Mrs. Davies touched Julia’s elbow. “May I speak with you and the inspector? It’s about Jin. Yesterday, something happened that jogged her memory.”
Tennant had finished his conversation with the museum director, but Julia tried and failed to catch his eye. He walked across the gallery and joined the Allingham party where Will Quain held forth. When he pointed to a detail in the picture, Louisa turned, commented to Inspector Tennant, and the company laughed.
“Come with me,” Julia said to Mrs. Davies. They caught up with him as Mary and Louisa moved on to another picture.
Mrs. Davies said, “Inspector, I have something to tell you about Jin.”
“She’s remembered something?”
She nodded. “Yesterday, my brother took Jin and my daughters to see the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. The Coldstream Guards’ band played that day in their kilts. Jin became agitated, but when Owen asked her what was wrong, she shook her head and refused to say. He cut the outing short and took her home.”
“Where she confided in you?” Tennant said.
“Yes. About the man who raped her. A man who continued his assaults for the first weeks of her captivity. She remembered his kilt and the colors. Red and green with thin yellow and white crisscross stripes.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Davies. Could she describe the man—his face?”
“I asked her about that. We were having tea, and she touched the jug. She said the man’s face was like milk, and his eyes had no color. His hair, she said, was the shade of a bamboo mat.”
“Thank you,” Tennant said. “Anything she remembers helps the investigation.”
“I’ll continue to encourage her, but . . .”
“Without pressing her,” Tennant said. “I understand.”
“I know you do, Inspector. And we’re grateful.” She looked around. “Now, where is that brother of mine?” She spotted him and excused herself.
Julia said, “Your expression tells me that Jin’s information is helpful.”
Tennant nodded. “I saw a portrait of the Topkapi’s chairman in full Highland dress, wearing a kilt of exactly those colors.”
“Did her description of him fit as well?”
“Spot-on. The chairman’s costume was far more colorful than the man.”
Julia tilted her head, considering. “The Topkapi Club . . . Its member list must be stocked with the wealthy and powerful.”
“Its chairman is particularly well connected, the cousin of an earl,” Tennant said. “We’re thinking along the same lines—perhaps Margot Miller extorted the Topkapi members to feather her nest.”
“And paid the price.”
* * *
On Monday morning, Julia and her Aunt Caroline pulled up in a carriage to Annie O’Neill’s house on Aldgate High Street. But instead of descending to her flat, they walked upstairs to the dress shop above it.
A lean gentleman with thinning white hair, pince-nez clipped to his nose, and a buttonhole sprig of lily-of-the-valley hurried to meet them at the door.
“Good morning, ladies. A beautiful spring morning it is. I am the proprietor, Mister Smythe.” He made a slight blow.
Julia smiled. “Good morning, sir. My name is Julia Lewis, and this is Lady Aldridge, my aunt.”
His eyes popped behind his lenses. “Delighted, madame. Delighted, my lady.” He bowed a little deeper the second time. “How may I assist you today, Mrs. Lewis?”
Julia let the form of address pass. “You have a delightful shop, Mister Smythe.”
“You are too kind,’ he said, beaming.
Lady Aldridge removed Annie’s bowler from its countertop hat stand. “Charming. But a little too youthful for me, I think.” She put it aside. “This paisley shawl is lovely. Will you wrap it up, Mister Smythe?”
