A Tale of Two Murders

by Heather Redmond

  “What did she use?”

  “Death cap mushrooms,” the madwoman revealed. “Ground up, just like I learned, like we all learn. Into tiny little bits, just like tea leaves.”

  Charles caught a candle flicker from the corner of his eye, some defect of the wick. When he turned his head, he saw the bellpull, and swiftly took two steps to the wall and yanked on it.

  “Her name was Margery,” Miss Carley said as her mother finished speaking. “Oh, Mother. I didn’t want Horatio to die. Our family doesn’t do anything like that anymore. Not in generations.”

  Chapter 28

  Miss Carley had said the word “die” with such emphasis that Charles was brought to wonder what other punishments the young wise-woman-in-training might have considered acceptable.

  “The old ways are best,” her mother said complacently.

  “You killed my friend!” Miss Carley shrieked.

  “I did it for love,” her mother insisted. “You’ll understand when you are a mother.”

  Charles sidled to the door along the wall as Miss Carley sobbed, making sure William stayed in front of Julie, protecting her, as Miss Carley broke into noisy tears and embraced her mother.

  Slowly opening the door, he saw a male servant in the hall. “Run for a constable,” he ordered. “Fast as you can. Send someone on a horse to the Kensington police station if needed.”

  He didn’t know if Mrs. Carley belonged in Newgate Prison or Bedlam, but he wouldn’t leave this house until the proper authorities had her in hand.

  * * *

  Charles felt more than a little worse for wear as he thanked Mrs. Hogarth for his brushed clothing the next morning. He and William had spent the night in the Hogarths’ parlor, cozy in front of a warm fire, but a party followed by a late night of capturing a killer and rescuing a friend, then a night on the floor wrapped in one’s cloak, was not ever going to make a man’s attire suitable for calling on a baroness.

  Mr. Hogarth had offered a dressing gown and both unexpected guests had in turn donned the garment so that Mrs. Hogarth and her maid could do what they could to repair their coats and cravats. Fortunately, both men had worn black cravats and were spared the embarrassment of visibly unclean linen.

  William set his teacup on the dining table. Charles looked at it with a shudder and his friend laughed. “Come now, very few teacups ever have poison in them.”

  “I wonder if Lady Lugoson will feel guilty for taking her daughter to Mrs. Carley’s home that fateful day,” Charles mused. For himself, he felt bad for questioning Lord and Lady Lugoson’s possible hand in the girl’s death.

  “How could she have known?”

  “I would feel guilty. I would imagine, given that Lady Lugoson raised the girl from earliest infancy, that she loved her as much as her own child. Or so I can hope.”

  “A child of that father?” William shook his head. “I only wish Julie Saville might have had some piece of either fortune, from either of her parents.”

  “At least she isn’t dead. She survived what her half sisters did not,” Charles stated.

  “There is that. And a beautiful girl can always get ahead in life.”

  Charles heard a note of tenderness in William’s voice. “She has stolen your heart?”

  William raised his eyebrows just as the door to the parlor opened and Mr. Hogarth poked his head in. “Ready to go, the pair of ye? We’ve had a note from Lady Lugoson and she’s ready to see us.”

  Charles nodded. He’d taken the time to pen a few lines earlier, explaining how Christiana had died and at whose hand. The Hogarths’ maid had delivered it.

  William rose, and they both followed Mr. Hogarth into the entry hall to pile on their coats and hats. Mr. Hogarth would, of course, accompany them, and Julie was still in Miss Hogarth and her sister’s room, being ordered to rest in bed for a day or two by Mrs. Hogarth, but the welcome sight of Kate Hogarth appeared just as Charles had buttoned his coat.

  “Are you joining us?” he asked, drinking in the sight of her neat, rounded figure in gray, those sleepy eyes enhanced with a matching blue ribbon around her throat, and shining hair.

  “If you don’t mind,” she answered.

  “Of course not. You are most welcome.” Charles felt a silly grin break out on his lips.

  “Since she aided ye, I thought it appropriate,” Mr. Hogarth explained.

