Chapter 15

 

It seemed repugnant to think Julia was capable of such a thing as murder. She had always been soft-spoken, kind, and patient. All the things Ainsley was not. There were hints of strength, situations that revealed a formidable force behind her amiable exterior. It was that strength that drew Ainsley to her. He knew there were pieces to her past that she preferred to stay hidden. Out of respect for her he didn’t pry. In the end, he was just happy to spend time with her, knowing she was as equally enthralled with him as he was with her.

“There must have been a mistake,” Ainsley said at last. “It’s just not possible.”

Simms said nothing and only tilted his head to the side, his expression sympathetic.

“You don’t really think she killed someone.”

“I know she did. And I’m willing to bet Thaddeus knows she did too.”

Ainsley felt like throwing up.

“I don’t know what your relationship with Mrs. Calvin is—”

“Kemp. Her name is Miss Kemp.”

Simms ignored Ainsley’s correction and continued. “The only reason why I haven’t arrested her is the same reason why I haven’t arrested you. No one will collaborate and Mr. Edgar Calvin isn’t the type of person the Yard likes to waste manpower on, if you understand my meaning. Are you going to be all right, Peter? You don’t look well.”

Ainsley pulled his hand away from his forehead and sat up. He nodded, but his gesture lacked conviction. “He must have her then. He found her. What if he’s already instituted his own justice for his brother’s death?”

Simms slowly placed his palms onto the top of his desk in an effort to calm Ainsley down. “We don’t know that.”

“What else could it possibly be?” He laughed nervously and then looked down, aware that he could break out into tears at any moment. “What did Thaddeus and his family do before they came to London?”

Simms looked confused at first, almost flustered at such a query. He flipped through a few pages before finding his answer. “Worked with horses on the canals. Why do you ask?”

“He’s responsible for the women found in the Thames,” Ainsley pressed, the muscles in his face tightening as he spoke.

Simms blanched. “How do you know this?”

Ainsley hesitated. “I saw something as I pulled the woman from the water earlier.”

“What did you see?”

This was his chance, an opportunity to assist the Yard again and perhaps find out what happened to Julia. He may not like what he found and he’d certainly be heartbroken if he discovered Julia had gone back to her husband, or worse that she had been killed by his hand, but he knew he’d never sleep again until he knew for certain. “Let me examine the body properly,” he said sternly, “and all the others. I want notes and files.”

Disturbed at the thought, Simms shook his head. “Peter—”

“I want back in, Simms. London has a disease and the symptom is murder. Let me right the wrong I did.”

“You want redemption?”

“I want peace”—Ainsley pointed to his chest, slightly to the left—“here.”

For a moment it looked as if Simms could not be won over. His face remained hardened and, while his tone had softened, his expression was marred by disbelief. After a long pause, Simms pulled the papers in front of him into a neat pile. “I’ll have Cooper bring her to St. Thomas,” he said as he stood up. His words sounded like a grunt, something done against his better judgement.

Ainsley pushed down a smile.

“But from now on there will be rules and you will follow them,” he said with a pointed finger.

Ainsley nodded. “Yes, Inspector.”

“I hope I don’t end up regretting this,” Simms said sternly.

“I’m a different man now,” Ainsley said in earnest.

“Aren’t we all?”

 

Ainsley left the offices of the Yard with a dejected feeling in the pit of his stomach. His dishevelled appearance betrayed his dishevelled heart. Julia was married? It seemed impossible and yet he knew Simms to be an honest man, exceedingly so. There would be no reason for the detective to lie to him. Ainsley didn’t want to think Julia had left them to return to her husband, not willingly at least.

His steps were slow as he made his way back to Belgravia. Not surprisingly, the people approaching him on the pavement parted rather anxiously as he came toward him. With his coat draped over his arm, he approached Marshall House and saw that Margaret stood at the top of the steps with Miss Winifred Talbot standing opposite her.

“Goodness gracious, Peter!” Margaret’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, ashen and filthy from his romp in the Thames. Although mostly dry, his fine clothes were ruined, their once bright, clean colours dulled by the grungy din of the river water. She stepped forward as if to come to him, but then suddenly recoiled and raised her hand to block her nostrils. The look on Miss Talbot’s face wasn’t any more favourable.

“Forgive me,” Ainsley said as he slipped by them. “I am in no position to receive company.” At the door he stopped and gave a quick bow to Miss Talbot. “Lovely to see you again, Miss Winifred.”

Judging by the look on her face, he had no doubt a quick departure would be appreciated. He heard the women giggling as he closed the door behind him.

