Death at the Crystal Palace

by Jennifer Ashley

  Jonathan handed it to me. “That is Henry.”

  A child, small and spindly, leaned against a chair that dwarfed him. His lips were parted, and he stared at the camera as though afraid of it.

  “Henry is a little boy?” I asked in amazement. “How old is this photograph?”

  “It was taken five years or so ago. Henry is about nine now. My nephew. Or, step-nephew, I suppose.”

  “Mrs. Hume’s secret is a child?” I thought of the frantic note in Erica’s voice when she’d caught my hand, her plea. Look after him for me. It was a mother’s fear for a son, not a woman’s for a lover. I’d say the same if I were dying—my last thoughts would be for Grace. “But . . .”

  “She was married, so why is it secret?” Jonathan took the photograph from my hand and showed me another of the same boy, slightly older, but no less frightened. “Think, Mrs. Holloway. She was married at the time, yes, but Henry did not come from the loins of Mr. Hume.”

  I plucked up one of the papers, its creases dark, and unfolded it to find a copy of a birth record. The baby’s name was given as Henry Stephen Hume, with Erica Hume, née Broadhurst as the mother, and Jeremiah Hume as the father.

  “Of course she’d use her husband’s name,” Jonathan said as I studied the page. “She wouldn’t want the little tyke to be fatherless. But Jeremiah did not know about this child. Too busy leaving his own offspring on the wrong side of the blanket to realize his wife had decided that what was good for the gander was good for the goose.”

  Erica, so stiff, so brittle, had carried this secret in her heart. I wondered who the unknown father was, and if he was aware he had a son.

  “How do you know all this?” I asked Jonathan.

  “I pried it out of her, oh, about six months ago. When I followed her to the house where this little chap lives with a nanny, she saw me. She was terrified I’d tell George, or my mother. I assured her I wouldn’t—and I haven’t. I, Jonathan Junior, keep my word. She spilled everything. A relief to tell someone, I think.” He let out a pitying sigh as he gazed at the boy in the photograph. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “It will to Henry.” I touched the boy’s face. “Who is the father?”

  “Sadly, Erica would not tell me. Claimed he was dead, and he might be. Erica always wore mourning or half mourning, and I’ll wager it wasn’t because of Jeremiah Hume.”

  “You will have to tell me where the house is,” I said. “I promised Mrs. Hume I would make certain Henry was well.”

  “Of course.” Jonathan took the photograph and paper from me and dropped them back into the box. “We’ll go together.” He winked at me.

  “You ought to tell your mother about Henry,” I said sternly. “She can make certain he’s cared for. Perhaps bring him to live here.”

  “Ugh, why do such a horrible thing to the poor little chap? But yes, I’ll tell you where to find him. I wager Mama would even understand. She always felt sorry for Erica. Harriet and George, now, they won’t understand at all.”

  “But they have secrets too.” Harriet meeting for kisses with Mr. Amos in the darkness of the Crystal Palace, and George with his very scandalous lover.

  “True. Most damning secrets. Perhaps we can convince them to see things our way.” Jonathan rubbed his palms together, almost comical in his machinations.

  “Do you always speak as though you’re in a melodrama, Mr. Morris?”

  “In this house, how could I not? Besides, I go to the theatre quite often. Nothing else to do,” Jonathan finished glumly.

  He fished for my compassion, but I sent him a severe look. “When you are not helping your friends out of their scrapes?”

  Jonathan’s amusement returned. “Mama told you that, did she? It’s true, I do help a fellow out now and again. Old school friends, you know. Can’t turn them down. I suppose Jepson told you I was a reprobate squandering all I have on the gee-gees.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Which is it?”

  “Helping the friends, of course.” Jonathan gave me another wink. “I can prove it, but it’s a lot of bother. Mama is probably wise not to give me a larger allowance. My kind heart can’t tell a friend no.”

  I did not answer. Jonathan was very charming, but that did not mean Jepson was wrong about him.

