“Allingham and Allen, now.” Mary turned away. “Much good those announcement cards will do. The Royal Academy draws a flood to our trickle. If only the RA would showcase more women artists.”
Barbara flicked her hand impatiently. “Ladies, we must stop whining about the unfairness of it all and get on with it. Bombard the RA with our best work until the ramparts fall.”
“Here, here,” Julia said.
Madame Bodichon eyed her appraisingly. “My husband is a physician. Where did you go to medical school? Not in Britain, I know.”
“Philadelphia. Then I wiggled through a loophole to get on our medical register.”
“How?”
“Parliament opened the door to graduates of foreign medical schools, forgetting that some of us are female.”
“That’s the tactic,” Barbara said, brandishing her umbrella like a sword. “We’ll hoist them with their own petards! Find all the chinks in their armor and exploit them to the hilt.”
Julia consulted her watch. “I’m sorry to miss luncheon, but I’ll be late for the clinic if I delay much longer.”
Mary walked her to the door. “Thank you for coming this morning—and suggesting I speak to Inspector Tennant.” She laughed lightly and said, “His appearance at the house worked on Louisa like a tonic. She’s less fretful about the letters and less worried about me. She and the inspector are old friends, it seems.”
“Yes, he mentioned it.”
“Her confidence in ‘dear Richard’ seems boundless.”
“It’s well placed. Now, I must go.” Julia said, offering her hand. “Thank you for a delightful morning.”
Julia flagged a cab on Oxford Street and settled in for the ride to Whitechapel Clinic, wondering about Tennant and Louisa. They must have known each other well for the casual use of their Christian names to linger. But it wasn’t Louisa Allingham who occupied her thoughts for most of the ride. It was Louisa’s husband. The look on his face was as good as a confession.
Charles Allingham knew Franny Riley.
* * *
At three o’clock, Scotland Yard’s duty sergeant flagged down Inspector Tennant and his sergeant as they crossed the lobby. He held up a note.
A porter from Doctor Lewis’s clinic left this about three hours ago.”
Tennant tore the envelope and read. “Well, well. We’ve got something, Paddy.”
“What’s the doctor have to say?”
“She’s found someone who knew Franny Riley. Charles Allingham.” Tennant crumpled the note. “Let’s find him.”
Julia’s note said Allingham had left the gallery for the Reform Club. The inspector knew the club and its doorman well. Tennant’s father had been a member before his fall from grace in a financial scandal. Like many exclusive gentlemen’s clubs,the Reform stood on Pall Mall, a short walk from Scotland Yard.
“Mother of God,” O’Malley muttered as they approached the three-story structure built of gleaming limestone in the grand palazzo style.
Tennant smiled as he spotted the uniformed doorman at the top of the steps. “Good to see you, Hal.”
“Captain Tennant,” the doorman said, using the inspector’s army rank. “It’s been a while, sir. I was sorry to hear about Mr. Tennant’s passing.”
“Thank you.” Tennant produced his Scotland Yard warrant card.
The club doorman was too well-trained to signal surprise at Tennant’s change of career. He said, “How can I help you, Inspector?”
But Hal couldn’t assist. Charles Allingham was not a member, and no one of his name or description had sought entry. The doorman had been on duty all day.
As they crossed Pall Mall, O’Malley asked, “Could the doctor have mixed up the club’s name?”
“I doubt it.” Tennant looked at his watch. “What do you say, Paddy? East to Allingham and Allen or west to the man’s house in Kensington?”
