'Til Death Do Us Part Page 8

  She let herself out into the service lane and set off for the first of the three funeral parlors on her list. She knew the proprietors. They might be willing to talk to her. They trusted her. After all, they were all in the same business—the business of death.

  The first stop was a small funeral parlor in an unfashionable section of town. For a small gratuity the middle-aged proprietor was happy to discuss the arrangements.

  “The deceased wasn’t elderly,” he confided. “Not at all. Nineteen or twenty perhaps. And it wasn’t a natural death. Murdered she was and that’s a fact.”

  Irene tensed. “Are you certain?”

  “Throat was slit. Hard to mistake that sort of thing. The gentleman who brought her to me told me the story. Very sad. She was a governess who had lost her post after her employer caught her in bed with the master of the house. She found herself starving to death and facing a life on the streets. So she started selling whatever she had to sell to anyone who would pay for it.”

  “She became a prostitute?”

  “Not an uncommon story. I was told that she was murdered by one of her clients. Naturally the family wanted to keep the details out of the press.”

  “Yes, of course,” Irene said.

  “Murder is always awkward for a respectable family, especially a murder like that. The scandal, you know.”

  14

  CALISTA WAS IN her study reviewing her notes in the files of the men she had rejected over the years when Mrs. Sykes appeared in the doorway.

  “Sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, but there’s a client here to see you,” she said.

  “A client?” Calista glanced at the clock. It was nearly five. “But I don’t have any appointments until tomorrow.”

  “It’s Miss Eudora Hastings, ma’am. She says she is here for personal reasons. She tells me it’s quite urgent that she see you immediately.”

  “Yes, of course.” Calista closed the folder she had just opened. “Please show her in, Mrs. Sykes.”

  Eudora was ushered into the study a short time later. She was dressed in her customary quiet manner. The brown gown would have been more appropriate on a woman twice her age. It did nothing for her pretty eyes.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Miss Langley,” she said.

  “Not at all.” Calista motioned toward a chair. “Please sit down.”

  “Thank you.” Eudora perched on the edge of the chair. “I give you my word that I won’t stay for more than a few minutes, but I felt it necessary to talk to you about my brother.”

  “I don’t understand. Is there a problem?”

  “I’m not certain. The thing is, I know that he has called on you twice. I am aware that the first visit concerned me. Afterward, I made it clear to Trent that I intend to remain a client of your agency. I believed that the matter was settled.”

  “That was my impression.”

  “But today I understand that he called here again and then went out for a drive with you.” Eudora closed her eyes briefly. “Oh, dear, I’m making a dreadful mess of this.”

  It was obvious that she was flustered and had no idea how to begin the conversation. It was far from the first time that Calista had dealt with a nervous client. She pushed the folder aside, folded her hands on top of her desk, and smiled her most reassuring smile.

  “Take your time,” she said. “Perhaps I can help you. As I’m sure you’re aware, your brother initially had some reservations about your association with my agency. But today he came to tell me that he has withdrawn his objections. I hope you now feel more comfortable with our arrangement.”

  “Yes, I know you somehow put Trent’s concerns to rest. I’m very glad because I had no intention of severing my association with your agency but at the same time I did not want my brother to worry about me.”

  “If you and Mr. Hastings are now in accord, I must assume that it is some other issue that brought you here today.”

  “To be quite blunt about it, I am worried about Trent.”

  Calista stilled. “I see. He mentioned that he is assisting me in a private matter, then?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I realize that it is none of my affair. Nevertheless—”

  “Nevertheless, you are concerned about him.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “I understand. You fear that he may be arrested,” Calista said. “I have the same concerns. Trust me when I tell you that I tried to dissuade him from his plan.”

  Eudora stared at her, shocked. “What are you talking about? Why on earth would anyone arrest Trent?”

  Calista cleared her throat. “What, exactly, has your brother said to you, Miss Hastings?”

  “It wasn’t what he said, it was what he did.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

  “I told you, he went for a drive in a cab with you today.”

  “Yes, he did. Surely you are not alarmed by the knowledge that the two of us were alone together. We both know that I am of an age and station when that sort of thing no longer causes gossip. I do hope you are not about to tell me that you feel that I and my business have somehow been compromised by your brother. That would be going too far.”

  “I am not afraid that you will be compromised, Miss Langley. My brother would never do anything to harm a woman. He is the one I am concerned about.”

  “I see.” Calista nodded. “Then it is his safety that concerns you?”

  “His safety? No, of course I’m not worried about his physical safety. It is the safety of his heart that concerns me.”

  “I find myself utterly bewildered, Miss Hastings.”

  “Trent appears to have developed a rather keen interest in you.”

  The light began to dawn.

  “Oh, dear,” Calista said. “I’m afraid there has been a serious misunderstanding.”

  “I know my brother very well. His mood underwent a dramatic change after he returned from his first visit here to Cranleigh Hall yesterday. Mind you, he didn’t seem particularly happy or pleased.”

