“Yes?” Hector forgot about his blasted clothes.
“I can give you a map of the exact location of her burial.” Mr. Merriweather lowered his gaze. “I’m afraid I haven’t visited the communal cemetery in a while.”
“Thank you.” Hector flexed his fingers. “It would be most helpful.”
Maddie stroked his hand. “We’ll go together when you’re ready.”
Of course, she would say that. Did she realise how sweet and adorable she was? A warm flutter spread in his chest as he smiled at her.
“Do you remember the textile factory your family owns?” Mr. Merriweather asked, breaking the moment.
His leather folder was once again tucked under his arm, and Hector wondered how the solicitor could endure wearing such a tight waistcoat.
He had to focus on Robert and his letter not to panic just looking at the solicitor’s clothes. “I do. I visited it a few times. Mother was fond of the employees and loved taking tea with them. Robert visited it almost daily.”
A glint of triumph flashed in Mr. Merriweather’s eyes. “My grandfather was Irish,” he said, with the tone of one expecting a reaction from his audience. “The majority of your workers are Irish. Honest, hard-working people.”
Hector didn’t know what to say or what he was supposed to do with the revelation.
“I didn’t know that. Did your grandfather work here in London?” Maddie asked.
“Yes. He collected the city’s waste.” Mr. Merriweather chuckled. “He’d be surprised to know I became a solicitor.”
“Has Quentin visited the factory recently?” Hector asked.
Mr. Merriweather’s face tightened. “No. I’m afraid Lord Quentin hasn’t paid any attention to the factory, especially after his inquest.”
“Inquest?” Maddie frowned. “I don’t remember having read anything about Lord Quentin and an inquest.”
“The police kept everything quiet on his lordship’s request.” Mr. Merriweather lowered his voice. “Lord Quentin was among Mrs. Blanchet’s guests when her famous painting—”
“The Lady of the Lake.” Maddie’s mouth hung open. “Sorry for the interruption. Please do go on.”
“That night, the painting disappeared. Mrs. Blanchet blatantly accused Lord Quentin of having stolen it. But his house was searched thoroughly, and nothing has been found.” The solicitor clenched his fists. “Lord Quentin was rather annoyed by the inquest and asked Mrs. Blanchet to pay for the damage to his reputation.” He clicked his tongue. “Mrs. Blanchet settled the dispute with an undisclosed sum.”
“Heavens.” Maddie slouched back in the seat. “Why didn’t you tell me anything?”
“Because until recently, Lord Quentin was my client. The client-solicitor privilege prevents me to divulge any personal information about my clients,” Mr. Merriweather said. “Then he gave me the sack, claiming I didn’t have his best interests at heart.” He tilted his head right and left. “Which was true, I guess. Anyway, I take my job seriously. I don’t blabber about my clients’ confidential information.”
“But this is Mrs. Blanchet! You could have told me.” Maddie pouted, and Hector had to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to kiss her in front of others. “Do you think Lord Quentin stole the painting?” Her whole face brightened with interest.
Mr. Merriweather shrugged. “I have no evidence, but my instinct says yes.”
“Perhaps Quentin sold the painting,” Hector said.
Mr. Merriweather shook his head. “Unlikely. A famous painting like that one can’t be sold without leaving traces. It’s more probable the thief hid it, waiting for the price to go up and the interest of the police to go down. If Lord Quentin hasThe Lady of the Lake, it’s still in his house. Besides, many art thefts happen because the thief wishes to enjoy the object d’art and admire it in the privacy of their home, although I don’t think that’s Lord Quentin’s case.”
Maddie laughed. “I agree. Lord Quentin has a horrible taste in art.”
“And a huge debt,” Mr. Merriweather said. “Allegedly.”
Hector frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Before Lord Quentin gave me the sack, I had a look at his accounting records, and even though I’m not an expert, it was clear his finances weren’t in order. I can’t prove it now, but I suspect Lord Quentin has a penchant for gambling.” The solicitor lifted a shoulder. “As I said, I don’t have any evidence. Even when I was his employee, I didn’t have access to his entries, and the accountant is rather loyal to Lord Quentin.”
The carriage stopped in front of an imposing red-brick building with tall, industrial chimneys releasing puffs of steam. Dark mould covered the walls, creeping up like a disease sprouted from the ground, and a few windows overlooking the street were broken. Potholes dug deep ruts in the cobblestones. Not as he remembered it. The dilapidated state of the factory was a punch in his stomach. His mother had insisted on keeping the factory spotless and well-insulated from the cold wind rising from the Thames to make the employees more comfortable. Robert had made sure to have repairs done promptly to keep the factory functioning and clean.
Mr. Merriweather watched him with a focus that gave Hector shivers. “Is it familiar?” he asked, seemingly reading Hector’s mind.
