The Harvest Man (17 page)

H
ammersmith had never visited the Marylebone bazaar and he couldn’t think of a thing they might have inside that he would ever want or need. He followed Fiona through the doors and waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden shade. Electric lamps were hung everywhere, but the press of people absorbed the light. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of unwashed bodies and dust. Fiona pushed her way through the crowds—mostly women, Hammersmith noticed—to a stairway and up, without pausing to look at any of the distractions on display. Hammersmith was relieved, and had to hurry to keep up with her. He’d been afraid she was using him as an excuse to shop, but she appeared to be quite serious about their mission.

At the top of the steps, she led the way to the back of the broad landing, where an old man sat behind a meticulously arranged counter. He smiled at their approach.

“Lady Tinsley, isn’t it? I never forget a name,” he said.

Hammersmith shot a puzzled glance at Fiona, but kept his mouth shut. The old man hopped off his stool and stepped forward far enough to rest his elbows on the counter. He stared up at Hammersmith and narrowed his eyes. Hammersmith felt self-conscious and used his fingers to brush his hair out of his face. He suddenly wished he’d taken the time to change his clothes that morning. And another hour or two of sleep wouldn’t have hurt him, he supposed.

“And this must be your young man,” the shopkeeper said.

Hammersmith’s eyes widened and he looked to Fiona for help, but she was studiously avoiding his gaze.

“Mr Goodpenny,” she said, “this is my friend Nevil Hammersmith.”

Hammersmith put out his hand and Goodpenny straightened himself and shook it.

“Don’t shout at me,” Goodpenny said.

“But I haven’t said a word,” Hammersmith said.

“Just so,” Goodpenny said. “And when you do, you won’t shout, will you? I like the look of him,” he said to Fiona. “A bit rough, I suppose, but a few good meals and a proper laundering ought to take care of that.”

Hammersmith was confused. He felt like he’d stumbled into a conversation that was already under way.

“Actually, Mr Goodpenny, Nevil needs a favor, if you wouldn’t mind terribly,” Fiona said. “He’d like to get your opinion on something.” She glanced briefly at Hammersmith and nodded, and he felt a rush of relief when he realized that he finally knew what was being discussed. He groped about in his pocket until he found the cuff link Fiona had given him and set it on the countertop in front of Goodpenny, who leaned down over it.

“May I pick this up?”

“Please do,” Hammersmith said.

“Wouldn’t want you to think I was stealing it,” Goodpenny said. “Does this belong to you, Mr Angerschmid?”

“It’s Hammersmith, sir. And no, it doesn’t. I found it and would like to return it to its owner.” He and Fiona had settled on this simple cover story during their journey to the bazaar. It didn’t seem necessary to try to explain the circumstances in which he’d discovered the cuff link or the significance of it, particularly since it might have no significance at all. Hammersmith hadn’t allowed himself much hope that the piece of jewelry would lead him to a suspect.

“I thought you might be able to help, Mr Goodpenny,” Fiona said. “Since this is your area of expertise.”

“Oh, no no,” Goodpenny said. “Not at all. I actually have a great deal of expertise in this sort of thing. Been at it for thirty years, though not always in this location, mind you. In fact, this cuff link is of the sort I carry. Made by a fine family in Cornwall. I visit them twice a year to buy silver.”

“There’s an engraving on it,” Fiona said. It was clear to Hammersmith that she was fond of the old man, though she seemed to be acting cool toward Hammersmith now, virtually ignoring him, as if he’d offended her somehow.

“So there is,” Goodpenny said. “
A-R.
They’re initials, I presume.” He looked up at Hammersmith and nodded. “But not your own. Unless I put your initials on this in backwards order.”

“Do you mean to imply, sir, that you engraved this yourself?” Fiona sounded excited.

“It’s possible,” Goodpenny said. “As I say, this cuff link looks like one of mine. Here, let me show you.” He stepped back from his counter and scowled at it for a moment, then crouched down and reached inside. Hammersmith saw Goodpenny’s hands and the top of his balding head through the glass as he peered about. He emerged after a few minutes with a handful of cuff links, which he spread out over the counter. He grunted and picked one of them up.

