Stolen Remains Page 14

  “He is a peer. . . .”

  “Yes, yes, I realize that. But she doesn’t send me roving about to visit every deceased peer’s home as though I might bring them back to life.”

  “Sir, I had nothing to do with Her Majesty’s desire for you to visit Raybourn House. I am merely here upon her wishes.”

  “To interrogate me?”

  “No, simply to ask you a few questions.” Good Lord, in her anxiety, Violet had forgotten to develop a list of questions. The butterflies angrily beat their way back into her stomach.

  “Who are you, exactly, Mrs. Harper? Why does my mother regard you so highly that she sends you in to question me?”

  Violet folded her hands in front of her, hoping it looked meek and submissive.

  “I am an undertaker, Your Highness, and I—”

  “An undertaker?” The prince nearly exploded out of his seat. As it was, his eyes were bulging even more than before. “The queen not only distrusts me so much that she has me secretly interrogated, but she also despises me enough that she sends in one of these black crows that pick corpses clean of money, valuables, and dignity?”

  Princess Alexandra moved to the settee and placed a hand over her husband’s, speaking in a soothing voice. “Bertie, my love, please calm down before you need Mrs. Harper’s services. I don’t think she wishes you ill. She looks harmless enough, doesn’t she? In fact, she seems quite kind. Why don’t we see what she has to tell us?”

  Albert grunted but relented. “I suppose you’re right, Alix. How much harm can a woman do? Go on, Mrs. Harper, tell me more about why my mother feels it necessary to persecute me.”

  “Your Highness, I am merely an undertaker, but I was present for your esteemed father’s funeral. I believe the queen trusts me for discretion because of my work with the prince consort, and she merely seeks a quiet resolution to what may have happened to Lord Raybourn.”

  The prince leaned forward, staring intently at Violet. The stale smell of tobacco floated forward with him.

  “Wait, I do believe I remember you. You yelled at all of the mourners as we gathered up for the march down to Windsor Chapel.” He sat back again, a smile flitting across his face. “You grabbed my walking stick and pounded it on the floor for attention.”

  Violet reddened. “I can be bold where propriety and the outcome of a funeral are concerned, sir.”

  “A dark day my father’s funeral was. Nothing has been the same since. Mother has practically abdicated the throne, except for special little projects that interest her. She blames me for his death still, you know. Says he would never have been sick and died if he hadn’t visited me at Cambridge in the rain a few weeks before he died. Doctors say it’s rubbish; my father was ill long before that. But Mother insists it was his rush to see me and chastise me for what she called infantile behavior that did him in.”

  “I am sorry for your loss, Your Highness.”

  The princess reached over for her husband’s hand again. “Mrs. Harper doesn’t blame you for it, though.”

  “No, I suppose she cannot. His death was a tidy bit of business for her. It’s the journalists, priests, and undertakers who profit the most from tragedy, isn’t it? You had the great fortune not to be present for my father’s funeral, Alix. If you think the queen is absorbed in her grief now, you should have seen her eight years ago.”

  “But we were married less than two years later, remember? I do recall how very . . . somber . . . things were.” The princess smiled again at Violet. “Mrs. Harper, please forgive my husband’s ill temper. There has been so much sadness in the family and the prince now wants only to immerse himself in pleasure so that he isn’t reminded of his sorrows.”

  The prince’s eyes were full of affection for his wife. “You understand me well, Alix. Unlike my mother.”

  “But we must be patient, right, my love? The queen will eventually come around. In the meantime, it is an easy thing to please her by entertaining Mrs. Harper’s questions.”

  The princess was a born diplomat. Violet’s admiration for the woman was deepening by the second.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Albert leaned back on the settee and sighed heavily. “All right, undertaker, what do you wish to know about the cursed Lord Raybourn?”

  Indeed what did Violet wish to know? What would Inspector Hurst ask first?

  “So Lord Raybourn was a member of your entourage to Egypt?”

  “Yes. My mother added him for her own purposes. Surely you already know that.”

