The Counterfeit Heiress (5 page)

“Maybe that’s why she didn’t pay her rent last week,” the landlord said. “Ladies and their fancy outfits. Can’t blame them for wanting lovely things, can you? Still, it’s no excuse for shirking one’s responsibilities, and she had never been late before.” I forced a smile for him and nodded, not seeing the need to inform him that one Worth gown would cost more than the rent on these rooms for a year. The revelation made me cringe, particularly when I considered how many of them could be found in my wardrobes at home.

Our search of Mary Darby’s now vacant flat breathed life into the tragic form I had seen near the river. On one shelf, she had a surprisingly extensive collection of texts, mostly plays, including the complete works of Shakespeare. Many of them were marked up with stage directions scrawled in handwriting identical to that on a letter she had started to write and left on her desk. The letter was dated two days earlier. On the other side of the room, in a walnut chest, we found a leather bag full of medical supplies and several treatises on midwifery.

“She had a decent reputation as a midwife,” the landlord said. “I wasn’t keen on letting her have the rooms because I had understood she was once an actress, but she had a friend, a doctor, who wrote a right glowing reference about her. I figured she was respectable now, even if she hadn’t been always. Thought I should give her the chance to continue on that path.”

“You say she never paid late until recently?” Colin asked.

“That’s right, sir.”

“You wouldn’t object to our speaking to your other tenants?” Colin asked.

“Of course not,” he said. “I feel awful about what happened to her. She was a good woman.”

“Are you still in possession of the details of the doctor who had given the reference?” I asked.

He nodded vigorously. “I will send it over to you the moment I am back in my study. I kept his letter.”

Colin gave him a card so that he might do as he said, and we finished cataloging Mary’s belongings, knowing that something among them that did not appear significant now might prove worthwhile later. Once the task was complete, we turned our attention to the building’s other dwellers. No one had anything but kind words about Mary. She had proven herself a good neighbor over and over, always willing to help with a remedy for a chill or supper when one was down on one’s luck. She had delivered all three children belonging to the family on the second floor, and they spoke of her as if she were a saint.

“There was no one kinder,” Mrs. McDermott said, dabbing tears with a handkerchief as she spoke. “I can’t believe she is gone. I had warned her, you know, to be careful. A lady alone at night, going off wherever she was needed. It’s dangerous work, midwifery, and not wholly suitable if you ask me. Noble, yes, but she ought to have had an assistant, a male assistant, who could have protected her if nothing else. She always scoffed at the idea.”

“Were you concerned about her safety in general, or was there a more specific threat?” Colin asked.

“Threat?” Mrs. McDermott’s eyes flew open wide. “I never said there was a threat, only that she could have been more careful.”

“I apologize if I misunderstood,” Colin said. “Did she ever have trouble from any of her patients?”

“Never, at least not so far as I knew. She was good as gold, Mary Darby. Worth her weight in it as well.”

“Surely some of her patients had less than favorable outcomes? We ladies know how difficult the childbed can be,” I said, shooting Colin a look I knew he would recognize at once. He pulled out his notebook and pretended to busy himself with it. I lowered my voice. “When one loses a baby, as so often happens, one may lash out.”

“Oh, Mary had her share of that,” Mrs. McDermott said, “but she knew how to handle it well enough. Although now that you mention it, I do remember one woman who took it particularly bad. I don’t know her name. Mary was always careful about not giving details about her patients. She came to the house once or twice, though, and stood outside across the street wailing and keening, begging Mary to come out and bring the baby. It was a pathetic sight, tragic really. Out there in the pouring rain thinking a midwife had her child instead of the good Lord.”

“When was this?” I asked.

“Best I can remember two months ago or so. Spring was so rainy the weeks run together for me, but I know it was well before the Queen’s Jubilee.”

“May, do you think? Or earlier?” I asked.

Mrs. McDermott pursed her lips and pulled her eyebrows together. “April, I would guess. Don’t hold me to it, though.”

“Of course not,” I said. “Did you ever speak to the woman?”

