Lady of Ashes (41 page)

A
s she struggled to focus on the elderly, grieving husband’s words, Violet wondered if she now looked as exhausted and disheveled as Sam did.

“. . . my darling wife always loved roses. I’d like to have them on top of the funeral carriage. . . .”

Violet jotted down notes and murmured the appropriate sympathies, yet her thoughts were miles away. The one insidious thought that had crept into her brain and taken residence was that perhaps Susanna was no longer alive. After all, it had been nearly two weeks since her capture, and if she hadn’t been fed properly—

“My wife never got on with her sister, so I want to be sure Esmeralda has no seat in any of the funeral coaches.”

—she could have withered away by now. Violet clung to the idea that Susanna was a resourceful girl, and had found her way from a workhouse to Morgan Undertaking, so perhaps she’d find a way to escape and return once again.

“Do you know of a good photographer who can create a nice card with my wife’s picture on it?” The man was close to tears. Violet snapped back to the present.

“I do, sir, and let me assure you that your dear wife will be the epitome of good health and vitality when I am done with her. You will be most pleased with the results of the ambrotype.”

The husband smiled in gratitude, then launched into a tale about his wife’s love of border collies, enumerating the five different dogs they’d owned over the course of their marriage.

This was a common reaction Violet had witnessed among the grieving. Some were petrified into stone by the shock, while others, especially older family members more prepared for meeting death, would attempt to share every last detail of the deceased’s life, as though the dead person’s memory would be locked away in the coffin unless firmly implanted in others.

“. . . as many mourners as possible to lament my darling’s passing. The world should know what it’s lost. . . .”

After visiting the body and preparing it for both the postmortem photography and a subsequent burial, Violet left with a sheaf of notes, knowing that she’d have to turn most of this over to Will and Harry. She’d no sooner explained the arrangements to be made for this funeral when there was the familiar banging on the door, signaling that mail had arrived.

Among the letters and bills were two pieces that caused Violet’s heart to jump. First was a note from Mary, requesting to come by later in the day to speak with Violet. Mary had never seen it necessary to make a formal request before, but then, Violet had never accused her of kidnapping before. Violet owed her friend an apology, even though she wasn’t convinced George Cooke was innocent.

She asked Harry to run over to Mary’s shop and tell her she was welcome to visit anytime this afternoon.

The second piece of mail was another . . . taunt . . . from Susanna’s kidnapper. Violet sat down to read it, anxious over its contents, yet hopeful that this time he would make an actual demand. She was finally rewarded.

Susanna was still alive. Violet didn’t permit herself even a moment to weep with relief. She needed to figure out what was next, although the answer seemed obvious.

The kidnapper held Susanna at the zoo, or was at least taking her there this afternoon. He planned to lure Violet there to kill her. Susanna’s eventual fate was unclear.

Her last experience having to do with the zoo in Regent’s Park was her mother-in-law’s goring by a rhinoceros. She shuddered. Such a fatal outcome would
not
be in Susanna’s future. Nor hers.

Violet glanced at her watch. It was nearly noon. She had to prepare.

She wrote Sam a note and left it for him in an envelope on the counter, assuming he would be by soon for what had become a daily visit. “Will,” she said to her assistant as she fastened on her hat and gloves, “I think I know where Susanna is and I’m off to retrieve her. Make sure Mr. Harper gets this note.”

“Truly, Mrs. Morgan? Where is she?”

“I don’t have time to explain. Just be sure he sees the note when he stops by.”

“But—”

Violet didn’t stop to listen in her haste to leave. She walked home and prepared herself for what would happen this afternoon, changing into a less restrictive corset to wear under her black dress and choosing sturdy boots to replace her regular heeled shoes.

She packed a bag with a change of clothes for Susanna, a wedge of cheese as a snack for her, and a knife from the kitchen drawer. Violet had no idea if she had the nerve to kill another human being, but if it came down to her or Susanna’s kidnapper, or if he threatened Susanna in any way, well, Violet would not be responsible for her ensuing rage.

After kneeling at the foot of Susanna’s bed in a quick prayer for success and assuring Mrs. Softpaws, who had hardly left Susanna’s bed in days, that Susanna would be home soon, Violet left, taking a hack to Regent’s Park. The zoo was on the eastern edge of the park, the grounds of which were once filled with fashionable company promenading through its gardens bursting into showy displays of flowers. Today, though, the average citizen found pleasure in the tastefully laid out parterres and zoological attractions.

Violet paid her fee at the entrance gate, located at the right edge of the zoo, and joined the other patrons in a stroll in and among the animal houses and dens in order to find her bearings throughout the park, which might be critical later.

The zoo reminded her of Kensal Green Cemetery, with its winding paths around the various buildings containing animals, and a spiked iron fence surrounding the entire property.

Violet walked along as nonchalantly as possible. She hoped the crunch of gravel under her feet covered the sound of her hammering heart. The zoo’s main path led west back to the bear pit, from the center of which a pole with steps extended up so that the bears could ascend and descend from the pit. A low wall topped with iron rails surrounded the pit. A crowd of visitors were at the spot, offering cakes and fruit to the small black bear that had come up for a look around. An attendant fed the treats to the bear on a long pole, and the bear scooped at them with his paws. Violet imagined it would take little effort for the bear to overcome the wall if he so desired.

Behind the bear pit were buildings for a herd of kangaroos, hyenas with their high-pitched barking and yowls, and raccoons. No lions yet.

