“No-the solicitor says definitely not. Clemency herself paid huge drafts to all kinds of people-individuals and societies.”
“Whatever for?” said Charlotte, although the beginning of an idea was plain in her mind, as she could see that it was in his also. “Housing reform?”
“Yes-most of it that the solicitor knew about, but there is a great deal he cannot trace-to individuals he has never heard of.”
“Are you going to find them?”
“Of course. Although I don’t think it has anything to do with the fire. I still believe that was intended for Shaw, although I haven’t even the beginning of proof as to why.”
“And Amos Lindsay?”
He shrugged. “Because he knew, or guessed, who was responsible; perhaps from something Shaw said, without realizing its significance himself. Or even uglier and perhaps more likely, whoever it is is still after Shaw, and that fire was a failed attempt to kill him also.” He pulled his muffler off the hook and put it around his neck, the ends hanging loosely. “And of course it is still not impossible Shaw set them himself: the first to kill Clemency, the second to kill Lindsay because in some way he had betrayed himself to him-or feared he had.”
“That’s vile!” she said fiercely. “After Lindsay had been his closest friend. And why? Why should Shaw murder Clemency? You just said there was no money to inherit.”
He hated saying it, and the revulsion showed in his face as he formed the words. “Precisely because there is no money. If it was all gone, and he needed more, then Flora Lutterworth was young, very pretty and the sole heiress to the biggest fortune in Highgate. And she is certainly very fond of him-to the point where it is the cause of local gossip.”
“Oh,” she said very quietly, unable to find anything to refute what he said, although she refused to believe it unless there was inescapable proof.
He kissed her very gently, and she knew he understood what she felt, and shared it. Then he left, and she turned immediately and went upstairs to dress for the day’s journey with Emily, Jack and Gracie.
It took all morning to trace the management company, and a mixture of evasions and trickery to elicit from them the name of the solicitors, this time a highly reputable firm in the City which took care of the affairs of the company which actually owned the properties in Lisbon Street, and also several others.
At two o’clock they were all seated in the warm and extremely comfortable offices of Messrs Warburg, Warburg, Boddy and Boddy, awaiting Mr. Boddy Senior’s return from an extended luncheon with a client. Grave young clerks perched on stools writing in perfect copperplate script on documents of vellum, which had scarlet seals dangling from them. Errand boys scurried on silent feet, discreet and obedient, and a wrinkled man in a stiff, winged collar kept a careful eye on them, never moving from his wooden chair behind the desk. Gracie, who had never been in an office of any sort before, was fascinated and her eyes followed every movement.
Eventually Mr. Boddy returned, he was silver-haired, smooth-faced, impeccably bland in voice and manner. He disregarded the women and addressed himself solely to Jack. It seemed he had not moved with the times and recognized that women now had a legal entity. To him they were still appendages to a man’s property: his pleasure possibly, his responsibility certainly, but not to be informed or consulted.
Charlotte bristied and Emily took a step forward, but Jack’s hand stayed her and as a matter of tactics she obeyed. In the last two days she had learned a quite new respect for his ability to read character and to obtain information.
But Mr. Boddy was of an entirely different mettle than those they had dealt with to date. He was smooth, quite certain of his own safety from suit of any kind, and his calm, unctuous face did not flicker when he explained with barely civil condescension that yes, he handled affairs of property and rent for certain clients but he was not at liberty to name them nor give any particulars whatsoever. Yes, most certainly Mrs. Shaw had called upon him with similar questions, and he had been equally unable to answer her. He was profoundly grieved that she should have met so tragic a fate-his eyes remained chill and expressionless-please accept his sincerest condolences, but the facts remained.
This was a murder inquiry, Jack explained. He was acting on behalf of persons, whom he also was unable to name, and would Mr. Boddy prefer it if the police came and asked these questions?
