The Butterfly Conspiracy

by Vivian Conroy

  He thanked her and ran off.

  “He’s a good lad, I suppose,” the woman said. “He can’t help it his father died. Went to work in the fields, fell off a cart, got trampled.”

  She told it as if it was a mere observation, not a sad family tale. “She doesn’t want to remarry, but she’ll have to. A woman needs a man’s protection. Especially her. Pretty little girl, she is.”

  The old woman looked up at Merula. “About your age, she is.”

  Merula gasped. “That can’t be. She can’t have a son that age if she’s as old as I am.”

  “James is her husband’s boy, from his first marriage. Wife died from lung trouble. Very sad. He remarried, and together they had the girls. Twins. Three they will be around Michaelmas.”

  Merula couldn’t quite imagine having three-year-old twins at her age, but she supposed most girls here married young and started families right away. “You were generous with the coal,” she said.

  The woman shrugged. “Like I said, James is a good lad, even if he is a little wild sometimes. He needs a man around to see that he doesn’t get into trouble with the law. Yes, she will have to remarry.” She suddenly studied Merula. “And what is a fine lady like you doing here? Lost?”

  “I’m staying with someone. I need to … be away from home for a while.”

  The old woman tutted. “They say that the rich people have all the pleasures and none of the trouble we have here, but I think rich people have their own troubles. Bless you for helping me with the coals, girl. You have a good heart.”

  “Merula!” Raven appeared beside them, his shirt undone at the top, his hair whipped up by the wind. He looked like a rake from one of the romantic tales Julia loved to read.

  He said, “What are you doing here? It isn’t safe.”

  The old woman cocked her head. “If your husband finds you, he might shoot you. We had something like that last month. Lady hiding here with her lover and her husband came and shot them both. Scotland Yard made sure it didn’t get into any newspapers. Seems she was an influential lady.”

  “I’m not married,” Merula rushed to assure her. “And I’m not doing anything illegal either.”

  Raven hitched a brow at her and said to the woman, “We’d better be looking out for some breakfast now. Good day.”

  Ushering her along with his arm around her shoulders, he whispered. “Nothing illegal! You’re wanted by the police. Had you forgotten?”

  “She thought I had run away from my husband and was hiding here with…” You.

  Merula found this whole idea inexplicably painful and thought it better not to expound on it. “I only wanted to assure her there would be no husband coming to shoot us.”

  “No, there might just be conspirators who want to deliver another threat.” Raven clutched her tighter. “I don’t understand how you got it into your head to leave the house alone.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said demurely. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Raven exhaled and let go of her. Straightening up, he walked beside her with his hands folded on his back. “You’re just a naïve girl who needs to be protected against her own whims.”

  “You’re not my brother or any relative of mine. You can’t tell me what to do.” Merula whipped back a lock of her hair, and Raven, looking at her to retort, burst into laughter. “Right now you look like a naughty toddler who fell into the coal cellar.”

  Merula looked down in horror at her smudged hands and fled ahead of him to the house so she could wash up.

  When she came down again, still feeling rather silly, everybody was seated around the table, Mrs. Lamb and Raven on the chairs while Bowsprit sat on the floor cross-legged and Galileo perched on a barrel, reading through some notes on a crinkled sheet of paper. The table with the neat cloth held three plates, a basket with bread, a small piece of cheese, and some bacon. Mrs. Lamb sat smiling as if she enjoyed playing hostess to them all.

  Raven stood to give his seat to Merula and encouraged her to take some bread with cheese. Wondering how much of it was to last perhaps all week, Merula denied wanting any cheese and ate her bread bare, praising Mrs. Lamb for her strong coffee. Mrs. Lamb explained she had got some via a niece who cleaned at a coffeehouse. “She doesn’t like being paid in beans, but we all love it,” she said with a crooked smile.

  Merula praised the coffee some more and then the neat little house and especially the lace curtains that were so white. “That is because Anne knows how to wash them right,” Mrs. Lamb enthused. “Anne learned so much since she went into service. I was worried about her at first, having heard the stories, but I’m glad now.”

