9308-3953

“You and your girls must go with us,” Geraldine was saying. “All of you, including
Adelaide. It promises to be such a fine respite from the heat of the city and the monotony of daily life,
don’t you agree?”
“We do not associate with members of the Byculla Club,” Miss Hoffman responded
quickly, although this sudden tack by Gerry seemed to have thrown her a bit off her game. “By mutual
consent.”
“Yes, what a group of prigs they are, I quite agree,” Gerry said. She flopped her hand
around in an arch imitation of Miss Hoffman’s earlier move although Emma doubted anyone other
than she was aware of how thoroughly Gerry was mocking the woman. “But there may be potential
patrons lurking among their ranks, might there not, and when they see how lovely your girls
are….how perfectly suited for both matrimony and employment… Oh, I quite insist you all come,
Miss Hoffman. Your students deserve the outing. And if you are concerned about the expense, let me
insist on inviting you as my guests. We shall need how many carts for transport of your students,
would you guess? Three? Four?”
Bravo to you, my friend, Emma thought. There is no cost to going on a picnic, anyone
knows that. But in offering to pay that nonexistent cost you are once again bribing Miss Hoffman
to cooperate with our investigation. For if there is one thing this woman cannot resist, it is the
offer of money. And if Adelaide comes too, we shall have every chance to observe her, talk to her,
draw her away, however briefly, from Miss Hoffman’s protection.
“Five carts, I should think,” blurted out Miss Hoffman. “We shall have to hire five to get
them all there and that…that might be costly.”
“Ah,” said Geraldine. “Five carts, indeed. We certainly cannot allow the girls to be
crushed all together and uncomfortable. So we are speaking of… perhaps another hundred pounds, I
should think? Davy, please fetch my check book from the carriage.”
***
A Gentleman’s Rooming House in the English District
3:36 PM
“What the deuce are the two of you are doing here?”
Both Trevor and Rayley were so absorbed in the small notebook that they jumped at the
sound of the voice. Michael Everlee was standing in the doorframe, glaring.
“We are going through Jonathan Benson’s personal effects and his notes,” Trevor said,
“as I imagine is quite obvious. But save your outrage for another day. Everything in this room counts
as evidence and our paperwork from the Queen allows us full access.”
“Evidence?” Everlee asked, with a trace of contempt in his voice. “So may I take it that
you are now prepared to admit that Benson was murdered?”
“Detective Welles was referring to evidence in the murder of your mother,” Rayley said
amiably. “Benson was here as a detective, was he not? A detective under the guise of a bodyguard?”
“I fail to see why I should allow you to - “
“Look, Everlee,” Trevor said. “You know the options as well as I do. We can either
scrap like junkyard dogs, or we can work together in this strange affair. It is entirely your call.”
Everlee's eyes moved from one detective to the other with suspicion. “Benson told me
his investigation had just begun…”
“But he was on to something, was he not?” Rayley said. “This notebook is full of his
jottings. Like this address here, does it mean anything to you?” He turned the book toward Everlee