Mr. Boddy did not take kindly to threats. Was Jack aware that the persons who owned these properties were among the most powerful in the City, and had friends they could call upon, if need be, to protect their interests? Some of these said people had high positions and were able to give, or to withhold, favors, which might make a considerable difference to the agreeability of one’s life and the prospect of one’s future advancement in profession, finance or society.
Jack raised his eyebrows and asked with very slight surprise if Mr. Boddy was telling him that these people to whom he was referring were so embarrassed by their ownership of the property in question that they were prepared to damage the reputation or interests of anyone who might inquire.
“You must assume whatever you will, Mr. Radley,” Boddy replied with a tight smile. “I am not answerable for your situation, I have discharged my duty towards you. Now I have further clients to see. Good day to you.”
And with that they were obliged to depart with no more than the company name, which they had already gleaned from the management. No names were given and no principals-the matter was not described in any way, except by the rather amorphous threat.
“Odious little person,” Aunt Vespasia replied when they told her. “But what we might have expected. If he were to repeat names to any Tom, Dick and Harry who came to the door, he would not have lasted long as lawyer to the kind of people who own such properties.” She had already ordered tea and they were sitting around the fire in her withdrawing room, thawing out from the chill both of the weather outside and of their disappointment at having met, at least for the time being, what seemed to be a dead end. Even Gracie was permitted, on this occasion, to sit with them and to take tea, but she said nothing at all. Instead she stared with huge eyes at the paintings on the walls, the delicate furniture with its satin-smooth surfaces, and when she dared, at Vespasia herself, who was sitting upright, her silver hair coiled immaculately on the crown of her head, great pearl drops in her ears, ecru-colored French lace at her throat and in long ruffles over her thin, tapered hands, bright with diamonds. Gracie had never seen anyone so splendid in all her life, and to be sitting in her house taking tea with her was probably the most memorable thing she would ever do.
“But he did say he’d seen Clemency,” Charlotte pointed out. “He didn’t make the slightest attempt to conceal it. He was as bold as brass, and twice as smooth. He probably told whoever owns it that she had been there, and what she meant to do. I would dearly like to have hit him as hard as I could.”
“Impractical,” Emily said, biting her lip. “But so would I, preferably with an exceedingly sharp umbrella point. But how can we find who owns this company? Surely there must be a way?”
“Perhaps Thomas could,” Vespasia suggested, frowning slightly. “Commerce is not something with which I have any familiarity. It is at times like these I regret my lack of knowledge of certain aspects of society. Charlotte?”
“I don’t know whether he could.” She was sharply reminded of the previous evening. “But he doesn’t think there is any purpose. He is quite convinced that Dr. Shaw is the intended victim, not Clemency.”
“He may well be right,” Vespasia conceded. “It does not alter the fact that Clemency was fighting a battle in which we believe intensely, and that since she is dead there is no one else, so far as we know. The abuse is intolerable, for the wretchedness of its victims, and for the abysmal humbug. Nothing irks my temper like hypocrisy. I should like to rip the masks off these sanctimonious faces, for the sheer pleasure of doing it.”
“We are with you,” Jack said instantly. “I didn’t know I had it in me to be so angry, but at the moment I find it hard to think of much else.”
A very slight smile touched Vespasia’s lips and she regarded him with considerable approval. He seemed unaware of it, but it gave Emily a feeling of warmth that startled her, and she realized how much it mattered to her that Vespasia should think well of him. She found herself smiling back.
Charlotte thought of Pitt still struggling with Shaw’s patients, seeking for the one piece of knowledge that was so hideous it had led to two murders, and might lead to more, until Shaw himself was dead. But she still felt it was Clemency that had been meant to die in that first fire, and the second was merely to cover it. The murderer in act might be any one of dozens of arsonists for hire, but the murderer in spirit was whoever owned those fearful, rotting, teeming tenements in Lisbon Street, and was afraid of the public embarrassment Clemency would expose him to when she succeeded in her quest.
