Private Dicks (37 page)

Impulsively, Jamie reaches forward to touch Hallingsworth's hand. "Yes, but how do we attain that world?" he asks softly.

Hallingsworth looks up at him as if startled by the question. "Through science and technology, of course." Hallingsworth says this as if it's the most obviousl thing in the world. "Like the technology we invent here at the college. If they would only let us share it fully with the whole world, we would be close to that utopia right now."

Jamie searches the other man's face for even the smallest sign of deceit, but sees none. Hallingsworth's cheeks are flushed with the brandy, his eyes are wide and startlingly blue. A smile slowly spreads across his lips as they continue to stare at each other, and Jamie notices that those lips are as full as any woman's, perhaps even more so.

Swallowing hard, Jamie sits back in his chair and takes another sip of brandy.

Hallingsworth's eyes flutter shut, long, thick lashes brushing against his cheeks, and he raises one hand to pull free his cravat and unbutton the first few buttons on his shirt. Jamie catches himself staring at the soft, pale skin of Hallingsworth's throat and strong chest and at the hint of dark hair under crisp white linen. He feels his cheeks flush and forces himself to look away.

"Yes well …" He clears his throat and Hallingsworth makes a small sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort.

When Jamie looks back over at him, Hallingsworth reaches out and gently brushes the back of Jamie's hand with the tips of his fingers. Jamie thinks perhaps they've both had a little too much brandy. He lets his eyes skim over Hallingsworth again, his close cropped sideburns and his broad chest, the dark hair on his arms and the strength of his shoulders and legs.

He closes his eyes; definitely too much brandy.

"Do you have a fiancée or someone you are courting perhaps?" Hallingsworth asks, finishing off the last of his own drink.

"No." Jamie looks down at his own glass, toying with it between his fingers, and then looks back up at Hallingsworth. "And you?"

Hallingsworth smiles again, that slowly striking the smile that makes a dimple appear in his left cheek and wreaks havoc with Jamie's emotions. "No, I am at this time unattached. Much to the dismay of my mother and sisters."

"My father feels the same about my state of attachment," Jamie tells him, feeling a little sting in his chest at the small lie.

"Ah, well." Hallingsworth folds his hands across his chest. "Though I would like to find a companion to spend my remaining years with, it has simply not come to pass yet."

"As would I." Jamie sighs. "If I could find someone who would have me."

"I shouldn't think that would be too difficult," Hallingsworth tells him.

Jamie actually laughs. "Really? And how many do you imagine would want a man who cannot stand, let alone walk?" He taps the armrest of his chair to bring the point home.

"Oh, please, you have many other fine attributes," Hallingsworth tells him. "Your wit, intelligence, and good looks, to name only a few."

Jamie blushes again and looks at his hands, searching for something to say to that and coming up with nothing. When he looks back up, however, Hallingsworth is snoring softly. Jamie feels both disappointed and relieved. His chair is awkward to sleep in, but he manages to fall sleep eventually.

Del Martin comes in time for breakfast, just as she'd promised, the next morning. After eating, Jamie goes back to his own rooms to dress in fresh clothes and wash up a little. There he finds a letter from Percy waiting for him.

In regards to Mr. B.

I did some research into his past, which I thought might be of interest to you. Mr. B. was an upstanding citizen with no enemies of which I can detect, however, there are several points that may be of some use. Most noticeably that fact that B.'s original name was Turnlow at birth, but he seems to have had a falling out with his family as a young man and took his mother's maiden-name as his own. You might recognize the name, the Turnlow family makes a large fortune in the textile business and owns a large number of cotton textile factories in the city of Manchester.

Aside from that, there is not much to note. I hope this is of some small use to you nonetheless.

Sincerely,

P. Solomons

Jamie refolds the letter and sits looking at it for a few long moments. He's become increasingly convinced that Hallingsworth is not capable of murder, and there is a good likelihood that his client is well aware of his innocence.

Jamie had been sure that Professor Brown's murder had been political, probably because of the technological state secrets Professor Brown no doubt had known. This new information, however, is interesting to be sure.