Once in his room he summoned Maxwell, ordered a bath and began the long process of washing the Thames from his skin and hair.

An hour later he was presentable again. Dressed in freshly pressed trousers and a crisp linen shirt, Ainsley was putting on a cufflink when Margaret appeared at his door. The look on her face, fatigue mixed with apprehension, saddened him.

“Any trace of Julia or where she may have gone?” she asked, entering the room.

“Simms and I are following a lead,” he said.

“Simms? So he has forgiven you?”

Ainsley smiled, amused by her enthusiasm. “Not exactly.” With his cufflinks in place he pulled at the edge of his sleeve to adjust his shirt on his shoulders.

“Why was Winifred here?” he asked.

“I believe we found where that man was dispatched,” she said. “There’s a large pool of blood in the laneway behind the Talbot’s house.”

“The Yard didn’t discover it earlier?”

“It doesn’t seem like it.” Margaret pulled a bit of folded cloth from the inside of her sleeve. “I was able to get this.” She opened the layers slowly and deliberately until the cloth revealed a faint, pink impression. “I pressed my handkerchief into one of the footprints. I thought perhaps it could help in some way.”

Ainsley accepted the offering and carefully transported it to the small table near the window, where he could enjoy better light.

“It may well be the impression of the killer?” Margaret looked to him expectantly, but it took a while for Ainsley to gather his thoughts.

“I’d have to rule out the possibility that it belongs to our corpse,” he said.

“Naturally.”

Ainsley smiled slightly. “Thank you, Margaret.” He began to fold the fabric in on itself again.

“There’s more. Earlier this morning Lord Benedict sent word that he’d like to call upon us later,” she said.

Ainsley nodded, but he remained confused. “Why is this upsetting to you?” he asked, knowing very well that it was a visit she was not looking forward to. He had seen that look on her face a hundred times.

“Because Father went into one of his fits again.” She let out a deep breath. “Really, Peter, I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

She walked the length of the room and paused at his desk, where a number of medical texts were piled. He hadn’t been able to continue his research in recent days but they remained alongside his copious notes as if he had just been working on them yesterday.

Margaret fingered one of the books, an ancient text by modern medical standards. So far it was the only one that gave a detailed description of apoplexy.

“I’m trying to find something to explain it all,” Ainsley said.

Margaret nodded absentmindedly as she turned her attention to another, more recent medical journal. Quietly she read, running her finger down the tiny typeset.

Ainsley walked toward her and pulled one of the other books from the top of the pile. “Father’s outbursts seemed to be atypical of this type of affliction.”

“What’s this?” Margaret asked suddenly. She turned the opened pages toward him and pointed to an illustration.

“That’s an experimental treatment. A surgeon in America believes that accessing the vein at the base of the neck and encouraging blood flow to the brain reduces the long-term effects of the episode.” Ainsley smiled slightly then. “Father has a scar just like it, which leads me to believe his doctor in Barbados was aware of this new procedure.”

“Doesn’t Lord Benedict know what procedures were performed?”

“Lord Benedict seems very confused about the extent of his medical care while on the island. He isn’t much help to me in that regard. I’ve been meaning to write to the doctors to find out precisely what was done for him. I’m grateful for Lord Benedict’s assistance, but he leaves too many questions unanswered.”

Margaret closed the book sharply and tossed it back on the desk with a thud. She nodded as she turned away, a far-off look in her eye. She stopped a few paces away and then turned to face Ainsley. “Do you think he could be hiding something from us?”

“Such as?”

Margaret shrugged. “Something about Vivian.”

Ainsley eyed her suspiciously and didn’t immediately reply.

“Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind. That Vivian could very well be Father’s child. She has the Marshall cheekbones.”

He had indeed pondered the possibility when the girl first arrived but said nothing at the time. “I’ll admit, it’s a perplexing situation,” he conceded.

“I’ve thought it over,” Margaret said, walking to the door to close it. “Why else would she come all this way? Lord Benedict brought her here because she is our responsibility now that her mother has passed.”

“Have you spoken with the girl? Has she mentioned a father?”

“Only to say that he lives.” Margaret licked her lips. “Peter, if she is our sister then she shouldn’t be a servant to us. It’s not proper.”

Ainsley raised his hand, coaxing Margaret to stop, or at the very least lower her voice. “I agree. I agree. We’ll just keep this between us for now, understand?”

Margaret gave a reluctant nod.

“Does Father know she is here?”

“I’m fairly certain that Mrs. Nelson has kept her belowstairs.”

Ainsley ran a hand through his hair. “Good. I’m not sure he’s ready for further surprises.” Ainsley paused as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think any of us are.”