  “Right. Of course. Did you spend much time with the viscount?”

  “As little as possible. He was a stuffed old prig, really. Rarely joined in on fun and entertainments. Raybourn said he was there to negotiate the opening ceremonies of the Suez Canal with the Egyptian viceroy, but those negotiations took an extraordinarily long time. Frankly, Mrs. Harper, I think he had some other scheme. Perhaps something illegal or unsavory. I’m guessing my mother would be disgusted by him if she knew the truth. Alix, a smoke, please.”

  Alexandra rose and crossed the room to a table beneath a large pastoral painting of Sarah Churchill wearing a flowing red dress. As graceful as Marlborough House’s original owner looked in the painting, the princess held herself with much more poise.

  Violet watched as Alix pulled several selections from an inlaid mahogany tobacco box. The princess then went to the ornately carved fireplace mantel between two windows of the room, and lifted an odd glass cylinder with a metal top from the mantel. It was as Alix was returning to the prince that Violet observed what she’d originally thought was an old pianoforte in a corner, except that it wasn’t at the right height. In fact, it almost looked, well, like a coffin on a table.

  “Your Highness, is that a musical instrument you’ve picked up on your travels?”

  “What? Oh, not quite, Mrs. Harper, although it is certainly a souvenir from my time in Egypt. Would you like to see?”

  She followed him to the oblong box, which contained . . . it couldn’t be.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Is this a human form carved of wood?”

  The prince laughed for the first time. “No, it is actually a human. They are the remains of some ancient Egyptian, mummified thousands of years ago, but without his linen wrappings, which we removed.”

  Violet’s butterfly wings were beating rapidly again. “You removed his wrappings, sir?”

  “Yes, it was great fun. Several members of my traveling party uncovered gold trinkets and statues from the wrappings, and I won the body itself. Makes a striking piece for this drawing room, doesn’t it?”

  Violet had to sit down, lest she be ill. “Yes, Your Highness. Will he be buried?”

  “No. Once I tire of him, I’ll send him off to the British Museum. I considered giving him to my mother, but I don’t think she’d appreciate him.” The prince lifted the glass cylinder to his cigar, and flicked a metal lever on top of the jar. Almost instantly, a jet flame hurtled from a tiny nozzle next to the lever. Violet jumped and reflexively let out a squeal.

  “Sorry, dear lady. This is my Döbereiner’s lamp. Amazing what a little zinc metal and sulfuric acid can combine to do. Some say it isn’t safe because it’s a hydrogen flame, but it is certainly memorable.”

  Alexandra returned the lamp to the mantel and went back to the settee, but Violet wasn’t finished with the mummy, despite her wildly beating heart. “Your Highness, doesn’t this man or woman deserve a decent Christian burial?”

  Albert drew deeply on his cigar and blew upward. “He perished thousands of years before Christianity, but I imagine he already had a decent burial, full of fanfare and ritualistic nonsense. For all we know, he spent thousands of years in a pyramid, surrounded by servants and all the comforts of life. Quite decent, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Except that now he is quite exposed and in a most undignified position.”

  The prince blew another cloud of smoke up toward the plastered ceiling. “Mrs. Harper, are you he
re to ask questions or to critique my antiquities collection?”

  “My apologies, Your Highness.” Violet followed Albert as he returned to his place next to Alix. She tried furiously not to think about the mummy but to concentrate on questions.

  “So Lord Raybourn was in Egypt to negotiate opening ceremonies, but you think he may have been there for some other reason. Do you have any idea what else he may have been doing?”

  “He spent almost all of his time with Isma’il Pasha, the viceroy. It is my belief that they were concocting something having to do with the canal that was outside of the opening festivities.”

  “Was Monsieur de Lesseps a part of these discussions?”

  “Not that I could tell. Alix, did you ever see de Lesseps join them?”

  The princess shook her head. “Never.”

  “Other than going behind closed doors with the viceroy, did he exhibit any other peculiar behavior?”

