February 13, 1889 Morning
Despite having been in Bath for nearly a week, Mira hadn’t seen much of the city.
She walked a distance behind Walker and Liza as they made the rounds of Royal Victoria Park.
Based on a brass plaque near the entrance, it had been Her Royal Majesty’s first act to open the park when she was only a princess of eleven years old.
The air was crisp and fine, but the temperature was the unfortunate sort that required a coat but caused you to sweat when you wore one.
Walker and Liza were the epitome of propriety and grace, standing a foot apart, perfectly content just to be together.
In the past few months, Mira had ample opportunity to be chaperoned herself, but not much experience in being the chaperone.
She had determined one thing from the hour and a half she’d spent in this new occupation.
It was dull as anything.
At least her chaperones had the intrigue of being witness to police investigations.
Perhaps she was being unfair. They had spent much of the morning exploring the city center, at least what they could see with the construction around the Roman ruins.
After that, they had spent a good deal of time in the botanical gardens.
A few flowers were beginning to bud and there was an abundance of friendly squirrels.
But despite the beautiful landscape and architecture, she wished she were viewing it with Byron.
They had decided to let the case rest for a day or two, if only to appease their families. It was also quite possible that Silas Treadway’s mysterious partner had already fled from Bath, and with no leads as to her retreat, it might be a fool’s errand altogether.
It was nearing noon when they reached the obelisk commemorating Queen Victoria’s eighteenth birthday. Walker and Liza stopped beneath it and called her over.
“Would you like to stop in on the Sherards before we go back to Davenguard for lunch?” Walker asked.
Mira frowned. “Isn’t that a bit out of our way?”
“Not at all,” Liza said. “The Royal Crescent overlooks the smaller portion of the park.”
“I had no idea we were so close. I’d love to.”
They followed the road past a copse of trees, and sure enough The Royal Crescent stood looking down on them from the top of the hill. It took only a few minutes to come to the door of number eighteen and knock. Greerson opened the door with a bow of his head.
“May I help you?”
“Yes, we are here to call on Mr. Sherard,” Walker said.
“Mr. Sherard is still in London, sir.”
“Oh, I mean the younger Sherard,” Walker said.
Greerson nodded. “He, Mrs. Sherard, and Miss Sherard are out, I’m afraid.”
“Out?” Mira said.
“Miss Sherard received a telegram half an hour ago from the police station. They left soon after.”
Mira looked at her brother and he sighed.
“I suppose we’ll be going to the police station, then.”
***
When they entered the police station, Constable McGuire was manning the front desk yet again.
“I’d wondered when you’d show up, Miss,” he said. “We’ve got a right old mess here. They’re in as much of a fight as I’ve ever seen high-bred folks get into.”
“What’s happened?” Mira asked.
“Mr. Treadway’s family has come to collect him. Except, they say that the corpse isn’t him! Can you imagine that?”
Liza’s mouth fell open.
Walker asked the obvious question. “How is that possible?”
“That’s what they are figuring out now. The elder Mr. Treadway, Wilburn’s his name, why, he thought Miss Sherard was playing a practical joke. Apparently they knew each other back in the day.”
“Oh no.” Mira’s stomach twisted itself in knots. “Where are they?”
“They’re in the inspector’s office. You know the way.”
“Thank you.”
She, Walker, and Liza moved down the hall to the office.
Walker did the honors of knocking. A man with a thin mustache answered the door.
Rutledge sat behind his desk, Mrs. Sherard sat in one armchair, an unknown woman sat in the other, and Mary stood by a bookcase with Byron. He stepped forward upon her entrance.
“Miss Blayse, I didn’t realize you were coming,” Byron said.
He glanced back at Rutledge who gave a small shrug. “I didn’t inform her.”
“Greerson did, at the Royal Crescent,” Mira said.
“Are we inviting everyone into our private affairs, now?” the unknown woman said.
“I’m Detective Constantine’s secretary,” she said, turning to Walker and Liza. “Would you be so kind as to wait in the lobby with Constable McGuire?”
Walker nodded and the two of them left. Mira stepped fully into the room and the unknown man, presumably Mr. Treadway, closed the door behind her.
Mira moved to Byron’s side and he handed his journal and pen off to her, corroborating her secretarial half-truth. She skimmed over the last few notes he had made:
Man (Thomas Perch) from army contacted family six months ago. Silas dead.
No papers/letters from government indicating death. (Stolen papers?)
