The few men on the ground floor glanced at Fellows in curiosity when he walked inside in his formal kilt and suit, escorting a young lady in a fancy ball gown and a younger man in kilt and coat. That is, the constables stared until Fellows gave them a look that made them scramble back to their duties.
Fellows had shown Daniel Scotland Yard before. Being a curious lad, he’d turned up not long after Fellows’ identity had been revealed to the Mackenzies and demanded a tour. He’d wanted to know everything about the workings of the Metropolitan Police, thinking to perhaps become a detective himself. After the tour, Daniel told Fellows he’d changed his mind—he’d rather be an inventor. But maybe Scotland Yard would be purchasing some of his inventions in time, he’d said.
Daniel gazed about him in as much curiosity tonight, and Louisa looked interested as well. She was completely out of place here in her cream and green bustle gown, diamonds in her red hair, but she looked about without fear.
They had to walk up the two flights of stairs to Fellows’ office. Louisa shivered—it was always either too cold or too hot in this blasted building. Before Fellows could turn back and offer her his coat, Daniel had slid his from his shoulders and wrapped it around Louisa. Daniel threw Fellows an apologetic look, but Fellows didn’t comment.
He led them into his office. The small room held two desks, one for himself and one for Sergeant Pierce, with a cubbyhole for Constable Dobbs. The constable dealt with the bulk of the menial work, such as sending telegrams and messages, typing up handwriting notes, pigeonholing papers or fetching them, and keeping his chief inspector and sergeant supplied with coffee and tea, and in the case of Sergeant Pierce, thin cigarettes. The smell of stale smoke clung to the rooms, though the charwoman had cleared out the bowls of ash and spent butts hours ago.
The top of Fellows’ desk was bare. Every night before he left, Fellows shoved all the files and papers he was currently working with into the deep drawers. The drawers looked like a jumbled mess, but Fellows knew precisely where each item was.
He fished up the bulkiest stack, gestured for Louisa to sit at his desk, and dropped the papers onto the desk’s flat surface.
Louisa took the seat and looked at the tall file in front of her. “My.”
Fellows started fanning out the stacks of papers. “My notes on the suspect interviews,” he said, touching a pile covered with his painstaking handwriting. “These are Pierce’s notes. This is the pathology report on Hargate, and the reports on the tea, the cups, the pot, the plates, the pastries. Photographs of the tent, inside and out. This is the second set of witness interviews; this, notes of my search of Hargate’s flat and my interview with his parents. Every single detail typed up here.” Fellows put a blunt finger on sheets of paper crowded with typewritten characters.
Louisa stared at it all uncomprehendingly. Dobbs’ typing left something to be desired—there were overstrikes, bad erasure marks, and penciled-in words everywhere. Hardly surprising that Louisa gazed at the report in perplexity.
“You can see why I couldn’t make a detailed account of my progress,” Fellows said. “Mostly because I don’t know what my progress is. The truth is somewhere in that mess. If I go over it another fifty times or so, I might find some clear thread to pull.”
Fellows had expected Daniel to give him suggestions, if he didn’t just start reading the entire report right there, but when Fellows turned to look for Daniel, he found that the young man had gone. Where, Fellows couldn’t imagine. He might have smelled the smoke and longed for a cheroot, he might have spied someone he knew—Daniel seemed to know everyone in London, upper-, middle-, or working– class—or he might have decided that Fellows needed a discreet chat with Louisa. No matter what his motive, Fellows and Louisa were now alone.
Louisa touched one of the pages. “You’ll find it. That’s what you do, isn’t it? Look at a jumble no one else understands and discover a clear pattern?”
That was exactly what he did, but this time, Fellows was finding the way murky. “You have much faith in me.”
“I’ve heard about your cases from Hart. He’s very interested in what you do. You find people, you solve crimes that no one else is able to.” Louisa looked up at him, her eyes full of confidence. “You’ll solve this one. That was what I was trying to tell you before you dragged me away so precipitously from my sister’s supper ball.” Her smile returned, the warm one she’d bestowed on Fellows a few times in the past. He remembered every single instance. “If anyone saw us go, my reputation will be in tatters—even more than it already is.”
“You’ll not be ruined,” Fellows said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Because Daniel is with us? True, I wager he’ll spin a tale that he and I begged you to show us the inner workings of Scotland Yard until you capitulated.” She shrugged, pretending nonchalance, though her shoulders were stiff. “It is all in the family, after all.”
“We’re not family,” Fellows said abruptly.
Louisa shook her head, which made the diamonds glitter in the room’s stark gaslight. “Indeed, we are, which is Isabella’s fault. I never thought I’d find myself with five somewhat overbearing brothers and one energetic grown-up nephew, but when Isabella married Mac, that is what I got. I do like it, most of the time.”
“You and I are not brother and sister.” Fellows’ words came out harsh and flat.