Laetitia Rodd and the Case of the Wandering Scholar by Kate Saunders

Author:Kate Saunders
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781408866917
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2019-06-28T09:21:36+00:00

Twenty-one

The following morning, my brother kindly sent his carriage to take me to Barnard’s Inn in Holborn, where I was to meet Mr Mitchell. I was very grateful, for the day was damp, the crowded roads were plastered with wet, sooty mud and I was anxious about my best black silk gown.

Mr Mitchell received me in his office, on the first floor of the ramshackle old building. He was tall and loosely made, with a small pot belly, and wary little eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles.

‘This is good of you, Mrs Rodd; the estate is nearly wound up, but my client particularly wished me to meet you in person, and to put this into no other hand but yours.’

He took an envelope from his desk, sealed in the old-fashioned manner with red wax, and placed it in my hand with a formal bow. This was very unexpected and I was too curious to wait, so I broke the seal at once. The envelope contained a number of new white banknotes, amounting to a sum of money that fairly took my breath away.

‘I don’t understand – Mr Welland owed me nothing! Why has he done this?’

‘The money is yours absolutely,’ said Mr Mitchell. ‘Whether or not you act upon his request.’

‘Request?’

‘He was near the end when I saw him,’ said Mr Mitchell. ‘But I judged him to be perfectly lucid, and I am satisfied that I understood him correctly. He wished you to find the person or persons who murdered Arthur Somers.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ This was the last thing I had expected to hear, and I was for a moment deeply confused; surely these two cases were entirely unconnected? ‘Mr Welland did not know Arthur Somers, as far as I’m aware; why was he so anxious for me to discover his murderer?’

‘To be frank, Mrs Rodd, I have no idea. The man could barely speak; it was painful to watch him struggling to form the words. It appeared to be something about Joshua. I reminded him that his brother had passed away, but he would have none of it.’

‘That is understandable; the poor man was dying.’

‘I am merely delivering the message,’ said Mr Mitchell. ‘He kept repeating three words – “Hannah”, “Arden” and “Desolation”.’

Hannah – Arden – Desolation.

Now I was bewildered; what did Mr Arden have to do with Hannah Laurie, and what did either of them have to do with desolation?

‘Hannah was the name of Jacob Welland’s late wife,’ I said. ‘I am acquainted with Mr Arden, who was a friend of his many years ago. Did he leave me any further instructions?’

‘No, ma’am,’ said Mr Mitchell. ‘That was all.’

‘And what is the connection with the murder – if there is a connection?’

‘Once again, I have no idea; I am simply carrying out my client’s instructions. He also left you a small cedarwood box of sundry papers, but to my very great annoyance, it has gone missing.’

This latest revelation only increased my confusion. ‘Do you mean it has been stolen?’

‘That’s possible,’ Mr Mitchell said.

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