Stolen Remains Read online

  “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 uns
cathed.

  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.”

  Violet restrained a mild laugh of amusement. Here she was, relegated to the servants’ quarters of a squabbling family, hoping that their patriarch’s dead body would soon be recovered and his killer identified, so that she might finally have permission from the queen to go home.

  Free, indeed.

  Dorothy couldn’t contain herself. “And what of me? The famed Fairmont Spinster, without even a son to dote on. At least Father permitted you to be married. And Gordon isn’t so bad. I’d have called it a fine day if Father had picked him for me. You’re an ungrateful snob, Nelly, and always have been.” Dorothy was loud and shrill.

  “Hah! As if even a mouse like Gordon would have looked twice at you after meeting me. But isn’t that just selfish old Dorothy, worried about her own marital status when my husband has been arrested—arrested—for no good reason and now sits rotting at Newgate. But don’t worry, dear sister, I have no real venom for you. I blame this on Stephen. Don’t you think it’s time you shared your secret?”

  “Why? What bearing could it possibly have on Father’s death or disappearance?”

  Nelly’s voice dropped lower. Violet crept down several more stairs in order to hear her. “It would show that you are a liar and a bit of a . . . thief, wouldn’t it? You might not want Inspector Hurst to know that about you, but I imagine the inspector would be very interested in it.”

  Someone gasped. Violet wasn’t sure if it was Katherine or Dorothy.

  “You are trying me, Nelly. Be very careful with what you choose to bandy about to the police. Any secrets we keep are merely for the good of the family. Since you are a member in good standing of this family—for now—I advise you to keep your simpleminded blathering to yourself.”

  Violet heard a couple of grunts and a sound as though a chair was being rolled along the floor. Had Stephen just pushed Nelly into the same slipper chair she’d been in when Violet visited her? The sound of footsteps in the room drove Violet back up to the servants’ floor. She waited until everyone dispersed before heading back downstairs again and seeking Stephen out.

  He was in his father’s study, grinding a fist into his palm as he stared out the window.

  “Excuse me, Stephen?” Violet said. She had no idea how explosive his mood might be after what had just happened.

  “For heaven’s sake, what is it? Oh, Violet, sorry, do come in. Louisa said your things arrived earlier.”

  “Yes, I was just upstairs unpacking and thought I’d find you to let you know I’m here. Since I’ve already spoken with Mrs. Bishop, I thought I might talk next to Miss Fairmont.”

  “As you wish. You don’t need to—”

  Stephen was cut off by Nelly’s screech, which pierced through the air like a cat whose paw has been caught underfoot.

  “What the deuce . . .” Stephen ran out of the room and down the stairs, with Violet on his heels.

  Gordon Bishop stood in the drawing room, clutching a babbling Nelly, who could scarcely contain her train of thought.

  “Why did they release you? How did you get home? Your suit is so very crumpled; we must have it pressed. Did they feed you well? I’m sure we have something left over from dinner. Were they cruel to you? Toby will want to know straightaway that his father is home.”

  Gordon was completely unable to get a word in edgewise, yet reveled in his wife’s attention. For a man who had just spent time in a cell with others he undoubtedly considered his inferiors, Gordon Bishop glowed like a full moon.

  “I see Mr. Hall finally had some influence,” Stephen said, clapping his brother-in-law on the back.

  “He must have. All I know is that an officer came and released me without explanation, told me to go home.”

  So Inspector Hurst had lived up to his end of the bargain. Now Violet would have to live up to hers.

  16

  Stephen Fairmont, the new Viscount Raybourn, gave his wife a reassuring squeeze on her elbow as the family settled in on an overcast morning to hear Mr. Hall read from the will.

  Poor Katherine was just exhausted from the entire ordeal. Her constitution wasn’t as strong as, say, Nelly’s. Nelly sat several seats away, her face nearly obscured by the fashionable black hat she was wearing. Where did she get such a hideous thing? The flowers on the brim were large enough to attract a swarm of bumblebees.

  As impassive as Nelly was, Gordon was sitting forward eagerly in a freshly pressed suit, while Toby sat away from his parents at the back of the room, with his nose in a book.

  Why so disinterested? The boy was certain to inherit quite a bit from his grandfather.

  Dorothy’s usual sour expression was unchanging. She probably assumed that Father would be as kind to her in death as he had been in life. Stephen resolved to use some of his inheritance to help make her independent.

  Mr. Hall cleared his throat noisily, as if a bumblebee from Nelly’s hat had flown over and gotten caught in his throat.

  “We are all saddened by the loss of Anthony Fairmont, the Viscount Raybourn,” he began. “It is my duty and honor, as the family solicitor, to inform you of the dispensation of Lord Raybourn’s worldly goods.”

  The solicitor covered various minor bequests to friends and colleagues, followed by gifts to various Willow Tree estate servants. Madame Brusse and Larkin, who had disappeared somewhere with Father down in Egypt, were given thirty pounds each.

  “Now I will read the more, er, significant bequests.”

  How odd. Father didn’t mention a small legacy for Mrs. Peet. It was almost as if he knew she wouldn’t survive to receive it.

  Mr. Hall outlined specific monies and items for Dorothy and the Bishops, all of whom nodded happily. Ironically, Father left his entire tobacco collection to Gordon, who seemed fully recovered from his short imprisonment. What would Father say if he knew it had been responsible for nearly destroying his son-in-law’s life?

  “For my eldest son, Stephen Francis Fairmont . . .”

  Naturally, Father passed Willow Tree estate and its contents not otherwise bequeathed to Stephen. He stood.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hall, I prefer not to belabor all of Father’s holdings in front of my siblings.”

  The bumblebee rattled around in the solicitor’s throat again. “I’m sorry, Lord Raybourn, but I’m not quite finished with your father’s bequests.”

  Stephen frowned but sat back down. What els
e was there?

  “As I was saying, ‘The property known as Willow Tree and its surrounding acreage, plus all furnishings and goods not otherwise assigned are hereby willed to Stephen in accordance with English law and tradition. The property known as Raybourn House, plus all furnishings and goods not otherwise assigned, are also willed to Stephen. The remaining cash and securities I own not otherwise assigned, including my interests in the Great Western Railway and Union Bank of London, I leave to my dearest friend and companion, Harriet Peet.”

  Stephen blinked. Did the solicitor just say that his father was leaving the bulk of his cash to the housekeeper?

  Thank God she was dead.

  He immediately regretted that uncharitable thought. Was everyone else as shocked as he was? He turned again to look at his other family members, just in time to witness Dorothy pitching forward to the floor in a dead faint.

  Violet joined the family for a relatively peaceful, if peculiar, dinner that day. The Fairmonts were probably the first aristocratic family in England to have their undertaker sharing their supper table with them.

  The food delivery from Pye’s was piping hot and fresh, and conversation focused on Lord Raybourn’s will.

  Poor Dorothy, she had a blackened eye and her lower lip was swollen from a fall in the solicitor’s office. Her appearance was even more forbidding as a result.

  As discussion about the devastating will faded, a pall of gloom descended over the dining room table, impacting everyone except Toby, who seemed to find the entire situation mildly amusing.

  Not even Violet’s suggestion that Mr. Bishop was looking well after his stay at Newgate elicited any significant comment, other than Nelly’s offhanded “He was happy to return to his insects.”

  Now that the excitement surrounding Gordon’s arrest, imprisonment, and release was wearing off, replaced by other, more pressing news, Nelly was returning to her normal self.

  As they finished off cups of baked lemon pudding, Louisa entered the room with a sealed note in her hand. “Sorry, my lord. I just found this pushed through the mail slot with a message that I must give it to you right away.”