The Killing at Kaldaire House

by Kate Parker

  “Emily, how’s my little angel? It’s been far too long since you visited your poor old grandfather.” He gathered me in a hug as he ushered me into the dining area that served as his conference room. “Ma, look who’s here.”

  My grandmother came in from the kitchen, looked me over with suspicion and said, “What does she want?”

  I’d never get anything past her. She and my mother had detested each other, and she now aimed her animosity for my mother at Matthew and me. I decided to attempt to be civil. “It’s good to see you, Grandmother.”

  “See? She can’t even call me ‘Gran.’ And what do you want?”

  “To talk business with Grandpapa.”

  “Bah.” She stomped from the room.

  “Tea, Aggie,” my grandfather called after her. “Here, have a seat. Have you been to see your father?”

  We sat on hard chairs on either side of a corner of the long dining table. “No. I need to discuss this with you.”

  He scowled. “You in some kind of trouble, pet?”

  “Thanks to Petey. He hid loot from two different jobs in the stockroom of my hat workshop. The police followed him and saw what he did, and they searched my premises. They took it all and threatened to throw me in jail.”

  He shook his head. “Petey. I might have guessed. All the planning that goes into a burglary, and then he just throws the loot away. Who’s the investigating officer?”

  “Detective Inspector Russell.”

  Grandfather looked heavenward. “Oh, bother. Not him again.”

  “You know him?”

  “Since he was a bobby on patrol. I tried to slip him a backhander and he punched me in the nose. I managed to get out of jail after a week for that one, and he’s been after us ever since.”

  My stern, sharp-angled grandmother marched in with the tea on a tray, banged it on the well-scrubbed table, and left with another “Bah.”

  “Does he know you’re one of us?” Grandfather said as he poured tea.

  “Yes.”

  “And how did that happen? The shop’s in your mother’s family’s name.”

  The hat business originally belonged to Noah Duquesne, my mother’s cousin, and my mother. Angry with my father, she had agreed to name the shop Duquesne’s Millinery.

  There was no hope for it. I’d have to tell him. “There was a bit of trouble at the home of a customer last night.”

  He handed me a cup of tea. “Well, don’t keep your grandfather guessing. What happened? And why were you at a customer’s late at night?”

  I told him a shortened version of the truth. He was too sharp for anything else.

  “And Inspector Russell was the detective on the scene?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bad luck, that.” And then he laughed. “That showed real initiative, pet. Is this the first time you’ve tried to get what’s owed you this way?”

  “The second.” I told him about the debacle with Lady Eddington.

  His loud laughter brought my grandmother into the room. “She’s got a real flair for this, Aggie. Terrible luck, but a real flair. She’s one of us.”

  “Bah.” Grandmother marched out again.

  “But you called for help rather than leave that man to his fate.” Grandfather nodded and then took a sip of tea. “That shows decency in you. Of course, if it was left to the widow, you still wouldn’t get paid.”

  “She paid me because I risked everything to call for help.”

  “In real cash?” I don’t think he trusted anyone outside the family.

  “I cashed the bank draft this morning. It was good.” I had a sip of tea and added, “Have you heard of a Jeremiah Pruitt?”

  “He was all over the newspapers for being stabbed to death with a hatpin near the Bond Street station last evening. Here. Read it for yourself.”

  He reached over to take a daily newspaper off the sideboard and handed it to me. Jeremiah Pruitt was in his late twenties and from an old, respected family. He’d apparently been going out for the evening when he was approached on his way to the station and stabbed to death. “That would have to be a tougher, sharper hatpin than my customers use. More like a thin dagger. Had you ever heard of him before?”

  “Yes. Bit of a wastrel. A dandy. Not the sort you want your granddaughter to know. Why are you asking?”

  “Inspector Russell is checking to make sure I didn’t kill him as well as Lord Kaldaire. The two murders happened close to each other.” I drank more of my tea before I said, “Please ask Petey not to store anything else in my shop.”

