Murder in the Museum_Edmund DeCleryk Mysteries

by Karen Shughart

  “You have been out of sorts for months now, Lydia,” she said.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “I notice that your belly has begun to swell. Are you, perhaps with child?”

  Bowing her head, my mother responded, “Yes, my lady.”

  “And who is the father, Lydia?”

  “I cannot tell you,” my mother said weakly.

  “Will this person who has made you with child do what’s honorable and wed you?”

  “We shall never marry, my lady. That is quite impossible.”

  “Shame, shame, Lydia. I had thought you of a higher personage than you in fact seem to be. Have you consorted with a servant, a craftsman, perhaps a merchant in the town?”

  “I cannot say, my lady.”

  “You don’t know who fathered your babe, Lydia? That is appalling. When your husband was alive I thought you were a faithful and loving wife and had no idea of your baser nature. We do not abide promiscuity here, Lydia, and I cannot have my children affected by your lack of morality. You shall be dismissed immediately without character.”

  My mother, dismayed beyond reason, turned ashen as she shed tears as abundantly as a river. “Please, my lady. I have not been promiscuous as you believe. I was taken against my will. What shall I do?”

  “I am sorry to hear that, but unless you tell me who violated you, so we can force him to marry you for the sake of the unborn child and our family’s reputation, I have no choice but to release you from service. After that, what you do is of no consequence to me. Because you have heretofore served us well, I will wait to set you out until you have made other arrangements. You have a fortnight.”

  “I simply cannot tell you who the father is, and marriage would not be possible,” my mother cried, knowing full well that if she disclosed the name of her violator she would not be believed.

  Lady Hollingsworth merely shook her head and left the withdrawing room, my mother standing by her chair, sobbing. By courier, my mother sent notice to her sister, who lived in Wales with her husband, that she had been dismissed but chose not to explain the circumstances of her dismissal in the letter. Kind-hearted, and without questioning the reason, my aunt and uncle opened their home to us, and on a rainy autumn day we set off to begin a new life.

  My mother and aunt were close, my uncle a warm and decent man, and they made room for us in their home and in their hearts. Both were outraged when they heard the story of my mother’s violation, but there was no possible way to take revenge. The ruling classes viewed even the most refined and educated among us as chattel. To give us respectability, the story they told the villagers was that my father had recently died leaving us destitute, my mother pregnant with their second child. While I missed sorely my old life, I felt secure once again, and the months passed quickly before my mother’s lying in.

  Now, at the age of thirteen, I would need to earn my keep and take care of my mother and the new babe. Without a letter vouching for her character, she would be unable to support us unless she went to a workhouse or took to the streets, and I knew my aunt and uncle never would abide that.

  I asked my uncle for his counsel on how I might earn a livelihood. He worked as a blacksmith, but I had no aptitude for that, and we talked about my taking a position at a local estate, perhaps as a gamekeeper, like my father had done. But without a letter of character that avenue also was closed to me.

  I liked the sea. My mother and I had accompanied the lord, lady and their children to their estate in Brighton on a short holiday the summer after my father died, and I never forgot it, vowing to return when I grew older. After making some inquiries, my uncle discovered that the captain of a ship leaving for the former colonies in America, was looking to hire a cabin boy. A friend of my uncle, he was willing to take me into service based on my uncle’s word that I was of strong character. While I didn’t want to leave my mother, I knew that my childhood must end and agreed to meet with the captain, planning to leave for London within several days.

  One night I awoke out of a sound sleep to hear my mother screaming. I ran into her room and found my aunt holding her hand and wiping her fevered brow. “It seems,” she said, “as though the babe is coming, too soon, before its time. Now leave us, Thomas. I will come for you after the babe is delivered.”

  The screaming continued and after one last shriek, the cottage became very silent. I ran into my mother’s room and saw blood everywhere. A tiny, deformed girl-child lay on my dear, sweet-tempered dead mother’s belly; my aunt weeping upon her still breast.

