Private Dicks (33 page)

Percy smiles back. "This evening, and I will think of other topics to discuss." He rushes from the room then, and Jamie listens to him clatter up, then back down the stairs and out of the house.

Jamie thumbs through the newspaper in front of him. Yet again he is without work, the rent due at the end of the week, and he is almost out of cab fare to boot.

He finishes off his breakfast and then guides his chair around the table and towards his desk. When the knock comes at the door, he assumes it's Mrs. Stanton come to collect his breakfast tray and doesn't bother turning around.

"Mr. Griffith, there is a visitor to see you." Jamie does turn at that, so Mrs. Stanton continues, "A Mr. Burton."

"Come in."

Mrs. Stanton enters, followed by Mr. Burton, a tall man with a striking black moustache.

"I'm sorry to intrude, Mr. Griffith." Mr. Burton inclines his head. "I should have sent word that I was coming, but I only just received information on your whereabouts this morning."

"It's quite all right. Would you care to sit?" Jamie smiles and gestures to the settee while throwing a look at Mrs. Stanton, who still lurks nosily behind his guest. She picks up the breakfast tray, throwing Mr. Burton one more look before shutting the door behind her on the way out.

Jamie can feel himself shake ever so slightly, his heart pounding in his chest. A clerk, his brain tells him, or perhaps a personal secretary. Jamie has been a clerk himself often enough to recognize the faint ink marks on the bottom of the Mr. Burton's hands. He obviously made good money, too, judging by his suit. Jamie doesn't miss the look Mr. Burton gives him or, more importantly, his legs as he moves across the small room to the settee. Jamie smiles at the other man. He's used to people looking, or turning away in distaste; at least Mr. Burton has the courtesy not to stare overlong.

Jamie moves his chair around so that he's facing Mr. Burton on the settee while also being in reach of his desk. He tries to get his excitement under control. He might very possibly be getting a case today, why else would Mr. Burton seek him out?

"I'll get straight to the point," Mr. Burton says after he's settled himself. "You probably read of Professor Brown's tragic and untimely death in yesterday's paper."

Jamie's eyes stray to the paper sitting unread on the table.

"Well," Mr. Burton continues, "my employer is somewhat responsible for looking into the circumstances surrounding the professor's death, and we have several of the best private investigators in conjunction with the police working on the matter now."

Jamie frowns and idly wonders why exactly Mr. Burton had been sent to him if they were not in need of a private investigator. He looks back up to find Mr. Burton watching him a bit more closely than he would like and keeps himself from shifting in his chair by willpower alone.

"My employer has heard about your involvement in the investigation of the Doctor Crown affair," Mr. Burton tells him.

Jamie stiffens, as far as he'd been aware, his name had never been made public in regards to that case. "A set of serial murders of women living here on the East End," he confirms. "He poisoned them with strychnine."

"Detective Percington spoke highly of you, as have several of your other clients. We have also spoken with Professor Rolleston, a personal friend of the priest who raised you, I believe?" Mr. Burton leans back a little on the settee.

"Yes," Jamie nods, wondering where this is going. "I worked for him as a clerk for about a year, about four years ago at this point."

"Indeed," Mr. Burton says. "He taught at the College for Natural and Computative Sciences, mathematics if I am not mistaken?"

"Yes," Jamie says, watching Mr. Burton closely and hoping to understand what he was getting at. "But he has since retired, I understand."

"You have never been to the college, though." Mr. Burton watches Jamie in an all too knowing manner. "Which is a good thing, Mr. Griffith, for you will not be known there and my employer has a suspect in particular that he would like you to investigate more fully."

Jamie reaches over to his desk and picks up a pencil and a notebook.

"His name is Hallingsworth, Professor Robert Daniel Hallingsworth, and he teaches at the College for Natural and Computative Sciences."

Jamie writes quickly as Mr. Burton speaks.

"He is a brilliant scientist and engineer, but he has some, shall we say, rather peculiar and dangerous ideas. My employer is afraid these ideas might have driven him to unfortunate actions." Mr. Burton crosses his legs at the knee and clasps his hands.

