No Stone Unturned, page 22
part #1 of Lucy Lawrence Series
It was Coffin Mike.
Lucy gasped and clutched Mary’s arm in fright. Mary’s eyes popped wide as saucers. “We’ve been seen! We must warn your Ned.”
Lucy rapped the roof with the silver-tipped handle of her umbrella. The slot slid open and a grey-eyed and smiling Ned peered down at her. He was a handsome man, even with cheeks ruddy from the cold. Lucy could see why Mary liked him.
“Ned, I’m terribly pleased to meet you, but there is a great hulk of a man who has seen us and will probably follow in another cab. Can you watch out for him? Do you think you can lose him? He must not find out our destination.”
“Delighted to meet you, Mrs Lawrence. What does this cove look like then?”
“Ugly scar down his right cheek.”
“Right you are. Now don’t you fret, ladies. I know these streets like the back of me hand.” The panel closed over with a snap. Mary looked at her in dismay.
The cab began to weave in and out of the other vehicles in an alarming manner, just making a gap between a carriage and an omnibus. Lucy hoped the heavy traffic on Regent Street would prevent Coffin Mike from catching up with them. Lucy rapped on the roof again.
“Yes?”
“Ned, whatever you do, don’t go to King’s Cross directly. Take us somewhere busy and we will hop out and change cab as fast as we can.” She thrust some coins at him up through the slot. “This should cover the fare and any inconvenience.”
Ned took them with a smile and winked. “Not to worry. ’Old tight. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to do it.”
The cab swung across a wagon on to Conduit Street, narrowly avoiding an elderly lady trying to cross the road. Mary crossed herself and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
“Mary, what are you doing?” Lucy asked.
“Praying, ma’am.”
With less traffic, Ned urged the horse on to a spanking pace, then suddenly pulled up before turning down a laneway. The hansom barely fitted yet he whipped the horse and kept the pace up. Mary squeaked when they hit an obstacle, her hand flying up to her mouth.
Suddenly, they were back out on to a main street, the cab swinging precariously as they turned. Lucy frantically tried to get her bearings before realising they were on New Bond Street, heading roughly north.
Left again and on to Brook Street and into heavy traffic. Lucy longed to know if they had shaken off their pursuer, but she had to trust Ned was keeping ahead. Coffin Mike was bound to be following them, but the question was who was he spying for? Who should she fear the most, Phineas or Marsh? If they were in league, was Phineas using Marsh’s men to keep tabs on her? It was a distressing idea.
Soon they were bowling along Grosvenor Square, then Brook Street Upper. Up ahead, Lucy spotted the railings of Hyde Park. At the junction, Ned had to stop, waiting for a gap in the traffic. The panel slid open.
“Across the way is a cab stand, ladies. I’ll get you as close as I can and I’ll stop long enough for you to get out, then I will keep going. Be ready!”
Lucy suspected Ned was enjoying himself very much. Really, he and Mary were well matched.
Traffic around the park was heavy. A horse and cart pulled across their cab just as they drew parallel with the cab stand. Ned had to stop. Lucy and Mary jumped down quickly, squeezed between a couple of cabs, and walked briskly away towards the top of the stand.
Mary nudged her. “There he goes,” she whispered. Lucy spotted Ned’s cab continuing northwards. Hopefully anyone in pursuit would keep following him. They clambered into their new cab.
“Where to, then?” a hearty voice enquired.
“King’s Cross, please,” Lucy said. “And hurry!”
The rest of their flight was uneventful and although Lucy experienced a moment or two of doubt along the way, on seeing the entrance to King’s Cross her resolve hardened. Mary went to fetch a porter to find their bags while she made her way to the ticket office.
They regrouped in the Ladies’ Waiting Room and sat down, exchanging knowing smiles. All they had to do now was wait, for it would be another twenty minutes before the train would depart. At least, in here they were out of sight of most of the passengers coming and going. Lucy only hoped Marsh or Phineas weren’t clever enough to have people watching the stations.
