Mr Cutter escorted them into a dimly lit room at the rear of the house. The thick burgundy drapes were drawn. The only light came from the candles burning in the wall sconces, and it brought to mind thoughts of a previous case where Daniel had been hired to prove it wasn’t a ghost rattling the door knob at night.
“Pray take a seat.” With a few flicks of his handkerchief, Cutter dusted the cushions on the carved mahogany sofa. “I shall ring for refreshments.”
“Do not go to any trouble on our account.” Daniel raised his hand hoping the man would stop flapping. “We have an urgent appointment elsewhere, and so I shall come straight to the point.”
Cutter stopped abruptly and gave them his full attention.
“There was an incident at a modiste shop,” Daniel continued. “I have a strong suspicion that the person responsible spends time here.” Mr Cutter’s molly-house was the only establishment to cater to those gentlemen in society who considered themselves progressive. “We mean the man concerned no harm, but simply seek to confirm he is the culprit.”
Cutter put a hand on his portly stomach. “Am I allowed to ask as to the nature of this incident?”
“The fellow smashed the front window,” Mrs Chambers said, “and then staggered away from the scene mumbling incoherently. Witnesses describe him as tall and lithe, wearing the clothes of a gentleman.”
“My dear, you have just described half the gentlemen in Mayfair.” Cutter shook his head. “What led you to my door?”
Daniel cleared his throat. “I believe the same man who asked the modiste to make a gown with nothing more than measurements, is the same man who smashed the window.” Even logical thought required a certain creativity. “Humour me, Mr Cutter. The gentleman will be of good breeding, intelligent, yet emotionally unbalanced.”
Mrs Chambers took a step forward. “Maybe the internal struggle between the heart and mind affects his ability to reason.”
At some point in their lives, most people experienced the imbalance between what they wanted to do and what they should do. Sometimes, cutting the heart off to all emotion was the only way to achieve a peaceful existence.
“The majority of me
n who spend time here display excessive bouts of sentimentality,” Cutter said as he rubbed his chin. “Though they tend to swoon rather than smash windows.”
“Can you think of anyone whose internal conflict is apparent to all?” Daniel said.
With meditative strokes of his neat white beard, Cutter contemplated the question. “There’s Mr Harrison, or Rosalyn Harrison to us. She is forever complaining about her inability to pass for a woman. I found her gargling a strange liquid bought from the apothecary that is said to soften the voice.”
“So, Mr Harrison dresses as a woman when here?”
“Yes,” Cutter nodded. “When in a good mood, Rosalyn is quite popular.”
Daniel cast Mrs Chambers a sidelong glance. As a working woman she challenged accepted modes of conduct yet, with her tilted head and slack expression, it was obvious she found the thought of Mollys bemusing.
“And Mr Harrison is often volatile, easily angered?”
“Not always, no. I’d say his moods tend to border on self-pity. It’s his limp.” Cutter spoke softly. “One struggles with the feminine graces when hampered by such an obvious affliction.”
“His limp,” Daniel repeated. The pawnbroker mentioned seeing a gentleman with a similar impediment hovering outside the modiste shop. Perhaps the man seen staggering away from the scene was not drunk at all. “Can you tell me where I might find Mr Harrison?”
“Why, he is upstairs practising for the play.” Cutter leant forward. “You are welcome to speak to him, but the lady must remain here.”
As though a bitter wind had swept in from the north, the air in the room turned frosty.
“I am Mr Thorpe’s partner in this case, not a wanton widow eager for entertainment.” Daphne Chambers squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “As such, I shall accompany him when he makes his enquiries.”
Cutter held up his hands. “Please, my dear, I mean no offence. But it is not wise to parade about the upstairs rooms when we are open for business.” Cutter squirmed when the last few words tumbled awkwardly from his lips. “Certain assumptions will be made.”
“Mr Cutter, besides the fact I am more than capable of dealing with most situations, have you failed to notice the impressive breadth of Mr Thorpe’s chest? Does he look like a man who would see a lady harassed or harmed? No. I would enter a pit full of vipers if he were my companion, and so I hardly think gentlemen in gowns will prove to be a problem.”
A hard lump formed in Daniel’s throat. Her faith in his ability was not unfounded. He had saved her life once. The memory of chasing away the mugger, of seeing her body tremble as she crumpled to a heap in the dark alley, roused a pain like no other. He’d taken her home, sat with her while she slept, until her neighbour came to relieve him. That night, he took solace in a bottle of brandy. And he prayed for a way to bring his friend back from the grave so someone could protect the reckless widow.
“Mr Thorpe.” Cutter coughed to get Daniel’s attention. “I said I trust you do not object to the lady’s request.”
“Mrs Chambers is a highly skilled enquiry agent,” Daniel said. Well, that’s what he’d told himself when he stopped following her at night, when she refused to listen to reason or obey his command. “And she’s right. Anyone wishing to hurt her will have to deal with me.”
Mrs Chambers looked up at him and smiled.