A Crimson Warning (19 page)

“Lady Bromley, please understand I am flattered, but that is not something I could even begin to consider,” Colin said. “What I do is no more significant than any other servant of the empire.”

“Your modesty is to be admired, sir, but surely you don’t mean to refuse the queen’s honor?”

“He’s done just that on two previous occasions,” I said.

“I’m perfectly well aware of that, Emily,” she said. “Was it perhaps because—”

Colin stopped her. “Please don’t try to change my mind,” he said. “It will only cause tension between myself and Her Majesty. She has accepted my position on similar matters before. I’d prefer not to test her goodwill again.”

“Which is why you must accept the honor gracefully,” my mother said. “It’s an outrage you’ve not been made a peer.”

“I shouldn’t want that, either,” he said.

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Hargreaves. I think, in fact, I’ve identified the problem. You’re more ambitious than I’d thought, and that impresses me.” She nodded, slowly, a smile creeping onto her face. “I will see what can be done.”

“No, Lady Bromley, I wouldn’t want you to do that,” he said. “You must believe me, I—”

“Enough,” she said, rising from her seat. “I take my leave from you both now, but shall hope to return soon with even better news.”

“Please—” She was gone before Colin could get another word out.

I put my elbows on the desktop and rested my chin on them. I could feel my eyes dancing. “I think you’re beginning to see just what a force of nature she can be.”

“I’ve already witnessed that,” he said.

“Yes, but she’s never directed her full power at you. I’m rather pleased to see the focus taken off me,” I said. “It’s a welcome relief. Notice she didn’t make any mention of my involvement with the Women’s Liberal Federation.”

Colin grunted, but said nothing.

“So, to Mr. Dillman’s?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Let me sleep for two hours and we’ll set off.”

“Shall I send Davis up with a tray for you when it’s time? You’ll need something to eat as well as some rest.”

“That would be perfect,” he said. “Have you work to do, or would you care to join me upstairs?”

“Alas, I’ve too much to do at the moment,” I said. “But maybe I’ll bring your tray up myself.”

He gave me a kiss and made sure Davis was installed in the room before leaving me. I studied Cordelia’s locket and considered the many possible suspects before us. Part of the trouble was there was almost no one in London who didn’t have reason to lash out at society. I set myself to the task of writing a list of everyone who’d given me cause to wonder, but had trouble focusing. Distracted and unsettled, I decided to read, but not even Mary Elizabeth Braddon could get my attention in my current frame of mind. I tossed aside
The Venetians
and began to browse the library’s shelves. I started in fiction, having no interest in true stories at the moment, running a finger along the spines of volume after volume, when suddenly something struck me. I went back to my desk.

Maybe Cordelia’s game had led me astray. Mr. Dillman’s numbers could be library catalog citations.

3 July 1893

Belgrave Square, London

I think my scheme to find Mr. Barnes a bride may be more successful than I’d ever hoped! My two candidates are both interested, their families are delighted, and the prospective groom couldn’t be happier. It’s so lovely to have something good come during this horrid season. I only wish Emily hadn’t left the ball in such a rush last night. I’d hoped to enlist her help.

Winifred told me some things she considers alarming about Cordelia Dalton today. She had nothing to say that’s pertinent to Emily’s investigation of Mr. Dillman’s death, only that Cordelia is prone to reading books some would consider inappropriate for young ladies. I can hardly condemn her for it, given my own proclivity for such works. Winifred believes it’s a symptom of deeper problems, and has gone so far as to suggest Cordelia’s fortunate to have been saved from marrying Mr. Dillman. He, too, it seems, had a penchant for the inappropriate.

I breathed not a word to her about my taste in novels.

20

Colin did not get his two hours of sleep. He came downstairs after a mere thirty minutes and rushed out of the house, explaining that he needed to go to Scotland Yard. I told him my library theory.

“It’s an excellent one, my dear,” he said. “And we’ll investigate it thoroughly when I return. I shouldn’t be too long. I need to check on something.”

“You must have a theory as well,” I said. “Inspiration kicked you out of bed.”

“You know me too well.”