  “I will. Now, are you going to say hello to your father?”

  “No.” Emotions I’d held in check for years seeped out. “Why didn’t he come when Mama was dying? She called for him, over and over, and he didn’t come. She died wanting one thing. To see him.”

  “He didn’t know, pet.”

  “Noah came for him. He wouldn’t see her. Said he was too busy. And he was the one person she asked for. Not Matthew. Not me. She wanted Henry, and he couldn’t be bothered. Now I don’t want to know him.” I rose, not wanting to cry in front of this man, this link between my father and me. “Please tell Petey what I said. Thanks for the tea.”

  I rushed away, not even saying good-bye.

  I spent the walk home remembering how my mother took care of us and kept food on the table with her hatmaking skills during my father’s frequent absences. I was nine or ten before I realized his “visits to friends in Newcastle” meant he was in jail.

  And all that time, she made me practice folding strips of cloth, curling feathers, and drawing designs until I knew instinctively what looked good on a hat and how to make it. She constantly reminded me that a woman needed to be prepared to make her own way in the world.

  Nothing rattled her. She never raised her voice or bemoaned her lack of jewels or finery. I never lacked for food or love. I never heard her cry until she was dying and Noah had to tell her Henry wouldn’t come. I never forgave my father for those heart-wrenching sobs of utter despair that came from her room.

  I never lost the feeling she died of a broken heart, not a fever. And I wanted vengeance against the man who killed her.

  Chapter Five

  Still lost in memories, I reached home and unlocked the door to the stairs leading to our flat. In the next second, I gasped when a large male hand appeared on the door at eye level.

  “Miss Gates.”

  Blast. Inspector Russell. “Have you been following me, Inspector?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I made it home safely. You can go now.”

  He didn’t move. He just leaned on the door in silence.

  “I’m not inviting you in.”

  “I don’t expect you to.”

  I turned to look him in the eye. Curiosity made me ask, “What do you want?”

  “I want to know how you do it.” He looked serious, puzzled, and worn out. His bowler hat sat at a correct angle, not the jaunty one I expected to see from a peeler following me.

  “Do what?”

  “You have this entire criminal empire behind you, and yet you run your business on your own without your customers knowing how fragile your façade is. How unacceptable your background. And how powerless you are without the Gateses backing you.” His face was mere inches from mine. I should have felt threatened with him looming in the twilight next to me.

  Yet I didn’t feel threatened. Perhaps I was just too angry. But I realized there was something in the line of his jaw, the intelligence in his eyes, and the ironic curve of his lips that spoke to me. I knew not replying would be my best choice. “Good night, Inspector.”

  Clattering footsteps in the stairwell made us both step back from the door. A moment later, Matthew appeared, all long-limbed clumsiness from his growth spurt, smiling at me. Then the smile slid from his face as he recognized the inspector.

  I put a hand on my brother’s shoulder and gave him my most reassuring expression. “It’s all right, Matthew.”


  He jerked his head toward Inspector Russell.

  Russell put out his hand. “How do you do, Matthew?”

  Matthew looked at me in surprise and then warily shook the inspector’s hand.

  “He’s a loyal brother to you. Tell him I mean you no harm.” The inspector smiled at me. “Good night.” Then he walked away whistling.

  * * *

  I spent the evening in our flat with a dummy head and some scrap muslin material trying to figure out the best way to fill Lady Kaldaire’s request. Matthew and Noah both read, and Annie, our little apprentice, attempted dressing her doll in scraps of fabric, leaving me alone to mutter as I pinned lengths of light fabric over the mushroom-shaped, buckram and wire form that represented her favorite style of hat.

  “Noah, do we have any soft black crepe in the stockroom? I’m thinking of doing a braid on the brim of Lady Kaldaire’s long-veiled hat.”

  He set down his newspaper. “Yes. Going for a French style of mourning hat for the lady?”