  “Nothing happens in our household,” Merula assured her. “Heartwell is a very decent man. A little garrulous perhaps, but he doesn’t allow the footmen to dally with the girls.”

  Mrs. Lamb seemed to want to say something, then decided against it. “Anne has done well for herself,” she concluded and leaned back against the worn pillow.

  Merula decided that once this whole ordeal was over, she’d have to think up a way to reward this sweet old woman for her hospitality. Perhaps a new pillow would be a good idea? Or some extra food?

  But it would have to be done in such a way that Mrs. Lamb didn’t feel as if it were charity. She had her pride.

  “It is unfortunate,” Galileo observed, “that almonds are not treated like strychnine or cyanide. Chemists who sell poisons are usually careful with them and remember to whom they sold them. Or they even keep a poison ledger registering their sales. But almonds are easy to buy and considered quite innocuous. I don’t think we can trace who bought the almonds that delivered the essence.”

  “For the moment, I would be insanely happy,” Raven observed sourly, “if we found a way to speak with the elusive Mrs. Bridgewater. But I suppose you can’t expect to find her in a city of millions. Disregarding your theory”—he nodded at Merula—“that she left the region.”

  “You have to talk to Polly,” Mrs. Lamb said with a nod. “She knows so many people. We all joke that if you know someone and you talk to Polly long enough, she knows someone who knows them too. She makes you feel like everybody is everybody’s cousin. In the third degree at least. She runs a boarding house.”

  Merula felt excitement rush through her veins. “Is there any way to entice this Polly away from her boarding house so we can talk to her in private?”

  Mrs. Lamb shrugged. “Her daughter usually comes to help her clean in the mornings. I know Polly has a sweet tooth. She’s especially fond of that terribly sweet thing. Nougat or something.”

  “I see.” Raven threw Bowsprit a look. “I think you will have to go and buy half a pound of the best nougat you can find and invite Polly to come sample it here. Include some with nuts, so we can start a conversation about almonds.”

  Bowsprit jumped to his feet. Although he had looked content sitting there, he was obviously glad to be able to do something. When Raven reached into his pocket, he said quickly, “It’s taken care of, my lord.” He then left the room.

  Raven retracted his hand, and Merula wondered if Bowsprit worried about Raven showing he had money on him in this place. The people here were mostly poor, and the kind of money that Raven carried with him to purchase a book or tobacco meant to them the difference between cold porridge with lumps or a decent breakfast.

  Or perhaps no breakfast at all? What would it be like to have children and no idea how to feed them?

  Mrs. Lamb gestured at the cheese on the table. “Don’t you want some, Miss?”

  “It’s fine this way,” Merula said, chewing on the bread. She smiled at Mrs. Lamb. “Thank you for taking us in. We didn’t know quite where to turn.”

  Mrs. Lamb shook her head. “That one like you should end up like that. And your good uncle at that. In prison while there are so many crooks running around free. We never did like the police here.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “You can rely on us to keep you away from them. Any way we can.
”

  * * *

  Bowsprit returned with the nougat—white and pink ones—a few minutes before their guest arrived. Polly was a tall thin woman with a shock of black hair combed back from her narrow face. She had lively eyes and was quick to burst into roaring laughter. Merula heard her in the street even before she came to the door. “I tell you,” she said to Mrs. Lamb, who had gone in person to fetch her, “that I’ve never seen a man run so fast.”

  She entered the room and saw Merula. “Well, well, look who’s here. You’re Anne’s young mistress, aren’t you? Anne described you in such detail, I’d recognize you anywhere. Besides, who else of that fine family would set foot here?”

  Merula winced under the implicit condemnation of her family. She forced a smile. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Polly seated herself on the barrel where Galileo had perched earlier and studied Raven. “I daresay you are the gentleman who tried the experiment with the steam-powered coach. It all exploded, didn’t it? I have a memory for faces.”