  *****

  Engrossed in the story, Ed didn’t hear Annie come into the room. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought more about Charles and his confession, and I just can’t believe he killed Emily.”

  Ed closed the book and put it on the table beside him. He stood up and pulled Annie close to him, and she snuggled her small frame against him.

  He sighed. “You and Carrie have always believed in Charles’ innocence, and you may be correct. I promise to continue to work the case to see if anything surfaces that could exonerate Charles, but don’t get your hopes up. If it gets to trial, the prosecutor will convincingly argue that Charles could have been confused or gotten a bit mixed up about some of the details when he confessed, but his story could still be viewed as credible. This is tough for all of us, and I know it is especially for you. Please don’t hold your feelings in. I know you needed be alone tonight, but remember, I’m always here for you.”

  “Thank you.” Annie put her head against his chest and sighed. “If this ever does go to trial, I won’t go, you know. I couldn’t bear to be there.” He nodded. She noticed the manuscript on the table.

  “So, are you enjoying it? Is it interesting?”

  “Compelling, actually. I’m just getting into the heart of the story but have no idea how at this point the map will figure into it. But it’s enough reading for now. I’ll continue tomorrow.”

  Chapter 40

  Ed, Carrie, and Suzanne’s friend, Garrett, who had agreed to represent Charles, were present the next morning at his arraignment. He was charged, as they had expected, with second-degree murder, but Garrett convinced the DA to drop pending burglary charges since Charles had technically entered the museum lawfully and hadn’t stolen anything. He also convinced Charles to change his plea to not guilty, confident he could successfully argue for an acquittal.

  Charles voluntarily surrendered his passport, and the judge set bail at $50,000. Against Garrett’s advice, he declined to post it and was remanded, according to his wishes, to the county jail.

  Carrie and Ed shook their heads in disbelief.

  *****

  At the appointed time, Ed called Pam Huntsman. “Are you able to talk?”

  “Yes, my kids are in school, and I’m free, no classes today. What can I do for you?”

  Ed went into more detail about why he was calling and told Pam that Charles had been charged with second-degree murder.

  “That’s so sad,” Pam responded. “I can’t believe he’s guilty.”

  “Is there anything you can you tell me that might help us exonerate him?”

  “I don’t know,” she responded. “I can tell you about our trip to Lighthouse Cove, although there’s probably nothing I know that you don’t.” She gave Ed the same version as Angelica’s of the events from the map discovery to the trip to Lighthouse Cove.

  She continued, “As you may know, at first Charles challenged the opinion of some of the others on the team but then relented because he trusted their professional expertise. I argued we should ask the historical society for permission to do a mini-excavation anyway, just in case there was something buried there, but they were adamant it would be a waste of time. We had a student with us, Michael Warren, but he had no skin in the game. He came with us because he was writing a feature story about Charles for the school newspaper.”

  “Angelica Hawthorn told me Samantha Chu moved to British Columbia and that she thought Barry Eaton still worked fo
r the Toronto Planning Commission. Do you know if that’s true?” asked Ed.

  “Yes. I can get you their contact info, but I’m positive neither he nor Sam would be involved in this. Sam wouldn’t travel all the way from BC to conduct a surreptitious excavation in the middle of the night, and Barry seemed annoyed about having to make the trip in the first place. They both thought the trip was a waste of time.”

  “I have to ask this, it’s just a formality, but where were you on the night of the murder?”

  “No problem. I have nothing to hide. I was at a department committee meeting until about 10:30 and then went home, watched the late news with my husband, and went to bed. I was back here the next morning at about 7:30 because I had an 8 a.m. class. You can check with my department head and some of my students.”

  “Not necessary, but thank you. Do you know where Michael Warren is?”

  “I think he may be living in South Korea. He majored in English. I ran into him just before he graduated, and he told me he was going to spend a few years teaching English as a second language at a private school in the Gangnam district in Seoul.”

