Death and the Visitors, page 12
“I don’t like Barts either,” Mary agreed. “Going by there is just as bad as walking past the slaughterhouses.” They passed the hotel again, delivered Jane’s package, and then walked toward Covent Garden. When they reached the market stalls, they were able to find a cart that let them off very close to Barts.
Mary had never been inside the ancient stone building, which was bracketed by two wings, before. They found an inhabited office. A clerk there told them Mr. Nathan Wilson could be found in the post-mortem room.
They hunted it down, though it took some time.
“I don’t think I could have done this, if we hadn’t become inured to the smells from the market and the prisons,” Jane whispered.
Mary shrugged. She found the scene rather energizing and varied. From murals and paintings in the grand front areas, when they went into the real working parts of the hospital, they found whitewashed, bricked walls. She could smell the great age of the hospital and imagined all that had passed in these halls.
Eventually, they found a card posted on a door, indicating they had reached their destination.
“Bodies,” Jane said with a shudder. “You know there will be bodies.”
“Don’t be squeamish,” Mary scolded, then opened the door.
Inside were a number of tables, scrubbed clean, around the center of the room. Shelving units crowded the walls, full of specimen jars. Her nostrils filled with copper, meat, and harsh preservatives.
Jane coughed, but Mary pulled her in. At the rear left of the room, three men were conversing over a small, sheet-covered form on the table.
“I hope that isn’t a child under there,” Mary said, pausing. She gathered her nerves as Jane clasped her hand.
Jane shuddered. “Let’s get out of here as soon as possible.”
“Err, Mr. Nathan Wilson?” Mary called.
The three men, two middle-aged and one young, all looked up. The light, rather good from the windows, made their faces visible. All of them frowned.
“I’m Wilson,” said the oldest man. “Who let you in here?”
“No one,” Mary said. “But we were given your location from a clerk. We have a question about the body found in the Thames.”
The surgeon snorted. “Which one?” He came toward them, rearranging his cuffs and buttoning his coat.
Had they just finished investigating the remains of that small being under the sheet? Mary could see dark stains on the once white fabric of his shirt, and the surgeon’s hands had a reddish tinge, indicating they were freshly washed. At least they hadn’t come across the men still in their butcher’s aprons, gleaming with fresh blood. She could imagine the scene, however.
“The Russian, sir,” Jane said with a little squeak at the end of her words. She hadn’t let go of Mary yet, and Mary wasn’t sure she wanted her to.
“There have been two Russians,” the surgeon said with a frown. Now that he only stood a few feet from them, Mary could see he was a bit younger than she thought and rather attractive, with soft brown eyes and a full lower lip.
“One in the Thames, and one in a wine butt belonging to the Bull and Mouth,” Mary said boldly.
His cheek twitched. “Who are you?”
She curtsied, then introduced herself and Jane. It did not satisfy the surgeon. “What do these deaths have to do with you?”
“We are afraid that our household is in some way responsible for these murders,” Mary said. “Have you heard of the Juvenile Library?”
“Morally,” Jane added quickly. “Morally responsible.”
“No, I have not heard of the Juvenile Library.” The surgeon’s tone had grown increasingly rude. “Make yourself clear, and quickly, miss. This is no place for you.”
Behind them, the youngest man lifted the sheet-covered body and placed it on a flat cart.
Jane trembled. Mary squeezed her hand tighter and continued. “My father owns the publishing firm. The Russians promised to give the business a small fortune in diamonds.”
“Why?”
“To continue its educational mission,” Mary explained, forcing herself to leave out the important parts, about her mother. “We were expecting Mr. Naryshkin to arrive with the diamonds, but he never did. We know that the first body was misidentified, and we wanted to know why, exactly. Was someone impersonating Mr. Naryshkin?”
“Yes, what was used to identify him?” Jane asked.
