“We learned something else,” she added. “The younger man we saw at the embassy is named Dimitri. We overheard his companion use it at the club.”
Dalton’s eyes sharpened. “Good. So far, we have a name and a lead. I’ll see what can be dug up on Dimitri and this mysterious Lord A. But the priority is still the widow. If she’s in danger—as we have every reason to believe—finding her takes precedence over exposing the Russians’ network. If they catch her first, we lose any chance of recovering the documents.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Any luck on your end?”
Dalton’s jaw tightened. “I followed her trail briefly—her hackney was driving east—but I lost them in the evening traffic around Smithfield.” He drummed his fingers once against the arm of his chair. “If she was heading east, she may well have disappeared into the warren of Clerkenwell.”
Alice nodded sharply. “A logical choice. She’d vanish in that maze of streets. Do you think she might have contacts there? Friends, family?”
“Possibly. Either that, or sympathizers,” Dalton said. “If she and her husband were passing secrets to the Russians, Clerkenwell would be a fertile recruiting ground. Hotbed of radicalism.”
“So what’s our next move?” Nathaniel asked.
Dalton rose, tugging his coat straight. “The Black Swan again. But not to attend an event. I’ve arranged for us to speak with the owner in private.”
TheowneroftheBlack Swan was a woman. Anjeli was what Dalton had called her. Where had she heard that name? Alice’s eyes widened as she remembered. Wasn’t she the notorious mistress of the Prince of Wales? Their relationship had caused an uproar five or so years ago.
Anjeli’s private office was a study in opulence, all rich, colorful silks and carved rosewood, the scent of jasmine clinging delicately in the air. Alice had to school her features to neutrality as the striking Indian woman greeted them with an easy grace, her sari a riot of crimson and gold.
“I hope this isn’t about membership, Your Grace,” Anjeli said lightly to Dalton, her dark eyes glinting with humor. “My waiting list is frightfully long.”
Dalton’s mouth twitched at the corner. “I’m afraid this is about a more serious matter. We need information about a woman who visited your club last night.”
Anjeli’s smile didn’t falter, but it cooled slightly. “You know I can’t betray my patrons’ trust. Discretion is the cornerstone of my establishment.”
“This isn’t about idle curiosity.” Alice stepped forward, her voice steady. “The woman is in grave danger. Her husband was assassinated, and the people who killed him are now after her. If she’s found, she’ll be silenced permanently.”
A long pause stretched between them before Anjeli exhaled softly. “I see. Perhaps I can consult my records—only to see if she came under her own name or her husband’s membership. The name, if you please?”
“Their surname is Phipps. The clerk’s name was Thomas Phipps. We don’t know Mrs. Phipps’s first name.”
Anjeli’s smooth brow showed the slightest sign of tension for a moment. “A clerk, you say. It is unusual for a clerk to be able to afford the membership fees of my club. Let alone be invited to join.”
“He might have been sponsored by someone else,” Dalton offered.
Nodding absently, Anjeli rose. “I’ll be but a moment,” she offered, gliding from the room.
Nathaniel leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching Alice with an expression she couldn’t decipher.
When Anjeli returned, she held a slim ledger. “You were correct. Someone used Mr. Phipps’s membership to enter the club last night. It must have been her. We only have his name and address on file. And a note saying that he was sponsored by Lord A, who paid a full year of membership in advance.”
Lord A! That name again. What did it mean? Was he a real lord whose title began with an A, or an alias? An alias seemed more likely, as a real lord would be unlikely to want his name tied to this business. As expected, Dalton had snagged on the name immediately.
“Lord A? Who is Lord A?”
Anjeli’s face was carefully blank. “I’m afraid I don’t know, Your Grace. I sometimes make these notes as a reminder for myself, but if I didn’t write the entire name, it’s because I didn’t consider it important. I only needed to know Mr. Phipps was sponsored by a lord, and his membership was paid in full for an entire year. In my business, it’s better to limit my knowledge to what is relevant to me.”
Did she really not know, or was she dissembling for discretion’s sake? Alice tried to read the other woman’s countenance but couldn’t conclusively say if she was lying or not. Not only was the club owner extremely skilled in hiding her thoughts, but Alice also suspected there was some truth in both scenarios. Probably Anjeli truly didn’t remember right now, but she would also be reluctant to tell even if she knew the identity of Lord A.
Dalton expelled a breath in irritation. “If you remember the name, notify me at once. I’ll, of course, compensate you handsomely for the information.”
Anjeli smiled politely. “Of course, Your Grace.”
But behind the polite facade, Alice sensed the other woman had no financial motivations for disclosing information and found it a bit insulting the suggestion that she might speak for money.
“Here is the address we have on the ledger,” she added, copying it on a piece of paper and handing it to Dalton, who glanced at it briefly before shaking his head.
“This is the old address, where they lived until he was assassinated. She is not there anymore.”
