Lady of Ashes, page 24
part #1 of Lady of Ashes Mystery Series
“Your husband threatened me on more than one occasion, and yesterday I had to be more forceful than usual in rebuffing him. I made sure he wasn’t too badly injured.”
Another detail clicked into place.
“Later, I caught your husband following me and decided to give him what he wanted. I led him to Mr. Adams’s residence in Portland Place. When Mr. Morgan saw the two of us together, I’m sure he put it together quickly. My hope was that it would anger him enough to do something foolish and out in the open, but I didn’t expect it would result in what he actually did.”
“Which was to kill Mr. Adams.”
“What? No, he didn’t kill him. Didn’t even hit him. I’m afraid your husband is a lousy shot. I went with Adams and his son, Henry, to a meeting with Lord Palmerston to tell him what our progress was in ferreting out commerce raiders. The British government doesn’t much care for us, but they also don’t want to go to war with us, no matter how much posturing they do. Hence they have given Mr. Adams free rein in his work here.
“Conversely, they are never going to recognize the Confederate government, despite the best efforts of Mason and Slidell to plead and persuade. Regardless, Morgan lay in wait for us, and when we returned to Mr. Adams’s residence, he took a couple of shots at us before fleeing. Henry pushed his father to the ground to protect him, which is probably why Morgan believed he had killed him. I caught sight of him as he left the scene, and after ascertaining no one was hurt and settling both men back indoors and talking to the police, I came here.”
“I’m surprised the police didn’t arrive before you.”
“The police don’t yet know it was your husband who attempted to kill Adams.”
“You didn’t tell them?”
“No, I didn’t want you subjected to an invasion of police officers, and asked Mr. Adams to give me an opportunity to apprehend Morgan before saying anything to them. I thought it was better to come here first myself to see if I could get him to surrender.”
“He was here but moments. I believe he’s gone for good.”
Mr. Harper nodded. “Do you know where he went?”
Violet heaved a sigh and bit her lip. What husband puts his wife in such a precarious position, no matter what the nature of their relationship? When was the last time Graham had considered anyone other than himself and his own selfish desires?
She suddenly had her own selfish desire, to scurry back to the shop and immerse herself in the world of undertaking, where all was peace and calm for her. Alas, it was not to be. Graham’s misfortune was now hers, and she had to face it. However, if Graham ever dared enter her presence again . . .
Once again, with her uncanny ability to sense the thoughts of others, Susanna rose from where she was playing and came to Violet, putting her arms around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. Such actions nearly always melted Violet’s heart like a spring thaw.
“You are a sweet girl, aren’t you? Have you heard what Mr. Harper told me?”
Yes.
“I believe we have some difficult times ahead of us. Are you afraid?”
No.
“Then neither am I. We will stare this down like a workhouse matron, right?”
Yes!
Mr. Harper looked puzzled, but Violet didn’t explain, instead squeezing the girl’s hands and saying, “I think I heard the basement door open. Why don’t you go see what Mr. and Mrs. Porter have brought back for supper?”
“She’s a clever girl even though she doesn’t speak,” Mr. Harper said, watching her flounce out to the rear stairs.
“Yes, she is.” Had Graham even once acknowledged anything about Susanna? Her sweet nature or her desire to help others around her? Her bright smile that perpetually shone like a thousand suns despite all that must have happened to her? Yet this man who had been near Susanna just a few times recognized all that Violet did.
To her own amazement, she felt a hot tear running down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away.
“Mrs. Morgan, please forgive me if I’ve upset you.”
She laughed unsteadily. “Actually, in a bizarre way, you’ve said something rather nice and brought me a little joy in the midst of what I’m realizing is a never-ending nightmare. I am probably a fool for suggesting this to the one person I should consider my mortal enemy, but would you care to stay for dinner? I’ll tell you all I know about Graham’s whereabouts, and in return I insist that you play dominoes afterward with Susanna.”
