Stolen Remains (21 page)

Finally, a single tear rolled down Nelly’s face. “Ellis has offered to hire me openly at
The Times
again if I want it, to write under my own name. I’ve been toying with the idea, but there’s so much scandal on at the present that I think Stephen’s heart might burst if I did it. Anyway, how can I even think of it while Gordon rots in a jail cell?”

“Mrs. Bishop, does Mr. Catesby know more about the family’s situation than he should?”

Violet’s question seemed to make Nelly tense, for she began worrying the cuff links in her hands, rubbing them back and forth. One fell from her palms to the floor.

Nelly bent down to retrieve the cuff link. “I don’t think—”

At that moment, a projectile smashed into the vanity mirror, spraying shards of glass all over Nelly’s back, the desk, and the floor. Nelly bolted upright, sending more glass tinkling down to the carpet. “My God!” she gasped.

Instinctively, Violet crawled backward on the bed, but her voluminous skirts didn’t allow for much movement. After a few seconds to gather her wits and realize that Nelly was unharmed, Violet ran to the open window and leaned over the sill. There was no one in the garden. She looked up and down the alley between the Raybourn garden and the rear of the home behind it. Other than a severely dressed nanny showing her two young charges how to play marbles, there was no one else in sight.

She ducked back into the room. Nelly stood, trembling, and held out a piece of paper that looked as if it had been crumpled up, then smoothed out. “This was tied around the . . .” She pointed back at the desk, where a rock lay beneath the shattered mirror frame. A perfume bottle had also been a victim of the impact, and was now on its side, dribbling its jasmine-scented contents to the floor.

Violet took the note from Nelly’s outstretched hand.

The writing was that of an educated man or woman.

“They plan to kill us,” Nelly said.

“The note only says they will give us more instruction about how to retrieve your father. It would seem they only want money.”

“They want retribution. They’ve already tried to assassinate me with this stone. What if I hadn’t been bent over when it came through? I’ve been a rotten wife to my husband all these years, and first Father is killed and now Gordon is jailed. Now they’re coming after me.”

“Mrs. Bishop, who are ‘they’?”

“The ones who will kill me. I have done terrible things, and now I will pay for them. ‘Retribution is mine, sayeth the Lord.’ I will suffer now, I know it. What of Toby? My boy must be protected.”

Eleanor Bishop was breaking down before Violet’s eyes.

“Mrs. Bishop, please be calm. You won’t be hurt, nor will your son.”

Nelly’s eyes were frantic and she grasped Violet’s forearms with both hands. “Can you promise me this? How will you ensure it? You mustn’t leave the house. Mrs. Peet’s room is empty now; you can stay there.”

“I’m not sure I can—”

“Promise!” Nelly shook Violet’s arms.

“Very well, I suppose I can stay here until we recover your father’s body.”

Nelly almost instantly calmed down. “I think I should like some tea now. Ring the new maid, will you?”

By the time Violet returned to let Nelly know that tea would be up shortly, Stephen’s sister was curled up in a ball on her bed, a childlike smile on her sleeping face.

Violet wondered what was making the woman so mercurial.

With Nelly dozing, Violet sought out Stephen once more to tell him of the rock incident and his sister’s request.

“A stone thrown through the window? Doesn’t that seem rather juvenile? A bit of trite drama more suited to the pages of a novel?” he said.

It was an excellent point. Why would a serious kidnapper resort to silly chicanery like this? Something else to puzzle out.

“We should report this to the police,” she said.

“Must we? Maybe we can just quickly pay it and have the whole sordid thing done with. Furthermore, we are complicit in not informing Inspector Hurst of the missing body, which will more than likely bring us a scolding rather than any sound answers.”

“But your father’s kidnapping may have something to do with his death. They might release Mr. Bishop if they believe there is another suspect.”

“True. Then by all means, we should inform them.”

Violet first went to St. James’s Palace to pack her few belongings for a stay at Raybourn House. She briefly considered writing a note to the queen to inform her of this location change, but in the end decided the monarch would not be particularly concerned with such a detail.