  “I say.” Jonathan had set aside the drawer and moved closer to me as I ruminated. “You are a beautiful woman, Mrs. Holloway. For a cook.” I was not flattered. He leaned closer still, his breath hot on my cheek. “A kiss would not be a bad thing, would it?”

  I jumped to my feet. “It certainly would be.”

  My voice rang with indignation, nothing of the timid maiden about it. Jonathan frowned in disappointment as he rose.

  “Why? Is there a Mr. Holloway?”

  My husband’s name had not been Holloway—that was my maiden name—and so Mr. Holloway technically did not exist, but I saw no reason to explain this to Jonathan. “He is deceased,” I said truthfully.

  Something in my face must have showed the pain that death had caused me, because Jonathan’s voice softened. “Oh, bad show. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Holloway. I will take you to Henry whenever you’d like. If you’d prefer I didn’t kiss you, then I will turn my broken heart to Lady Cynthia. Now she can stir a man to picking flowers and writing poetry.”

  He took on a dreamy expression that was so farcical that I could not help a smile. Jonathan could be quite winsome, I conceded, but I refused to let my guard down around him.

  “Thank you, Mr. Morris. I will warn Lady Cynthia to expect flowers and verses from you.”

  Jonathan burst out laughing in genuine mirth. “You are a treasure, Mrs. Holloway. Perhaps one day I’ll be wealthy beyond measure, and you can come and cook for me.” His laughter died. “And perhaps one day, I won’t be afraid to eat a meal served in my own home.” He gave me a serious look. “Do find out who is poisoning us and tell that police chappie. I’ll be here to help tackle George when the inspector comes to arrest him.”

  “You are convinced it is your stepbrother?”

  “I am. He’s the sort of tick who’d watch his own sister die and say nothing at all.”

  The chill of the house returned. “I will keep it in mind,” I said.

  “And take care.” Jonathan walked me to the door, pausing as his hand rested on its handle. “George is beastly. Looks like a harmless dullard, but he’s cunning and nasty.”

  With that, he opened the door and ushered me out. The maid who’d admitted me just then emerged from another bedroom with a stack of towels. She caught sight of me with Jonathan and gave me a glare that tried to sink me through the floor. I nodded to her coolly and marched down the stairs, my mind filled with all I had learned.

  * * *

  * * *

  When I returned home, it was to find a frantic James lurking outside the scullery stairs. “Dad’s holed up in Mr. Thanos’s rooms,” James told me as I stopped to greet him. “He’s wild to see you.”

  I doubted the maddeningly calm Daniel was wild about anything, but James’s eyes held worry.

  “I must take these in and see to supper. Can he wait?”

  “Don’t know. Said I should fetch you, sharpish.”

  Now I grew troubled. Why was Daniel in London, if the duke’s house party was to have gone on through the weekend? Lord Clifford had returned, but that was to keep himself out of the way so Mr. Fielding could take over with the necklace ruse, though I’d believed Lord Clifford when he’d said he’d wanted to return to his wife. Had something gone wrong with the scheme?

  “I will be as quick as I can,” I said. “Do you want to wait for me? Or run back and tell him?”

  “I’ll wait.” James leaned on the railing. “If it grows dark, and I let you walk alone . . .” He trailed off, his expression telling me dire things would happen to him.

  It wouldn’t be dark for
hours yet, but I nodded to him and hurried down the stairs.

  Before I’d departed Lady Covington’s, I’d stepped into the garden and taken Symes’s offer of the pole beans. While he’d ducked into the hothouse to fetch them, I’d taken a cutting from the nearest rhododendron bush and stuffed the leaves into my basket. I’d carefully laid a cloth over them so they’d not touch the beans and extra herbs and greens that Symes brought to me, beaming with pride. I’d thanked him for giving me so much and departed before he could take my thanks for anything more than simple gratitude.

  I sorted the herbs—parsley, thyme, and dill—and the greens—spring onions, leaf lettuce, carrot tops, and radishes. I eyed the radishes, imagining their cool crunch with a bite of vinegar and a sprinkling of dill.

  I instructed Tess to wash and prepare the vegetables, telling her we’d do a large salad and then a sauce of onions and thickly reduced stock, well seasoned with the fresh thyme.

