Stolen Remains (12 page)

An interesting contrast to the rest of Mrs. Peet’s surroundings. Overcome by curiosity, Violet knelt before the trunk. It wasn’t locked. She lifted the lid. Inside were several exquisite dresses of velvet-edged satin and fine silks, separated by tissue. Beneath the gowns were three pairs of gloves, a beaded reticule, and a flat jeweler’s box containing a multistrand jade necklace and matching ear bobs. The necklace must have been spectacular, resting on the woman’s neck and complementing her green eyes.

How would a housekeeper, even one of a fine household such as this one, be able to afford such finery? She couldn’t have afforded even one of these dresses on her annual salary. The only way she could have come into possession of them was if she were stealing them or being kept by a wealthy benefac—

Oh!

Violet rapidly worked it out in her mind. The widowed Lord Raybourn must have been having a secret affair with Mrs. Peet. Were the clothing and jewelry intended as gifts for his beloved or as bribes for her to keep their relationship a secret?

Many a servant had fallen in love with her master, only to discover that he was not constant in return.

Violet realized now that Mrs. Peet had been very much in love with Lord Raybourn. Had she done away with herself, Shakespearean style? Although hanging was not particularly romantic. Plus, a housekeeper would have reasonably easy access to poisonous substances, arsenic and the like, making a hanging a bit . . . dramatic.

Of course, Mrs. Peet probably wouldn’t have realized how much damage she would do to herself through hanging.

Violet closed the trunk, gathered up the day dress and undergarments from the bed where she’d dropped them, and returned to the basement. Mrs. Peet was visibly stiff now. Violet draped the clothing on the back of a chair. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she whispered. “It must have been very hard on you to carry your secret and not be able to grieve openly when Lord Raybourn died. I do wonder, though, did he love you as well as you loved him?”

Violet retrieved the drawstring bag containing the locking kit, inscription plate, and tools from her undertaking bag and went up to the first floor. Toby sat morosely in the drawing room, idly thumbing through a copy of
Punch
.

“Mr. Bishop, excuse my interruption, but I need to affix a lock to your grandfather’s coffin,” Violet said.

Toby waved a hand toward the coffin.

“Are Mr. Hurst and Mr. Pratt still here?”

Without looking up, Toby replied, “No, they left together on important business, I’m sure.”

“What of your parents?”

“They’ve gone off to see their solicitor about something. Uncle Stephen and Aunt Katherine took Aunt Dorothy with them to see a service about getting some temporary help. They went through your trays and left a list of which pieces they wanted. I’ve been left alone.”

Violet noticed that the coffin lid was slightly ajar. Had morbid desire and desperate longing gotten the best of Mrs. Peet, and she had taken it upon herself to lament her loss outside of Violet’s presence? Perhaps seeing Lord Raybourn in such a state was too much for her to handle, as Hurst had suggested? Violet had a sickening feeling of guilt, but cast it aside, since such action seemed uncharacteristic of Mrs. Peet. Or was it?

Violet shook off all thoughts and worked as quickly as she could to attach the latch and hasp, sliding the lock through and firmly clicking it shut.

What maid would want to work in a home with corpses located on two floors?

She pocketed the key for herself, having a strange feeling that she shouldn’t give it to anyone in the family unless they demanded it.

Standing on tiptoe, she aligned the silver plate to the center of the widest point of the coffin, where Lord Raybourn’s shoulders lay, and gently tapped the brass nails into it. With this finished, she put her tools into the cloth bag and turned to leave, only to find Toby staring steadily at her, the magazine tossed onto a table.

“You aren’t the family undertaker. What happened to him?”

“I am here on behalf of the queen, who regarded your grandfather highly and wished to provide undertaking services as a gift to the family.”

Toby’s expression was inscrutable. “I see.”

“May I sit down?”

Toby waved a hand again, this time at a chair covered in a green fabric decorated with an airy peacock feather print.

“You must be quite affected by your grandfather’s death.”

Toby shrugged. “I didn’t know him that well.”

“Surely you visited regularly with him?”

“My parents trotted me out for display during school term breaks and at Christmas, but I never spent any real time with him. Mums didn’t care for the old man much.”

“Why not?”

