A Crimson Warning

by Tasha Alexander

  In one corner, he had a cabinet where he stored his best whiskies. Four bookcases shared the wall with the fireplace, two on each side. He had a large desk placed underneath the windows so he could look across the street to the park when he was working at it, and two leather chairs with a small, low table between them, sat in front of the fire. And then there were the chess sets. On a table along the wall opposite the windows, he had four sets, each continuously in various stages of play. My favorite was the ivory John Company one, from India, with the kings and queens perched in elaborate seats on top of exquisitely carved elephants. He had a French Regence set with large pieces carved out of wood, and an elaborate German one whose figures were based on Charlemagne, but the one Colin preferred was English. Manufactured by Staunton, its simple bone pieces in red and white sat majestically on a matching papier-mâché board. He kept his mind nimble by working problems on an ongoing basis, and we played frequent games. There were two more sets downstairs in the library.

  A hidden door at the end of the chess table led to Colin’s billiard room, a place he’d occasionally disappear to with his friends. I was bound and determined someday he would teach me how to play. He’d tried several times, but on each occasion when he’d stood behind me, his arms around me, helping me to hold the cue stick properly, I’d become hopelessly distracted. Some things are far more pleasant than billiards could ever hope to be.

  Entering the room, I kissed him hello and flopped into a chair, waiting to speak until he’d placed the bishop in his hand on the rosewood board in front of him.

  “It’s to be Mate in Four,” he said. “I have two ideas, both of which can wait until you’ve told me how your morning was.”

  He shook with mirth as I recounted for him the details of the meeting. “I don’t know which I find more diverting: your planning to call on Conservative members of Parliament to bring them round to radical schools of thought or suggesting to Lady Carlisle you’re concerned about the welfare of zebras.”

  “Are you anti-zebra, then?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Not at all, although I’ll never be convinced the beasts could be happy in London. Or anywhere outside of Africa, for that matter. Please tell me you’re not longing for a pair?”

  “Fear not, dear husband. I’m a confirmed horsewoman, and have no desire to expand my expertise to other species.”

  “Thank heavens for that,” Colin said. “This paint on Lord Sanders’s house is troubling. Is there anything more to the story?”

  “No,” I said. “All I can imagine is someone wanted to cause additional pain to the family. As if the scandal weren’t enough on its own. Have you further news about Mr. Dillman?”

  “Not as of yet,” he said. “Trying to reconstruct his accounts is proving nothing short of a nightmare. Nearly all his records were destroyed in the fire.”

  “What’s to be done?”

  “Lots of interviews with those who had contracts with him.”

  “So you suspect his death had to do with his business?”

  “It seems the most likely motivation,” Colin said. “His personal life has yielded no clues. I would be hard-pressed to name a more honorable man. All I hear when questioning those who knew him are tales of his kindness. I’ve yet to uncover one disgruntled employee or disloyal friend.”

  “I’m not surprised.” I slouched deeper into the supple leather chair. My S-posture was made much easier in the Liberty gown that I’d changed into upon arriving home, with its soft, draping fabric and lack of need for a corset. Its lighter boning offered greater flexibility and range of motion than that to which I was used. I liked being able to slouch.

  My mother, however, did not share my opinion.

  “What on earth are you wearing?” she asked, barging past Davis as he opened the door.

  “Mother, don’t be so dreadful to poor Davis. You didn’t even allow him to announce you. You know I value him above everyone else in the household. I can’t have you scaring him off.”

  “I know, madam, that should I ever leave your service, you would no doubt replace me with a man of lesser character,” my butler said. “One who might not keep you from your husband’s cigars. You can’t possibly think I would stand by and allow such a thing to happen.”

  With that, he exited the room, leaving my mother sputtering in disbelief. “Emily! You are conversing with your servants. Have you lost all of your breeding?” She lowered herself into the chair across from me, keeping her own posture pointedly erect. “Stop slouching. It’s unbecoming.”

  I straightened my spine, pulled back my shoulders, and sighed. “To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, Mother?”

  “I have heard the most scandalous rumor. Talk in the park is that you attended a meeting of the Women’s Liberal Federation this morning. Surely it must be a falsehood.”

  “Not at all,” I said. “I did attend, and enjoyed it greatly.”

  “I will not have it, Emily. I will not be embarrassed by you. Not after the lengths I’ve gone to in what will undoubtedly prove to be a vain attempt to preserve the tattered shreds of your reputation, given all your eccentricities.”

  It would be difficult to discern which of my so-called eccentricities most vexed my mother. She objected to my study of Greek (I adored reading Homer in the original), was appalled when I set to cataloging the works of ancient art housed in England’s great estates (it was mortifying for her to see her daughter apply for admission to her friends’ houses for such a purpose), and despaired at my involvement in criminal investigations. That I was good at it held no sway with her, and no one could suspect my enjoyment of the work might soften her views on the subject.

  Colin cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology, Lady Bromley. It was my own mother who invited Emily to the meeting. I had no idea allowing her to accept the invitation would upset you.” He met my eyes and grinned while my mother sputtered for the briefest of moments before pulling herself taller and composing herself.

