“He’s really a very nice man,” Dot said. They bid farewell and walked to the house on the other side of Mrs. Thorpe’s.
At that house they got the opportunity to question three different persons, but none of them had ever seen Ellie with a man, and none had ever seen any suspicious men in the neighborhood.
“I suggest we try across the street,” Dot said. “Those people can more easily peer from their windows to watch the comings and goings from Mrs. Thorpe’s establishment.”
They met with no more success at the first two houses they tried, but got a glimmer of encouragement at the third where an elderly woman invited them in and asked them to sit in her parlor. She introduced herself as Mrs. Flint and said she’d lived alone since her husband had died twelve years earlier. Her cluttered parlor was similar in layout to Mrs. Thorpe’s sparsely furnished chamber.
“Now what can I help you with?” the old lady asked.
Appleton went into his practiced query.
Her brows lowered. “I was aware of the young girl who lodged with Mrs. Thorpe. She was—as you know—uncommonly pretty. I’d been noticing her for . . . I’d say about three years. And not once in those three years did I ever see a young fellow call on her. Of course, Mrs. Thorpe is noted for keeping a respectable establishment. But now that you bring it up, I did see the pretty lodger with a man at Sydney Gardens about two weeks ago.”
It was difficult to contain his excitement. “Can you describe him?”
She shook her head. “Not really. You see, I was some distance away. I knew it was her, though, because I’d seen her leave her house not long before I left mine. She was wearin’ a blue dress.”
Appleton suddenly recalled that Ellie had been wearing a blue dress the night he lost his fortune.
“Had he called on her at the house?” he asked.
“No. She left alone. I had the impression she was meeting him at Sydney Gardens.”
“Was he tall or short? Dark haired or fair?” Dot asked.
“He was a good bit taller than the murdered girl, and I’m not certain about the hair, seeing as he was wearing a hat, but I feel like it was dark ’cause I remember thinking the pretty little blonde had a dark-haired sweetheart.”
“How far away would you say you were from them?” he asked.
“Quite a ways. Much farther than from here to the far end of this street.”
Dot nodded. “What was your impression of his clothing? Would you have said he was a gentleman?”
“Yes, I would. I remember as Mrs. Thorpe told me she worked at a gaming establishment where a lot wealthy men went, and I remembering thinking that she had likely met this man there.”
Dot and Appleton exchanged grave gazes.
Mrs. Flint was not able to enlighten them any more. Before they left, he told the woman to keep his card and notify him if she remembered anything else.
They spent another hour on the street but learned nothing else.
* * *
Night had fallen by the time they were able to leave Lower Richard Street and climb into his carriage. “All right, Miss Dorothea Pankhurst. You appear to be having a difficult time suppressing your exuberance. Why have you been grinning so this past hour?” he asked.
She was fairly proud of herself that she had not given in to the melancholy that had seized her since she’d read in the Chronicle about her fiancé’s mistress. She had determined that, for now, she was going to push that to the back of her mind. And she had fairly well succeeded this afternoon.
Her mind was too occupied to fret over personal matters when there was a murderer lurking in their fair city.
And ever since they’d spoken with Mrs. Flint, she felt sure a picture of the murderer was emerging. “We may have no way of proving it, but I truly feel that Mrs. Flint saw the murderer.”
“Come now, Dot. Can’t a pretty girl meet a young man in the park?”
“I’m merely going by Miss Macintosh’s past history. Do you not think it suspicious that she was seen conversing with a gentleman just before her death?”
He seemed to be weighing her words. “I suppose there’s merit in what you say—but you are right. I doubt we’ll ever know for sure.”
“We finally do have something to go on, even if it’s inconclusive!”
“You mean the fact the man is likely a gentleman?”
She nodded. “That and the fact he’s possessed of dark hair and is above average height.”
“That describes a great many men in Bath!”
“Except for the part about him being a gentleman.”
“There is that.” He was lost in contemplation for a moment. “If that is the case—that he’s a gentleman—it almost certainly means that the man she met at Sydney Gardens is likely a patron of Mrs. Starr’s.”
“Exactly!”
“Seeing that I’ve spent the better part of my adult life at that establishment, I’m certain I am acquainted with every man who passes through Mrs. Starr’s door.”
Despite being in an enclosed carriage and wearing exceedingly warm clothing, a chill ran down her spine. That Forrester knew a murderer deeply disturbed her. “That’s frightening.”
“Better me than you or my sister.”
It was statements like that which endeared him to her even more. She squeezed his arm in a display of affection. His hand settled on hers.
Chapter 12
That night when he and Annie collected Dot and her father, he thought his betrothed had never looked lovelier. She wore another new gown, and while he knew nothing about feminine fashions, he would say this sheer gown of pale blue appliquéd with lace and featuring short puffy sleeves had to be the epitome of what was fashionable.
He tried not to gawk at the way the dress dipped so low in the front and how enticingly plump her jiggly bits were. He forced himself to look away.
But he could not purge from his mind and body this
