Page 23

‘Need I remind you, Stephen, of the last time that you employed this argument?’ she said wearily. ‘I believe it was for Mr Stokes, whose innocence you insisted on because he had also protected you. Remind me how that line of thinking turned out for us.’

There was an awkward silence. The death of Mr Stokes had always been something of an unspoken discomfort between us. ‘That was different,’ I muttered.

‘No doubt it was! Regardless, you are going to that meeting. I need you out of the apartment until late. The timing is ideal.’

I was confused. Miss Decima never let me stay out of the apartment for long – she always needed me for one thing or another. The most I usually got was forty minutes at dinnertime to get winkles or baked potatoes from one of the street vendors for our dinner, and even then she timed me. ‘Why?’

‘Never you mind why!’

I finally lost patience. Maybe it was what Peter had said about employers that gave me the courage to speak up; maybe it was the way she’d just embarrassed me in front of him. Either way, I’d had enough. ‘Miss Decima, this is ridiculous. You can’t say that I’m your assistant and an intrinsic part of your agency one moment, and then keep secrets from me. How can I do my job properly if I don’t know what’s going on?’

She thinned her eyes. Her grip on her walking stick tightened. I glanced at the shelf to see which book was closest to her throwing hand, and saw with horror that it was Les Misérables.

Then she sighed. ‘Very well! If you must know, Stephen, I need you out of the apartment because I have invited my secret source to visit this evening.’

It kicked my legs right out from under me. ‘Secret source?’

She bustled self-importantly on her chair. ‘The Ivys are not my only means of acquiring information. I have a number of additional employees within this agency of whom you are completely unaware. In business, the left hand should never know what the right hand is doing.’

This sounded like dreadful advice, both for businesses and for hands. ‘How … how long’s this been going on for?’

‘Since last year. I have them visit while you’re out getting winkles.’

I choked. ‘That’s why you make me go all the way to Hammersmith!’

‘Sadly so.’

‘You told me you preferred their vinegar,’ I said, crestfallen.

The devastation must have shown on my face, because Miss Decima patted my arm with genuine feeling. ‘Please do not take it personally, Stephen. I use my secret source to uncover information that no one else possibly could, and we need them now more than ever. I would normally wait until winkle night, but, given the nature of our investigation, I cannot afford to wait any longer. They shall return their findings tonight, under cover of darkness, and I need you to be out of the apartment when they do so.’

The treachery near brought tears to my eyes. First the Ivys, now this. I’d long suspected that Miss Decima had been keeping secrets from me – hiding notebooks, locking her study door, waiting for thunderstorms to make veiled remarks while gazing out of the window and stroking her chin at the exact moment lightning struck – but somehow finding out that she’d lied to me about winkle night was the worst part of all. That was our night, that was. ‘Go on, then. Who’s this secret source?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘It might shock you to hear this, Stephen, but it’s a secret. Rest assured that they are highly effective and highly efficient.’

I puffed out my chest. ‘Well! As a matter of fact, Miss Decima, I just so happen to have found a line of enquiry which I do believe may be rather important to this investigation.’

I told her everything about the beggar: the veiled suffragette he’d spotted heading into our road yesterday; the instruction I’d given him to follow her; the belongings I’d just found dumped behind the railings.

Miss Decima listened on, impressed. ‘Well! I commend your initiative, Stephen. A woman all in black with a hidden face, heading into the Gore in the hours before the murder … I suspect your missing beggar might have witnessed something rather important on Saturday. We shall have to keep an eye out and see if he returns. Anything else that you noticed on your hunt for clues?’

I thought back. ‘I followed that blood trail. It goes out of Kensington Gore and then down Kensington Gore and along Kensington Gore …’ I shook my head. ‘I don’t get that. All the roads being called the same thing. Why’s it even called the Gore, anyway?’

‘It’s the Saxon word for “triangle”,’ said Miss Decima absent-mindedly. She had opened up a map on her desk, and was using it to follow the trail I was describing. ‘Where did the blood lead, please?’

‘To the middle of Exhibition Road,’ I said. ‘And then it suddenly disappears. Right there.’

I pointed to the spot on the map and frowned. There was something about that which suddenly felt odd to me. I hadn’t had time to reflect on it properly when I was there, as I’d been too busy almost being run over. But now there was no doubting it. Something about that trail of blood didn’t quite make sense.

‘Very well!’ said Miss Decima. ‘You’ve made excellent headway. Now you can get a start on these.’

She slapped a huge heap of old newspapers beside her.

‘Three months’ worth! I would like you to go through them and look for mentions of the WSPU, please – flag anything that strikes you as suspicious, or suspicion-adjacent.’

I stared at the newspapers in dismay. Reading through those was going to take me the rest of the afternoon. Once again, I found the courage that I needed to achieve the impossible. ‘Certainly, Miss Decima. I would be glad to. Before I do, there’s something I wish to talk to you about.’ I coughed. ‘It’s regarding my wages. I would like an advance, please, on my next pay packet. Seeing as I’m doing more work than usual on this case.’

I’d never seen an eyebrow rise more slowly. It kept rising and rising, like a guillotine blade. ‘Stephen, we are currently conducting a murder investigation which has the potential to define the political landscape for an entire generation. And you’re asking for money?’