  “Were you the one who arranged for his interview with Charles?”

  “I was. I met Michael at a party that was hosted by a friend who’s an English professor. Michael knew Charles by reputation, and when he learned that I was Charles’ teaching assistant asked me if I thought he might be willing to be interviewed for a feature in the paper. I asked Charles, who was agreeable and suggested it might be a good experience for me to sit in, and I arranged for Michael to meet with him. Charles mentioned the trip to Lighthouse Cove, Michael asked if he could tag along, make it part of the story, and Charles consented.”

  “Anything unusual happen during the interview?”

  “No. It was very cordial. They made small talk at first. I think Charles orchestrated it to put Michael at ease because he appeared to be a bit nervous. Michael noticed some photos on Charles’ credenza, and seemed taken by one with a much younger Charles and two friends standing at a dock, smiling and holding up three huge steelhead trout.”

  “I know that photo,” Ed responded. “He has it displayed on the mantel in his living room.”

  Pamela continued, “Michael asked him where the photo was taken, and Charles told him that when he was in his 50s he had spent a summer in Ithaca doing research at Cornell, and that one weekend he and a couple of colleagues had taken a trip to the Thousand Islands, which is where they caught the fish.

  “Michael remarked that he’d been raised in Ithaca, and they agreed it was a small world, although Charles didn’t recognize the family name. Charles asked Michael if he liked to fish, and he said he did and that he used to fish with his father but that his parents had moved to Chicago and with him now going to school in Toronto, they weren’t able to do that as often as they used to. Charles said maybe the two of them could go fishing sometime, Michael said he’d like that, and then he started the interview.”

  “Would you mind calling the alumni office and see if you can get Michael’s contact information? I’d like to talk with him to see what, if anything, he remembers about the trip here and whether he and Charles actually went on the fishing trip.”

  “I can try, but unless he sends updates, that information may not be correct.”

  “That’s fine. If I’m able to talk with him that would be great, but he’s really peripheral to my investigation.”

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  Ed thanked Pamela, hung up and began calling the others who were with Charles on the exploratory trip to the states. As he expected, they all had airtight alibis and none of them had had any communication with Charles in the past or present that would lead them to believe he could have gone into the museum to conduct his own excavation.

  Ed’s phone rang several hours later. It was Pamela. “Last thing the alumni office knew, Michael was still in South Korea, but they haven’t had any communication from him for more than a year. The only contact info he gave was an email address, but that may not be current.”

  “Thanks. I’ll email him and tell him what’s going on and ask if he’d be willing to give me a phone number and let me call him. I expect he won’t be able to tell me anything I don’t know already, but I’d still like to speak with him, if possible.”

  “Good luck, Ed. I really hope you can find a way to get the charges dropped for Charles.”

  Ed emailed Michael Warren with details about who he was and why he wanted to speak with him. If he responded, fine; if not, he wasn’t going to pursue it.

  Chapter 41

  The following morning, a snowy one, Annie visited Charles in prison. She was dismayed at how much weaker and frailer he had become, and, still puzzled about his confession, let him know she believed in his innocence.

  “But Annie, I’m not innocent,” he said, “and I’m quite willing to pay for my sins.” Annie thought his response a bit odd. Charles looked beaten down and resigned.

  “I’ll be back to see you again, Charles. Do you want me to contact your family members in Canada?” Charles shook his head.

  “Very well, then,” Annie said. Saddened by the exchange, she left, certain that her instincts were correct and that, despite Charles’ protestations to the contrary, he was not Emily’s killer.

  Annie joined Ed for a glass of wine before dinner that evening and told him about her visit. Over the simple meal she’d prepared of roasted lemon chicken, a green salad and a loaf of crusty bread, Ed told her about his phone conversations with the team that had accompanied Charles to Lighthouse Cove and his email to Michael Warren. He’d not yet responded, but Ed had taken into consideration the time zone difference and figured that if he did hear back from him it probably would take a day or two. Annie expressed disappointment, hoping Michael would get back to Ed quickly with new information.

