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M onday morning, after Toby had left for the Foreign Office, Magnus sat down with Will in the lounge to compose a list of all those who he recalled had been present at the soirée the night Nathan Walpert was murdered. It was difficult, because nearly two weeks had passed, and during that evening many men, and some women, had come in and out, occasionally as guests of someone who had been invited.

“I’m fairly certain Sir Arthur Sullivan was there,” Magnus said. “Because I recall seeing him at the fencing yard and he was most keen to join us.”

“His name is here on the list of those invited,” Will said.

Will had never been educated beyond the second grade, and during his time as a houseboy for Magnus’s father, the late duke, nothing had been done to improve that. Since coming to work for Magnus, though, both Carlo and Will spent time each day practicing their letters. It was important that Will be able to read invoices and calculate sums, and for Carlo to be able to read recipes and figure out what ingredients and in what quantities were necessary.

“This man here, Mr. Rosetti,” Will said. “He was here with a woman, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was. He’s a painter. The woman with him was his sister, Christina, a writer. While they are of the artistic tendency, and not always believed by the courts, we might rely on them simply to testify that they saw Ezra here. If indeed they did.”

Toby returned later that morning and told Magnus what he had learned from Gervase Quinn. “This works in our favor,” he said. “If Quinn is concerned about the political implications of Walpert’s death, it gives us some leave to investigate ourselves, on his implied behalf.”

“It will be interesting to see what Raoul has learned at the embassy,” Magnus said. “Things are moving ahead quickly. I am glad Pemberton asked us to arrange a dinner this evening for our cohort.”

Toby stood. “Yes, I need to confer with Carlo on the menu. And you might want to bring in some more wine—I noticed we were running low when everyone was here on Saturday.”

While Toby spoke with Carlo, Magnus conferred with Will, and they created a list. “Shall I go out to Hambly’s?” Will asked. They bought the bulk of their wine from that shop.

“No, I need to go to Steingrob’s,” Magnus said. That was a shop that John had recommended to them, where they sold a Riesling that Magnus was fond of.

“Steingrob is a Jew, and he may know of Ezra’s family, and be able to give us some insight into why Mrs. Curiel was willing to testify against her husband.”

Magnus pulled on a heavy overcoat and strode out to Regent Square and Samuel Steingrob’s shop. A brisk breeze pushed the soot in the air away, allowing a bleak sun to shine. He walked the few blocks to Steingrob’s shop his mind focused not only on wine, but on what he might ask the old Jew.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” Steingrob said, with an accent redolent of Eastern Europe. He was an elderly man with a white beard and a skullcap, and an encyclopedic knowledge of wine.

He offered Magnus a taste of a new vintage of red wine that had come in from Burgundy, and knowing that Raoul came from that area, Magnus ordered a case. He ordered a case of Chardonnay as well as one case of his favorite Riesling. While they roamed the store and he tasted several different wines, Magnus thought about how to bring up the subject of Ezra Curiel. To call him a friend would attach a label to him—he was sure that Steingrob knew about his household with Toby.

“A man who has come to our soirées in the past has been in the news of late,” Magnus finally said. “I believe he would be a countryman of yours. Ezra Curiel.”

“He is a Jew, yes, but with his nose in the air,” Steingrob said. “The Spaniards disdain those of us who carry our religion in our faces and our clothing.”

“Is that so? But not very remarkable,” Magnus said. “My mother does not care for our nearest neighbor in Cornwall because though she is a very pretty woman with elegant manners and is the wife of a wealthy landowner, her father was a farmer.”

“There are good and bad in every community,” Steingrob said. “There are men who come to my shul, and are ostentatious in their prayer, who I would not wish to meet in a dark alley.”

“Really? Of what sort are they?”

“Bookmakers, gamblers, brothel owners,” Steingrob said.

Magnus opened his mouth, but had nothing to say.

“You are surprised, my lord,” Steingrob said. “One of my best customers owns a brothel in Aldgate that offers our young women to many who would not otherwise speak to a Jew. Yes, these young women are beautiful, but to an Englishman they are also exotic. I do not approve of that trade, but I have to make a living. So I shut my eyes and hold my nose.”

He shook his head. “The bookmakers are even worse. They know they can ruin people with their greed, but they do it anyway. Some even prey exclusively on our countrymen—and women.”

“Women gamblers?”