“A double pleasure for me, Mrs. Morgan. Truly it is. Now that I see your husband isn’t here, I must return to the minister’s residence so he can engage the police in the search. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Violet tossed about fitfully all night, between anxiety over what might happen to Graham, and the unwanted but oddly pleasing air of ease and charm Mr. Harper had brought into her home last night. He’d insisted that she call him Samuel, or even Sam, but she refused. It wasn’t right to be on such intimate terms with the man who intended to have her husband—curse his misguided soul—arrested.
Mrs. Porter was her usual discreet self, not even raising an eyebrow when Violet told her that Mr. Harper would be returning for dinner, but instead adding another potato to her boiling pot and taking another cod filet out of the icebox.
Susanna was overjoyed at Mr. Harper’s attentions. The two of them played bonesticks, or dominoes, in the drawing room until Violet, sitting in a corner reading a book, could no longer keep her eyes open. Mr. Harper noticed her drifting off and ended his play with Susanna.
As he departed, he warned Violet that he had no choice but to tell the authorities what he knew. Violet merely nodded in tired resignation. He promised to keep her informed as to what was happening and left.
Now she was completely unable to sleep, as thoughts swirled around in her mind like the first spin of snowflakes prior to a blizzard. From odd thoughts of Graham as he used to be in the early days of their marriage, she turned toward his increasing paranoia and dismissal of her role as maîtresse de la maison. As she considered all that had happened since his involvement in the trading scheme—his move out of their bedroom, the Clayton Tunnel wreck, and the prince consort’s funeral—her thoughts became a jumbled mix of images, blowing hard and fast through her mind to the point that she felt she might be buried in the drifts.
Violet rose in the morning, exhausted. She needed to talk to someone. She needed Mary.
Violet waited in a corner of Mary’s shop while the dressmaker finished taking measurements of a woman and her young son. Afterward, Mary greeted her warmly and invited her to sit down.
“I’m so glad to see you, Violet,” she said, crossing the floor to bolt the door to the shop. “I’ve been anxious to talk to you.”
“But your customers—” Violet said, not intending for Mary to actually close the shop for the day on her account.
“Can wait. We shouldn’t be intruded upon. How are you, dear?”
“Not very well, I confess.”
“You must tell me what’s wrong.”
Violet did. On and on she went, from Graham’s shocking outburst followed by his abrupt departure from Morgan House, to Mr. Harper’s admission about who he really was and his relationship with Graham, Fletcher, and Charles Francis Adams, the minister plenipotentiary.
“How awful for you that Graham abandoned you this way. I’m not surprised Mr. Harper turned out to be so noble.”
“I’m not sure he’s noble, Mary, but I suppose he’s not the scoundrel I initially thought him to be.”
“He’s very handsome, though.”
“Why, Mary Overfelt, do you still have a crush on Mr. Harper?”
“Not at all. I’m just aware of an attractive man’s presence. Which is what I’ve been meaning to tell you about. Oh, I can hardly believe it myself.” She patted the side of her great pouf of hair.
“What is it?”
Mary dropped her voice to a whisper, as if afraid the walls might eavesdrop on her secret. “I’ve met someone.”
“And?” They met people all day long in their respective professions.
“A special someone. A very nice gentleman named George Cooke.”
Violet was rendered nearly speechless. In the years she’d known Mary, not once had the other woman expressed an interest in leaving her widowed state. “That’s delightful. Tell me about him.”
“I don’t know Mr. Cooke all that well yet, but he’s a watchmaker whose family came to England from Amsterdam—or was it somewhere in Germany?—in the seventeenth century.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Strangely enough, he was entering the same draper’s shop where I had gone to buy some fabrics, held the door open for me, and we struck up a conversation. He’s a widower and understands me.”
Violet leaned over and took her friend’s hand. “How very happy I am for you. I hope I can meet Mr. Cooke soon.”
