A Changing Light by Edith Maxwell (feel good books to read txt) 📕

“Did anything of interest happen last night?” I asked. “Wait. I should clarify my question. Did thee overhear any interactions with Luthera Harrington, Ned Bailey, or William Parry that sparked thy interest? Or which might have sparked mine?” Kevin’s interest, to put it more accurately.

She blinked. “Hmm. Let me think.”

The telephone jangled and I grabbed for it before it awoke David.

“Miss Rose, this is Kevin. Can you come down to the station? We might have a development.”

“I certainly can. I will see thee shortly.” I hung up the receiver as David padded in on stocking feet, still looking sleepy. So much for not awakening him.

“Who will you see shortly?” he asked. “Oh, hello, Faith.”

She smiled at him.

“Kevin wants to see me at the station,” I said. “He might have had a breakthrough.” But did he have the right person in custody?

“I’ll drive you.” David instantly looked more alert. Responding to a sudden request for services was a skill doctors had in equal measure with midwives.

“David.” Faith held up her hand. “I have a hansom cab waiting. Rose can go into town with me.”

“Yes, let me do that.” I stood. “Thee must keep relaxing, my dear.”

“Call me if you want me to bring you home,” David said. “It’s raining buckets out there.”

He smoothed my hair, a gesture that made me want to stay home and possibly take him directly upstairs to our bed. Pregnancy hadn’t diminished my carnal desires in the slightest. If anything, they’d increased. But duty called.

“Give me two minutes to get ready,” I told Faith. I kissed David’s cheek and pointed myself toward the all-important water closet. The last thing I wanted was to be in need of facilities while I was in the police station. One could only imagine the hygienic state of whatever an all-male department used for their needs.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Faith and I bumped along in the backseat of the hansom, a carriage that had seen better days. The side flaps were down but rain still found its way in. We huddled together in the middle, trying to avoid getting even wetter.

“Rose, thee asked about seeing Ned Bailey last night,” Faith said softly, even though the driver was outside our compartment. “He was there, and he seemed to be avoiding Luthera Harrington. He seemed, I don’t know, uncomfortable.”

Interesting. The night of the murder, he’d apparently been in intense conversation with her husband.

“Was Luthera responding in kind?”

“She kept casting him glances. I saw her go over to engage him in conversation once, but he turned his back and stepped away. It was blatantly rude of him.”

“It is. He usually comes across as eager to please.” I thought. “What about William Parry?”

“Him.” She tossed her head. “He was the eager one. He was fluttering about near Luthera. But once he began coughing. she nearly pushed him away.”

“I don’t blame her. He shouldn’t even be out.”

The driver pulled up to the police station.

“Is thee off to home, Faith?” I asked.

“No, I’m going to the closing ceremony. They’re holding it indoors at the opera house.”

“I thank thee for the transport.” I kissed her cheek, pulled up my hood, and climbed down. A couple of minutes later I faced Kevin across his desk, having exchanged greetings. “Do share the development of which thee spoke.”

He sat back and folded his arms, wearing a satisfied smile. “Thanks to you, I expect, Mrs. Weed the elder came in and told us she’d witnessed Mr. George Amado take papers off the corpse. He’s in a cell in the back right now.”

“Good. Was Prudence sober?”

“Yes. By some miracle, she was.”

“What does Jorge say about the papers?” I asked.

He gaped. “Zhor-zhee? What now, Miss Rose?”

“That’s how his name is properly said. It’s the Portuguese version of George.”

Kevin rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, were the papers Ned’s plans?” I asked.

“The man has shut his mouth tighter than a vise. Claims he needs to speak to the Brazilian consulate,” Kevin growled. “We have entirely too many uncooperative foreigners around here this week.”

I didn’t envy him his job. “Prudence told me she didn’t witness the murder, only the theft. Does thee think Jorge killed Justice?”

The satisfied look slid off the detective’s face. “I’d like to think so, but the fact of the matter is, I have no evidence to that effect.”

“Nor an eyewitness,” I pointed out.

“Not that, either. Confound it, Miss Rose.” He pulled his light brows together.

“What about William Parry? Has thee had additional talks with him?”

“No. But I did receive an interesting communication from the senior Bailey household. Mrs. Bailey wished me to know her husband is unfortunately as mad as a March hare.”

“He suffers from the dementia of old age,” I said. The poor man. What a blessing my dear Orpha had not been afflicted with that kind of decline in mental acuity.

“Yes. He apparently never had plans for a new design. My mother would have said he’s gone completely seafóid.” Kevin pointed to his head. “You know, he’s not the full shilling.”

I smiled at the image. “And therefore his plans weren’t stolen,” I mused. “That clears up one question, at least.”

“Yes. He imagined the whole thing.”

“Sir?” A young patrolman popped his head into the doorway. “A Mr. Ned Bailey is here asking to speak with you. He says it concerns the homicide.”

Kevin’s eyebrows ascended nearly to his hairline. “Show him in forthwith, by all means.”

“This could prove important,” I said. “Does thee want me to absent myself?”

“Not at all,” he scoffed. “You stay right there, Miss Rose.”

After Ned was ushered in, Kevin barked at the young officer to fetch another chair. Ned perched on the edge of it, kneading his bowler in his hands. And not speaking.

“Well, Mr. Bailey? What do you have to tell us?” Kevin asked.

Ned stared at his hat, rolling its edge in his fingers so hard I thought a piece of the rim might detach. He gazed up at me instead of at his questioner.

“It’s like this. Yesterday Mrs. Dodge counseled me to do the right thing. And I