“The dead man was identified as Pavel Naryshkin because he had a Russian prayerbook and ring with Cyrillic letters on it,” the surgeon said. “No one else was known to be missing.”
The second man approached, now that the younger man had departed with his burden. “To clarify, Pavel Naryshkin was the only Russian known to be missing in London at the time.”
“This is my assistant, Watson,” Mr. Wilson said.
“Thank you for the information,” Mary said. “Do you still have the ring? I’d like to show it to Mr. Naryshkin’s family. I assume they haven’t seen it.”
Mr. Wilson shrugged. “I have been told they are busy with assignments for their tsar.”
Or they were avoiding the situation because Dmitry Naryshkin himself had ordered the murder of the first man?
“Wasn’t Count Naryshkin at the inquest?” Mary asked.
“A representative only. A Mr. Hesse, I believe,” Mr. Wilson said. Next to him, Mr. Watson nodded.
“Yes, we’ve seen him around,” Jane murmured.
“Will showing you the ring bring an end to this business?”
“Yes,” Mary said. “If we can jot down the details.”
“You can make an etching of the signet,” the surgeon said. “Why not? If you can get the Russians to take a look, all the better for us. The dead should be named.”
Mr. Watson went to a cabinet and returned with a small box, a sheet of paper, and a pencil. He held the ring up for Mary. A small gold circle, it might fit the smallest finger on a man’s hand. One side had been flattened into a disk and etched with three apparent letters, though the middle one was wholly unfamiliar to her. She put the paper over the signet and did a rubbing as best she could.
“I hope this helps us learn the identity of the Thames corpse,” Mary said, after examining her effort to make sure the characters weren’t too blurry.
“What about the prayer book?” Jane asked.
“Very common,” Mr. Watson said. “Nothing identifiable about it.”
“Did you check every page?” Mary asked.
The assistant nodded.
“Let us know if you can learn anything about the ring,” Mr. Wilson said. “Or at least notify the coroner that you took a rubbing. Good day, ladies.”
Mary rolled up the paper and put it in her glove for safekeeping. They curtsied again and left.
Home wasn’t far, so they separated to return to their respective duties and didn’t speak again until they were around the dinner table at five that evening. Outside, the sun still shone brightly. Mary felt full of energy and ready to learn the identity of the first man. She hoped that learning about him might help uncover the fate of the diamonds. Knowing that they had been given a shawl by the princess because of the burned dress made her think there might be more to come from the Russians if they had additional information to share.
“Did you make calls all day today, Papa?” Mary asked.
He did look gray and weary. Papa was not the sort to be content unless he was actually traveling somewhere of interest or spending a significant portion of his day in his study, books open around him.
“Did you see Count Naryshkin?” Jane asked.
“No, why?” Papa asked.
“We thought you might inquire if there is any reward for finding his brother’s body,” Jane said.
“Shelley would receive the reward and maybe share the money with us,” Mary added.
Papa frowned. “I do not want to bother an important man such as the count with such things. Time is running out before his master arrives in London.”
“We have some information to trade,” Mary said. “He wasn’t at the inquest, we heard. He never saw the ring or the prayerbook on the body.”
“I didn’t see them myself,” Papa said.
“We have an etching of the ring,” Mary said. “I think it has initials.”
“Really?” Papa asked. “And how did you get that?”
Mary hoped to gloss over that information. “What if we took the etching to the Pulteney Hotel after dinner? We could show it to the count and ask about a reward for Shelley?”
“He’s a gentleman, our Shelley. He would never ask,” Papa told her.
“That’s why we have to do it, Papa,” Jane said. “We can’t be proud.”
Mamma spoke up. “These people won’t be here for long, and they’ve caused us a lot of trouble.”
Papa drained his wine. “The stew is quite unappetizing this evening, so I will go.”
“We’ll come with you,” Mary said, ignoring the insult. “You’re tired, Papa, and you will get a ride more easily if I am with you.”
“From whom?” Jane asked. “The carts are put away at this time in the evening.”