After arranging for her things to be delivered, she walked to Scotland Yard to see Inspector Hurst. He nodded impatiently at seeing Violet, and waved to another man, who escorted her to a small room devoid of anything within its oak-paneled walls except a round oak table, three chairs, and a gas chandelier in the ceiling with white globes covered in years of dust.

He joined her several minutes later and dropped heavily into one of the other chairs. “What is it, Mrs. Harper? I’ve already had a visit from the Fairmont family solicitor.”

“I’m sure they were concerned with securing the release of a cherished family member. However, I am here with information that should make you consider your arrest of Lord Raybourn’s son-in-law to be premature.”

“Do you indeed? And what is this special information?”

Violet handed him the note, saying, “The family has asked me to stay on the premises until Lord Raybourn’s body is recovered.”

“What?” Hurst bellowed. “Lord Raybourn’s body
recovered?
What in heaven’s name are you saying?”

Violet proceeded to explain that due to the uninvited publicity already thrust upon them, the Fairmonts decided to have her discreetly visit the other undertakers, thinking that it was simply a mix-up. It was only now that it was clear that the body was snatched and that prior to this she didn’t think it necessary to concern Scotland Yard, who had far more important matters on their hands.

Violet knew the explanation of her actions stretched credulity, but then again, hadn’t she learned this tactic from Hurst himself?

Once Hurst simmered down from his rolling boil and composed himself, he scratched at his chin as he read the crumpled note. He had at least a day’s growth on his face. Had he become too busy detecting crime to care about his appearance?

Finally, he looked up, having apparently charted the path forward. “It seems to me, Mrs. Harper, that we can make a bargain.”

“What sort of bargain?”

“It’s not often that I can get an inspector installed directly into a crime scene like this. Not that I consider you detective material, but you could certainly redeem yourself by serving as eyes and ears for Scotland Yard and reporting back whatever you learn. In return, I’ll see to it that Gordon Bishop is released soon, although he will remain under suspicion.”

“But what about the ransom note? Isn’t that proof enough that Mr. Bishop isn’t guilty, or at least that there is some doubt about it?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. I can’t be sure this isn’t part of some sort of prank. In fact, the family themselves may have been behind it in order to dupe you. As I said, Mrs. Harper, things are almost never what they seem to be. Someone is always harboring something. Even if Gordon Bishop isn’t guilty, if I hold him long enough, whichever family member is in the shadows will eventually venture out and do something foolish. Then, snap! I will have the guilty party.”

“But what if the guilty party is a complete stranger, or someone outside the household?”

Hurst scratched his chin again. “My instinct tells me that isn’t true.”

“But you cannot imprison a man based upon your instincts! It’s immoral.”

“This is why I do not like women mucking about in investigations. Their sensibilities are perpetually offended, and they don’t understand the value of duplicity. Mr. Bishop is in the comfortable section of Newgate. He can pay for whatever creature comforts he wishes. You must understand that detection is grimy work, Mrs. Harper. However, I do see that you can be useful to us in this particular situation.”

The detective brought to Violet’s mind many a doctor and coroner she had met before. It took a certain type of man, full of self-conceit and arrogance, to be successful in these professions.

What choice did she have in his offer? She couldn’t possibly return to Park Street and tell the family she’d turned down a glorious opportunity to have Nelly’s husband freed. One thing she vowed, though. Inspector Hurst would develop respect for her by the time this was finished.

“Might I visit Mr. Bishop?”

“You wish to enter a jail?”

“No, not especially, but I do want to visit the innocent man you’ve arrested.”

“You’ve a tart tongue, Mrs. Harper. Very well. Mr. Pratt?”

Violet accompanied Langley Pratt to Newgate. Despite Pratt’s effort to keep her confined to an outer area away from any actual cells, she found it dank and depressing. She was asked to wait while Gordon was brought in from yard exercise. Pratt arranged for her to meet with the prisoner in a private room.

“No more than fifteen minutes, right, Mrs. Harper?” Pratt left Violet alone with Gordon Bishop.

