Frances nodded. “Oh, dear. You do have your hands full. How is Phyllida handling the possibility that her cousin was killed by her husband?”
“Badly. She refuses to consider it.”
“What are you going to do?”
I sighed. “The only thing I can do. Keep watching the baron and his friends and hope someone slips. And try to get someone to tell me the truth.”
The bell jingled over the door, marking the arrival of more customers for The Ruined Castle.
We ran from one task to another, one customer to another, for hours. I took a few minutes off to look up the Viscount Chattelsfield and Sir Jonah Denby. They were who they were reported to be. I didn’t find the time to telephone Sir Broderick to discover if he’d learned anything more revealing about Sir Jonah.
About the time business slowed down in the shop, Blackford, along with Sumner, climbed out of his plain coach, the driver and footman dressed as workmen. “I see you managed to awaken early again this morning,” Blackford said as soon as he walked in.
Ignoring him, Emma set down her duster and walked over to speak to Sumner. The ruined side of Sumner’s face was exposed to view, since he wore the collarless shirt and cap of a workman. Grace leaned on her broom and Frances paused behind the counter. Neither reacted to Sumner’s ugly scar, as if they were accustomed to seeing his face.
“I’d appreciate not being kept up so late, Your Grace,” I replied. “What brings you here?”
He held up a single piece of paper. “I thought you might help me with this.”
I walked over and looked at the sheet. It contained names, addresses, and descriptions of three burglars Fogarty had gleaned from his friends at Scotland Yard after showing them the drawing Gattenger made of his attacker. “I’d be glad to, but why aren’t Fogarty and his friends at Scotland Yard checking this out?”
“These men, and their friends and family, can spot a bobby, or a retired sergeant, at a hundred yards. We are obviously not with the police.”
There was no way you could disguise Blackford’s aristocratic ancestry. “That’s true.”
“Let’s go.”
I caught Emma grabbing Sumner’s hand and giving it a squeeze. He didn’t pull away or look shocked before he turned to join Blackford. Good for her. I had no idea if Blackford paid Sumner well enough to support a wife, but I wished her well. Sumner was a decent, if frightening-looking, man.
When had they had time to build a closeness? I’d spent more time with Blackford than Emma had with Sumner, and we certainly weren’t more than associates. I wished our relationship were different, but that was impossible. He was a duke.
And all he cared about was finding a set of ship blueprints.
“I’ll be back shortly,” I said to Frances and set my straw boater on my head. It wasn’t every day I hunted a thief with the duke. The last time, I’d nearly died. I took a breath and straightened my shoulders as I walked out the door. I’d left my white cotton gloves from the bookshop on; they weren’t elegant but they’d do for this trip.
We rode past the East End tenements into slightly better, newer suburbs. We stopped on a cracked and worn street near a factory where laundry hanging on the line caught the soot from the smokestacks. “Stay here, Smith. Sumner, take the alley. The house should be the fifth one down.”
Then the duke helped me from the carriage and we walked down the narrow gravel road off to one side. The dead-end lane was too narrow to turn a carriage around. One side was the blank wall of the factory; the other, crowded with small brick row houses. Grimy children stopped their play in the dirt to silently watch us.
We stepped onto the stoop of the fifth house and Blackford banged on the door. It was opened by a tired woman with stringy hair and a dirty apron. “Go away,” she said and started to shut the door.
Blackford stuck his polished boot in the way and said, “Jeremy North.”
“’E’s not here.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you like. ’E’s not here. ’E’s at work.”
“The police say he doesn’t work.”
“Well, they know sod all, don’t they?”
I thought I’d better step in before Mrs. North, or whoever she was, took a swipe at Blackford. “How long has he had this job?”
“Three weeks this time, so don’t go messin’ it up for ’im.”
“What’s he doing?” My natural curiosity showed in my voice.
She seemed more willing to speak to me than the duke. “Stokin’ the boilers for that lot over the wall.”
That had to be horrid work in this weather. “So he’s been too tired to get into any mischief in the evening.”
She nodded. “’E comes home, eats, and falls into bed. In this heat, with them boilers, ’e can’t do nothin’ else.”
“Come along, Your Grace. He’s not the one you’re looking for,” I said and turned away.
“What’s this?” the woman asked. “‘Yer Grace’? Why’d a lord be looking for Jeremy?”
I faced her again. “There was a burglary and a woman was murdered. Jeremy North is suspected of the crime.”
She shook her head. “It was never Jeremy. He could never hurt a fly. And the last three weeks, he’s been shovelin’ coal in this heat. ’E hasn’t the strength. Talk to Mick Snelling. ’E’d be the man you want.”
I knew Mick Snelling was another name on our list of three. “Why?”
“’E’s been braggin’ about making a real score. But ’e’s lyin’ low since he did somethin’ he said was an accident. ’E’s afraid to collect ’is coins from the man who ’ired ’im ’cause the bobbies are everywhere around the gentleman.”
I slipped the drawing Ken Gattenger had done of his attacker out of my bag and showed it to the woman.
“Aye, that’s ’im. Where’d you get that?”
“It’s Mick Snelling?”
“Aye.”
I glanced up at Blackford. He nodded and held out his fist, knuckles up, to the woman. She held out both hands.
“God bless you,” I said and turned away.
“Bless you,” the woman said, her voice suddenly cheerful.
“How much did you give her?” I asked when we’d all climbed back into the carriage.
“A few shillings. We may need her information again some time.”
“You believed her?” I had, but the duke was much less trusting.
“North’s alibi is easily checked. Snelling has been missing from his lodgings for the past few days, but his belongings are still in his room. Something must have frightened him to make him flee.”
I nodded. Blackford had either been in contact with Scotland Yard or he’d talked to Adam Fogarty, the retired police sergeant in the Archivist Society. “What’s our next step?”
“One of his mates let slip that Snelling has a sister near the docks. She lives above the Crown and Anchor, and I think we ought to go visiting.” The duke tapped his weighted cane.
The area around the docks was more dangerous than any other part of the East End. “Sumner, are you armed?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“And I suppose . . .” I glanced in the direction of the driver and footman.
“Oh, yes,” Blackford replied.
Oh, dear. They were expecting trouble. “Why am I along?”
“I expect you to keep us from having to use any weapons.”
Oh, dear heavens. I swallowed hard and prayed for the best. “Then I suppose you want me to enter the Crown and Anchor first.”
“No. That would be too dangerous.”