“This is the very one,” he said. He held it out for Hammersmith and Fiona to examine. To Hammersmith’s untrained eye it looked like the same design and style of work, a slightly squashed diamond shape with deep grooves around the edges and a smooth raised inner ridge. He picked up the one he had brought and set it in the palm of Goodpenny’s hand, next to the new one. Aside from the engraved initials, the only difference he could see was the mud embedded in every indentation of the older cuff link. He looked up at Goodpenny’s smiling face.

“Did you do this? Did you engrave this one?”

Goodpenny shook his head. “I can’t be sure. I do have quite a fine memory and I’ve got no recollection of these initials, so my first instinct is to say no to you. But if you’ll wait but a moment, I keep a record of all my engravings. Stay here.” The old man patted the air between them as if settling them into their places, then turned and scuttled away behind a curtain at the rear of the little kiosk.

Hammersmith looked at Fiona and shrugged. She brushed a stray hair out of her eyes and opened her mouth to say something, but appeared to think better of it and looked away. Hammersmith turned slowly in a circle and took in the other little shops clustered around them, the ladies bustling from one spot to another, their baskets overflowing with sundry wares. He wondered how there were so many different things for sale. He glanced back at Fiona, but she appeared to be examining something behind the glass of Goodpenny’s counter. She had swept her yellow hair back behind her ear and Hammersmith could see her pulse throbbing in her throat. Her long eyelashes fluttered and she licked her lips. He looked away, suddenly aware that he was staring at her.

“It would be quite a coincidence if the cuff link came from this very place,” he said. As the words left his mouth, he heard how inane they were and winced. Of course it would be a coincidence. He was making small talk, something he never did. He believed that if a person had something to say, he should bloody well say it. And if there was nothing to say, say nothing. He shook his head, confused by his own idiocy, but Fiona looked up at him and nodded. She seemed relieved.

“I do wonder how many places there are that engrave this sort of thing,” she said. “Perhaps it’s unusual.”

“In which case, it wouldn’t be a coincidence at all, would it?”

“No. It would be fortunate, of course, but hardly coincidental.”

“Quite right.” Hammersmith felt an almost overwhelming and irrational urge to walk away and go back to his flat and start the day over without bazaars and cuff links and foolish conversations. But before he could make any excuses, Goodpenny returned, clutching a leather-bound ledger book. The inexplicable awkwardness was immediately dispelled by his presence. He set the book down between them and opened it, then leafed through the pages, working his way backward in the ledger.

“You see, I write down each transaction in this book, in case someone complains that I’ve engraved the wrong initials,” Goodpenny said. “You might be surprised by how often that happens. People say one thing and expect something completely different to end up engraved on their jewelry.”

“Perhaps,” Fiona said, “you ought to have them write their initials down for you themselves. That way there’d be no confusion.”

“That’s exactly right, my dear, I write it all down to prevent confusion.”

“That’s not what she said,” Hammersmith said. But Fiona motioned for his attention and shook her head at him. Hammersmith raised his eyebrows, but didn’t pursue the matter.

They waited several minutes while Goodpenny pored over his journal of old transactions. Hammersmith shifted from foot to foot and drummed his fingers against the countertop. Fiona stood stock-still, her shoulders tense and her hands clasped together in front of her. At last Goodpenny looked up from the book and shook his head.

“Nothing here,” he said. “A few initials, now and then over the years, but never an
A-R
at any time. I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you.”

Fiona blew out a lungful of air that Hammersmith realized she must have been holding for quite a while. She seemed to be as invested in his case as he was. She looked up at him, her brow furrowed and her jaw clenched. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I really thought perhaps . . .”

“It was a good idea. Worth looking into, at any rate. For all we know this thing is entirely unrelated to the murders.”

“You said murder,” Goodpenny said. “Murder? Has someone been killed?”

“Three women,” Hammersmith said. Their flimsy cover story didn’t really matter anymore, if it ever had.

“And you thought this was a clue?” He held up the dirty piece of jewelry and frowned at it.

“We hoped. Or rather it crossed our minds that it might be.”

“Oh, I do wish I could’ve helped you,” Goodpenny said. He handed the silver cuff link over to Hammersmith, who slipped it back into his pocket.

“Well,” Hammersmith said, “we appreciate the attempt anyway. Good to have met you, sir.” He turned away, but Fiona didn’t follow him.

