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He started by questioning the lift operator as we slowly descended, but the fellow remained tight lipped. He was a good employee, loyal to the residents who perhaps tipped him well to keep their secrets.
After we exited the lift and before we reached the porter, I suggested to Harry that we ought to use an incentive too. Telling the staff we worked for the police was getting us nowhere.
He handed the porter some money after we introduced ourselves. “What can you tell us about the people who visited Ambrose McDonald on the fifth floor?”
The porter tucked the coins into his jacket pocket and glanced around. “I can tell you a lot of folks came and went from Mr. McDonald’s flat.”
“Do you know why they visited him?”
“Considering most didn’t want to be seen, I reckon they were his intimate friends. But I saw them.” He tapped the side of his nose. “I see everything.”
“Can you describe those who came regularly?”
“Let’s see. There was a man who visited a lot up until a week or so ago. Slim, handsome fellow, young, brown hair…”
It could have been Reggie Smith, but the description was too vague to be certain.
“There were other men, too. One in particular hated it when I greeted him. He always tried to hide his face. He was also slim, but shorter than the other fellow. Brown hair, nice clothes. I reckon he was a toff on account of the way he spoke, like he was better than me.” He shrugged. “The women were the same. All hoity-toity, the lot of ‘em.”
“Old or young?” I asked.
“Older than Mr. McDonald. I remember one who used to come regularly. She was rude to me. I complained to Mr. McDonald once, and he said not to feel inferior. All her jewels were fakes, and she and her husband were struggling to pay their bills. It surprised me that she was married. It was the first I heard that Mr. McDonald’s female companions had husbands. Maybe the men had wives, too.” He shrugged.
That had to be Lady Bunbury. Had she come to pay the blackmail money, or were they intimate friends, as the porter suggested? “You say she was a regular visitor,” I said. “How regular?”
“She came at least once a week for a while, but she stopped coming about three or four months ago.”
“What about a young lady?” Harry asked.
“There was only one. She came during the day, holding Mr. McDonald’s hand and giggling. Real pretty, she was. Fine figure, too, and dressed real nice. He never brought girls that young here, so I thought it odd. Maybe he was ready to settle down, I thought. But if he was considering marriage, he wouldn’t have brought her back here without a chaperone. Not a girl of quality like her.”
Indeed he wouldn’t. I was quite sure the girl in question was Amelia Livingstone. She must have snuck away from her chaperone and met up with Mr. McDonald before he brought her here. It sounded as though she was a willing participant in the dalliance. As Harmony had said, Amelia was probably just having some fun.
The consequences of her actions hadn’t occurred to her at the time. She knew them now. She must have been devastated when he started spreading the rumor about her losing her virginity, conveniently leaving his own name out of it. Not only had she had her heart broken, but she’d been betrayed by a man she trusted.
Harry handed the porter a business card. “If you think of something else, let me know.”
The porter flicked the card with his finger. “I’ll pass this on to the coachman. He ferries the residents around, and often drove Mr. McDonald about. He’s not here now, but I reckon he’ll have something to add.” He jangled the coins in his pocket.
Harry nodded in understanding. “We’ll make it worth his time if his information is good.”
Our next steps were now clear. We had to take a closer look at the main suspects again, although instead of Mr. Livingstone, I wanted to speak to Amelia. I also didn’t think we’d get answers from Lord or Lady Bunbury, but their servants might be amenable if we paid them. And we also needed to learn about Lady Quorne’s past to know whether she was being blackmailed about that or about her painting being a fake, too.
I expected Harry to be thinking the same as me, but as we exited the building into the sunshine, he suggested we visit Reggie Smith’s boarding house again.
“If we’re going to be asking witnesses to describe who they saw with McDonald, we need to show them a photograph of our suspects. The only one we can easily obtain is Smith’s. There was one in his room.”
The landladyof the boarding house greeted us like old friends and escorted us up to Reggie Smith’s room. The door to Mr. Underwood’s room opened a crack before closing again. I thought he wouldn’t bother to come out, but he emerged a moment later, buttoning up his waistcoat with ink-stained hands. He wore no jacket and his hair hadn’t been combed. Perhaps he’d just got out of bed. It would seem he didn’t work, or if he did, not during the day. He’d been here both days we’d visited.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said as the landlady unlocked the door.
Harry ducked inside, but I remained to talk to Mr. Underwood.
“Any word on how Mr. Smith’s case is progressing?” he asked. “Do the police have enough evidence to release him?”
“Not yet.”
