Charlotte House Affair 01 - My Particular Friend

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    ‘Instead of twelve? But how would they not notice … oh I see. Yes, I suppose it is quite simple. Well not simple …’
    ‘I am afraid I remain puzzled by this,’ Mrs Fitzhugh said. I awaited Charlotte offering her explanation, but instead she indicated that I should relay our investigation and surmises to our friend.
    I told her of our conversation with Old Joe and Tom and then attempted to recreate what happened at Queen and Trim streets. #
    ‘Both chairs arrived at Trim Street, only to find it blocked by a cart that had spilled its contents. Both sets of chairmen deposited their chairs and … and Tom said the others left while Tom and Old Joe were still assisting with the delivery-men, who must also have been accomplices. But this makes no sense, why should not Mrs Brown have simply … oh, they would have noticed the chair was empty by its weight. So the other chairmen simply took Old Joe and Tom’s chair.’
    ‘Very good, Jane. I am glad we have come to the same conclusions. My only question remains whether Mr Simms has been fooled or is attempting to fool us.’
    Mrs Fitzhugh smiled. ‘Ah, that explains the message I gave to your little urchins.’
    ‘They’ve been?’
    ‘Yes, I gave them the message you left me as you were leaving.’
    Charlotte turned to me: ‘You see, Jane, I wanted the children to keep Mr Simms under observation, but until they could be put in place, I needed your Mr Wallace.’
    ‘Of course,’ I said, feeling stupid that I had not understood immediately and of my anger at Charlotte for sending him away.
    ‘The three of us could hardly have hoped to follow Mr Simms discreetly,’ she further added.
    ‘Is that why you did not include me when you investigated at Trim Street? You wished to ask Mr Wallace’s assistance.’
    Charlotte nodded. ‘Yes, I needed you to keep Mr Simms occupied in the carriage while I asked Mr Wallace this favour. I must say his ready understanding impressed me. But now we must change into dry clothes and await developments.’

Mr Simms’s Destination
    Time dragged heavily as I waited for Mr Wallace. I glanced nervously at the clock on the mantel and saw that it had gone seven. I had worried all during dinner that we had not yet heard from Mr Wallace and now we sat in the drawing-room afterward and still he had not returned.
    ‘Suppose he is hurt!’ I said.
    ‘Unlikely,’ Charlotte said.
    ‘He does not have full use of his hand.’
    ‘He seemed to use it quite well helping you into the carriage.’
    ‘Your Mr Wallace seems very capable, Jane,’ Mrs Fitzhugh said, no doubt tiring of my exchange with Charlotte. ‘I’m sure his appearance would discourage anyone from …’
    ‘What is wrong with his appearance?’
    ‘Oh Jane, if you’re going to be like this every time … now see, a carriage is arriving,’ Charlotte said as she looked out the window. I also arose and looked out and saw the lights of a carriage. It was stopped before our home and I saw the driver jump down and hurry to the door and open it. He extended a hand and I saw Mr Wallace reach out for support.
    Charlotte also saw this, which caused her to call out for Robert to open the front door. I hurried out the room followed close behind by Mrs Fitzhugh. Robert was already out the door helping the driver extricate Mr Wallace from the carriage. We watched as the three men approached.
    ‘You are injured,’ I cried.
    ‘Now, now, it’s not as bad as it looks. Oh, bloody hell!’ he cried out as he negotiated our front door step. ‘Excuse me!’
    Robert rushed to Mr Wallace and supported him and with the driver’s aid they helped him into the house.
    ‘It is a turned ankle, nothing more,’ he said, after the driver had been dismissed and Mr Wallace was settled into a chair in the study with his left leg propped high.
    ‘Thank you,’ he said to Mrs Fitzhugh who under his instruction was wrapping a wet cloth tightly around his swollen ankle. I was reminded that Mr Wallace was actually Doctor Wallace, although he had never represented himself as such. ‘Thank you!’ he said with extra vigour after a final tight wrap.
    ‘Mr Wallace, I apologize that I have sent you in harm’s way,’ Charlotte said, with a quick, contrite glance to me.
    ‘Nonsense, it is nothing but a turned ankle,’ I said, touched by my friend’s embarrassment.
    ‘Oh well then, if it’s nothing but a turned ankle then I should best be going,’ Mr Wallace said with mock hurt and he made a