Lady Rample and Cupid's Kiss

by Shéa MacLeod

  The most interesting tidbit was that while Derby had claimed to be having a relationship with Dottie, the barman had been quite certain he was doing no such thing. In my experience, barmen tend to know things about both their employers and patrons that other people simply don’t. They’re rather like butlers in that regard.

  There was nothing more for it but to go home and get some rest. I dropped Chaz off at his flat, then tooled home to my own townhouse. Maddie was still abed, so I made myself a cup of tea, then sequestered myself in my room. It wasn’t long before I’d nodded off.

  I’d no idea how long it was later, though it felt like but a minute or two, when pounding on the front door woke me from a deep sleep. The pounding was followed by Maddie’s screech and a lot of shouting, then feet thumping on the stairs. This did not bode well.

  Jumping from bed, I threw on a robe and slippers, then flung open the door and shouted in my most imperious lady-of-the-manor voice, “What the devil is going on!”

  The hall was crowded with people. Maddie stood in front of my bedroom door, one hand braced against the frame as if to bar the way. Facing her was Detective Inspector North in all his glory, bushy eyebrows beetled angrily. Behind him ranged several uniformed coppers. One even had his billy club out.

  “Someone tell me this instant what is going on,” I demanded.

  “I will not let them take you, m’lady,” Maddie assured me, rather dramatically, I thought.

  “Hush, Maddie. Detective Inspector North, I demand to know what’s going on.”

  He straightened his shoulders and eyed my nightwear, blushing slightly. “Lady Rample, you are under arrest for the murder of Harry Simpel.”

  I blinked. “Harry whom?”

  North gritted his teeth. “The barman at Apollyon.”

  “Harry’s dead?” The last time I’d seen him, he’d been hale and hearty, although terrified Jones would find out he’d ratted on him. Had Jones found out Harry talked?

  “You know very well he is,” North snapped. “Stabbed him through the heart with a hatpin, just like Dottie Hale.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I was suddenly worried about Chaz. He’d been with me when we talked to Harry. If North found out, he might accuse Chaz of murder, too. Worse, if the killer knew...

  He stepped forward. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.”

  I sighed. “May I get dressed at least?”

  “Sorry. Can’t have a murderer running loose, can I?”

  I gave him a cold smile. “You will hear from my solicitor.”

  “Be that as it may—”

  “Maddie,” I shouted over him. “Call my solicitor. Then ring my aunt.”

  North blanched. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

  Chapter 12

  I was ushered once again into the same jail cell. The officer on duty appeared a bit embarrassed and offered me an extra pillow and blanket, which I gratefully accepted. North had also allowed me to bring a book to entertain myself, though I was far too keyed up to actually read. It was more a power play on my part. I wanted to let him know he didn’t frighten me one whit.

  Granted, the thought of sitting in jail wasn’t a comfortable one. I’d been hoping I could find the real killer before this happened. Instead, the killer had struck again and in such a way as to make me look guilty. Rather clever that.

  There was no doubt in my mind that Derby Jones was, indeed, the killer. Who else would murder poor Harry? I could think of no other reason he would be murdered unless his death was connected with Dottie’s.

  Indeed, our other suspects—Archie and Kitty—were in no way connected with the club that I could see and had no reason to kill Harry. The only way I could see that Harry and Dottie were connected was through the club and one Derby Jones.

  It was sometime after lunch—vile fish paste sandwiches and lukewarm weak tea—when the door to the jail opened and Aunt Butty came sailing in. She wore a pale pink gown with far too many ribbons and ruffles and an enormous pink hat that barely fit through the doorway.

  “There you are, Ophelia.” Her footsteps clacked against the stone floor. “I told North he was being ridiculous. He didn’t take it well.”

  “No, I imagine he didn’t,” I said dryly as she paused in front of my cell. “How is Chaz?”

  “Fine, the dear boy, though quite in a rage over you being arrested. He told North he was with you when you spoke to Harry, but North refused to arrest him as he had an alibi for the time of death.”

