1: London
10 January, 1935—
The bloody radiator was broken again. Pippa Blakely knew the second she stepped inside. Her breath steamed up in front of her, as it had outside, and the air was just as cold.
“Oh, blooming hell,” she said out loud.
“Oo oo,” said her infant son Finneas – or Finn, as everyone called him – repeated. “El el.”
“I will not have you repeating that, Finny,” said Pippa, wrapping her coat tighter around him to keep him warm. He was going on six months, highly inquisitive and vocal. His wide brown eyes, like hers and her husband Ethan’s, were constantly swivelling around, taking in everything.
“Fee fee,” said Finn. He’d recently begun to try his own name, but couldn’t get past the first syllable. So fee fee it was. “Fee.”
“Yes, that’s you,” said Pippa, setting down her handbag and a folder she carried in her other arm on her desk, then making her way to the window on the opposite wall, to the radiator. She lowered herself to look at it, cupping the back of Finn’s head as she did. “How am I supposed to fix this blasted thing?”
“Bla bla,” echoed Finn. “Bla bla bla.”
He wriggled around under her coat, his head popping out into open air. Then he grasped at the pipe with a little hand, squeaking in surprise when he found it ice-cold.
“Don’t touch, Finny.” Pippa straightened, setting Finn in the bassinet Ethan had built in time for Christmas. Now it sat by his empty desk, and she wished he were here to help. But, as always, their clients were more willing to hire him over her, and he was out following some banker. She swaddled Finn in a couple blankets, then turned back to the radiator. She gave both valves one twist – all that was needed for this space, Ethan had said – and waited. Nothing.
“Blooming Christ,” Pippa grumbled. She was going to have to ask the building manager to look at it, because besides Ethan, he was the only one who knew how to fix it. But she didn’t like him because of the way he stared at her.
Got another tyke on the way soon, eh, Mrs Barrow?
Pippa always bristled at that question. Ever since Finn, she was reluctant to try for another baby. One was enough. Two would likely take away any sanity she had. But for some reason, the man always felt the need to ask her that.
“Boo boo,” said Finn. “Boo me.”
She scooped her son up again, holding him close and keeping him warm with her own body heat. Then she crossed the room, intending to ring the manager now. They couldn’t work like this.
The sound of the door opening stopped her halfway. She turned her head, glancing over her shoulder, and saw the woman there. Pippa took note of the woman’s expensive-looking coat, probably new, with a fur-trimmed collar. Her hat as well must have cost several hundred pounds to make, covered with beadwork as it was.
“Well,” said the woman, in a noticeable American accent. “Nippy in here, isn’t it?”
“Sorry, the radiator’s broken,” Pippa said, turning from her desk. “Can I help you?”
The woman nodded. “My name’s Edna Cutler. I’ve been looking for a good private investigator, and your firm’s earned quite a reputation.”
“Oh?” Pippa dandled Finn as he squirmed. “Well…we don’t exactly do things conventionally…”
“Exactly what I need.” Edna Cutler smiled. She could've been a film star, with her flawless ivory skin, perfectly coiffed blonde hair, and expressive blue eyes. “If you’re willing to hear my case.”
“Of course, Miss—”
“It’s Mrs, actually,” she said, cutting Pippa off. “I’m surprised you don’t know my husband Benjamin. Invested in the automobile industry early and struck it rich.”
“Excuse me. Mrs Cutler. Please, have a seat.” Pippa backed up, putting the desk between them as Mrs Cutler climbed the two steps into the office space.
“This really is just the the two of you?” Mrs Cutler didn’t sit, instead looking around her with sharp appraisal. “Which one are you, Blakely or Barrow?”
“Blakely,” said Pippa. “At least…before I got married.”
“Bak bee,” Finn said, touching her face. “Bak bee.”
“Your son is a darling boy,” said Mrs Cutler, and Pippa detected a melancholy in her voice.
“Yes, this is Finn. Six months old in a week.” Pippa took one of Finn’s waving arms and waved it at Mrs Cutler. “Say hello, Finny.”
“Lo lo,” said Finn.
Mrs Cutler waved back with two gloved fingers. “Hello, Finn.”
“Fee fee,” Finn said. “Ma ma.”
“I have two children of my own,” said Mrs Cutler, finally taking her seat. “Well. Had.”