  The prince considered this. “He always seemed to have a telegram to dash off to someone. At first I assumed it was a steady stream of reports to my mother about me, but now I’m not so sure.”

  Whom could Lord Raybourn have been contacting, and about what? Names flitted through Violet’s mind: Mrs. Peet, Stephen, the queen. He could have had any number of reasons to send messages to any of them. But constantly?

  “Did Lord Raybourn have his cook and valet with him?”

  “Yes. Madame Brusse was practically a third arm to him. He would eat no local cuisine. He even refused the roasted, stuffed pigeons we were offered at the viceroy’s palace, insisting that only Madame Brusse could prepare his food. The viceroy was offended, but said nothing. Raybourn missed out on a divine dish, not to mention the grilled eggplant and roz moammar. Remember, Alix? That divine rice cooked in cream?” The prince patted his stomach at the memory.

  He was not yet thirty years old, but already suggesting a future paunch, unlike Alix, who was thin and corseted to the point of rib breakage.

  Why would a British diplomat sent to negotiate with an Egyptian diplomat be so offensive as to refuse to eat in the Egyptian’s own residence?

  “Is it possible that Lord Raybourn was fearful of being poisoned?”

  Albert shrugged. “Why would anyone bother to poison him? He was bound to expire from his own tediousness at some point.”

  If the viscount feared being poisoned, he clearly had that fear before leaving London, hence why he took his own private cook with him. Any aristocrat might take a valet along to assist with shaving, dressing, and undressing, but a cook was more unusual.

  “Did Lord Raybourn split off from your party once you arrived back at Dover? Or were you on the same train together for part of your return to London?”

  Albert looked at her incredulously. “Are you suggesting that I should have kept notes on what any of dozens of people were doing when they debarked the ship?”

  “No, no, of course not.” What a muddle Violet was making of this. “So Lord Raybourn came back with you via ship, but you don’t know what happened to him once you docked.”

  “I didn’t say that at all. I have no idea whether he was on the ship. We also had port calls in Constantinople, the Crimea, and Athens. He could have debarked at any of these places and not returned. As I said, Mrs. Harper, I was not conducting an inventory of who sailed with us, and spent much of my time in my private cabin with my wife. Isn’t that right, dear?”

  Alix nodded in agreement, self-consciously putting a hand to her own stomach.

  “I guess all we really know is that Lord Raybourn returned to London, died almost immediately upon his return, and neither his cook nor his valet were with him,” Violet said.

  “Unless one of them helped to dispatch him,” Albert replied.

  And, as with any of the other members of Lord Raybourn’s household, what reason could they have possibly had for doing so? Why would either of them want to see Mrs. Peet dead?

  Every time Violet thought about things, she got more twisted than a knot of black bunting.

  When she took her leave of the royal couple, the princess followed her down the hall, both pairs of their shoes clacking along the black-and-white-tiled hallways. “Mrs. Harper, I hope you don’t think too poorly of the prince. He has been suffering from undue pressures.”

  “No, Your Highness, I don’t.”

  “I do hope you will inform Her Majesty that he was most cooperative with you. You see, I want nothing more than peace in the family, for this and future generations. It is most important to me. Do you understand?” She lightly patted her stomach again.

  “Your Highness, I understand you perfectly.”

  12

  Will and Harry delivered Mrs. Peet’s coffin the next morning through the servants’ entrance, helped Violet transfer the woman into the coffin, then placed the coffin back onto the table. Violet directed that the coffin remain down in the relative ignominy of the kitchens, as it would never be appropriate for a servant’s corpse to share space with her aristocratic employer’s.

  Violet propped the coffin lid open and picked out some dying stems from Rebecca’s posy, ensuring it still looked fresh.

  Will and Harry headed back out, but a few moments later, a rapping at the door revealed that Will had returned.

  “Did you forget something?” Violet asked.

  “No,” he said, removing his tall hat and tapping it against his thigh. “I was just, ah, wondering if you might—might possibly . . .”

