by Kate Parker
I took her question literally. “His brother, his brother’s wife, Prince Maximilian if it gained him the contents of the safe, an unknown person retrieving an unknown item from the safe—”
“Thank you. I get the point,” Lady Kaldaire said drily. “I wonder if the unknown person is the same man who’s been visiting the new Lord Kaldaire. Not the sort of man I’d think Laurence would have any time for. Rather flashy. Oily. Large. Very middle-class and not very tidy about it. Rather rat-faced. Not a gentleman, if you understand my meaning.”
I made hats for the aristocracy, as well as those with “new money,” and those with just the pretense of new money as they crawled into the middle and the upper-middle class. The hats that the ladies of these three groups wanted, and how much they were willing to pay, and how they acted in my shop, were miles apart. “I understand. And you have no idea who he is?”
“None. Laurence has made a point not to introduce us. He’s not the type of man I’d expect Laurence to welcome into this house, but they spend time together in the study. I wonder what he wants.”
* * *
Two days later, I received a message from Lady Kaldaire to meet her at her new townhouse. I didn’t have time. From the moment I walked into the shop, I was rushed off my feet.
Customers came in who needed hats for mourning, for garden parties, for afternoon calls, for walking, for cycling, veils for motoring, and for every other aspect of their lives. I drew, redid trimmings on hats in stock, ran orders over to the factory, and waited on customers. Jane hurried too, but we couldn’t quite keep up.
I knew I’d hear from Lady Kaldaire demanding my presence. She’d have to wait until I closed the shop for the day if business kept up like this. She wouldn’t like it, but then, she had no idea what it was like to run a business.
Of course, she hadn’t told me what was so important. I knew she’d let me know what she wanted sooner or later.
Sometime after Jane and I caught separate hurried lunches, a mother and daughter entered, their footman waiting by the carriage. The girl was a blonde but seemed sickly pale rather than fashionably delicate. She stood just inside the door while the mother walked forward. Free of customers for the moment, I hurried over to greet them.
“We’re looking for something subdued. A friend of my daughter recently died and she wants to wear mourning for her friend for a few weeks.”
“What style are you looking for, Mrs.—?”
“Lady Wyatt. This is my daughter, Miss Annabelle Wyatt.”
Where had I heard that name recently? The girl and I exchanged curtsies. “I’m sorry for the loss of your friend. What styles do you usually fancy?” I asked. “I should be able to do something similar but in a suitable color.”
“She likes styles appropriate for a young girl,” her mother said. “And no veils. The friend was not a relative, so any veiling would be unsuitable.”
The daughter looked furious, or perhaps mutinous.
“The hat you’re wearing. Would you like something like this?”
“T-this hat was h-his favorite,” she said and burst into tears.
I led her to a bench and sat down next to her, putting my arm around her shoulders while she fished out a handkerchief.
Her mother huffed out “Annabelle” as the bell over the door rang. In walked Roberta, Lady Kaldaire, modeling the latest in mourning fashion, one of my wide-brimmed hats in black with the veil over her face.
Annabelle forgot her tears as she stared for a moment. “I love that hat.”
“Without the veil,” her mother snapped.
The daughter opened her mouth, clearly ready to blast her mother.
“Lady Kaldaire, do you know Lady Wyatt?” I said into what was becoming an awkward moment with a family row ready to break out in my shop. I stood and moved between the combatants to introduce the two ladies.
Lady Kaldaire gracefully lifted her veil over the crown of her hat to make it part of the cascade down her back and set about finding acquaintances in common with Lady Wyatt. This group included Prince Maximilian, and harmony reigned in my shop again as Annabelle kept her mouth mulishly shut.
“Miss Annabelle lost a friend and will be wearing mourning for a few weeks,” I said, taking the girl’s hat and mentally running through my inventory for similar styles.
Lady Kaldaire nodded at my words and sat down next to the girl. “I’m mourning a husband of many years, but I think it must be harder to lose someone in the prime of life. All that promise ahead of them. I’m very sorry. You’ll always remember them, but also remember they wouldn’t want to see you sorrowing.”
The girl, possibly because of the new audience, said, “He was my dearest friend. We hoped to be married.”
The mother cleared her throat. Obviously not a marriage she hoped for.
“You won’t believe this today, but twenty years from now, you’ll think back on him and smile.” Lady Kaldaire used a soothing tone I’d never heard from her before.
“I don’t think I’ll ever smile again.” The girl sighed.
“That’s because you’ve not been eating properly.”
“However did you—?” She gave Lady Kaldaire a sharp look before she sniffed. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Nevertheless, you must eat. Otherwise, your complexion will become dry and sallow. The other young ladies will laugh at you behind your back. No, you must resume eating and keep your head held high. Otherwise, when you’re ready to reenter society, you will lack for invitations.”
That must have been her mother’s refrain, because the girl’s mouth thinned stubbornly. “I’ll never want to reenter society.”
“And do what? Sit around the house while all your friends are out having a good time dancing and going to concerts and parties? You want to cut yourself off from pleasure?”
“But it was so horrible. He was murdered.” Annabelle could certainly wail dramatically.
