Lady of Ashes (37 page)

Determined to put it out of her mind and rely on Sam to resolve the men’s demands, Violet met with all of her scheduled appointments for the next couple of days, as well as receiving two families with elderly relatives who had passed on and required burial.

Neither of the deceased, both elderly women, had any of the symptoms she’d seen on Mr. Young and Mrs. Atkinson, a good sign. For the first woman, a Mrs. Davis, the family wanted her placed in their dining room for visitation by family members who were coming from a remote area of Wales. The family wanted to wait a week to bury their relative in order to accommodate all of the travel involved. Violet suggested embalming, which was soundly rejected by Mrs. Davis’s daughter. Instead, Violet provided a cooling table for Mrs. Davis, which was placed in the center of the dining room after servants removed the family’s regular dining table.

The cooling table consisted of a resting slab of metal atop a lead-lined container to be filled with ice. Violet and Will provided the first load of ice and showed the Davis family’s housekeeper where the spigot was in the back so that the container could be drained as necessary and then refilled with ice through an opening at the top of the container.

Violet draped the entire table in black crape before she and Will gently carried in a newly coiffed Mrs. Davis, dressed in her finest clothes as laid out by her daughter. Susanna and Harry hauled in four containers of lilies from their carriage while Violet went over final details of the funeral with the family.

From there, they went to see to the second body. This was a much simpler task, as the family was of modest means and merely wanted its matriarch buried with dignity as quickly as possible.

After the three returned to the shop, Harry handed Violet a letter that had arrived while they were gone. The handwriting was unfamiliar. She opened it to find a single line on the page.

 

 

Violet blinked. What was this supposed to mean? Her three days weren’t up until tonight, and surely Slade and Cubby assumed she was paying them. Why were they torturing her further?

“Mrs. Morgan, is everything all right?” Harry asked.

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you for giving this to me. Susanna, I think it best that we go home for the remainder of the day.”

Susanna frowned but didn’t argue. Once home, Violet nearly wore holes in the carpets, pacing back and forth through the dining and drawing rooms, not even sure what to worry about the most.

 

Samuel approached the minister carefully about his idea concerning Violet and the threats she had received. If he played his cards properly, he would be able not only to protect her, but to also continue ferreting out the financiers of blockade runners and commerce raiders. Not only that, it would garner accolades for Adams, which would in turn ensure that the minister extended Samuel’s tenure in Great Britain.

To his gratification, it worked. “So, Harper, you’re saying that characters in league with the Morgan brothers are stalking a British citizen?”

“Yes, sir, I know this beyond a doubt. I fear they intend Mrs. Morgan great harm. If we can prevent this from happening, you will undoubtedly be held in esteem not only by Lords Russell and Palmerston, but by the queen as well. Mrs. Morgan is a great favorite of Queen Victoria’s since the prince’s death.”

Samuel stood quietly as he watched gears whirling and clicking rapidly behind Adams’s eyes. He knew Adams was coming to the same conclusions he already had.

But Adams was not that easily persuaded. “Ironic, isn’t it, that of the two million citizens of London, it is Mrs. Morgan who is being so persecuted, eh?”

“It’s hardly of relevance to the state of affairs, sir.”

“Isn’t it?” Adams turned to the window of his office and stared out at some unknown point of interest.

Eventually, Henry Adams cleared his throat. “Father, this might be the situation you seek.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Adams turned back around. “The circumstances just irritate me. Honestly, Harper, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d hired the men yourself to intimidate Mrs. Morgan, just so you’d have an excuse to rescue her.”

Samuel bristled. “Sir, with all respect, do not impugn my integrity. First, I would never harass any woman, especially one as innocent as Mrs. Morgan. Second, I have been a dedicated servant to the North’s cause and am of no mind to get involved in anything that might detract from my mission or bring disgrace to my country. In fact, I’ve even been thinking it might be time that I—”

Adams waved a hand. “No offense intended, Harper. My son seems to think your goal a worthy one, and he has keen judgment.”

