It was some time before the clerk returned, and I was prepared that my request to meet with him might now be refused. I was surprised when the clerk announced that Sir Edward was pleased to meet with me and asked that I follow him to his private office.
The front office was much like any business office one might encounter with a front counter, clerks’ desks, telephones, and a telegraph operator, no doubt for contacting foreign offices.
There was also an impressive global map that covered one entire wall, with several locations marked. No doubt thosevarious ports where Matthews had shipping interests. Another wall contained a list of the names of ships, much like those I had seen on my travels, that contained arrival and departure dates.
Beyond the office was a rabbit’s warren of passages and hallways, with wood walls and floors that one would expect of a warehouse. It included a massive set of overhead doors with signage that announced the main entrance of the warehouse by the dock just beyond.
I followed the clerk past to another set of doors that opened onto a lavishly furnished room that was in stark contrast to the part of the building I had just passed through.
There was a large desk, another global map on the wall behind it, with those same locations marked, and thick carpet underfoot. There was a telephone on the desk, next to a bank of a half-dozen speaking tubes that snaked across the desk and into the adjacent wall. Each had what appeared to be an electric call bell beneath the mouthpiece.
It was an octopus of innovation that no doubt connected Sir Edward to different locations of the vast Argosy business empire and allowed him to be informed of the daily arrival of those sailing and steamship vessels and their valuable cargoes.
After meeting with Adelaide Matthews, I had prepared myself to meet the man responsible for her accounts of abuse, an angry man who was prone to lose control over one matter or another, and had taken that anger out on her in the past.
The man who greeted me from behind the desk could not have been farther from that‘other’man, she had described.
Had it been nothing more than delusion after the death of a beloved son years before? Granted there was every possibility of difficulties between them, most particularly after what she had described as a violent argument that last night.
I was not unfamiliar with those who masked their true feelings and emotions. I was reminded of my sister’s husband,who had deceived those closest to him and then very nearly got her killed.
Then there was our father, who had betrayed our mother and would have sent our family to ruin had it not been for our great-aunt, who became both mother and father to two orphaned girls when she was well into her sixties—agrand adventureshe had called it, in that inimitable, somewhat eccentric way of hers.
Whom was I seeing now, I wondered as Sir Edward greeted me with a congenial smile and ease of familiarity.
“Lady Forsythe, this is a pleasure.”
We exchanged the usual pleasantries as he indicated the richly upholstered Queen Anne chair across from him at the desk.
“Mr. Bolding, whom you spoke with earlier, didn’t indicate the reason for your request. To what do I owe the pleasure? As representative of her ladyship, perhaps? She may have mentioned that I would like very much to not only have her as an investor in Argosy—which could be most profitable for her—but also to handle cargoes of shipments from her various enterprises.”
I replied that Mr. Munro saw to my great-aunt’s business enterprises. This was regarding another matter which I hoped he might be able to assist with.
“Of course,” he replied. “However I can be of assistance.”
No doubt, I thought, still with the hope of acquiring my great-aunt’s business.
I watched his face as I briefly explained that I assisted in inquiries, frequently beyond the interest of the MET, and that I was presently assisting in gathering information about the recent murder of a young woman in Charing Cross.
“I understand that a man has been arrested in the matter,” he replied.
“Yes, however, he is not the murderer. It seems that the woman was being followed by someone who was described by those she worked with. I understand that you knew the victim from some time ago.”
He drummed his fingers on the desktop, the only outward change in his demeanor.
“I meet many people in my business dealings, still...a woman? I don’t recall the name.”
“She was an acquaintance of your son,” I replied. That brought a discernible reaction, the faintest tick on one cheek.
“I have no son, Lady Forsythe. My wife’s son died some time ago, a most difficult time, as I am certain you can understand…”
“According to information I was able to obtain, he was killed in an attack at the Clarendon Club ten years ago. The young woman who was with him at the time was Ellie Sutton. She was a witness to his murder and then left London a short time later.”
A smile, but far different from the smile that had first greeted me. Most interesting.
“A colorful story for one of your novels, Miss Forsythe.”
I caught the omission of my title. An oversight perhaps? Not that it bothered me. Or was it deliberate, perhaps a way of putting me in my place. And what was that, I wondered?