Lady Kaldaire gave a small shrug. “So was my husband. Am I cutting myself off from society and starving myself? No. I’m trying to find the villain who killed him so I may see him hang. Even an old lady like myself can savor such satisfactory results.”
The girl looked surprised at first, but then you could see the beginning of a plan on her face. “I understand.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” her mother insisted.
Lady Kaldaire and Miss Annabelle both looked at me.
I shook my head, holding my palms out. “I have my hands full taking care of my shop.”
“Leave it to me,” Lady Kaldaire told the girl. “In the meantime, call on me after you’ve stopped looking so sickly and have begun to go out in society again.”
Lady Wyatt looked at Lady Kaldaire as if not certain whether to thank her or murder her.
Miss Annabelle took one of Lady Kaldaire’s cards and gave her one of her own.
The older woman said, “Call on me any day after luncheon. We’ll see what can be done. What was your friend’s name?”
“Jeremiah Pruitt.”
My jaw dropped as Inspector Russell’s words came back to me. Pruitt’s family had wanted to marry him off. Now I learned the other side of the story. Her family was not happy with the situation. And Pruitt had been murdered down the street from and about the same time that someone had bashed Lord Kaldaire over the head.
We were entering the land of too many coincidences, and I wanted to run. If there was any connection between the two deaths, this was too dangerous for a mere milliner to investigate.
“I believe Miss Gates knows something about the case already,” Lady Kaldaire said, watching me.
I wished my expression hadn’t given me away. “I’ve heard about it from the inspector. I know they’re working very hard to find his killer.”
“Then why haven’t they found him yet?” Miss Annabelle sounded petulant. If she acted like this all the time, I pitied her mother. Or blamed her.
“Catching a murderer and building a case that will stand
up in court takes time,” I told her.
Lady Kaldaire patted her hand and said, “Pick out a hat, something Mr. Pruitt would have approved of, and wear it with a smile on your face. And when you’re more yourself, come visit me.”
Thus began the longest hour of my life as Miss Annabelle and Lady Wyatt fought over every design in my shop. Jane took over the other customers who came in during that time, at one point glancing over and giving me a sympathetic smile.
As we started on the second hour, I began by getting them to agree to a shape, wide-brimmed with a low crown. Then I asked Miss Annabelle what she wanted to decorate the hat with. That argument between mother and daughter only lasted fifteen minutes, as they shared the Victorian mindset of “more is better.” Then we came to the color.
“Black,” Annabelle insisted.
“A pastel shade,” Lady Wyatt countered.
“What do you think of blue? Blue roses signify mystery, and as you are embarking on a mystery, Miss Annabelle, this might be appropriate. A pale shade for the hat with darker flowers, feathers, netting, and so on.” I thought it was a brilliant solution.
Lady Kaldaire, who’d waited patiently for the pair to finish while giving her opinions on everything going on in my shop and thereby unnerving Jane, immediately voiced her agreement and assured them both that they would love the result.
I doubted that very much, but as long as they paid me for my creation, I’d be happy.
With grumbling agreement from both mother and daughter, I whipped out my order pad and started writing.
Once they finally left, their deposit in my cash box, I gave a loud sigh and asked Lady Kaldaire why she’d come.
“Today is moving day. Kaldaire House has been my home since I was a new bride of eighteen. When I tried to thank the servants for their service, Laurence told me I was interrupting their duties and to leave. He ordered everyone back to work.”
Lord Kaldaire’s behavior sounded repugnant. Unfeeling. And selfish.
My dismay must have shown on my face, for she smiled and signaled me to join her in one of the mirrored booths for ladies to try on hats. Each booth was designed to minimize the ability of other customers to overhear a conversation.
Sitting in the chair in front of the mirror, she said, “Cook turned in her notice on the spot. Told him he could fix his own luncheon and left to pack. When he told her he wouldn’t give her a reference, I said I would. Someone, I’m not certain who, gave an abruptly silenced cheer.”
“And so you came here to help me out?” Amazingly, she had saved the day. In one case.
“Not at all. You can handle this on your own. I wanted to get out of the way of the movers and let Lyle and Mary organize the household.”
“Who’s Lyle?”
“Wallace Lyle. My new footman. Or butler. We’ll have to see how everything works out with Newton.”
“Newton sounded very convincing when he said he didn’t kill Gregson,” I told her. “It seems Gregson was a blackmailer. Newton did tell us the name of someone who might know what secrets Gregson was holding over someone’s head when he died so gruesomely.”
“Gregson was a blackmailer? In that case, I can understand why he would want to stay at Kaldaire House. There wouldn’t be enough secrets in a widow’s house to keep a blackmailer in pin money.” She tsked. “So, have you talked to this person?”
I gave her a suitably tailored version of what Detective Inspector James Russell had told me.
She listened carefully, and when I finished, said, “So the police think someone who can enter and leave Kaldaire House without arousing suspicion called on my husband late on the evening he died. I would have said there were very few who could do this until you broke into the breakfast room.”
“There are a great many people who can break into a house. The problem comes when you need a certain person who not only can enter Kaldaire House without attracting attention but also would know to search the safe for this mystery note. This person has to be familiar enough with your house to know where the safe is and how to get into it.” I stopped, hoping she understood what I meant.
