there’s doping-the bookie and the ord’n’ry bettor. Badger went through ’ard times in ’is life. ’E ’ad a warm place in ’is ’eart fer the ord’n’ry bettor, ’oo saves up ’is pence to ’ave a go on a good ’orse.”
“And Baggs?” Murray asked. “What was his view on the subject?”
Moore ’s face darkened. “Baggs ’ad got in wiv the American dopers and saw a chance to make some big money, like they’re doing. When Badger told ’im that ’e’d been to talk wiv the stewards, Baggs wuz fierce wiv ’im. And when ’e said ’e intended to organize the bookies, Baggs wuz fiercer. Said ’e wudn’t stand still and watch ’im meddle in wot din’t concern ’im.” He hunched his shoulders and added darkly. “Baggs is the one ’oo killed Badger.”
“Do you have any certain knowledge of that?” Murray demanded.
“I ’eard ’im say ’e would, din’t I?” Moore replied. “They wuz arguing, and Baggs told Badger that if ’e tried to organize the bookies to stop the dopers, ’e’d kill ’im dead. Right in front of me, ’e said it. Loud and nasty-like. ‘I’ll kill ye dead wiv me own two ’ands,” e said, just like that.”
“When did he say that?” Charles asked.
“Recent. A couple of days ago. When I ’eard the men sayin’ how Badger was shot to death in the alley, I figgered it wuz Baggs as done it. Since ’e knew I wuz there when ’e threatened Badger, I feared ’e might come after me. To keep me from telling. So I come ’ere, to me brother’s ’ouse. And ’ere is where I’m staying.” He held out his hands and added, fervently. “That’s the truth, sirs, the ’ole truth and nuffin but the truth, so ’elp me God.”
On the whole, Charles rather thought that it was-the truth, at least, as Sobersides saw it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.
Samuel Johnson
Do right to all men, and don’t write to any woman.
Lillie Langtry
When Amelia left the kitchen after her conversation with Margaret, Mrs. Redditch the cook, and Bowchard the gardener, she went straight up to her mistress’s room in the hopes of finding Lady Charles. Bowchard’s news about Alfred Day’s murder had surprised Amelia to no end, and the servants’ veiled accusation of Mrs. Langtry had not been lost on her. Of course, she understood that none of the servants liked their mistress; in fact, most of them seemed to actively dislike her, some from a narrow-minded (and probably hypocritical) distaste for Mrs. Langtry’s low morals; and some from a general unhappiness with her slow payment of wages.
But even taking these hostile feelings into account, Amelia knew that something unusual was afoot here. Mrs. Langtry’s bookmaker had been shot to death at about the same time that he was to rendezvous with her. And what was more, Mrs. Langtry’s silver-handled derringer was missing from a drawer in the drawing room, where it was always kept.
Amelia and Margaret had learned this intriguing intelligence from Pru, the parlormaid, whom they encountered in the passageway outside the kitchen on their way back upstairs. Pru was tall and angular, and the absence of brows (scorched off by an exploding gas lamp) gave her a look of perpetual dismay. She was entrusted with dusting and straightening the dining, breakfast, and drawing rooms, a duty which permitted her to sew a lace edging on her apron to distinguish her from the other maids. Parlormaids were not supposed to snoop in drawers, of course, but Pru had seen the gun on more than one occasion when she had opened the drawer to put something away. She had thought then that it was a careless sort of place to keep a dangerous weapon, and now she was sure of it. For this morning when she opened the drawer, the gun was gone.
“Mrs. L. took it and shot poor Mr. Day to death,” Margaret said, with great satisfaction. “I’m sart’n of it!”
Pru, who did not seem to share Margaret’s deep animosity toward their employer, disagreed. “Might not’ve been Mrs. L. wot took it,” she said. She dropped her voice to a sinister whisper. “ ’Er friend Spider was in the drawing room yestiddy afternoon, see, waiting fer ’er. When I comes in wiv a vase of roses, ’e’s standing by the table, ’is hand in the drawer. When ’e sees me, ’e shuts it quick like. ’E could’ve took it.”
“Spider?” Amelia asked with a shudder. “Wot a name fer a man! ’Oo is ’e?”
“Spider is all she ever calls ’im,” Pru said with a shrug. “A friend of Mrs. L.’s, up from London. ’E comes every so often. Sometimes ’e stays for a day er two.”
“ ’E gives ’er money to put on ’er plays,” Margaret explained to Amelia. “It’s the on’y reason she puts up wiv ’im. ’E don’t have a title or nothin’. Just money.”
“Just money, huh?” Pru giggled. “Well, ye won’t see me turnin’ me nose up at money. ’Oo cares about a musty ol’ title? Ye can’t trade a title for beef at the butcher’s.”
There was a heavy footstep behind them and Amelia started nervously. “What do you girls think you’re doing, gossiping in the hallway?” Mr. Williams demanded in a stern voice. “Margaret and Pru, get on with your duties. Miss Amelia, I should think her ladyship might wish you to find something more profitable than gossip to occupy your time.”
The three of them had scattered guiltily, Margaret and Pru to their respective tasks and Amelia to her mistress’s room in the hope of sharing what she had just learned. But her ladyship was apparently detained in the drawing room downstairs, and the servants’ lunch bell sounded before she returned.
At lunch in the servants’ hall, Mr. Williams was once more absent, serving luncheon upstairs, and the gossip flowed freely. To her surprise, Amelia learned that Lord Charles had called that morning and that Mrs. L. had been much perturbed by his lordship’s visit. Shortly after his departure, Miss Jeanne-Marie had arrived unexpectedly from London, unescorted and visibly distressed, and loud weeping had been heard through the drawing room door. There was a good deal of whispering about her visit, as well as about Mrs. L.’s planned rendezvous with the murdered bookmaker and the silver-handled derringer that had gone missing from the drawer in the drawing room.
After lunch, Amelia volunteered to help Rose, the other upstairs maid, iron the freshly laundered sheets and pillowcases for Miss Jeanne-Marie’s bed, which had not yet been freshly made up. As they worked over their ironing tables with irons heated on the kitchen range, Amelia turned the conversation to the girl.
“Is she as pretty as ’er auntie?” she asked, deliberately innocent.
“Auntie!” Rose snorted. “Don’t be a goose. Mrs. L. is ’er
“Oh, the poor thing!” Amelia exclaimed in genuine sympathy.
Rose, a flat-faced, sallow-cheeked girl with a worldly air about her, seemed to share Margaret’s judgmental view of her employer. “Pore thing is right,” she said sharply, spitting on a flatiron to test the heat. “I’d cry too, if I’d jest found out I wuz Mrs. L.’s daughter. Nobody respect’ble will marry ’er now, only one o’ them turrible rogues and wastrels ’oo ’ang ’round ’er mother.”
“Really?” Amelia asked. She hadn’t considered Jeanne’s dilemma from the perspective of her opportunities for marriage.
“Really,” Rose said, mocking. She pushed the iron over a pilllowcase with swift, hard strokes. “If ye wuz a mother er father with a good fam’ly name to pertect, would ye let yer son marry Lillie Langtry’s daughter-even if she was a Royal bastard?”
“Well, I-”
“ ’Course ye wouldn’t. Like mother, like daughter, is wot ye’d say.” Rose folded the pillowcase
