22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Revelation at Rundell’s

F red woke with his mind muddled. So much had happened. He had grown forgetful; most unlike him. He had always prided himself on being organized. Friends and those who knew him well were of the same opinion. He assumed that had been the reason for Edward’s proposal, of sorts. He had forgotten about going to his jeweler to have the necklace and pendant evaluated. If anyone could tell Fred anything about the age or value of the items, it would be Philip.

He had Joshua get him ready for the day, he went downstairs and enjoyed a hearty breakfast. After, he left to visit Philip Rundell. Fred’s father had shopped at Rundell’s Jeweler’s, on Ludgate Hill. He would accompany his father whenever he would purchase a piece of jewelry for Mama. Philip was not an owner then, but Father liked his work so much more than the two owners.

It pleased Father when Philip bought the business and the building. Father often said his purchases for Mama had likely paid for Philip’s building. The work of Philip was so different, so impressive, so remarkable, Papa bought more jewelry than he would have. Mama always loved the gifts. When old enough, Fred went in to buy gifts for his mistresses. He would buy gifts when first they made their arrangement, then again when he said ‘good-bye’.

Fred hitched Mercury to a post in front of the store, put a feed bag over his head, and went in. “Lord Windham, so good to see you. It has been a while.” By the time Fred was old enough to buy, Philip had lost all of his hair on top and had little from his ears to his nape. He kept it cut quite short. A distinguished-looking gentleman; sharp nose, deep-set eyes, and always a serious-looking face. He prided himself as the commissioned jeweler to the royal family.

Philip had taken a partner not long after he purchased the business. John Bridge had the social skills that could charm the customers, but Philip had always been the mastermind. He stopped working directly with occasional customers but always took time to work with regulars. Fred supposed Philip considered Fred to be one as he always worked directly with Fred.

“I’m sorry. It has been a while. Close to a year, I think.” Fred responded with a grin.

“So, now, what is this for? A new mistress or adieu.” He gave a slight chuckle.

“It is neither. I would like for you to look at this and tell me what you can about it.” Fred pulled the chain with the locket out of his fob pocket.

Philip scrutinized the chain and locket. He got out his unique-looking quizzing glass and took some time examining each part of the two pieces. “Mmm. Lord Windham, I am quite sure that this is one of my earliest pieces. Other pieces went with it. It is called a parure. It included a brooch, hair clip, earrings, a comb, and a hand-held mirror. All done repoussé.”

Fred narrowed his brow – dumbstruck. In ‘Little Stevie girl’s’ letters, she wrote to ‘Papa’ thanking him for a brooch. Another letter thanking him for the earrings. Each piece had been doled out, piece by piece, and used as a present. “I’m not sure about repoussé. Refresh my memory, if you would, Philip.”

“You see the elaborate design on the pendant? All done by my hand; hammering the pieces into elaborate designs such as this.” He picked up the chain. “This is fourteen karat. Not a cheap necklace. And you notice it is long. The ladies’ decolletage has been lower for some time, so the chain would catch the eye of the gentleman.” Philip stood still, looking into the open space. “The piece is part of a jewelry suite, a parure. If I recall correctly, a man of the peerage had it designed. A young man – between twenty and five and twenty years of age, but I remember the parure, it being one of the first I designed in this store. It thrilled me to design it; an emotion I rarely experience these days.” He smiled at Fred. Fred usually received nothing more than a pleasant smile from time to time; Philip not being the most personable.

“Do you have the records to discover exactly who purchased the suite?” He remained hopeful, but not exactly encouraged by Philip’s facial expression.

“Pardon, Lord Windham, that was so long ago. I have no time to dig through all the receipts, order designs, and notes that I kept from all the customers. All I can tell you is that whoever had it made, had to be extremely wealthy. And because it had been my first with this type of design, I do recall the gentleman as young. Wealthy. Not even anyone from the peerage would be able to afford something like a parure of this quality.”

