Felicity Carrol and the Perilous Pursuit

by Patricia Marcantonio

  Felicity’s whole being swirled and eddied, as if she had jumped into the turbulent ocean waters at Dover. She was positive the tapestry taken from the viscount’s home had something to do with King Arthur.

  After ringing for Helen, Felicity took a bite of the toast and hurried into her dressing closet.

  Helen knocked and entered, as if she had been standing by the door. “I thought you might get stirred up by that piece of information, so I waited.”

  Though it was awful manners, Felicity spoke with her mouth full. “Hellie, you are wonderful. Can you help me, please? There are many things to do.”

  Helen took the longest of looks at Felicity. One side of the older woman’s mouth raised up.

  Felicity swallowed the piece of toast she had eaten while putting one leg into her cream silk combination knickers and camisole. “What, Hellie?”

  “I was thinking, Miss, about other women your age and rank. They’re probably busying themselves with the pianoforte, learning languages, doing needlepoint, and trying to find a husband.”

  “Yes?”

  “But your interests are as far from those as England to the New World.”

  “Hellie, I don’t want to learn the pianoforte. The idea of sitting behind a piano gives me a headache. I already speak German, Italian, and French. And as for needlepoint, I would rather stick the needles up my fingernails.”

  Helen only grinned, making Felicity do the same.

  “So why are you smiling, my old friend?” Felicity said.

  “I do have a much more stimulating job than other serving ladies I could name. Sometimes, I am frightened for you, Miss Felicity, but there is not a day I would trade. So how do you go about finding a murderer?”

  * * *

  Helen was waiting for her at the carriage. She insisted on accompanying Felicity. “Where exactly are we going?” she said.

  “To the home of the late Lord Banbury.” Felicity had to know more about the stolen artwork and whether there was a connection with Kent’s death.

  “After reading about that murder, I just thought we might be heading there, Miss.”

  “Are you positive you want to come, Hellie? This might take time. That is, if I don’t get kicked out five minutes after I enter.”

  “This way, no one will accuse you of impropriety, even though you are after a killer.” Helen held up a large bag. “And take all the time you need. I brought along knitting and a book.” Her eyes moved in the direction of the driver’s seat. “Matthew and I can also play cards as we wait.”

  “As long as your time is occupied.” Then Felicity leaned into Helen and whispered, “But if you play Matthew for money, take care. I’ve heard the servants say he cheats at cards.”

  “Where do you supposed he learned that?” Helen winked.

  Before leaving the house, Felicity wrote a note to be delivered to solicitor Joshua Morton, asking his firm to also investigate the life of the deceased Viscount Richard Banbury.

  Banbury’s estate lay just inside the boundaries of London. The home was grand and suitable for a viscount. Fortunately, the Metropolitan Police, especially Inspector Davies, were not anywhere around. At this point, she wanted to be the one asking questions and not answering his.

  She asked Matthew to pull the carriage to the front of the house. If nothing else, she would tell the truth and hope that gained her access and the details she needed.

  An aged man answered the door. From his dress, he was a servant. White hair was scattered over his head as if painted there one strand at a time. Deep wrinkles and bereavement creased his face. His back was curved as a cane handle.

  “May I help you, Miss?”

  “First, my condolences for the death of Lord Banbury.”

  His nod was slow.

  “I do apologize for appearing without an appointment, but I wanted to talk to someone about the tapestry that was stolen.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “I too have lost someone dear. He was killed because he owned a prized and ancient manuscript. I want answers about my friend’s death. Perhaps this will also lead to the man who killed Lord Banbury.”

  His blue eyes produced a minor spark. “Come in, Miss.”

  Once inside, she introduced herself. The servant called himself Macmillan.

  “I have worked for the Banbury family for forty years, and the last few days have been among the saddest of my life,” he said as they walked through the house.

  She swore his bones crackled with each step. Without asking, he took her to the room where Banbury had been killed. She figured the old man just wanted someone else to share his heartache.