“Yes, some women can have the same venal desires as men. More excitement, more money. Though in their cases, the bookmaker comes to their homes, rather than meeting them at the races or the arena.”

“It must be a scandal to your people.”

Steingrob shrugged. “I cannot live any man’s life other than my own.”

“The man Mr. Curiel is accused of murdering was another Jew, Nathan Walpert. Did you know him?”

“Only from the shul. He said he did not have much of a taste for wine. But I believe his money was going to the bookmaker, Greenbaum.”

The bell on the door rang, and another customer entered. Magnus arranged to have the wine charged to his account and delivered to the house that afternoon, and returned to Ormond Yard, considering what Steingrob had told him.

He didn’t have a chance to discuss anything with Toby, though, because soon after he got home, Will brought Sylvia Cooke and Jess Cleaver into the parlor. “We have been out visiting,” Sylvia said, as she handed her cloak to Will. “We dropped in on Mrs. Curiel to pay our respects.”

Jess handed over her coat and scarf as well, and the ladies sat. “She did not appear to be a woman in mourning for the state of her husband,” Jess said. “If anything, her behavior was somewhat festive.”

“Festive?” Magnus asked.

“She wore a pale pink gown that did not suit her coloring, with a large bow at the shoulder,” Sylvia said.

Carlo brought in the silver teapot that Magnus’s mother had gifted him, originally from the family’s country house, on a matching silver tray with sugar and creamer. Will followed him with a tray of cups, saucers, small plates, and freshly baked crumpets. The crumpets were light and spongy and served with lemon curd.

“And you found this attire unseemly in a woman whose husband faces the charge of murder?” Toby asked.

“It wasn’t that I expected to see her in dark clothing, her garments rent with worry,” Sylvia said. “But she was quite cheerful in welcoming us, as if we had come to a party.”

“She offered us a Victoria sponge with strawberry jam!” Jess said. “There were three other women there, obviously her close confidantes, and they all seemed to be celebrating something.”

“That is curious,” Magnus said.

“There was one other odd thing,” Sylvia said. “One of the other women said something to Mrs. Curiel when she thought I wouldn’t hear.”

“Sylvia has the senses of an owl,” Magnus said. “I swear she can see in the dark and hear the movements of a mouse.”

“Thank you for that flattering description,” Sylvia said drily. “The other woman said something like ‘at least you shall be free of that awful Mr. Greenbaum.’ Does that name mean anything to you?”

Toby shook his head, but Magnus said, “Samuel Steingrob, the wine merchant, mentioned that name to me as well. He implied that man is a bookmaker who preyed particularly on the Jewish community.”

“While Sylvia was speaking with Mrs. Curiel, I had an interesting conversation with one of the other women, a Mrs. Mendoza,” Jess said. “Apparently there is some friction between elements of the Jewish community.”

“How so?” Magnus asked.

“There are families like the Curiels and the Mendozas, who have their roots in Spain and France,” Jess said. “From what I gather, they arrived in Britain with money, and have strived to associate with the higher classes. Then there are the newer immigrants from Germany and Russia, who have rougher manners and are more likely to work as peddlers. I imagine this Mr. Greenbaum would fall into that category.”

“Mrs. Curiel’s husband works with his fists,” Toby said. “That should not entitle her to any special regard.”

Jess nodded. “Indeed. And Mrs. Mendoza implied that Mrs. Curiel might be able to rise in society if she shed her husband, and perhaps married another with greater wealth and influence. Though she is not an attractive woman, she has a certain flair to her. What the French would call a jolie laide . A woman of unusual, flawed, or quirky looks.”

Toby retrieved his notebook from the office and had Jess spell the names they had learned that day. “Greenbaum would be a name of German origin,” he said. “So one of the newer immigrants. Perhaps he has tried to sell the Curiels something, or insinuate himself with Ezra.”

“Or he makes book on Ezra’s fights,” Magnus said. “I wonder if Ezra has ever colluded with him in the past.”

“You believe he would throw a match?” Toby asked.

“I don’t know. He is very proud of his physique, and his prowess, and to deliberately lose a match would probably hurt his pride. But we are talking about money here.”

“Timothy 6:10 says that money is the root of all evil,” Jess said. “And though the Jews do not read that portion of the Bible, I am sure that affects them as well as those of us who do—or profess to.”