Regency Wolfe: A de Wolfe Pack Connected World collection of Victorian and Regency Tales

by Mary Lancaster

  How could she tell her sister what had happened when she’d last visited their mother’s grave? How could she expect her sister to believe that she’d heard the voice of a young girl who’d been dead for two years? Or that she thought Elizabeth de Wolfe had called out to her for help?

  “Tell me, Ginny. What happened the day you went to the cemetery that upset you so?”

  Ginny took a deep breath, then lifted her chin and looked at her sister. “Do you remember a young girl by the name of Elizabeth de Wolfe?”

  Della thought a moment, then nodded. “Yes. She used to come into the emporium with her sisters. She was quite a good customer as I remember. Although I don’t remember seeing her in quite a while.”

  “Two years,” Ginny answered.

  “Has it been that long?” Della asked. “How can you know that?”

  “Because that’s how long she’s been dead.”

  The shock on Della’s face was evident. “She’s dead?”

  Ginny nodded. “It was getting late as I was leaving the graveyard last week so I took a different path than I usually take. I… I saw her grave.” Ginny swiped at a tear. “She was only twenty.”

  “And such a pretty girl.”

  “I can’t help thinking about her. I can’t believe we haven’t noticed that it’s been so long since she’s been to our shop. Or that we haven’t missed her in church.”

  There must have been such a lot of publicity when a prominent young woman died. Had she and her sisters been so diverted by fear and exhaustion over their mother’s condition that they hadn’t even registered the fact that a lovely young customer had died?

  Della reached out and took Ginny’s hands in hers. “And this is what has you so upset?”

  Ginny knew she should tell her sister the rest, but she couldn’t. How could she expect Della to understand?

  “How could a life be so insignificant that we didn’t even notice that she hadn’t come in for so long? Or that her sisters had but she wasn’t with them?”

  Della didn’t answer, but gave Ginny’s fingers a gentle squeeze. “Ginny, the girl could have been off at boarding school, or having her tour on the continent, or living in the country. There are any number of plausible reasons for her absence. But tell me, how did she die?” Della asked. “What happened to her?”

  Ginny shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve imagined every possibility, but I don’t know for sure.” Ginny took a swallow of her tepid tea. “I have to know, Della.”

  “How can you find out?”

  “I think the only way, other than visiting her family, which I don’t want to do since we aren’t socially connected, would be to search in the papers. Surely they would have a listing of her death.” Ginny locked her gaze with Della’s. “Would you mind terribly if I went to the paper this morning and inquired?”

  Della gave her a sympathetic look. “Not if it will ease your mind, my sweet. You can’t continue as you have been. You’ll make yourself ill, and then what use will you be to Lucy or to me.” She cleared their cups from the table then stopped with a sudden thought. “We should ask Reverend Fletcher when he comes for dinner Sunday. He’ll know all about it.”

  For the first time in nearly a week, Ginny found something to smile about. “I promise I will not become ill, Della.” Ginny rose from the table and prepared to leave the room. She stopped at the doorway and turned to her sister. “Thank you, Della. And yes, Reverend Fletcher for Sunday dinner will be wonderful.”

  Chapter Two

  William de Wolfe, Inspector with the Metropolitan Police, sat behind the desk in his cluttered office and lifted another file from the stack of papers before him. It never ceased to amaze him how he could get so far behind on cases when he spent more hours at work than he did in the small flat he called home.

  There were but sixty-eight inspectors to investigate the crimes of over a million and a half Londoners. William de Wolfe could tell you that was not enough by half.

  Lately, there were nights when he didn’t even make it home, but stayed the night on a cot in the constables’ barracks on the backside of Seething Lane Station. Last night was one of those nights. By the time he’d finished working, he didn’t consider it worth his effort to leave, so he’d stayed the night.

  Will raked his fingers through his hair, then rubbed his hand over his healing thigh. The bullet he’d taken several weeks ago helping out on a case was only a flesh wound and not severe, but it still caused him a small amount of pain. Especially when he sat for long periods of time. Which he’d been doing in spades lately. There always seemed to be more paperwork that needed to be done than there were things Will truly enjoyed doing… like working on a case. Solving crimes.

  The door to his office opened but Will didn’t look up. He knew it was his secretary, Constable Brian Randolph, with his morning coffee. “Has Thompson come in yet?”

  “No, Inspector. It’s barely half past six in the morning. None of the constables have arrived yet.”

  Will lifted his gaze. “Then what are you doing here already?”

  “From the amount of work you had on your desk when I left last night, I guessed you would have stayed the night. I came in early because I knew you’d need your morning coffee if you were going to be bearable to work with today.”

  Will struggled not to smile. Randolph had been his secretary since Will had been promoted seven years ago. He’d proven himself invaluable. He understood the way Will’s mind worked, and had an uncanny knack of anticipating what Will wanted before he asked for it. Technically, he was a constable. In reality, he was a saint.

