by Annis Bell
“‘Do you remember that exciting English couple who wanted to go off to Burma with Korshaw? I almost joined them. We planned to board a boat in Calcutta that was bound for Bassein. Some new scenery and a bit of adventure would have done me good, but things took a strange turn. Maybe it has already made the papers in England?
“‘Well, if not, then I will be the first to report it. Korshaw was behaving more intolerably than ever, which was probably because someone had caught on to him. Did he really believe he could get away with his crooked business deals forever?
“‘If I had been his client, I would have stuffed the miserable fraud into a sack of snakes. But it would probably hurt Korshaw more to lose his money. Still, I had already bought my ticket for the crossing and arranged for my baggage to be taken aboard when I received a letter from a dear friend who intends to marry in Madras a month from now. I am supposed to be her maid of honor. Well, to cut the story short, I canceled my trip and stayed behind in dusty India.
“‘And now I think I made a wise decision! The Satterleys did in fact travel to Burma with Korshaw. I had grown particularly fond of the young woman; she was very clever, although rather solitary. Well, life in foreign climes demands a lot, doesn’t it? One can’t spend every day singing and dancing. Incidentally, the natives here drive me round the bend with their lethargy and indifference. They have absolutely no sense of time! But back to the Satterleys.
“‘Peter and Velma, as I knew them, were such a nice couple. He had been promoted to lieutenant and was supposed to take up a new post in Burma. I have not been able to find out exactly what happened, but there was a frightful scandal when Peter died under mysterious circumstances shortly after they arrived. Everyone was talking about it, because British officers are not found dead in their bedrooms every day. He had not laid a hand on himself, nor was a snakebite involved. God, there are so many poisonous creatures in that country, and when everything’s said and done, I don’t think anyone will ever find out how the poor man died. There are some very persistent rumors going around that his wife poisoned him!
“‘Isn’t that terrible? Velma, who was always so nice and with whom I so enjoyed a hand of bridge. No, I can’t believe she would do such a thing. Either way, it seems she is not completely blameless in the matter, because people say that she was having an affair with an adventurer. Korshaw, perhaps? I’m starting to think that anything is possible, and that I am seemingly incapable of reading my fellow man or woman. Oh, my dearest, am I too credulous, too trusting? Since that scandal came to light, I have heard no more from her. She simply disappeared, just like Korshaw. But perhaps you might hear something of one or both of them?
“‘I would be obliged if you would write by return post and tell me how you are. I am foolhardy enough to hope that we might meet again. Forever yours, Cynthia.’”
David put the letter on the desk. “So Peter and Velma Satterley were with Korshaw in Burma. Peter Satterley? I’ve never heard the name in connection with any scandal, but I’m sure I can find out more. I’m going to the club, Blount.”
“Cynthia who, Captain?” Blount turned the envelope over.
“One of the gentlemen who spent time in India will know. Our expatriate British community is well-informed.” David looked at his pocket watch, a piece he had inherited from his mother. “What’s going on with Levi? Has he been back to see that Gundorov in Holborn?”
“Not as far as I know. He’s been spending a lot of time studying with Josiah. The boy would like to become a pharmacist.”
“Interesting. If he works hard, I’ll certainly help him along.”
The club offered a number of benefits that David appreciated, not least of which was its wonderfully predictable routine. Mr. Bale greeted him on arrival, and upon entering the venerable old rooms, David was met by soft music, the scent of cigars, and the absolute certainty that should the rest of the world perish, Brooks’s would survive.
Among all the familiar faces, David sought out those he knew had served or lived in India. In particular, he sought the second sons of noblemen, those for whom no great inheritance waited and who, as a result, entered military service in search of their own fortune. Others were only killing time until they received their portion of their father’s estate, however small it may be. Yet others were running away from gambling debts or an arranged marriage.
“David! Wonderful to bump into you here. Otherwise I would have come knocking on your door tomorrow.” Thomas was striding toward him from an adjoining drawing room.