“Do you think it would be possible for me to go through the paperwork?” Fred knew the answer to this question.

“It would breach confidentiality. I shan’t do that, with my apology, my lord. I provide privacy and security for all my customers, Lord Windham.”

“I understand, truly. If you recall anything pertaining to this particular repoussé, this purchase…anything at all, please send me a message. I would make it worth your while. I will purchase something so spectacular; it will almost be gauche.” Fred chuckled.

“I will hold you to that, Lord Windham. Sorry, I am unable to provide you with more.”

“You told me quite a bit about the jewelry. At least now I know the purchase had been made by someone from the peerage. Mid-twenties. Wealthy. Now, I only need to find out which one.” With so many in the peerage, it would be difficult. Perhaps, he could eliminate many. Based on the purchase, the man would have to be extremely wealthy. ‘S L B,’ Probably not…’S L B’, certainly not. Good heavens! Could it be possible?

Fred rearranged his plans for the day and rode to pay a visit to No. 1 Manchester Square.

Past Foibles

Fred tied Mercury to a post in front of the townhouse and knocked on the door, thinking that Mr. Winston would have already had the door open. He knocked again and soon after the third or fourth knock, a tall, thin, completely bald man with a somewhat high-pitched voice opened the door. “May I help you?”

Fred stood stunned at the butler’s voice . Is this butler playing a joke? “I have come to see Lord Blackwood. Is he in?” Fred thought it seemed rather gloomy inside, from what he could see from the front step.

“I will see.” A sure sign Lord Blackwood was in residence. The butler failed to even take Fred’s name. Not a good sign. After about five minutes of standing on the front step, in the warm gloom of the midday sun, Fred had become impatient. This butler would be out the door if he worked for me. But I would never have hired him . “Who is calling?” The little girl-voiced butler asked.

“You tell Lord Blackwood, the Marquess of Shropshire, Earl of Surrey, is here to see him, now, If. You. Please.”

“Weeelll!” The butler raised his skinny shoulders, insulted, and his voice got so high it squeaked.

“And tell Stephen I’m not standing on this step like some beggar for another minute. It is vastly important.” Fred had lost his temper. It rarely happened, but the butler’s behavior was beyond the pale. An idiot. Fred had exhausted himself of idiot butlers. He turned to leave when he heard heavy footfalls on the wooden flooring.

“Fredrick, what are you doing standing out there? Come in.” Stephen sounded frustrated. “How long have you been standing there?” More frustration.

“Long enough to become profoundly agitated with that so-called butler of yours.”

“He is not mine. That is compliments of the cobra that shares this townhouse with me. She is responsible for hiring and keeping the pitiful thing.”

“Let us move to the drawing room.” As they made it into the room, Fred heard a female voice. “Get out of my drawing room. Don’t you have someplace else to be? Take your drinking buddy and get the hell out.”

“Fredrick, that is my loving wife, Clarice, the cobra. Is she not charming? That is the reason I so enjoy her company.” Stephen stepped out into the hallway. “Darling, I happen to have the Marquess of Shropshire with me. He is speaking with me about the purchase of this townhouse.” Stephen looked back at Fredrick, put his hands on his knees, and quietly tee-heed.

“What the hell? You are selling nothing . Do you understand me?” She crowed.

“I’m sorry, darling. I am unable to understand what you are saying. You are not screaming loud enough.” Stephen put his one finger up to his lips. Stomping footfalls were heard on the staircase. Stephen quickly went back into the drawing room. “Sit down,” Stephen whispered. And they sat.

There were two wingback chairs and a couch. They chose the wingbacks. Fred saw her as she got to the last few steps of the stairs. Tall woman, with a face like a crow, a bit on the heavy side, with wild black hair. She had on a weird-looking kind of dress; he supposed it had to be some kind of dress or gown. Fred could not tell if it was a robe, a day dress, or some kind of hideous evening gown. It had ruffles completely covering the dress, which did nothing for her already heavy-set figure.

