“I know. I must say, I was shocked.”
“And something else surfaced. Another artist’s model vanished about a year ago. She is one of three missing shopgirls from Cheapside.”
“Good Lord,” Julia said. “What’s been done to find them?”
“Little, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, Chief Inspector Clark assigned the cases to a pair of our less energetic officers.”
Julia shook her head. “Mary made a good point. Why torment a hatmaker with little money to spare?”
“The note sent to Annie concerned a former roommate, an artist’s model named Margaret Miller, called Margot.”
“That name rings a bell.... She was the model in Mary Allingham’s paintings.”
Tennant smiled. “Annie explained that Margot is spelled the French way ‘with a silent T stuck on the end’ just to be fancy.”
“But why write to Annie about Margot Miller?”
“The writer called the old roommate a prostitute and said Annie must be a ‘slag’ as well if she associates with her. I’ve sent O’Malley to track down Miss Miller.” Tennant looked out the window. “It’s getting late, and my unfinished reports beckon. And you return to work tomorrow, too.”
“Yes, back to the clinic at last. Richard . . . about that business at the station house with Annie O’Neill.”
“Yes?”
“I took my anger out on you. And to spare Annie, you’d taken the trouble to call me in. I’m sorry.”
“It’s odd. . . .”
Julia smiled. “An apology from me?”
“I meant our encountering Annie again. Coppers are trained to be wary of coincidences.”
“Well, coincidence or not, I’m glad the matter is in your hands.”
“As it happens, I’m acquainted with Mary’s sister-in-law, Louisa Allingham. Or was.”
“Really?”
“A lifetime ago, before I left for the Crimea. When she was still Louisa Upton.” He smiled faintly. “Another coincidence.”
Was it wistfulness Julia heard? And there was a soft expression in his eyes.
“Miss Allingham would do well to listen to Louisa,” Tennant said. “Charles Allingham was surprisingly offhand about the vandalism and letters. The fellow strikes me as feckless. Louisa and I urged Mary to take precautions. To lock her studio for one thing and not walk about the city unchaperoned.”
“I hope Mary listens to you. She struck me as someone not keen to take advice, however well-intentioned.”
“Indeed?” Tennant’s smile flickered. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
“Very amusing.”
“In the end, I had Miss Allingham’s attention. I inspected thegrounds of Blenheim Lodge and found discarded shells and a crumpled packet. Someone stood among the yews, eating chestnuts and scoring the bark of a tree. Waiting and watching the house.”
Julia’s stomach fluttered, and she looked away. A month ago, she’d dismissed the inspector’s concern for her as male coddling. But now . . .Another watcher in the dark. Waiting with a knife. She looked up and found his gray eyes fixed on her.
As if he read her mind, Tennant said, “That slash across her painting worries me.”
CHAPTER3
At three in the morning, a young copper on the late January graveyard beat fought a jaw-breaking yawn. He stamped his boots to keep the blood flowing and made his way along Horseferry Road, shining his bull’s-eye lantern through fence pickets for something to do.
