February 9, 1889 Morning #2
“She is wild, has no sense of propriety, and no understanding of what it means to be gentry,” Mary said. “Honestly, I don’t know what Ambrose is thinking. Do you think it is some residual effect of his accident? Some abnormality of the brain?”
Mira’s chest tightened. How dare she say such things about her own brother?
“He has always been headstrong,” Mrs. Sherard said. “The accident didn’t change that.”
“Yes, but remember when she walked into his rooms at Palace Court? Bedraggled, hair loose, shouting out his name as if she were calling for a dog. And my impression of her hasn’t improved on further study.
Tripping over corpses and rushing about in the cold.
You should have seen her in there just now. ”
Mrs. Sherard hummed.
Tears burned in the corners of Mira’s eyes. She could barely breathe.
Mary kept talking. “Surely, he can’t be in love with a woman like that. Does he feel some sense of duty because she helped him with his memory troubles?”
“It seems to me that the very reasons why you dislike her are the reasons he likes her so much.”
“We cannot allow this to continue, Mamma. She will only bring him and the Sherard name down.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Mrs. Sherard said. “By the way, the Risewells have agreed to let us borrow their carriage to return to Bath. Benson will stay here to receive the wheelwright . . .”
Their voices petered out as they moved away. Mira swallowed, throat thick. She closed her eyes, one hand clutching her mother’s cameo.
Since she was little, she had dreamt about what it would be like to marry into a large family. She could never replace her parents, but she thought that, perhaps, her husband’s parents would accept her as their own. Her husband’s siblings would become hers.
She had her brother for a sibling, but she always wanted a sister.
Back in December, she rejoiced to have a sister in Emilie.
Someone to confide in. But now Emilie was dead.
She had her Uncle Cyrus and Landon as father figures.
Once, she counted Professor Burke as family as well, though the man he was when she was a child was long dead.
What she never had was a mother. She longed for a woman who could offer a mother’s love, show her maternal care once more. And while Loretta might someday fill that space, she was rightfully occupied with her own children.
Tears were falling now and she couldn’t stop them. Her body shook with anger, shock, and grief. There was too much to feel. A sob wracked through her and she muffled it with the back of her hand.
Someone cleared his throat and Mira jolted, opening her eyes. Castel Sherard stood on the landing above her, presumably coming from his own room.
“Are you quite well, Miss Blayse?” He arched one eyebrow.
She stood there, unable to speak, unable to move. Yet another strike against her. Yet another improper display of feeling on her part. She wiped her eyes and looked desperately for a place to hide away.
“You’re shaking,” he said in a matter-of-fact sort of way. “I think you ought to sit down.”
“I—”
Castel moved down the stairs and took her arm. She let herself be led, like a lamb to slaughter, into the unoccupied library.
He helped her to a chair. The fire crackled. She managed to hold her tears at bay, but she couldn’t stop herself from shaking.
“I would think by this point you would be used to this sort of thing,” Castel said.
Her jaw tightened. “What sort of thing?”
“Finding corpses. Detective work. You’ve done enough of it by now, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Her anger sprung to the surface, outweighing every other emotion. “Yes, well, I still have some proper feeling. Unlike—” she stopped herself before saying anything she would regret.
Castel was unaffected. “My sister, I presume?”
Mira averted her gaze.
“Wood isn’t the best at dampening shrill voices,” he continued. “I heard the end of what she was saying about you.”
Mira stood, not wanting to hear another round of abuse. “Thank you for your help. I was actually coming down to see if the police had arrived. They’ll want my statement.”
“She’s wrong, you know,” Castel said as she reached the door.
Mira froze.
“Byron isn’t one to do something merely out of a sense of duty. If he was, then he wouldn’t have started up this detective business in the first place.”
There he was, disparaging his brother once again, after everything Byron had done to prove himself. She clenched her fists and turned, but he spoke before she could.
“That isn’t to say he doesn’t do anything out of duty. But when it comes to tradition for tradition’s sake . . .” he clicked his tongue, moving over to the bookshelf. “He tends to make his own path. Much like you.”
Her brow furrowed. His tone was almost kind. Completely different than the usual cold, clipped conversation she had come to expect from him and the rest of Byron’s family.
“Mr. Sherard, that almost sounded as if you approve of me.”