Another shrug. “Why does she do anything she does? Mums is a rather pent-up piece, in case you hadn’t noticed. Always hysterical about something. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if she did off with my grandfather because he took her to task over her fits. I do my best to avoid her, a near impossibility, believe me. Father dotes on her every outburst. I’m in London looking for a wife, or so my parents tell me. My hope is to find one who is not only the opposite of my mother, but is a girl that my mother detests. I couldn’t be completely happy otherwise. Actually, the qualities I really want in a wife are . . . but it’s not my tribulations you care about, is it?”

Toby looked directly at Violet, his gaze steady and sad.

“May I ask you some more questions?” she said.

“Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? Every curiosity seeker masquerading as a mourner accosts me in the streets and has dozens of questions about my grandfather’s death.” He shook his head. “But you’re not a curiosity seeker, are you, Mrs. Harper? Go ahead. I suppose it helps pass the time until I can leave this tomb and get to more important things. Really, can’t we just bury the old man and be done with it? And now Mrs. Peet is downstairs.” He shuddered. “I just want to get back to my own activities and away from all of . . . this.”

“I understand.”

“I guess the bright spot in it all is that with Grandfather gone, my mother might abandon all of her grand plans for me, enabling me to do what I want. Especially if Grandfather has left me something substantial.”

“What would you do with your inheritance?”

“I suppose I’d use most of the money to further some interests I have. I would also buy Aunt Dorothy her own place; that would be a kick.”

“Why so?”

An actual smile flitted across the young man’s mouth. “Poor Aunt Dorothy. They say she’s always been a bit homely. She always desperately wanted to be married and mistress of her own household. When an offer for her finally came, my grandfather scotched it. Something about the man’s family being associated with the Metropolitan Board of Works, involved in the flow of sewage out of London. They were rich as Midas, though, and I can only imagine the estate he would have purchased for his wife. Mums said Aunt Dorothy never forgave the old man for it.

“Aunt Dorothy tried to act as mistress of Willow Tree House, but Mrs. Peet ruled there with a firm hand, and my grandfather seemed content to let the housekeeper have her way. So my aunt has never had a husband, nor a home to call her own. Sad, really.”

“I’m sure things have been difficult for all of you.” Violet used her most soothing undertaker’s voice.

“Especially Uncle Stephen. He was the one who loved the old man the most.”

“Except now he is the heir to your grandfather’s fortune.”

“I doubt he cares much about that. Uncle Stephen is as loyal as a collie.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Hurst and Pratt. Seeing Violet and Toby in conversation, Hurst gave her a quizzical look. “Mrs. Harper, might we have a word?”

Toby stood. “Have your word here. I need to find something to do that doesn’t involve corpse-sitting.” Lord Raybourn’s grandson strode out of the house, his relief at escaping the house’s gloom emanating from him.

Hurst and Pratt joined her in the drawing room. Violet had never before had so many unpleasant conversations in the presence of a coffin.

“I see you’ve locked the coffin,” Pratt said. “Why so?”

“To prevent anyone from having a look during visitations. Lord Raybourn isn’t fit for it.”

Hurst arched an eyebrow at her but said nothing.

“Do you do this often?” Pratt asked.

“Not often, no. Lord Raybourn is a peer, making him special, and, of course, he is in gruesome condition.”

“Right. So, your profession must also include techniques for making gruesome corpses presentable. Have you ever been involved in waxworking? Making prosthetic limbs?”

Violet hesitated to answer such a question. Inspector Pratt was very close to inquiring about her professional secrets.

“You seem fascinated by Mrs. Harper’s profession,” Hurst said. “Perhaps you should consider a new job as a mourner or grave digger.”

“It was just a question,” Pratt mumbled, taking out his notebook and pencil.

Hurst ignored him. “I see you were in deep conversation with the Bishops’ son. Did you learn anything?”

Violet told the two detectives about her conversation with Toby.

“So his aunt is a bit irritable. It doesn’t necessarily mean much. Not enough to hold up our other investigations into what occurred in Egypt.”

Violet didn’t like the insinuation that the twin deaths at Park Street were a distraction.

“Does this mean you will ignore these two murders?”

