“Interesting.” She tapped the pencil against the paper. Men didn’t usually change for no reason. “How do you account for such an alteration?”
“I do not. I tried time and again to discuss the matter with him, but whenever I asked questions about his behaviour, he threatened me with violence.” She rubbed her forearm lightly. Were that sleeve to rise, how many fading bruises might there be? Or worse, burn scars from cigarettes. An ugly truth but one Kit had seen on the abused women who frequented the soup kitchen.
“Oh, Mrs. Forge.” The woman scooted to the edge of her seat. “I fear for my Lillibeth with the state my husband is in. He is so volatile. Even the smallest trifle sends him into a rage. Were little Lilli to cry overmuch, wailing as only a baby can, there is no telling to what he might resort.”
Kit sucked in a breath. She knew exactly the desperation a crying baby could instill. Even sweet little Bella had moments of making her and Jackson fairly mad with frustration. But never—ever—had either of them even so much as thought of harming such an innocent babe. If that bully Mr. Coleman had dared lift a hand against the missing Lillibeth, he’d have more than the devil to pay. He’d have Kit Forge to answer to. “Believe me,” she said through clenched teeth, “I shall do everything in my power to retrieve your little one unscathed.”
“I trust you will.” Mrs. Coleman breathed deeply several times, then brightened as her fingers fluttered to her necklace. “Would you like to see a portrait of my little darling?”
Kit smiled. Who could refuse a baby picture? “I would.”
Mrs. Coleman closed the distance between them, sinking next to Kit on the sofa. She opened the locket and held the ornament out as far as the gold chain allowed.
Instantly Kit’s heart melted. Large dark eyes—so much like Bella’s—smiled out above a toothless grin. The child was several months younger than Bella—who was nearing her first birthday already—which only made the stab in her heart twist. Was little Lilli crying even now? Was she frightened? Cold? Hungry? This baby needed the arms of her mother!
Fighting her own well of emotion, Kit gently closed the locket. “She is a lovely child.”
Mrs. Coleman wrapped her fingers around the golden oval and clutched it to her breast. “She is my heart.”
“And I will get her back. I vow it.” Once again she put pencil to paper, prepared to capture anything and everything that might be of help. “Tell me where your husband frequents, where he is employed, clubs he belongs to, the location of his family, favourite haunts such as pubs or coffeehouses. Nothing is too insignificant to mention.”
Mrs. Coleman settled against the sofa cushion. “Mr. Coleman is—or was, I should say—a financial officer for Willis, Percival & Company. He has been with them for the past ten years.”
“What do you meanwas?”
“Well, naturally I stopped by his office. Several times, actually.” Picking up a pillow, she toyed with the fringe. “On my last visit, Mr. Percival informed me my husband had not been in for work since the very day my Lillibeth went missing. He also told me my husband’s employment had been terminated for failure to attend his duties.”
“Not surprising.” Kit wrote it down then glanced up. “What about Mr. Coleman’s family? Are your in-laws able to shed any light as to where your husband might be?”
The woman shook her head. “Mr. Coleman has no living relatives.”
“How about friends, then? Acquaintances? Anyone who could be harbouring him?”
“Mr. Coleman led a very solitary life, which makes finding him all the more difficult. This is why I came to you.”
“I see.” Kit rolled the pencil in her fingers. A lone wolf was always harder to capture than someone who traveled in a pack. “Is there any other information you can give me? Obviously I’ll check with his former employer, but have you no idea of where your husband may have gone when he was out for such irregular hours?”
“I do not. It is as if…” The woman’s voice trailed off for a moment before hardening diamond sharp. “Why, it is as if my husband has disappeared off the face of the earth!”
Kit set down her pencil. What a fine bucket of fish guts this was turning out to be. She’d hoped for an intriguing first case to solve—
Not an impossible one.
Some mornings the universe conspired against you, and this was one of them. Jackson upped his pace as he approached Blackfriars Bridge. He’d been forced to take time to change into a new shirt and waistcoat when Bella had soiled through her nappy, which made him late to catch the omnibus, which forced him to hire a hack. All might have been well at that point had the coach not broken an axle…and if he’d not discovered the hole in his pocket where his money had fallen out. So, here he was, hoofing it to the Old Jewry station, later than he ought to be. A smirk twisted his lips.
Just like old times.
Traffic rolled by, cart and carriage wheels grinding in a higher pitch on the bridge deck than on the road. Ahead, several people clogged the walkway. Jackson’s gaze skimmed past them, attracted by the flash of scarlet coattails flapping in the breeze. A stick figure of a man, more fence post than human, balanced precariously on the railing, arms outstretched. If the wind gusted, the fellow would set sail and plummet to his death. Jackson scowled. The lengths buskers would go with their theatrics, all for the passing of a hat and a few coins. He ought to haul the man in for being a nuisance, but that would take time he didn’t have. A simple hand down and a warning would have to suffice.
As he drew nearer, though, silence complicated the situation. The man wasn’t thrilling the onlookers with an engaging monologue. He wasn’t singing a captivating ditty or extorting any coins by threatening to jump. He wasn’t even looking at them. Jackson’s blood ran cold. This was no macabre entertainment. Either the fellow was mad or he wished to die.
Jackson sprinted, shoving through gawkers, annoyed at their inaction. Humanity, of late, seemed incapable of taking any risk to self-preservation, which pumped his legs all the harder. If he didn’t reach this man, no one else would save him.
Wind gusted.
The man swayed.
And the top half of his body fell forward.
