Lady of Ashes (26 page)

She quickly realized that was not in his mind. Graham paced back and forth in the room, still wearing his overcoat. His face was flushed, despite how cold it was outside, and his hair was wildly mussed. Beneath the flush his nose was swollen and bruised.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“There’s no time for that. Listen to me, Violet. Something terrible has happened. I’ve done something very bad. I’m going to swing, I know it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I shot and killed a man today. Just now.”

Violet felt a distant hum in her ears. Surely she hadn’t just heard that her husband committed murder. “What are you talking about? What on earth would possess you to do such a thing?”

Graham stopped long enough to pass a hand over his eyes as if to rub away whatever visions he was having. “I did what was necessary. I avenged Grandfather, taught a man a lesson, and ruined your lover’s hopes and dreams.”

“My what? What was necessary? Graham, you’re making no sense whatsoever. Shall I ask Mrs. Porter to get you a pot of—”

“There’s no time. I won’t be here long enough for tea. Pay attention, woman. I just shot Charles Francis Adams, the Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of St. James.”

“I’m sorry?” Surely Graham hadn’t just said he’d murdered an American diplomat. “Who is Mr. Adams to you? How do you even know who he is?”

“I’ve seen his likeness in the newspapers with regard to the whole
Trent
Affair. Harper is from the
United States,
Violet, not the Confederacy. He was never with the South. Don’t you understand?”

“Not a bit. All this fuss over funeral supplies? Why would you accuse the minister of being my lover? I’ve never even met the man. What has gotten into you?” She had so much to ask it was hard to know exactly where to begin, so questions were tumbling out. It didn’t matter, for Graham was paying her little heed.

“Please be quiet, Violet. I can’t think. I may have acted a bit rashly—”

“A bit?”

“—but what’s done is done. He deserved it for his perfidy, and I know Pap sleeps well tonight. Naturally, I can’t stay here. Where do we have a traveling bag?”

“We have one in the armoire, but the latch doesn’t work well.”

Graham went to the armoire and pulled the traveling case out, leaving the room without another word to her. She followed him to his study, where he began scooping up clothes that were in the folded piles on chairs that he now favored over maintaining his wardrobe in Violet’s room. He reached into a drawer of his desk and pulled out a jingling sack that he thrust into the bag as well before trying to lock it. He struggled with it for several moments before giving up in disgust.

“I’m on my way to meet Fletcher at
Lillian Rose
. We’re headed for Martinique or Guadeloupe, I’m not sure which. I’ll write to you. I’ll send papers to turn over the shop to you, although you probably don’t deserve it. At least I know you’ll carry on with it, whereas Fletcher would just sell it.”

“Graham, you are behaving like an utter fool. Whatever you’ve done can be reckoned with. Cease this nonsense.”

“When they come to question you, say nothing about my whereabouts. I have enough money to last awhile, plus the coffin cargo on
Lillian Rose
should fetch good money depending on where we land.”

Coffin cargo? Did he mean the funerary supplies? She couldn’t give it more thought because her husband was moving again, this time down the stairs.

“Graham, wait,” she said from the top of the staircase. “I don’t understand any of this. Please stay and discuss it.”

“Fletcher’s waiting.” He opened the front door and turned back to her. “My final word to you is this: Stay away from Samuel Harper.”

With that, he disappeared out the door and into the busy street. Violet looked to where Susanna still sat with her dollhouse. The girl held a red velvet upholstered chair midair as she stared back at Violet, eyes wide and mouth agape. Mrs. Softpaws, too, was stunned nearly senseless, her play with the furniture forgotten.

Violet shook her head. “I don’t know what just happened, either, Susanna, although I don’t think I can return to playing with a mere dollhouse, as Morgan House seems to be in complete chaos.”

V
iolet took Graham’s place in pacing back and forth in her bedroom. She had to do something, but summoning the police against her husband seemed so . . . unfaithful. A betrayal. Yet if he had truly murdered someone, justice must be had.

Violet had just concluded that she would seek Mary’s advice when the doorbell rang. It rang again a few moments later, making her realize that the Porters had not yet returned. She went down and answered the door herself.