  “I see.”

  “But he appeared to be more—I’m not sure how to put this—more energized. Aroused might be a more accurate word.”

  “No,” Calista said quickly, “it wouldn’t. Not accurate. Not at all.”

  Eudora ignored her. “In recent years he has retreated more and more from daily life. He has always spent long hours in his study, writing, but lately it is as if he lives inside that room. He seems to be watching his own life pass by as though it were a rather dull play.”

  I know the feeling, Calista thought.

  “Just the other day my brother Harry suggested that Trent might be sinking into depression. But when Trent returned from that first interview with you, it was as though he had been given a strong tonic,” Eudora concluded. “I took it as a good sign.”

  “Of what?”

  “I wasn’t sure at first. Trent was definitely in a fine temper. We had a great quarrel. It was quite refreshing—for both of us. We haven’t argued in years. Nevertheless I confess I was bewildered. Today, however, when he made an excuse to call upon you again I realized that something odd had, indeed, happened between the two of you. And then I discovered that he actually invited you to go out for a drive. I can’t recall the last time he went out for a drive with a lady.”

  “That is not what happened. Well, not exactly.”

  “I will be blunt,” Eudora said. “My brother is a healthy man. From time to time he has engaged in discreet liaisons with the odd widow. But that is the thing, you see. He is always discreet.”

  “I see.”

  “Generally speaking, the women he becomes involved with do not expect or even desire marriage. They are invariably ladies who enjoy their widowhood and their financial independence.”

  “I see,” Calista repeated, for lack of anyth
ing more intelligent. She tried to think of some way to put a halt to the conversation but she was mesmerized by Eudora’s words.

  “Trent’s affairs tend to stagger along for a few months and then they simply collapse,” Eudora continued. “Either the lady grows bored or Trent loses interest. I have always told myself that I would be thrilled if he developed truly strong feelings for a woman. But now that it may be happening, I am uneasy.”

  Calista tightened her clasped hands. With an effort she managed to keep her expression calm and reassuring.

  “So that is what this is about,” she said briskly. “You have been plain with me, Miss Hastings. I shall be equally honest with you. When I was young I dreamed of marriage and a family as most women do. But that was not to be and I have directed my energies and my passions into my profession. I am beyond the age when I must be acutely concerned with my personal reputation. I have come to savor my freedom. I do not answer to any man and I consider that a great blessing, I assure you.”

  Eudora appeared briefly distracted. “I do understand. The older one gets, the less one is willing to be ordered about by a man.”

  “That is certainly true in my case. I am far from wealthy but my business provides me with a good measure of financial security. I do not need a man to support me. In short, Miss Hastings, I have no designs on your brother. He is quite safe with me.”

  Except for his plan to commit a small burglary on my behalf, she amended silently.

  Eudora’s mouth quivered. “That is what I’m afraid of, Miss Langley.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  But Eudora was no longer paying attention. Tears were leaking from her eyes and she was fumbling for a hankie in her handbag.

  Calista grabbed a clean handkerchief from her desk drawer, leaped to her feet, and hurried around the desk. She thrust the linen square into Eudora’s hand.

  “What on earth is the matter, Miss Hastings?”

  Eudora seized the handkerchief and blotted her eyes.

  “I apologize for making a fool of myself,” she whispered. “I do not know what I hoped to accomplish by coming here today. It is just that I felt compelled to do something, you see, because it is all my fault.”

  Calista took a step back. “I am quite lost now. What is your fault?”

  “The fact that my brother has never married and never had a family of his own. Because of me, Trent’s life has been ruined.”

  15

  IRENE RETURNED TO her shop with the information she needed to confirm her suspicions. None of the three women who had been buried in the J. P. Fulton patented Safety Coffins had been elderly. They had all been young, attractive governesses with little in the way of family except the well-dressed man who brought in the bodies.

  None of the women had died of natural causes. All had been murdered in the same manner. Their throats had been slit. In each case the bodies had been discovered by a male relative who told the funeral directors that he had not summoned the police because of a fear of scandal.

  The memento mori items and the bells had all been ordered by the customer while the women were still alive. The coffins had been ordered after the deaths.

  The description of the man who had delivered the bodies and paid the funeral directors for their discretion was always the same—a fine-looking, respectable gentleman, well-spoken and fashionably dressed. He claimed to be a distant relative of the victim who was willing to pay well for the funeral directors’ discretion. But he had used a different name on each occasion.

  She opened a drawer and took out a sheet of black-bordered notepaper. She was not personally in mourning—her elderly husband had succumbed to a stroke over a decade earlier and she did not miss him in the slightest. But she always used black-bordered stationery for the same reason that she wore stylish black gowns. It was simply sound business to take advantage of every opportunity to advertise her wares.