“‘Had’?” Pippa furrowed her brow. “What happened to them?”
“That’s why I’ve come to you. They’ve gone missing.”
Pippa sat up straighter. “Have they? How long ago?”
“Yesterday. Right after Benjamin left on his business trip. I hadn’t seen them in a while, and I assumed they were being watched by Thora, our nanny. But then…” Mrs Cutler stopped, in a hoarse squeak. “I found her in the nursery, and…she was dead. And my children were gone.”
Pippa had dug out a legal pad and a pencil, writing in the police shorthand Ethan had been teaching her to use. She was still learning, but for the most part was able to decipher her own writing. Easier than trying to write it out, at any rate.
“You don’t know how long your nanny had been dead?” Pippa asked, looking up to see Mrs Cutler dabbing at her eyes daintily.
“No.” Mrs Cutler twisted the handkerchief she held between her hands. “Although I’d seen her that morning, giving the children breakfast.”
Ethan would know what to ask now, about forced entry or disturbance around the time Thora had supposedly been killed. He knew how to dissociate. But all Pippa saw was a distraught mother.
“And the next time you saw her, she was dead?”
Mrs Cutler nodded. “I wanted to see Benjamin off at the train station. So…we went together. I assumed Thora would be fine with the children, but…I suppose I was too trusting, and…”
“Who else has a key to your house, Mrs Cutler?” Pippa asked as she wrote.
“Well…our cook does. Our maid, our butler, and Thora, of course. So does our chauffeur. But he was driving us to the station, so I know he couldn’t have done it…”
“Let me stop you there, Mrs Cutler,” said Pippa, as gently as she could. “I have to ask…did you go to the police? They have more resources than we do.”
“No, and I won’t,” she said, and that took Pippa aback. “I don’t want police crawling all over our house.”
“May I ask why not?”
“I don’t want my husband finding out. He reads all the papers every morning, you see…he gets them from North America and the Continent, about seven or eight a day. Wants to keep up on the news. But if this gets out, we’ll be the headline. I don’t want that.”
“I see,” said Pippa, although that didn’t make sense. Something like this, especially when it involved missing children, was in the police’s purview.
“I’m willing to pay you handsomely,” said Mrs Cutler, leaning forward. Her blue eyes were intensely focused on Pippa. “I have the means, and then some. Benjamin gives me fairly free rein to do what I like with my share of our money.”
“Right,” said Pippa. “I’ll have my husband look at it. See if we can’t at least poke around a little.”
“Oh, thank you.” Mrs Cutler reached out and laid both her hands on top of Pippa’s. “You would be doing us a great service, Mrs Barrow. Myself especially.”
“Of course, Mrs Cutler.” It wasn’t all the money, necessarily. But she did like the idea of more of it to keep the business afloat. Which wasn’t struggling as much as it used to. There was no shortage of spouses who were suspicious of one another, gaffers suspicious of one of their employees or vice versa, or shady dealings under innumerable tables. And since Philomena Lynton did the books regularly, their affairs were in order. Mostly.
After she’d given her information and rushed out again, Pippa sat back in her chair and looked at Finn in her lap. He sucked on his two middle fingers and looked back, waving his other hand in the air.
“Guess this is a job for Dada, isn’t it, Finny?”
Finn blinked back. She had to assume that meant yes.
“Can’t be done,” said Ethan that evening, at home. He tossed the legal pad with Pippa’s notes into the middle of the dining room table.
“Why not?” Pippa scowled. “She was clearly distressed, Ethan. She wants this solved quietly.”
“You don’t think her not going to the coppers first isn’t suspicious?” Ethan slapped the pad with the backs of his fingers. “This isn’t the case for us, Pip. I don’t care what she promised to pay.”
“It’s not about the money,” Pippa snapped back. “I haven’t got such a big head that I think we only take cases that pay well. But what was I supposed to do? Tell her we couldn’t?”
“Yes. You can’t please everyone. Sometimes those who have cases get lucky. And sometimes they don’t. Mrs Cutler’s just ran out, I’m afraid.”
“It’s a case of missing children, Ethan. Not betting odds.”
“Yes, and do you know who Benjamin Cutler is?” Ethan scowled back at her.
“She told me he invested in the automobile industry early. Got rich quick.”
“You know where those investors put their money? In German cars, Pip. Hitler is involved in the auto industry there. Bloody Hitler.”