She put her hands on her hips. “Who the devil are you and what are you doing in my house?” She even sounded like a crow.

“My dearest wife, this is my house. If you recall, it happened to be mine when we blissfully wed and it belongs to me, exclusively. Now, could you be kind enough to welcome Lord Windham, the Marquee of Shropshire into our lovely home?” Being most sarcastic. Fred worried how she would react to his words. It did not take long.

“You stupid bastard. You think I give one modicum of concern who he is? Why don’t you both find somewhere else to play and leave me the hell alone.” Her charm – completely nonexistent.

“Were you expecting Michael this afternoon? Before he comes up to your boudoir, tell him to saddle up my riding horse. If you please.” He bowed to her.

“Go tell him your damn self. I need to prepare for my bedroom activities. Thank God they don’t include you.” She snarled.

“And I am so grateful for it.” He smiled at her and bowed again.

“Go to hell, Stephen.” She stormed back up the stairs.

“Is she not the most glamorous and congenial woman you have ever beheld?” He chuckled.

“My God, Stephen. Are you unable to ship her off somewhere? Maybe Siberia? My word! I thought you might have exaggerated a bit. You were being kind. Maybe you could send her to India. I heard they do wonderful things with cobras. It would be worth a try.”

“Well, let me go ask Michael, my loving wife’s favorite stable boy, to saddle up my horse.” Fred thought, poor Stephen. He had all the necessary attributes for a grand lady to share his life with – extreme wealth, intelligence, political influence, handsome, and still young enough to have a good life with a woman who would love him. A shame to live such a pitiful existence.

With his horse saddled up, he rode to the front of the townhouse. “Fredrick, what will it be? Lunch at White’s or Brooks’s?”

“You are going to have lunch at my humble abode. We have much to discuss.” Fred’s voice did not convey the seriousness of their soon-to-be conversation. Fred tried to keep his nerves in check. The afternoon could be momentous.

What if he already knew? Doubtful.

What if he became angry? Possible.

And if not him? That would be both disappointing as well as frustrating. That meant he would have to continue the search. He began to get the distinct feeling that they were running out of time.

“Do you need my advice again? That will cost you.” He stared at Fred as he waited for a reply.

Finally, Fred answered. “No, not exactly advice. We should wait until we get to St. James Square.” For the most part, they discussed how Stephen got into the mess with the cobra. He had met her twice. Both times, her parents forbid her to talk too much. He became aware of the shoddy, substandard goods they pawned off on their wedding night – ghoulish.

He had sex with her a few times early on. Dreadful – and that is being generous. He had hoped it would improve. The first time after the wedding that he saw her parents, Stephen became irate. He told them to take her back with them. They would not. Subsequently, they never returned. It went without much explanation; they have no heir.

He told her he would buy another townhouse for her. She refused. He told her that he would purchase one for himself. She told him that she would accompany him. “ 'Why?’ I asked her. It is not obvious that she is not happy. She never had been. She told me that she would stay with me until I died. She wanted to ruin my life. So far, she has done pretty well.”

“Good heavens, Stephen. You are stuck in a quagmire. Now I understand your frequent visits to Venus . Hell, Martha would rent you a room, as much money as you spend there. The cobra would be unable to follow you there. Women are not allowed.”

“I know you are going to think me insane myself, but I worry that if I leave for any considerable amount of time, she would burn the place down. I allowed her to decorate when we first married, thinking that might change her mood. You saw what she came up with. My concern is for the rare pieces I have. They are generations old from my mother’s side. I would be devastated if she destroyed them. If I had ever been privileged enough to have children with that spawn of Satan, I would have wanted them to inherit those things. I know it is a silly notion. Perhaps I could leave them to you and Martin. You two would be fine substitutes.” Stephen had a sad look that he tried to cover with a weak smile.

“You never know, Stephen. You never know.”

“My dear young friend. That is one thing I know without one whit of doubt. There will be no children. I don’t have any idea how to tup a cobra.” He chuckled, yet not quite genuine.