  Meanwhile, I carried the basket down the hall and hid the rhododendron leaves and stems I’d cut in a box on a bottom shelf, well behind the empty crates that rested there, where no one would come across them.

  I’d brought the specimens home so I could decide how someone would get them into the food coming out of the kitchen or into the hamper that had accompanied the family on the train. The leaves or stems must have been chopped fine, or ground, or perhaps soaked in water for a long time and the water sprinkled over the food. I would have to ponder how it could have been done.

  I hated to leave Tess on her own, but when I told her Daniel wanted to see me, she waved me off with a bright green carrot top. “I know how to cook all this.” She indicated the table. “Off ya go, Mrs. H. It’s why you have an assistant. Specially one as good as me.” Tess grinned, her nose wrinkling. “But you have to tell me everything when you come home.”

  “Of course.” I prepared a basket of tea cakes for Mr. Thanos then snatched up my coat and headed upstairs. The spring afternoon was balmy, but I knew from experience that at this time of year, cold could sweep down upon London without warning.

  James paced near the railings, looking relieved when I emerged. We hurried arm in arm along Mount Street to Davies Street, then northward to Brook Street and east through Hanover Square to the busy thoroughfare of Regent Street.

  Mr. Thanos’s landlady knew James and me by now and welcomed us with a smile. James rapped his knuckles on the door of the upstairs landing and opened it before any could come to answer. Inside we found Mr. Thanos, Daniel, Mr. Fielding, and Lady Cynthia, all rising to greet us.

  Before Daniel, who was still in his suit as Mr. Lancaster, could speak, Mr. Fielding stepped forward.

  “Dear Mrs. Holloway. Would you be so kind as to reprise your role as Mrs. Holtmann from Amsterdam? We believe the duplicitous duke would be amenable to taking money offered for the necklace from you. He certainly isn’t interested in any from a dithering but well-meaning vicar.”

  24

  I stared in bafflement at my friends, who clearly expected me to switch my frock for a finer one on the moment and parade back to Surrey. All except Mr. Thanos, who sent me an apologetic look.

  “Only if you are willing, Mrs. Holloway,” Mr. Thanos said gently. “They explained things to me, and I said it was too much risk to you. I can always pretend to be a collector who understands nothing about expense, if you like.”

  Daniel came to me. I saw fury in his eyes, suppressed with difficulty. “I’m afraid I’m rather in a corner, Kat.”

  “May I guess who put you in that corner?” I shot a glance at Mr. Fielding, who rubbed his beard.

  “Nothing I could do,” Mr. Fielding said. “Our duke professed to be uninterested in selling the necklace he bought from Lord Clifford. I told him I had a friend who would offer a very good price, but Daventry hems and haws. I’m beginning to think he has nothing to do with anarchists, but Daniel believes otherwise.”

  As Daniel was usually right about these things, I did not argue. Daniel must have discovered solid information about the duke but still was at a loss as to how to prove it. The case had to be incontrovertible before Daniel could speak out.

  “None of this explains why you wish me to return to Surrey and playact again,” I said.

  “Not Surrey,” Daniel said. “Berkeley Square. The duke and his wife have retreated there, the house party over.”

  I widened my eyes. “I cannot go to Berkeley Square and pretend to be a lady I am not. That is hardly any distance from Mount Street. Someone will recognize me.”

  “Not necessarily,” Mr. Fielding said quickly. “No one notices servants. They drudge in the shadows while the master and mistress see nothing but hands that give them things or take away what isn’t wanted.” He trailed off bitterly. “If you worry about the other servants, we’ll keep them away from you.”

  “You still have not explained why I must go,” I said impatiently. “Why should the duke want to sell the necklace to me?”

  “He is reluctant to use Errol as a go-between,” Daniel answered. “He’s not met the gentleman Errol says is interested in putting up the money for the necklace—because the gentleman doesn’t exist, of course. The duke is careful, and prefers to deal directly with people instead of using intermediaries. Considering what he gets up to, that is not surprising.”