“Thomas!” The men clapped each other on the back, and Thomas invited David to have drinks in the library.
“So what are our wives up to?” Thomas asked. He seemed thinner, as if he’d been working hard and not sleeping enough. The previous weeks and the crisis surrounding Russell and Josephine Simpson had obviously taken a toll on him.
David kept the details of the tragic events surrounding Charlotte to himself, instead mentioning Sir Frederick’s orchid mania and Jane’s investigation of Rachel’s death. “While we’re talking about orchids—and the damn things seem to be following me everywhere this winter—does the name Satterley mean anything to you?” He briefly reported on the man’s death.
Thomas listened in amazement. “My goodness, how is it that you always manage to stir up the worst hornets’ nests? Or should I be blaming Jane?”
The warm whisky went down easily. David swirled the golden liquid in the glow of the fire and grinned. “Or rather Alison, wouldn’t you say?”
Thomas rubbed his forehead. “You’re right. Satterley? Was he an army man? Or was he in the Indian Civil Service? We’re always having trouble with that lot.”
The Indian Civil Service, better known simply as the ICS, comprised the so-called elite of British Civil Service officers in India. These men displayed their superiority over the Indian population openly and with such self-evident arrogance that subsequent conflicts in the colonies were almost inevitable. The Sepoy Rebellion in May three years earlier had brought things to a head and had showed the British occupying forces that their ignorant suppression would no longer be tolerated without protest.
“A low-ranking officer, married to an Englishwoman named Velma. They were friends with Korshaw . . . the gardener murdered at Veitch and Sons. It seems they traveled together to Burma.” David summarized the story for Thomas. “And our one-legged Bill was in Madras at the same time as Korshaw. Something was going on there, something that Bill thought important.”
“But his premature death prevented him from telling you what it was. Hmm, orchid hunters? Korshaw was certainly an adventurous man. Burma . . . wait, it’s coming back to me. Yes, that was a very pretty scandal indeed and a popular topic in the salons that season! The Englishwoman who poisoned her husband ran off with an intrepid explorer. That must have been the Velma in the letter.”
“Was there anything in the papers? Pictures of the woman?”
“Now you’re asking too much. Mr. Bale will know, though.” Thomas sent for the butler, who suggested looking through past newspapers for the months in question, then went off to collect them.
As they waited for the newspapers to be brought out—Brooks’s, of course, maintained its own archive—David spotted young Everett Ralston across the room and nodded to him. “Does Ralston still have much of a future after being tangled up in that affair with Josephine Simpson?”
“What do you think? His father is a High Court judge who got him a position in the ICS.” Thomas sneered. “If you’re looking for the embodiment of an elite civil servant, look no further than Everett Ralston. He’s off to Madras in the New Year. And once again, we’ve managed to keep Lord Russell’s reputation spotless. He’s supposed to succeed Palmerston, who’s a good man. We need better social-welfare laws not only here but in India as well, and that will only happen over there with more self-determination for the Indians.”
“Men as corrupt as Korshaw can do a lot of damage. Perhaps that was it, that Bill thought Korshaw had somehow harmed
the British crown?”
“There are many like Korshaw overseas, in it for themselves and to hell with the British and the Indians and everybody else. Strangely enough in this case, it keeps coming back to orchids,” Thomas mused. “So was Korshaw the adventurer Velma absconded with?”
“I doubt it. It seems that everyone who knew Korshaw painted him as a shrewd businessman, but also as a fraud and a playboy. Not the kind to go off by himself, traipsing through the jungle for months on end with every snake, bug, and native trying to kill him.”
A shudder went through Thomas at the thought. “What a horrid idea! Who in their right mind would do something like that voluntarily? Not long ago, Sir Charles Wood, our secretary of state for India, was looking for an undersecretary. I told him thank you and turned it down. You never know when someone’s going to take it into their head to pack you off to the subcontinent.”
The butler returned, setting a pile of newspapers on the table. “Would the gentlemen like anything else?”
