‘That’s where she got the name from, Inspector,’ said Leeming. ‘Don’t you remember? She said that her brother was friendly with a young lady called Bridget.’
‘To that extent,’ said Colbeck, ‘she was telling the truth. What she omitted to explain was that she was that friend.’
‘Where is all this tending?’ asked Dalrymple. ‘I really don’t want to press charges against her.’
‘Why should you do that, Mr Dalrymple?’
‘If you’re here about the girl, then I assumed you’d come to ask about the theft. Before she left, she took some things with her. I was annoyed at the time,’ he said, ‘but the cost involved was not great so I didn’t report it to the police. My wife urged me to do so because she was the real victim.’
‘What did Effie steal from her?’
‘A large sewing box, Inspector,’ said the other. ‘My wife’s hobby is embroidery. I had to buy her an even larger box to placate her.’
‘How long did the girl work for you, sir?’ asked Leeming.
‘Oh – the best part of a year, I suppose,’
‘And was she satisfactory?’
‘As far as I know,’ said Dalrymple. ‘I don’t have much to do with the servants as a rule. I’m a great believer in delegation.’
‘But if there had been a problem, you’d have been told.’
‘Yes, Sergeant – and there never was. Of course, Effie was not always working here in the house. She did some cleaning for me from time to time.’
‘Do you have another property in London?’ asked Colbeck.
‘I’m a chemist, Inspector. I own a number of shops. I also import pharmaceutical drugs.’ He gave a self-effacing shrug. ‘Since I was not clever enough to be a doctor like my father,’ he admitted, ‘I went into an allied profession.’
‘So Effie would have cleaned some of the shops?’
‘Yes,’ said Dalrymple, ‘either first thing in the morning before opening time or last thing in the evening. I think she liked the work. I caught her in here once, flicking through one of my books. Though what interest she could have in the wonders of chemistry, I really can’t imagine. It did prove that she could read.’
‘The young lady can do a lot more than that, sir,’ said Colbeck.
‘That’s why we’re anxious to find her,’ added Leeming. ‘Have you any idea where she went when she left you?’
Dalrymple pursed his lips. ‘None at all,’ he said. ‘I don’t keep track of the comings and goings of my domestics. One day she was here and the next, she was gone.’
‘Along with your wife’s sewing box, it seems.’
‘I’m afraid so, Sergeant.’
‘Did you write a reference for her?’
‘I was never asked to do so.’
‘Then she was not expecting to go into service elsewhere.’
‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘I suspect that Miss Haggs already had another occupation in view. Thank you, Mr Dalrymple,’ he went on, ‘we’re sorry to have troubled you. What you’ve told us is extremely useful. There is one final question.’
‘And what’s that, Inspector?’
‘Do any of your shops sell sulphuric acid?’
‘It’s also known as hydrogen sulphate,’ said Dalrymple, ‘or oil of vitriol. And, yes, we do keep a stock of it because it has a range of uses if correctly mixed. Were you looking to purchase some, by any chance?’
‘Not at the moment, sir.’
They took their leave and waited in the street for a cab. Leeming was glad to have escaped from a house whose rich furnishings had made him feel uneasy. He was relieved that he had not accepted Colbeck’s earlier bet. Dalrymple did exist, after all. Effie had peppered her lies with truth.
‘What did you make of him, Victor?’ asked Colbeck.
‘I think he spent his entire life washing his hands. Did you see how clean they were? And I’ve never seen anyone’s skin shine like that before. I tell you,’ said Leeming, ‘that I felt quite dirty standing next to him. What kind of soap does he use?’
‘Go back and ask him.’
‘No, no – I don’t want to go back in there again, sir.’
‘That’s where Effie lived for a while,’ said Colbeck, studying the house. ‘She could have done a lot worse for herself, I suppose.’
‘Why did she pinch a sewing box before she left?’
‘For the same reason that she stole the acid, I expect.’
‘And what’s that, Inspector?’
‘She needed it.’
Effie pored over the book with a look of intense concentration on her face. She did not hear Kellow come into the room and creep up behind her. When he put his hands over her eyes, she screamed in surprise. He smothered the noise with a kiss.
‘What are you reading?’ he asked.
‘It’s one of those books I got from Mrs Jennings’ house,’ she said. ‘It’s amazing, Hugh. I never realised there was so much to learn.’
‘I know that book inside out. I could recite it to you. Next time you want to know something, just ask me.’
‘I was trying to understand what these marks meant.’
She pointed to an illustration of a dinner plate. On its reverse side were five separate marks in a line. Kellow used a finger to point to each one in turn.
‘These are the maker’s initials,’ he explained, ‘put there as a kind of signature. Then we have the sterling standard mark, that little lion. Next is the crowned leopard’s head, the London mark. The letter “P” tells us the date, which is 1810, and the duty mark at the end is the sovereign’s head. George III was still on the throne then.’
‘I’ll never remember all that.’
‘You don’t have to, Effie. Your job will be to sew tiny jewels on to fabric. I know how quickly you learn. I’ll take care of the silver and gold. There’s been a flood of cheap gold from California and Australia in the last few years or so,’ he told her, ‘so we must take advantage of it. We’ll be able to work side by side. While you’re sewing, I’ll be embossing or engraving or doing a spot of forgery.’
She was worried. ‘Forgery?’
‘Don’t be alarmed,’ he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. ‘Nobody will ever know. I’m too good at it. All the silverware I stole from Mr Voke has the London mark on it and that will be noticed here. The leopard’s head will have to be changed to an anchor.’
‘What about Mr Voke’s initials?’
‘I simply change the L to H so that Leonard becomes Hugh. We can leave the V there because I’m not Hugh Kellow any more, I’m Hugh Vernon. And you,’ he said, squeezing her gently, ‘are my wife, Mrs Vernon.’
She held up a hand. ‘I’ve got the ring to prove it.’
It was a gold ring that Kellow had made for her at the shop in Wood Street. They had decided to live as husband and wife without the normal prerequisite of a wedding. Indeed, they felt that recent events had brought them much closer than any married couples. They had been welded indissolubly together by murder.
‘Are you happy?’ he said, pulling her up from the chair.
‘I am, Hugh,’ she affirmed. ‘I never dreamt I’d end up in a place like this. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life in service.’
‘That was before you met me, Effie. Do you have any regrets?’
‘None whatsoever – I won’t let you down, Hugh, I promise. I’m not afraid of hard work. When I’m with you, I could do anything.’
‘Just remember our new name. One slip could ruin us.’
‘It will never happen.’
‘Good,’ he said, kissing her and pulling her close. ‘Welcome to your new home, Mrs Vernon.’
As the cab headed east, Leeming became progressively more at ease. They were no longer surrounded by the London residences of the aristocracy or the prosperous middle class. When he saw down-at-heel tenements flash by, he was happy to be in the sort of district where he had once walked on his beat in uniform. Jewellers’ shops and splendid houses were not his natural habit. He felt constricted. At the sight of urchins fighting in the street and beggars scrounging from passers-by, Leeming was much more at home.