Tommy scampered off to the former option.
“You have lovely children,” Emma said sincerely, “and keep a lovely home.”
“It ain’t Carleton House,” Mrs. Gibney snorted, “but it’ll do.” She went to the hearth, stirred the black iron pot over the fire. “Now what do you want to ask me?”
Emma gestured at the vegetables on the chopping board. “Shall I?”
The matron shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Aware of Alaric’s amused regard, Emma began to deftly slice the carrots and onions. “A man was found dead across the street,” she said. “His name was Silas Webb.”
“Don’t know ’im.”
“Perhaps not by name,” Emma acknowledged, “but he lived just across the way. In the tenement that directly faces yours.”
Mrs. Gibney said nothing and continued stirring.
“We’re looking for any information about him—in particular, any associates he might have had.” Emma started on the potatoes. “Webb was a villain, you see. He attempted twice to murder Strathaven here.”
Mrs. Gibney’s eyebrows inched toward her cap. “Murder, you say?”
“Aye,” Alaric said.
“Anything you might have noticed would be helpful. A man’s life is at stake,” Emma said.
Mrs. Gibney set her spoon down on the table. “Perhaps I did see a man visit there once.”
Emma’s nape tingled. “Yes?”
“Little o’er a week, it was. I was puttin’ up the washing, and a carriage drives up. A fine one like ’is.” Mrs. Gibney jerked her chin at Alaric—proving Emma’s theory that the matron didn’t miss much.
“Could you describe the carriage? Did it have any special markings?” Emma asked.
“It was black and shiny, that’s all I recall. A cart ’ad o’er turned that day, blockin’ the other side o’ the street, so the driver parked right in front o’ me place. Blocked out the sun, ’e did, and what was I supposed to do with all me wet things an’ no sun to dry ’em? Driver took no notice, o’ course.” Mrs. Gibney chuffed with indignation. “Just said to me,Be off—as if I should leave me own ’ome so that Lord So-and-So could do ’is business in a public thoroughfare.”
“Did you get the gentleman’s name?” Emma said eagerly.
Mrs. Gibney shook her head. “But I didn’t trust that driver worth a farthin’. Kept me eye on the carriage from me door—an’ that’s when I saw a man come runnin’ across the street. From that tenement you mentioned.”
“What did the man look like?” Alaric said tersely.
“Short. Black ’air, meat on ’is bones. An’ spectacles.”
“Silas Webb,” Alaric confirmed.
Trying to contain her excitement, Emma said, “What else did you see, Mrs. Gibney?”
“Well, the carriage door opened, an’ I think the nob inside ’ad yellow ’air—but I only got a glimpse, mind you, before that Webb fellow climbed right in an’ shut the door. The curtains were pulled so I didn’t see what they were up to. ’Bout ten minutes later, Webb comes out, and I ’ear ’im say,”—Mrs. Gibney’s forehead scrunched—“I’ll take care o’ Palmer. You handle Billings.”
Emma could scarcely breathe as pieces of the puzzle fell together. Palmer.Billings.
“That Webb fellow went back to ’is place an’ the carriage took off wif the nob inside.” Mrs. Gibney gave a decisive nod. “I ain’t got more to say than that.”
“You’ve been incredibly helpful, Mrs. Gibney,” Emma said. “Thank you.”
Shrugging, the matron peered over at the vegetables that Emma had prepared. “Thankyou, missy. That’s as fine a chopping job as any.”
Alaric came forward and discreetly deposited a banknote on the table.