"Does your employer have any proof that this man has committed a crime?" Jamie asks, glancing up from his notebook.

Mr. Burton raises his eyebrows at him. "This is what we are hiring you to find, Mr. Griffith."

An ugly feeling settles into the bottom of Jamie's stomach. "I don't believe I follow you."

Mr. Burton spreads his hands out in a placating gesture. "Professor Hallingsworth is a dangerous man, Mr. Griffith, make no mistake about that. Even if he is not responsible for the unfortunate fate of Professor Brown, it would be in the country's best interest to see him locked away."

"And you want me to ensure that?" The sick feeling in Jamie's stomach has only doubled. He closes his eyes briefly, hating when he is right about these things.

Mr. Burton smiles at him. "You will be well paid, I assure you, Mr. Griffith. My employer is willing to pay you ten times what you would normally make on a case, in addition to your expenses while investigating Professor Hallingsworth."

In this moment, Jamie dearly wants nothing more than to order Mr. Burton out of his sitting room, or to tell him that Jamie is not so lowly and heinous a person as to convict a man of a murder he may not have committed.

'And what if he is guilty?' whispers a small voice in the back of his head. 'What if this Professor Hallingsworth is responsible for this murder and you could be the investigator who brings him to justice?' He could play them, Mr. Burton and his employer, make them think he was going along with their plan enough to be able to do is own investigation. Surely if he was to find the real murderer they would have to drop this absurd plot to possibly frame an innocent man.

"Well, Mr. Griffith?" Mr. Burton leans forward ever so slightly, clasping his hands again. "Will you take my employer's case?"

Jamie makes his decision and nods his head firmly.

"Good." Mr. Burton rises. "Professor Hallingsworth is looking for a new research assistant. My employer would like you to apply, under a false name of course, and I have taken the liberty of arranging for your letter of application, complete with appropriate qualifications and references. A copy will be delivered to you as well." Once again, Jamie feels Mr. Burton's gaze travel across his body, lingering on his legs. "He is of the opinion you will not be turned down."

Jamie doesn't know what to say to that, so he simply nods and watches Mr. Burton stride to the door.

"Good day to you, Mr. Griffith." Mr. Burton turns, taking up the hat and walking stick he'd left by the door.

"And good day to you as well, Mr. Burton," Jamie replies without thought.

"My employer will send you the money you will need for your trip to Cambridge," Mr. Burton informs him before stepping through the door and shutting it behind him.

Jamie listens to the other man descend the stairs, then scrubs both hands across his face. He feels almost ill from the whole ordeal.

The money would mean he could live comfortably and without worries, for a time at least. The case itself, with his name firmly attached to it this time, would make his career. He would have clients then, real, legitimate clients who would come with honest cases for him to solve.

He is wicked for taking the case on though, he knows that perfectly well. The honorable thing would have been to turn Mr. Burton away the moment he suggested wrongdoing—yet Jamie hadn't.

Oh, he isn't going to frame anyone. That would be far, far past what Jamie is willing to do. Protecting an abused woman was one thing, but sending an innocent man to prison he would not, under any circumstances, do. Mr. Burton and his employer clearly think Jamie will do this thing and that in and of itself is extremely disheartening. Jamie though knows there isn't enough money or prestige in the world to make him do that.

There seems to be something else going on here though, something underneath what Jamie has been told, and that interests him. If he needs Mr. Burton and his employer to think Jamie is willing to go along with their nasty little scheme so that Jamie can do his own work, so be it. If Hallingsworth is innocent and Jamie cannot find the real murderer, then he will walk away. There is a real villain to be caught though, and Jamie is willing to lie a little about his identity to find him. Someone had killed the dean, after all, and if he could manipulate Mr. Burton and his employer into giving him the opportunity to figure out who, then he would. They have proved themselves to be no better than criminals, after all.

He turns his chair away from the door to the desk and starts rummaging through piles of papers and books, looking for train timetables. He needs to buy a ticket to Cambridge leaving first thing the next day.