As soon as they rode up the lane, Mr. Winston had the door open. “How do you do, your grace? It is a pleasure.” He bowed to Lord Blackwood. “I will have Ben come and retrieve the horses for you.” Mr. Winston looked to Lord Blackwood. “Would you care to have your horse unsaddled, wiped down, and fed?”

Blackwood started. “I don’t believe – “

“Yes, Mr. Winston. Please tell Ben to do that with both horses.” They were walking into the study when Fred caught Mr. Winston’s attention. “And Mr. Winston, neither of us has eaten lunch. Ask Mildred to fix something scrumptious. Tell Daniel to bring the scotch for later. We will have tea now.”

“Right away, my lord. Would there be anything else?”

“No, Mr. Winston, thank you.”

“Now, that is a butler. I have no idea what the ghoulish-looking thing working under my roof is, but he is not a butler.” Blackwood shook his head in disgust at the farce in his home.

“Yes, I am more than aware.” Fred felt even worse for Stephen. Even his staff was awful.

“I have discharged him, probably three different times. I would contact the agency and the next day he had returned to my house. My charming wife had him rehired. I feel for the stable boy and footman. She threatens them with dismissal if they refuse to ‘service’ her. I have no idea what it is she demands them to do. I am only happy it is not me.”

“Have a seat. We are going to sit at this table.” They both sat down.

“Alright, Fredrick, what is this requiring the extended care of my trusty steed?”

“I have never asked you – do you have a middle name?” Another clue.

“Louis – it is Louis. I rather like the name. What say you?”

“It is perfect!” S L B – Stephen Louis Blackwood. “ Now, let me preface this. I’m unsure, but with what I have collected so far, it is quite possible it could be you. It is only from the evidence I have been able to collect so far. It may not be you.” Fred tried to lay the groundwork for his suspicion.

“Alright, you make no sense. Shall we get on with this?” Blackwood had no appreciation for subtleties. He only wanted the facts.

Fred reached into his fob pocket and pulled out a neck chain with a pendant. “Do you recognize this at all?” Fred vacillated – did he wish it to be his or not? Inside, he cringed, waiting.

“May I see it?” Blackwood studied the locket.

Fred watched him. “Do you see the initials on the back? S L B?” Fred looked at Stephen’s face.

“My God. I do remember this locket. It came with other…other pieces. Where did you find it?” Fred looked at Stephen’s face. Stephen’s eyes lit up; his mouth dropped open; he had a look of sheer amazement. Fred’s anxiety only heightened. Would he know Little Stevie girl? Where she had been? Stephen's knowledge would shatter his opinion of Lord Blackwood in mere seconds.

“I hope you are ready for this.” Fred began to feel awful about telling him where he got the necklace and pendant. “Do you remember the woman, the bar wench; she took care of our table, well, your table? She used to personally take care of Henry and me.”

“I recall her quite well. She worked all the time. She always took care of my table. I remember one night you went in search of her a few weeks ago. Maybe longer. When you returned to the table, you looked rather ill. I think I have only seen you twice since then, but I forgot about it. So what happened to her? I have asked the staff. They will only say she left. What do you know of her sudden disappearance.?” Stephen had liked the woman. He had been curious as to her whereabouts.

“She was murdered. I found her – “

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Stephen put his hand to his forehead. “The poor woman.” He took a few breaths. Collecting himself. “We teased the hell out of her. I’m fairly certain she knew, for the most part, it was in jest. God, I wish I had known.” He looked around as if searching for something. “I would have done something. What did they do with her body? Perhaps I could have her buried somewhere decent.” Blackwood – the epitome of a good man. No way could he have known about Little Stevie girl.

“She was stabbed to death. When I went to look for her, I knocked on her door. The door was unlocked. I went inside and found her. She worked hard with long hours, always busy hustling. I found out why.”