“No, they aren’t,” Mary said. “It’s a fine summer’s evening. There will be plenty of street sellers about. Please, Papa, we need to speak to Count Naryshkin.”
Papa stood. Mary and Jane followed him out while Mamma, Charles, and Willy remained with their dinners.
They hadn’t walked half a mile when they did find a fruit seller with a horse-drawn cart who took Papa up next to him. The girls paced the cart.
Mary fretted about her father’s health. Normally, she would think nothing of him walking miles in a day, but the health complaints he’d suffered of late seemed to have caught up with him under the load he must be carrying. Few men thrived in prison. It might shorten his magnificent, important life.
Happily, the Naryshkins were at dinner in their suite. They were allowed entry. The count greeted them in quite a jovial manner and had a servant bring chairs.
Mary marveled at the food on offer. Turtle soup, salads, and vegetable dishes, swimming in cream. A beautiful baked fish, and an entire roast, just for the count and his wife. They were dining alone.
The three of them were soon served some of the bounty. Papa kept the conversation light, though he was forced to tell several stories involving Mary’s mother rather than indulge in the philosophical conversational matters he preferred, on the political topics of the day. Still, these were foreigners, and not interested in local issues.
Jane gasped with delight when a sponge cake was served at the end, with the first of the season’s strawberries and delicate cream. Mary tried hard not to gorge on the treat herself, but she felt unpleasantly full after just a few bites, following the heavy meal.
“If I’d known this was how the meal would end, I’d have been more careful,” Jane said gaily to Princess Maria.
“The Pulteney Hotel has taken good care of us,” she said.
“The street noise is dreadful, however,” the count said. “I think someone stood outside our window half the night, singing about vile women.”
“Speaking of vile things, count, my daughters have something of importance to show you.” Papa wiped his mouth with a snowy white cloth and set it beside his plate. “It is clear that we were not blessed with a thorough inquest.”
The count frowned. “I thought the inquest for my brother would take place on Monday. This is what I was informed.”
“I’m speaking about the first inquest,” Papa explained. “My daughters, in their unseemly desire to help, interviewed the surgeon who conducted the first autopsy today.”
Mary pulled her rubbing from her pocket.
“What is this?” the count asked, taking it.
“The body found in the Thames had a Russian prayerbook and was wearing a ring.”
He frowned. “Pavel did wear a signet ring.”
Mary nodded at the paper. “Was this the engraving on it?”
He lifted the paper to his eyes and examined it closely. “My brother had our family arms on his ring. This ring is engraved with the initials of Michael Karamzin, one of the tsar’s secretaries.”
Princess Maria’s eyes widened. Her glance at her husband held alarm.
“Did he come with you to London, my lord?” Papa asked. “Have you seen him in the past week?”
“He was tasked with going to Hull, to discuss shipping business,” the count said. “He had no reason to be in London at this time.”
“Hull is two hundred miles away,” Papa said.
“He must have finished his business quickly and taken a private carriage here.” The count, his mouth thinned into a tight line, rang a bell on the table next to him.
“At great expense,” Papa added.
Mary imagined what the carriage would have cost. These Russians had a great deal of funds at their disposal. Was it in letters of credit, moving money between banks, or were all of them carrying pouches of diamonds?
“He was not expected in London for another week,” the count said. When a door to the apartment opened, the count rose.
A footman walked in. He wore a red coat and knee breeches, not the hotel’s livery. Mary remembered the cook’s description of the man who’d struck her as a “squat plug of a man,” and ugly. This footman met that description, though Thérèse’s words had left out the impression of the sheer strength of the brute. Mary would well believe this man to be an enforcer, whatever that actually meant.
The count moved toward him, a predator stalking, faster than Mary would have expected, given his age. Before she could even draw breath, the count struck his servant across the face with the back of his hand, catching the footman’s flesh with his rings.
