Amanderella and the Gooseberry Mystery. Chapter 9.

Chapter Nine.

 

Shovelock Ellis.

 

The Peer’s motor‑vehicle shuddered to a halt outside a narrow Marylebone townhouse whose windows were so clean they reflected the street like mirrors. A discreet brass plate beside the door read:

S. Ellis, Private Enquiries

Amanderella mounted the steps and rang the bell. There was no bustle within, no raised voice, no clatter of feet. Only the soft, precise click of a latch.

The door opened a few inches. A cool grey eye regarded them.

“Lady Amanderella,” said a quiet voice. “My lord. You are on time.”

The door opened fully. Shovelock Ellis stood in a plain dark suit, expression unreadable, posture perfectly still. He led them up a narrow staircase to a room almost austere in its simplicity: a desk, two chairs, a single shelf of books, and a map of London pinned with three small black markers.

Nothing more. No clutter. No chaos. No wasted motion.

“Please sit,” Ellis said. “You have come about the matter of the vault.”

The Peer blinked. “How did you—”

Ellis raised a hand. “You would not be here otherwise.” He turned to Amanderella. “I was right to recommend you. I am certain the person who engaged me will be pleased with the outcome.”

Amanderella inclined her head. “Then you know why we are here.”

“I do,” Ellis replied. “You seek a man who overheard a wager and mistook desperation for opportunity.” He opened a drawer and withdrew a small, neatly folded sheet of paper. “I believe I know who and where he is.”

“One of the servants,” said Amanderella as she settled into the sparse chair with an elegant rustle of her skirt, her parasol resting precisely against her knee. “Then pray enlighten us, Mr Ellis.”

Ellis adjusted his cuffs, movements as economical as a Swiss watchmaker’s.

““You are entirely correct, Amanderella,” Ellis said, fixing his cool grey eye on the Peer. “The fundamental rule of the British establishment holds true: the people who know your secrets are the people who wash your linen and pour your wine.”

The Peer blinked, his whiskers twitching. “Eh? What’s that? You mean Amanderella’s theory about the servants?”

“Precisely,” Ellis continued, tapping the folded paper on his desk. “The blackmailer knew the exact weight of the gooseberries, the specific debts of the M.P., and the precise nature of the wager. As she rightly deduced, he didn’t need to break into a vault or read a diary. He was standing less than three feet from your elbow, holding a decanter of your finest port.”

The Peer gasped, looking from Ellis to Amanderella. “Good grief. You don’t mean…”

“I do indeed,” Ellis said flatly. “Your third footman at the townhouse, a certain Thomas Hankin. A lad of excellent hearing, immaculate posture, and, until recently, a very empty bank account. Amanderella’s suspicion was entirely accurate; Hankin is our man.”

“But why? All my employees are well paid and properly treated.”

“We treat them like deaf and dumb pieces of furniture, my lord. You discuss ten‑thousand‑pound wagers, political ruin, and clockwork swine as though the men pouring your drinks were made of wax. It is a wonder you aren’t all blackmailed weekly.”

The Peer nodded slowly. “I suppose I shall have to sack him then.”

“Too late,” Ellis replied. “He was dismissed from your service three weeks after the drinking‑party incident.”

“Not by me he wasn’t. I would remember doing that.”

“He dropped a tureen of soup at one of your banquets and was dismissed by your chef.”

“I remember that! It was not his fault, the handle broke.”

“Even so. He was dismissed without references. He has a wife and young family. In desperation he used what he knew to try to get enough money to emigrate.”

“Desperation,” Amanderella said. “Not wickedness.”

Ellis inclined his head. “Precisely. A man may be foolish without being corrupt. Hunger blurs the line.”

The Peer sank back, whiskers drooping. “Poor devil. And all this time I thought my household was content.”

“Most of them are,” Ellis said. “But contentment does not survive a sudden dismissal, a broken tureen handle, and a wife who has just given birth.”

The Peer winced. “Good grief. Well, even so, the fellow must be—”

“A public arrest would mean a public trial,” Amanderella said gently, her voice dropping like a curtain. “And a public trial would involve explaining to a magistrate why a Member of Parliament was hiding a mechanical pig in Threadneedle Street.”