  Raven flushed and looked chagrined that Polly knew of this debacle.

  Merula wondered if Polly had laughed heartily about it as she just had about the man running fast.

  Polly now spied the nougat on the table and made wide eyes. “My, that is a lovely sight.”

  “His lordship bought them as a treat,” Mrs. Lamb said, “but I don’t like very sweet things. I told him that you do.”

  Polly eyed the nougat greedily, then looked at Raven. She seemed to realize that her remark about his steam-powered coach had been a little risky, considering he was the giver of these sweet delights. Smiling, she said, “I’ve always liked a man who took chances. No invention would ever have been made if those men had not taken chances. Maybe they failed at some point, but in the end they made what they dreamed up. I’m sure you will one day have your steam-powered coach, my lord.”

  It was a gracious retreat, and Raven accepted it as such, answering her smile and saying, “As these nougats are just going to waste, lying there untouched, I suggest you see if they are as good as the salesman told my valet.”

  Polly didn’t have to be asked twice and put a pink nougat in her mouth. She closed her eyes in concentration. Her entire expression contorted in what was probably meant to convey total bliss.

  Merula, for her part, was worried the woman’s mouth was glued together with the sticky mass and she’d never talk again.

  But Polly had already opened her eyes again and mumbled around the nougat, “Delicious. Best I ever had.”

  “I think you should also try the other flavors,” Raven suggested.

  Polly leaned back and stretched out her feet, obviously intending to enjoy her task.

  Raven said, “I hope you don’t mind the nuts, though. Some people hate nuts.”

  Polly shook her head to indicate she didn’t.

  Raven said, “Some people really fuss about everything.” He glanced at Merula. “This lady acquaintance of yours, screaming and shouting when a nut only came near her.”

  “Well, there was a good reason for that,” Merula took up the tale. “She had had a very bad experience once. I think it was three summers ago at her house in the country. At a party, she almost choked on an almond.”

  Polly, who had been sucking and chewing on the nougat as if her life depended on it, shot up straight. “I heard that,” she managed to say around the lump. “The almond was supposed to have been put in on purpose. But it was an accident, I swear. Poor Mrs. Bridgewater.”

  Merula felt as if she had been punched in the stomach at the woman’s casual mention of the name. So Polly did know her.

  Raven feigned ignorance. “Who?”

  “Mrs. Bridgewater. She was the cook there. A very nice, competent woman. Would never have hurt her mistress. For the life of me, I can’t imagine how the almond got in that dish. Must have fallen in in the kitchen. Or some hired hand for the night made a mistake. Who knows? But Mrs. Bridgewater was dismissed. Dismissed, for an almond!” Polly grimaced and reached for another chunk of nougat.

  Raven said, “I can imagine that, having been dismissed like that, it was hard for her to find another job as cook.”

  “Hard?” Polly let the nougat hover in front of her mouth so she could express her indignation out loud. “Hard? Impossible, you mean, my lord. Lady Sophia hadn’t given her a reference, and the party had been attended by many friends of hers. They all made sure Mrs. Bridgewater couldn’t find a position anywhere. She had to work in an inn at first, serving, but the innkeeper thought she was too old and not fast enough like the young girls were. She then ended up in a laundry, standing with her hands and arms in water all day long. Most women sicken eventually from that harsh work, but with her it went really quick. First her hands got all swollen and painful and she couldn’t do much wringing anymore, and then it was her lungs. Wheezy breathing, coughing. She didn’t get a wink of sleep at night. But she had to keep working, to earn some money for herself and her daughter.”

  “She had a daughter?” Raven asked.

  “Yes, a bright girl who was destined to become something big. Her mother didn’t want her to be just a maid or something, but get a good job that would take her places. She put everything she had into that. Poor thing. All the work just killed her.”

  “She’s dead?” Merula asked, dejection rippling like cold water across her back. That was why they hadn’t been able to find Mrs. Bridgewater.

  Polly nodded. She popped the nougat into her mouth and mumbled, “Died within a year after leaving Lady Sophia. That cruel woman drove her into death, all for an almond.”