How ironic that she and Mary had very nearly traded places. Mary was in the thrill of new love, as Violet had been so many years ago, and now Violet was like an aging widow, with little to live for other than her business.
Violet rejoiced for her friend, but thought the winter inside her heart might go on forever. At least there was Susanna.
Violet and Susanna were returning home from the shop one day with Violet’s mind awhirl with plans. Perhaps it was time to make Susanna a formal apprentice. Her muteness created certain difficulties—how would she ever communicate with the families of the deceased?—but the girl had such an aptitude that it somehow seemed wrong not to formally train her as she had Will and Harry. Just today, Susanna had rearranged the greenery in a wreath delivered from the florist. Violet shook her head when she compared that maturity with the girl who still loved her dollhouse.
As they approached the front door, Susanna tugged at her skirt and pointed to the street. Mr. Harper was crossing over to them, carrying a wrapped box with a frilly bow on it.
“Mrs. Morgan, Miss Susanna, I trust you are doing well today. Quite blustery out, isn’t it? I have some news for you, if I might come in for a moment?”
Violet knew she really shouldn’t permit it. Thus far, none of her neighbors had noticed Graham’s absence since he’d been keeping odd hours for months, anyway, but Mr. Harper was becoming a regular visitor, and it was Violet seeing him to the door each time. Yet he had information, presumably about Graham’s whereabouts.
“Certainly. I’ll have Mrs. Porter prepare some tea.”
Once again, Mr. Harper joined her on the sofa. It wasn’t quite so uncomfortable this time. Over steaming cups of Earl Grey and gooseberry scones, Mr. Harper shared his news, which was far more disturbing than Violet expected.
“You are to be summoned to Parliament for special questioning about your husband’s disappearance.”
“Me? Why? I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Yes, but now that everything is patched up between the United States and Britain, Parliament wants to make a good show that they are aggressively rooting out our enemies. You may be their sacrificial lamb if we can’t apprehend Morgan quickly enough.”
“Are you suggesting that they will try to hang me in Graham’s place? Good Lord.”
“No, I believe they will strut and posture like a bunch of roosters, nipping at you with their big beaks until they’ve drawn blood, then they will declare themselves satisfied and return to their own yard, so to speak. I’d hoped to have Morgan found before he got on the open seas, but he and his brother slipped away.”
So Graham had not only abandoned her with only a cursory explanation, he was now leaving her to take the blame for everything he’d done. What would Susanna now think of her? How would her business be hurt? Violet thought her heart had hardened greatly toward her husband, but in that moment, she realized it had just a little further to go, and now it was as black and shiny and unbreakable as the finest piece of jet.
Maybe it was time to leave this house and everything associated with Graham altogether.
“Mr. Adams and I will be in attendance, so you’ll have sympathetic friends there. I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Morgan.”
“It isn’t your fault, sir. I don’t suppose the package at your feet is a peace offering for me, is it?”
Samuel reddened. “Actually, no. It’s for Miss Susanna.”
Susanna eagerly took the box and opened it. Inside was a family of dolls, sized for a dollhouse.
Still blushing furiously, Samuel said, “I saw from the plate on the rear of the dollhouse that it came from a shop on Oxford Street, so I went and made a purchase to thank Miss Susanna for a very challenging game of dominoes.”
Susanna picked out the father doll, who wore a severe black suit and carried a wooden cane. “That,” Mr. Harper said, pointing, “is Mr. Ebenezer Orange Peel. That is his wife, Matilda Orange Peel, and their two children, Pomegranate and Plum Pudding. And don’t forget the new baby, Huckleberry.”
Susanna grinned, delighted with her gift. She lay the open box in Violet’s lap so that Violet could view the entire family. The girl then took one of Mr. Harper’s hands and said, “Thank you for my lovely present, sir.”
Violet dropped her half-full teacup to the floor, where it splattered tea on the carpet and on her gown, but thankfully didn’t break. It didn’t matter.