  “Will, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s my Lydia, you see. She’s threatening to move back with her parents if I don’t do something.”

  “About your profession, you mean?”

  “Yes. She says she wants me to do something more respectable.”

  “A common grievance about our business. But she knew you were an undertaker when she met you.”

  Will cast his eyes down and brushed away invisible lint from his trousers. “Yes, but I think she always had designs on fixing that problem.”

  “I see.” Violet shuddered to think of Sam preventing her from doing her life’s calling. “What is it you want me to do?”

  “I was just wondering if . . .” The man looked pained.

  “Speak plainly, Will.”

  “I thought perhaps you might like to buy me back out of Morgan Undertaking.”

  “What? I’ll be leaving London for Colorado as soon as these two burials are finished. What use do I have for an undertaking shop here?”

  “Do you really think the queen will let you leave? There’s no real reason for her to keep you here to attend to Lord Raybourn’s funeral. Any number of competent undertakers could have been dispatched—including the royal one if she was so concerned—yet she pulls you from your mother’s deathbed for it. Imagine how many dozens of funerals will be lined up for you outside Windsor as soon as you’re done here, each one an opportunity for the queen to discuss her darling Albert’s own service with you.”

  “Will! We shouldn’t talk about the queen that way.”

  “Yet you don’t deny it.”

  “I merely haven’t thought about it. It’s a silly notion.”

  “Is it?” Will put his hat back on his head and a hand on the door latch. “Promise to consider it, Mrs. Harper? I’ll give you very favorable terms.”

  “But I won’t be staying—”

  The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Violet alone with Mrs. Peet once more.

  She decided to check on Lord Raybourn’s flowers and the ice chest before leaving. The chest would need draining and refilling with ice soon. Except for Toby, the entire family was gathered in the drawing room talking, and Violet was obviously interrupting.

  “My apologies, I just wanted to remove any wilted stems . . .”

  “Go ahead,” Stephen said. “We were just noticing the undertaking wagon driving away. I presume Mrs. Peet is taken care of?”

  “Yes, her coffin is open downstairs if you’d like to see her.”

  The look of
distaste that passed across everyone’s face provided a stark answer. Violet plucked a drooping lily from one of the pots surrounding the coffin. The room was utterly silent except for what she was doing and she felt all eyes upon her as if she were an intruder.

  Turning back to the group, she said, “The queen has approved Mrs. Peet’s burial, so I recommend that we plan to inter her tomorrow at Highgate Cemetery.”

  “Right charitable of Her Majesty to let us bury our own servant,” Dorothy said.

  Violet ignored her. “Was she Anglican or Nonconformist?”

  “Anglican, I’m sure. But wait, I thought we were going to bury her back in Sussex,” Stephen said.

  “The queen wishes that everyone stay in London while the investigation of Lord Raybourn’s death proceeds.”

  The room erupted in protest, with Dorothy leading the charge of disparaging comments toward Queen Victoria.

  This was familiar territory for Violet, who was used to families squabbling over funereal details. She moved to a section of floor not covered by carpet and sharply rapped her leather-covered heel on it twice.

  “Since Mrs. Peet doesn’t seem to have any relatives beyond who sits in this room, I see no need to delay. I’ll visit the cemetery director this afternoon and arrange to have space made for her in the Anglican section. He need not know she was under suspicion of suicide, which would complicate her ability to be buried there. A modest gray obelisk gravestone would be appropriate, I think. May I assume you wish a direct routing to Highgate?”

  Her command of the situation had the desired effect. Everyone’s head turned to her as the authority on the matter. Mrs. Peet was, after all, just a servant, and not a popular one at that.

  “Yes,” Stephen said. “We’ve already got embarrassment enough, what with Father staged here indefinitely and two detectives wandering about at all hours. Too bad we can’t bury the woman in the dead of night. Pardon the pun.”

  In fact, might it not show Mrs. Peet a modicum of respect not to be dragged through the streets like a show animal on parade for curiosity seekers to gawp at?