Page 36 of Cloaked in Deception (Spencer & Reid Mysteries #4)

The flat banking of gray clouds in the sky let only a little sunlight filter through, and once again, the humidity thickened the air.

Leo drew her mind from the bothersome perspiration gathering on her skin as she took an omnibus toward Park Crescent in Marylebone.

Jasper had not let slip the exact address for Paula Blickson’s home, but once there, Leo easily asked a crossing sweeper boy which home belonged to the Blicksons.

After giving the enterprising young lad a penny, he pointed to a three-story home across the tidy garden square.

She gazed upon the home’s exterior as she made her way through the square toward it.

Jasper’s voice was lodged in the back of her mind, commanding her to stop and turn around.

Leo had promised him not to do anything regarding the case while he was away, and she felt slightly guilty that she was now breaking that vow.

But there was no telling when he and Sergeant Lewis would return to London, and with George Hayes missing and her theory about hereditary moles confirmed by her uncle, Leo felt she had no choice but to see if Paula Blickson was at home.

If Leo was correct in her supposition, there was a good chance Mrs. Blickson would not be there. She might be long gone—with her son, George Hayes.

She climbed the stoop and brought down the front door knocker, her pulse bubbling with anticipation. A maid opened the door and assessed Leo with a lengthy stare.

“Is Mrs. Blickson in?” Leo inquired. Before the maid could answer, she continued, “I am from Tate’s, the funeral service handling her late mother’s burial.”

The lie was no guarantee of entry, but as she’d hoped, the maid was alarmed enough to invite Leo in to wait while she checked with her employer. The maid didn’t go far, just down the short hall and into a room, before returning a few moments later.

“Mr. Blickson will see you,” she reported.

Leo masked her disappointment that it wasn’t to Mrs. Blickson she would be led and followed the maid into a study.

However, just because Mr. Blickson had agreed to see her, it did not mean his wife was out.

The maid might have decided Paula’s husband should handle burial arrangements rather than the mistress of the house.

In the study, a well-dressed gentleman stood from his chair to greet her, and surprise dragged Leo’s heels to a stop.

With thin, silvering hair and lined, mottled skin, Mr. Blickson appeared to be at least sixty years of age.

Perhaps older. Leo didn’t know why it startled her as much as it did; women married older men all the time, especially if the match was intended for financial security.

But one glimpse of Mr. Blickson, and Leo couldn’t help but think of Paula being led from the detective department on the arm of her cousin, the handsome, thirty-something Felix Goodwin.

Why her mind touched on him perplexed her, which caused her to delay answering Mr. Blickson’s greeting.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” she said after recovering.

“This is in regard to Mrs. Seabright’s arrangements?

” he asked, sounding and looking as doubtful as he rightfully should have.

It wasn’t at all common for funeral services to show up, unannounced, at one’s door.

Leo only knew which one was servicing Martha’s funeral because of their arrival at the morgue the previous day.

The maid stepped out then, and Leo let the ruse drop.

“It is regarding Mrs. Seabright, but the truth is I am not from Tate’s. I only told your maid that because I was afraid if I told her the truth, she would turn me away.”

The lines on Mr. Blickson’s forehead deepened as he raised his silver brows. “Is that so? How intriguing. I suggest you take a seat, miss, and tell me what my maid might find so objectionable.”

He gestured toward a leather chair and then folded himself back into the one he’d been sitting in. He crossed his legs and waited. His bemused interest wasn’t what she’d been expecting, but Leo did as bade and perched on the edge of the chair.

“The truth, Mr. Blickson, is that I was seated next to Martha Seabright at the benefit dinner when she was shot.” At this, his bemusement transformed to alarm. Leo went on. “And I was then taken by her killer, as a sort of hostage, so that no one would chase after him.”

He uncrossed his legs and sat forward. “Good God. That sounds utterly harrowing.”

It had been, but Leo found focusing on the investigation helped dilute the distressing memories. “I have been assisting Scotland Yard in their work to capture the criminals from that night,” she said, even though she knew Jasper would reprimand her for revealing her role in the investigation.

Mr. Blickson’s forehead creased again. “That is admirable, young lady. Quite brave, I’d say. But what brings you here? I was told my wife has already spoken to the detective inspector leading the inquiry.”

His commendation of her for helping the police was given so naturally and artlessly that she believed he truly meant it. Even having just met him, Leo’s impression was that he was much like her uncle: mild-mannered and kind.

“She has spoken to Inspector Reid. However, I have a few lingering questions. Is Mrs. Blickson at home?”

His open interest shuttered slightly. After lacing his fingers together, he rested his hands on his lap. “No, my wife is out, I’m afraid.”

She stopped herself from asking where Paula had gone. It would be rude, and so far, Mr. Blickson had been accommodating. Leo didn’t want to push too hard for answers, and yet she also could not back down.

“Do you have any idea when she might return?”

His clasped hands squeezed a little tighter.

