. “A girl after my own heart. I would have loved a friend to play rugby with. You’ve seen an example of what my brothers were like—useless.”
His smile looked almost bashful. “If I’d been your brother, lass, I would have played rugby with you.”
She sobered, and her eyes filled with tears that she didn’t bother to stop. She couldn’t have been more stunned if he’d stood up and danced. He seemed moved by her emotion because his own eyes looked suspiciously bright.
“I believe your mother was a lovely person,” he added, “and you’ve every right to be proud to be her daughter.”
She sat back in her chair and put a hand to her chest. She swallowed, trying to find her voice. “I believe that’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me. Thank you, Dirk.”
He nodded and straightened, clearing his throat. They finished their dinner in comfortable silence.
A knock sounded at the door, and it was opened before Charlotte could say a word. Dirk stood as Mr. Stanley stepped across the threshold even though she hadn’t invited him in. He hadn’t liked her from the beginning, and her criticism over his lack of anesthetic knowledge had not endeared her to him.
“Are you lost?” Dirk asked the man.
Stanley looked Dirk up and down but failed to hold his eyes for long. He looked at Charlotte, who had an idea of the reason for his visit.
“Mr. Stanley,” she began, “as we have no designated anesthetist, we all must take our turns. I didn’t have an issue with you today, but I stand by my statement from last week—”
He held up his hand. “I am not here about that, nor do I give a fig about any issue you have with me today or any day. It has come to my attention that one of the hospital’s benefactors is withdrawing his annual donation.”
The world seemed to freeze in place. Charlotte’s stomach sank. The hospital depended on the city’s wealthiest donors for its daily survival. They could not afford to lose even one.
“Why are you telling me?” Charlotte asked.
“I believe you might know the name. The gentleman’s wife is a private patient of mine from my time at Mt. Vernon. Mrs. Worthingstone?” His face was smug. “I do not believe it is common knowledge that you have a once-removed association with her husband, an esteemed member of Parliament, but I do find it odd that so soon after your arrival here, we lose funding from one of our largest benefactors.”
Charlotte’s mouth had gone dry, and she struggled to swallow. She took a sip of her tea, but when she set down the cup, it rattled against the saucer. “I shall speak with Mr. Corbin and Matron Halcomb. Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding.”
He smiled. “I do not believe there is.”
Her frustration flared. “I should think you would not be happy at this turn of events, Mr. Stanley. If the hospital closes, your job also ends.”
“I’ll find work at another hospital. Mt. Vernon has wanted me to return for an age. Unfortunate for you, I imagine. This was one of very few hospitals willing to hire a woman doctor.”
Dirk tensed and moved fractionally closer to Mr. Stanley.
Charlotte stood, folding her napkin. “I did not invite you to enter my office. You’ve delivered your message, and now you may go.”
He lingered for a few insolent moments before narrowing his eyes at her and leaving.
“Perhaps he’s lying.” Dirk’s eyes narrowed as he watched the man retreat.
“If we are fortunate,” she murmured. “I need to ask the matron.” Her heart was beating quickly, and she felt the weight of the world settle on her shoulders.
Dirk walked with her as she left her office and made her way down to Matron Halcomb’s office. When she found it empty, they turned and climbed the stairs to Mr. Corbin’s office.
At her knock, a voice beckoned, and she entered to find Mr. Corbin and Matron Halcomb seated at a table, reviewing accounting books. The head administrator looked exhausted, and Charlotte felt sick.
“Please, come in,” Mr. Corbin said.
She entered but did not sit. “Sir, Matron, I’ve heard distressing news. Is it true we’re losing funding?”
They nodded, and Mr. Corbin rubbed his eyes. “Our annual contribution gala is coming, and we received notice today that the Worthingstones will not be renewing their donation.” He shook his head, his eyes troubled. “I do not understand it, for the life of me. Not only did the Worthingstone family establish this hospital, but they have supported it for two generations.”
Matron Halcomb shook her head. “I do not know if we can cut costs enough to offset the loss.” She paused. “Oh, Charlotte, you look stricken. I am so sorry that you are facing the possibility of employment loss so soon after gaining it.”
