Caradoc crossed his arms. “And so you say I killed my sweetheart and two of her friends? For what reason would I do that?”
“It does seem puzzling on the face of it. At first, I thought you were murdering aristocratic women. Then I thought their commonality was the moralist movement. Finally, I realized that you killed them for entirely different reasons.”
Caradoc stared at her for a moment, then brought his hands together, clapping slowly three times. In a more hushed tone he said, “How very bright of you, Mrs. Harper. Do tell me what strange story you have concocted.”
“It’s not so strange. Because I couldn’t resolve the type of victim you were choosing, I overlooked some clues, the most obvious being that Lady Maud more than likely had hired you as her art tutor. When I taught Lady Marcheford how to make mourning jewelry, I remember her discussing Lady Maud’s interest in china painting. Once I recalled that, it was easy to see that a young woman of Lady Maud’s position would more than likely hire a tutor, and that she would go to the most prestigious tutor she could find—that of the royal household.”
Caradoc laughed. “So now you have established that I gave Lady Maud a few painting lessons? What of it? She was quite terrible, you know. I broke up every pot and bowl she put her hand to, lest anyone see them and ask who her tutor was.”
“You’re right.” Violet nodded. “What crime is there in your serving as Lady Maud’s art tutor? None. But I thought back on the day you came to me, confidentially reporting on Reese Meredith. You said something curious, that Mr. Meredith was much more radical than was warranted. What did that mean? I thought nothing of it at the time, but realized today that you were expressing sympathy for Mr. Meredith’s Marxist ideals.”
“A simple poor form of speech.” Caradoc waved a hand at her. “It meant nothing.”
“I wondered,” Violet continued. “Was it possible that you had let slip some of your Marxist leanings to Lady Maud, a proper lady who would never countenance such thoughts? Did she, perhaps, threaten to report you to the lord chamberlain of the queen’s household?”
“This is a very preposterous theory, Mrs. Harper. One for which you have no proof. After all, Lady Maud is dead.”
“I had to make the connection between you and Lady Maud myself, but Lord Marcheford provided the clue about your relationship with his wife. When I arrived at the palace earlier, I saw this cloth on the floor.” She pointed down. “It was just like the chloroform-soaked ones I found on or near two of the bodies. I mistakenly thought Princess Beatrice had been kidnapped, and rushed to judgment against Lord Marcheford.
“I went to his home to confront him, and he revealed to me that Henry Cape and Lady Marcheford had introduced Miss Cortland to a friend of Mr. Cape’s. A friend who was another man of the arts. You, Mr. Caradoc.
“Miss Cortland had been tossed out by her parents yet still had an aristocratic background. A servant in the royal household might have seemed a good match. It was clever to have her tell Josephine Butler that she was dating a married aristocrat. No one would suspect a thing.”
“There is nothing to suspect.” Violet noticed that Caradoc’s protests were weakening.
“These women must have done something that angered you, but I’m not sure what it was. All I’m certain of is that you are a murderer and deserve to hang.”
Caradoc went to the rear of Beatrice’s art table and bent down, popping open another secret drawer. He withdrew two small, cylindrical tubes.
“Do you know what Karl Marx advocates, Mrs. Harper? The proletariat throwing off the bourgeoisie, creating a perfect society, and all that rot. I’ve attended Marx’s meetings, just like Reese Meredith, and I realized that he doesn’t go far enough.
“No, Mrs. Harper, if we want society changed, we need more. Meredith’s plan of self-glory, assassinating the queen in a violent explosion, only means that her son becomes king. What does that do? Nothing. I tried to stop Meredith, so that my own plans could move forward, but the idiot didn’t pay attention to me.”
Caradoc pocketed the two tubes into his apron and picked up a tightly stoppered bottle from the table. He examined the label, nodded, and, with some exertion, opened it.
Whatever it was Caradoc was planning, Violet was absolutely certain she wouldn’t like it.
“What is it you think should happen, sir?” she said, hoping to distract him while she figured a way out of the room.