  “Michael may not even be in South Korea, Annie. These teaching jobs abroad sometimes are limited to a couple of years, and for all we know he could be back in the states or in Canada or anywhere, for that matter. I’d probably be able to do a search for him through the FBI and Royal Canadian Mounted Police, but I’m not sure it’s worth taking up their time.

  “He also may have received the email but decided that he just doesn’t want to be involved. Admiring Charles when he was a student is much different than consenting to be interviewed as part of a murder investigation.”

  *****

  After dinner Ed sat down in his easy chair and continued reading Thomas Battleforth’s manuscript:

  “My dear mother and the poor unwanted babe were buried two days later in a small plot behind the church in our village. Along with the preacher and his wife, only my aunt, uncle and I attended. A slow anger was beginning to burn in my chest. My father’s death was a terrible accident, but my mother could have lived a long full life if not for the Viscount Evensong, perhaps even marrying again. Now my parents, who loved each other without reservation, would be separated for eternity, not even able, in death, to be joined together.

  A few days later I summoned a carriage, bade my aunt and uncle goodbye, and with a rucksack containing my paltry belongings set out for the harbor in London where I would be boarding a ship bound for America.

  Growing up on an estate and living for a short time in Wales had not prepared me for London, a crowded, dirty and noisy city. After several days traveling, we arrived at the congested harbor at the Pool of London, where ships filled with cargo would set sail for Spain, France, India, and the Americas. I slowly made my way to the Queen Charlotte, the merchant ship upon which I would be sailing. Throngs of filthy beggars wearing tattered rags reached out to me, pleading for food or coins and clutching at my clothing as I walked by them. I felt both frightened and sad.

  Captain Willoughby, a kind but exacting man, greeted me and after giving me a tour of the ship, told me that in addition to our cargo, we would also be transporting a few select passengers across the ocean. All relatives of the royal family, they
would require special care as the ship was not large enough to accommodate them and their servants, and since I had some refinements and knew how to read, write and do sums, he would be assigning me to look after them as their cabin boy. I asked about them, curious as to whom they were.

  He told me, “King George wishes for a peaceful relationship with our former colonies and is sending his son, Prince Frederick, the Duke of York, and his wife, Princess Fredericka Charlotte of Prussia, to meet with Governor George Clinton of New York. Then, some days later they will board another ship, the HMS Orion, which will sail north to the St. Lawrence River and from there to Lake Ontario, heading for the Canadian settlement of York where they will meet with Governor John Graves Simcoe.

  “They will be carrying letters of introduction from the king to both governors plus generous gifts of the Queen Consort’s Wedgewood pottery, a ruby-encrusted snuff box for the Governor of New York, pearl earrings for his lady; a diamond, ruby and sapphire encrusted scabbard for the Governor of York and a diamond and ruby brooch for his lady. You will need to take good care, my boy, as any missteps or thievery on your part could result in your very early death by hanging.”

  “I understand, captain, and am ready to serve,” I demurred.

  “Oh, and one more thing. They will be accompanied by the prince’s cousin, to whom you will also be assigned. A real gentleman, the Viscount Evensong is.”

  I mustered as much strength as I could to not react to this unsettling and shocking news. At first, I thought to run far away, back to Wales and to the loving care of my aunt and uncle. But then the burning that had started in my chest grew stronger, and I vowed that before the voyage ended in Canada I would extract my revenge, although I knew not what that would be.

  The next day I stood at attention as the captain greeted our royal passengers and introduced me as their cabin boy, Thomas. Fortunate for me, he gave no surname, as I feared the viscount might recognize it. As they passed, the prince and princess, haughty and entitled, barely looked at me. But the viscount stopped and stared for a moment.