  The man was close to Will’s thirty years, and while not as tall or broad through the shoulders as Will, he could still hold his own when placed in a tense situation. Where he differed most from Will was in looks. While Will was dark, with hair a dark brown, and eyes a hazel-gold, passed down to him through his de Wolf ancestors, Randolph was light-haired with blue eyes. His fair features made him much more approachable, where Will was more often feared. Which was quite all right with Will. He’d silently thanked his legendary ancestor William de Wolfe many a time for his strong features and formidable appearance.

  “What would I do without you Randolph?” Will said when Randolph placed another stack of papers atop his desk along with a pot of coffee.

  “I don’t intend for you to find out, Inspector.”

  Will smiled as he lifted his gaze. “What I can’t understand is why you don’t tremble in your boots as do the rest of the men who work under me?”

  Randolph laughed. “Oh, I do, Inspector. I simply refuse to give you the satisfaction of knowing it.”

  Will reached for the coffee Randolph had set before him and shook his head. A smile threatened to lift the corners of his mouth. “That reassures me, Randolph. I’d hate to think I’d lost my fear-inducing ability altogether.”

  Randolph finished with his task and headed for the door.

  “See that I’m not disturbed for the next hour,” Will said as he turned his attention back to his work.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The door closed behind Randolph, and Will reached for the top folder on the stack of papers on his desk. It was another robbery near Covent Garden. This time though, the victim had been severely beaten before he’d been robbed, and the perpetrators were thought to be hiding out in St. Dunstan East civil parish. The Superintendent had received several complaints and had contacted Will by special missive. He wanted the gang responsible for the robberies apprehended forthwith.

  Will placed the folder to the side of his desk and wrote the names of two of his best men to handle the case.

  He’d just opened the next folder when the door opened. “Not now, Randolph,” he said without lifting his gaze. “I told you an hour. It can’t have been that yet.”

  “The publisher of the Times is here, Inspector, with some interesting information. I think you might want to speak with him.”

  Will dropped the documents he’d been reading and
gave his secretary an inquisitive look. The expression Randolph returned was totally unreadable. Will knew to take Randolph’s suggestions with a great deal of value and nodded his approval.

  “Mr. Finnius MacMurphy, Inspector.”

  Randolph introduced the man, then backed from the room and closed the door behind him.

  Will studied the Times publisher with a discerning eye. He was small in stature but well dressed. The spectacles on the bridge of his nose gave him a studious appearance, exactly as one would expect from a person who spent his days reading newsprint.

  “Mr. MacMurphy. Come in. Please,” Will said motioning to the single chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

  “Good morning, Inspector.” The newspaperman took his chair and locked his hands in his lap.

  “May I offer you a cup of coffee?” Will said as he reached for the pot Randolph had brought in earlier.

  “No, thank you, Inspector. What I came to say won’t take that long.”

  “By all means. What brings you here today?”

  “This has something to do with a case that happened quite a while back so I’m not sure if it’s relevant any longer. But since this case was of personal interest to you, I thought you’d want to know about it.”

  Will felt a niggling of unease. There was only one case that was of personal interest, and that was the murder of his cousin, Elizabeth de Wolfe.

  “Go on, Mr. MacMurphy”

  “Early this morning, I had a visit from a young woman who asked to see any news articles pertaining to the unfortunate set of circumstances surrounding Miss de Wolfe’s murder.”

  Will felt a stabbing of curiosity. “Did this woman tell you why she was interested in my cousin’s death?”

  “No, Inspector. She only said that she’d just recently heard about Miss de Wolfe’s passing and wanted to know what had happened to her.”

  “Did she tell you her name?”

  MacMurphy shook his head. “I knew you would want to know so I inquired, but she told me her name wasn’t of significance. But she did offer that she had been an acquaintance of Miss de Wolfe’s. Nothing more.”

  “I see. Did she say anything that might lead you to conclude why she was interested in my cousin’s death at this late date?”

  “No, sir. She simply waited while I retrieved the papers surrounding the dates of Miss de Wolfe’s murder and gave them to her. She took them to a back table, then brought them to the front desk when she finished reading them and left.”

  “Did you notice anything about her that might be helpful?”

  “Nothing other than she was quite attractive, well dressed, well-mannered. Her hair was light and she had large blue eyes.”

  “You noticed her eyes?” Will wasn’t surprised. Eyes were often one of the first things people noticed.

  “Yes, only because when she returned the papers, it was obvious that she’d been crying.”

  Several questions crowded Will’s mind. He hadn’t been able to track down the person who’d killed Lizzy before he’d been yanked out of his post and assigned a temporary mission for the Queen. By the time he returned six months later, all trails had gone cold. The commissioner had been of the opinion that they’d spent enough time and manpower on Lizzy’s murder, and there were other cases that were being overlooked while favoritism was being shown on one particular case—solely because the victim was related to one of the Inspectors. Then he’d been shot, and that had slowed him down a bit as the cases piled up. He’d found himself working to catch up for the better part of a year.

  But Will hadn’t forgotten about Lizzy’s murder. He’d investigated her murder on his own time, trying to discover any clues they might have overlooked. But to no avail, even though no stone had been left unturned.

  “Did you happen to see what direction the lady took when she left your establishment?”