Henry looked down modestly at his father’s praise.

“So I’ll let you pursue these associates of the Morgan brothers. You’ll report to me daily and ensure that the United States receives the greatest credit possible for uncovering what other schemes the Morgans may have been involved in. Am I clear?”

“As a spring morning in Boston, sir.”

 

This time, Samuel was pleased with the results of his meeting with the minister. To celebrate his success, he stopped off at the King’s Arms nearby for a pint of bitters. As he sat over the foamy brew, he worked out in his mind how to handle Cubby and Slade. He played several scenarios through his head, but all of them concluded with both men unconscious, bloodied, or screaming for mercy.

The minister would be displeased with any of those outcomes.

As he drained his glass, he decided he would simply do whatever his instincts led him to do in the moment. Thus resolved, Samuel went back to his hotel to write a letter to his father before heading out to the prescribed meeting place, where he intended to put an end to this foolishness against Violet.

Night was falling like a gentle blanket, yet the streets of London were as crowded and noisy as ever. It never ceased to amaze Samuel what a complete contradiction London was. The current building craze meant that rows of sturdy new townhomes with gleaming front stoops and freshly painted wrought iron gates stood proudly across the street from dilapidated, old, cramped rooming houses and shops with disintegrating roof tiles, their windows broken if they ever had them at all.

The prosperous, well-dressed residents of the new homes stepped around the impoverished, ragged, starving Londoners who competed for space in the streets. Some of the poor begged for money and food, and pickpockets were common.

Samuel took a deep breath. Sometimes he longed for the open spaces of America, where there might be poverty, but it didn’t seem quite so . . . suffocating.

He’d heard there was a powerful evangelical movement sweeping England, much as it had the U.S., which had led to the abolition movement that resulted in his own country’s civil war. Thank God slavery was already illegal in Great Britain.

Evidence of these evangelicals was in the street preachers handing out tracts, churches throwing open doors to offer bland but nutritious meals, and the orphanages run by the devout. Samuel hoped that one day all of London would be lifted out of poverty, but history’s lessons didn’t suggest that it would.

With this on his mind, he nearly walked by an elderly woman standing at the corner of an alley with her hand out. He stopped, reached into his pocket for some coins, and dropped them into the woman’s clawing grasp. She grinned at him with a mouth full of rotten teeth, and he realized that she wasn’t old at all, despite her hunched back and weathered face.

On impulse, he asked her, “Have you no family? No one to help you?”

“No, sir, my only family is my infant boy. I keep him safe back here.” She nodded her head back toward the alley. Was there a child buried in that pile of dirty blankets and cast-off clothing? “Would you like to meet him, sir?”

How could a baby possibly survive in such conditions? From somewhere behind him came a low whistle. Perhaps the police had discovered some miscreant stealing from a shop owner. He approached the heap of materials. There was no movement. He hoped the child hadn’t died.

“What’s his name?”

“Billy. You can pick him up if you like, sir.”

Samuel bent down, searching for the baby in the dark. “I can’t find—” he began, but was stopped short by a blinding flash of pain at the back of his head. As he fell forward into the fetid pile of blankets, he felt hands pawing through his pockets. Another blow to the head created a dazzling display of fireworks in his brain. Before losing consciousness, Samuel realized that the only infant here was himself, naïve and now helpless over his situation.

 

Violet woke in a panic. What had happened? She slowly blinked herself to complete awareness. All was calm around her, although morning light was filtering through the window. And she was still in yesterday’s dress. On the sofa.

She sat straight up. She must have fallen asleep waiting for Sam, who had promised to stop by her new townhome after he met with Cubby and Slade. Except he’d never shown up and she must have fallen asleep waiting for him.