  “Mrs. Hargreaves is involved in such groups?” she asked, her mouth very nearly hanging open.

  “Oh, yes. A founding member, in fact,” Colin said. “Perfectly respectable, I assure you.”

  “I don’t like it, Mr. Hargreaves, I don’t.” She shook her head, her expression grim. “I know the difficulties you face in trying to control my daughter, and allowing her to associate with those people—your mother excluded, of course—will not help your cause.”

  “My cause, Lady Bromley, is to see to it your daughter has the happiest of lives. If she requires the Women’s Liberal Federation, she shall have it.”

  “She’s corrupting you,” she said. “I feared as much.”

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing more to be said on the subject,” Colin said.

  They stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to back down, but no one could best my husband when it came to matters of will. My mother, defeated, rose from her seat. “I shall leave you to your unruly wife, Mr. Hargreaves. Heaven help you both.”

  I sighed and sank back deeper into my chair before the door had closed behind her. “She’s exhausting.”

  “Always,” Colin said. “But in a most entertaining way.”

  “You say that only because her energy is not focused on you,” I said, pleased to find that my mother’s interventions no longer sent me spiraling the way they used to. Instead of feeling vaguely ill and something like a disappointment as I used to following similar encounters, I was ready to return to the subject at hand without giving her any further thought. “We were discussing Mr. Dillman. If his friends and employees reveal no clues, where shall you turn next?”

  “I’ll continue to sift through his business dealings. Dillman’s company did a great deal of work for the government, and I want to make sure he wasn’t killed as a result of it.”

  “What sort of work?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “So it’s his work for the government that led you to be asked t
o investigate?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  I frowned. “What is he exporting to the rest of the empire that could land him in trouble? Was he engaging in some sort of official subterfuge?”

  “Not. At. Liberty.” He stared at me, just long enough to let my insides turn to a pleasant, warm mush. Then he bent over and kissed me.

  “I shan’t be distracted from my purpose,” I said, trying not to kiss him back. My effort was halfhearted at best.

  “Oh, yes, you shall.” He narrowed his eyes and pulled a mockingly stern face. “Upstairs, wife.”

  I laughed as in one swift movement he picked me up and carried me towards our bedroom. My body tingled with anticipation and I no longer made any attempt to resist his kisses. At this time in the afternoon, there could be no doubt the servants would be scandalized.

  * * *

  Some hours later, Meg, my maid, interrupted our extremely satisfying—and vigorous—interlude. Truly, marriage was full of the most delightful pleasures. Her knock was more tentative than usual, and she would not meet my eyes when we called for her to enter the room.

  “There’s a lady here for Mr. Hargreaves,” she said, curtsying.

  “No need to be so formal, Meg,” Colin said. “Who is it?”

  “Mr. Davis sent me to fetch you. It’s a Miss Cordelia Dalton. She’s in mourning, sir, and really oughtn’t to be calling on anyone. It must be an emergency.”

  “Thank you, Meg.” He adjusted his tie and slipped on his jacket as she skirted back into the corridor. Meg had been with me from before I’d made my debut, and I was confident no one else was capable of so well taming my hair. Our early days together had their share of rough patches—she had been decidedly xenophobic and it was only through careful and insistent indoctrination that I’d persuaded her to take a more open-minded view of all those things in the world that weren’t English. I’d got her to the point where she admitted to liking Paris. It was one of my finest accomplishments.

  “Cordelia was to marry Mr. Dillman,” I said.

  “I remember Ivy mentioning that,” he said. “Let’s not keep Miss Dalton waiting.”

  We went downstairs and found our visitor huddled in shadows, a black-hemmed handkerchief clutched in her hand. Davis had closed the curtains in deference to the girl’s mourning. She started to rise when we entered the room, but Colin bade her to stay seated.

  “I’m so very sorry for your loss,” I said.

  “It’s beastly of me to come here, I know,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Mama will simply—oh, I can’t even fathom what she’ll do. But I had to see you. Ivy’s told me so much about you, Lady Emily, and everyone knows Mr. Hargreaves is the best at … well, I can’t say I’m precisely sure what it is he does, but I do know the queen quite depends upon him. And if he’s adequate for her…”

  “In what manner can I assist you?” Colin asked, pulling a chair closer to her and sitting down.

  “I understand you were there when Michael’s body”—she gulped a sob—“when he was found.”

  “I was,” Colin said. “Nothing more could have been done for him. I’m terribly sorry, Miss Dalton.”

  “I know that. Please don’t think I was suggesting otherwise. I want his murderer brought to justice, but my parents won’t let me speak to the police.”

  “Do you know something about the crime?” I asked.

  “I’m not entirely certain,” she said. “My father insists it’s nothing, but I can’t believe it’s coincidence.”

  “Please do explain,” Colin said, his voice gentle and reassuring.

  “Nearly a week ago when Michael called to take me for a walk in the park, he told me his house had been vandalized. Someone had thrown red paint all down the front step and the door. He hadn’t particularly thought anything of it beyond it being a nuisance. But now I’ve heard said someone has given the Sanderses’ house the same treatment—and did so right before the rumor broke about Polly. It just seemed to me there must be some connection,” Miss Dalton said.