  “Yes. She walked toward Leadenhall. I watched until she was out of sight.”

  Will rose from behind his desk. “Thank you, Mr. MacMurphy. I appreciate that you brought me this information. If the lady comes again, I’d appreciate it if you would send for me right away.”

  “Of course, Inspector.” MacMurphy rose from his chair and walked to the door. “I truly hope you find the person who killed your cousin, Inspector. I know it has to bother you, knowing that you’ve solved so many other murders, yet the one that is most special to you has gone unresolved.”

  Will nodded his agreement, then watched the man leave his office.

  “Randolph,” he called when he’d heard the office door close behind MacMurphy.

  Randolph appeared before Will had taken his chair behind his desk.

  “Yes, Inspector.”

  “I want to see Thompson and Wallace the second they get in. And get everything we have on the Clydesmont and Shelton cases.”

  “What are you going to do, Inspector?”

  Will lifted his gaze until it locked with Randolph’s. “What I should have done two years ago. Keep the office running while I look for Elizabeth’s killer on my own time.”

  Randolph nodded. I’ll send Thompson and Wallace in the minute they arrive. It shouldn’t be long. Thompson’s already been working on the Clydesmont case, and it won’t take Wallace long to become acquainted with the Shelton case.”

  Will nodded, then reached for the two new cases that had happened overnight. He had to make sure his supervisor couldn’t fault the work he was doing for the department. But this time he intended to find the man who’d killed Elizabeth. If it took him the rest of his life.

  It was late afternoon and Will stood behind a large tree in the middle of St. Dunstan’s graveyard—the same as he had done every afternoon for the past two weeks. From his position, he could see anyone who entered the graveyard without being observed himself.

  He came each afternoon and stayed until dark and hoped he hadn’t missed anyone who’d visited Lizzy’s grave. Every instinct he possessed told him that the woman who’d been interested enough in Lizzy’s death that she’d come to the newspaper office before the office was even open, would also visit Lizzy’s grave. If not this week, then next. Or the week after. And that she’d come before dark. Women who valued their safety, knew not to travel about alone after the sun had gone down. So Will waited, hoping that today he’d glimpse the woman who was interested in Lizzy’s death.

  The first visitor who came was a young man with flowers to lay on a fresh grave in the center of the graveyard. From the man’s stooped shoulders and the tears he wiped from his eyes, the person in the ground below him was possibly his wife who’d recently died. It was fresh grief, and pitiful to witness. Will made a mental note to discover the identity of the person the man had visited.

  The next to come through St. Dunstan’s gates were two young ladies. They walked swiftly down the path as they traveled from one entrance to the other. They were undoubtedly using the path through St. Dunstan’s as a shorter route home.

  Finally, Will saw someone he thought might be a possibility. She fit MacMurphy’s description. The young lady walked through the gate, but instead of walking toward Lizzy’s grave, she stopped at another grave a short distance away. Will’s heart fell.

  She knelt for several moments, then rose. Will became aware of her natural grace while she looked around her as if checking to see that she was alone. When satisfied that she wasn’t being observed, she walked toward him.

  Will kept in the shadows while he studied her features. She was small of stature and wore a serviceable cloak and matching bonnet. He couldn’t see much of her hair, but the few strands that had escaped to frame her oval face were light. Either a light brown or a dark golden blonde. She was more than attractive and possessed a beauty that caused him to take special notice.

  She slowed when she neared Elizabeth’s grave and glanced around the area again. Will wondered what she could be searching for.

  When she was close to Lizzy’s tombstone, she stepped off the worn path and knelt. Her glo
ved fingers reached out to trace the letters that spelled Elizabeth’s name and year of her birth and death.

  She must have become tearful, because she repeatedly brushed her cheeks as if there were wetness there, then rose to her feet and slowly walked away. She’d taken a mere three steps before she stopped and turned back to face his cousin’s grave.

  “I will,” she said.

  Her voice held a richness that warmed him. Her words resonated with clarity and determination. Will couldn’t help but think she was talking to someone though there was no one there with whom to speak. And yet…

  Will felt a strange connection to the female who’d come to visit his cousin’s grave. And when he could actually see the tears that fell from her eyes, he had the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her—perhaps because she was saddened at Lizzy’s death. Perhaps because there was something compelling about the stranger who seemed so fragile and lonely. Or perhaps because she spoke the same two words he had when he’d stood over Lizzy’s coffin and vowed that he’d find her killer and bring him to justice.

  “I will,” this woman had said. And so had he.

  But he hadn’t.

  The young lady left St. Dunstan’s graveyard and Will followed behind her, making sure he stayed out of sight. He didn’t intend to stop her. He only wanted to discover where she lived. By doing that, he could find out who she was. Perhaps that would give him a clue as to what her interest in his cousin might be.

  Chapter Three

  Wattersfield Emporium. A store that specializes in women’s accessories: gloves, fans, hair combs, ribbons, parasols, and a number of other items for fashionable women. The proprietors of the emporium are three sisters: Ardella Wattersfield, Virginia Wattersfield, and Lucinda Wattersfield.