Castel’s mouth ticked up. “From what I know about you, Miss Blayse, I don’t think you need anyone’s approval.” He took a book from the shelf and settled in one of the armchairs. “I do believe that Byron is in the sitting room, if you wanted to find him.”
She paused a moment more on the threshold. “You called him Byron.”
“I have many times before now.” His gaze flicked up to hers. “Is it so surprising to call one’s kin by their first name, Mira?”
She smiled and stepped back towards the door. “I suppose not, Castel.”
“Good. Now, weren’t you going to go do some investigating?”
She left him there, gently closing the door to the library behind her. Though her emotions were still swirling within her, she found that the shaking had finally subsided.
***
When she came to the sitting room, Mira found most of the original occupants still there.
The notable exceptions were Maureen and Liza, who Mira assumed had left to find a quiet room for consolation.
Mr. and Mrs. Risewell, Dr. Turpin, Bertie Corbet, and Walker had rejoined the group.
A tall man in a tweed suit stood in the midst of them with a police constable in blue.
Mrs. Sherard and Mary were sitting in their own little corner, and Mira’s stomach twisted remembering their earlier conversation.
Byron made his way through the crowded room to her. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thank you.”
He nodded and turned, gesturing to the unknown man in tweed and the constable. “This is Inspector Rutledge and Constable McGuire of the Bath City Police. Inspector, this is Miss Samira Blayse.”
“How do you do?” The inspector inclined his head. “I understand you were the one to discover the body?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, I’m afraid I have a few questions.”
“I’ll try my best to answer them.”
Rutledge looked around the room, then stepped to the side. “Why don’t we move to the parlor?”
She followed him and the constable down the hall. The inspector gestured for her to take a seat. McGuire pulled out a notebook as the interview commenced. After the general questions of what she was doing in Bath and how she knew the Risewells, the inspector moved onto the meat of the business.
“What time would you say you discovered the body?”
“It’s difficult to say. We started our walk around nine o’clock this morning. Perhaps quarter past nine?”
“Would you describe what you saw and how you reacted?”
“There was something on the path ahead. When we got closer, I realized it was a man. I moved to his side, and I’m sorry to say that I turned him over. I wanted to see if he was alive.”
“Was he?” McGuire asked.
“No. He didn’t have a pulse and his eyes were cloudy. I draped my coat over him and sent the other women back to the house to call the police. I knew Dr. Turpin was with the hunt, so I went to fetch him.” As she spoke, her nerves evened out.
“I see,” the inspector said. “And you also informed Detective Constantine at that point?”
Mira frowned. “Detective Constantine?” Had Byron said something?
Rutledge gave a small laugh. “Oh, I meant to say ‘Mr. Sherard.’” He tapped the side of his nose.
“He informed us of the true nature of your visit to Bath, so there’s no need to keep up the act with us.
We’ve been investigating the burglaries ourselves, but I suppose a detective that works with Scotland Yard is a mite bit more impressive.
” There was a sarcastic tinge to his voice.
“Not just any detective,” Constable McGuire said, entirely in earnest. “Byron Constantine.”
Rutledge blustered. “Yes, well, erm. Back to the question at hand.”
She nodded. “Yes, I informed him at the same time that I found Dr. Turpin.”
McGuire licked the end of his pen and Rutledge continued the questions. “Now, did you know Mr. Treadway?”
“I only met him yesterday. We spoke briefly before he excused himself for some fresh air.”
“Did anyone else witness him leave?”
“Miss Harris was with us.”
Inspector Rutledge nodded. “Is there anything else you think relevant?”
Mira considered the events of the morning and previous evening and shook her head. “No, I can’t think of anything.”
“That’ll be all for now, then.” Rutledge gestured towards McGuire who flipped his notebook closed.
The three of them returned to the sitting room where the occupants waited with rapt attention. Mira sat next to Byron on the sofa.
“Any of you may be asked to give testimony at the inquest. The coroner should send notice of the date by tomorrow afternoon. And don’t none of you worry.
This case is as open and shut as I’ve ever seen.
Pure accident. Though . . .” he pulled something from his pocket and held it out to them. “Do any of you recognize this?”
A gold work necklace dripped over his fingers, clusters of pearls separating the jeweled settings.
Mrs. Risewell brought a hand to her chest. “May I see it?”
