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We’re now on chapter 20 of 38. This is the latest novel of the Muldoon series (book 2). Chapter 19 was a flashback to 1883 and concluded with Ellen asking Hugo to stay for the final performance.
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July 31st, 1893
“Where’ve you been then?” Gill asked, standing over another trunk with his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. His tie, hanging loosely, looked as tired and limp as Gill felt. It was still the small hours of the morning, but the sky, once black, had faded to purple already. They’d been searching all night.
Muldoon folded his arms. “I had to go and look at something—Ryan Flannery’s house—and something else came up.”
“Oh?”
“Gov,” Muldoon began, lowering his head.
Another name rested at the forefront of every police officer’s mind. Gill, as much as he didn’t want to say it, let it out. “Any sign of James Lacey?”
“None.”
Gill closed the lid of the trunk he was searching and sat down on it with a sigh of defeat. “Did you ask the girl about him?” he asked.
“Ellen French?”
“Yeah. Who else?” Gill shrugged in bemusement. Muldoon realised he hadn’t mentioned Molly O’Donnell at all, but kept it to himself for the moment.
“I didn’t ask Ellen about Lacey, no. I asked her about Sophia. I was testing the water, so to speak.”
“Fair enough.” Gill ran his fingers through his thinning hair, realised he’d messed it up, and pulled his comb out of his inside pocket to smooth it into place. Everyone looked terrible, but Gill—always a serviceman at heart—felt one slovenly strand would draw attention from any passing colonel, and retained the habit well into a policing career. “Suppose we don’t have any evidence of him being here, either. We know he went to Stanley park with her, but nothing else.”
Muldoon, sipping on something from a hip flask, looked around and sighed. “I see you’ve got a search party out by the…” River, where many young men fell foul.
Gill’s voice lowered as he levelled a look at Muldoon. “Just a precaution,” he said quietly, “everyone’s looking, everywhere.” Muldoon handed the hip flask to Gill, who took a sip and handed it back.
“He might be at his mother’s house,” Muldoon offered. If Lacey was as sick as Gill had suggested, hopping back in a cab or worse—a tram—and travelling up to Wavertree made no sense to him. Not when Mrs Finch was on hand to help. They remained silent for a few more seconds, until Muldoon realised there was also no sense to be made in worrying and pointed to the trunk. “Who’s is that you’ve got there then?”
Gill stood up and stretched his stiff muscles. “Hugo Perrier. I’d only just started when you got here. Want it?” Muldoon lifted the lid.
He sucked some air through his teeth. “Only if it’s the last one of the night.”
“All right. I’ll tell the others to stand down,” Gill said, looking around at the quiet, sleepy campsite, “but only if Brown can get us some cover. I don’t trust Fontini. Not one bit.”
“Why don’t you take him down to the bridewell?”
“For what? Being a twat?”
He had a point. Having answered all questions so far, Fontini—at that moment—hadn’t done anything wrong, and although their new underground department was open and taking suspects, they were light on staff. Gill didn’t want to have to sit and watch Fontini all night. With the search party and patrol officers already standing by, Gill felt that Fontini could be managed in his own environment. Fontini wasn’t even drunk any more, and although not overly helpful with the enquiries, he didn’t appear to stand in the way.
Muldoon, feeling his teeth start to chatter with the lack of sleep, distracted himself by conducting his new search. He started by looking through the belongings of the Frenchman. It was the same as the others—some clothing, undergarments and a shaving kit. He paused when he found a small, brown leather satchel underneath it all. Carefully and respectfully as always, he pulled it out and laid it on the top of the closed lid. It was full of papers, some bound with string. “I can’t really see the writing. Do you have a light?”
“I’ll get you one.” Gill hurried off to bother one of Fontini’s lackeys, and promptly returned with a kerosene lamp fresh from the hand of the labourer Gill recognised as No Englis. “Here.” Gill held it over Muldoon as he looked through the papers. “What have you got?”
“Looks like letters, some finance papers. And this is interesting…”
“Oh aye?”
“Muldoon, with the silent ease of a cat, stood up. He opened a folio and looked at the rectangle of paper nested inside. “A cheque. Five thousand pounds made out to one Hugo Perrier in July, 1883. Signed… E French.” Muldoon handed the bank note to Gill to hold while he read the letter, also dated 1883.
Gill read the first line over Muldoon’s shoulder. “What’s Edward French doing giving Hugo… Jesus. What’s going on here?”
July 14th, 1883
Dear Hugo,
It brings me nothing but pleasure to know that you will soon be the husband of my most cherished Ellen. Only in the hands of as noble and honourable a young gentleman as yourself would I trust the only jewel in the crown of my heart.
You are always invited to visit me in Flintshire. I will be eagerly awaiting news of your adventures. My address in Mold is enclosed. Please keep it safe.
I know in my heart that you will bestow upon her the love that she deserves. She is precious to me, and although I will miss her dearly, I look forward to seeing you both, whenever fate allows.
Congratulations. As you may already know, I have given you both a sum of five thousand pounds. A wedding gift.
I wish you well. God bless you both.
E. French.
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What a tangled web this is! Good thing we have Muldoon on the case!