“What shop are we looking for?” she asked.
“A draper’s by the name of Foley’s.”
“I know it,” Annie said.
Dot nodded. “Me, too. I remember it’s on the other side of the street.”
Annie smiled. “That’s right.”
“I’ve lived in Bath for years and never noticed it, and how long have you been here?” he asked Dot.
She shrugged. “About five weeks.”
“You’re making me feel most inferior.”
“Wait until you play chess with me,” she said, giving him an exaggerated haughty grin.
“I shall have to abstain. My pride is already bruised.”
She wondered why his pride would have been bruised. It certainly was not because he’d failed to notice a linen draper’s.
At the next intersection, they had to wait for a pony cart laden with onions, a milk cart, several solo men on horses, and a mail coach to pass before the way was clear for them to cross the busy street.
Next to the door for Foley’s Linen Drapers was another door leading to a steep flight of wooden stairs which they took to the landing on the third level, where there were two doors, one Number Four, the other Number Five. “She’s at Four,” he said as he knocked.
He knocked several times before a voice behind the door asked. “Who do you be?”
Dot didn’t blame the girl for being cautious. After all, her closest friend had been brutally murdered.
“It’s Lord Appleton.”
The door opened, and a young woman—or was she still a girl?—smiled at him in obvious recognition. “Sir Elvin told me to expect you and yer lady friend today. Won’t you come in? I’m sure yer lordship is accustomed to much finer lodgings than this, but I aim to keep it clean.”
They swept into the shabby chamber. It was a fairly large room that served a trio of purposes. A lumpy bed edged into one corner and an eating table and chair into another while another third of the chamber accommodated a sofa covered in faded chintz. The clean wooden floors had no rugs, but simple cotton curtains covered the front and back windows.
The girl herself could not have reached twenty. Even though Maryann obviously could not afford costly clothing, she dressed stylishly in a mint green morning dress with puffed sleeves and scooped neckline. Her white, white skin resembled the finest porcelain, and her coppery hair coiled into ringlets.
It took no great understanding for Dot to realize Mrs. Starr shrewdly selected her girls because of their beauty, for Maryann’s face and figure were both flawless.
Just being in her presence made Dot feel even more inadequate.
Forrester faced the girl. “I’m sorry I don’t know your full name.”
“It’s Maryann Simpkins.”
“Miss Simpkins, I should like to present you to my sister, Annie Appleton, and my betrothed, Miss Pankhurst.”
Maryann dipped into a curtsy to each.
Not wanting to feel superior to the girl, Dot returned the curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Maryann waved toward the sofa. “Won’t you please sit?”
Dot and Annie sat down, but Forrester chose to remain standing.
“It may seem odd that we’re calling on you today,” Forrester said, “but both Miss Pankhurst and I are grievously affected over the tragic death of your friend Ellie Macintosh, and we wish to do everything in our power to learn the identity of the fiend responsible for her murder . . .”
“And make sure he’s punished,” Dot added.
The lady’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t get it out of my mind. I was with her just the afternoon she died. Who knew I’d never see her again? Who could have known a monster would deprive her of life?” A sob burst from her, but she quickly recovered. “For all I know, he could come for me next.”
“That’s another reason I’m so determined to find the madman,” he said. “We can’t allow him to slay again. Perhaps you know something that will help us find him.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know nothing.”
“Did Miss Macintosh speak to you of coming into some money recently?” Dot asked, her voice gentle.
Maryann’s eyes widened. “She did. That last afternoon.”
“How did she get it?” Forrester asked.
“That she wouldn’t say. All I know is that she did something she was sorry she’d done.”
“Would you say she was melancholy that afternoon?” Dot asked.
“She was. She was being very hard on herself. She kept saying it was too late to give the money back. Her wicked deed had been done.”
“But you don’t know what the wicked deed was?” he asked.
“No idea,” Maryann said.
“Do you know if there was a man she saw? A sweetheart?” Dot asked.
Maryann shook her head. “I never knew her to ever give encouragement to any man. She thought they were all interested in . . . well, in something she wasn’t. Ellie was a country girl at heart. She’d like to have married a farm laborer and settled on land and had a family, but I got the feeling she felt there was no place where she belonged, though Ellie was very tight-lipped. She didn’t talk much about herself.”
“Did you ever see her speaking with any men outside of Mrs. Starr’s?” he asked.
She pondered this for a moment. “No, never. I’m sorry I’m not of any help.”
“It’s not your fault,” Dot said, standing. “But we’re not going to give up.”
When they reached her door, Maryann said, “Wait!”
They whirled around to face her.
“I just remembered something, something I believe is very important. She was going to come into some money that same night as she died. She must have been planning to meet a man.”
“The killer,” Dot murmured, a chill spiking along her spine.
“And you have no idea who she was going to meet?” he asked.
Maryann shook her head morosely. “She said she hoped she wouldn’t be late for w-w-work.” Maryann burst out crying. “Sh-sh-she