“What did you just say?” Even Mr. Harper was staring open-mouthed at the girl.
Now it was Susanna’s turn to blush, and she went silent, still holding Mr. Harper’s hand. He covered it with his other hand, stood, and gently guided Susanna to take his place next to Violet. He knelt before the girl, still encasing her hand between both of his own, while Violet picked up her cup and saucer and set them on the tea table next to her.
“Miss Susanna, I do believe that the sound of your voice is better than a Sunday choir to Mrs. Morgan, do you know that?”
Susanna nodded.
“I imagine there are lots of things she’d like to know about you. Would you be willing to talk some more to her?”
“Yes.”
He nodded at Violet and moved away to sit on the chair across from the sofa, while Violet took over.
“Susanna, dear, where do I begin? Why did you choose to speak just now?”
The girl shrugged. “Speaking gets you in trouble.”
“What trouble? You’ve lived here for months and I’ve never raised a hand to you.”
“Yes, but I’m safe now.” Susanna stole a glance back at Mr. Harper.
Oh dear.
“Tell me about the day I found you in the shop. How did you get there?”
“I ran away from the workhouse. I took some cheese and sausages with me, but they ran out. After a few days, I was tired of sleeping on doorsteps, and when I found your shop with no one in it, and the coffin there was just like a nice bed, I fell asleep.”
“Why were you in the workhouse in the first place?”
“My mama died. A neighbor took me there to protect me.”
“What about your father? Where is he?”
Another shrug. “Never knew him much, he was always gone. Mother said he was a railwayman and got killed in the Lewisham crash.” So Susanna’s father had just died four years ago, in the sort of accident that had nearly taken Susanna’s life.
“And then you yourself were—never mind, tell me about your mother? What was she like?”
Susanna considered this. “She smelled good.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“Yes, but how?”
“They said she ate tainted meat.”
Tainted meat? That would have made her ill, but probably wouldn’t be fatal, unless the woman was sickly to begin with or she’d eaten a great quantity of it.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head no. Just like Violet, the girl had no siblings with whom to confide and share life’s experiences. Violet dropped the subject and hugged Susanna. “Thank you,” she whispered in the girl’s ear. Releasing her, she turned to Mr. Harper. “Well, I think at this point you may as well stay for dinner again, if you’ve no other plans. I’ll need advice on what to do during my questioning.”
Mr. Harper stayed long past dinner and Susanna’s bedtime, advising Violet in the manner of all lawyers, peppering her with every question he could conceive of and analyzing her answers. Violet was thoroughly exhausted by the time the clock chimed one o’clock in the morning. She covered a yawn with her hand.
“My apologies. I’ve long overstayed my welcome.”
“Not at all. You’ve been very helpful. It’s just been a very eventful day.”
“Send word to me at my hotel the moment you receive your summons. I’ll accompany you.” He pulled a piece of hotel stationery from his jacket and handed it to her.
She walked him to the door. “You’ve performed the miraculous here today, and I’m grateful to you . . . Samuel.”
His grin nearly split his face in half. “I’ve done nothing, but I’m happy to accept your undeserved praise anytime, Mrs. Morgan.”
“Please, call me Violet.”
“Violet.” He sounded as though he was about to start singing her name.
She shut the door behind him. Every day was dawning with multitudes of surprises, some dreadful, and others delightful.
She turned to find Susanna standing at the bottom of the staircase, holding Mrs. Softpaws.
“Why are you up?”
“Mrs. Softpaws was having a dream and woke me up.”
“I see. Do you think she might be ready to go back to sleep now?”
“I think so. She might sleep better if she had another one of Mrs. Porter’s gooseberry scones.”
Violet shook her head. “All right, go downstairs and get one. But just one.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Susanna said as she cradled the cat and headed toward the back stairs.
Violet watched her depart. Mama, Susanna had said. How was it that this young girl had filled Violet’s heart near to bursting? Yes, some surprises were dreadful, but the more memorable ones were positively delightful. Violet slept dreamlessly all night.
