“If you’re looking for Miss Fowler, she isn’t here.”
A woman’s voice drifted up to Jasper as he descended the stairs from Anita Fowler’s apartment, where he’d hoped to talk to her before she left for work.
The voice’s owner was a grandmotherly woman, who was standing in the open doorway to her rooms when he reached the main floor.
“She’s already g-gone to work?” he asked.
“I don’t know where she is. She came home last night just long enough to pack her bags and leave.”
“Leave?” he repeated rather stupidly.
“Yes. She seemed to be in a hurry—almost frantic.” The woman hesitated, and then said, “You must be Detective Inspector Lightner. I am Mrs. Stampler and this is my grandson, Harold.”
Her exceptionally large grandson appeared at her shoulder, and Jasper smiled at him. Harold stared dully in response.
Law had told him all about the pair yesterday. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
“Harold and I are just about to sit down to breakfast. Would you care to join us?”
“Th-Thank you, but I just ate.” Jasper did want to speak to the Stamplers at some point—he was curious as to how they managed to be Frumkin’s only tenants not in his little black book—but he didn’t want to be bludgeoned into eating a second breakfast.
“Miss Fowler works at Lillian Murphy’s Salon, but it doesn’t open until ten o’clock.” Mrs. Stampler paused, and then added, “I think she did piecework in addition to her mannequin job, so she might be there early.”
Jasper thanked her and set out on foot, since he had plenty of time to walk.
Lillian Murphy’s stylish boutique had no clients, yet when Jasper arrived at the shop, he saw several employees bustling around when he looked in the window.
A woman his age, wearing a rather shocking salmon-colored day dress, unlocked the front door, scowling as she examined him. “We are not yet open.”
“I’m l-l-looking for Anita Fowler.” Jasper showed her his badge.
She recoiled as though he’d offered her an unfashionable garment.
“What is your n-n-name?” he asked, when she continued to stare.
“Miss Eloise.”
“M-M-May I come in, Miss Eloise?”
“What’s this about?” she asked, opening the door just enough to allow him inside the shop. “Is Miss Fowler in trouble? Has she done something wrong?”
“N-Not at all. Her l-landlord died and we are asking all his t-t-tenants when they last saw him.”
“She’s not here.”
“When will she b-be here?”
“She should be here already. We ask our ladies to get to work by six. Miss Fowler is a mannequin, but she is also supplements her wages with detail work.”
“Is she often l-late?”
“Not often,” she said grudgingly.
“Is there anyone here who m-might know where she is?”
She hesitated and then said, “Let me bring out Miss Bendix; she is Miss Fowler’s closest acquaintance here.”
Jasper prowled the shop while she went to fetch the other woman. He’d never actually stepped foot into a modiste’s before. Well, at least not one that specialized in such respectable garments.
The walls and thick carpets covering the whitewashed wooden floor were a pale pink. The coffered ceiling was also pink, with gold leaf accents. The furniture was small and dainty; it was covered in pink brocades with gold wooden legs. It was the most feminine domain he’d ever entered and he felt like an interloper.
“Inspector?”
He turned to find Miss Eloise beside a much younger and far lovelier woman.
“This is Miss Bendix.” She gave the watch pinned to her bodice a significant look. “I’ll give you a few moments as I have some rather urgent business to attend to.” Her lips puckered and she narrowed her eyes. “I hope this won’t take long?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” Jasper said.
“Hmmph.” She turned and disappeared into the back room.
Jasper looked down into Miss Bendix’s upturned face, reminded of a daisy. She had a remarkable quantity of guinea gold hair piled up on her head, doll-like blue eyes, and a surprisingly generous mouth for her small face.
She also looked frightened. “Miss Eloise said you were a policeman. Did something bad happen to Nita?”
“Why would you th-think that?” he asked.
She swallowed convulsively, glancing around, as if somebody might overhear. “She’s been worried—for months now.”
“About what?”
Miss Bendix shook her head, the action making the golden curls dance. “I don’t know—she wouldn’t say. I’m worried that she isn’t here—she seemed fine last night when she left.” She worried her full lower lip. “I think it must have been something to do with that man.”
“Which m-man?”
“Her landlord—he won’t let her out of her lease agreement, and poor Nita has to work all the time to afford it and—” Her mouth snapped shut, and she shook her head and gazed up at him, her huge eyes putting him in mind of an anxious spaniel. She opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it again.
“Miss Bendix,” Jasper said gently. “If you know s-something about Miss F-F-Fowler’s whereabouts, you should tell me.”
“But I don’t want to get her in trouble.” She stepped closer—close enough that he could smell rosewater. “Miss Eloise doesn’t like her.”
“Why not?”
“She doesn’t like any of the mannequins very much, but she especially dislikes Nita.” Her flawless ivory skin pinkened, causing her to match her surroundings almost perfectly. “Nita is quite the prettiest of us. And Miss Eloise—well, she doesn’t like her.”
So the older, homelier woman was jealous of her prettier subordinate.
“What d-did she tell you about her l-landlord—Mr. Beauchamp.”
Miss Bendix shivered. “He was a regular tom,” she said, her careful accent slipping and revealing a Scottish brogue. Again, she glanced around. “Nita won’t ever say, but I feel like he has some sort of hold over her.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Nita doesn’t like talking about her past. All I know is that she’s from somewhere in the South. She has an accent.” Her lips twitched into a smile. “It’s charming, but she hates it.”
“How long have you known her?”
“Two years. We worked at another dress shop together, but it closed. She got me in here.” She looked around the shop, a frown of distaste on her mouth. “It doesn’t pay nearly as well, but there is always the chance to pick up piecework, not that I’m good enough with a needle for most things. We were saving our money to afford a place together. Last year, a few weeks before Christmas, Nita was supposed to move in with me and another girl—Millicent—but she couldn’t get out of her lease. So Millie moved in with two other girls, and I’m still stuck at home, with my ma and auntie.”
“Do you know where she might have g-gone if she’s not here or at h-home?”
Miss Bendix shook her head solemnly. “She works all the time and hardly ever goes out, even on payday. We used to go and have tea and pastries.” She gave him a shy smile, as if confessing a guilty secret. “But she hasn’t done that in months.”
“Does she have a b-beau?”
“No—but just because she works all the time, not because men aren’t interested. Last year she came with me to several dances at my church, Saint Cecilia’s, and never wanted for partners. But she doesn’t go anymore because she takes piecework home at night and comes in early. She works all the time, sir, and just to pay the rent on that wretched place—” She bit her lip and then shook her head. “It’s like that Mr. Beauchamp owns poor Nita. Sometimes she just looks so—hopeless.” She blinked her huge blue eyes up at him. “I hope she’s not in any more trouble with him, sir. He’s already caused her plenty.”
Jasper hoped so too.