“Unfortunately, yes.” Jonathan nodded as he also resumed his seat. “The victim was Alfred Burgess, a delivery driver for the Bluebird Furniture Emporium.”
“The wagon Freddy saw.” Miss Bremerton’s eyes lit up. She frowned. “But then, did Alfred Burgess murder Jane Duffin and George Lewis?”
“I think not,” Jonathan said. “The Bluebird Furniture Emporium shares a service lane with the Belcourt Assembly Hall. Our theory is he was returning from a delivery precisely when the murderer—or murderers—needed a way to transport the bodies.”
“He was killed for his wagon,” Miss Bremerton said. “How terrible.” She squinted up at the photograph, and Jonathan hoped it was far enough away that she could not make out the details. “Where was his body found?”
“A worksite in Spitalfields,” Sergeant Lester said. “Within a block or so of the others.”
“And how was he . . . ?” She winced.
“Bludgeoned like Lewis—maybe by the same weapon,” the sergeant said.
Miss Bremerton took out her notebook. She studied the board for a long time, her gaze moving from pictures to lists to names, jotting down notes as she did. Finally she shook her head. “We are making no progress.” She turned the page in her book with a slap of paper. She drew broad strokes with her pencil, sketching what Jonathan assumed was the board. “Our suspect list grows along with the murders,” she continued. “If anything, we are further from solving the case than before.”
Jonathan could not argue, even though her words were rather an insult to his police work and the constabulary. Her conclusion was spot on.
“What do you propose, Detective?” Miss Bremerton asked. “Shall we go back to the scenes? Interview everyone on these lists?” She gave a frustrated sigh.
Jonathan leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk and hoping to look confident in what he was about to say, even though he felt exactly the reverse. “The ball tomorrow night,” he said, mouth going dry. “I . . . me . . .” He cleared his throat. “For me to attend the ball. And Sergeant Lester. It is the best plan.” The words fell out of his mouth in a mess that made his face redden. He must sound like a simpleton. He glanced at the sergeant, seeing the man nod in agreement.
“But we cannot execute it without your help, my lady,” Sergeant Lester said.
“I see.” Miss Bremerton blinked and frowned, looking from the sergeant to Jonathan. Her look turned scrutinizing.
Was she seeing an uneducated and unsophisticated man who’d dared suggest that he could rise above his class and blend with the highest circles of Society? Jonathan shifted in his seat, feeling exposed and foolish.
She pulled her lips to the side, her gaze still on him, then glanced at the sergeant before turning back to Jonathan. “Obviously you will wish to intermingle with the Kingsclere Hunting Club members. But you do not wish for them to know you are police officers, or they will not speak freely in front of you.” She chewed on her lip. “But how will they be convinced you belong among them . . . ?” Her voice was low, trailing off as she considered.
Jonathan squirmed under her scrutiny. “I know I am not well-spoken, and I have little experience dancing or—”
“You have much more worthy attributes, sir, and a far superior character than any two members of elite Society combined,” she muttered, staring at a spot over his shoulder. “Do not trouble yourself on that account.” She waved her hand in the air as if to flick the idea away. Another moment passed, and Miss Bremerton’s gaze sharpened. She looked between the men and rose quickly to her feet, a grin growing on her face. “I believe I have an idea.”
Jonathan still hadn’t fully processed her words. Had she complimented him? He contemplated the words and realized she had indeed bestowed a compliment. And she’d given it as an afterthought, a distracted utterance, as if it were something obvious and she’d not said it merely to flatter him. A warm glow expanded inside his chest as he considered her words. Much more worthy attributes and a far superior charact—
“Detective Graham, are you listening to me?”
Jonathan realized Miss Bremerton and Sergeant Lester were both staring at him, as if waiting for him to speak. “I’m sorry,” he said, pushing away the thoughts and bringing the moment back into focus. “My mind wandered.”