  Charles disagreed, given the unsavory details he would have to share, but surely it would be a learning experience for a girl who one day would have to shield children of her own from the world.

  They left the house and began their tramp through the apple orchard. Unlike that late-night voyage more than a month ago, weak sunlight lit their path, a much muddier one than before. The ground, no longer frozen, was damp with wet earth, and the scent of decaying leaves was heavy on their nostrils.

  A black-and-white cat darted across their path, probably on the trail of a smaller animal. The reminder of predators and prey set Charles on a philosophical bent as they came up to the French doors they had entered that Epiphany night.

  Panch opened a door for them and let them in. Charles wondered if they were being brought into the large drawing room where they had first seen Christiana Lugoson suffering for effect. No sign of what had happened January sixth remained on the carpet. The room gleamed with beeswax polish and the air was fresh.

  Lady Lugoson was seated in one of the furniture arrangements. She greeted them gravely, William being the only newcomer.

  “Thank you for your note of explanation, Mr. Dickens. Panch told me there was a great deal of activity at the Carleys’ late last night,” she said, her voice shaking. “I cannot believe I watched my daughter drink that tea and had no idea of the evil present. My poor girl.”

  “I am so very sorry,” Charles said. “So much has been revealed as we have tried to understand what happened to your daughter.”

  “We had some concerns about Julie Saville,” William interjected. “Do you remember who she is?”

  One of Lady Lugoson’s eyes closed. The other squinted. The expression looked pained. “Yes.”

  “You thought it wise to turn your own niece into a servant?” William demanded. “When she came from two wealthy families and had a good trade of her own?”

  “I simply thought she would be safe in a household, both from herself and my sister.” Lady Lugoson lifted a handkerchief to her eyes. “She has a tendency to roam.”

  “She did so even after taking the position,” Charles admitted. “Now she is resting at the Hogarths’, a victim of an attempt on her life.”

  Lady Lugoson’s hand flew to her mouth. “Who tried to kill her?”

  Lord Lugoson entered the room. He had a new air of confidence since they had first seen him here, though he possessed the same spindly limbs. When he sat next to his mother, she took his hand and clutched it tightly against her heart.

  “Mrs. Carley,” Charles explained.

  “Another victim?” Her hand fell to her lap, the fashionable mourning gown much less startling on her than it had been on Mrs. Carley. “Until your note, Mr. Dickens, I would have thought Beatrice to have done it, in that family at least.”

  “Julie realized all too quickly that something strange was going on with Mrs. Carley’s tea service. But it was when she found that lady in a black dress, crying over a miniature of the late Horatio Durant, that she became suspicious, and Mrs. Carley chased her down the central staircase in a rage.”

  “She fell,” William said flatly. “And of course, is out of a job again, and injured. What are you going to do about it, Lady Lugoson?”

  “William,” Mr. Hogarth chided, but the lady’s gaze fixed on the reporter.

  Lady Lugoson spoke in tender tones. “She must be badly hurt. Of course she can come here, and we will tend her.”

  Lord Lugoson nodded. “It is right that we help.”

  Charles imagined the young lord’s love of the theater prompted his enthusiasm.

  “We are h
appy to care for her at my house,” Mr. Hogarth said stiffly.

  “I’ll send for Dr. Keville,” the lady insisted. “Panch?”

  The butler had been silently waiting against the wall. He nodded and went out, leaving them alone in the room.

  “Please explain everything, Mr. Dickens,” Lady Lugoson said. “I am most confused, despite your note. And my son hasn’t read it. Surely Mr. Durant killed himself. How was he involved?”

  “Mrs. Carley was clearly involved in the Durant tragedy,” Charles said. “She has admitted as much.”

  “Why?”

  Mr. Hogarth glanced at his daughter, then shook his head at the baroness.

  She colored and looked away. “You said something about the tea?”

  “Yes,” Charles said. “While Mrs. Carley was justly famed for her afternoon tea service, she did, upon occasion, add one ingredient, dried and ground death cap mushrooms, gathered from the family estate in Somerset.”