“No, thank you,” said Thomas, reaching for the Times. David reached for the Morning Post.
Various articles briefly relayed Satterley’s mysterious death and the disappearance of his wife, who was invariably described as blond and petite, although there were no pictures of her to be found. David thought of Etta Ramsey, the young woman from Ilford who had been cheated by Korshaw, but immediately cast the thought aside again.
“A good evening, gentlemen,” said a deep voice in front of them, and David looked up at no less a personage than Lord Cunningham himself.
In his perfectly tailored suit and with a gold watch chained to his vest, the gray-haired man personified everything that the British nobility represented. Cunningham held a seat in the upper house and acted as an advisor to the same Sir Charles Wood, the secretary of state for India, whom Thomas had just mentioned. He pulled a number of other strings, too, David knew. In contrast to his son, however, the father was able to maintain control over the passions he so zealously pursued. His face testified to a dissolute life, but David also knew that the man’s ruddy nose and heavily veined cheeks could easily belie a keen intellect and strength of will.
The two younger men stood to greet Lord Cunningham. “Would you join us, sir?” Through his parliamentary work, Thomas was better acquainted than David with Lord Cunningham. The older man nodded and sat down. Mr. Bale appeared instantly, setting down an ashtray, a whisky glass, and a bottle of the best scotch without being asked. Cunningham was not part of their immediate circle of friends, and David assumed that a very specific reason lay behind his decision to honor them with his presence.
After a few general remarks about foreign policy and the weather, Cunningham asked after their families.
“My wife is expecting our third child, though I’m afraid she is confined to bed at her cousin’s house up north. Doctor’s orders, though I hope to bring her home soon. Luckily, Lady Jane is with her,” said Thomas.
“She is a guest at Sir Frederick’s, isn’t she?” Cunningham asked.
“Correct, sir.” Thomas, momentarily distracted, waved to another guest.
“Lady Jane, yes . . . we heard a great deal about your unconventional wife last season, Wescott.” Cunningham was peering at David through watery blue eyes.
“We owe it to her that we were able to expose Devereaux and his trafficking in human lives. I am very proud of her,” said David emphatically.
“The world changes, and the people change with it. In my day, a woman would never have been able to take such liberties.” Cunningham cut the tip off a cigar, held it between his lips, then spat before one of the butlers offered him a light.
“I see no disadvantage in having an intelligent, independent woman by my side. On the contrary, she enriches my life,” David replied. He noticed Thomas’s forehead rumple nervously.
“Well, I am not one to gainsay you, though I am happy to say that I, for one, have no more surprises to expect in that regard,” Cunningham said, puffing on his cigar. “These days, I dedicate myself solely to collecting orchids. Flowers are beautiful, silent, and pleasing.” He let out a droning laugh, coughed, and continued, “Having said that, they are not cheap. Still, one likes to have something to flaunt, am I right?”
“Orchids are certainly an expensive pastime. Deadly sometimes, too, I’ve come to realize.” David saw one side of Cunningham’s sideburns twitch.
“You mean that poor gardener, the man from Veitch? Terrible affair, that. A good man. He recommended a number of outstanding plants to me. A real loss for Veitch,” said the lord, taking a swig of whisky.
A young butler brought a message for Thomas, who promptly stood and left. When he was gone, Cunningham said, “Wescott, I rate you highly as an experienced officer and a man of honor. Few have the guts and backbone to stand up to a man like Lord Lucan in court.”
“Thank you, sir.” And a compliment usually leads to a request, David thought.
Cunningham cleared his throat. “I know that you are investigating some delicate matters and that you’re working with Martin Rooke.”
“Sir?”
“Well now, I’ve heard that you met my son, Clifford, at Seven Bells. I take it that you were not there to bet.”
“No, sir.”
“My son, unfortunately, was. He has a weakness for games of chance, no matter the kind. It is not always easy to protect one’s children.” Waiting for a response, Cunningham gazed at David with half-closed eyes through the haze of cigar smoke.