Inspector Rutledge obliged. Mrs. Risewell turned the necklace over in her hands.
“Why, this is mine,” she said. “From my jewelry box upstairs.”
“Yes, I thought it might be. It was found in the pocket of his coat. And there were a few more pieces.” He gave a smug smile to Byron. “Seems we found our burglar.”
“So it seems,” Byron said.
Rutledge extended a hand. “I’ll need to hold onto it as evidence, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Risewell.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” She handed the necklace back and the inspector pocketed it again.
“I’ll send a man to get your statement on the theft in a few hours. I believe we had best get the body to the morgue. A good day to you all.” The inspector tipped his hat and left the room.
“I never would have guessed it,” Admiral Hoddle said, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief. “A thief, all this time. ‘Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth,’ and all that.”
“These treasures were laid up by my grandfather,” Mr. Risewell said, standing. “And I intend to determine what was stolen.”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Risewell said. “We had better. The inspector did say he would send a man for our statement.”
Mira strained to think up an excuse to go with them. A glance at Byron told her that he was doing the same.
“Would you like someone to make a list of what was taken as you look?” Byron said, pulling out his notebook. “It would make it easier when the constable comes.”
Mary Sherard rolled her eyes at the suggestion, clearly upset by Byron’s insistence on meddling, but Mr. Risewell easily agreed. “Capital idea,” he said. “I’d be much obliged to you.”
“Do you think that anything was stolen from Miss Risewell?” Mira asked.
“Oh, I hope not,” Mrs. Risewell said. “I lent her one of my grandmother’s necklaces day before yesterday.”
“I’ll find her and we can check together,” Mira said.
“Yes, please do,” Mrs. Risewell said. “Though I’m not sure where she’s run off to now. Perhaps she’s with Miss Renaldi and Miss Harris. I directed them to the conservatory. Thought the light would do her some good.”
“I’ll check there first, then,” Mira said, standing.
Admiral Hoddle stood as well. “I’ll come with you. I ought to bring Maureen home. After all, she’s had quite the trying morning, poor thing, and is probably is in need of some peace and quiet.”
“You don’t happen to know the way to the conservatory, do you?” Mira asked, halfway down the hall. “I’m afraid I’m not particularly acquainted with the house.”
“I’ve visited a few times since I came to Bath,” Hoddle said. “A striking house, though I’d say it could do with some trellises and ivy to cover up some of the old-fashioned brickwork. I think the turn is here.”
“It was kind of you to become Maureen’s guardian,” Mira said. “You and Mr. Harris must have been close.”
“We were like brothers,” Hoddle said. “I’d do anything for him. Wish I could turn back time and stop the blaggard who shot ‘im. This way, I think.”
“Yes, I had heard about that,” Mira said, turning down a new hall with him. “A burglar, wasn’t it? Do we know what was stolen?”
“Nothing at all. The coward ran.”
“No wonder Miss Harris is so upset at all this,” Mira said. “It must have brought back so many painful memories.”
“She’ll be better in a few days, after some rest and time alone.”
Mira frowned. Knowing her own experience, she couldn’t imagine it would do Maureen much good to be alone for too long. “Might we come visit her tomorrow to see how she’s getting on? Perhaps we could bring her with us to church. I’m sure the atmosphere could only do her good.”
He screwed his face up a moment in thought. “I’m sure she would like that, yes. Though I think we ought to avoid too much excitement.”
“Of course.”
They reached the conservatory and found all three women within, huddled on a bench, plants all around them. The midday sun shone through the glass paneled walls.
“Maureen, dear, how are you doing?” Hoddle said, moving to his ward.
“Better.” Maureen’s voice cracked.
“I’ll see about getting more tea.” Theresia stood, making to leave the room, and Mira followed her.
“I’m afraid I have some news for you,” Mira said.
“Me?” Theresia frowned.
“It seems that some of your mother’s jewelry was found on Mr. Treadway’s body.”
Theresia’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Mira nodded. “After you arrange for the tea, I think it would be prudent to check your room as well to see if anything is missing.”
“Of course,” Theresia said, quickening her pace. “This is rather exciting, isn’t it? I don’t think we’ve ever been burgled before.”
Mira kept pace with her. “Aren’t you worried at all? He may have stolen your great-grandmother’s necklace.”
“I hope he did,” Theresia said. “It was ghastly.”