Miss Bremerton gave a humph sound and put her hand on the desk as though to force him to focus. “Detective, I asked what do you know of Serbia.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Serbia? The country?”
“Yes, the country.” Her lips twitched.
“Very little, I’m afraid. I don’t see what that has to do—”
“For this plan to work, we have much to prepare.” Miss Bremerton’s eyes were bright with excitement.
“What is the plan?” Jonathan asked.
She continued on as if she hadn’t heard him. “It will require some deception.” She grinned, showing her dimples. “But you must trust me.”
“The plan, my lady?” Sergeant Lester prompted.
“No time to explain.” She pushed her notebook into her bag. “I have too much to do. Come to my house this afternoon at three o’ clock—yes that should be enough time while my family is away—and I will reveal all.” She whirled and hurried from the room.
Jonathan and Sergeant Lester stared at one another, and Jonathan wondered to what he had just committed them.
Chapter 14
The carriage came to a stop, jolting Sophie from the spinning thoughts in her head. She looked through the window, recognizing the storefront of the Illustrated London News.
The balloon article! In all the excitement she’d completely forgotten the work was due. Thank goodness Jasper kept better track of her errands than she did. She couldn’t ask for a better driver.
She hurried through the office door, hoping the errand would be quick and wondering how she could possibly get everything done in such a short time. There were lists to make and messages to send, and she needed to speak with Mimi.
Sophie walked straight through the maze of activity to the editor’s desk, taking out her notebook from her bag as she greeted Mr. Leonard.
“There you are, Miss Propriety.” He blew out a puff of smoke and glanced at the clock, his frown making his similarities to a walrus all the more apparent. “Just a few moments shy of deadline.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” She turned quickly through the pages, searching for the article and drawing, and as she did so, some of the other papers slid out onto the floor.
Mr. Leonard picked up the drawings from the murder investigation, his brows rising as he glanced at them. “What have we here?”
“I beg your pardon.” Sophie snatched them from his hand, replacing them with her article and balloon drawing. “Here they are.” She stuck the pictures back into her notebook. A drop of sweat dripped down her back. Calm down, Sophie.
Mr. Leonard took the article and sat back with his pen. He slashed lines through words, muttering to himself as he read.
As the editor worked, Sophie considered what exactly to do first. I shall need to find a tailor who will work fast, and a cobbler . . .
Mr. Leonard circled an entire paragraph, drawing an arrow showing where it should be moved. He made a few notes at the end of the story, then put the paper into his basket.
Oh, and a barber . . .
The editor glanced at the balloon drawing and handed it back to Sophie to take to the engravers.
She crossed the room to the engravers’ corner. I wonder if there is time for dance instruction. The waltz, at the very least. The steps are easy enough if he can just master the rhythm . . .
Mr. Potts scowled when she approached.
“How do you do today, sir?” She smiled as she handed him the illustration.
“More lace.” He grunted, tossing the paper onto the table.
Sophie o
pened her mouth to say something complimentary but was interrupted by a woman’s voice calling to her.
“Lady Sophronia!” Mrs. Ingram waved and motioned her over.
“Please excuse me.” Sophie was glad for an excuse to leave the crotchety man. She crossed through the crowded office. “Mrs. Ingram. How very nice to see you.”
“I’ve the information you requested.” The research assistant pushed aside a mess of wayward curls and dug through a stack of papers, sliding out a folder. She turned it, glancing at the name on the edge. “Tom Stackhouse. Tragic story.”
Sophie had almost forgotten that she’d requested the information in the first place. “Thank you very much.” She opened the folder and glanced inside, seeing articles and reports, then closed it, deciding to read it later. She had enough on her mind today. “I am much obliged,” Sophie said. She opened her bag to put the folder with her notebook, but the notebook was gone.
She found it right where she’d left it, on Mr. Leonard’s desk, and stuck it into her bag. “Good day to you, sir.” She called the farewell as she rushed through the door and back into the carriage.
Once the carriage started moving, she sat back, heart beating, and sighed loudly. I must calm myself, or I shall truly be fit for Bedlam.