  She wrote a quick message and inserted the notepaper into a black-bordered envelope. Then she went to the rear door of her shop and summoned one of the boys who slept in a nearby doorway. She did not want to risk sending her message by the post.

  She gave the envelope and a coin to the street urchin.

  “See that this is delivered immediately. Wait for a reply. There will be another coin when you return.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The boy, excited by the prospect of being able to afford a meal that night, took off at a run.

  Irene went back upstairs to wait for the response to her note. If there was one thing she had learned from J. P. Fulton, it was that there were a number of creative ways to increase one’s income if one remained alert to opportunities.

  Those engaged in the funeral and mourning goods trade were often in a position to learn dark family secrets. After all, nothing hinted at the truth like death. An unmarried daughter who died in childbirth? A woman beaten to death by a brutal husband? A husband who succumbed to an accidental dose of rat poison? All such secrets could be quietly interred with the body by an accommodating funeral director, assuming someone was willing to pay for the silence.

  Discretion was the key to a successful business.

  16

  “I’M NOT SURE what to say,” Calista said.

  Eudora crumpled the hankie in one hand. “Something happened a few years ago—something quite dreadful. My brother saved me but in the process he was scarred for life. Because of those terrible marks on his face, the woman he loved ended their association.”

  “Really?” Calista frowned. “That seems rather unlikely.”

  “It’s the truth. Trent has never loved another woman, not the way he loved Althea. As I said, there have been occasional, discreet liaisons in the past few years. But after Althea broke his heart, he never loved again.”

  “And you blame yourself.”

  “Yes. Suffice it to say that the damage that was done to his face was intended to be inflicted on me.”

  “Good heavens. I had no idea.”

  Eudora mopped her eyes. “We never talk about it, not even within the family. But it’s always there, somehow, if you know what I mean.”

  “I understand family secrets. May I ask how old you were at the time of the . . . incident?”

  “Fifteen. There are three of us but I’m the youngest. Our father died when I was twelve. Mother remarried when I was fourteen. Our stepfather proved to be a brute of a man. Mama was dreadfully unhappy. When she drowned in the pond many said she had suffered from lingering melancholia. But that wasn’t true. And then came the incident that scarred Trent for life. I won’t trouble you with the details. Suffice it to say that it all ended with him losing Althea.”

  “Who, exactly, was Althea?”

  “The daughter of a family that lived in the same village. Althea and Trent knew each other from childhood. They fell in love when Althea was eighteen and Trent was twenty-one. But Trent wanted to see the world before they got engaged. Althea promised to wait for him and she did. But shortly after he returned the incident occurred. She could no longer abide the sight of his face.

  “All these years Harry and I have worried because Trent seemed unable to love again. But now I find myself in a dreadful panic because he has taken a keen interest in you.”

  “For heaven’s sake, your brother and I shared a cab,” Calista said. “There is no great love affair blossoming here, Miss Hastings.”

  “I know my brother. He would not have paid another call on you today, let alone gone out driving with you, if he were not very interested—not when he has another chapter in his latest novel due at the publisher’s.” Eudora’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that you cannot return his interest?”

  “There are no affections to be returned.”

  “He would never have met you if it hadn’t been for me. I cannot bear the thought of being once again responsible for Trent enduring ano
ther doomed love affair.”

  It was time to take command of the situation, Calista thought. Exasperated, she went back behind her desk but she did not sit down.

  “For heaven’s sake, Miss Hastings, calm yourself,” she said. “You have allowed your imagination to run riot in this matter. I assure you, there is nothing of a romantic nature about my relationship with your brother. He has kindly offered to lend me the benefit of his expertise and advice regarding a certain situation in which I find myself. That is all there is to it.”

  Eudora stared at her. “You require the expertise and advice of an author of detective fiction?”

  “It is not his writing skills that I need. It is his investigative talents.”

  “But he doesn’t have any. Trent is not a real detective. He only writes stories that feature one.”

  “I understand, but he has volunteered his services and, to be frank, it is not as if I have a great many alternatives. None, actually. I am attempting to identify a person who seems to have focused his attentions on me. I do not want those attentions and I have done nothing to encourage them. He sends nasty little gifts and notes that have lately become quite threatening.”

  “How horrible.” Eudora paused to absorb that information. “It must be very unnerving.”

  “I will be the first to admit that the situation has started to affect my nerves.”

  “You have no idea who is doing this?”

  “None.” Calista glanced at the folders on her desk. “Although I have a theory that he may be one of the men I rejected as a client.”

  “Someone who wishes to exact revenge, perhaps?”

  “That would seem to be a distinct possibility.”

  “You say my brother is investigating this matter for you?”

  “We are investigating it together,” Calista said. She wanted to get that point quite clear. “Mr. Hastings believes he can be of some assistance to me. In fact he more or less insisted on giving me the benefit of his expertise. Rest assured you can attribute any improvement in his mood to the simple fact that he is intrigued by the prospect of conducting a real investigation.”