  “You’re a brave girl to come to us,” Colin said. “And you’ve done the right thing. This is extremely valuable information.”

  “I want you to find him, Mr. Hargreaves,” she said. “I want you to promise me the villain who killed my fiancé will be brought to justice. He took away all my happiness, and left me not even a widow. I’ve barely a right to grieve.”

  My heart broke for her. She’d have a relatively short period of mourning, but before long her parents would have her back on the Marriage Market.

  “I promise you, Miss Dalton, I will find the man who did this,” Colin said. “You have my word. I cannot return your happiness, but you will have justice.”

  “Thank you, sir. I know there’s no one more dependable in the empire,” she said. “Please forgive me, I must rush off if I’m to try to get home before my mother notices I’ve gone.”

  We bundled her back into her carriage and watched it pull away.

  “What do you think of this?” I asked.

  “I’m baffled,” Colin said.

  “Is there a connection between Polly Sanders and Michael Dillman?”

  “There must be.”

  “How can I help you find it?” I asked.

  “Do you have any ideas?”

  “One,” I said.

  4

  No trace of red paint remained on the Sanderses’ door when I reached their house after leaving Colin, who was off to Scotland Yard. Questioning the family seemed to me the most direct, and, hence, best way to begin looking for a connection between the family and Mr. Dillman. Furthermore, the scurrilous gossip about them that was flying through the park disgusted me. Society was delighted to be able to unite against a single family. Perhaps people felt their own shortcomings would be overlooked so long as they had someone else’s reputation to tarnish. This was an attitude I abhorred, and I wanted to make an obvious statement in support of the Sanderses. Calling on them would be a good start.

  I knocked on the door. A lanky servant, awkward in what should have been elegant green-and-gold livery, did a terrible job disguising his surprise at finding a caller. He assured me his mistress and her daughter were at home, and urged me to follow him. I waited in a wide corridor while he secured permission for me to enter.

  When I entered the sitting room, Mrs. Sanders and her daughter shared similar drawn expressions on faces gray with worry. Polly’s eyes, swollen and red, lacked all sparkle. Her mother, dignified and old-fashioned, stood to greet me.

  “Lady Emily, I am more grateful than I can say to see you. As you must imagine, our plight is such that most of society is unwilling to receive, let alone call on, us.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I ran my hands along the cool, smooth surface of the horsehair sofa upon which I sat. “My heart goes out to you, Polly. Have you heard from Lord Thomas?”

  “His father wrote, ending the engagement,” Mrs. Sanders said. Polly sniffed behind a handkerchief. “Their family cannot tolerate such a connection.”

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Sanders, if I speak out of turn. I know not the truth of Polly’s birth, but it seems to me irrelevant. You have never questioned her position as your daughter. Why should anyone else?”

  “You’re very kind,” she said. “But we both know discretion is essential in such matters. Society will accept nearly anything so long as it’s not spoken aloud. Once such a secret’s out, however…”

  “Have you any idea who might be responsible for the rumor?” I asked.

  “It’s no rumor, you may as well know. These things happen, and distraught though I may have been at the time, I can’t say I was surprised. We sent the maid off, of course, but my husband wanted the baby to enjoy the same benefits and comforts as his other children. How could I object?”

  Polly fidgeted in her seat, wrenching her hands.

  “It’s admirable that you did not,” I said.

  “I enjoyed having a little girl to spoil,” she said. “Sons are what we’
re told to want, but after seven of them, I was happy for a daughter, and I’ve loved Polly as much as I would have had she been my own. Now, though, our whole existence is shattered.”

  “It’s dreadfully unfair,” I said. “I know it’s difficult, but can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm your family by exposing your secret?”

  “Not at all. My husband is to receive a knighthood. We’re an honorable and much-respected family.”

  “Yet someone did this to you,” I said. “We must figure out who it was.”

  “For what purpose?” Mrs. Sanders said. “I can’t see how it will do anything but extend the life of the scandal. We’re going to take Polly abroad. Summer on the Continent and winter in Egypt. We’ll not return to England until this talk has quieted.”

  The talk might quiet, but Polly’s reputation would never recover. No doubt her parents were hoping to find, during their travels, a respectable enough gentleman in need of cash, someone willing to overlook the accident of Polly’s birth in favor of her father’s wealth, and agree to marry the girl. If they did not succeed, she had a year, possibly two, before she’d be doomed to the lonely life of a spinster.

  “Did you know Mr. Michael Dillman?” I asked.

  “I’ve heard the name, but can’t say I’m acquainted with the man,” Mrs. Sanders said.

  “He was murdered this week. And before his death, someone painted his door and stoop with red paint, just as someone has done to yours.”

  “Murdered?” She gasped, alarm stretching her thin features. Her daughter shuddered. “I had no idea. I’ve been too consumed by our own troubles to read the papers. Do you think we’re in danger?”

  “I don’t have evidence one way or the other,” I said. “Although it appears this villain has already done his damage to you. Were you acquainted with Mr. Dillman, Polly?” I asked.

  “I know his fiancée better. We were all occasionally at the same parties, and Cordelia might have introduced us. I can’t say I remember.”