“We’ll give our doctor a visit today,” he told him.
He nodded. “I sent the cable to Harvard as you asked.”
Val moved behind his desk as Felix seated himself before him. “That cable should prove most interesting. It will tell us several things. Is Doctor Barton in fact a doctor, and if he is not, as I suspect, why is he practicing medicine? There’s something there. He’s hiding something.”
“What do you think he’s up to?” Felix asked.
“I’m not sure. Money. Duping people. The prestige of seeming to be a doctor and being treated as such. Possibly something more nefarious.”
“Nefarious?” Felix wondered aloud.
“I arrested a man last year who was selling some elixir or some such nonsense claiming to be a magician who could cure ailments. It turned out he was a dangerous man prescribing arsenic in large quantities,” Val remembered.
“A miracle that someone wasn’t hurt.” Felix remarked.
“Someone was. Someone died. And the magician was hung.” Val nodded.
“Not much of a magic trick, that,” Felix shook his head.
???
Hubert watched his daughter from across the dining room table. She seemed a shadow of her former self. She wasn’t interested in the social work as she had been before her sister’s tragic death. Her sewing circle hadn’t met since then, and though the house was in obvious mourning with its black wreaths, mirrors covered, and correspondence edged in black, he wanted her to take steps to live again. He knew her mourning couldn’t continue indefinitely.
“Dearest. I have several buildings that I would like you to look at. They are older buildings as we discussed and need work. But I think we could get labor at a cheap cost and they could be renovated and ready to let within six months, perhaps sooner,” Hubert said as he pushed the folder towards her.
Caroline sipped her coffee and looked down at the folder but said nothing.
“I met with the estate agent and these are the ones he recommends based on our past conversations,” he told her.
“Thank you, Father.”
“Of course. Caro this is your future. It’s what you’ve been working towards. You want to help the poor people of London and I believe in you.”
Caroline smiled but it was faint. “Your help means everything to me. Without you—“
“None of that, my dear. You are my daughter. I mean to help you and your dreams. You are giving and caring to want to do this for people who you owe nothing.”
“It means everything to me. To help better their lives. It’s a beginning,” she said tiredly opening the folder.
She moved through the sheets of paper looking at the number of units in the building, the age of it, the address.
“This one. This one looks promising,” she said suddenly, tapping at the sheet of paper and pushing it towards her father.
“I see what you mean. It’s a larger unit but in a better area,” he agreed.
“Could we see it today? If you can’t then I would like to go alone and view it.”
Her father nodded. “The estate agent said any time you wished to see it you could make arrangements, even the same day. I’ll send the footman with a note. What time did you wish?”
“Noon.” Caroline said feeling a little more optimistic.
“Excellent.” He patted her hand and folded the newspaper next to his breakfast plate. He kissed her cheek and was gone.
Caroline went upstairs to change for the outing. She didn’t want to go anywhere. She wanted to stay in her quiet room. She had little energy and every place and thing reminded her of Irene. But she wanted to do something positive and stay focused on her goals. This would be something good to come out of all this sadness.
She dressed in a black gown that denoted her status of mourning and pulled on her black gloves. She pressed back the black covering about the mirror and stared at her reflection. She didn’t look different and she did. She seemed changed somehow and realized it was in the eyes. The eyes seemed to have become so sad.
She replaced the crepe back on the mirror. It didn’t matter how she looked. All that mattered was Irene’s killer be found and brought to justice. She must focus on that and make sure the Inspector did as he said he would.