“Mr. Harper,” she said flatly.

“Is your husband here?”

“No.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s gone. I don’t know where.”

“You must have more information than that.”

She shrugged and folded her arms in front of her, as much to protect her from the chill of fear overcoming her as to put distance between her and the mysterious Samuel Harper. “I don’t.”

“Mrs. Morgan, please don’t lie. Graham Morgan is in serious trouble, and if you withhold information, you could be, as well. There are men far more dangerous than I who are looking for him. You are his wife; you must know where he is.”

“Sir, I don’t know who you believe you are, but this is my home you’ve just barged into, demanding answers to which you are not entitled. I won’t say a single word until you tell me precisely what is happening here. I do mean every detail, Mr. Harper.”

He nodded. “Yes, you deserve that. May we sit down?”

She sat down on a sofa in the drawing room, assuming he would take the chair across from her, but unexpectedly he sat down next to her. Susanna remained, her attention back to her dollhouse and Mrs. Softpaws. Violet turned to face him, and he stared at her with an intensity that was white-hot. She felt the urge to look away, but was determined not to wilt.

When he next spoke, she was startled by his voice. Gone was the lilting accent he said was from his native Virginia, replaced with something flatter, more even. It wasn’t unpleasant, just completely different.

“My name is Samuel Edwin Harper. I am from Massachusetts, and I am a lawyer by trade, although my family has been farmers for generations. It is through my trade that I became acquainted with Mr. Adams, who himself was a lawyer before entering politics and the U.S. House of Representatives, and now serving as Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of St. James.

“Adams had a specific mission to accomplish here, Mrs. Morgan, which was to prevent the building and running of commerce raiders. Because I am someone he respects, as well as a bachelor with no wife or children to hinder me, he asked that I join him here on this project.

“I posed as a Southerner directed by the Confederacy to find these potential commerce raiders and blockade runners, to learn of their plans and routes, in order for the United States to successfully intercept them on the high seas before they could reach ports like the one in Hampton Roads, Virginia.

“After I dropped some open hints in London, your brother-in-law approached me, and soon I was meeting with him and your husband. They were eagerly seeking a contact in the Confederacy to whom they could sell weapons, and I was more than eager to deal with them, in order to foil their plans.”

Small things were clicking together in Violet’s mind. Graham’s secret conversations with Fletcher. Graham’s desire to do the Americans harm. The coffin cargo. She dreaded what she would learn next.

“I believe there was some disagreement between the brothers as to their goals in the enterprise, but it wasn’t relevant to my own purposes.”

Violet slowly nodded. “Yes, my husband has always been obsessed with seeking some bizarre sort of revenge against Americans on behalf of his deceased grandfather. He hates your countrymen, you know.”

Samuel smiled. “That mutual distrust has long been a staple of our countries, hasn’t it? I, however, find much to admire in England. Ahem, anyway, Mr. Adams and I were slowly drawing a net around the Morgan brothers, and I’m sorry to say that Adams wanted to include you in the catch. Having met you, and having, ah, understood your innocence in it all, I told him that you were never, ever to be harmed in the operation.

“I must apologize, though, for despite my efforts, it is clear that I couldn’t avoid being responsible for great pain for you.”

Strangely enough, though, Violet didn’t feel hurt, even though she knew she should be destructively angry at Mr. Harper’s deception. There was an extraordinary feeling of relief in just finally hearing the truth, both about Graham and all of the bizarre occurrences over the past few months.

“I am an undertaker, Mr. Harper. It is my job to be impervious to pain and grief. Please continue.” Violet relaxed her arms, folding her hands into her lap.

“Unfortunately, my desire to protect you resulted in my dangling your husband and brother-in-law along much longer than anticipated. I should have simply given them some money once they showed me their travel route, sent them on their way, and let the authorities pick them up en route to our shores. All of this might not have happened otherwise.”

“What is ‘all of this’?”

“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?”

“I believe we have some difficult times ahead of us. Are you afraid?”

“Then neither am I. We will stare this down like a workhouse matron, right?”

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.”