Another detail clicked into place.
“Later, I caught your husband following me and decided to give him what he wanted. I led him to Mr. Adams’s residence in Portland Place. When Mr. Morgan saw the two of us together, I’m sure he put it together quickly. My hope was that it would anger him enough to do something foolish and out in the open, but I didn’t expect it would result in what he actually did.”
“Which was to kill Mr. Adams.”
“What? No, he didn’t kill him. Didn’t even hit him. I’m afraid your husband is a lousy shot. I went with Adams and his son, Henry, to a meeting with Lord Palmerston to tell him what our progress was in ferreting out commerce raiders. The British government doesn’t much care for us, but they also don’t want to go to war with us, no matter how much posturing they do. Hence they have given Mr. Adams free rein in his work here.
“Conversely, they are never going to recognize the Confederate government, despite the best efforts of Mason and Slidell to plead and persuade. Regardless, Morgan lay in wait for us, and when we returned to Mr. Adams’s residence, he took a couple of shots at us before fleeing. Henry pushed his father to the ground to protect him, which is probably why Morgan believed he had killed him. I caught sight of him as he left the scene, and after ascertaining no one was hurt and settling both men back indoors and talking to the police, I came here.”
“I’m surprised the police didn’t arrive before you.”
“The police don’t yet know it was your husband who attempted to kill Adams.”
“You didn’t tell them?”
“No, I didn’t want you subjected to an invasion of police officers, and asked Mr. Adams to give me an opportunity to apprehend Morgan before saying anything to them. I thought it was better to come here first myself to see if I could get him to surrender.”
“He was here but moments. I believe he’s gone for good.”
Mr. Harper nodded. “Do you know where he went?”
Violet heaved a sigh and bit her lip. What husband puts his wife in such a precarious position, no matter what the nature of their relationship? When was the last time Graham had considered anyone other than himself and his own selfish desires?
She suddenly had her own selfish desire, to scurry back to the shop and immerse herself in the world of undertaking, where all was peace and calm for her. Alas, it was not to be. Graham’s misfortune was now hers, and she had to face it. However, if Graham ever dared enter her presence again . . .
Once again, with her uncanny ability to sense the thoughts of others, Susanna rose from where she was playing and came to Violet, putting her arms around her shoulders and kissing her cheek. Such actions nearly always melted Violet’s heart like a spring thaw.
“You are a sweet girl, aren’t you? Have you heard what Mr. Harper told me?”
Yes.
“I believe we have some difficult times ahead of us. Are you afraid?”
No.
“Then neither am I. We will stare this down like a workhouse matron, right?”
Yes!
Mr. Harper looked puzzled, but Violet didn’t explain, instead squeezing the girl’s hands and saying, “I think I heard the basement door open. Why don’t you go see what Mr. and Mrs. Porter have brought back for supper?”
“She’s a clever girl even though she doesn’t speak,” Mr. Harper said, watching her flounce out to the rear stairs.
“Yes, she is.” Had Graham even once acknowledged anything about Susanna? Her sweet nature or her desire to help others around her? Her bright smile that perpetually shone like a thousand suns despite all that must have happened to her? Yet this man who had been near Susanna just a few times recognized all that Violet did.
To her own amazement, she felt a hot tear running down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away.
“Mrs. Morgan, please forgive me if I’ve upset you.”
She laughed unsteadily. “Actually, in a bizarre way, you’ve said something rather nice and brought me a little joy in the midst of what I’m realizing is a never-ending nightmare. I am probably a fool for suggesting this to the one person I should consider my mortal enemy, but would you care to stay for dinner? I’ll tell you all I know about Graham’s whereabouts, and in return I insist that you play dominoes afterward with Susanna.”
