“Eugenia Howland.”
Her attention snapped back to him. “I’ve never met a Eugenia Howland before in my life,” she said, using the flyer to fan a face that had turned rather red. “Have you noticed how warm it’s becoming in here?”
Before he could point out that the room was somewhat chilly since it was early fall and a storm was rolling in, the front door to the agency burst open and a lady stumbled into the receiving hallway.
“I need to speak with an agent immediately,” the lady said as she rushed into the room, sights set on him. The next thing he knew, she was holding on to his hand for dear life. “I’m afraid the most dreadful thing has happened. My sister Helen, or rather Mrs. Clement Mills, is missing—well, not really missing. It’s far worse than that.” The lady drew in a ragged breath. “I have causeto believe her wastrel of a husband has seen her committed to the Blackwell’s Island Insane Asylum, an asylum that serves indigent women and supposedly only takes charity cases.” She gripped his hand harder than ever. “My sister is far from indigent, which begs the question how she was able to get committed there in the first place, but know that I’ll pay anything to see her released.”
Arthur frowned. “Is there a possibility your brother-in-law had your sister committed because she’s been showing symptoms of mental instability?”
“Helen isn’t insane,” the lady snapped. “She merely made the colossal mistake of being too vocal about how Clement spends her fortune. He’s her second husband, you see, twenty years younger than she is. And even though I told her it was madness to marry the man last year because he only wanted her fortune, she was smitten and refused to listen to reason.”
“If I may offer a word of advice, ma’am,” Judith said, setting aside her sketchpad. “In order to secure your sister’s freedom, the doctors at the asylum may want to speak to you about her mental state. It will hardly bode well for securing your sister’s release if you mention things like madness or a refusal to listen to reason.”
The lady blinked. “Good heavens, you’re right, which means I was also right about securing the services of this agency, since I never considered that anything I say might hinder my sister’s release.” She released Arthur’s hand. “I’m Mrs. Harold Eastman, and I’m imploring you, sir, to agree to get my sister out of that asylum. I can’t bear to think about Helen languishing in the bowels of that dreadful place.”
Arthur shot a look to Judith, who was no longer paying them any attention because she’d picked up her sketchbook and was adding something to it. Realizing he was evidently on his own, he returned his attention to Mrs. Eastman. “I’m sorry to learn of your distressful situation, Mrs. Eastman. I’m Mr. Arthur Livingston, but I believe you’re under the false impression I’m an agent at this agency, which I must hasten to inform you I’m not. I’m here as a potential client.”
Mrs. Eastman frowned. “But you look exactly as I would expect an inquiry agent should look, right down to the air of danger about you.”
“Mr. Livingston does, indeed, possess a dangerous air, but he’s not an agent here.”
Glancing to the door, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as Daphne swept into the room, not stopping until she reached Mrs. Eastman’s side. “I’m Mrs. Henderson, one of the partners at the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency, but you must call me Daphne, Mrs.. ..?”
“I’m Mrs. Eastman, dear. But aren’t you a little young to be an inquiry agent?”
“Not at all,” Daphne said. “In fact, my age was responsible for my being a confirmed spinster until I married my husband a few months back. However, that has nothing to do with your case. Allow me to see you settled in one of our offices. I’ll then get an agent to take down the particulars of what sounds like a very troubling situation.”
“I’ll see her settled,” Judith said, tucking her sketchpad under her arm before she bustled to Mrs. Eastman’s side and took the lady’s arm. She sent Arthur a rather weak smile. “I’m afraid duty calls, Mr. Livingston, so I won’t be able to finish sketching your remarkable cheekbones.” With that, she tugged Mrs. Eastman into motion and all but barreled out of the room, leaving Arthur with the distinct impression she’d offered to see after the lady because she wanted an excuse to remove herself from his company.
The burning question left in her wake was why.
CHAPTER
Six
Before he could remark on Judith’s speedy exit, Daphne gestured for him to follow her before she strode out of the room. Unwilling to annoy her by lingering about the reception room, dwelling on Judith’s odd behavior, he hurried to catch up with her, following her into Eunice’s office a second later.
He smiled when he took note of a large chair that hadn’t been in the office before.
“I thought you’d be more comfortable in a chair better suited to your size,” Eunice said from where she was once again seated behind her desk, her many veils still covering her face. “I trust your time in the receiving room wasn’t too bothersome?”
“Judith Donovan stared at me for the first thirty minutes, then proceeded to sketch me, apparently unable to resist the lure of my face,” Arthur said as he settled himself into a chair that was decidedly more comfortable.
“I did warn you she’s rather determined when it comes to her art.”
“And yet you left me in her company for over forty minutes.”
“That was unavoidable, but it doesn’t appear as if you’ve suffered any lasting effects. I will apologize, though, for leaving you languishing for so long. Daphne and I had much to discuss.”
“And that discussion led you to realize you have additional questions for me?”
“Indeed.”
“I can’t claim to be surprised. It’s not as if I gave you many details about my situation before I was shown to the receiving room.”
“A missing person, along with an unsolved murder, was enough to go with at first,” Eunice said. “But in order to truly decide if we’ll have time for your case, some pressing questions sprang up between us.” She inclined her head in Daphne’s direction. “Daphne’s jotted down some notes.”
“Too right I have,” Daphne said, flipping through her notepad. “The first question I need to ask is this—you said that Mr. James W. Mason was murdered. How do you know this?”