  Raven looked at Merula. It sounded like Mrs. Bridgewater had had every reason to hate Lady Sophia. But she was dead.

  “How about her daughter?” Merula asked, clinging to the next best suspect. “Did her mother’s death mean she couldn’t become what she had wanted?”

  “Oh, no. She’s doing right well for herself. She’s a milliner, Miss. Makes hats for fancy ladies. Maybe you have bought one made by her once. She works for the best shop on Regent Street.”

  Merula sat up. “What shop would that be?” Her heart beat fast. Bowsprit had mentioned unpaid bills. Lady Sophia had loved beautiful things …

  Polly gestured with her hands. “Something fancy it’s called, in a foreign language. I think French?’

  “Le Bonheur?” Merula asked, naming the shop where Julia loved to order.

  “Yes, something like that.” Polly chewed. “This one is even more delicious than the other one, my lord.”

  “I’m glad you like them,” Raven said. “So Mrs. Bridgewater’s daughter works at Le Bonheur and makes hats there?”

  “Yes, and other things. What are they called?” Polly waved her hand again, spreading her fingers.

  Merula took it as a gesture to stir the good woman’s memory, but after a while she understood what that waving hand was supposed to depict. “Fans?” she asked.

  Polly nodded. “Big ones of exotic feathers,” she said. “I think she once mentioned they make the handles from mother of pearl.” She clicked her tongue. “I can’t imagine owning anything like that. But some of her customers have a closet full of them. For every occasion a different one. Well, if you can afford it…”

  Raven looked at Merula. Merula saw the intensity in his eyes. Her own stomach wriggled with the same nervous hope. If Lady Sophia had been a customer at Le Bonheur, Mrs. Bridgewater’s daughter could have made her fan. The fatal fan that had caused Lady Sophia’s sudden death at the lecture.

  Would Mrs. Bridgewater’s daughter not have had every reason to hate Lady Sophia for driving her mother away from the safety of her household into an uncertain future? Could she not claim that Lady Sophia’s cruel dismissal had caused her mother to sicken and die? Could she not blame Lady Sophia for her mother’s demise?

  Would it not have been very tempting, especially as she had known about the almond incident, to tamper with the fan and let Lady Sophia die, because of almonds, the sa
me thing that had destroyed her mother?

  It all fit.

  Polly continued, unaware of the importance of what she had just unveiled. “I daresay your cousin is a customer at that place, Miss. You might have seen Mrs. Bridgewater’s daughter there sometime. She is a handsome girl, blonde and tall, with lovely skin and big blue eyes. Really smart, they say, which is why she is also allowed to help customers, not just sit in the back making the things.”

  “I see,” Merula said. Had the daughter recognized Lady Sophia one day? Had she realized that a chance for revenge was within reach?

  Had she sat over the fan, smiling to herself that she could at last do something about the injustice of old?

  Merula’s throat constricted at the idea of having to go see a girl who was building her life, who had already lost her mother and might be all alone in the world, to find out if they could accuse her of murder and have her locked up to await trial and death by hanging.

  It was gruesome, but to save her uncle they had to produce another suspect. A likely one. And here they had the perfect combination of a compelling reason to hate Lady Sophia and direct access to the fatal fan.

  Polly said, eyeing the nougat pieces, “They are quite good, my lord.”

  “I suggest you take some home with you,” Raven said.

  “Take all of them,” Mrs. Lamb said, “I don’t like the sweetness of them.”

  Polly gratefully accepted the paper bag in which the sweets had arrived at the little house and put them in, popping another one into her mouth in the process. She mumbled something about her daughter loving them too and that she’d better be going to see how the cleaning was coming along.

  After she left, Raven said, “Those sweets were well worth their price. It seems as if we have our killer within reach.”

  Merula nodded, although her heart was heavy. “We have to go to Le Bonheur to see Mrs. Bridgewater’s daughter and confront her. We have to find out if she handled the fan.”