  Lord Lugoson leapt to his feet. “What?” he gasped.

  “I am so sorry to relay this tragic news to you both,” Charles said. “She killed both Marie Rueff and Miss Lugoson with her special mushroom tea.”

  “Why?” Lady Lugoson said, the word sounding more like a keen than before. Tears welled up in her eyes, proving Charles’s theory that the girl had been loved by her adopted mother, if not her half brother.

  “Mrs. Carley believes she is a wise woman, like her long-ago ancestress Margery before her, who killed those who hurt her children,” he explained, feeling the strong gaze of interested eyes on him. He warmed to his topic, gesturing along with his words. “Miss Rueff’s death was necessary a year before because Mrs. Carley didn’t want a lower-class girl marrying into the Carley family. Mr. Carley is a Member of Parliament with designs on even higher office. While the lovers were caught and separated, Mrs. Carley took the opportunity to invite Marie Rueff for tea, to discuss the matter.”

  “She put lethal mushrooms in the tea?”

  “Powdered by her private family methods,” Charles agreed. “But it did leave a residue, which is why she always had her service cleaned with chloride of lime. A daily routine, so her servants would not know when she had used, er, extra ingredients in her brew.”

  “And my daughter?” Lady Lugoson asked.

  “Christiana had to die because Beatrice wanted to marry Horatio and he was more interested in Christiana. Mrs. Carley had been hoping Horatio would propose to Beatrice if Christiana was out of the picture, but instead, he seduced Mrs. Carley herself,” Charles said. “He had no real interest in marriage, but he was around the Carleys a great deal. He must have seen the bored wife as easy prey.”

  “I don’t understand why he died,” Lord Lugoson interrupted.

  “Because the husband found out,” William interjected. “Banned his wife and children to Brompton, as if he doesn’t have his own private amusements, the hypocrite.”

  Again, Mr. Hogarth glared, but Miss Hogarth seemed composed.

  Charles went back to the subject. “Horatio Durant did commit suicide, but was assisted in some fashion by Mrs. Carley, who wanted to punish him for ruining her daughter’s happiness and damaging her marriage.”

  “I cannot believe I trusted such an evil woman,” Lady Lugoson said. “Not only to take tea with her, but to send Julie to her household. I am ashamed. I will take Julie with me when we return to France. We will go as soon as she is well enough to travel.”

  “Take Julie to France?” William cried. “But she has not lived there since earliest childhood. She doesn’t even remember living there.”

  “Can you think of a better place for her?” Lady Lugoson asked.

  William blinked and sat back. “Perhaps, my lady. May I call upon you tomorrow to discuss her future?”

  Charles’s head snapped toward his friend. Did he want to marry the wild, impetuous, charismatic actress? He must not want a quiet home.

  “What will happen now?” Lady Lugoson asked after agreeing to William’s request.

  “The constable came, then policeman were sent for,” Charles said. “That is why we are seeing you so late in the day. We were up much of the night waiting for them.”

  “Where is Mrs. Carley?”

  “Newgate Prison, I imagine. There will be a trial.”

  “Her husband? Her children?”

  “Her husband was sent for but never came,” Charles said. “Bertram may be in charge of his sister now. He will have to come to some kind of agreement with his father, but neither he nor Miss Carley did anything wrong.”

  “Are you certain?” Lady Lugoson asked. “Beatrice is innocent?”

  “A difficult case,” Charles admitted, “from what I’ve heard from Dr. Keville. But never did her mother implicate her in the crimes and she seemed as shocked as Bertram, or indeed, myself and William.”

  “I am glad for that,” Lady Lugoson murmured.

  “You must be most pleased to know your sister is entirely innocent of the deaths,” Charles said pointedly.

  Lady Lugoson nodded. “I hope she can find some peace, now, with both daughters out of her life.” She put a shaky hand to her face. “I am sorry I didn’t offer you any refreshment. I need to lie down, I’m afraid. My head aches. But Panch can bring you something.”

  “We can do without, my lady,” Charles said. “I hope you feel better soon.”