Having exhausted her book as entertainment, Lucy decided to stretch her legs and leave Mary in their first-class compartment. Lucy made for the dining car. Once settled at a table and her order taken, she kept her gaze fixed on the passing landscape, hoping no one would intrude. In the few short months since her last trip north, spring had started to take hold. Soon the trees and hedges would green up with the promise of new life. She sat back to enjoy the scenery and gradually began to relax.
The conductor came through the carriage calling for the Retford stop. As the train pulled into the station, Lucy watched the passengers disembark and a few people get on. Now at least, the worst of the journey was over. Feeling more cheerful she finished her tea and decided to return to Mary.
But when she reached her compartment, she found the door was closed and the blind pulled fully down. Lucy tugged the handle but it would not budge. Tapping lightly on the door, she called softly to Mary. A corner of the blind lifted to reveal a frightened face. On recognising her, Mary quickly unlocked the door.
“Whatever is the matter?” Lucy asked as soon as she got inside.
“Oh ma’am, I woke and I didn’t know where you were and then I saw this man staring in at me. He frightened me so.”
“Can you describe him? Did he have a scar?”
“No, no scar. He was in uniform, army, I think … silver hair …” Mary started to weep. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember. I got such a fierce shock. I wish we’d stayed in London.”
Relieved it wasn’t Coffin Mike, Lucy sat down beside her and gave her a quick hug. But her mind was racing. Why would a stranger be looking into their compartment? It wasn’t who she feared, but could it be someone else who intended them harm? Perhaps it was only Mary’s overactive imagination.
“Dry your tears,” she told the young girl. Mary pulled out a cotton handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “We will take the precaution of getting off before York. We can wait at Selby until the next north-bound train comes through.”
“You think he was looking for us … for you?”
Lucy shrugged. “I don’t know, but best we assume it’s a possibility. It will be late getting into York but at least our room is booked for tonight and our bags will be waiting for us at the station. We have come too far to abandon our adventure. Let’s hope it was merely a coincidence.”
Mary didn’t appear convinced and, if Lucy were honest, she wasn’t either.
CHAPTER 30
York Train Station, Later that Evening
The last train of the day crawled into the station. After waiting two hours at Selby, Lucy was tired and anxious but hopeful they had shaken off any pursuit. She hustled Mary off the train, sympathetic to the maid’s weariness but reluctant to linger. Lucy would not feel safe until they were inside the hotel. A porter approached, and Mary instructed him to fetch their small bags, telling him they would collect the bigger pieces of luggage the following day. He scurried off. A few minutes later, he reappeared and gave each of them their overnight bag. He gestured towards the entrance and the waiting cabs but Lucy shook her head and kept walking to the exit. As they passed the unlit waiting room, she swore she saw movement in the shadows. Rattled, she linked Mary’s arm and marched her out of the station.
The gaslit street was almost empty but their hotel wasn’t far. Lucy was thankful she had had the foresight to book their room in advance. She kept up a brisk pace until they reached the hotel entrance. As she went in the door, she stole a glance back towards the station. A figure stood about halfway down, avoiding the pools of light under the street lights. It looked like a man but she could not be sure. While she watched, the person turned and walked away in the opposite direction. Was she paranoid? With a shake of her head, she followed Mary inside.
The following morning, after an early breakfast and a council of war, Lucy and Mary left the hotel. Again, Lucy paused on the steps and studied the area. But all appeared to be well with only an elderly gentleman walking down the street. As they approached, he went into a tobacconist shop. It was ridiculous: she was seeing danger in the most innocent of passers-by.
They halted at the station entrance. “I’ll be as quick as I can, Mary. The hotel is on the other side of the city and I don’t know how long it will take to retrieve whatever Charlie left in that safe. Please stay in the waiting room and I’ll find you on my return. Do you have your book?”
Mary patted the pocket of her coat. “Don’t worry, this will keep me busy.” But then she frowned. “What if you don’t come back?”