The pathway veered off to the south, and Violet found an enclosed area and fountain for aquatic birds, such as geese, pelicans, and swans, to her left and an unusual building on her right that looked almost like a Chinese pagoda. She entered it, struck by the pungent odor inside, and discovered a pair of llamas who were distinctly unimpressed by the gawkers waiting for them to do something amusing. Violet left the llama hut and continued on the path, estimating that she was now about two hundred feet away from the entrance.

The path curved back to the west again, this time to a circular aviary for birds of prey. Violet stopped there briefly, imagining a hawk tearing the flesh from the kidnapper’s face. She looked at her watch again. One o’clock; she needed to finish her survey of the zoo.

Beyond the aviary was a tented refreshment stand, with a scattering of white-clothed tables where patrons sat and enjoyed teas and cakes. It was an elegant setting in such malodorous, cacophonous surroundings. Beyond that were a zebra pen, an enclosure for tortoises, and a set of strange little houses on poles that had monkeys shimmying up and down them as they screeched in protest at some unseen transgressor. One of the monkeys had escaped from his habitat and was begging for food from visitors.

Farther back was an expanse of acreage that looked more recently developed. The buildings were newer and the grounds freshly landscaped. At the entry to this area was a camel house. A short clock tower protruded from the center of the camel house’s roof. Nearly a quarter past one. Violet continued on through the flow of people to another animal house.

Ah, here were the nearsighted and ferocious rhinoceroses. Violet hurried through this enclosure, unwilling to dwell on Ida Morgan’s death. How very dangerous zoos could be.

Further enclosures held other treacherous beasts, including leopards, tigers, and jackals. Finally she reached the place which she had been searching for with trepidation, the lions’ den. A fluffy-maned male and several females restlessly paced the barren enclosure, which smelled musky and stale. One of the females bared her teeth at another who passed by too closely. A wrought iron fence separated the restless animals from spectators. Violet was alone in the den; the only sounds were the padding of cats’ paws across the dirt and an occasional warning growl.

She didn’t like this place one bit, yet she had to remain and study the location. There was only a single doorway in and out of the oval-shaped den, which was larger than most of the zoo’s other structures. Gas lamps lined the walls, although they provided little light as compared to the partially glassed roof that admitted not only light but warmth.

The den’s interior was divided by a fence, which gave visitors about a ten-foot-wide walking area and left around forty feet across for the animals. A padlocked gate in the middle of the fence provided zookeepers access to the beasts. Signs on posts along the pathway in front of the fencing gave the visitor information about the lions’ eating habits, their natural habitat back in Kenya, and how the animals came into the possession of the zoological society.

Other than that, there was nothing else inside the lions’ den. The kidnapper couldn’t hide anywhere, yet neither could Violet.

 

Mary arrived at Morgan Undertaking, only to discover that Violet had gone home for the day.

“Didn’t you just bring me a message a short while ago that Mrs. Morgan welcomed my visit?”

Will apologized. “Mrs. Morgan said she thought she may have discovered where Miss Susanna is, but left in such a hurry I couldn’t really understand what she meant. She left a note for Mr. Harper.”

“But not for me?”

“No, Mrs. Overfelt, I’m sorry.”

Since she’d already closed her own shop for the day, she decided to seek Violet out at her home. It was important that Mary tell her what had happened.

There was no answer when she rang the bell at Violet’s townhome. She rang again and followed it up with several knocks. No sign of life breathed behind the door.

How very curious. First Violet came to her with the most outlandish claims, then she disappeared from her shop with momentous news, yet hardly an explanation.

Had Violet done it intentionally, to force Mary to waste her time coming to Morgan Undertaking and then chasing her down at home?

Perhaps, but the idea didn’t sit well. Certainly Violet had been acting strangely, both toward her and George, but since her friend’s outburst Mary had come to realize that Violet was simply overwhelmed with grief and worry.

George agreed with her, too. She glanced fondly at the ruby and pearl ring that now adorned her finger. As she’d hoped would happen, George proposed marriage, his romantic gesture marred only by the memory of Violet’s visit that night, but she would never forget the moment he slipped the ring—an heirloom he said had passed down through his mother’s side of the family from one of James II’s mistresses—onto her hand. His subsequent kiss at her acceptance was tender and joyful. George had reawakened feelings in her she’d thought buried forever.

Now she wanted to share her good news with Violet, as well as to try to ascertain how her friend had developed her unfounded suspicions against her and George, but Violet was nowhere to be found. This just wasn’t like her. And what was this about Susanna possibly being found?

She looked out into the street below. Nothing but a few nannies walking their charges in perambulators and gossiping with one another. Across the street, an identical row of townhomes faced Violet’s. Should she try visiting some of these homes and asking if the occupants had an idea where Violet was? Mary shook her head. It was more likely that Mr. Harper knew of Violet’s whereabouts. If only she could remember where Violet had once told her he was staying.

 

The minister asked Samuel to meet him at his residence to discuss the latest news on commerce raiders. Before Samuel could finish his report, which was that the commerce raiders he was watching had made contact with Mr. Slade, the criminal known for financing illicit sea voyages such as that of the Morgan brothers, Charles Francis Adams interrupted him.

“Harper, you look dreadful. When was the last time you slept?” Slept in more than random snatches? A lifetime ago.

“I’m fine, sir. I suspect the London air doesn’t agree with me.”

“Nor does it agree with me, but it would seem the air is practically swallowing you whole. Care to join us for luncheon? We received a fresh batch of clams from Boston. It’s being made up into chowder. A fond memory of home, I think.”

“I should probably leave after we discuss what to do next about Mr. Slade. I typically stop each afternoon by—”

“Nonsense. No man from the Bay State can resist a bowl of clam chowder. We can talk more over our meal. In fact, you can even tell me of your quest for Mrs. Morgan’s kidnapper.”