“A double pleasure for me, Mrs. Morgan. Truly it is. Now that I see your husband isn’t here, I must return to the minister’s residence so he can engage the police in the search. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Violet tossed about fitfully all night, between anxiety over what might happen to Graham, and the unwanted but oddly pleasing air of ease and charm Mr. Harper had brought into her home last night. He’d insisted that she call him Samuel, or even Sam, but she refused. It wasn’t right to be on such intimate terms with the man who intended to have her husband—curse his misguided soul—arrested.
Mrs. Porter was her usual discreet self, not even raising an eyebrow when Violet told her that Mr. Harper would be returning for dinner, but instead adding another potato to her boiling pot and taking another cod filet out of the icebox.
Susanna was overjoyed at Mr. Harper’s attentions. The two of them played bonesticks, or dominoes, in the drawing room until Violet, sitting in a corner reading a book, could no longer keep her eyes open. Mr. Harper noticed her drifting off and ended his play with Susanna.
As he departed, he warned Violet that he had no choice but to tell the authorities what he knew. Violet merely nodded in tired resignation. He promised to keep her informed as to what was happening and left.
Now she was completely unable to sleep, as thoughts swirled around in her mind like the first spin of snowflakes prior to a blizzard. From odd thoughts of Graham as he used to be in the early days of their marriage, she turned toward his increasing paranoia and dismissal of her role as maîtresse de la maison. As she considered all that had happened since his involvement in the trading scheme—his move out of their bedroom, the Clayton Tunnel wreck, and the prince consort’s funeral—her thoughts became a jumbled mix of images, blowing hard and fast through her mind to the point that she felt she might be buried in the drifts.
Violet rose in the morning, exhausted. She needed to talk to someone. She needed Mary.
Violet waited in a corner of Mary’s shop while the dressmaker finished taking measurements of a woman and her young son. Afterward, Mary greeted her warmly and invited her to sit down.
“I’m so glad to see you, Violet,” she said, crossing the floor to bolt the door to the shop. “I’ve been anxious to talk to you.”
“But your customers—” Violet said, not intending for Mary to actually close the shop for the day on her account.
“Can wait. We shouldn’t be intruded upon. How are you, dear?”
“Not very well, I confess.”
“You must tell me what’s wrong.”
Violet did. On and on she went, from Graham’s shocking outburst followed by his abrupt departure from Morgan House, to Mr. Harper’s admission about who he really was and his relationship with Graham, Fletcher, and Charles Francis Adams, the minister plenipotentiary.
“How awful for you that Graham abandoned you this way. I’m not surprised Mr. Harper turned out to be so noble.”
“I’m not sure he’s noble, Mary, but I suppose he’s not the scoundrel I initially thought him to be.”
“He’s very handsome, though.”
“Why, Mary Overfelt, do you still have a crush on Mr. Harper?”
“Not at all. I’m just aware of an attractive man’s presence. Which is what I’ve been meaning to tell you about. Oh, I can hardly believe it myself.” She patted the side of her great pouf of hair.
“What is it?”
Mary dropped her voice to a whisper, as if afraid the walls might eavesdrop on her secret. “I’ve met someone.”
“And?” They met people all day long in their respective professions.
“A special someone. A very nice gentleman named George Cooke.”
Violet was rendered nearly speechless. In the years she’d known Mary, not once had the other woman expressed an interest in leaving her widowed state. “That’s delightful. Tell me about him.”
“I don’t know Mr. Cooke all that well yet, but he’s a watchmaker whose family came to England from Amsterdam—or was it somewhere in Germany?—in the seventeenth century.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Strangely enough, he was entering the same draper’s shop where I had gone to buy some fabrics, held the door open for me, and we struck up a conversation. He’s a widower and understands me.”
Violet leaned over and took her friend’s hand. “How very happy I am for you. I hope I can meet Mr. Cooke soon.”
How ironic that she and Mary had very nearly traded places. Mary was in the thrill of new love, as Violet had been so many years ago, and now Violet was like an aging widow, with little to live for other than her business.