Za
Holloway, the butler, announced Detective Graham, Sergeant Lester, and Constable Merryweather exactly at three o’clock, and he showed them to the first-floor sitting room.
When the men entered, their eyes went wide at the sight of the four young ladies and one elderly woman with her dog, waiting for them.
“My lady . . .” The detective hesitated in the doorway.
“Please, Detective, just hear me out.” Sophie hurried over and took the detective’s arm before he could change his mind and leave.
The other men joined them, nodding to the ladies.
“First, introductions must be made,” Sophie said. “Grandmother, you remember Detective Graham and Sergeant Lester. Allow me to introduce Constable Merryweather.” Sophie continued. “Constable, this is my grandmother, Lady Mather.”
Constable Merryweather greeted Mimi, looking confused as he bowed.
“And, gentlemen, these are my dear friends,” Sophie said. “Miss Vivian Kirby, Miss Hazel Thornton, Miss Elizabeth Miller, and Miss Dahlia Lancaster.” She indicated each woman in turn.
The men and women exchanged the appropriate bows and greetings, and Sophie led Detective Graham farther into the room to a small sofa across from the hearth and sat beside him.
The large room was usually arranged with smaller seating areas throughout, where groups could visit more intimately. But Sophie and Mimi had moved the chairs and sofas into a U shape facing the hearth. More suitable for a meeting, they’d decided.
Since Detective Graham was the person in charge of the operation, Sophie had thought he should sit at the head of the group. Besides, from that spot it was more difficult to escape. The other men sat in chairs on either side of the sofa.
On either side, between the men and the fireplace, two women sat on a settee—Elizabeth and Vivian beside Sergeant Lester, and Hazel and Dahlia next to Constable Merryweather. Directly next to the fireplace, Mimi sat in her favorite chair beside Elizabeth.
In the center of the grouping was a low table with plates of biscuits, pastries, and sandwiches. Sophia had noticed how Sergeant Lester had enjoyed tea before, and she wanted the men to remain in a pleasant mood. She’d also added a bowl filled with peppermints, thinking Detective Graham would appreciate it.
Dorrit alternated positions between her pillow near the window and Mimi’s lap.
A soft breeze blew the sheer curtains, stirring fresh flowers on the tables as Sophie poured the tea. But despite the comfortable setting, friendships, and good food, there was no conversation. The company waited for her to reveal the reason they’d all been gathered.
At Sophie’s urging as she resumed her seat, Constable Merryweather and Sergeant Lester filled their plates, but Detective Graham held his cup and saucer in his lap and looked wary, sitting on the edge of the cushion as if ready to bolt at any moment.
Sophie was tempted to grab on to his arm again to keep him from doing just that. She needed to speak quickly and make her plan sound convincing. She cleared her throat. “I realize you didn’t expect to encounter so many people, Detective. But as my grandmother and I spoke, we realized it would be advantageous to have additional allies involved with the plan. And you shall understand why presently.”
“What exactly is the plan, my lady?” Detective Graham asked. His expression had not changed, and she knew the next few moments were crucial if she were to convince him.
“You shall attend the ball in disguise,” Sophie said. “As a Serbian count.” The declaration came out more dramatically than she’d intended.
The other Orchids shared surprised glances, and Sergeant Lester covered his mouth as if hiding a smile. Constable Merryweather stared, mouth filled with biscuit.
Detective Graham shook his head and moved to stand, but Sophie rose first, planting herself directly in front of him, her knees nearly touching his, so that if he stood, he’d knock her over or possibly spill his tea. “Please listen—it will only take a moment.”
He sighed and settled back in the sofa, waving for her to continue. His gaze was flat, his expression clearly conveying that he believed this to be a waste of his time.
Sophie was not deterred. The plan she and Mimi had devised was a sound one. She had only to convince the detective of it. She stepped back to where she could address the entire group in front of the hearth, though she spoke to Detective Graham.