“No, I—”
“Miss Duvall,” Mr. Corbin said, “I shall provide the best of references for you, should it come to that. I am well acquainted with several other hospital administrators.”
This is my fault. This is all my fault.
The phrase repeated in her mind. She pulled herself together and nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Corbin. Perhaps a miracle will happen, and the necessary funding will come through.”
“That’s the spirit,” Mr. Corbin said. “We’re not beaten yet.” He smiled at Charlotte, and she did her best to return it. “Besides, we still have monies pledged from the Paddletons and Fineboughs, among others. Our members of Parliament do take care of us.”
Her heart sank further.
“Go home, my girl,” Matron Halcomb said. “Morning comes early, and our doors are still open.”
Charlotte nodded and left the room, numbly returning to her office where she removed her doctor’s coat and gathered her things.
“We have a visit to make on the way home,” she told Dirk, who frowned, but didn’t argue.
She stopped in the main office, and on a whim, checked the files under “W.” Of course, she chastised herself, the Worthingstones would never have been patients at the hospital, so she would find no information there.
She turned instead to the rows of volumes that lined the shelves—hospital records dating back decades. Tracing her finger along the spines, she located one labeled “Benefactors” and pulled it down. She flipped through the pages until she found the one she sought. Making a note of the address in her small notebook, she replaced the book and left the hospital.
With Dirk by her side, she made her way to the train station and boarded the train that would take them across town. They then took a hansom cab to the stylish square where the Worthingstone mansion stood.
“I’ll pay you double to wait here,” she said to the driver. Pulling her coat against the cold, she resolutely made her way to the entrance and knocked before she could think twice about what she was doing.
“You can wait here with the driver,” she said to Dirk.
His flat, answering expression brooked no argument.
She exhaled, her breath forming a cloud. “I do not know if they’ll be straightforward with me if someone else is listening.”
“I’ll wait just outside the parlor door, then.”
She nodded. She knew how bedraggled she must look. She was tired, had worked all day, had dealt with two stabbings, one oil burn, and one gunshot in the thigh that had required immediate surgery. Her hair was no longer freshly coiffed, but instead had been muscled back into submission with pins as the day had progressed. She looked as plain as a woman could possibly look, and her sense of defeat likely exacerbated it.
She swallowed as the door opened.
“Servants’ entrance is in the rear,” the butler told her.
“No,” she interrupted before he could close the door. “I am here to see Mr. Worthingstone.”
“He is not in residence this evening.”
“Mrs. Worthingstone?”
“My lady is extremely busy.”
Charlotte closed her eyes, fighting defeat. “Will you tell her that Katherine Duvall’s daughter is here to see her? Please.”
The butler sighed and looked at Dirk as though he’d dragged in something unpleasant on his shoes, but then instructed them to wait just inside the door as he left the large front hall. He returned quickly enough that Charlotte figured her request had worked.
“This way,” the butler said and led them up a flight of stairs. Just to the left, with a lovely view of the square, was a large parlor. Dirk stood outside the door and stared at the butler as though daring him to protest. The butler sniffed, but gestured Charlotte inside and waited as a maid and two other guests exited the room, the latter looking at Charlotte in undisguised distaste. The door closed behind her with a quiet click.
Anastacia Worthingstone sat in a regal chair by the hearth, her dark hair gleaming in the lamplight. “Of all the sights I thought never to see darkening my door.”
“A word, if you will?” Charlotte asked, keeping her voice mild.
“Please.” Mrs. Worthingstone gestured to a chair near hers. As Charlotte sat, the woman continued, “May I have the butler take your coat? Would you care for tea?”
Charlotte heard sarcasm in every word, whether it was intended or not.
“No, thank you. I only need a moment of your time. I believe you know I am a physician at Delaney Hospital, and I fear the administration received distressing news today.”
“Oh?”
Charlotte took a calming breath. Mrs. Worthingstone would make her say every last word. “We were informed that the Worthingstone foundation will no longer be a benefactor for Delaney. Perhaps you were unaware? I did hope to speak with your husband but was informed he is not here.”