Or perhaps he’d come to harm with those two. A sour taste rose in her throat. What time was it, anyway? She glanced at the watch Sam had given her. It was already past nine o’clock in the morning. It was time to get to the shop, but first she had to make sure Sam was well. She had his hotel address; perhaps she should go there.

She had little time to think about it before Will came banging at her door, wild-eyed and frantic. “Mrs. Morgan, quickly! Harry had an accident with one of the horses.”

“What do you mean?”

“After we painted the new funeral carriages, he thought it would be best to buy all new harnesses for the horses, since the old ones were getting shabby.”

“Yes, I remember approving the expense.”

“Harry decided to try them out this morning. He was in the process of hooking Dilly to the fancy carriage when something spooked her. She raced off and Harry was dragged along between her and the carriage until he could disengage himself from the straps. He’s hurt pretty bad, Mrs. Morgan.”

“Good Lord, where is he?”

“Someone carried him off to St. Mary’s Hospital while I came to get you.”

Violet was on the move now, grabbing a bonnet and her reticule. She turned to Susanna, who was standing on the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “Susanna, I have to help Will. Go back to bed and I’ll wake you when I return.”

Susanna nodded and headed back up to her room.

As Violet and Will raced into the street together, he gave her more details. “Dilly broke free of the carriage, but someone managed to round her up. I put her back in her stable before coming here. I didn’t have time to look over the carriage, but just a glance told me it was damaged.”

“We’ll worry about it later. First let’s make sure Harry isn’t badly injured.” They jumped into a hackney resting at a corner, the original owner’s coat of arms still visible through the paint on the carriage doors. Most drivers purchased previously owned broughams for use as hired vehicles. The driver protested that he wasn’t taking passengers at the moment, but Violet pulled a handful of coins from her bag and offered them to the man, who nodded and urged his horse forward.

Violet and Will tumbled out of the hackney before it had completely stopped in front of St. Mary’s, rushed inside and asked for the accident ward, which turned out to be a cavernous hall with rows and rows of beds and a number of white-capped, white-aproned nurses milling around tending to the patients. It was much larger than the Sussex County Hospital ward where her arm had been cleaned and bandaged.

Poor Harry was bruised and battered but had no serious injuries. He even joked weakly that he planned to make the most of his trauma with all of the girls in his neighborhood. “I might even find me a wife who wants to take care of me,” he said, grinning.

Reassured that he would be well in no time, Violet left with Will to inspect the day’s other damage. The carriage in question was a block away from the mews and, indeed, the damage was considerable. At least she had no immediate need of the vehicle. Perhaps Mr. Boyce would be willing to repair it, although it might be beneath his dignity as a cabinetmaker to do a carriagemaker’s job.

Will offered to bring out one of the other horses to rescue the carriage while Violet checked on Dilly—who was still edgy but not injured—and returned to the shop. Once inside the relative quiet of Morgan Undertaking, she realized that she was completely unwashed from the previous day and still wearing the same clothes, not that mourning clothing changed enough from day to day that anyone would take notice. Violet spent an hour coordinating efforts for Mrs. Davis’s funeral before realizing to her complete mortification that in the fuss over Harry and the carriage, she’d completely forgotten about Sam and Susanna.

She decided to visit Sam’s hotel first to be sure nothing had happened to him and to find out what happened with Cubby and Slade. Then she’d return home to pick up Susanna, who was more than likely entertaining herself with her dollhouse.

Inside the lobby of the Langham, Violet asked for Mr. Harper and was invited to wait on one of several plush red velvet sofas that sat atop the largest Turkish carpet she’d ever seen. A bellhop was sent to Sam’s room to inquire as to whether he was in. Sam came down a few minutes later with a bandage wrapped around his head, grasping the intricately designed brass rail as he limped down the steps.

Violet jumped up and met him as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m so sorry,” they each said in unison.

Sam smiled. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“You’re hurt. Cubby and Slade did this?” Without thinking, Violet reached up to touch the bandage. Sam snapped his head back as though struck by lightning.