The drawer was full of several files. I set the key aside and began to look through them to find the one I needed.
One of the folders wasn’t labeled, so I took it out to glance at the contents and was surprised to see a familiar name on several newspaper clippings. Michael Maybrick.
But what was even more shocking was the contents of the file. From what I could gather, Michael’s brother, James Maybrick, a cotton merchant, died of arsenic poisoning on November 10, 1888, and his wife, an American named Florence Maybrick, went on trial for his murder. The case was made even more high-profile because of their connection to Michael, the famous composer. Michael believed Florence was guilty and was one of her biggest adversaries in court and in the newspapers. It was known that Florence had cheated on her husband and that she wished him dead.
“May I help you, Miss Voland?” Sir Rothschild stood at his office door wearing his coat and hat, carrying a walking stick.
I jumped, though I hadn’t been doing anything wrong, and glanced at the clock. I’d been looking through the file for over half an hour. “I’m sorry. The time slipped away from me. I was looking for the Ripper letters, and I stumbled upon this, instead.”
He took off his hat and set it on the coat-tree in the corner of the room. “Are you familiar with the history of the Maybrick trial?”
“This is the first I’ve learned of it, though I am familiar with Michael Maybrick.”
“Ah, yes, the composer.” Sir Rothschild took off his coat and hung that up next. “An exceptionally talented man. Some thinkthat if he wasn’t part of the trial, Florence Maybrick would have been acquitted. She spent fourteen years in prison before her sentence was overturned and she was released.”
“She didn’t do it?”
“Who is to say? The courts decided that she was guilty, and then they overturned their verdict years later.”
What would Sir Rothschild think if I told him I knew Michael personally? That I’d heard him perform in my mother’s drawing room?
“It was a sad case,” Sir Rothschild said. “But nothing you need to concern yourself with. The file you’re looking for should be clearly labeled.”
“Of course.” I tucked all the newspaper clippings back into the Maybrick file and returned it to the drawer before finding the file I’d come for.
“Would you like me to relock the drawer?” I asked him.
“It’s not necessary. I have some work to do with the files. Feel free to leave the key on the desk.”
I smiled and then stood, trying not to feel awkward. Even though I had been in the drawer before and Sir Rothschild had shown me the key, I still felt like I was trespassing.
When I was just about to leave the room, Sir Rothschild’s voice stopped me. “Will you be joining us at Cliveden again this weekend?”
“That is the plan. Though I suppose it will all depend on whether we’re at war with Germany by then.”
“Ah yes, that. One can only hope that Chamberlain is doing the right thing. It would be a shame to go to war again when Hitler is only trying to take care of the Germans in the Sudetenland.”
“You think it’s wise to give in to Hitler’s demands?” I asked, a little surprised.
“I don’t think they are unreasonable. He just wants what is his. Can you fault him for that?”
“The Sudetenland belongs to Czechoslovakia.”
“Only since the Great War.”
“I suppose I don’t know enough to make an informed opinion.”
“No, you do not, Miss Voland.” He smiled, and his mustache curled up, but there was no warmth in his gaze. “I do not mean to insinuate that you are incompetent, on the contrary. But this is so much bigger than it appears on the surface. Millions of lives will be affected by the decisions made in Munich. We can only hope that things turn out for the best.”
I returned his smile, though I sensed condescension in his voice. It was the first time I’d heard it since I’d met him.
I left his office, wondering not for the first time where Sir Rothschild placed his allegiances. He’d spoken highly of Hitler at the Astors’ house party a couple weeks ago, and again today. Did he really think the German dictator was a good man? Or that Fascism was a smart move for Europe? He wouldn’t be the only one, but it was still alarming. My grandmother Maggie had lived through WWII and watched the fall of Fascism, claiming it had become disgraced after the war. But here in 1938, there were still many who applauded its ideals.
I was not one of them.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Calan asked as I reentered our office.
“Yes,” I said, holding up the file of Ripper letters.