Pippa shook her head. “I don’t understand why you’re on about that. It isn’t as though Cutler invested in one of his cars.”
“No, but his wife probably influenced him. She may be American, but she’s got Fascist sympathies. I assume you don’t know who she is, either?”
“No, I…” Pippa was halfway out of her chair before she realised it. “Just tell me—where are you going?”
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Ethan called from the hall.
Pippa felt her lip twitch, but sat anyway. She didn’t like him ordering her about like this, but she liked not knowing anything about potential clients even less.
Finn, in her lap, continued to play with his toes and was entirely unaware of everything going on. He’d recently become fascinated by his toes, probably because he somehow knew they were needed for walking – which he was also starting to try. Sometimes Pippa didn’t understand his desire to be mobile so quickly, but it'd been Philomena who’d phrased it best.
I think he sees other people around him walk on their own.
Pippa sighed. She missed having Philomena here, whose patience with Finn was infinite – unlike her own. There'd been multiple occasions where she’d come across the two of them in the hall, Finn taking shaky little steps while Philomena held his hands and coaxed him gently.
Ethan was coming back then, a thin folder under one arm. He tossed it down in front of her, like this was a police interrogation. It made sense, although Pippa didn’t like it – Ethan had been a copper up until they’d gotten married, first on the Vice squad in his native Birmingham and then a detective at Scotland Yard – sergeant, then inspector. Pippa knew he could've made Commissioner if he’d wanted it, but he’d told her over and over that even if he could do it all again, he'd still choose her over the Metropolitan Police.
“What’s this?” Pippa looked at it, then at her husband.
“Open it,” he said.
She did. Inside was a newspaper clipping, the headline boasting Industry tycoon weds heir to Draper fortune. Underneath there was a wedding portrait, of Benjamin Cutler in a dark tuxedo and Edna Draper – now Cutler – in a long white dress and veil sitting in front of him. She glanced at the date. May 1925, which meant they had a ten-year anniversary coming up.
“Ethan, I still don’t see—”
“I’ve circled it,” he said simply, then began to clear the plates.
She searched until it jumped out at her, circled in red pencil like Ethan had said. Isaiah Draper, the bride’s father, made his fortune in European industry during the Gilded Age, from German chemicals to Norwegian shipping companies. His net worth is said to be 27 billion US dollars, second only to Mr William Randolph Hearst of the Hearst media empire.
“Her family's filthy rich, Finny. Look at that.”
“Fee fee,” said Finn, taking a break from his toes.
The article didn’t mention money again, only the length of the bride’s train – an astounding twenty-five feet – and the height of the cake, with five tiers, the size of a small car. People like this made Pippa’s lip curl. Showing off their wealth, and not caring how much was wasted. A wedding like that probably cost thousands – a drop in the bucket for this kind of wealth.
The groom’s family, with roots in France and Scotland, make their home in southern England, where Mr Cutler still lives. It is unclear where the couple will have their own residence, although Mrs Cutler has hinted at a modest-size manor close to London, where Mr Cutler’s centre of industry is located.
“Cutler’s English?” Pippa muttered, reaching the end of the article. “Figures.”
“Do I have your attention now, Pip?” Ethan said, reentering the room.
“Besides the fact they’re both disgustingly rich, I don’t see any mention of what you’ve told me.”
“It’s the father,” said Ethan. “Draper. He’s got interests in the German economy.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s going full-throttle for Hitler,” Pippa pointed out. “Anyone who’s smart isn’t now.”
“You know how I know?” Ethan folded his arms, glaring down at her. “Draper and Company still hold major shares in the German chemical industry. They expanded to automobiles after the war.”
“Oh.” Pippa fiddled with the corner of the folder. “You could've said that at the beginning.”
“I’ve tried that,” he said with a shrug. “You like a bit of mystery around these things.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not even going to try and suss that out.”
Still, the facts tugged at her. She thought of the two missing children, the dead nanny, even the conveniently absent husband. That'd be the first thing to check. Husbands were always suspect, whether the wives knew or not.
So, for a change, she left Ethan at the office with Finn to wait for the building manager while she went off to the train station, the article Ethan had given her last night folded up in her coat pocket. The wedding portrait did one thing well, and that was clearly showing Benjamin Cutler’s face.