“Tell me?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. It’s not fully formed. But I promise”—he kissed me quickly—“you will be the first to hear the details.”

“Ovid,” I said.
“A new idea is delicate. It can be killed by a sneer or a yawn; it can be stabbed to death by a quip and worried to death by a frown on the right man’s brow.”

“Precisely,” he said. “And at the moment, I’m just the right man to frown. I don’t want to say it out loud lest I dissuade myself.”

Half an hour later, I wished he hadn’t gone. Davis brought me a message, sealed with yellow wax, suggesting I take a stroll through Hyde Park.

You will find, if you do, that which you’ve been missing, although not in the condition you’d hoped.

Nausea flipped my stomach, and I felt light-headed. I raced to Scotland Yard in search of Colin, but he was not there. He’d gone on to Southwark, and I had no idea where to find him, or even where to start looking. I debated telling the Detective Inspector about the note, but couldn’t bring myself to, knowing how adamantly the Daltons were opposed to involving the police in Cordelia’s disappearance. I had to respect their wishes, particularly because choosing not to might lead to the kidnapper causing more harm to their daughter.

I was not, however, prepared to embark on a search for her on my own, even in daylight. My driver took me straight to Bainbridge House, where Jeremy agreed at once to join me. He tried to sound flip and unconcerned, but his jaw betrayed him as I told him about Cordelia’s abduction. He always clenched it when he was nervous.

“I’m sure we’ll find some sign of her,” he said. “Something mildly distressing that will make her parents worry more. But he’s not going to harm her when he hasn’t got what he wants.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said.

“Do you know I had a very encouraging conversation with an elderly member of the House of Lords this morning at my club? I lectured him for a good half hour about the merits of giving women the vote without him giving a single objection. Unfortunately, he was asleep,” he said.

“I do appreciate you trying to distract me,” I said. “But I’m afraid it won’t work.”

We’d reached the park and were systematically making our way along its myriad paths. I knew of no other way to approach the situation. Through trees, I caught a glimpse of the gargantuan Albert Memorial, an exercise in ostentation. Built by Her Majesty after her husband’s death, it rose above the trees of the park, its gilded steeple providing a roof for the golden figure of Albert seated below.

Jeremy saw me frown. “You don’t like it?”

“Do you?”

“It’s grotesque,” he said. “In fact, it’s one of the reasons I refuse to marry. What if I had a wife so devoted she insisted on building an equally absurd monument to my many fine qualities? I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d have done London such a harm.”

“You wouldn’t have to live with yourself,” I said. “You’d already be dead. Come, let’s go this way. I don’t think we’ll find anything on Rotten Row. The horses would have already trampled it.” We turned into a wide path that would lead us past the stream and waterfall that came off the Serpentine. As we approached the water, there were ravens flying all around, far more than was usual. The sun bounced off the water, making it difficult to look directly at the sparkling glow, but as we got closer, I saw the birds that weren’t fluttering about were pecking at a shapeless mass bobbing in the shallow edge near a thick patch of reeds.

Bile filled my throat. It couldn’t be.

I took another step towards the iron railing that lined the path. Then another.

The sound of the waterfall closed in around me, when before I’d hardly noticed it.

Black cloth blended with the ravens’ wings, but it was unmistakably cloth. One of the birds moved, revealing a shock of chestnut-colored hair.

I screamed, sending the creatures into flight.

And now, with them gone, there could be no question. It was a body, bloated and purple, floating facedown in the pond. A young lady, in mourning dress. I didn’t need to see more to know the rest.

Cordelia was dead.

*   *   *

“It would have been perfectly reasonable for you to faint,” Jeremy said, his face devoid of all color. “But I did not expect to find myself so unsteady on my feet.”

My scream had brought a running crowd and a nearby policeman to the wide pavement on which we stood, and in short order, Scotland Yard and my husband appeared on the scene. I turned away when two men, who had climbed over the railing, stepped into the water and turned over the corpse. I did not want to see her face.

“Would you like me to take you home?” Jeremy asked.

“I’d be grateful if you did, Bainbridge.” Colin came up from behind us. “There’s no reason either of you need to stay here.”