“Anarchy, my dear Mrs. Harper, is the only answer. You may be wondering how I came to this conclusion. Don’t worry, we have all evening, and what I have for you won’t be painful at all as long as you don’t struggle. You struggled when I met you in the street, and it ruined everything. You were fortunate that the baker ran into the street, although I knew I would create another special moment for us. Sending you that note was brilliant, wasn’t it? You thought it was in the princess’s handwriting.”
Could she get to the birdcage, remove it from its hook, and fling it at Caradoc? Would it injure him or at least startle him enough to give her time to run from the room?
The odor from the open bottle floated over to Violet. “What is that?”
“Turpentine. Helpful for cleaning brushes and other things. A bit offensive to the senses, isn’t it?”
Violet stood still, hoping he wasn’t aware that her heart was struggling to leap from her chest. Did he intend to make her drink the turpentine? To shove a cloth soaked in it into her mouth? How was it related to the chloroform?
Remain calm, Violet Harper.
“So why did you kill Lady Marcheford and Miss Cortland?”
Caradoc withdrew one of the tubes from his pocket and dipped one end into the turpentine bottle, making Violet realize what it was: a hypodermic needle.
“Mrs. Harper, it may interest you to know that I have not always been the benign, polished royal tutor of oils and pastels. I have quite humble origins in Wales, where so many of my countrymen have been abused by callous colliery owners. Some of us who fled that brutal life learned to lose our Welsh accents, but never what it means to be a Welshman. My tad—my father—was a shot-firer, and his leg was near burned off when he slipped into one of the holes packed with explosives that he’d set. The head of the mine refused to pay for a doctor, and by the time he got treatment, the infection was so bad there was nothing to do but amputate his leg. He could no longer work, and turned to drink. My mam went to the mines to take his place—”
“Women aren’t permitted to work in mines.”
Caradoc looked at her condescendingly. “That law is routinely ignored. The mine owner wasn’t willing to help my father, but he was happy to send my mother down into the depths as a bearer, carrying heavy baskets of coal away from the coal face and handing them off to putters, who put the lumps of coal into coal wagons. My tad died two years later, when I was but a mere boy of eleven, and my mother followed him shortly thereafter, a completely broken woman.
“My brothers and sisters and I were shuffled around to various relatives and lost touch with one another. I ended up with an aunt and uncle who found me to be a nuisance, although they claimed I was difficult, and I finally ended up with an elder brother in Cardiff when I was fourteen. This was my first truly good stroke of fortune in life. Drystan was very bitter over what had happened to Tad, but he taught me that it was not just the company I should hate, but those who rule in government. Drystan had anarchist notions; he just didn’t know it.”
Caradoc tucked the filled needle back into his pocket and withdrew the second one, again dipping it into the turpentine bottle and pulling back the metal plunger. He put the second filled needle into his pocket and closed up the turpentine. He frowned. “Now where is my . . . ah, yes, I see you already found it.”
Caradoc picked up the chloroform bottle. “Hidden right among the princess’s things, yet she never noticed. She’s a very obedient child and never touches anything unless I tell her to. I’m afraid I wasn’t quite so amenable as a student.
“When I expre
ssed interest in sculpting and painting, my brother saved up to send me to the Royal Academy to learn art properly. I thought it was my second stroke of luck, although I admit I didn’t enjoy taking chemistry, anatomy, and ancient history alongside my drawing and painting classes. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing, Mrs. Harper. Lady Marcheford attempted something similar and you know how she fared by struggling.”
Violet halted from backing up imperceptibly—or so she thought—toward the birdcage.
“Where was I? Oh yes,” he said, opening the bottle and taking only a quick whiff before stoppering it up again. “My work attracted a very wealthy benefactor, who I soon discovered had a very beautiful daughter. Dora was a flawless diamond kept hidden away and unable to sparkle. As her father obtained more and more lucrative commissions for me from his aristocratic friends, I was falling more and more in love with Dora.
