“Her last night on earth,” Dot asked, “did she come home from work at the usual time?”
The landlady shook her head somberly, tears springing to her eyes. “She never came home that night. I learned from the newspaper she never even made it to work that night. I wonder if he waited for her ’ere.”
Dot spoke morosely. “It’s such a melancholy thing.”
“Indeed it is,” Mrs. Thorpe concurred.
“Tell me,” Dot continued, “did Miss Macintosh have female friends who called?”
“Oh, yes. You can’t expect a young person to spend all their time working and ’anging out in a bedchamber. One of the girls what worked with her would sometimes meet her ’ere, and they would go off for an outing. You see, the poor girl was an orphan. She didn’t ’ave no one else in the world.”
“Was it always the same girl who came here?” Dot asked.
Mrs. Thorpe thought for a moment. “Yes, I believe it was. A pretty little thing. Looked a lot like Miss Macintosh. About the same age and size, the only difference being her hair was ginger.”
Appleton knew which girl it was. There was only one redhead in the employ of Mrs. Starr: Maryann.
Dot stood. “Are Miss Macintosh’s possessions still here?”
Mrs. Thorpe clasped at her chest. “I ’aven’t ’ad the heart to go into that chamber.”
“We should like to see them.” Dot’s voice softened. “Perhaps it would be easier on you if we accompany you, my dear Mrs. Thorpe.”
The woman rose. “Indeed it would.” Her voice cracked.
She proceeded to lead them up two flights of stairs to a small bedchamber in the garret. She then withdrew a key from her pocket and opened the door to the low-ceilinged room.
For so small a room it was well lighted from a dormer window that faced the street. A small oaken table fit perfectly into the dormer, a modest wooden chair tucked under it. The only other furnishings were a slender bed covered in a well-worn counterpane, a nightstand holding an oil lamp, and a skinny linen press of primitively painted wood.
The room was so tidy it looked almost as if Ellie’s things had already been removed. Not a single wrinkle marred the bed covering, nor was even a piece of foolscap on the writing table. Only a pair of faded but pretty dresses hanging on wall hooks indicated that a young woman had occupied this chamber. Surprisingly, to him, not a single book could be seen. How did one live without the written word?
His hopes of finding letters that would reveal more about the dead woman and her circle of friends were dashed.
Dot opened the linen press that at one time must have been lime green, now faded to a greenish gray. It revealed that Ellie wasn’t as neat as her room indicated. She must have been one of those persons who did not fancy observing clutter. Locked away in her linen press was what appeared to be her nightrail, her unmentionables, extra stockings and gloves, a summer hat, a Bible, and a small stack of correspondence.
It was difficult for him to suppress a smile.
Dot picked up the correspondence. Beneath it was a pouch that appeared to be coins. When Dot lifted it, it jingled. She dumped out its contents. It was a considerable sum.
Mrs. Thorp’s eyes widened.
“I wouldn’t have expected Miss Macintosh to have this much in her possession,” Dot said as she began to count.
Appleton’s head swayed from side to side almost as if he were in a daze. “Neither would I.” He could not remove his eyes from the generous heap of coins.
“I do declare! There are almost fifty guineas here,” Dot exclaimed. “Here, Mrs. Thorpe. Whatever money Miss Macintosh had should go to you.”
The older woman smiled broadly as she took the bulging pouch. “I ’ad no idea the poor girl managed to save this much money.”
“Do you think, Mrs. Thorpe, seeing as how we were Miss Macintosh’s friends and seeing that you’re now paid up on any rents owed, do you think Lord Appleton and I could take these letters and our dear friend’s Bible so we’d have something personal of hers, something to keep to remember her by? I doubt they’d be worth anything to anyone else.”
Mrs. Thorpe gripped the pouch greedily, a smile on her face. “I should be happy for you two to have those things what belonged to Miss Macintosh.”
Dot felt the pockets of the dead woman’s garments but found nothing. Appleton looked under the bed and under the mattress to the same result. There were no rugs on the floor or pictures on the wall under which something could have been hidden. There was nowhere else in the chamber where Ellie could have hidden anything.
He couldn’t help but wonder how in the devil Ellie had been able to get her hands on so much money. For one of her station, fifty guineas was a fortune. Even for a woman like Mrs. Thorpe, who owned a well-situated house, it was a lot of money.
As they made their way downstairs, he casually asked, “Do you know, Mrs. Thorpe, one of the seamstresses at Miss Pankhurst’s dressmaker’s was inquiring about lodgings. Do you object to telling us what a situation like Miss Macintosh’s would cost? We’d like to tell her about your house since she needs a respectable place to live.”
“Seven pounds a month with meals furnished.”
“And I’m certain the food here must be very good,” Dot said.
* * *
As soon as they were in the carriage, he thought aloud. “How in the devil did Ellie get her hands on that much money?”
“I don’t know if we’ll ever know, but it must have something to do with her death.”
He eyed Dot, thankful that if he had to spend the rest of his life with her, he wasn’t going to be tied down to a woman in want of brains. “Then you don’t think her murder was random?”
“It’s possible there’s a maniac running about Bath intent on killing young women,