  “Yes. She doesn’t seem to think our standard English style suits since her husband was murdered.”

  “I don’t think English styles meet with her approval at any time.” He turned his attention back to his paper and I considered how I would create a hat in Lady Kaldaire’s usual style that wouldn’t flout convention too badly.

  I finally decided on a plaited crepe fan to fall down her back with a separate light veil over the front brim she could put up or down, depending on the situation. Or her companions.

  I had both hats ready for Lady Kaldaire early the following afternoon. Since I knew she couldn’t leave the house, the rules of society strictly dictating a women’s behavior before a funeral, I took the hats to her.

  We were in the middle of the spring and summer season for fashions. I had a few more weeks of supplying hats for this season, so I stopped at a feather supplier and a ribbon supplier with a list of supplies we had run short of in the workshop. Then with Matthew driving the horse cart, I directed him to take me to Lady Kaldaire’s with her two new hats. When I climbed down and waved him home, he gave me a grateful smile and took off before the policemen of his memory could grab him.

  I rang the bell at the black crepe draped doorway. The butler answered and said, “Her ladyship is in her boudoir. Follow me.” Leading me upstairs, he opened the door for me and then quickly shut it as soon as I slipped inside.

  Lady Kaldaire stood in the middle of the room in her corset and black shoes with black stockings, being fitted into a black skirt by a woman from the mourning store. A second woman sat on a chair stitching an adjustment to the high collar of a blouse. The widow’s lady’s maid was busy making adjustments to alter old mourning garb into the latest styles, her needle flashing as she sewed.

  “Oh, good, Emily. Thank you for bringing those so quickly. What do you think?”

  The two women from the mourning store shot me sideways glances. They were fellow women’s fashion tradesmen and we would work together again. I came over and examined the material and the seams. “The quality and the cut are quite good. Black will never be your color, but at these sad times, you have no choice in color.”

  Both women seemed to relax and ignore me after that.

  “Show me the hats.”

  I opened the first box and lifted out a medium-crowned, curled-down, wide-brimmed hat dyed black with black ribbon. Crepe spilled down the back in a fashionable cascade, and I demonstrated how to raise and lower the separate face veil. This was the style she liked, minus the veil, and she nodded approvingly at the ease of changing from formality to visiting with close friends.

  I set that one back in its box and opened the other. I wasn’t sure I’d captured what she wanted for this hat. This one had a slightly higher crown with a wide brim covered in layers of black net and a crepe braid on the base of the crown. It looked a bit like a beekeeper’s helmet. I lifted it up to show her, and the two modistes ooohed.

  “That is exactly what Mrs. Henderson wanted,” one of them said.

  “Well, please don’t tell her about it until after I can wear mine,” Lady Kaldaire said. “I’d hate to run into my hat the first time I attend church after the funeral.”

  She stared straight at me.

  I knew an order when I heard it. I looked at the funeral modistes and said, “Perhaps your future customers might be interested.”

  They nodded and went back to their tasks.

  “If you’re pleased with the hats, I’ll leave them here.” I knew when I should leave.

  “I’ll try them on later. Could you come back to get your payment at five when I’ll be at home?”

  It was an odd request. No doubt family and close friends would be making condolence calls at five when she would be at home and receiving visitors. This must have something to do with Lord Kaldaire’s murder. Did she think his killer would be calling on her today?

  There was no way to find out except to return at five, dressed for the occasion. “Of course, my lady.”

  I went back by omnibus to the shop. After I’d seen to my customers and done sketches and measurements for two of them, I checked to see how things were in the workshop.

  Our employees were hard at work under the electric lights, sunlight from the high windows on the street side also shining on their sewing and braiding and edging. Matthew was studying a mathematics text and drawing a pattern for a hat frame. Noah looked up from the hat he was putting the last stitches in and said, “We’re nearly caught up from yesterday.”