  “I’m surprised North didn’t throw him in jail for being an accessory.”

  “He threatened it, but he has no proof. I really detest that smug little man,” Aunt Butty said.

  She and I were of one mind there. “Have you spoken to Louise?”

  “Yes, and Varant. I’m afraid there’s no getting you out this time.”

  I sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

  “I won’t stop trying,” she assured me. “In the meantime, I brought you a basket of goodies which the on-duty sergeant said he has to search. Both our gazes went to the sergeant who started guiltily. “I assured him I know exactly what is in that basket, and none of it had better be missing when it comes to you.”

  “I’m sure he’ll make sure I get the basket intact,” I said, trying to play the politician.

  “What should I do, Ophelia?” Aunt Butty asked, suddenly looking worried.

  The fact Aunt Butty was worried made my stomach a bit queasy, but I stiffened my spine. All was not lost just yet. “Talk to Chaz. Maybe between the two of you, you can figure out a clue to help prove my innocence.”

  She nodded. “Already on it. We’re having a confab at my flat this afternoon. Tea, cakes, and investigations. We should start our own club.” She brightened. “Actually, it’s a marvelous idea.”

  “Yes. Grand. While you’re at it, tell Chaz I’m certain Derby Jones is the killer.” I quickly explained my reasoning.

  She nodded, her massive hat wobbling dangerously. Her poor hatpins were getting quite the workout. “Makes absolute sense. I’ll have a word with the boy. And what about Hale?”

  “Let him know what happened, and tell him about Jones and Dottie. Maybe he’ll have some ideas.” I wished like anything I could see Hale just then. He’d a way of making me feel better about things.

  Just then, the sergeant cleared his throat, indicating our time was up.

  “Chin up, Ophelia. What doesn’t kill us!” And with that, Aunt Butty sailed from the room, and I was left alone to ponder my current situation.

  The sergeant appeared with my basket of goodies. “Cheer up, milady. Things can only get better.”

  I snorted as I accepted the basket. “I’ll cheer up when I prove my innocence and rub North’s face in it.”

  He grinned as if the thought cheered him no end. “There’s the spirit!”

  If only I felt so confident.

  THE NIGHT PASSED WITH intolerable slowness. The cot was hard, the blanket thin, and the cell cold. Around midnight, they brought in a drunk who proceeded to spend the rest of the wee morning hours singing rather bawdy drinking songs. What was with this place and singing drunkards?

  “Would you please be quiet,” I shouted at last. “Some people are trying to sleep.”

  To which he began shouting out “Brother John” quite loudly and off key. There was nothing left to do but join him. At least until the guard arrived and shouted at us both to shut up. After that, the drunk mumbled softly to himself.

  He finally fell asleep around four in the morning. I knew because the snoring was loud enough to rattle the bars.

  At last I gave up on getting any sleep and instead paced the cell, trying to keep warm. I’d give anything for a highball right about then. Or better yet, a hot toddy, heavy on the whiskey. This being arrested for murder nonsense was getting old.

  By seven, the sun was streaming through the narrow window set high in the stone wall. It was a welcome sight, as my stomach had been rumbling for half an hour. S
urely breakfast was nigh.

  At eight, the morning on-duty sergeant appeared with a covered tray. I sniffed the aroma of bacon and tea appreciatively.

  I ate to the dulcet tones of snoring. The bacon was under cooked and greasy, the toast a bit scorched, the eggs rubbery, and the tea weak. I skipped the milk as it smelled a bit off. Still, beggars can’t be choosers, so I ate everything with relish.

  Feeling more the thing, I fixed my hair best I could and tried to smooth the wrinkles out of my dress. At least North had let me put clothes on and not marched me to the station in my night things. Although I might have been more comfortable if he had.

  It was nine on the dot when the sergeant reappeared, shoving his key in the lock of my cell and turning it with the grate of metal-on-metal. He swung open the door.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “North is letting you go,” he said.