“If someone knew Horace had this note, I suppose it would be easy to get in and force him to hand it over. But then why kill him?”
Chapter Twenty-five
That night after work, I received an urgent request to come to Lady Kaldaire’s new home. I ate a hurried dinner and had Matthew and Annie wash the dishes while I rode a wheezing, smoking omnibus to find out what Lady Kaldaire meant by writing she knew who must have killed my Horace.
A gray-haired man I’d not seen at Kaldaire House answered the door in an old-fashioned frock coat. “Lady Kaldaire, please?”
“Are you Miss Gates?”
“Yes.”
“She’s expecting you, miss.” He held the door wide for me and I walked in.
“Are you Mr. Lyle?” I handed him my cloak.
“Yes, miss.”
Before I could say any more, “Emily. I’m in the music room,” floated down the staircase from the first floor.
I nodded to Lyle and walked up the staircase, noting the crates in the front hall. When I reached the next floor, I found Lady Kaldaire in the back room of the pair. She was filling shelves with books and sheets of music. Other than the shelves and two armless chairs, the room was empty. I couldn’t imagine how she’d fill so large a space.
She stopped what she was doing and spun around to face me. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. Who could enter and leave Kaldaire House without attracting attention. The answer is…someone who’s already been admitted.”
“Then you think the murderer is…?” I had no idea.
“Prince Maximilian, of course. He’d been admitted, so no one would be surprised to see him there. He wanted the letter in the safe. He would have no qualms about bullying Horace into opening the safe for him. And he might have taken anything else inside to throw suspicion away from him.”
“So you want to…?” This was the part I didn’t want to hear. I suspected whatever her plan was, it involved me doing something illegal and risky.
“I want you to break into the prince’s house when no one is home and search the hidden compartments in the cabinet.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to know when everyone is gone from a house? And how seldom people in Prince Maximilian’s position send all their servants away at once?” It was time to stop this nonsense. I’d helped her, but I wasn’t about to do anything so dangerous. And I was convinced the prince was dangerous.
“I’ll take care of that.”
“How? Do you think he’ll tell you—?”
“Yes, I do. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure his house is empty, and then you can get in, retrieve the letter, and get out again without anyone being the wiser.”
“That won’t help you learn if he killed your husband. And if he were going to use that silly letter, he’d have done it by now. There’s no reason to do this.”
She was deaf to my logic. “It’s either this, Emily, or I will go to that nice Inspector Russell and tell him I’ll testify against you for breaking and entering. That I have no idea why you were in my house that night and Horace never played games like that.” She gave a sniff as her nose and chin rose and turned away from me.
My stomach felt like I had eaten iron weights. I saw no way to avoid prison and the loss of my business. I’d found myself warming to James Russell. Finding out everything I’d told him when I’d first met him was a lie would destroy his trust in me forever. I would be embarrassed. Ruined.
Worse, while Noah would take care of Matthew, there was no way he could afford to send him to the School for the Deaf in Doncaster by himself.
“No. Please. Think of Matthew.” I was begging and I didn’t care.
“You must think of Matthew. I need to think of Horace and the mess he’s left behind. His killer must be unmasked and this letter destroyed. A letter that must be hidden in one of the compartments in the prin
ce’s cabinet. I’m certain of it.”
“Which letter? The Queen Victoria or the one that went astray from his club? Your husband supposedly had both in his safe.”
“If that friend of Gregson’s is to be believed, I suspect the killer has both notes. If you find both in the prince’s desk, then we can be sure he killed my husband.” Lady Kaldaire gave me a sorrowful look as she reached out and clasped my hands. “I must find Horace’s killer. I feel him calling to me to unmask his murderer. Please, Emily, help me. I know we’re getting close to the answer.”
There was no doubt she planned to use me to hunt down her husband’s killer. If I resisted, I felt confident she would destroy me, and she had the power to do so. She was, after all, an aristocrat.
I needed some insurance.
* * *
I traveled across town and arrived on my grandfather’s steps well after dark. He answered the door while adjusting his braces. As soon as he saw me in the dim light from the hallway, he said, “Pet. Come in. Is something wrong?”
“I need your help.”
“Come in. We’re all in the parlor.”
I followed him down the hall and into the largest room in the old building. My grandmother sat by the fire knitting something in very dark wool and barely glanced up when I entered. My uncle Thomas sat on the sofa, one of my cousins on either side. Petey sat on the floor at my grandmother’s feet, which told me someone had tried to correct him since he was half hidden by her skirts. My uncle Victor was rocking slowly in a rocker. A couple of cousins stopped their card game and stared at me.
The house smelled of coal fires and expensive cigars and the pie Grandmother had baked for after dinner. The room was crowded and cozy and I felt safe there among these crooks. They were my family.
“What is she doing here?” Petey asked.
“I need your help.”
“That’s a laugh,” my grandmother said.
“Now, Aggie,” my grandfather said. “Let’s hear her out.”
“I’m being forced to break into a house to look for two letters in a cabinet that is a sort of giant puzzle box.” I could tell by the silence and the lack of movement that I had caught their attention.