Stranger Times

John Henry

"I will, sir. But what does this note have to do with Lord Perceval?"

"With Lord Perceval? Nothing," the Earl replied. "Mary Neville is simply the newest widow in England."

"Oh," Arthur murmured as he made the connection. "This is a substantial sum for a widow, but there's a lot of public sympathy for Mister Bellingham. I'm not surprised to see his widow cared for in such a fashion."

"Nor would I be, normally. But details are what every good conspiracy is buried beneath. Make a note of the date and time."

"Thirty-seven minutes past eight, on the twelfth of May. That is a little quick," Arthur mused.

"Accountants are predictable creatures, Constable. Processing a transfer of funds requires some time. Because of this, an accountant will list a last minute request as having arrived the next morning, to avoid keeping themselves late. If I knew the bank in question to not open until nine, which I do, what would you conclude then?"

Arthur fought, and failed, to keep his excitement from bending his lips into a grin. "That whoever set up this account must have known Mary Neville was going to be widowed before Mister Bellingham shot the Prime Minister."

"A conclusion I share, Constable. Be discreet, but be swift."

*****

Mivart's Hotel had the faint but distinct smell of fresh lacquer and recently cut wood. Oil lanterns adorned the walls in almost obscene frequency, casting a nearly indecent amount of light into the halls. The corners were clean, the wood was freshly waxed, and the chair cushion Constable Arthur Noakes waited on was so stiff it was almost certainly new.

A place keen to impress, Arthur reflected as he waited. Likely hoping to impress a clientele quite a bit wealthier than a widow the public needed to set up a collection for.
His suspicion was exacerbated when he saw the woman walk down the stairs. Her clothes, complete with the elaborate fixings that Arthur had no hope of naming, were all both expensive and very new. Her hair was elegantly done up, and the skin around her slightly bloodshot eyes looked rested and carefree.

Arthur stood up as the woman approached. "Constable Arthur Noakes, Bow Street Runners. My sincere condolences, Madam."

"It's Mary Neville, Mister Noakes. And thank you. It's been a trying time," she replied.

"I understand. And I'm relieved to see your husband seems to have left you well cared for," Arthur said, but he watched the widow closely, looking for the telltale flinch and the aversion of the eyes.

Instead, Mary looked down at the floor and took a deep breath. "My financial relief is not because of my husband's foresight, Mister Noakes. I have found some charitable benefactors since my husband was incarcerated."

"I see. And I recall your husband had some financial difficulties, which he feels our government ought to have redressed?"

"Yes. He had been arrested in Russia over a business associate's outstanding debts. Only the clemency of Emperor Alexander saw him returned to me. My husband insisted the government owed him compensation for the wrongs he suffered, but I threatened to leave him if he didn't give up on that venture. I thought that was it, until a couple of weeks ago. He paid a visit to the foreign office, where someone directed him to 'whatever measures he thought proper'.

Arthur nodded, and smiled. "Again, my sympathies. But if you don't mind the query, who has stepped up so quickly to care for you?"

"A man named John Henry, from the colonies. He said he owed my husband a debt of gratitude."