“I’ll send for him. You can meet in the main hall where we’re setting up for tonight.”
Thomas Iverson was a short, thin man, with just the beginning of grey hair among the brown, and an expressionless demeanor that one might expect of a man who perhaps saw a great deal at the club and had learned to protect the privacy of those within those walls. And perhaps look the other way when he saw something?
The fact that he had been employed for a number of years spoke to his discretion in such matters. I did hope that he would be willing to share what had happened that night Stephen Matthews was killed.
Munro asked if he remembered the incident. Mr. Iverson glanced over at Mr. Ramsey.
“We don’t discuss matters concerning our members,” he replied what had obviously been well established, if those employed at the club wished to keep their jobs. Discretion at all costs.
Isaac Ramsey nodded, obviously satisfied that the reputation of the club would not be jeopardized, and left to attend matters for the evening celebration.
“A young man was murdered here at the club,” Munro reminded him.
“That was a long time ago. I don’t remember anything from that night.”
Munro looked over at me. It did seem that he was not willing to cooperate.
“A young woman was with Mr. Matthews when he was murdered,” I explained what I had been able to learn. “Afterward she managed to escape and then disappeared. According to the police report she saw the murderer that night.”
He shook his head. “Will that be all, miss?”
“She was murdered three nights ago.” In spite of Brodie’s refusal to see me, I was not about to simply walk away from this. “Now a little boy is an orphan, and an innocent man has been accused of her murder. We’re trying to find who did kill her and need your assistance.”
“Murdered, you say. Poor thing. I’ve got a family of my own, two boys and a girl,” Iverson replied.
He looked about and seeing that Mr. Ramsey was not about, “I remember that night. Total chaos, it was, when young Mr. Matthews was found and the poor girl screamin’ for all to hear.
“They were in one of the upstairs apartments. I had served supper no more than an hour earlier when it happened. The other gentlemen made to get away as the police were called for.”
“We were told that she saw the murderer,” I explained. “She was then able to escape and left London, afraid for her life.”
He shook his head. “You have to understand what it was like, what with the other employees, the members, their...guests. It was bedlam, it was. I had just returned upstairs to remove the plates from supper,” he hesitated again. “There was someone on the floor, seemed odd to me at the time.”
“How is that?” Munro asked.
“I didn’t recognize him as one of the members; you get to know the regulars after a time. And the guests were usually...ladies,” he looked over at me when he said that.
“The young miss, though...she was different than most, almost shy, quiet in a way, pretty little thing. It seemed that Mister Stephen was most serious about her, not what one usually sees here.
“One of the housemaids said that she overheard a conversation with his father, that he intended to marry the girl. Everything changed that night, and the girl disappeared. We heard the rumors that she saw who killed the young man and she was afraid for her life.”
“What about the man you saw that night?” I asked. “Do you remember anything about what he looked like?”
“He was dressed quite handily, wore a fine suit of clothes. Made me think he might be a new member.” He continued to remember.
A suit of clothes. It could have indeed simply been a member of the club that he saw attempting to leave a scandalous situation.
“Strange though,” he said then.
“What is it?” I asked.
“When the gentlemen arrive for the evening, the staff take their hats and coats, to be returned later when they leave. That has been the custom for as long as I’ve been here—almost twenty years. It’s like the members are arriving at a private residence, all proper. The man I saw was a short, stout fellow and still wore his hat up on the second floor, a round piece with a thin rim.”
A bowler hat?
“More than one gentleman has such a hat,” Munro commented as we left the club.
“But one that drew Mr. Iverson’s attention? And on the second floor of the club near that private room where Ellie Sutton was with Stephen Matthews that night?”