Violet rejoiced for her friend, but thought the winter inside her heart might go on forever. At least there was Susanna.
Violet and Susanna were returning home from the shop one day with Violet’s mind awhirl with plans. Perhaps it was time to make Susanna a formal apprentice. Her muteness created certain difficulties—how would she ever communicate with the families of the deceased?—but the girl had such an aptitude that it somehow seemed wrong not to formally train her as she had Will and Harry. Just today, Susanna had rearranged the greenery in a wreath delivered from the florist. Violet shook her head when she compared that maturity with the girl who still loved her dollhouse.
As they approached the front door, Susanna tugged at her skirt and pointed to the street. Mr. Harper was crossing over to them, carrying a wrapped box with a frilly bow on it.
“Mrs. Morgan, Miss Susanna, I trust you are doing well today. Quite blustery out, isn’t it? I have some news for you, if I might come in for a moment?”
Violet knew she really shouldn’t permit it. Thus far, none of her neighbors had noticed Graham’s absence since he’d been keeping odd hours for months, anyway, but Mr. Harper was becoming a regular visitor, and it was Violet seeing him to the door each time. Yet he had information, presumably about Graham’s whereabouts.
“Certainly. I’ll have Mrs. Porter prepare some tea.”
Once again, Mr. Harper joined her on the sofa. It wasn’t quite so uncomfortable this time. Over steaming cups of Earl Grey and gooseberry scones, Mr. Harper shared his news, which was far more disturbing than Violet expected.
“You are to be summoned to Parliament for special questioning about your husband’s disappearance.”
“Me? Why? I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Yes, but now that everything is patched up between the United States and Britain, Parliament wants to make a good show that they are aggressively rooting out our enemies. You may be their sacrificial lamb if we can’t apprehend Morgan quickly enough.”
“Are you suggesting that they will try to hang me in Graham’s place? Good Lord.”
“No, I believe they will strut and posture like a bunch of roosters, nipping at you with their big beaks until they’ve drawn blood, then they will declare themselves satisfied and return to their own yard, so to speak. I’d hoped to have Morgan found before he got on the open seas, but he and his brother slipped away.”
So Graham had not only abandoned her with only a cursory explanation, he was now leaving her to take the blame for everything he’d done. What would Susanna now think of her? How would her business be hurt? Violet thought her heart had hardened greatly toward her husband, but in that moment, she realized it had just a little further to go, and now it was as black and shiny and unbreakable as the finest piece of jet.
Maybe it was time to leave this house and everything associated with Graham altogether.
“Mr. Adams and I will be in attendance, so you’ll have sympathetic friends there. I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Morgan.”
“It isn’t your fault, sir. I don’t suppose the package at your feet is a peace offering for me, is it?”
Samuel reddened. “Actually, no. It’s for Miss Susanna.”
Susanna eagerly took the box and opened it. Inside was a family of dolls, sized for a dollhouse.
Still blushing furiously, Samuel said, “I saw from the plate on the rear of the dollhouse that it came from a shop on Oxford Street, so I went and made a purchase to thank Miss Susanna for a very challenging game of dominoes.”
Susanna picked out the father doll, who wore a severe black suit and carried a wooden cane. “That,” Mr. Harper said, pointing, “is Mr. Ebenezer Orange Peel. That is his wife, Matilda Orange Peel, and their two children, Pomegranate and Plum Pudding. And don’t forget the new baby, Huckleberry.”
Susanna grinned, delighted with her gift. She lay the open box in Violet’s lap so that Violet could view the entire family. The girl then took one of Mr. Harper’s hands and said, “Thank you for my lovely present, sir.”
Violet dropped her half-full teacup to the floor, where it splattered tea on the carpet and on her gown, but thankfully didn’t break. It didn’t matter.
“What did you just say?” Even Mr. Harper was staring open-mouthed at the girl.