“Why? Tell me.” Anxious, he put both hands down on the table, but this time he did not slam them. Odd, that.

“I’m telling you, Stephen. I went in as the door was unlocked. The bed appeared in disarray. Then I realized a body lay on the bed – her. Glenda. She clasped my hand. She said I had to find her daughter and protect her. She feared her daughter was in danger. She told me to take the necklace and locket and find her.” Fred studied Stephen’s face for any sign of recognition. He saw none.

“I’m not sure I understand. The bar wench, her name was Glenda, had the locket and necklace I purchased for another lady many years ago. I have no idea how Glenda got the jewelry. It went with a small set I bought a long time ago. I had to have been in my early twenties when I had a tryst with a girl. I think her a few years younger than I am. I enjoyed her company for a few months, then I had to go with Father to one of the properties he owned. As I recall, due to some trouble. I stayed there for about six months. When I returned, I went to see her and her parents told me she had moved to London. They had the address and gave it to me. I knocked on the door. She came but refused to let me in. She began to cry. She said she should not have done what she did. It had caused her a lot of trouble. I apologized and asked if I could do anything. She told me it was too late. She begged me not to return or she would move again. I felt guilty. I guess because she had been my first serious relationship. I had taken her maidenhood – she had been a virgin. Like I said, I felt guilty. I wanted her to know that I cared about her. That is when I went to the jeweler. Rundell still worked with Theed and Picket then. Rundell did the finest work. I ordered a piece that included – “

“A brooch, a necklace with a locket or pendant, hair clip, earrings, and something else.” Fred chimed in. Stephen looked confused. His eyes searched Fredrick’s for more information. Where was this leading?

“God, I have thought of her, but it was – so long ago. But this is definitely from the set I purchased for her. It had a comb and… a… hand mirror as well.” Stephen turned the pendant around in his hand.

“Do you remember the young girl’s name?” Fred hoped.

“Of course I do. My first serious relationship. Yes, of course. I remember her well. Pretty, curvaceous. A sweet, kind, quiet, nice girl. I wish...Well, it’s of no consequence now. Who knows where she is.” She had been closer than he thought.

“Her name, Stephen?” Fred’s anxiety kept building. He hoped to solve the mystery of Glenda and Little Stevie girl.

“Her name – Linda Caldwell.” This time he slammed his hands on the table. “Damn, so long ago. I wonder what happened to the rest of the jewelry?”

“I want you to have some tea. We will have a nice lunch and then I have some reading I want you to do.”

“This all sounds too mysterious. You have caused me to dredge all this up from the past, to leave me suspended? You know I do not appreciate games. I wish you would tell me and we could get on with the day.” Blackwood did not appreciate the wait. He was not the kind of person. But Fred insisted. “Alright. I am hungry. I don’t know what your cook is fixing but it smells glorious. I may not have mentioned it, but our cook is lousy, too.”

The Discovery

They had finished their meal, which Blackwood raved about, finished their tea, then Fredrick called Daniel to bring in the scotch, two glasses, and a stack of kerchiefs.

“Whatever is this game we are playing now, Fredrick? I am most curious to know what the kerchiefs will be used for.” He gave Fred a leery kind of smile.

“The purpose will be revealed.” Fred got up and walked over to his desk. As he gathered the stacks of letters, one or two stacks at a time, he explained. “I have these in order. You must read them in the order I place them on the table. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Fredrick. I am stupid about any number of things, but understanding simple instructions is not one of them. I start here,” he put his hands on the first stack to his left, “and work my way to the right. Do I have it, teacher?”

“Don’t be an arse, Blackwood. It would help if you were a bit more serious to begin with.”

“What are they, pray tell?” He watched Fred as he continued to move the stacks over to the table.

“They are letters, my friend. Please, start with those.” Fred pointed to where Blackwood had to begin. Fred, unsure whether he should stay in the room with him or leave for a period of time. After a short deliberation, he opted to leave the room. “I will return after a time. Ring the bell on the table if you need anything.” Then Fred hurried out of the room before Blackwood could call him back.