  I remembered the conversation I had with my grandfather when he denied my father knew my mother was dying. Truly, I could think of little else. I shouldn’t have pursued the issue, but I couldn’t leave it alone. “Noah, come outside in the alley for a moment. The rest of you, continue on your work. Annie, that includes you.”

  Annie, perhaps nine but appearing younger, clung to the broom she’d been leaning on and put on her most innocent face. As if I’d believe her.

  Once we were outside, I said, “I spoke to my grandfather yesterday. He said my father didn’t know my mother was dying. That you never spoke to him.”

  Noah’s lips thinned. “This is a conversation you need to have with your father. Not with me.”

  “You found him? You told him?”

  “You need to talk to your father. And that’s all I’m going to say on the matter. Leave the past in the past, Em. I need to get back to work and so do you.” He marched back into the workshop, slamming the door as he went.

  I went back into the hat shop and spent the next several hours dealing with customers and accounts, but my nerves were on edge. My attention kept drifting from the task at hand, and I found I wanted to pace.

  I wanted things the way they had been before Lord Kaldaire’s murderer, Scotland Yard, and my father’s family collided to turn my life upside down. I doubted it would ever be the same again.

  Most of all, I was angry. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.

  And then I had to smile at myself. I spent too much time around the wealthy, watching their actions, to be surprised when my middle-class life wasn’t fair. I shook off my mood and went back to work.

  At four o’clock, I left Jane in charge of the shop and went upstairs to get cleaned up and dressed. I needed to look as if I belonged at a visit to a grieving widow who happened to be miles above me on the social ladder.

  I chose a dark blue gown with ivory lace at the high neck and the sleeves. The hat that went with it was blue straw with a darker blue ribbon around the brim and flowers around the crown made from the same color ribbon.

  I’d gained more than a few customers from wearing that hat. It made the months that I’d spent as a child practicing on ruined ribbon until I could make perfect violets, roses, daisies, and dahlias worthwhile. My mother had made me start again on some pretty good practice flowers. She told me they had to be much better than “pretty good.”

  As a result, I was an artist with ribbon before I was in my teens. Annie could bar
ely sew a straight line. I kept hoping she’d develop some skills, but I feared we’d have to find another trade for her.

  I met Matthew at the bottom of the stairs. He mimicked handling a horse’s reins, but I shook my head. He gave me a puzzled frown. I signaled that I’d return for dinner and left to take an omnibus to Mayfair.

  I reached the Kaldaire house a few minutes before five. When I arrived, the butler took me directly to the large formal parlor.

  Lady Kaldaire came toward me when I walked in, her hands outstretched. “You look very sophisticated.”

  “You mean, not like a milliner.”

  “No, I mean very charming. Very attractive. That may be useful. No one will realize just how bright you are.”

  Lady Kaldaire was being so gracious that I immediately knew either something was amiss or society had turned upside down. “What happened?”

  She slipped a piece of good notepaper out of her pocket and handed it to me. I unfolded it and read:

  DON’T GET INVOLVED IN YOUR HUSBAND’S AFFAIRS OR YOU WILL PAY THE PRICE. I’LL BE WATCHING. The note was written in block capitals and unsigned.

  “How did you receive this?”

  “I found it among a flood of condolence notes. I suspect whoever sent this will be at the visitation.”

  She looked very pale. “Are you all right?” I asked, touching her arm.

  She drew in a breath. “I feel so vulnerable. Someone wishes me harm. I don’t know who it is and I’m frightened.”

  At that moment, the butler announced the first arrivals, an older couple who couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with a midnight burglary.

  “Keep an eye out,” Lady Kaldaire whispered. “And stay.”

  She’d promised to pay me for two expensive hats that evening. I was staying.

  Because of my red hair, a full, thick head in a gorgeous deep shade if I must say so myself, and my slender shape, I tended to cut a memorable figure in my stylish larger-brimmed hats. I made it through the first hour in Lady Kaldaire’s parlor without being recognized. Or if I was recognized, no one said anything.