It wasn’t until she and Yvette were near the door that the maid whispered, “Mrs. Greystone.”
Amelia turned to see her maid had halted near a small display of bottles with a sign that readTooley’s Patent Tonic for Nervous Exhaustion. Apparently Mr. Tooley had his own remedy. Odd that he hadn’t mentioned it.
With an unsettled feeling, she glanced back at her father’s old friend, who was listening attentively to his customer.
Though tempted to purchase a bottle simply to see what it contained, Amelia didn’t want to offend the man. She could always send Fernsby by at a later date to purchase it.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, then continued out the door, waiting until it closed firmly behind them before saying anything further. “Why didn’t Mr. Tooley mention he had his own tonic available?”
“Perhaps because he didn’t want you to test it?” Yvette asked with wide eyes.
“A logical reason,” Amelia admitted. And also a disturbing one.
Twenty-Eight
Henrywaitedwelloveran hour outside Dr. Thorne’s home on Victoria Grove that evening before a hansom cab finally pulled up before the house. The doctor entered the cream stucco home with triple arched windows, the Kensington neighborhood picturesque, and shut the door emphatically behind her.
With no small measure of relief he straightened from the fence post he’d been leaning against, prepared to give her a few minutes before he knocked. His head throbbed with a dull ache, more than likely the result of a long day with too much activity.
Director Reynolds had expressed mixed feelings about the crate he and Fletcher had found at the construction company’s office. Evidence was good. But evidence meant Reynolds had to explain how they’d acquired it when he turned it over to the Special Irish Branch.
Henry liked to think they had prevented the creation of another bomb and therefore saved lives. Whether that was true in the long run remained to be seen. Chances were, several crates filled with the same cargo had arrived on the ship and been dispersed throughout the city. Those others might have madeit to their destination and were in the hands of the Fenians even now.
No wonder his head ached with thoughts like that circling through it.
Fletcher had seen that the jewelry thief had been arrested and charged, and most of the items the man had stolen were recovered. Case closed—at least, for Henry. That was one less problem to ponder.
He had considered stopping by Amelia’s before coming here, but she would have wanted to accompany him. She very well might have convinced him, partly because he wasn’t feeling himself, and partly because he’d like someone else’s opinion. Someone he trusted.
With a shrug of his shoulders to ease the tension there, he told himself he’d call on Amelia after this. Having that to look forward to would make the interview with Dr. Thorne easier.
Thoughts of Mr. Dunn’s distress at what his uncle might have suffered, and what poor Miss Louisa Elmcroft might be enduring had Henry striding up the steps to knock with renewed energy. Better that he didn’t give the doctor too much time to relax after her journey home from the sanatorium. As before, he intended to do what he could to keep her off balance with the hope she’d share something helpful.
“Good evening.” He showed his warrant card to the large male servant who opened the door. “Inspector Field to speak with Dr. Thorne.”
The man frowned as he read the card. “Field. I will see if the doctor is receiving callers.”
Though it was on the tip of Henry’s tongue to say that she didn’t have a choice, he held back. Surely she would know that when he was announced. She didn’t seem like the kind of person to avoid unpleasant tasks, from the little he’d learned. The woman had more confidence than even Inspector Perdy—which was saying something.
The elegant décor didn’t escape his notice as he waited. Black and white Italian marble on the floor. Dark wood paneling along the walls. Gold gilt frames around tasteful oil paintings. Vases on marble pedestals filled with fresh flowers. An impressive grandfather clock. What might the rest of the house look like?
He bit back a knowing smile when the servant returned stiffly to show Henry into the library, where Dr. Thorne sat at a large mahogany desk with ornately carved legs with a glass of whiskey at her elbow.
The same dark wood paneling covered the walls here as well. An impressive crystal chandelier cast a warm glow over the space, lending a feminine touch. An ornate brass ink well and elegant pen sat on the desk, along with a marble statue of Athena dressed in war garb. A polished sideboard boasted an array of crystal decanters that glittered in the candlelight.
The entire room spoke of wealth and opulence, a stark contrast from the sterile environment of her office at the sanatorium. How enlightening. He was pleased he’d visited her lair.
“Inspector.” Dr. Thorne looked less than happy to see him as she leaned back in her chair and took a leisurely sip of whiskey. “I would have thought you’d be done with work at this hour.”She glanced at the gold-scrolled clock on her desk. “What brings you by this evening?”
“A few more questions for you.” He took the chair before her desk, though she hadn’t offered it. After retrieving his notebook and pencil from his pocket, he glanced around the room as if just now noticing it. “Nice library.”
“Thank you.” She set down the drink and folded her arms across her chest, impatience evident in every line of her body. “Are you here to take up my evening discussing my décor choices or do you have actual questions?”
He smiled, taking his time, doing his best to ignore his worsening headache. “I do have more. Thought it might be easier to ask them now rather than traveling to the sanatorium.”
“What is it you want to know?” she asked before taking another deliberate sip of her drink—and not offering him one.
Did she think to make him envious? Far from it, when he was already anticipating sharing a drink with Amelia. That would be far more enjoyable.