“I am aware, of course. I have a hand in all foundation affairs.”
“Mrs. Worthingstone.” Charlotte searched for the right words. “Why? Why would you do this? The family foundation has sponsored the hospital since its inception.”
“The family foundation has a responsibility to sponsor appropriate organizations. Not those that support unsavory populations.”
Charlotte shook her head. “The population the hospital serves has never changed. It has always cared for the poor and destitute in the East End.”
“I am not speaking of the patients.”
It is about me. Silence echoed through the room. The ticking of the mantel clock was an accompaniment to the phrase that repeated itself in her mind: This is my fault. This is my fault.
Feeling her eyes burn but unwilling to shed even one tear in the woman’s presence, Charlotte straightened her spine. “What do you suppose would encourage the family foundation to change its mind about the donation?”
“I suppose the foundation might be encouraged to reconsider if the hospital cut all ties with current unsavory elements.” The woman’s ice-blue stare regarded her in triumph.
Charlotte quietly exhaled. “What guarantee would a person have that the decision would be reversed?”
“If Delaney Hospital no longer supports the objectionable party, the decision will be immediately reversed. The objectionable party may then return from whence they came.”
Charlotte nodded slowly and pursed her lips. “And the foundation will not encourage other charitable organizations or families to abandon Delaney Hospital?”
“That seems a reasonable assumption.” Mrs. Worthingstone relaxed in her chair, her hands placed lightly in her lap. There was nothing in her demeanor to indicate discomfort or unease. It was as though she destroyed careers on a daily basis.
“It isn’t enough that my mother is dead,” Charlotte said quietly.
“This has nothing to do with Kat, Dr. Duvall.”
And there it was. Charlotte had embarrassed the woman at supper. She was unable to hold back a laugh that escaped quietly through her nose. “I see.” She met Mrs. Worthingstone’s bland smile and bit back a dozen retorts that would have assuaged her personal pain but also nullified the positive results of her visit. Instead, she said, “Delaney Hospital’s unsavory element will draft a letter of resignation to be handed in tomorrow morning.”
“The element might then send a message here that it is finished. Once that has happened, I am certain the family foundation will renew its devoted efforts to the worthy cause. Otherwise, the morning papers might be forced to share the unfortunate news.”
“Ma’am.” Charlotte stood and bobbed a curtsey, wanting to wipe the serene expression from the woman’s face with her fingernails.
She left the room on legs that shook and made her way carefully down the stairs so she wouldn’t tumble to the bottom. Once outside, Dirk promised the cab driver a healthy fare to take them all the way to Bloomsbury and the warm security of Hampton House.
To Charlotte’s dismay, the sobs she had been able to keep at bay while facing off against Mrs. Worthingstone overtook her in the cab. She relayed the conversation to Dirk, who sat across from her, elbows braced on his knees. His expression grew darker with each detail.
“I don’t want John to know, not yet,” she said. “He’ll try to talk me out of resigning, but the hospital can’t afford even the smallest lapse in funding.”
Dirk eyed her as if he’d argue, but then nodded. “He is at a police commissioner function until at least midnight. You can go to bed and tell him in the morning.”
She shook her head. “I’ll leave before he’s awake.” She looked out the window. “He will be so upset for me.”
“He is a grown man,” Dirk said, coming as close to exasperation as she’d ever heard from him. “You’re not giving him any credit for mature behavior.”
“It isn’t that. He will be sympathetic and loving, and that will be my undoing. I won’t be able to fulfill my responsibility.”
“You are a grown woman,” he said. “I can’t imagine you shirking any responsibility.”
She wiped her cheeks. “I can’t explain it.” Her breath hitched.
He watched her for another moment and then sat back. “Very well,” he said quietly. “But you must tell him by tomorrow noon. The Worthingstones appear in the middle of this case at every turn—this may be crucial information for him to have.”
She nodded and blew out a quiet breath. “Tomorrow at noon. Thank you.”
He acknowledged her thanks with a nod but kept any further thoughts to himself. The rest of the ride home was silent and cold.