AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Mrs. Holloway came to her feet. “He ought to be arrested,” she said, her disapproval sharp.
Mr. Fielding’s lighthearted expression faded as he turned to her. “This is best, Mrs. Holloway. That fellow is a slippery one. If Moody goes to a magistrate, he’ll lie like an innocent babe, and the evidence against him will somehow evaporate. He’s done it before, which is why he’s walking about free to pull young aristos into his power. Much better that he’s running for his life to some far corner of the earth.”
“If you say so, Mr. Fielding.” It was apparent Mrs. Holloway did not agree with him, but she ceased arguing. “I thank you for your assistance. We will take up no more of your time.”
“Nonsense.” Mr. Fielding’s good spirits returned. “Stay and enjoy tea. It isn’t every day I have the company of such great ladies.”
“Yes, indeed, let us remain,” Judith said. “Why let the likes of Mr. Moody ruin our day? This cake is excellent, Mrs. Holloway.”
Bobby plopped down and forked up another hunk of cake. Judith was right—it was jolly good stuff.
Judith was not as serene as she appeared, Bobby saw from the stiffness of her fingers as she ate a dainty bite of cake. Judith had hoped Moody would have more information about her sister, and her frustration at his lack was evident.
Bobby kept herself from blurting out her own news, which she’d saved to surprise Judith if Mr. Moody had no further information. She liked Fielding, but the man didn’t need to know all about Judith’s personal life. What Bobby had to say would keep.
She contented herself with observing the curve of Judith’s beguiling cheek and enjoying the devil out of Mrs. Holloway’s butter cake.
After the tea was drunk and the cake devoured, Mr. Fielding saw them to the gate of the churchyard, where he, ever the gentleman, handed Mrs. Holloway and then Judith into her coach. Bobby pulled herself into it after them. She was full and growing sleepy—perhaps she and Judith could nap when they returned home.
Judith thanked Mr. Fielding graciously and he stepped back, waving them off, grinning like the rogue he was.
“Thank you both very much for your help,” Mrs. Holloway said as they rolled toward Whitechapel Road. “I will tell Lady Cynthia to inform Lady Coulson that her sons are safe from Mr. Moody’s clutches. Perhaps they will have learned their lesson.”
From her expression, Mrs. H. didn’t believe they would, and Bobby agreed with her. At least Terrance wouldn’t learn, but maybe William could keep him tamed.
Mrs. Holloway turned to Judith with keen perception. “You hoped to learn something about the photographs you mentioned. I know it is hardly my business, but if I can help?”
Judith, who wasn’t foolish enough to dismiss Mrs. Holloway’s powers of reasoning, drew a breath to speak, but Bobby cut her off.
“Before you go into the entire, sad tale, I’ve been doing some sleuthing myself.” Bobby pulled out the folded paper that contained the photographs. “Sending telegrams like mad, hither and yon.”
Judith’s chest rose sharply, and Mrs. Holloway leaned forward, avidly curious. “What are those?” Mrs. H. asked.
“The photographs Terrance stole from Moody,” Bobby said.
“One was of my sister,” Judith began, morose. “She—”
“Hold on,” Bobby interrupted. “I’ve had a good squint at these photographs, at the backs of them, I mean. Peered hard at them through a glass. The light in here is a bit dim, but perhaps we can see.”
She withdrew from her pocket a small mother-of-pearl handled magnifying glass, a surprisingly thoughtful gift from her sister-in-law. She opened the paper, the photos facedown, and trained the glass on the back of the top photograph.
“There’s a mark, just there.” Bobby pointed her gloved finger at it.
Judith took the glass and the photograph and raised both to her eyes. When Mrs. Holloway, across from her, caught sight of what was on the front of the picture, her brows went up, but she said nothing.
“LM,” Judith announced after a time. “That’s all I can make out.”
“I thought it was likely the name of the studio,” Bobby said. “One of the pictures also helpfully has the word Paris stamped on it. It’s quite smudged—these pictures have been passed about a great deal—but I could just discern it.”
“I saw nothing on my sister’s photograph,” Judith said, lowering the glass.
“Because it was not from the same studio,” Bobby said. “The one of Lucetta was taken by her blackguard sweetheart in London, about ten years ago, you said. These others are more recent. You can tell from the clarity of the photographs—techniques have improved in the last decade. Also, the backdrops have more modern furnishings in them, and fashions in combinations and corsets have also changed.”
Mrs. Holloway nodded, as though approving of Bobby’s deductions.
“Ergo,” Bobby continued. “These were from a different studio. As I say, I cabled like mad to some chums in Paris, and they hunted down the business for me. The photographer in that Parisian studio informed my chums that she had sold the pictures to a gentleman from London last year—an aristo, not our Mr. Moody. The aristo must have tired of them, or didn’t want his wife to see them, so dropped them at a shop that sells such things. Probably got his valet to do it for him.” Bobby shrugged.
“She had sold the pictures.” Judith fixed on the pronoun, ignoring the rest of Bobby’s speculations. “The photographer is a woman?”