  In front of the fireplace was a majestic chair. Lovely royal-blue velvet. Marvelously carved wood on the arms and legs. But its beauty had been spoilt. The right side of the chair was red with blood that pooled underneath. On the right wall were more sprays.

  The significance: a right-handed killer.

  “The police asked that we not clean up for a few days.” The servant walked over to the chair and laid a craggy hand on the side without the bloodstains. “Lord Banbury died in this chair. It was his favorite in the whole house. The chair once belonged to Arthur Wellesley, the first Duke of Wellington. Lord Banbury was quite proud of that.”

  “It is magnificent.”

  Felicity’s attention went from the chair to the door. Rugs lay between. That meant the culprit had probably gone unheard when he entered the room.

  “Where was the tapestry?” she asked.

  He pointed to a spot above the splendid fireplace.

  “Can you tell me anything about the piece, Mr. Macmillan?”

  “Certainly. It dated back to 1325 and depicted King Arthur sitting on a throne shaped like a lion. That’s the symbol of England, you know.”

  “I do.”

  His wrinkles tilted up in a smile. “The late Lady Charlotte had given the tapestry to her husband for their anniversary. I heard her say quite often that she thought Lord Banbury resembled Arthur—when his lordship was younger, that is.”

  “Did anyone ever offer to buy the tapestry?”

  “No, Miss. But it was quite expensive.”

  “Did the viscount have many visitors?”

  Another shake of the head. “After her ladyship and their daughter died, he mostly stayed in the house. He did a lot of reading.”

  She made a slow turn. Even without the blood and signs of violence, the room exuded sadness. Dark even in the daytime.

  “Has anyone ever attempted a burglary at the house?”

  “Oh no, Miss. We don’t even lock the front door.”

  Now Felicity shook her head. How easy they had made it for the killer to come in and leave death behind.

  Macmillan walked her to the front door, and she gave him twenty pounds. “Please forget I talked with you in case the police ask.”

  “They have already asked me similar questions, so I don’t feel the need to add anything more.” Even his smile creaked.

  At the door, she turned to the old man. “Mr. Macmillan, I would think that Lord Banbury was proud to have you.”

  He bowed.

  Felicity headed back to the carriage where Helen waited, but realized she had to make another stop.

  “Home, Miss?” Matthew asked Felicity as he held the door open for her.

  “We’re going to the coroner’s office,” Felicity said as she stepped inside. She needed to examine the body.

  “Did you say coroner?” Helen said.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I will most definitely wait in the carriage.” Helen exhaled with worry, but then smiled. “Matthew will be happy we’re moving. He’s already lost a guinea to me in cards.”

  By the time they arrived at the coroner’s building, Felicity thought of what she might do to gain entry into the mortuary. First, lie. Second, use bribery.

  She thought it best to wait until ten minutes before the office was set to close. At that time, there would probably be fewer visi
tors. From the carriage, she watched the coroner’s office supervisor leave and, right behind him, another well-dressed man carrying a physician’s bag. Inspector Jackson Davies brought up the rear. With deliberate steps, the inspector walked with his head down and hands shoved in pants pockets. His Shakespearean actor’s face carried worry. She sat back in the carriage so they wouldn’t see her. After they were well out of the view of the building, she headed inside.

  The same clerk Felicity had met on her first visit shook his head when she entered. He was not overjoyed. The sign on his desk stated MR. HOBSON.

  She greeted him by that name.

  “Miss, I never thought I would see you again,” he said.

  “Neither did I, but I must ask a favor.”

  “My supervisor went home, and every minute held up here, my supper gets cold.”

  When she had previously visited, she had noticed Mr. Hobson’s shirt sleeves were frayed at the cuffs. His shoes were tatty, and one button was missing at the bottom of his coat. On his desk was a nice silver frame—probably pricier than he could afford—of an older woman with a similar chin and nose, but her face was compacted as the bricks making up the coroner’s building. A blur of white cat hair marked his pant legs, and he wore no wedding ring. So here was a poor man with a cat who lived at home with his mother. He was wearing the same outfit that day.