“Who would you need to protect Clifford from? From himself, or has he made some enemies?”
“Come on, Wescott. We both know that Bill was blackmailing young men with their IOUs, and now he’s got his just deserts.” Cunningham leaned back in his armchair. His pose radiated superiority, but there was also something hesitant about the man. “In which directions are you investigating?”
“I can’t tell you anything about that, sir.”
“Then let me put my cards on the table. My son visited Pedley and wanted his IOUs back, but he did not kill that louse.”
“Were you there, too?” asked David matter-of-factly.
“Most certainly not! That’s got nothing to do with it. I know my son, and I know that he is not capable of murder. You have no reason to pester him with questions.”
“Don’t we? Thank you for explaining my job to me, but I will decide for myself who is a suspect and who is not.” David had, in fact, long since crossed Clifford off his list, but he would not be intimidated by anyone.
“I have tried to settle this amicably, Wescott.” Cunningham banged his glass onto the table. “You don’t seem to know with whom you are dealing.” He rose to his feet, the ash from his cigar tumbling onto David’s armchair.
David made a point of seeming unimpressed, but inside he was seething. “I think I do, but all men are equal before the law, aren’t they, Lord Cunningham?”
The nobleman sniffed contemptuously and turned away.
24.
Winton Park, Northumberland, December 1860
Jane sat by Ally’s bed and stroked her friend’s hand. Ally’s face was pale as she lay nestled on pillows, and Jane wiped the sweat from her forehead with a moist cloth.
“Oh, Jane, I’m so sorry to cause so much trouble for all of you! As if there weren’t problems enough without mine,” said Ally, who was trying very hard to keep her fluttering eyelids open.
“What nonsense! I’m simply happy that your bleeding has stopped. Are you in any pain?”
Dr. Cribb had discovered that Alison’s cervix had opened early, which meant they could expect an early birth. Still, because Ally was strong, and because she had survived the birth of twins and was already well into her eighth month of this pregnancy, the doctor remained confident that all would be well, and he had sent for the village midwife.
“No,” Ally said bravely, and she squeezed Jane’s hand. “It’s just that I would have much preferred to bring my child into the world at home in London. W
ith Thomas nearby, although—” A contraction seized her, and she pressed her lips together.
Feeling rather panicky, Jane hoped the midwife would arrive soon. “What should I do?” Jane murmured aloud, more to herself than to Ally.
“This is normal, Jane.” Ally looked at her with warm, blue eyes. “The contractions come and go. All things considered, I’m glad Thomas is in London. He’s far more nervous than me about these things. Have you been to see Charlotte?”
“They won’t let anyone into her room.” She had neither seen nor heard Charlotte since the previous day.
“She needs you more than I do. Go. Nora is here, and Dr. Cribb will be back soon.”
Jane kissed her friend’s flushed cheeks.
“Thank you, Jane,” Ally called after her as Jane left the room.
Ever since her talk with Draycroft, Jane had observed everyone in the house with suspicion, continually wondering who could have had an interest in Rachel’s death. As much as she replayed events in her mind, though, she could find no real connection between the pretty Roma girl and the Halstons’ other staff. A secret liaison with a servant, a stablehand, or O’Connor was out of the question; if that had been the case, it would not have been necessary to lure Rachel to the hut using Draycroft as bait.
Opening the door to her room, Jane called out for Hettie, who was repairing small tears in the hems of Jane’s skirts.
“Hettie, you have to help me. I want to see Charlotte.”
“But she’s been locked in,” said Hettie, though Jane could clearly hear the enthusiasm for an illicit adventure in her voice.
“Bring your sewing things.” Jane gathered up her skirts, and they made their way down the corridor to the opposite wing. When she drew close to Charlotte’s bedroom, she heard voices coming from the children’s room. Miss Molan was apparently playing with Eleanor, and little Pebbles was barking. O’Connor, on orders from Sir Frederick, had brought the dog back to the house that morning.
“Who has the key?” Jane murmured as she examined the lock on Charlotte’s door.