Jane jumped up, her chair falling over, cream still coating her lips. Mary realized she’d pushed her own chair away from the table. Papa reached for her hand and gripped it, then pulled Jane to his other side.
The princess set down her teacup and sat in a languid pose, lovely and inscrutable, as her husband shouted angrily at the footman in Russian. The footman put his hand to his face and investigated the blood that came away from his cheek. He said nothing.
The count pushed the footman through the door he’d just entered and slammed it behind him. They could hear his shouts growing fainter as they moved farther away from the parlor.
Mary stared at the princess. Would she not say anything? Was this a normal occurrence? “I expect you were right about Alexander Fedorov having murdered the first man, even though the authorities released him.”
The princess’s perfect ivory shoulders rose and fell, but she did nothing more than meet Mary’s gaze.
“Our friend Shelley went to some trial and expense learning the truth,” Mary said boldly and a bit facetiously. Still angry that he had chased after his faithless wife, Mary felt bold. “You owe him a reward for his efforts. He did the work of a Bow Street Runner, and they are paid.”
The princess considered her for a moment, then stood. Papa quickly rose, but she paid no attention to him, just left through the same door the others had.
“How big is this suite?” Jane asked. “Will they hide from us for the rest of the night?”
“We weren’t invited here,” Papa said. He stuck his utensil into a strawberry half and placed it in his mouth. “Who can say?”
“Should we leave?” Jane righted her chair but sank into it.
“I asked for a reward,” Mary said, picking up her fork. “Let’s wait them out.” She stared at her dish. The cake had lost its appeal. The strawberry leaching into the cream now reminded her of blood, and the animal smells of the earlier cooked meats intensified the experience.
“We should go,” Papa said. “I don’t want to have to testify at another inquest due to these violent people. I am not served well by being under the notice of the authorities. I am sure the Home Office has a great number of extra eyes on London with all the festivities starting soon.”
Just as he stood, the count reentered the room. Mary could feel the centuries of breeding in his erect carriage. He was the member of a family that shared blood with the tsars.
Mary stood up next to her father. Jane followed.
The count said nothing but held out his hand to Mary. As he dropped a short shower of gold coins into her palm, he said, “You asked my wife for money earlier, and now this is the result of your meddling. We are done with your nonsense. Take this reward for your troubles and go.”
“We have done plenty to earn it,” she said, mimicking his tone. “And your brother made promises to us besides.”
“We will contact you again if we desire it,” he said, looking down his patrician nose. “Leave now.”
Papa grasped Mary’s sleeve and towed her out the door with nothing more than a curt nod in the Russian’s direction. He went directly to the stairs and marched them down to the lobby.
At the foot of the stairs, Mary stopped him and dropped each of the five guineas into his hand individually. “There, Papa. These should save me from having to do the cooking. Between this and the shawl Princess Maria gave me, Thérèse should be released now.”
The expression in Papa’s eyes was no warmer than the count’s. “I appreciate your considerable powers of intellect, but you do not make any decisions in my household, Mary. I will decide what to do about the domestic arrangements.”
He shook his arm free of Jane’s grasp and started toward the main hotel door.
“I can get more money from these people,” Mary said, keeping pace with him. “Her Royal Highness was lying about her lack of funds, I know it. Think of the expense of travel from Hull to London, Papa. Even if the first diamonds are gone, there will be more. You don’t have to make me live like this.”
Papa stopped abruptly, a few feet from the door. A gentleman brushed past him, swaying drunkenly, and went to the front desk and leaned on the counter in front of a clerk.
“You cannot keep harassing a princess, even a Polish one,” Papa said. He walked through the front door as soon as a hotel doorman opened it.
Mary and Jane followed and were surprised to see Papa hailing a hackney. They all squeezed in.
Once they were inside, and Mary was sure that the driver couldn’t hear, she said, “Mr. Hesse, the Prussian man, was at the jewelry shop. Jane saw him.”