*~*~*

Scarcely twenty-four hours after Jamie's conversation with Mr. Burton, he is on a train heading towards Cambridge University and the College of Natural and Computative Science.

Jamie looks out the window and thinks about how much money had been delivered to him that morning from his still-nameless client. More money than he would possibly need for his investigation, Jamie is sure. The money had been accompanied by a note and a copy of a completed application for the post, with reference letters in order. Jamie reads the letter, which informs him that his client had taken the liberty of writing ahead to Professor Hallingsworth and stating Jamie's interest in the research position. Jamie still isn't at all happy that his client seems to have felt free to do Jamie's job for him. In fact, he has a strong suspicion the letter had been sent to Professor Hallingsworth before he himself had even agreed to take the case. It left him angry and with the beginnings of a headache.

Percy had not been at all happy to see him depart, following Jamie around his rooms and nagging as he had packed. "You don't know who your client is. You do not know what his intentions are. You haven't even done research into this Professor Hallingsworth or what it might entail to be his research assistant."

Jamie had gritted his teeth while mentally acknowledging that Percy was right. The further he got into it, the more this case felt bad through and through. "I can't afford to turn it down," he'd told Percy, who had looked about as unconvinced as Jamie felt.

He looks back down at the Italian book spread open on his lap. Though he continues to try, he can't concentrate on translating it, not with so many other things weighing heavily upon his mind.

The train eventually grinds to a halt at the Cambridge station and Jamie slips the book into his overcoat pocket. He waits for most of the other passengers to leave before attempting to disembark the train, lifting himself slowly and with effort off the seat. Unfortunately, the gap between the train and the station platform is too great to navigate with his crutches.

Someone clears their throat and Jamie looks up to see a young conductor watching him. He has light brown hair that curls and a close cropped beard Jamie can't help but find appealing. "Are you in need of assistance, sir?" the young conductor asks.

Jamie can't stop the blush that engulfs his face, inwardly cursing his own weakness. Swallowing his pride, he nods. The conductor reaches up and takes the crutch Jamie offers, balancing it against the side of the train. Jamie braces one hand against his shoulder and hoists himself off the train. The young man steps back slowly until the crutch Jamie still has rests on the ground, and Jamie puts all his will behind ignoring the moment when his hand rests on Jamie's waist to balance him for a brief moment before stepping away and retrieving Jamie's crutch.

"Thank you." Jamie digs in his pocket for some money for the man's trouble, and he takes it with a smile and a nod before fetching Jamie's luggage. Jamie hails down a cabby and secures himself a carriage into the city, directing the driver to the inn where he would be lodging that night. His client scheduled his interview with the Professor Hallingsworth for the next morning.

The accommodations arranged for him are clean and adequate, if rather hard to navigate with his crutches. Jamie studiously ignores the look of horror mixed with revulsion on the face of the young lady bringing him his supper. He spends his time reading through the articles and newspaper clippings he'd managed to find regarding the college.

It isn't much really, and not the more specific information he would have liked. The college had been founded by decree of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, during the first years of her reign to further the scientific and technological work surrounding the invention of the Computative Engine, a machine that Jamie did not fully grasp the significance of.

The Computative Engine seemed to be a technological, mathematical and scientific wonder, but it touched the average citizen of the empire very little. In fact, only a very small group of scientists and mathematicians were allowed access to the engine, which was housed in the college itself. The college only permitted the best and brightest young scholars to study there and included many of the greatest minds of Britain and the Continent as faculty and visiting researchers.

That was about the total sum of what had been reported by the press. Jamie had also heard, however, that it was common belief among the masses that the College worked with her majesty's government and armed forces to create technological marvels capable of making Britain the greatest nation in the world. Every black market seller of technology in the back streets of London claimed his design originated at the college itself.

Jamie is not at all sure he believes such fanciful stories. All the same, the idea of walking into such a place and expecting to hide his true intentions is intimidating. Fiddling with his pen, he jots down a few notes regarding the college.