“Who is going to tell her parents?” I asked.

“I was going to ask you,” Colin said. “Her father will have to officially identify the body, but there’s no question it’s her. She was dead before she was put in the water. Strangled. I think the news would come better from you than a stranger.”

“You’d be better at it than I,” I said.

“But I can’t leave here now.”

I wanted to cry, wanted to be sick, but I couldn’t refuse his request. The Daltons needed to know the fate of their daughter as soon as possible.

“I’ll take you,” Jeremy said.

“Thank you.” My voice was barely a whisper.

Colin kissed my cheek. “It’s good of you to do this.” Someone standing near the body called out to him. “I have to go now, but I’ll be home as soon as possible.”

Jeremy took me by the arm and we started to walk back through the park. I could hardly see in front of me. Tears blurred my vision and I could not stop shaking.

“It will be all right, Em,” he said.

“How, Jeremy? How will it ever be all right again? We promised to help her … promised to keep her safe. And now I’m to tell her parents she’s dead?”

He put his arm around me, squeezed my shoulder, and held out a handkerchief. I wiped my eyes.

“Well, if you’d had the good fortune to have been educated at Eton, like your dashing husband, you’d have no trouble facing this deeply unpleasant task. You would have been prepared to march headlong into any difficult situation with grace and strength and a nearly unbearable perseverance. But, as you were not, and as I suffered through my years at Harrow paying no attention to anything anyone told me, we shall have to muddle through the best we can.”

I said nothing.

“And when we’re done,” he said. “I’m going to get you extremely drunk on expensive whisky.”

“I don’t really like whisky,” I said. “Colin’s the whisky drinker in the house.”

“You’ll like this whisky.”

“I won’t.”

We’d reached Park Lane and crossed the street, which meant we’d be home in almost no time. My stomach churned and I swallowed hard.

“I hate breaking news like this,” I said. Preferring to soldier on rather than to prolong the agony of worrying about what was to come, I increased my pace. The pavement was extremely crowded, and I all but pushed my way through until we’d reached my house. For an instant, I wished I could run away. But then Davis, efficient as always, opened the door.

I handed him my hat and parasol. Jeremy passed over his top hat and walking stick.

“Are the Daltons upstairs?” I asked.

“Yes, madam. The doctor just left them,” Davis said.

I did my best to screw my courage to the sticking point, thinking it might be made easier, if not more pleasant, had I someone as fearsome as Lady Macbeth to spur me on, and started up the stairs.

“Shall I accompany you?” Jeremy asked.

“Please,” I said. “Just to the door.”

I tapped quietly on the wood and heard Mrs. Dalton call for me to enter. I took a deep breath, looked at Jeremy, and turned the handle.

“I’ll be right here when you’re done,” he said.

Sunlight spilled into the room, which overlooked the park. I resisted the urge to close the curtains. Much as I wanted to block the view of a place that would, for the Daltons, be forevermore hideous, plunging them into darkness didn’t seem an act that would offer much comfort.

“You only just missed the doctor,” Mrs. Dalton said. “My husband is much improved.”

“Entirely out of danger,” Mr. Dalton said, his head propped up on a tall pile of pillows. “He’s no longer concerned about internal bleeding.”

“I can’t tell you how refreshing it was to have some good news for a change,” Mrs. Dalton said, fairly beaming. “And I do hope you’ve come with more.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” I said. “We found Cordelia. I’m so sorry … I hardly know what to say.”

“No,” Mrs. Dalton said, rising to her feet. “Surely you can’t mean…?”

Her husband gripped her arm.

“I do. She’s dead.”

“Are you certain?” Mr. Dalton said. “How can they be sure it’s her?”

“Colin did a preliminary identification of the body.” I did not think it the appropriate time to tell him he would have to do the same, but officially.

“What … what did this monster do to her?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Mr. Dalton.”

“Did you see her?”

Tears spilled from my eyes. “I did. Not her face, just her back.”

“Where?” he asked, as his wife buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

“Hyde Park,” I said. “My husband is there still, with Scotland Yard. He’ll be along as soon as he can and will give you any other information he’s learned.”