Page 100 of An Artful Dodge
“Oh, I won’t,” I said. “You’re managing young men just fine this morning.”
“Of course I can,” she said. “I’ve been watching you for years.”
I hid my smile.
Mr. Stiles came forward. He had no umbrella this time, and he’d had his dusty boots shined.
I stood and he met my gaze. “Why, you’re—” he began.
“I didn’t give you my proper name before,” I interrupted. “It’s Kit Jimeson.”
“Ah.” He looked at my sister and then back at me. “I understand you have information about the Fairleigh murders.”
I gestured to Sarah. “This is my sister, Sarah, and she does. But we need to wait for Mr. Fuller before we tell you.”
“Ed Fuller, the newspaperman?” A frown of mistrust creased his brow. “What has he to do with this?”
“A friend of ours vouched for him, and it was he who vouched for you. We wouldn’t be here, telling you what we know, if it weren’t for him.”
The crease eased. “Very well. Is he coming shortly?”
“I asked him to meet us at eleven o’clock. But I’d like to speak to you alone first,” I said.
“Kit,” Sarah murmured in protest.
“Just for a moment,” I said. “Anyone touches you, scream bloody murder.”
She nodded.
The clock showed twenty minutes before eleven. Twenty minutes to gain a better sense of how far I might trust Mr. Fuller and Mr. Stiles both.
“Very well. Come with me.” Mr. Stiles led me to an ugly, windowless whitewashed room, with one table and three chairs. It smelled of mold and fear. “Would you like tea?”
“Yes, please.”
He returned with cups for us both and took the seat opposite, his brown eyes pleasant but shrewd. “When we met the other night, you told me you’re a needlewoman. I believe you might be something else.”
“Iama needlewoman,” I said. “I was sent out at age ten. I’ve worked in a dressmaker’s shop for years.”
“In Elephant and Castle?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Although Sarah and I won’t be there much longer.”
Mr. Stiles sipped at his tea. “I’d like you to trust me. The last thing I want is any harm to come to either of you.”
Why would he, after all? “I believe you,” I said.
He set the cup in its saucer. “May I ask, who vouched for Mr. Fuller?”
“I’d rather not say,” I said, and at his look of disappointment, I added, “but at my insistence, Mr. Fuller did tell me something of himself, and why he fell out with you. He said he made a mistake, and it ruined one of your investigations. Is that true?”
“It didn’t just ruin the investigation,” he said soberly. “Three people died because of it.”
“He told me about the hansom cab driver.”
“Yes, well, after the counterfeiter killed him and fled this part of London, he broke into a house and killed the two sisters who lived there because he needed a safe place to stay,” Mr. Stiles said.
“I don’t think he knows about the two women,” I said. “But he feels rotten about the driver. Bringing us to you is his way of trying to make amends.”
