‘He has business in the city. We are partners in the agency so speaking to me is like speaking to him.’
That made him smile more broadly. ‘I assure you, good lady, no gentleman would consider talking to you as akin to talking to a man. You are far prettier than your partner, I would wager.’
Her visitor was a gallant. That wasn’t a problem: she could deal with flattery as long as it didn’t become an affront.
‘You are too kind, sir. Might I trouble you for a name?’
‘Of course.’ He handed over his business card. ‘Henry Austen of Austen, Maunde & Tilson.’
Banking and Investmentsread the card. She had not thought him a banker; he seemed too fashionable for such a sober occupation.
‘What can we do for you, Mr Austen?’ She was conscious of Kir coming to stand silently at her elbow. Her colleagues in the agency made a point of not leaving her on her own with new male customers, an endearing if somewhat annoying state of affairs when even a boy of nine felt obliged to guard her. Perhaps they were pandering to the sensibilities of men who would feel safer with a chaperone? That was an amusing thought.
‘My brother, Captain Austen, recommended Dr Sandys as a reliable man for a delicate matter.’
Dora sighed internally. She had initially rather liked this man, but ‘delicate matter’ was usually code for some kind of marital intrigue. ‘We promise our clients discretion.’
He studied her for a moment, as if pausing to make up his own mind about her. ‘Very well. It’s about my wife’s friends.’
Oh, dear– that tired old story. ‘You don’t approve of them?’ She flipped to a new page in the notebook they kept for open investigations.
‘What?’ He looked bewildered by the remark. ‘No, no, nothing like that. You see, they’ve been murdered. Mrs Austen and I want to see justice done.’
Dora’s pulse leaped, jolted out of the expectation that this would be some tawdry marital affair. ‘Murdered? I assume the authorities are involved?’
Henry crossed his leg over one knee and flicked off a thread that clung to his thigh. ‘Indeed. The murderer killed himself on the scene so they do not think any further action is required. An inquest was held the following day– there were witnesses so they had no doubt that they had the right man.’
Dora spread out her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Mr Austen, I’m struggling to understand what we can do to help.’
He sighed. ‘I’m sure your partner would comprehend my situation.’
She held his gaze. She couldn’t conjure up Jacob so Mr Austen would have to do with her ‘slowness’ to grasp his issue. She rather thought the fault was with him for failing to explain. ‘I’m sure he would. Please put it in plain terms that a mere female can understand.’
He gave a grimace of apology. ‘I’m sorry. Let me start again. You are aware, I presume, that people in my station live and die on the breath of scandal? Ladies who stray from the marriage bed are sent to a country cottage to serve a life sentence of disgrace; gentlemen are challenged to duels for a difference of opinion and sometimes die of their injuries, but businesses such as mine rise and fall as faith in their operations waxes and wanes.’
Dora was beginning to see the outlines of his problem. Mr Austen was a banker. The last thing a bank wanted was a run on its funds, everyone demanding their money at the same time. That always resulted in bankruptcy. ‘You believe your own credit with the ton might suffer if this matter is not resolved?’
He gave her a wintry smile. ‘Exactly.’
‘But if the magistrate declared the case closed, why reopen it?’
‘The authorities might be done with the matter, having given their verdict of insanity on the part of the perpetrator?—’
‘Like they did with the man who shot the Prime Minister,’ murmured Dora, who with Jacob had witnessed both the crime and the punishment that befell John Bellingham three months ago.
‘Indeed. But the gossipers have been hard at work adding two and two and making five thousand. My family were frequent visitors at thecomte’s house in Barnes Terrace, as well as the one in Queen Anne Street.’
‘They kept two houses in the capital?’ Dora picked up her pen again.
‘The one in Barnes is more of a rural retreat, on the Thames near Richmond.’
To afford houses in two such prized locations the Frenchman must have had money coming from somewhere. ‘Your reputation is entwined with that of the latecomteand his wife?’
‘Just so, particularly in view of the fact that my wife is the widow of the Comte de Feuillide.’ Dora raised a brow. How had an ordinary Mr Austen managed to land so exotic a bird for his wife? ‘We are well known to be intimates of the French émigrés who have settled here,’ he continued. ‘They come to our social gatherings and we go to theirs. Few members of society cross the divide as we do.’
Dora pieced together what he was not saying. ‘The inquest gave its verdict, but rumour refuses to accept it. In the absence of a full investigation giving a more satisfying motive than insanity, speculation has spun out of control and is threatening to suck you into the whirlpool. Do I have that right?’
‘Correct. The summer has given us a respite, but come the autumn when society returns to the capital, there will be a reckoning. The future of my bank and the good name of the Austen family is at stake.’