“She was the rock upon which I based my sanity during those years of serving the vapid ruling class. I eventually suggested that she and I run away together, that my talent as an artist was enough to support us. I realized then that she was no better than the rest of her father’s cronies.”
“She left you?” Violet asked.
“She said that she’d been enamored of my rebellious nature, but she’d discovered that I was not really the romantic figure she thought I was, just a commoner in a nice waistcoat.”
Caradoc sat down in Beatrice’s chair, casually crossing one leg over the other. Did he think they were having a social visit before he murdered her?
“I’d already become interested in Mr. Marx’s ideas, although, as I said, I knew his plan was weak and would never bring about the revolution he claims it will. My experiences with the colliery and Dora and her social circle taught me that aristocrats can never be trusted and amount to nothing more than a boil on the rump of society that must be lanced in order for people to be happy and free.”
The more comfortable Caradoc became in his conversation, the more likely it was that he might delay fulfilling his intentions with Violet. She endeavored to keep him distracted by his own story, which he so smugly enjoyed.
“You still haven’t explained why you killed Princess Louise’s friends and Miss Cortland,” she said.
His eyes narrowed. “Kindly do not interrupt me. Working at the palace neatly coincided with my plans to undermine the aristocracy. Dora’s father knew nothing of our relationship, and was only too happy to recommend me for the job when it became available. It’s always an extra feather in the wings of those stuffed birds when they can say that they obtained a royal position for one of their protégés.
“Once I was lodged here, I overheard Princess Louise talking to one of her friends about the burgeoning moralist movement, intent on repealing the Contagious Diseases Acts. I knew that these moralist women, bent on breaking down society as we know it, were a perfect fit for my own goals, and I determined to join forces with them.”
“So you approve of the moralists.”
“Your mind is getting more proficient, Mrs. Harper. Of course I do. They had much to teach me in terms of protesting, disturbing the peace, and so forth. What a magnificent marriage it would have been, the moralist and anarchist movements.”
“But the moralists don’t want society to break down. They simply want prostitutes treated humanely, with basic dignity.”
“It is their methods, not their goals, that are attractive. In time, they will agree to my own goals.”
“How did you pursue this marriage with the moralists?” Violet had a glimmer of an idea but needed time to work it out.
Caradoc smiled. “It was brilliant and should have worked nicely. I went to Mrs. Butler and offered my services, but she turned me down. Lillian was too afraid of exposing our relationship to the world to intercede with Mrs. Butler on my behalf.
“What a harridan that moralist is. All of her pious bleating about what God did and didn’t want her to do, and that I wasn’t part of The Plan. I could have wrung her neck and dropped her to the ground at that moment, as much as she reminded me of Dora’s rejection, but I figured she just needed more convincing first.” He tapped the pocket in his apron.
“You attempted to kill us both in the street.”
“I attempted nothing. I wanted to scare you both and was quite successful.”
“Did you also attempt to frighten Lady Maud?”
Caradoc’s smile turned into a smirk. “So we are back to the Lady Maud again, eh? No, I wasn’t interested in merely scaring her, because you are right, she had reacted in a most unseemly way to my explanation of Marx’s teachings, except it wasn’t the lord chamberlain she threatened to tell. It was the queen herself. I couldn’t have that, could I?”
The man exuded evil. Violet knew she was in danger, but she pressed on. “What of Lady Marcheford? Weren’t you practically friends, what with having Mr. Cape in common?”
“An aristocrat friends with an art tutor? You are delusional, Mrs. Harper. No, she found me an amusing appendage to her beloved Henry. Believe me, when she discovered I was attending some of Mr. Marx’s meetings, she, too, wasted no time in seeking me out with a direct threat to report me if I didn’t stop.”
Violet felt as though she were receiving multiple blows to the face. First to one side, then to the other. “Why didn’t you simply resign your post? Why was it necessary to kill Lady Maud and Lady Marcheford?”
“Resign? Didn’t I just say that I needed my post for now?”