"I would like to take the day off to go into London," Jamie tells Hallingsworth when he returns to his room. "I received a letter and I think I need to see my father as soon as possible."

Hallingsworth looks up from the plans and sketches he's spread across the table in front of the settee. "Of course." His brows furrow a little under the bandage around his forehead. "I hope nothing is amiss."

"Oh no, just some personal business I must attend to," Jamie assures him. He takes out his pocket watch and checks the time. "I should be back late this evening."

"That should be fine then." Hallingsworth smiles at him, a softer smile than Jamie is used to seeing on him. "And thank you for staying with me last night." Hallingsworth looks away and Jamie watches a blush spread across Hallingsworth's face. "I probably made something of a fool of myself."

"No." Jamie shakes his head. "You were fine. I enjoyed it, the talk I mean, you were very passionate …" Jamie swallows hard and needs to look away. Hallingsworth is far, far too tempting, especially after last night, and he's the one who is beginning to feel as if he is making a fool out of himself. "I need to go and see to getting a train ticket." He excuses himself, letting himself out.

It feels strange to be using the crutches again, he thinks. He's spent so much time over the last weeks using only the chair, he'd almost forgotten how limiting not being able to use it could be. He's also almost forgotten the looks and the stares he constantly received. Hallingsworth, Del Martin, and even Emerson treated him normally. He'd gotten used to that as well.

For the first time Jamie begins to contemplate how hard the end of this case is going to be. He hadn't realized how much he's loathing having to tell all of them, but especially Hallingsworth, how he'd been misleading them all along. He thinks of his rooms in London, thinks of going back to living there, waiting for cases that don't come, spending most of his time with Percy or alone. He doesn't want to go back there, he realizes. He wants to stay at the college and continue to be part of a world that is so exciting and filled with new experiences. Jamie watches the fog roll by the window of the train and sighs.

His final destination is a church in the East End tucked away behind several old, leaning buildings. Jamie makes his way through the small huddle of street boys before letting himself into the parsonage with the spare key he has. There is a boy in the sitting room he finds, about thirteen or fourteen years old and with only one arm and one eye. The boy is sitting on the settee reading quietly to himself, but he looks up when Jamie comes in.

"Can you find Father Hartgrove and tell him I would like to speak with him?" Jamie asks.

The boy nods, putting the book down before pushing himself off the settee. Jamie makes his way to the kitchen and puts the kettle on for tea. The water hasn't quite boiled when Father Hartgrove enters. He is an older man with sparse graying hair and glasses.

"Henry said you wanted to speak to me?" Father Hartgrove asks as Jamie turns to him.

"Yes, Father. I do."

Father Hartgrove gives him a soft smile and gets out the tea and cups while Jamie sits down at the kitchen table. "Well then?"

Jamie watches him fix the tea, frowning a little. "I thought you had a housekeeper to do those things."

"I decided I did not truly need a housekeeper," Father Hargrove tells him. "The small things that need to be done to keep up the parish and take care of myself I can easily do. Besides, the money can be better spent elsewhere." Jamie sees a flash of a sharp smile most people would miss under Father Hargrove's usual gentleness. "Not everything in life should be dictated by what the ladies in the parish think, or what kind of appearances they would like to keep up. We all answer to God, after all."

He sets a cup of tea in front of Jamie and picks up another, carrying it out of the room to give it to the boy, Henry, in the sitting room. Jamie takes a sip of his tea and waits.

When Father Hartgrove returns and settles himself on the other side of the table with his own cup of tea, he gives Jamie a long measured look over the top of his glasses. "What is it you need, James?"

Jamie can't help but squirm in his seat. He dislikes the fact that Father Hartgrove assumes he would have to need something in order to visit, but Jamie has to acknowledge to himself that the only reason he is here is because he needs something.

