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“Is this place too feminine for your masculine pride?”
“It’s too close to the shops your cousin and the Mayfair Hotel guests frequent. It’s the sort of place they’d stop at for refreshments on a day out. It’s not far to my office from here. We’ll have coffee at Roma Café instead.”
I used to insist that I didn’t care about being seen with him, but not anymore. It was easier to agree with him since he was too stubborn to back down. Besides, I preferred the atmosphere of Luigi’s café. There was nothing pompous about it. He also served the best coffee in London. The smell of it was inviting enough, but Luigi’s hearty greeting made me feel like an old friend.
“Bella! Come in, come in. I haven’t seen you for a long time. Is Harry not treating you well?”
I laughed. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to see me? Ah, Miss Fox, you break my heart.” He shook a dishcloth at Harry. “You should treat her like a lady, or she won’t come back.”
“Is that so?” Harry said darkly.
“A lady like Miss Fox deserves the best coffee every day.” Luigi tapped his chest. “That’s why I’m never lonely.”
The two elderly regulars who inhabited the stools at the counter like a pair of statues suddenly came to life. They spoke in loud Italian with exaggerated gestures to Luigi and Luigi responded in the same language and a shrug of his shoulders. From the few words I could make out, I suspected he’d broken the heart of a woman they knew.
Somehow Harry managed to order two coffees amid the exchange. We sat at the table near the window while Luigi made them without interrupting his argument with the two customers.
Harry and I divided the list between us according to locations, and after finishing our coffees we separated. Before we parted, Harry helped me devise the best route for greatest efficiency. He knew all the rail and omnibus routes, and suggested I begin with the furthest address and make my way back to Soho and Mayfair. My list had to include Jane Eyre since I could identify her, but I wasn’t hopeful of finding her.
My hunch was proved correct. She’d given a false address to go with her false name. The elderly man who answered my knock had heard of the literary character but not the maid with the limp.
I did have some success, however. One of the Searcys footmen claimed a gentleman had given him a note to pass on to Mr. McDonald, which he had duly done. That had been a mere thirty minutes or so before the scream that alerted us to the murder.
“What did the note say?” I asked.
“I didn’t read it.”
That was hard to believe. “Be honest with me. You won’t get into trouble.”
“It said to meet him in the library immediately.”
This was the breakthrough we needed. “Who was the gentleman?”
“He signed the note ‘Livingstone.’”
Mr. Livingstone was the father of Amelia Livingstone, the girl declared debutante of the season after sweeping all three of Lady Bunbury’s awards. Why did he want to meet Ambrose McDonald?
“One more question,” I said to the footman. “Did you notice anything about your colleague, Mr. Smith, that night?”
“The one who got arrested for the murder?” He shrugged. “Like what?”
“Did you see him with the victim?”
“No.”
I asked the same question to the rest of the staff on my list. With the murder on the front pages of all the newspapers, they were all keen to tell me what they knew, but it amounted to nothing. No one could confirm Lady Treloar’s claim that Mr. Smith and Mr. McDonald knew each other.
Harry had more success than me with that question, however. When we met at his office in the afternoon, he told me one of the maids he’d spoken to had seen them having a discussion outside the ballroom. “She didn’t say it was heated, but it didn’t look friendly either.”
“So Lady Treloar was right about the angry look Reggie Smith gave Ambrose McDonald.”
Harry picked up one of the newspapers he’d had delivered that morning and indicated the sketch of Mr. Smith. “It’s not looking good for him.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” I said.
“You found Jane Eyre?”
