Lady of Ashes (27 page)

“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.

“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.

 

The dreaded summons arrived, making Violet both fearful and relieved to be done with it. Graham hadn’t been captured, nor had he written her, so she assumed he was hiding somewhere, only who knew where? Portugal? America? The Caribbean? Canada? He could be anywhere. He said he was heading for Martinique or Guadeloupe, but who knew where circumstances may have taken him?

She dressed in one of her finest gowns, a brown skirt edged with a Greek key pattern in copper, and a gathered linen bodice with billowy sleeves buttoned at the wrist, topped with a copper-colored Zouave jacket, its wide-open sleeves permitting her sleeves to show. She angled a small brown hat on her head and completed the ensemble with tan kid leather gloves.

She’d even had Mrs. Porter come and assist her with her corset, ensuring the tightest closure possible to emphasize her small waist. Usually she laced her own corset, which meant she couldn’t pull it as tight as someone standing behind her. However, her daily work did not require impressing anyone. Besides, some of the lifting and bending she did made a tight corset nearly impossible to manage, although she did appreciate how it forced a good posture.

Violet guessed Mrs. Porter’s cinching of her waist brought it down to about nineteen inches. Breathing was tricky, but she could survive for a few hours until she returned home.

If Samuel’s eyes were any indicator when he arrived to escort her, she was ready to impress Parliament.

Much to Violet’s relief, her appearance wasn’t before the entire body of Parliament, nor in front of the House of Lords or the House of Commons. Instead, they went to an antechamber inside Westminster, where about a half dozen gentlemen were present, including two men, one older and one about her age, who sat off to one side. They were dressed in attire similar to Samuel’s, so she assumed they must be Mr. Adams and his son. Behind Minister Adams sat two other men, notebooks and pencils in hand. They were either secretaries or, heaven forbid, reporters. Even worse, they might be political cartoonists.

Also present were Lord Russell, the foreign secretary, and Lord Palmerston, the prime minister.

Lord Palmerston cupped his hands behind his back and paced in front of Violet as she sat on an uncomfortably hard wooden chair. “Tell us, Mrs. Morgan, about your husband. Where is he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come now, a wife doesn’t know where her husband is? How can that be possible?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Does
your
wife know where you are every minute of the evening, my lord?”

This elicited chuckles in the room, and even Palmerston himself gave her a thin smile. “Well done, Mrs. Morgan. Yet we’ll remain focused on the subject, which is your knowledge of your husband’s activities. Did your husband not inform you that he attempted to kill His Excellency?” Palmerston motioned to Adams.

“Yes, after the fact, but obviously he was unsuccessful.”

“Obviously. What is less obvious is whether he informed you of where he was going when he chose to flee the country like a coward with his brother. Perhaps you can enlighten us?”

Sam nodded at her in encouragement.

“He . . . he said they were going to sail to one of the French Caribbean islands, but he had no firm plans. After all, he thought he’d just murdered the American minister plenipotentiary. I doubt he was quite altogether sane.”

“A point on which we can definitely agree, Mrs. Morgan.” More laughter.

From there, Lord Russell took over the questioning, quizzing her in depth about Morgan Undertaking’s practices as if to somehow suggest that she was among the unscrupulous sort which would prove that she was not above concealing her husband’s whereabouts or misdeeds.

Violet bristled at the insinuation and let Lord Russell know so in direct, unmistakable terms.

“I am an honest woman, my lord. I have always traded fairly and in a Christian manner. I’ll not have my reputation impugned by two lords and one faithless husband. I’ll ask you, sir, to address me respectfully.”

Russell was stunned into silence, so Palmerston continued the questioning, looking at his pocket watch every so often, as if to ensure he was spending enough time on the interrogation.