It isn't that he loathes spending time with Father Hartgrove, far from it. Father Hartgrove had given him everything after all, fed and clothed him, taking him in when even Jamie's own mother had turned him away. He had taught Jamie to read, write and do arithmetic. He had fostered a love of learning in Jamie, encouraged him to study anything and everything, and acquired positions as a clerk for Jamie for years so that he could work.

Father Hartgrove had insisted over and over that Jamie's impairments only affected his body, not his mind, and that he was as capable of being an upstanding member of society as any man. He truly believed that, truly believed that people who suffered from physical or mental infirmity were just as loved by God as anyone else and should be treated as such.

Jamie owed him everything.

And how do you repay that? Jamie thinks, staring morosely at his tea. By having sinful desires towards other men and insisting on a line of employment that can't sustain you. He pushes those thoughts away and clears his throat.

"I want to ask you about the Turnlow family."

Father Hartgrove blinks at him. "Well, they are a name of some note within the textile industry for owning quite a large number of cotton mills in Manchester."

Jamie nods, his mind drifting to memories of long brick buildings filled with the sound of machinery and the clack of looms. The air had always been full of fluff that stuck in his sister and mother's hair and clogged his throat until it felt as if he was drowning.

He swallows hard and shakes his head. "Anything else you can tell me about them, Father?"

"I heard a large number of them have passed on recently." Father Hartgrove shakes his head. "Such a tragedy to have that much loss in so little time. Their factories have all gone to the Kennedy family because of it, too."

Jamie looks up sharply at that. "Really?"

"Well, there is no one within the Turnlow family to look after them except some of the ladies, so the Kennedy family has been able to purchase their cotton mills quite cheaply," Father Hartgrove explains. "It's quite the news among my old acquaintances in Manchester, although I prefer to speak of things not related to the local gossip. Father Jones, however, could speak of almost nothing else in his last letter. Apparently the Kennedy family has been buying quite a number of cotton mills over the last few months; how they hope to sustain them all I don't know."

Jamie feels as if his brain is running in a hundred different directions at once and he struggles to reign it all in.

"Well, now," Father Hartgrove finishes off his tea and sets his cup aside. "Is that all you came for, James?"

Jamie forces himself to focus on the here and now and straightens himself up in his seat. "Of course, not." He smiles at Father Hartgrove. "Your health has been good, I trust?"

"As good as can be expected for a man of my age." Father Hartgove smiles gently at him from over the top of his glasses. "I have been teaching a good number of the local boys and helping Mrs. Radley with her commendable work of dispensing food and decent clothing to the unfortunate people of this area. I have also been helping Doctor Murlow with her book about the deplorable living conditions among the poor of the East End. We all hope it might encourage Parliament to take some notice of the situation."

Father Hartgrove is giving him that small smile Jamie had always despised as a boy because it indicated Father Hartgorve knew what he'd been up to. "And you, my boy? How has the Lord been at work in your life as of late?"

Jamie takes a long, fortifying draft of tea. "I have a case. It has been keeping my busy up at Cambridge in fact."

Father Hartgrove doesn't say anything, but the way his lips thin speaks clearly to Jamie of his disapproval.

Jamie sighs. "This case could very easily make my career a feasible endeavor, a way of supporting myself fully."

"And I'm glad of that." Father Hartgrove holds his hands in front of them. "I just pray it doesn't lead you astray in the process."

Jamie lets his head bow forward for a moment. "So do I."

"So," Father Hartgrove breaks the somber mood that has descended and pours himself another cup of tea. "Have you found a suitable lady to share your life with yet?"

Jamie wonders if he can fabricate some sort of sudden ailment or emergency which would keep him from continuing with this most hated line of conversation. He shakes his head and concentrates on his tea instead.

Father Hartgrove tsks. "I cannot think why you have not found a suitable companion yet. There must be at least one good Christian young lady willing to share her future with you. You are an intelligent and capable young man after all."

It reminds him of what Hallingsworth had said the night before so strongly that Jamie has to look away. It pains him more than he could have imagined, thinking of Hallingsworth's sweet smile with Father Hartgrove's hopes for his future so evident before him.