“Heavens, no! I complained to our landlord first and it was he who told me, after he had looked into the matter, that she was Mary’s patient. Poor deranged thing. I do wonder if she’s improved by now.”

Mrs. McDermott had nothing further to offer, so we thanked her and took our leave. “Mary Darby is more complicated than I had expected,” I said.

“Is that so?” Colin asked. “I had anticipated as much.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Due, no doubt, to your prolonged experience investigating such matters.”

“Yes, if you must know.” His wry smile could always melt my heart. “You should appreciate me better.”

“You know perfectly well I appreciate you to the point of near blasphemy.”

“Good girl.” I could see a hint of color in his face and his eyes danced; he was pleased. “A woman willing to pull the stunt Mary Darby did at Devonshire House is not the sort of person looking for a quiet life. Neither is a woman who defies convention and becomes an actress, even a not very successful one.”

“And while being a midwife is certainly respectable, it is hardly ordinary,” I said, “and suggests a personality open to a great deal of personal disruption. Babies rarely come at convenient times.”

“What do you suggest we do next?” he asked.

“You are deferring to me?”

He gave me a neat bow. “I have great faith in your abilities.”

Estella

iii

He did not go through Monsieur Pinard to reach her, knowing all too well that no one in the solicitor’s office would approve of his scheme. This was his frustration, this was what had held him back at every turn. He was not to blame for the succession of failures that followed in his wake. The trouble was the establishment, people too entrenched in their own views of the world to take him seriously. The trouble now was that he had nothing left, and the creditors were hot after him. This would be no problem if he could only fund this last idea, the one he knew without doubt would bring him back. All he needed were investors, but there were none to be found.

Until he met Estella Lamar. Estella, as he begged her to let him call her during their second meeting, understood him. When he explained to her the benefits of the formula he had purchased from Dr. Maynard, her eyes brightened. She knew the perils of nerves, knew how they could paralyze a person. He had drawn up a plan, illustrating the formula’s benefits and the incredible number of people to whom he was confident he could sell it, if only he could secure the funding to finance production. He promised her she could expect to triple her investment in six months, and Estella seemed mildly impressed. Money, she said, concerned her less than anything in the world. She was happy to help him, so long as Dr. Maynard’s Patented Formula gave reliable results.

For six long weeks, he brought her testimonials, sample labels, and the details of advertising schemes. He shared with her every bit of work he had done, and Estella appeared in all ways highly motivated to become his partner. She even asked him to draw up an agreement, which he did in rapid order, elated to at last be so close to his goal. Before she signed, however, she wanted to meet Dr. Maynard.

This proved problematic as the doctor, so far as anyone could tell, had disappeared soon after the sale of his formula. He had shuttered his office and vacated his lodgings, leaving no forwarding address. The landlady believed him to have gone to America. When Estella learned this, she began for the first time to show signs of hesitation. Dr. Maynard’s Formula, she said, was beginning to appear less and less like a sound investment. Her would-be partner did everything in his limited power to reassure her, even as he grew increasingly desperate, worried that his scheme would fall apart without her, and knowing that his creditors were daily lamenting the demise of debtors’ prisons even as they threatened him with increasing violence.

Estella decided that she could go no further without trying Dr. Maynard’s Formula herself. Her partner hesitated, not because he doubted the efficacy of the tincture, but because he was not convinced Estella needed it. That she was eccentric could not be doubted, but she did not appear in any way plagued with nerves, despite her insistence that she understood the disorder all too well, and he worried that if she took the formula and noticed no marked effect, she would refuse to enter into a partnership with him. Estella would not be put off, and in the end, he relented. He promised to bring her a sample bottle the next morning.

In his dingy rooms that night, he paced, wondering what he should do. He had taken a dose himself more than once and felt nothing, but had not been concerned as his nerves had never bothered him in the slightest. Certainly he became agitated on occasion, but that was simply due to his unfortunate financial circumstances. He drummed his fingers on his rickety table and pondered his options until a violent knocking on the door disturbed his concentration. He opened it, knowing full well whom he would find. There was no avoiding them any longer.