Gordon was disheveled and still wore the clothes he had been arrested in the previous day. His face was shadowed with beard stubble. “Kind of you to visit. Haven’t heard yet from my Nells. I’m afraid I’m not at my most elegant at the moment.” He touched his cheek stubble as though in disbelief that it existed.

“She’s worried sick about you, Mr. Bishop. I had to see Inspector Hurst and he made a special arrangement to permit me to see you, and now I can comfort her that you’re sound. Have you no uniform or other clothes?”

“I’m not a convicted prisoner, so I only have what I came in with. This is dratted embarrassing, but can you get me some clothes, food, and money? And I’m sure the old man, bless his soul, wouldn’t mind if we nicked a few more of his Turkish cigarettes.”

“Of course. I’ll bring it all tomorrow. Perhaps Mrs. Bishop will come with me.”

Gordon smiled wanly at Violet. “Can you imagine my Nelly in a place like this? It’s not really fit for a woman like her, is it?”

Violet said nothing. He was probably right.

“So to what do I owe the honor of this visit, Mrs. Harper? Presumably it isn’t to see me in my fallen state.”

“No. I wanted to make sure you are . . . unharmed.”

He nodded. “How ironic. The family’s new undertaker is ensuring I’m still alive. Isn’t that a bit removed from your profession?”

Violet dropped her voice. “The detectives rushed you out so quickly it was difficult to know what was happening. I thought I might inquire as to whether there was something more between you and Lord Raybourn that wasn’t mentioned. Anything that might further explain the nature of your correspondence.”

“Truthfully, I am a butterfly collector, and my telegrams back and forth with my father-in-law only concerned the collection. I’m afraid some of them got quite testy, as I kept receiving crushed specimens. But it was certainly no reason to murder a man I respected and loved.”

Violet agreed. It seemed impossible that Gordon Bishop’s telegrams referred to something subversive.

But if they did, the Fairmont family members would be subject to public shame and ridicule for the rest of their lives.

And Gordon Bishop would earn his gray prisoner’s uniform.

Violet’s belongings were already stacked in Mrs. Peet’s old room by the time she returned to Raybourn House. She carefully combined the housekeeper’s few underclothing items into one drawer in the chest, then laid her own clothing in the remaining drawers. She didn’t touch the trunk full of Mrs. Peet’s fancy gowns.

She examined her surroundings when she finished. It was a far cry from St. James’s Palace, for certain. The luxurious down bedding atop an overstuffed mattress against an elegantly carved headboard was replaced with an iron bedstead covered with serviceable muslin sheets and a dingy blanket. Instead of an intricately woven Turkish carpet, her feet would settle down each morning directly on a worn wood floor.

At least the bride and groom dolls had made it here unscathed.

Not that it mattered. The moment Lord Raybourn’s body and murderer were found, Violet and Sam would be on a ship bound for America, dolls securely packed in their luggage.

She stepped into the hallway, intending to find Stephen and let him know that she was installed in the house. However, as she began her descent to the floor below, she heard angry voices coming from Nelly’s room.

“. . . can’t believe you aren’t doing more. After all, we’ve kept
your
secret for years now.” Nelly’s voice rose on the word “your.”

“It was best for everyone that things not be publicized,” Stephen replied.

“Best for you, perhaps. So first we had to worship at the altar of Cedric, and now we must bow down to whatever is best for Stephen?”

“Nelly, darling, we’re all having a difficult time—” The voice was soft; it had to be Katherine.

“Be quiet, you stupid cow. You’re of no help.”

“Nells, that’s enough. Kate is trying to be kind.” Stephen’s tone was even but with a rumbling underpinning. It was a warning, but Nelly ignored it.

“I have sacrificed everything my entire life: a career, a husband of my choice, everything a waste except for my darling Toby. You, however, have reaped rewards for having the good fortune to be born your father’s favorite son. Or, rather, to be his favorite after Cedric died.”

“That’s unfair, sister. Father always tried to work in everyone’s best interests—”

“Except mine. Had it not been for that old beast’s constant manipulation, I would be a woman of independent means, as free in my life as Mrs. Harper is in hers.”