Page 20 of A Game of Scandal

“The man we now know as Laing popped up in London six years ago, as if he’d been here all along,” she continued. “He has friends in high places, holds an extremely tidy sum of money in his bank account – apparently made through canny investments only over the last six years – and moves in all the right circles, though how he infiltrated those circles without a personal history I can only guess. He is well liked, welcome at all the best homes, viewed as an eligible bachelor by even the most discerning mothers, for whom his personal fortune and good manners do much to outweigh his lack of title. Even Edward Laing could not fabricate one of those.”

“So Laing is … an alias?” I hazarded. “But how did he do it? Establish himself so neatly?”

“It might be bribery or blackmail,” Izzy said. “Only a few key figures need to claim him as an old friend for society to accept him.”

I looked from Izzy to Mrs Finch and Sylla. “And how is he involved in your murder?”

“We don’t know yet,” Sylla said. “We don’t have enough information.”

“We wouldn’t have any information at all if I hadn’t been following him.” Izzy’s voice was heated, unusually so for her. “I’m telling you, there’s something wrong. The man is rotten. The other women…”

“What other women?” I interrupted.

“It would appear that Mr Laing, or at least a man of his description, may be connected to several other crimes in the city,” Mrs Finch said calmly. “Or crimes made to look like accidents. Some cases are open with Scotland Yard, others have come through us. Mr Laing was present either at or near the scene of every one. His presence was never remarked upon or deemed suspicious. It seems he makes a lot of effort to be nondescript.”

There was a moment of chilled silence.

“Several other…” I repeated, my voice low as I trailed off and collected myself. “You believe this man may be responsible for more than one murder?” It had been only twelve years since the Whitechapel murders – the image of a homicidal monster was not confined to the stuff of nightmares; it haunted this city in a very real way.

“We don’t know yet,” Sylla said again, her face placid.

Mrs Finch smiled. “It goes against Sylla’s professional pride to allow that a single man has had his finger in so many of our pies without us being aware of it,” she said.

“What a delightful image.” Sylla’s lip curled.

“Nevertheless,” Mrs Finch continued, “it does seem possible, likely even, that Laing has been involved in multiple crimes. I suspect he is – among other things – a murderer for hire. A criminal of extreme calculation and ruthless efficiency, happy to fix any problem if the price is right. I’ve reviewed Izzy’s findings and I agree that there are some troubling patterns.”

“This is the man I met?” I said doubtfully, trying to recall the cheerful if unremarkable figure. “He didn’t seem particularly threatening.”

“That doesn’t mean much,” Sylla said archly. “But the truth is that we could be jumping at shadows. It is far too early in the investigation to be bringing anyone else in.”

“I don’t disagree” – Izzy frowned – “but if I’m right, we haven’t got the luxury of time. One way or another the man is dangerous, and if we don’t put a stop to it, he’ll hurt someone else. I’ve had my charm following Laing for several days now, and something is going on, and I think it’s to do with this poker game next week.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, for one thing there’s been a lot of irregular activity – visits to several banks, meetings with multiple unsavoury characters. Laing seems to have hired an impressive assortment of men we know as brawlers and thugs. He’s also taken out a lease on an old abandoned building near the docks under the name of Roberts. At the moment it stands empty so there’s nothing there to help us, though we’re keeping an eye on it. And this poker game he’s planning – big players, highly exclusive.”

“Who’s on the guest list?” I asked. “Anything of interest there?”

Mrs Finch poured herself another cup of tea. “No one stands out. There’s a bored young buck, a dour man who made his money in textiles, an ambitious American entrepreneur – all of them are as they seem, as far as I know, and the only thing they have in common is fat bank balances. And that they like playing cards.”

“So he’s doing it for the money, then,” I mused. “I thought you said he had significant personal means.”

“He does. So why does he suddenly need such a sum? I believe that, whatever his scheme, it’s something on a larger scale than he’s undertaken previously,” Izzy put in.

“Perhaps,” Mrs Finch said. “But as Sylla says, we don’t have much to go on. Ash contacted me today to let me know that the game has been set for next week, in a private room at the Penny.”

“So the obvious next step is for us to infiltrate that game and see if Laing lets any clue of his plans slip,” said Izzy. “At the very least we can stop him from winning a tremendous sum of money which might be put to nefarious uses. As I mentioned yesterday, Felicity has an advantage at cards, based on her mathematical knowledge. She’s agreed to join us as a consultant, to help prepare whoever we send in.”

“Nonsense,” I said, straightening my skirts, and keeping my voice steady. “You’ll be sending me in.”

“We certainly will not!” Izzy exclaimed. Sylla only watched me, Sphinx-like, while Mrs Finch cleared her throat. Izzy glanced between the two of them. “I thought perhaps Winnie…”

Sylla snorted. “You want to send Winnie in to play poker at a gaming den? She’d be more likely to blow the place up.”

I wasn’t sure who this Winnie person was, though she sounded interesting, but the point still needed to be made. “Izzy, Ash said Laing is either a cheat or an incredibly skilled player. I can’t possibly teach someone the things I know – I’ll barely have time to prepare myself in a week. I spent three months getting ready to play vingt-et-un, and the mathematics of that are far less complex. As it is, I can only create a slender advantage and that’s because of the information I can hold in my brain. If you want to ensure Laing doesn’t win, then you need me.” In truth, the thought of coming up against a potential murderer had me feeling more than a tad nervous. But, after all, I wouldn’t be alone with the man.

“So we don’t do it,” Izzy said, firm. She held up her hand before I could protest. “This isn’t me being overprotective. We have rules. We don’t put people in the field without considerable training. Six months, minimum.”