Fred made a quick decision to close the door so he might not hear Blackwood if he called out. I will not go into that room until I know he has read a substantial amount of the letters. I know Blackwood. This will devastate him. To know he has a daughter out there he has never known about. Fred knew it would be even more difficult when he was told that she may be in danger and so far, Frank and the four horsemen had not been able to find her.

Fred paced around in the hallway. He had too much unsettled. Doing paperwork would occupy his mind which would not be possible now. He regretted having the meeting in his study. Too much needed attending. Fred wrongly assumed the case of Glenda and her daughter, Little Stevie girl, would have been resolved by this time. Edward’s request had compounded issues. If he took over all of Edward’s estate, Fred needed to inspect all of them. This would be taking time away from his business interests…unless.

He went into the library, sat down, and intended to read while he waited on Blackwood, but his mind kept drifting. Margaret. His mind’s eye could see her gazing up at him with those bewitching emerald eyes; her raven hair down allowing the nipples to peek through as her hair engulfed her, down to the most perfectly formed bottom. There was so much he could show her in the bedchamber. And he wanted to…the mere thought caused his cock to throb.

Fred had many obligations, let alone have time to consider Edward’s proposal. He hated using the word, proposal. It put chills down his spine. Fred had no question about his attraction to Margaret. His cock – ever aware of the attraction. He enjoyed her company. She had an easy laugh…well, he liked her. Being honest with himself, he had to admit he more than liked her. They had spent little time together. Well, perhaps just enough. He had yet to speak with Edward regarding his…proposal, to discover whether Margaret had agreed or even knew of the proposal. I hate using the word proposal.

It had been almost three hours since Fred left the room for Blackwood to read the enormous amount of letters. He walked down the hall, and instead of knocking, it being his house, he went in. Fred looked at the stack of kerchiefs. They had been reduced considerably. Fred understood. It had been emotionally heart-wrenching for John and him. Such sweet and loving letters to a man she never met and who never once had made a trip to see her, let alone answer her letters. Fred put his hand on Blackwood’s shoulder. “How are you handling this? These letters are difficult, are they not?”

Blackwood had his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. “Fred, I have a daughter. She is my daughter. That is what you were trying to tell me. She is my daughter. My God, Fredrick, when I went to see Linda and she refused to let me in; she told me I had caused her trouble, why could I not surmise she carried my child? How stupid could I have been?”

“You were young. It has been much too long ago for regrets.” Fred sat down at the table next to him.

But, Fredrick, I have a daughter out there, but no one knows where.” He blew his nose. “Her letters – begging me to come see her.” He tried to swallow a sob, but it got away from him. “She sat all alone on each and every damn holiday. She thanked me for those pieces of jewelry from the parure I had made for Linda. Linda must be her mother. Does anyone know where she is?” He picked up a clean kerchief. “She would know where to find her. Has anyone been able to at least try to find her mother?” Tears streamed down his face as he asked Fredrick questions.

“Blackwood, a moment ago you told me the girl or lady’s name. Don’t you ever wonder where I found all those letters? How your daughter received pieces from the parure you purchased years ago?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, after I finished reading these letters, which I admit, are extremely difficult to read, I had a number of questions to ask.” He wiped his eyes and face with the kerchief.

“This might be a good time for you to take a break from the letters and ask some of those questions. Remember though, I may be unable to answer some of them. Keep that in mind.”

“Yes, yes, Fredrick. My first question is the one you posed to me; where did you get the letters?”