One week, they told him. That was all he could have. If his debt was not settled in that time, he could expect to find himself at the bottom of the Seine. A swift punch to his jaw dislodged two of his back teeth. The man in the black coat who smiled while his thug did his ugly work said it would serve to remind him not to dawdle. They left him there, bleeding on the floor, kicking him in the gut on their way out.

Estella’s money was his only hope. Her investment in Dr. Maynard’s Formula would pay them off and fund his new enterprise. He dragged himself to his feet, washed the blood from his face, and headed for the nearest apothecary.

4

Scotland Yard reported to us that they had found no sign of any of Mary Darby’s jewelry having been pawned, but we could not determine whether this was due to the murderer realizing it was fake gold and paste, as confirmed upon examination of the bracelet left on her arm, or because the murderer had taken the jewelry in an attempt to make his crime appear to have been a robbery gone horribly wrong. I had taken with me from Mary’s rooms the notebooks and files in which she kept her patients’ medical records, and was studying them in the library, searching for the name of the disturbed woman Mrs. McDermott had seen.

“The Duke of Bainbridge, madam.” Davis bowed as he announced Jeremy, who clapped my butler on the back as he walked past him.

“You’re a good chap, Davis,” Jeremy said. Davis flinched.

“Will there be anything else, madam?” Davis had grown accustomed to ignoring Jeremy over the years.

“No, Davis, thank you,” I said. “Jeremy, you are a beast, tormenting my butler.”

He flopped into the chair nearest me. “I adore Davis. Is it my fault if he does not approve of the high esteem in which I hold him? I have not come only to see you, darling girl. Cécile has summoned me. It appears you are rather letting down the side on this Estella Lamar business and she wants me to assist her.”

“You?” I made no attempt to contain either my surprise or my laughter.

“Make light of it if you will,” he said. “I am well aware that you have no concern for my feelings. I did prove myself to be of some use when you were investigating Michael Dillman’s murder.”

“True enough,” I said. Jeremy had offered his assistance during that case, three years ago, in which a disturbed gentleman had terrorized London society by exposing long-hidden secrets and committing murder. “I was grateful to you.”

“Madame du Lac, it seems, was even more impressed. She has asked me to accompany her to Paris, where together we will attempt to find her missing friend.”

“There is no evidence that Estella Lamar is missing. Her travels abroad have been well documented in the press and nothing in any account of her adventures has suggested she is being forced to do anything against her will.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Em,” he said. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, you know. It borders too closely on being useful. But I am mad about Cécile. She is a capital lady and a great deal of fun, and I find myself excessively bored in London. This season is rubbish and I am sick to death of the Jubilee. Paris will provide a nice respite. We leave this evening.”

“So soon? Cécile has not mentioned it.”

“I wanted to be the one to tell you before I collected her on my way to the station,” he said, a wicked grin on his face. “I hoped you might be just a little heartbroken to see me go. With whom will you dance the quadrille? We both know the illustrious Mr. Hargreaves despises it.”

“I have always preferred the waltz, so I am afraid I shan’t miss you in the slightest.” I leaned forward. “And you know my husband will be delighted to see you go.”

Jeremy laughed. “Of course. I almost refused Cécile, just to spite him, but decided to do as she asked, as I am certain my absence will cause you to miss me. Madly, I hope.”

“London will be the poorer without you,” I said as Cécile opened the door.

“Has Bainbridge told you of our plan?” she asked.

“Indeed, although I am sorry to report that I am not nearly so heartbroken as he might like.”

“He is a fool,” Cécile said, “but we must take consolation in the fact that he knows this better than any of us.”

“Truer words were never spoken, my dear Madame du Lac,” Jeremy said. Cécile stood next to him, holding out her hand to be kissed. “If I were half so handsome as Hargreaves I am certain I could convince you to marry me.”

“Not even the divine Monsieur Hargreaves himself could convince me to marry again,” Cécile said. “You, Bainbridge, amusing though you are, have no chance at all.”