8. A Visit to Mrs. Bellingham

Cordelia settled herself into the carriage by adjusting her skirts and veil, then placing her hands neatly into her lap. She resisted clutching them together and tried her best to keep them relaxed.

Even without looking at him, she knew that Marfleet was studying her from his position across the carriage. He knocked on the carriage’s ceiling, then leaned back as they started forward.

“So what are you trying to learn from Mrs. Bellingham?” Cordelia asked, eyeing the man across from her.

He met her gaze, a calculating look in his eye. He was the picture of ease, leisurely taking a pipe from his coat. Although Cordelia owned none of the loathing that plagued Blackburn, looking at Marfleet like this gave her an inkling. “I would like to learn whether Mrs. Bellingham knew Mr. Notley. But why are you here, Miss Green?”

“That is your real name?” he added after a beat.

The only sign that Cordelia was annoyed was in the way her eyes momentarily flicked upwards to the heavens. “Yes; I have no reason to lie now.”

“And you did before?” he asked, the unlit pipe still in his hand. She was beginning to think it was nothing but a prop to make him look more of a gentleman.

“Well, you understand the nature of investigation. Oftentimes it’s better to remain unknown.”

“Is that what your veil is for?”

She sat still as a statue, and replied cooly, “Perhaps.” He would get little out of her asking questions like these.

Marfleet sighed and tapped a finger against his pipe. “Miss Green, if you don’t mind me saying, I would recommend you rethink your employment with Mr. Blackburn.”

Cordelia watched the the trees pass by outside. “And why would you say that, Mr. Marfleet?”

The man folded his hands carefully, as if physical politeness would transfer into his speech. “Surely you’ve heard at least some things about the man. And you’ve met him, of course.” Bitterness seeped into his voice. “He’s peculiar.”

“And you aren’t?” she asked pointedly, a thin smile on her lips.

Marfleet’s mouth twitched in a gentle tell of frustration. “I work for the Metropolitan Policeforce, a credible group of men. Kent Blackburn has no affiliations or qualifications,” he said, sweeping a hand through the air in agitation.

“Yet you still request his help in investigations? I’d say that qualifies him,” Cordelia responded.

“My point being, Miss Green, that if I were you, I would not trust the man. Or his methods.” Of course, Cordelia said nothing to this, and Marfleet learned forward. “And I’d say you don’t fully trust him, do you?”

Cordelia’s eyes fell to her lap. “No man is worth trusting,” she said coldly.

Marfleet settled back in his seat. “On that, at least, we can agree.”

* * *

They arrived at Finland Street just past noon. It was littered with modest houses, none too large, and Mrs. Bellingham’s was no different.

Marfleet made it to the door first, and struck the door knocker twice. Cordelia stood a bit behind him, peering curiously into the first-floor window from afar. The curtain was pulled back, and she could see a round table set out with candles, all lit, despite the morning light. Something about it struck her as familiar, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

A young maid opened the door and curtseyed. “Please, come in,” she said shyly, holding open the door. They were shown to the drawing room where a woman already sat, ringing her hands.

Mrs. Bellingham was younger than Cordelia had expected. She wasn’t sure why, but she hadn’t pictured a woman near the same age as herself. Mrs. Bellingham was pretty, with light eyes and even lighter hair, braided neatly around her head. She stood when they entered.

“Mr. Marfleet, do you--do you bring news?” She blinked worriedly.

Marfleet straightened and gave a sympathetic smile to the woman. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bellingham. We just have a few more questions.”

It was as if Mrs. Bellingham hadn’t noticed Cordelia until then. Perhaps she hadn’t. “Oh, yes, hello,” she said, eyes bouncing from Cordelia’s veil the ground.

“How do you do, Mrs. Bellingham; I’m Miss Green. I’m an associate of Mr. Blackburn’s.”

Mrs. Bellingham nodded hesitantly. “Oh, please sit, both of you,” she said suddenly. “And Adah will bring us tea.” The maid, who had been lingering by the doorway, scurried back out of the room.

They sat, Marfleet and Cordelia positioned across from Mrs. Bellingham, who resumed the fidgeting that they had presumably interrupted upon their entrance.

It was Marfleet who spoke first. “Do know that we are doing everything we can to find your husband, Mrs. Bellingham. I’m just curious, have you ever heard of a Mr. Lyman Notley?”

Mrs. Bellingham’s eyebrows crinkled delicately together. “No… no, I don’t believe I have. Why?”

“We found him in the woods yesterday, when we were looking for your husband. It’s nothing, really,” said Marfleet.

“Do you think Samuel knew him?” Mrs. Bellingham asked.

Marfleet shook his head. “There’s no way to know,” he admitted. “He passed this morning.”

“Oh my,” said Mrs. Bellingham sadly, waving her maid, Adah, over to them. She came, balancing a tea tray.

As Cordelia watched Adah begin to serve tea, she asked something that had been on her mind for a while. “Why do you suspect that your husband is still in the woods?”

The other woman looked up from her steaming cup. “Where else would he be? He went to those woods, and he never returned home.” Her voice wavered at her last sentence, and her nostrils flared slightly.

Cordelia accepted her cup of tea and pressed on. “I don’t mean to upset you, Mrs. Bellingham. But perhaps we should consider that he could have gone somewhere else?”

Mrs. Bellingham shook her head violently. “He wouldn’t have. And don’t mind me asking, but how does a woman come to obtain this sort of job, anyway?”

Cordelia heard Marfleet sigh, and saw him sip his tea. Fat lot of good he was. Cordelia forced a smile. “I wasn’t cut out to stay at home,” she said.

Mrs. Bellingham made a face, but Marfleet spoke up. “One more thing, Mrs. Bellingham; did you meet anyone else in the woods that night, other than the fortune tellers?”

“No, no one else,” she said, still eyeing Cordelia.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Bellingham. I think that will be all,” Marfleet said immediately. Clearly he was not inclined to let Cordelia get in another word.

“Oh, you don’t have to go so soon. Please, at least finish your tea,” Mrs. Bellingham urged them. “I’m practising reading the leaves,” she said proudly.

“Sorry, but we’d better be off. We’ll be in contact, though. Good day, Mrs. Bellingham,” Marfleet said, getting up and smoothing out his vest.

“Good day,” parroted Cordelia, worried to say anything else.

“Goodbye then,” Mrs. Bellingham responded sadly, her comment clearly addressed to Marfleet and not Cordelia.

And with that, Adah showed them back out of the house.

--

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