“It is a somewhat lengthy story. Alright. Our barwench, Glenda attempted to assist a friend of hers, Lucinda, to get a job at Venus. Glenda had no friends to speak of; she was a rather quiet, sweet lady. That is the way she is described by all the people that interacted with her regularly , outside Venus. Lucinda told Martha Glenda had attempted to talk her out of that kind of work, but Lucinda already had experience, so Glenda agreed to help her. A few weeks before Glenda was murdered, she told Lucinda that if anything happened to her, she wanted Lucinda to get the box of letters from under her bed and a ball gown from out of the armoire. Glenda gave Lucinda a key. After Glenda’s murder, Lucinda became too afraid to go into Glenda’s flat, so Frank, John, Henry, and I went in and retrieved those things she requested to be removed. We brought the box and the gown here. The four of us, each took a handful of letters and began to read them. They became too painful to read so I spent a good deal of time sorting them by myself. You, Lord John Herbert, and I are the only three who have read them. I’m not ashamed to say, my tears fell freely. John’s did too. They were excruciating to read. And another thing, the four of us wanted to hang the gentleman that she called Papa for being such a thoughtless bastard. With Rundell’s information and the engraved, S L B, I came up with you.”

“How is it that Glenda ended up with all those letters?”

“Blackwood. You are a smart man. How do you think she ended up with all those letters? How did she end up with the parure? How do you think she ended up going to the modiste to have a beautiful gown designed?”

“Either Glenda took all the letters and the parure from Linda or…shite, Fredrick…it could not be. She could not have been Linda. The woman at Venus, could not have been Linda. I’m telling you. She – no – no! Pretty, sweet, loving Linda ended up as Glenda? No, I shan’t believe it.” He covered his eyes with the kerchief and sobbed. Fred waited.

“From what I uncovered and what you told me, I believe, without solid evidence, when you left, Linda Caldwell was with child. Her parents sent her away, although it does appear from what you told me they seemed to have stayed in contact with her. At least long enough to know where she lived at the time you went looking for her.

Glenda had the most beautiful ball gown designed. It is another difficult story, but I will save it for another time. Glenda told the modiste she had first worked as a seamstress. She worked long hours with little pay. So she did as many ladies do. You remember telling me Glenda worked an enormous number of hours? She paid for her daughter’s schooling, room, and board, and someone was…or had been blackmailing her. And for what or how much I’m not sure.”

“I can’t believe Glenda…so rough around the edges and so aggressive.”

“You probably would be too, if you had no other skills or talents to speak of and you had a daughter to support. Don’t you think it ironic that she always waited on your table? All the other bar wenches rotate tables.”

“You think she knew me? But why would she not come out and say, ‘I am Linda and I have your child.’ Why not?” Blackwood kept putting his head in his hands – completely dumbfounded.

“You don't understand? You would have been completely repelled by her story. Likely, you may not have even believed her. Working at Venus , she made good money, could see you almost daily, and support her daughter. I think she would have been devastated if you had recognized her – you never would have accepted her. She lived in a tiny, bare flat in a terrible neighborhood. She kept hard salami and a loaf of bread outside her window sill. Her life consisted of doing what she had to do to support her daughter. She could see you; know you were successful and alright. And retrieve and read those letters from her daughter, written to her Papa.”

“God, Fredrick. What a pathetic existence.” Stephen sat quietly for a moment. “I’m curious about one thing. Stevie never mentions her mother in the letters. What do you think? Does Stevie think her mother is dead?”

“That would be my guess. Otherwise, I’m sure as kind and sweet as Little Stevie girl seems to be, she would continue to love her mother. Linda might have worried if Little Stevie girl knew her mother was struggling, what Little Stevie girl would do to help her. What do you think Little Stevie girl would do?” Fred posed the question.

“Yes, I see. She would quit school and help her mother. Possibly end up in the same profession, for lack of any better skills.” They both sat there, each mulling over their thoughts. “It would be the last thing Glenda would want for her daughter, so if dead, then Little Stevie would never look for her.” Blackwood put the handkerchief to his eyes and Fredrick saw Blackwood’s shoulders shaking.

Finally, he took a breath. Fred understood all this at once had to be extremely difficult to take in. Fred’s heart broke for him. He could not even imagine how Stephen felt. Fred sat for a few minutes before continuing the conversation. He wanted Stephen to be able to compose himself. When Stephen removed the kerchief from his eyes, Fred continued.