  I squinted suspiciously. “Why? Where is North?”

  “He ain’t here, Mrs. Rample. Er, I mean milady.” He flushed, though I’m not sure his embarrassment was from improperly addressing me or having to tell me North wasn’t available.

  I gave him a cool look. “Why am I being released?”

  “No idea. I was told to let you out, so I’m letting you out.”

  “Very good.” I stepped out of the cell with something like relief and followed him away from the snoring.

  I hadn’t brought anything with me save the clothes on my back and my book, so he led me straight to the front desk. There in the lobby sat Aunt Butty dressed dramatically in a black gown and matching hat, all trimmed in purple. Even the feathers on the hat were purple, the massive plumes waving wildly every time someone pushed through the front doors.

  “Ophelia!” She jumped to her feet and rushed to mash me against her bosom.

  I hugged her back a moment before setting her a bit away from me. Mostly so I could breathe. “Why did North let me out?”

  “I’m unsure. I got a call this morning to come collect you. That’s all I know.”

  I frowned. “The sergeant didn’t know either.” The idea that no one seemed to know why I’d been set loose on the populace concerned me. After all, I was supposed to be a dastardly murderer. “Something has happened, I’ll bet.”

  Aunt Butty blinked. “What do you think it is?”

  “No idea. If only North were here.” I sighed. “I’ll tell you what, though. We should visit the morgue.”

  “The morgue?” She repressed a shiver. “Why ever for? You do know the morgue is full of dead bodies, don’t you?”

  “The morgue also contains the medical examiner. I want to know what he knows about the murders of Dottie and Harry.”

  “Very well,” Aunt Butty said. “We shall visit the morgue, but none of those bodies better move.”

  I was in full agreement with her on that point.

  Chapter 13

  It had taken a great deal of persuasion on my part—and a little bit of threatening on Aunt Butty’s—but we finally got the details of the morgue where Dottie and Harry had both been sent. It was but a short walk from the station, so we braced ourselves against the chill morning air and stepped out.

  It was one of those drizzly sorts of mornings so common in London, but fortunately for us, Aunt Butty had her enormous brolly to hand. She put it up immediately and we both huddled beneath as we strode down the walk.

  The morgue was in a rather non-descript building which also housed the local hospital. Naturally it was in the basement, as things that people would rather forget about often are.

  We passed a young man in a white suit wheeling a gurney down the hall. On it rested a lump covered in a sheet. I decided to pretend I didn’t know what it was.

  “Young man,” Aunt Butty said imperiously, “we need to speak with the coroner at once.”

  “H-he’s in his office,” he stammered, pointing down the hall. Apparently, he wasn’t used to aristocrats storming the castle, so to speak.

  “Very good.” And Aunt Butty sailed on.

  I followed in her wake, leaving the poor fellow shaking his head behind him. He’d still be wondering what hit him a year from now.

  The coroner’s office was clearly marked with a brass plaque: M. Mortimer, Coroner.

  “Rather unfortunate name,” Aunt Butty mused. “It rhymes in a most repulsive manner.” She rapped on the door with the handle of her umbrella, then shoved open the door without waiting for an answer.

  M. Mortimer, Coroner, sat behind his desk, staring at us through round tortoise shell glasses. It was hard to tell how tall he was, but he was very round with a fringe of graying hair surrounding a shiny bald pate. He wore a goatee—very out of vogue—and was in his shirtsleeves. A white lab coat hung from a coat stand in the corner.

  “Pardon me,” he said, half rising. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my office?”

  “I am Lady Lucas,” my aunt announced before I could open my mouth. “And this is my niece, Ophelia, Lady Rample.”

  If the coroner was surprised to have two such auspicious persons in his office, he did not show it. “And?”

  “And we are here about some murders,” she declared.

  That was when I decided to step in before he rang the police on us. I did not need North changing his mind and stuffing me in a cell again. “A dear friend of mine was killed recently. Dottie Hale. Stabbed. Very sad.”