His rationale was that of a madman. Violet knew she was in serious trouble, yet she still wanted the entire truth of the matter.
“How did you manage to break into Lady Maud’s and Lady Marcheford’s homes?”
“You don’t need to force entry when you are the royal art tutor. Servants happily admit you to their masters’ residences.”
Violet could only imagine the women’s terror, believing they had an innocent appointment with an art teacher, only to discover the appointment was with death.
“Surely they didn’t invite you into their bedchambers.”
“You’d be surprised how trusting a young lady is with a palace servant.”
“Lady Marcheford tried to shoot you.” Violet was rapidly putting more things together in her mind.
“Yes, that was foolish. Once I got the chloroform on her, she collapsed.”
His explanations accounted for the aristocratic women, but what about Miss Cortland? Violet grasped for an answer. “So it was your anger at Mrs. Butler that caused you to turn on your sweetheart, Miss Cortland.”
“Lillian was amusing and we had many interests in common. But she was another Dora, disguised in homespun. One day she decided I was not an appropriate match for her. How dare she, a society castoff, think I was too low for her?”
Poor Miss Cortland, her only crime a sound decision that Owen Caradoc was not a suitable match.
Violet saw the absurdity of Caradoc’s crimes. “So Reese unsuccessfully attempted to kill the queen to further his Marxist ideals, and you actually murdered three women for reasons unrelated to furthering those ideals?”
“I suppose that’s ironic, yes, but all five women—I include you and Mrs. Butler, of course, Mrs. Harper—were just inconvenient detours as I develop my bigger scenario. Events were proceeding well, except that Princess Louise was overcome by Lady Maud’s death and dragged you into it. Until you started prying, I was convinced that no one would be the wiser. In fact, once Meredith took the blame, I was in the clear, but you had to continue your pursuit. You can see how you have burdened me.”
Indeed.
“How did you obtain the chloroform?” she asked.
“Did I not mention that my brother, Drystan, is a surgeon? No? You can imagine the thriving practice he has among those who are routinely crushed, burned, and cut working in collieries, although most can only pay him in food and running errands for him. It is easy enough to pilfer the supplies I need from him on periodic visits.”
Violet eyed h
is pocket. “Such as hypodermic needles?”
“Among other things. Chloroform comes in handy for a variety of situations. It’s been all the rage since the queen used it to help her through two of her births.”
“Which is what you used to send me and three other women into unconsciousness, too, before killing them.”
“Bravo, Mrs. Harper, perhaps you are mildly brighter than I gave you credit for. Yes, it calms down my intended victim so that I can complete my task in peace.”
“And an injection of turpentine is how you complete your task.”
“Brilliant, isn’t it? Very effective, yet leaves no cause for suspicion when used on the right victim. Two injections behind the knee, between the toes, under the arm, or at the back of the neck, and the unconscious woman is quickly and painlessly sent to her death.”
So what Violet thought were insect bites were two consecutive hypodermic injections.
“But why two needles? Surely one is sufficient.”
“I like to be thorough, Mrs. Harper. One injection makes me confident; two makes me absolutely certain. Fortunately, tonight marks the end of my troubles. Once we are done here, I’ll give Mrs. Butler her final minutes of life, then I’ll run both the anarchist and moralist movements. The world will change beyond anything you can imagine, Mrs. Harper. The monarchy and everything surrounding draconian rule and law will disappear—poof!”
Violet realized that Caradoc was completely insane. Who in his right mind could possibly think he could overturn society like that?
He pulled one of the hypodermics from his apron pocket and, with the needle in the air, depressed the plunger slightly, sending a bit of the turpentine upward for effect. It sprayed backward onto his apron, but he seemed not to notice. He tucked the needle back in next to its mate.
Violet knew she didn’t have long remaining. She edged closer to the birdcage.
“You understand, sir, that I am no weak miss to be easily overcome.”
“You may not be weak, but you will certainly be dead soon. You are the one vulnerability in my plan, what with your investigations on Louise’s behalf.”
A Virtuous Death Page 27