Now it was Susanna’s turn to blush, and she went silent, still holding Mr. Harper’s hand. He covered it with his other hand, stood, and gently guided Susanna to take his place next to Violet. He knelt before the girl, still encasing her hand between both of his own, while Violet picked up her cup and saucer and set them on the tea table next to her.
“Miss Susanna, I do believe that the sound of your voice is better than a Sunday choir to Mrs. Morgan, do you know that?”
Susanna nodded.
“I imagine there are lots of things she’d like to know about you. Would you be willing to talk some more to her?”
“Yes.”
He nodded at Violet and moved away to sit on the chair across from the sofa, while Violet took over.
“Susanna, dear, where do I begin? Why did you choose to speak just now?”
The girl shrugged. “Speaking gets you in trouble.”
“What trouble? You’ve lived here for months and I’ve never raised a hand to you.”
“Yes, but I’m safe now.” Susanna stole a glance back at Mr. Harper.
Oh dear.
“Tell me about the day I found you in the shop. How did you get there?”
“I ran away from the workhouse. I took some cheese and sausages with me, but they ran out. After a few days, I was tired of sleeping on doorsteps, and when I found your shop with no one in it, and the coffin there was just like a nice bed, I fell asleep.”
“Why were you in the workhouse in the first place?”
“My mama died. A neighbor took me there to protect me.”
“What about your father? Where is he?”
Another shrug. “Never knew him much, he was always gone. Mother said he was a railwayman and got killed in the Lewisham crash.” So Susanna’s father had just died four years ago, in the sort of accident that had nearly taken Susanna’s life.
“And then you yourself were—never mind, tell me about your mother? What was she like?”
Susanna considered this. “She smelled good.”
“What happened to her?”
“She died.”
“Yes, but how?”
“They said she ate tainted meat.”
Tainted meat? That would have made her ill, but probably wouldn’t be fatal, unless the woman was sickly to begin with or she’d eaten a great quantity of it.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head no. Just like Violet, the girl had no siblings with whom to confide and share life’s experiences. Violet dropped the subject and hugged Susanna. “Thank you,” she whispered in the girl’s ear. Releasing her, she turned to Mr. Harper. “Well, I think at this point you may as well stay for dinner again, if you’ve no other plans. I’ll need advice on what to do during my questioning.”
Mr. Harper stayed long past dinner and Susanna’s bedtime, advising Violet in the manner of all lawyers, peppering her with every question he could conceive of and analyzing her answers. Violet was thoroughly exhausted by the time the clock chimed one o’clock in the morning. She covered a yawn with her hand.
“My apologies. I’ve long overstayed my welcome.”
“Not at all. You’ve been very helpful. It’s just been a very eventful day.”
“Send word to me at my hotel the moment you receive your summons. I’ll accompany you.” He pulled a piece of hotel stationery from his jacket and handed it to her.
She walked him to the door. “You’ve performed the miraculous here today, and I’m grateful to you . . . Samuel.”
His grin nearly split his face in half. “I’ve done nothing, but I’m happy to accept your undeserved praise anytime, Mrs. Morgan.”
“Please, call me Violet.”
“Violet.” He sounded as though he was about to start singing her name.
She shut the door behind him. Every day was dawning with multitudes of surprises, some dreadful, and others delightful.
She turned to find Susanna standing at the bottom of the staircase, holding Mrs. Softpaws.
“Why are you up?”
“Mrs. Softpaws was having a dream and woke me up.”
“I see. Do you think she might be ready to go back to sleep now?”
“I think so. She might sleep better if she had another one of Mrs. Porter’s gooseberry scones.”
Violet shook her head. “All right, go downstairs and get one. But just one.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Susanna said as she cradled the cat and headed toward the back stairs.
Violet watched her depart. Mama, Susanna had said. How was it that this young girl had filled Violet’s heart near to bursting? Yes, some surprises were dreadful, but the more memorable ones were positively delightful. Violet slept dreamlessly all night.