  “And I, er, might have mentioned that Mr. Lancaster’s lovely fiancée could be interested in purchasing the diamonds,” Mr. Fielding finished.

  “Oh, did you?” I sent him a glare. “Thank you very much.”

  “I would not ask you, Kat.” Daniel faced me, shutting out my view of the others. “I hardly want you in danger, but I am running out of time—I’ve had word that another attempt at murdering British government officials might happen soon, with the duke providing the funds. I need to catch him at it and thwart his scheme.”

  I understood why Daniel was in this predicament, though I did not like to say so out loud. The cold-eyed Mr. Monaghan had demanded a result, and Daniel would have to do anything he could to get it.

  Mr. Fielding broke in. “As soon as I made the suggestion, the duke brightened. Said you were a fine lady he could trust, and as he had no use for the necklace, he would be willing to sell it to you. His wife is very particular about the jewels she wears, and she was not happy with him for handing Lord Clifford two hundred guineas.”

  I recalled meeting the small, smiling duchess and hoped she knew nothing of her husband’s perfidy. She must be exasperated with what she saw as his kind heart getting the better of him when he’d purchased the necklace from Lord Clifford.

  “The duke took her admonishment as a cue to sell the necklace for a good price,” Daniel said. “He does want the money—he is simply being cautious as to how he obtains it.” He cleared his throat. “I made certain to imply, in a roundabout, vague manner, that you might be sympathetic to his cause, which made him all the more keen.”

  I thought this over while Daniel and Mr. Fielding watched me closely, Mr. Thanos and Cynthia more dubious.

  Finally, I heaved a sigh. “Very well. I will give up my half day out tomorrow and help you.”

  “I’m afraid it must be tonight, Kat. I left the Berkeley Square house saying I’d look you up at your hotel and bring you back for a meal. The duchess offered you hospitality for the night—or as long as you wish to stay—but you will be modest and insist on returning to your hotel after your transaction with the duke.”

  “So I should hope.” Sudden apprehension made my limbs watery. “I left the gown at Miss Townsend’s.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Cynthia said, breaking her silence. “I have another for you, plus all the trimmings—I stopped by Miss Townsend’s and fetched them. We thought you’d be less noticeable going in and out here.”

  My apprehension grew. “Except by Mr. Thanos’s landlady. What will she think of my transformation?”

  “I wil
l distract her while you slip away,” Mr. Fielding promised. “A vicar is always ready to bend a housewife’s ear about good works.”

  * * *

  * * *

  An hour later saw me once more in a graceful frock that Miss Townsend had supplied. According to Cynthia, her friend had wanted to be rid of several gowns, and Miss Townsend had altered them for me. She, being familiar with Daniel’s work, likely had guessed my role would have to be played more than once.

  This gown was a peach-colored evening dress, with creamy lace on the bodice, bustle, and hem. The décolletage bared my shoulders an unnerving amount, and I kept trying to raise the wide band of the neckline to cover what I considered a daring expanse of bare skin.

  “You are beautiful, Mrs. Holloway,” Cynthia assured me as we stood before a looking glass in Mr. Thanos’s bedchamber. “No need to fuss.”

  “I’ve never shown my shoulders in my life,” I said, tugging up the neckline again.

  “Well, you ought to more often. You have lovely skin.”

  “A right fool I’d look in the kitchen with my frock down to my bosom.” I declared.

  “Take this.” Cynthia wound a lace shawl about my arms, which, in my opinion, did very little to cover me. I felt a definite draft on my back.

  White silk gloves completed the costume, soft against my work-roughened fingers. Cynthia pinned up my hair, letting one lock stray down to rest on the shawl. I resisted tucking it into the coiffure again.

  Cynthia led me out. “Gentlemen, I give you Mrs. Katharine Holtmann, belle of Amsterdam.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I whispered as I stepped into the front room.

  The three men sprang to their feet. Mr. Fielding made a comical, old-fashioned bow, extending his leg. “Your servant, my lady.”

  Daniel’s gaze met mine in amusement at his brother’s ridiculousness. His eyes held admiration, and I will stoop to admitting that the admiration pleased me.