The Peer froze.

Ellis’s grey eyes flicked toward him.

Amanderella continued, “We promised the Bishop we would avoid the newspapers.”

The Peer shuddered. “Good heavens. The Morning Trumpeter would have a field day.”

“Which is why,” Amanderella said, “we shall speak to Thomas Hankin quietly, privately, and with compassion. He is not a villain, merely a frightened young man who made a foolish choice.”

Ellis nodded once. “Precisely.”

The Peer drew a deep breath, straightened his coat. “Very well. No police. No magistrates. No newspapers. We shall do this properly.”

“As we always do,” Amanderella murmured.

Ellis tapped the folded paper. “Thomas Hankin is living in a lodging house in Camden Town. Temporary warehouse work. Poorly paid. He has written no further letters because he fears you will involve the police. He hoped you would simply… send the money.”

Amanderella’s expression softened. “He must have been terrified.”

“Terrified,” Ellis agreed. “And ashamed.”

“Then we must find him at once,” the Peer said. “I cannot have the boy thinking himself hunted.”

“A humane impulse,” Ellis said. “And a wise one.”

He rose. “If you are ready, I shall take you to him.”

“We are,” Amanderella said.

The Peer stood, determination settling over him like a well‑fitted coat. “Let us go. No man should be ruined for overhearing a foolish wager.”

“Quite,” Ellis said.

Thomas Hankin lived in a narrow, soot‑stained lodging house off a side street where the cobbles had long since given up pretending to be level. Ellis led them up a dim staircase, paused outside a peeling door, and tapped twice.

A rustle. A child coughed. A woman murmured.

The door opened a few inches.

A thin, pale young man peered out, hair flattened by worry, sleeves rolled, eyes hollow. He flinched at Ellis. He went white at the Peer.

“My lord,” he whispered. “I—I didn’t mean… I never thought—”

The Peer raised a hand, not in command but reassurance. “Mr Hankin, may we come in?”

The young man stepped aside.

The room was small but scrupulously tidy: a cot, a cradle, a table, two chairs, a kettle boiled too often. A young woman rose at once, curtseying awkwardly.

“Please don’t,” the Peer said softly. “We are not here to frighten you.”

Thomas swallowed. “I know what I did, my lord. I was desperate. I thought if I could get enough to take Mary and the little ones to Canada… I never meant harm. I swear it.”

Amanderella stepped forward, calm and steady. “You frightened yourself more than anyone else, Mr Hankin.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The Peer looked around, thin blankets, patched shirts, a cradle mended with string, and something softened in his expression.

“Thomas,” he said quietly, “you were dismissed unjustly. The tureen handle broke. It was not your fault.”

Thomas blinked rapidly. “No one believed me, my lord.”

“I do,” the Peer said simply.

Thomas’s breath hitched.

“You should never have been turned out without references,” the Peer continued. “That was not my doing, but it was my responsibility. And I intend to put it right.”

Thomas stared. “My lord…?”

“You will not be arrested. You will not be shamed. You will not be in the newspapers. Instead, you will return to my household, with proper wages, proper references, and proper security for your family.”

The young woman gave a choked sob. Thomas sank to his knees. “My lord, I don’t deserve—”

“Nonsense,” the Peer said briskly. “You made a foolish choice in fear. I have made worse in comfort.”

Amanderella allowed herself the faintest smile. Ellis inclined his head, as though ticking off a final item.

The Peer extended his hand. “Come, Thomas. Let us start again.”

Thomas took it with both hands, tears running freely.

Ellis cleared his throat, a small, precise sound. “Our work here is concluded. Mr Hankin has heard what he needed. And Amanderella has other duties.”

Amanderella inclined her head. “Take care of one another.”

The Peer murmured a final reassurance, then followed her out.

Outside, the air was cool and faintly smoky. Amanderella drew her shawl around her shoulders.

“Home, my lord?”

“For you, my Lady, the Ducks for me, he replied.