  “We must offer them something, Mother,” Lord Lugoson said. “For all their troubles. Don’t you have a charity, Mr. Dickens?”

  “Mr. Aga and I are the founders of the Charity for Dressing the Mudlark Children of Blackfriars Bridge,” Charles said, somewhat confused. “The children need help, of course, but I was very happy to fulfill your mother’s request despite the irregularity of it. I’m a reporter, not a Bow Street Runner.”

  Lord Lugoson’s chest rose in mild amusement. “Our banker will visit you at your place of business tomorrow or Tuesday,” he stated. “Something good must come out of this miserable situation.”

  “Julie Saville,” Miss Hogarth said, speaking for the first time. “I second the notion that she deserves some recompense for her suffering.”

  Lady Lugoson, eyes glazed with pain, nodded. “I will not take her out of her position in life, but I will settle something upon her.”

  “We are your witnesses, my lady,” Mr. Hogarth said.

  “A dowry, I think,” she said. “Cash, not a building. I’m not sure my father’s giving my sister a theater ever did her any real good. Five hundred pounds? That should allow her to establish a household.”

  “That is very kind of you, my lady,” Mr. Hogarth said.

  William drew a breath and let it out noisily through his nose as Lady Lugoson rose, assisted by her son. Mr. Hogarth took her other arm, and William followed them behind.

  Charles had been lost in contemplation of five hundred pounds and did not rise. A delicate clearing of the throat reminded him that Miss Hogarth remained.

  When he glanced in her direction, she said, “I wish I could have been there for every thrilling moment of this investigation, but alas, I am under my parents’ supervision.”

  “Yes.”

  “They are very good, my parents, but I know enough of the world to understand more than they realize,” she said.

  Charles thought there had been parts of the case that she yet did not know, and he hoped she never would understand some of the foul doings attributed to the late Lord Lugoson.

  “I am glad it is over,” he said.

  “Yes. You have worked very hard for the lady. I am glad someone will benefit.”

  “Julie Saville and the mudlarks,” Charles said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “I can’t wait to see their faces when we are able to buy them new clothing.”

  They both stood, since her father and William did not appear to be returning.

  “I would do it all again,” Miss Hogarth whispered, “in order to spend more time with you. Though I am in awe of how you uncovered the truth. I h
ope I played some small part in helping you.”

  “You did,” he assured her. “I admit, that at the time, I was irritated by your refusal to accept my pronouncement that Beatrice Carley was responsible, but in hindsight, that makes me trust in your judgment more. You make me dig deeper.”

  “I would like you to trust me.” She twisted her hands together. “I believe we could uncover great things together, that you would bring me more adventure than the average life might.”

  I could truly love this girl. He leaned over, still grinning, and kissed her on the cheek. As she blushed, he said, “I have to go out of town tomorrow for another debate, but I will find an excuse to see you very soon, Miss Hogarth.”

  “Perhaps someday I will give you permission to call me Kate,” she said shyly.

  “W-will you?” he stammered. “I mean, would you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dickens. After all, you gave me the mystery I requested, not just the lovemaking.” She took a step toward him, her eyes sparkling, then went to her tiptoes and pressed her soft, pink lips against his.

  Charles tasted tea on her breath. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch of their mouths, not daring to deepen the butterfly touch, his body and heart in full agreement. There had never been a kiss like this before and there never would be again.

  “It is a far, far better idea for us to have experienced this together, than I would have ever dreamed,” he sighed as she pulled away.

  She put her fingers to her lips, eyebrows high on her forehead. “Oh, Mr. Dickens.”

  “Kate.” He grinned.

  “What—”

  The door opened before he could hear her question in full. Panch stood in the doorway. They walked out, so close to each other that their arms nearly brushed.

  * * *

  Mrs. Hogarth gave William permission to see Julie before he went back into town, but Charles declined, since he had a bag to pack for his next meeting.

  He had to rise quite early for the stagecoach, but when he walked out of his front door the next morning, he discovered William outside.

  “Have you slept?” Charles demanded, looking at his friend’s unshaven face.