Victoria Station was first. She marched up to the first unoccupied ticket window, making the man inside sit up with a start.
“Can I help you, ma’m?”
“Yes, actually.” Pippa took the article out of her pocket and slid it under the glass partition. “Do you recognise that man?”
“Ma’m, I see hundreds of faces a day, I don’t—”
“Take a minute,” Pippa said tightly. “Think carefully.”
“I’m not talking to coppers, ma’m, you’ve got the wrong—”
“I’m not a copper,” said Pippa. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“Right, keep your hair on.” The man slid the paper back. “In that case, I didn’t see him.”
“How about your colleagues?” This man’s attitude was irritating her. “Ask them, if they were here the day before yesterday, if they recall?”
The man sniffed primly, snatched the paper up again, and said, “Just a moment, ma’m.”
Then he was gone. Pippa forced down her irritation, which pricked at her like a needle, and waited. She rubbed at her knuckles under her gloves, shuddering at the rush of air from an incoming train.
The man returned, sliding the paper back with finality. “No one saw him, ma’m. Apologies.”
What followed was the same conversation, at Waterloo, St Pancras, Paddington, and Euston. And what she got was a whole lot of No ma’am and Sorry, haven’t seen him.
At Charing Cross, she finally had luck. A conductor had seen Benjamin Cutler, the day before yesterday, boarding a train for Southampton.
“Was he alone?” Pippa asked, just as the conductor was about to leave her alone on the platform.
“Yes, why?” He looked at her strangely. “Oo’d you say you were again?”
“I didn’t,” said Pippa. “I’m just…concerned about him. Worried he’s having problems at home.”
“Wouldn’t know about that, ma’m,” said the conductor. “If you’ll excuse me…”
“Wait…one more thing.” Pippa knew she sounded desperate. She was exhausted too, from running after cabs and around train stations and being shunted from person to person after each no. Her feet hurt, not the same way they did when she’d been at home with Finn all day. “You must've known if he had a single ticket or a return.”
“Can’t say. Confidential.” The conductor’s beady eyes narrowed.
“Please,” she pleaded. A couple passengers bumped her trying to get past, nearly knocking her off her feet. “It’s important.”
“My gaffer’ll have my head,” said the conductor, stomping back to her. “You can’t ask that.”
“Please,” Pippa tried again. “I’m just worried. I swear.”
“Single,” hissed the conductor. “Now clear out. Or I’ll have security do it for you.”
Naturally, Ethan was angry that she’d done that without taking the case. And even though he’d said no outright, she’d done it anyway.
“When was the last time I needed your approval?” Pippa said, when his tirade had followed her all the way behind her dressing screen.
“When you do something that'll get you sued,” Ethan snapped back. “Or worse, hurt. Jesus, Pip. Now they’re going to keep a lookout for a woman asking suspicious questions.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” Pippa shoved her dress down to her ankles and stepped out of it. “I can’t sit by while this woman comes to us asking us to find her children. What if it was Finn, Ethan? I’d be desperate too.”
He was silent, for so long she thought he’d gone to sleep. Then he said, “You just can’t leave it alone, can you?”
“No, I bloody well cannot,” she snapped, stepping from behind the screen and beginning to yank the pins from her hair.
“Even though she’s a self-proclaimed Fascist?” Ethan was sitting up in bed now, the low lamplight turning his bare chest golden. Why did he have to sleep shirtless and distract her?
She scowled at him in the mirror. That was the dealbreaker, and she knew it. Anyone with half a brain wouldn’t take the Cutlers’ money when they found out where it came from.
“You don’t even know what I found out,” she said then.
He folded his arms and sighed heavily. “Fine. What did you find out?”
“Benjamin Cutler bought a single ticket to Southampton from Charing Cross station. Which, I’ll have you know, is all the way across the city for him. I think that’s suspicious, don’t you?”
“How far away does he live, exactly?” Ethan asked, and she caught a hint of intrigue. She had him.
“Just outside Eton. He can probably see Windsor Castle from his window.”
“Were you planning on taking a trip out that way anytime soon?”
Pippa sighed. “Judging by your reaction to what I did, I won’t if you don’t want me to.”
“If you do, I might join you,” he said. “Besides, as you said, when have you ever needed my approval?”
Pippa felt herself grin. That hadn’t been so hard.