  His eyes widened. “The hatpin through the heart?” His suspicions were clearly not allayed. “You were friends with her?”

  “My niece has friends in many places,” Aunt Butty assured him. Her inference being that I had friends in very high places indeed, not just the lows dwelt by such as Dottie Hale.

  “Er, well, I’m sorry for your loss,” he said somewhat lamely.

  “Thank you. I am given to understand that recently there was another, quite similar, murder.”

  That surprised him. “There was indeed. A man this time. Also stabbed through the heart with a hatpin.”

  “Was he found in a park like dear Dottie?” Aunt Butty asked. Personally, I thought she was laying it on a bit thick.

  “No. He was found in an alleyway near his flat.”

  Which meant the park wasn’t the connection.

  “Odd thing was—”

  We both stared at him. “Yes?”

  “The hatpin he was stabbed with? It was an exact match to the one that killed Mrs. Hale.”

  “A heart shaped hatpin?” I almost whispered.

  He nodded. “That’s the one. With lots of little jewels on it. Fake, of course, but pretty. Nothing like the third victim.”

  “Third victim?” I managed. Was that why North had let me go?

  “The dead woman they found this morning.” He picked up a clipboard and squinted at something. “One Katherine “Kitty” Leonard.”

  Aunt Butty and I both gasped, staring at each other with wide eyes. Kitty was dead?

  “What happened?” I finally managed.

  “Looks like they found in her Hyde Park not far from where they found Mrs. Davis,” the coroner continued. “She was stabbed with something other than a hatpin.”

  My heart sank. "It couldn’t be the same killer then, could it?” And if it wasn’t the same killer, then why had North let me go? I wouldn’t have thought him that stupid.

  “The hatpin was added later,” he continued, “but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the same killer. Hard to tell sometimes with these things. The hatpin alone is a good indicator the deaths are related, don’t you think?”

  Aunt Butty and I gaped at him, but he didn’t notice. He just stared at the clipboard.

  “Interesting. The pin was heart shaped like the other two. Killer’s a right cupid, isn’t he?”

  “ASTONISHING,” AUNT Butty managed as we exited the morgue. She was not wrong.

  “I guess that explains why North let me go,” I said. “The murders were obviously committed by the same person, and I have an alibi for Kitty’s death, so...�
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  “They’re not necessarily the same person,” Aunt Butty pointed out what I was already worried about. “Kitty’s death was different. The hatpin was added later and was not the murder weapon.”

  “If North decides to arrest me again, please don’t mention that,” I said dryly. “Although there could be any number of reasons the actual murder was committed with a different weapon.”

  “Like what?”

  “Perhaps Kitty was suspicious, on guard, unlike the others. She was able to fight back, and he had to stab her with something else... a knife, perhaps. But he brought the pin with him, obviously, so he left his calling card, just like with the others.” Which meant the killings had been planned, not just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Then again, with multiple murders, the whole passion killing defense was out the window.

  “Or someone else killed her and made it look like it was the same killer. Or the first killer decided to take advantage of her murder by someone else by sticking in the hatpin.”

  “I admit the first is possible,” I said. “But the second option seems a bit unlikely.”

  “It would rely on a fair amount of coincidences,” Aunt Butty agreed. “Still, it’s possible, and North is just the sort of man to glom on to such a thing.”

  Again, she wasn’t wrong. Unfortunately. “I still think it’s the same killer. I mean, who else would have three matching heart shaped hat pins?”

  “Someone who really likes hearts?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, this cupid killer had this planned all along, I’m betting.”

  “Do you suppose it’s a mass murderer like Jack the Ripper or Mary Ann Cotton?” She looked positively giddy at the thought.

  “Maybe,” I mused. “But based on the relationship of the victims, I’m betting that it’s someone who has a very specific purpose in murdering these people but wants to make it look like there’s a mass murderer on the loose.”

  “Perhaps if we look more closely at the victims, we will find our killer. Obviously, Kitty and Dottie were friends at one time and Harry knew Dottie from the Apollyon.”