“I do not.” The succinct answer was guarded and cool. There was something behind it; some knowledge he didn’t wish to share with her. If his young wife had disappeared, the man would likely want to conceal it, if only to keep his pride intact.

“How long has she been gone, Mr. Blickson?”

Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t pleased with the question. “That is none of your concern, Miss…? What is your name anyhow? You’ve not said.”

“Spencer,” she replied. “Leonora Spencer. And it is my concern since I believe your wife is very likely involved in the disappearance of a young boy.”

Shock stiffened his back. His hands unclasped to grip the arms of his chair. “That is preposterous. I won’t stand for such an accusation.”

As Leo’s tenuous welcome had now come to an end, she set aside polite restraint. “Has Mrs. Blickson ever mentioned the name George Hayes to you?”

He had started to rise but then, with a cock of his head, slowly floated back into his seat. “Hayes, you say?”

Recognition softened the older man’s scowl, and Leo’s skin prickled with excitement. “Yes. George Hayes. He would be thirteen.”

He blinked, flummoxed. “Are you saying George Hayes is the boy who is missing?”

Leo leaned forward. “Do you know him?”

“I believe he is the son of one of my clients.”

“Your client is Stanley Hayes?”

Mr. Blickson appeared awed that she knew the name. “Yes, well, he is a rather new client.” According to Esther Goodwin, Mr. Blickson owned an estate insurance firm. “But you are mistaken, Miss Spencer. My wife has no reason to take the boy. They got along famously when they met.”

Leo leapt to her feet. “When was this? Where did they meet?”

“Last month, at a dinner,” he spluttered. "The Hayeses invited my wife and me to their home.”

And there, Paula had met George Hayes.

Leo could only imagine how she must have reacted when she saw the boy.

Had she known right away who George truly was?

The prominent mole on his right cheek had been partially hidden in the photograph, appearing more like a dark smudge of ink, thanks to the camera’s careful angle, but Paula would have seen it fully.

She would have surely recalled baby Edward’s same marking and seen George’s strong resemblance to herself.

And she would have noted, as Leo had, how very little George resembled Stanley and Melanie Hayes.

Her old belief that Edward had not died but instead been taken would have resurfaced with a vengeance.

“George Hayes has not been seen in over a day,” Leo said. “I must ask you again, Mr. Blickson, how long has your wife been gone?”

For a protracted moment, he lifted his chin as if to refuse to answer. But he must have already been stewing with worry and uncertainty because his resistance summarily fractured. “Since Friday evening.”

George was first noted to be missing from Hayes Manor on Saturday morning. If Paula had not been seen since Friday night, that aligned with the timing of George’s disappearance.

“Did your wife ever speak of her childhood? Of her baby…” Leo paused. “Of her baby brother, Edward?”

She was certain Paula would not have shared with her husband what Leo now believed to be true—that Edward had been her child, not her brother.

Mr. Blickson squinted, his liver-spotted hands now rubbing at his chin with anxiousness.

“The one who died? She mentioned him only once, but…honestly, Miss Spencer, we do not often speak deeply on such matters.” Mr. Blickson emitted a defeated sigh, no longer looking as though he wanted to toss her out.

“I am not foolish enough to believe Paula is in love with me. I wanted a companion, and she needed security. Stability. I offered her both. Constricting her, trying to make her love me, would have ruined what we have.”

A marriage to someone like Mr. Blickson would not be such a bad arrangement, Leo conceded.

It was pragmatic, really, and it did seem as if he was a kind and patient husband.

He may not have even demanded consummation of their marital vows.

Perhaps, at the time, those had been the most important things to Paula.

But a marriage based on friendship could not hope to compete with love. Love in any form, really.

“Do you have any idea where she could be, Mr. Blickson?” Leo asked. “Have you checked with her aunt, Mrs. Goodwin?”

He shook his head. “I had planned to tomorrow, if Paula did not return by then.”

Leo knew where to find Esther Goodwin. However, not Esther’s son, Felix. He and Paula had to be close, considering he’d escorted her to Scotland Yard. “What about Felix Goodwin, her cousin?”

Mr. Blickson brightened a little. “Ah, yes, Felix. A nice fellow, if a bit of a flatterer. I find thespians usually are.”

“Thespian?” Leo echoed. “He is an actor?”

“He no longer takes to the stage, to my knowledge, but he manages a theatre. The Epoch on Whitfield Street.”

She knew of the Epoch. It wasn’t one of the acclaimed theatres of the West End, but it was known to produce affordable entertainment for the middle class. She and Dita had once attended a production of Dalilah there.

“Miss Spencer, I can assure you, Paula doesn’t have a thing to do with Stanley’s missing boy,” Mr. Blickson said beseechingly as Leo started for the study door. “My wife would never harm a child.”

“I don’t believe she intends to harm George,” Leo said, impatient to leave. The Epoch wasn’t too far away. “On the contrary, I think she cares for him a great deal. I’ll be in touch, Mr. Blickson.”

She left through the front door, not waiting for the maid to see her out.