  “What do you want this time, Miss?”

  She inclined forward. “The only information I can give you is that I am affiliated with a solicitor firm.” She shaded her voice with secrecy. “The firm has been charged by a client to delve into the recent murders of Earl William Kent and Viscount Richard Banbury.” She was also the firm’s client but didn’t mention that part. “Therefore, I would like to examine the body of Lord Banbury for a few minutes.”

  “I cannot allow that, Miss.”

  “Why not?”

  He had no response. His brow creased. Obviously, he was trying to come up with one.

  “As I thought, Mr. Hobson. You have no reason so say no.”

  His eyebrows burrowed into the middle of his forehead. “Well, no one has ever asked to see actual bodies except the police and those nosy reporters from newspapers and the penny magazines.”

  “I am no reporter. But I am wealthy.” Felicity seldom heeded her father’s teachings about the world because they were rife with pessimism and acrimony. Such as “Every man without money is a man to be feared. He will want to relieve you of yours.” Or “The world is made for those who have means. All others must do what they can.” She did recall one of her father’s lessons she would use. “Most men have a price.”

  She would appeal to the pocketbook of the coroner clerk, thin as it appeared to be. Opening her purse, she took out a fifty-pound note and placed it in his dry hand. “Mr. Hobson, this is for your valuable time and inconvenience, such as a less-than-warm supper.”

  First, he brought the money closer to make sure it was real. Second, he gave her a review from head to slippers. “You don’t look like someone who will do harm.”

  “I certainly won’t. A look at the body is all I want. You can stay in the room if you like.”

  “Aye, that I will.” He inspected the office although they were alone. “Follow me.” He stopped abruptly, and she bumped into him. “You won’t get ill or faint will you, Miss? I don’t want to clean up your mess.”

  “I am used to dealing with corpses from medical studies in London.” She did give up the truth in this instance, which felt good after some of the falsehoods.

  “All right then, follow me.”

  The reek of death turned stronger with each step into the basement. The temperature dropped as they headed into dankness.

  “I expect they will hold the inquest tomorrow, Miss,” Hobson said.

  “Then I have no time to lose.”

  From a room filled with ice blocks, Hobson brought out the body on a metal table. Its shaky wheels imitated the cries of tortured mice. A white sheet enveloped the deceased. Hobson placed the table under a large electric light hanging from the ceiling. The bare bulb layered the room with sickly illumination.

  Removing her black leather gloves, Felicity donned white ones for ease of handling her investigative tools. From her purse, she withdrew the magnifying glass.

  “I am ready, Mr. Hobson.”

  He pulled the sheet off of the top part of the body only. “His lordship doesn’t have any clothes on, Miss.”

  Felicity coughed slightly. “That’s fine. I am interested only in the head wound.”

  “From what I noticed, that was the only place where the body was damaged.”

  “Thank you for the observation, Mr. Hobson.” She took shallow breaths, as if unconsciously keeping the death-filled air out of her lungs. She fixed her attention on the wound, which had been cleaned.

  Terrible it was.

  The right side of his head had taken the brunt of the damage. With her magnifying glass, she noticed several round perforations in the skin. She got out a piece of paper, folded it, and placed the paper in one of the holes to measure their depth.

  “May I bother you for a ruler, Mr. Hobson?”

  He obtained one for her. The holes were two inches deep, one inch in diameter, and evenly spaced from each other.

  She stood up. “It can’t be. It just can’t.”

  “What can’t be?”

  She swiveled at a voice she had heard before. Inspector Jackson Davies had one hand on his hip and exasperation on his face. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here, Miss Carrol?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Examining the body. What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted another look at the victim.” He took swift steps toward her. “You do work for a newspaper.”

  “Not at all.”

