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Flossy nodded. “There are some nice buildings along here, although the traffic is a nightmare this afternoon.”
“Indeed.”
My mind raced through what we knew about the case so far and how it fit in with that symbol on the plaque. Portland Place…the Portland Club… It must have been named after the street on which it was located. And behind that door with the plaque must be the club itself. The symbol couldn’t be a coincidence.
All I had to do now was convince Harry that we should continue with the investigation, even though his father no longer worked at Scotland Yard. I couldn’t think why he’d refuse. He must be as interested in seeing this investigation through to its end as I was. If he did refuse, I’d continue the investigation alone. As an independent, educated woman, it was my right. It was also expected of me now.
Chapter15
Ihad very little time before I needed to start dressing for dinner, so I didn’t divert to Soho and collect Harry from his office. If he wasn’t there, it would be a wasted journey.
I was disappointed to find that Mr. Underwood wasn’t at the boarding house when I arrived. My disappointment faded, however, when I realized I could obtain answers from the landlady. Mrs. Rumble was a chatty woman and quite without guile. She was surprised to discover that my questions weren’t about Reggie Smith but about his neighbor.
“Why do you want to know about Mr. Underwood? Is he somehow tangled up in the murder, too? Good lord, I hope not.” She pressed a hand to her breast. “It’s awful enough thinking that Mr. Smith is guilty, but to think there have been two murderers under my roof!”
I quickly threw water over the idea before it caught fire. “Don’t fret. Mr. Underwood is not under suspicion.” At this point, I could have added.
But the more I thought about it, the more suspicious I became. Ambrose McDonald often visited the Portland Club, a discreet place where men who liked men frequented. The club’s symbol was a dove inside a circle. I’d seen that same symbol on a card in Mr. Underwood’s possession. It couldn’t be a coincidence. If he also visited the club, it was likely he knew Ambrose McDonald. Yet he denied it the first time we’d met.
Mrs. Rumble was still looking anxious about my interest in Mr. Underwood. I needed to set her mind at ease or she might never open up. “He may be a witness without even realizing it. I wanted to question him about Mr. Smith again.” It was a clumsy effort, but it seemed to assuage her fears a little.
She wrung her hands in her apron. “Yes, of course. I don’t think Mr. Smith is guilty, you know. He was such a polite young man. Always paid his board on time. Never gave me any trouble. I’d like to see him released, and if knowing more about Mr. Underwood helps you, I will tell you what I know.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. Would you say Mr. Underwood is a good fellow, trustworthy?”
“Oh yes. He’s a quiet, private man. Never makes a fuss.”
“Have you ever seen anything in his room that gave you pause?”
“I don’t go in. He cleans it himself.”
“Isn’t that odd?”
“It’s not common, but some are happy to clean themselves. It saves on the board, you see.”
I would have liked to look inside to search for private letters or some other connection to McDonald, but I suspected it would be a step too far for the landlady. “Do you have a curfew here?”
She shook her head. “The doors are locked at eleven, but the boarders all have their own key to come and go as they please. Some work late, you see. Mr. Smith often worked well into the evening when he was hired as a footman for parties.”
“And Mr. Underwood? Does he come and go late into the night?”
She nodded. “Thursdays through Sundays. He leaves just before midnight and comes home before sun-up. He’s very quiet, but there’s nothing wrong with these old ears.” She chuckled, but it quickly faded. “Why is that relevant?”
“It’s not. I just wanted to know when he was home so I could ask him about Mr. Smith’s movements, if he heard anything through the walls, that sort of thing.” I removed a piece of paper from my bag and showed it to her. When I’d got home, and before I left, I’d drawn a dove inside a circle, the symbol from the door on Portland Place. “Have you seen this before?”
“Can’t say I have.”
I thanked her and left. By the time I arrived back at the Mayfair, I had my next moves all planned in my head. It was Thursday. According to Mrs. Rumble, Mr. Underwood regularly left the boarding house near midnight every night from Thursday to Sunday. I suspected he went to the Portland Club, but I wanted to make sure. That meant following him.
I stopped at the post desk at the Mayfair Hotel to organize a message to be sent to Harry. Then I headed downstairs to the kitchen before returning to my rooms to tell Harmony my plan while she arranged my hair for dinner.
She thought it was dangerous but conceded it was the best way to get answers; perhaps the only way. In the end, she agreed I should do it. I didn’t tell her I was going to do it anyway, whether she liked it or not.
Aunt Lilian wasthe perfect hostess at dinner. She was capable and generous, beautiful and elegant, and full of life and energy. I knew the latter wouldn’t last long, and I worried it would drive her to take more of her tonic at some point in the evening.
The guests were almost thirty in number and consisted of some of my aunt and uncle’s friends as well as important hotel guests. Mrs. and Miss Hessing were among their number. The mother was seated beside a quiet, mousy gentleman who didn’t seem to mind that the woman on his left didn’t stop talking. Miss Hessing was seated between two middle-aged gentlemen who carried on polite conversation with her. I knew one of them was a widower, openly seeking a new wife. My aunt knew precisely what she was doing when she thought up the seating arrangements.
Her single seating failure was me. I found myself next to a highly educated gentleman who’d studied in Cambridge. On paper, we were well suited. He’d traveled widely, and I was interested in learning about the world. He was handsome and friendly, neither too meek nor dominating. Unfortunately, when he discovered I attended lectures in Cambridge and was an advocate for opening up higher education to women, he turned cold. It was as if I’d told him I liked to roll around in mud.