“I wonder . . .” she said. “You mentioned that you travel to Cornwall for your silver things, didn’t you?”

Hammersmith perked up and grinned at her. If he hadn’t been so tired, he might have thought to pursue the thread himself. But it was her idea, so he stayed silent, letting Fiona take the lead with the old man.

“Oh, no, my dear. I go to Cornwall. Twice a year.”

“Of course. Now I remember, you did say Cornwall. And you think this cuff link comes from there as well?”

“I showed you myself,” Goodpenny said. “It’s a perfect match, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. But do you think there are other merchants who go there, too? I mean, might there be someone else selling the same sorts of things from the same place?”

“I see what you’re getting at,” Goodpenny said. “Yes, indeed. I, for one, always travel with my good friend Mr Parks, and I’m sure he finds splendid pieces of his own to bring back. Of course, sometimes our purchases overlap each other’s, but a little healthy competition is good for the economy, wouldn’t you say?”

“Quite,” Fiona said. “Are there others, besides Mr Parks, I mean? Others who also deal with the family you deal with? The silversmiths in Cornwall?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Probably a few, but not too many. And they’d be spread about, you know. Not all clumped together here in the city. Good Lord, we’d be stepping all over each other to sell a cuff link. You’d be able to buy one for practically nothing and we’d all be in the poorhouse.”

“And your friend? He’s a jeweler?”

“No, he’s a hatter, my dear, but he carries a small assortment of accessories.”

“Could we . . . Would you mind terribly giving us his address?”

“Do you think he might be able to tell you something about this clue?”

“I doubt it very much, but it’s worth a try.”

“Indeed. Give me a moment and I’ll write down his particulars.” Goodpenny disappeared behind his curtain. He emerged in no time at all holding a small cream-colored card with a familiar bit of filigree in one corner. In a small precise hand he had written the address of his friend on Jermyn Street. He hesitated, looking back and forth between them, unsure about who should be given the card, but Fiona reached across the counter and took it from him.

“Thank you very much, Mr Goodpenny.”

“I do hope this helps in some way. Mr Parks is a good man, though. I’m sure he’ll do his utmost to be of assistance.”

Hammersmith tugged at his forelock and nodded at the shopkeeper.

“You’ll let me know if you catch the murderer, won’t you?”

“Of course we will, sir,” Hammersmith said.

“My prayers are with you, Mr Angerschmid. And good day to you, Miss Tinsley. Might I say, you’re a most charming couple.”

“Oh, but we’re not,” Hammersmith said. “Not in the least bit.”

“My mistake,” Goodpenny said. “Terribly sorry.”

Hammersmith turned to Fiona, but she was already gone. He spotted her several yards away in the crowd, already at the stairs, her blond head bobbing down and out of sight. He hurried to catch up with her.

Halfway down the stairs, he had to stop. He was out of breath and he put his hand to his chest. He could feel the furrows and bumps of his still-healing wound through his shirt. He wondered if breathing too hard might strain his injured lung, cause it to burst open, filling his chest cavity with air and blood. Was that even possible? He saw himself collapsing and tumbling down the steps. He kept his head down and waited for the pain to let up. Somebody bumped into him hard, rocking him back against the railing. The man leaned in and whispered something low and unintelligible in Hammersmith’s ear. Hammersmith snapped his head up and around, but the man was already walking away from him up the stairs, disappearing among the bustling throngs. Hammersmith shook his head and clutched the railing tight and descended to the ground floor.

By the time he managed to elbow his way through the shoppers downstairs and out into the sunlight, Fiona was halfway down the street. The pain in Hammersmith’s chest had subsided and he half ran, half walked after her. When she heard him coming up behind her, she stopped and turned.

“Good thinking, you,” he said when he had caught his breath again. “Getting that other name from him, I mean. You’d make a fine detective.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” Fiona said. “You couldn’t detect a soup stain if it was right under your nose.”

He looked down, surprised to see that he did, indeed, have a soup stain on his right sleeve. When he looked up, Fiona had gone again, stomping down the street with the little card in her hand and a slight breeze blowing her hair back over her shoulders. Hammersmith shook his head and let her get ahead of him. She acted like she was angry with him, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.