“Don’t fret so. But if I don’t return in a couple of hours, head out to Blackheath and give my friend Judith the message, as agreed. She will take care of you.”
Mary bobbed her head. “Yes, ma’am, I will for sure. Best of luck.”
A porter sidled up and took their bags. Mary gave her a little wave and followed him inside.
Taking a deep breath, Lucy consulted the letter from the Haywood Hotel. From her memory the location wasn’t in a nice part of town. Determined she would not fail in her mission, she hailed a cab.
The Haywood Hotel, York
The hotel was tucked away in a narrow street, its exterior unprepossessing with a tarnished nameplate and unswept steps. A gloomy foyer led to an unattended reception desk. Undeterred, Lucy headed straight for it. Striking the call-bell with force, she listened as the sound reverberated then dissipated into the ether. Then silence: the place appeared to be empty of staff and guests. This wasn’t a promising start. Lucy tapped her foot impatiently. After all the trouble to get here, to be hindered in her plan now was almost unbearable. As she waited, she looked about with distaste at the marked wood-panelled walls and the unfortunate tartan carpet of brown and yellow. Lucy found it difficult to imagine fastidious Charlie choosing such a place to stay.
After a surreptitious glance around the lobby, she lifted her veil a smidgen and leaned over to sneak a peek behind the desk. The hotel register lay tantalisingly close.
“Can I help you?” a voice said, making her jump just as she contemplated reaching out for it.
Pulling back, she took in the over-sized suit, spikey hair and nervous disposition of a young man barely out of his teens. “Good morning, I wish to see the manager, Mr Haywood, please.”
The young lad slid behind the desk. “Have you an appointment, madam? He may be … indisposed. May I be of assistance instead? If you would like to reserve a room, I believe there is one available.”
“No, thank you. I do not require accommodation. I am here to see Mr Haywood on business.”
Blowing out his cheeks, the youth gave her a sceptical look. “If you insist. Take a seat and I’ll see if I can find him.” He indicated a chair beside the empty fireplace before disappearing off down a corridor. In the silence that followed, Lucy’s apprehension rose. This could be a bad idea. What if this Mr Haywood was an associate of Marsh? Might it be a trap? She hadn’t considered that possibility.
She tried to quell the unease which lay solid and unhelpful in the pit of her stomach. I’m not cut out for this, she thought, I should leave this sort of business to a professional. But, of course, she could not afford to hire anyone. Exhaustion was not helping her state of mind. It had been almost midnight when they had finally gone to bed and the lumpy mattress and Mary’s snores had made sleep difficult.
Opening her bag, she took out Mr Haywood’s letter, read it quickly, then folded it and put it away again. Still no one came. Staring up at an unpleasant stain on the ceiling, it struck her this was the kind of place men brought their mistresses. Would Charlie have brought a woman here? Now the register was singing to her with sirenlike allure, but if caught at the desk again, she knew her credibility would be questioned and they might refuse to give her Charlie’s property. Would Phineas take the chance if he were here? Something told her he would, in double-quick time.
Too late. The young man returned and asked her to follow.
The whisky fumes were the first thing she noticed when the door to the manager’s office opened. A large, florid-faced man sat behind a desk in the tiny office.
“Thank you, son,” he said, slurring his words ever so slightly as he rose unsteadily to his feet. “Please,” he said to Lucy, waving towards the only other chair. This was an unlucky gesture as he had to grip the desk to steady himself. Sweeping a shaking hand across his forehead, he sat down abruptly.
Not an auspicious start, Lucy thought, trying not to examine the fabric of the chair too closely before sitting down. But it might work to her advantage if the man wasn’t sober. The desk was cluttered with papers and the general appearance of the man and the office was one of disorder and a shortage of money.
“Please forgive me, Mrs … I’m sorry. I did not catch your name?”
“Mrs Lawrence.” She offered him her visiting card, which he glanced at and dropped to the desk.
“Delighted.” He drew out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Terrible cold, so sorry.”