“Two likely suicides, you mean.” He stroked his chin. “Perhaps it is not so bad that the queen is delaying the funeral, since it keeps the entire family under one roof while we conduct our other inquiries. Do you know how you can prove valuable to us, Mrs. Harper? Encourage some hostility among the Fairmonts. If someone should happen to be keeping a secret, he is more likely to break down and do something foolish under the anxiety of familial disputes.”

“It seems to me that someone keeping a secret is more likely to commit another crime that way,” Violet said.

“Which would be quite foolish, would it not?”

“But you’ve already got—”

“Before we go, you may be interested to know that we interviewed neighbors. Not much information to be had there. We talked to Lady Cowgil and Lord and Lady Wetherden, who live on either side of here. Both were very cooperative, undoubtedly seeking information from us, but had very little to share. They didn’t hear the gunshot, were unaware of His Lordship’s trip to Egypt, and did not know enough about his personal affairs to be aware of any bad relationships he might have.”

“Did you speak with any of their servants?”

“I saw no need. Both Lady Cowgil and the Wetherdens were anxious about when they could pay their respects, I think mostly in order to get a look at Lord Raybourn, so it is probably best that the coffin remain locked.”

Pratt cleared his throat and nodded pointedly at Hurst, who scowled. “What is it? Oh yes, the cigarette. Go ahead, it was your uncovering.”

“I took the stub to a well-known tobacconist in Haymarket, who told me that it was one of their own exclusive brands, and quite expensive. Not surprising, of course. They deliver boxes of them regularly for Lord Raybourn.

“When I went upstairs with Mr. Bishop earlier, I asked him if he knew where Lord Raybourn’s tobacco box was. At first, he pretended not to know whether Lord Raybourn had a special storage place for his cigarettes, then he said he had no idea where it was. When I suggested that Mr. Hurst and I would conduct a search for it, he suddenly remembered that it was in Lord Raybourn’s study, which is attached to His Lordship’s bedroom.

“He followed me up and I opened the tobacco box to find it full of one particular kind of cigarettes, with only two empty slots. I asked him when Lord Raybourn had given him the other one. Mr. Bishop said that he buys his own, that he and his father-in-law had the same taste in tobacco, but Mr. Bishop was nervous for sure. His hands shook and his eyes did the dance of the guilty—”

“The dance of the guilty?” Hurst interrupted him. “For heaven’s sake, Mr. Pratt, stick to facts.”

“Ahem, right. So he made up some excuse about his wife needing him and would I pardon him and he bundled out of there faster than a—well, it was quick.”

Violet nodded. “So you think that Mr. Bishop had had some kind of secret meeting with Lord Raybourn upon his return, one in which his father-in-law offered him one of his prized cigarettes, and that something transpired between the men resulting in Mr. Bishop murdering Lord Raybourn.”

“That’s Mr. Pratt’s idea. Or, he and his father-in-law simply enjoyed the same brand of cigarettes. You can never tell with the aristocrats. They can have hearts of stone or hearts of goose down. What would be your own theory, Mrs. Harper?”

“I haven’t one. I can only say that Mr. Bishop seemed genuinely fond of his father-in-law.”

“I’ve seen men kill for nonsensical reasons. In a case I solved a few years ago, a man threw another from Waterloo Bridge because he lost his bet over a cricket match. I don’t think heated passions are confined to the lower classes. Let that be a lesson to you.”

“Yet you say you don’t think Lord Raybourn was murdered, by Mr. Bishop or anyone else in the family.”

“What I’m actually saying is there is enough doubt he was murdered that I don’t want it to delay Mr. Pratt and myself from looking into Lord Raybourn’s affairs in Egypt. That’s where I think the real mystery is.”

After the detectives left, Violet checked through the accessories trays and totaled up the Fairmont purchases for Will’s ledger, then went back downstairs to tend to Mrs. Peet. Her eyes were still open and now her jaw hung slack as though in a perpetual scream.

Violet reached out a hand to Mrs. Peet’s hand. Still stiff, but gradually relaxing.

“Do you want me to wait to prepare you?” Violet asked softly as she dug out her undertaking bag, dropping in the cloth bag of tools.

As she was about to depart, she heard a knocking at the rear door. Who could that be? Perhaps some deliveryman? Or a florist dropping off a spray of camellias for the family? Violet stepped through the butler’s pantry, scullery, and larder to answer it, finding a housemaid in the stairwell, one hand behind her back.