Corpse identity unknown.
Inspector Rutledge cleared his throat. “As I was saying, I understand that this has been a harrowing experience for you—”
“Harrowing?” Mr. Treadway said. “My wife and I were prepared to retrieve my son’s body—a son, mind you, that we have thought dead for months—only to find the body of an entirely unknown man. And a thief, no less.”
Mrs. Treadway dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I was not prepared to be pulled into such a scandal. To be attached to some unknown vagabond. When my dear boy is—” she devolved into earnest sobs. “Dead in some foreign climate, who knows where.”
Mr. Treadway moved to his wife, placing a hand on her back. Mary looked away.
“What we want to know,” Mr. Treadway said, “is how this imposter was able to get hold of my son’s papers.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Rutledge said.
“This man may have been a fellow soldier who took his papers when your son died,” Byron said. “But it’s impossible to prove it one way or the other.”
“We will make an announcement that the man found dead at Wynmar had been masquerading as your son, so as to make it clear that you had no relation to him,” Rutledge said. “Your family will no longer be connected with the thefts.”
“I should think not!” Mrs. Treadway said. “Do people think we are connected?”
“Erm . . .” Rutledge squirmed like a tortoise who wanted to retreat into its shell.
“There are so many Treadways in England,” Mira said, in an attempt to diffuse the tension. “The only people who know about the possible connection to you specifically are in this room. Save Castel, but he isn’t one to gossip.”
“Castel?” Mrs. Treadway said. “Who is that?”
“Castel Sherard. The next Baron Sherard,” Mr. Treadway said, glancing at Mary. “And if memory serves, we can trust he will be reticent.”
Mary blushed and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing.”
Mrs. Treadway shifted in her chair, folding up her handkerchief. “I suppose it is better to know about this little incident now, rather than in a few months when rumors may have spread.”
Mr. Treadway nodded. “It would have been much worse had we not known.” He stepped over to Rutledge’s desk and offered a hand. “We’ll be staying in town for a few days, if something comes to light about our actual son or who this imposter is.”
Rutledge shook his hand. “Thank you for being so understanding.”
The Treadways left the room and the air was a little more breathable.
“Well. This is quite the strange situation,” Inspector Rutledge said. “I have no idea where to even start.”
Byron took the journal back from Mira. “I believe we ought to—”
“Ambrose,” Mary said, voice terse. “Haven’t you done enough?”
Byron’s entire form wound tight like a spring as he turned towards his sister.
“If you did not want me meddling with police affairs, you should not have invited me to Bath to investigate your burglary. Now, the burglar has been found dead, but his identity is unknown. We know he was working with a partner but have no leads on how to find her, and the jewels you asked me to retrieve are still missing. So no, Mary, I don’t think I’ve even begun to ‘do enough.’ If you wish to return home, by all means leave us.
But if you stay, please allow me to do my job. ”
Mary shut her mouth with a snap.
Mrs. Sherard stood. “Thank you for your patience in this matter, Inspector. If you need us, you’ll know where to find us. Come along, Mary.”
Once the office door had shut behind them, Byron took a deep breath and turned back to the inspector. “If we are to find out who our John Doe is, we can only work with what he left us. We need to return to his room at Wynmar Park.”
***
For the fourth time in almost as many days, Mira and Byron took the journey out to Wynmar, this time accompanied by Walker and Liza as well as the police.
In relation to the chaperone issue, Liza had said, “We shall chaperone you and you shall chaperone us. And besides, we shan’t have time to be improper.”
This time, the Risewells were much more surprised to see them, but readily agreed to their searching of Mr. Treadway’s room.
Inspector Rutledge stayed on the lower floor to ask them if they knew anything about Mr. Treadway’s life before coming to Wynmar, while the younger investigators stormed the battlements, so to speak.
“This is so exciting,” Liza said. “I’ve never been part of an investigation before. Not really.”
Mira pulled all the clothes out of the wardrobe and set them on the bed to go through them more thoroughly. Byron and Walker were on the other side of the room on their hands and knees, checking for loose floorboards.
Liza picked up a jacket and turned it about.
“What are we looking for?”
“Any distinguishing marks. A tailor might have stitched in his initials or something. Or there might be something in the pockets that I missed.”
Liza nodded and searched over all the stitching. “Did Byron teach you how to do this?”
Mira tugged on a loose thread in a coat. “No. I suppose this just seems to be one of the more logical places to start.”