  The inspector turned a hostile gaze at clerk Hobson. Despite the cool bite of downstairs, Hobson began to sweat and shot a desperate look at Felicity.

  “Inspector Davies, Mr. Hobson is not at fault here. I asked if there was any law against examining the body, and he couldn’t think of any. I bullied my way into the mortuary.” She glanced at Hobson.

  “That true?” Davies asked the clerk.

  “Absolutely. I could not eject a young woman out the door,” Hobson said.

  “He will also tell you I did nothing but look at the body of the deceased,” Felicity added.

  “That is true also, Inspector,” said Hobson, who smiled at Felicity when the inspector wasn’t watching.

  Davies faced Felicity, his face forbidding in the dimness of the basement. At that moment, he could have been playing the ominous Richard the Third on stage.

  “Why would an obviously well-brought up young woman like yourself want to look at a naked and mutilated body?” Davies asked, his voice matching his scary expression.

  Felicity stepped under one of the lights in the basement. “Because I believe the murders of William Kent and Viscount Banbury were committed by the same person. I wasn’t sure until a minute ago.”

  He blinked his eyes in curiosity only for a moment. “Miss Carrol, if you don’t leave, I shall pick you up and carry you out.”

  She smiled. “No one has ever threatened to throw me out of anyplace. It’s quite thrilling and frightening at the same time.”

  “You don’t make anything easy do you, Miss Carrol?”

  “One of my curses in life, Inspector. But please let me show you what I have found.”

  “Go on.”

  “The viscount was killed by a flail.”

  “A what?”

  “A weapon of the Middle Ages. A metal ball covered with spikes attached to a chain or strap and wielded by a shaft.”

  “Something like a mace?”

  “Except the ball is on a chain. Let me show you how I came to this conclusion.”

  “I wish you would.” He took off his hat.

  She pointed out the small holes in the head of the deceased. “Notice how the holes are uniformly spaced. No other weapon i
n the world leaves marks like those. Here, use my magnifying glass for a better view.”

  Davies scrutinized the wound and mumbled something. She didn’t understand what he said and perhaps didn’t want to.

  “If not a flail, what did you believe made those unusual marks?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t say at this point.” He half mumbled again. “We thought some kind of hammer or tool.”

  “Listen, why don’t we have tea and chat some more?” She blew on her hands. “I may not be able to feel my fingers for a while.”

  “I would love to hear more of your whimsies, Miss Carrol.”

  Once outside the building, Felicity introduced the inspector to Helen and asked Matthew to drive Helen home.

  “Will you be all right, Miss?” Helen threw an evil eye at Inspector Davies, who stood behind her young mistress.

  “Hellie, if I’m not safe with a Scotland Yard inspector, I won’t be safe anywhere on this isle. Isn’t that right, Inspector?”

  “As rain, ma’am, as rain.” He opened his coat and touched the black Bulldog Metropolitan Police revolver in a shoulder holster.

  “That’s all right then,” Helen said. “But mind you, Inspector, to take care with my lady, or you’ll have me to answer to.”

  “You have my word, Miss Wilkins,” Davies said.

  Helen asked Matthew to drive on.

  “That woman does love you,” the inspector said.

  His statement surprised Felicity because of its earnestness and also because of its source.

  “And I her.”

  “Where shall we go for tea?” he said.

  Felicity checked her watch. “Well, we might make that dinner, since it is well past six.”

  “There’s a place nearby.” He started walking and didn’t wait for her to follow. She hurried to catch up. “You’re interfering with a police investigation, Miss Carrol. I’m not sure why I’m even listening to you.”

  “Because I may be helping.”

  CHAPTER 10

  When Felicity was younger, she and her father had dined at the kinds of restaurants where the napkins were crisp as his ironed money. Smartly outfitted waiters appeared at patrons’ elbows like specters in white aprons. Glasses never wanted for water. Chandeliers brightened the room with shine and advantage. The diners appeared exhausted and bored from counting all their pound notes.