Accepting a cracked cup, Livy smiled at her. “How kind of you, Miss…”
“You can call me Marg.” The woman winked at her. “All the pretty ladies do.”
Livy blinked in confusion, wondering if she’d imagined the innuendo.
CeCe returned, huffing, her arms stretched around a painting covered in an oilcloth.
“Are you teasing the poor girl?” she asked Marg.
“Just ’aving a bit o’ fun.” Marg gave her a playful grin. “Let me ’elp you with that, luv.”
Marg took the canvas, propping it on the chaise. CeCe tugged off the cloth.
Livy studied the painting. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this: a bland riverside scene done in muted strokes of beige, blue, and grey. A small, nondescript two-story building occupied the center of the canvas. It was perched on the banks of a river, an empty field to the right of it. To the left was a dock where several small boats floated, including one with the figurehead of a mermaid.
“Did Longmere say anything about the significance of this piece, CeCe?” Livy asked.
“Just what I told you: that he’d failed to get to the ’eart o’ the matter.” The model tilted her head. “But the painting isn’t so bad, is it?”
“Looks like a scene from the Thames.” Marg stroked her chin, studying the piece. “If I ’ad to wager, I’d put my money on Shadwell, Limehouse, or thereabouts.”
Limehouse is one of the places Fong might be hiding,Livy thought.Could this painting be a clue to the mastermind’s whereabouts?
“May we take this piece with us, CeCe?” she asked. “It may help us discover what happened to Longmere. We will return it to you afterward.”
“Keep it.” CeCe shuddered, Marg wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. “If the painting ’as something to do with poor Edwin’s death, then I want nothing to do with it.”
29
The next morning, Livy was practicing with her pistol when she received a summons from Charlie. She promptly headed for her mentor’s study, which was a feminine version of the typical male retreat. The wood furnishings were sculpted in flowing elegant lines, the walls papered in raspberry silk. Dressed in a yellow gown, Charlie was seated at her desk, which was carved with exotic birds and flowers. Sunlight glinted off her reading spectacles as she sorted through a pile of correspondence.
“Hello, dear.” Setting down her spectacles, Charlie said, “Have a seat, will you? I apologize for interrupting your training, but I have some news to share.”
Livy plopped into the chair facing the desk. “Have you already identified the location in Longmere’s painting?” she asked eagerly.
“Not yet,” Charlie replied. “Although no one knows the Thames better than the mudlarks, even they will need time to locate the scene. Buildings such as those in the painting are plentiful around the river.”
The mudlarks were urchins who scavenged the Thames for a living. Charlie knew their leader, known as the Prince of Larks, who apparently dealt not only in the sales of scavenged goods but of information. The mudlarks had eyes and ears everywhere, especially in the territories by the water, and Charlie had decided to hire them to scout out the location in Longmere’s painting.
“What is your news then?” Livy asked.
“It concerns Hadleigh.”
Livy sat up straighter. “Tell me.”
“As you know, while you Angels have been interviewing Longmere’s models, Mrs. Peabody, Hawker, and I have divided our time monitoring Edgecombe and his group,” Charlie said. “I’ve been surveilling Bollinger for the past few days. Having ascertained that his habit is to take afternoon tea at Mivart’s, I secured a position as a serving maid there, and yesterday he had a guest. Lady Cherise Foxton.”
A frisson shot through Livy. She’d told Charlie about seeing Foxton with Thorne at Lady Newberry’s ball and her hunch that the widow might have been the lady quarreling with Longmere.
“Lady Foxton is popping up everywhere,” Livy muttered.
“Indeed.” Charlie paused. “Are you aware of her, ahem, history with Hadleigh?”
That they hadnotdiscussed.
“I am,” Livy said, her insides churning. “As I understand, it was a short-lived affair.”
“That is my understanding as well,” Charlie said briskly. “Lady Foxton runs with a fast crowd and has a reputation for being a sensation seeker. The fortune her late husband left her provides her with freedom, and she has an uncanny ability to avoid scandal whilst participating in it with, shall we say, remarkable enthusiasm.”