“Now, our priority is to find out who this Thistlewood is. Glenda paid a woman four pounds a week for some reason. Now, I am sure it had to be due to some blackmail scheme. The first time she showed up, I had Martha from Venus, give her money.”

“Do you think that these people were blackmailing her because they knew her to be Little Stevie’s mother?” Blackwood questioned.

“Whatever the reason, it must have been worth it to Glenda for their silence. When Martha gave the woman the money, the woman said the payment was short. I’m not sure if I can recall the threat verbatim, but basically, the woman threatened Glenda with harming Stevie. That told us that the woman knew Stevie’s location, so the next time she showed up, I followed her in the coach. This woman and a male driver were in a gig. When they realized we were following them, they cut in front of us, made a left turn, and the gig flipped. They were both killed. That is a lead we lost.” Fredrick could see how increasingly overwrought Blackwood became.

“My coachman and I went through their pockets, stockings, down the front of the woman’s corset, and her reticule.” Fred snapped his fingers. “I have all the things over here. When Max and I returned, we were both too bloody, exhausted, and upset to go through more of their things. Do you want to help me go through them?”

“I would like to finish these letters. They are all from my little girl. Stevie is her sobriquet?”

“Yes. Her birth name is Stevencia. Ste-vin-sea-a. We think that is the pronunciation. That is what we discovered. I think that Linda Caldwell wanted to give her a name that demonstrated a connection between you and the child. I feel so bad for her. Your Linda Caldwell never had a life. You…understand?”

“Yes, sadly, I do.” Blackwood choked. Fred could see more tears falling. “My poor little Linda. My God, Fredrick. She sacrificed her entire life, did horrible, degrading things to provide a better life for her daughter. Then to be murdered. So ruthlessly. She never had a life.” Blackwood’s shoulders were slumped, head looking down with his elbows on the table. Mournful. “It was all my fault. Because I could not keep my cock in my trousers. I guess we were both punished; in extremely different ways,..my punishment was not even close to what Linda endured, but we were both punished. I must live with a cobra until the end of my – oh, holy shite!”

He bolted upright, both arms went up, then landed on his head. “The cobra. If, no, not if, but when we find my Little Stevie, where in the hell could I take her so she would be safe? I don’t trust Clarice; not one farthing, to do what would be in Little Stevie’s best interest. She would hate her. Hate her because she is mine.” Blackwood picked up another letter and began to read it. When he finished, he put it into the stack with all the other letters he had read. “How old do you think she is?” This whole revelation appeared much too difficult to wrap his mind around.

“I would think somewhere between nine and ten or twenty years of age. So it is likely that she is no longer Little Stevie girl, it is only the moniker the we horsemen made up for her. Her mother purchased an exquisite evening gown and told the modiste her daughter was going to a ball. It would have been nice to find out which ball and where. I think Glenda finally decided to introduce her to you. Where else would Little Stevie girl be able to go and wear such a glorious gown?” Stephen had no answer. He continued to read the letters and cry.

“It is almost dinner time. I want to finish reading these letters. This poor child. If I had known, I would have lavished her in gowns.” He let one hand slide down his face.

“I failed to have you open the locket on the necklace. Let me get it. I will give it to you.” Fred stood, took the locket from his desk, returned to the table, and handed it to Blackwood. “Do you know how to open it?” Fred assumed Blackwood had not bothered to purchase the cobra any jewelry.

“No, I’m not sure. Do you know how?”

“I will talk you through it.” He relayed the instructions that John had given him.

“My. I wonder who did this? It looks professional. Fred watched Blackwood’s expression as he studied the portrait. “My God, she is beautiful.” He almost whispered. Fred watched as more tears rolled down his face. “My little girl.” He sobbed.

Fred thought it was a good time to check on Alice.

“I’m going to check on dinner. It might be more than a few minutes.” He heard nary a response.