“Sir, it is not as ridiculous as it first seems. As you no doubt are aware, the guests who will be at the ball are all members of a very exclusive group. Every single attendee is well acquainted with every other. And not only by name—they know each other’s families, associates, business dealings, and even private relationships. To pretend you are a member of high Society whom nobody has happened to meet before would be an impossibility.”
Some of the young ladies nodded their agreement.
“I considered claiming you as a distant relative,” Sophie said. “But of course, my parents would know better.” She raised a finger. “And that’s when I realized that in order for nobody to wonder why they’d never met you before, we must be more distantly acquainted.”
Sophie glanced at Mimi and, seeing her grandmother’s nod, continued. “Foreign visitors are afforded a measure of forgiveness when their words, appearance, or actions are not precisely au courant. Of course people realize customs are different in various parts of the world. And not only are the faux pas overlooked, they are celebrated.”
“People do love to pretend tolerance of foreigners,” Elizabeth muttered.
Sophie smiled at her friend. She glanced around at the others in the room, glad that none seemed to be disagreeing—so far, so good. “To claim that you are Canadian or American presents equal difficulty as to why nobody has ever heard of you. Too many people have connections across the sea, and if you were asked about a person whom you should know, it would be difficult to maintain the ruse. Your mistakes would be discovered. And it is the same with France—not to mention, nearly every person at the ball will be fluent in French, and I did not know whether any of you—”
“I do not speak French.” Detective Graham’s expression had grown a bit less skeptical, but he was still far from convinced.
She nodded. “The rail line from Subotica has recently been completed, giving a perfectly reasonable reason for a Serbian dignitary to visit, and the country’s borders are in such turmoil between the Austro-Hungarian dual monarchy, the Ottomans, the Belgrade revolution, the Hapsburg Empire, the Kingdom of Croatia-Slavonia . . .” She counted off the various problems facing Eastern Europe on her fingers. “Very few people outside the region have a full understa
nding of the politics. Nobility loses or gains land and titles, and the rulers, especially the local ones, change often enough that nobody—especially someone from as far away as England—can keep track. No questions would be asked you could not answer, and they would not know if you made a mistake, especially if you pretended limited understanding of the English language.” She finished the explanation in a rush as she ran out of breath.
“Brilliant,” Vivian said, holding up her index finger. “Royalty with a vague pedigree will be believed without question, and one would not wish to admit one’s ignorance of the Serbian political climate.”
Sophie smiled, clasping her hands together, feeling excited that her argument seemed to be convincing. “Mimi and I have devised an identity for you.” Detective Graham’s expression was thoughtful—an improvement from skepticism. “My grandmother has an old . . . ah, friend.” A blush started on her neck. “Mimi, perhaps you should explain.”
“Yes, dear.” Mimi sat up straighter, looking around the group. “You see, after my husband died, I traveled quite extensively. During my stay in Venice, I made a very good friend, Count Jovan Branković. He had recently lost his wife as well, and we took to one another immediately.” The older woman’s eyes went soft, and she gave a gentle smile. “Jovan’s eyes were the most striking green, and oh my, did he ever love to walk along a moonlit beach. He was so very attentive to me and quite passionate—”
“Mimi,” Sophie interrupted. She could feel her blush spreading and did not dare to glance at the men. Their discomfort at the direction the conversation had taken was palpable. She glanced at her friends.
Hazel and Dahlia had both gone red as well. Elizabeth did a poor job of hiding her giggle behind a handkerchief. Vivian remained, of course, unflustered, watching Mimi thoughtfully.
“Perhaps you will tell how Count Branković was received in London,” Sophie, prompted.
Mimi broke off a bit of a biscuit and fed it to Dorrit. “Oh yes, well, of course Society fawned over him, wished to know all about him, to be around him and be noticed by him. He spoke very little English, and his dancing was atrocious, but a more charming man you could not hope to meet.”
Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society, #1) Page 15