Nodding in sympathy, Lucy was quite sure it was a very different kind of affliction. The room was chilly, yet his forehead shone with perspiration.
“What can I do for you, madam?”
Pulling out his letter to Charlie, she handed it across. He coughed, then smiled apologetically. “Glasses,” he muttered, before scrambling around through the papers on the desk. The spectacles found, he plonked them on his red-tipped nose. After scanning the letter he frowned at her.
Lucy pointedly pulled away her black net veil and glanced down at her widow’s weeds. “As soon as I read your letter, Mr Haywood, I knew I would have to come all the way from London to relieve you of this burden. Anything of my husband’s is so precious to me now he is deceased. I hope you can understand, sir? It has been a most distressing time.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. I’m sorry to hear of your husband’s demise, but I’m not sure …”
Looking down at the letter in his hand, she continued. “Your letter states my dear Charlie left something in your safekeeping. He cannot reclaim it, poor soul, so I hoped—” At this point, she began to weep.
Mr Haywood took on a sickly hue and stared at her with a gaping mouth. Aware she might be laying it on too strong, she reduced the flow to more dignified snuffles.
At last, he found his voice. “My dear lady, please do not be distressed. I do recall now … such a nice young man. Tragic, tragic!”
Clutching her handkerchief to her bosom, she asked, “My poor dear husband, Mr Haywood, did he enjoy a pleasant stay here with his friends?”
Haywood’s brow crinkled. “I do believe he was alone, ma’am.”
“How terribly sad! Poor Charlie hated to be without company.” She shook her head and sighed deeply. “It sounds most unlike him.”
“Why don’t I check the register for you? My memory sometimes lets me down and it is some time ago.”
Lucy gave him a watery smile of thanks. Tottering slightly, he managed to negotiate the desk and left the office.
A quick sweep of the room and Lucy spotted the safe jutting out from under a table in the corner. A quiver of excitement coursed through her. She was very close now—she just had to hold her nerve.
A few minutes later, Mr Haywood appeared with the register under his arm. “Now, let me see.” Having placed it on the desk, he gingerly lowered himself into his seat and put his glasses on again. “Would you happen to know the date your husband was here?”
“Yes,” she sniffed. “Around the fourteenth of October. A few days before he died, in fact.”
Mr Haywood threw her an anguished look, then proceeded to leaf through the register. Muttering to himself, he ran his finger slowly down the lists of names, then shook his head and moved on to the next page. Lucy had to restrain the impulse to push him out of the way and do it herself.
“Ah! Here we are. Yes, he arrived on the fifteenth and he took a single room for two nights. One of our nicest rooms, as it happens.”
“And his belongings, Mr Haywood,” Lucy prompted when he sat staring at her blankly.
Half-turning in his chair, the man glanced at the safe. “Your husband asked to use the safe as he didn’t want to leave his belongings unattended in his room while he was out. He returned briefly later that day and reclaimed the bag. But he left it back to me soon after, saying he would retrieve it before catching his train to London. He was most insistent about it, if my memory serves. But he never did. Most peculiar, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Indeed. Have you any idea what his destination was that day? Did he say who he was calling upon?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t recall. But my son Frank may remember. He generally attends the front desk.”
“You have been so kind, sir. To have taken such good care of his things—”
Taking the hint, Mr Haywood moved over to the safe, slowly bending down. After a few grunts, he dropped to his knees. Lucy prayed she would not have to help him up again for she doubted she’d manage it. He began to fiddle around with the dial. After a couple of clicks, the metal door swung open. To her immense relief, Mr Haywood gradually rose up to his feet, looking the worse for the experience, but with a small leather satchel in his grasp. She did not recognise it.
Regaining his seat, he gave her a long considered look, no doubt weighing her up. Would her dowdy clothes be enough to stop him demanding money to hand it over? She contemplated whether to play the grieving widow card again. There wasn’t much in her purse if he insisted on payment. He tapped his fingers on the leather as a cunning glint came into his bloodshot eyes.
