“Lucky you don’t have the afternoon off tomorrow,” I told him as we left together.
“I wouldn’t mind. I reckon Harmony would come with me to investigate.”
“Oh? Why do you think that?”
“Because I’d run some questions past her as practice and she’d think they were so bad she’d just have to help me.”
I smiled. “Would they be bad on purpose?”
He walked off,whistling.
The Nag’sHead was an unremarkable pub, befitting an unremarkable street. It was small, dark, and filled with men talking quietly or sitting alone, nursing tankards. Tucked away as it was in the mews, the patrons were the servants of the large townhouses nearby—footmen, coachmen and stable hands. Butlers wouldn’t deign to drink with their inferiors. There were only three women, all dressed in maid’s uniforms complete with mob caps, but without their aprons.
The man who must be Thomas Adams lifted his tankard in greeting when we entered. A cigarette burned in the ashtray in front of him. He picked it up, put it in his mouth, and shook Mr. Armitage’s hand. After a slight hesitation, he also shook mine.
We slipped onto the booth seat opposite him and I made the introductions. “Thank you for meeting us, Mr. Adams.”
Mr. Adams was a slightly built man aged in his early twenties. Like most footmen for great households, he was good looking and well-groomed with his dark hair parted down the middle and jaw cleanly shaved.
He drew on the cigarette and leaned back, his arm draped across the back of the seat. “Victor says you’re investigating the death of that actress,” he said in a Cockney accent. “I reckon you’ll be interested in what I have to say, but it’ll cost you.”
I placed my purse on the table. The coins inside jangled. “The amount depends on the information.”
He’d addressed his financial statement to Mr. Armitage but now he looked at me with renewed interest. His gaze raked over me and his lips stretched into a smile. “I see why Victor wants to help you.”
Mr. Armitage rested his forearms on the table. “Where was Lord Wrexham on Monday afternoon?”
“I don’t know but he wasn’t at the house. He rarely goes out, so that day was an exception.”
“That won’t earn you much.”
Mr. Adams drew on the cigarette and blew out a puff of smoke. “Lady Wrexham went out too, but she caught a cab, since his lordship had the brougham. She also doesn’t leavethe house much usually, so something must have been important.”
“Is there a reason she rarely leaves?” I asked.
“She’s unwell. Doctors are always coming and going from the house, and her dressing table’s full of bottles of tonic and jars of creams, so the maid who cleans it tells me. His lordship’s got some lumps here.” He indicated his mouth. “He doesn’t go out because he doesn’t want to show his face. Some of the creams are for him, I expect. Doesn’t seem like they work.”
He eyed the purse. I was about to remove some coins when Mr. Armitage placed his hand over mine to stay it.
“That wasn’t worth much,” he told Mr. Adams.
Mr. Adams leaned forward and blew smoke at me. “What I tell you next is going to be worth a quid.”
“It had better be good for that amount,” I said, removing a sovereign from my purse.
“Oh, it is, Miss. It’s real good.”
Chapter 8
Mr. Adams took the sovereign and sat back, pocketing the coin. He plugged the cigarette back into his mouth and took a long drag. With a tilt of his head, he blew the smoke towards the ceiling.
“We don’t have all night,” Mr. Armitage snapped.
Mr. Adams smiled. “Pearl Westwood came to the house a few weeks back.”
Both Mr. Armitage and I leaned forward.
Mr. Adams drew on his cigarette. “Thought that would get your attention.” Smoke billowed out of his nostrils like an angry dragon. “I can’t remember when it was exactly, but it was between Christmas and New Year.”
