"That will do," he said.
"But I haven't told you what it means?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"The language of flowers."
Lawrence sighed, wondering whether to leave. The simple purchase was becoming unnecessarily complicated. "What does it mean?"
"True love," she said, holding her hand over her heart.
"Not that one, then," he said quickly. "Do all women know this floral code?"
"Many of them."
"Then it makes buying flowers a dangerous thing. How is a man supposed to know what sentiment he is portraying?"
The girl laughed. "That is why you need an experienced florist."
"Tell me what to choose."
"Do you like this girl?"
"Of course I like her. Why would I buy flowers if I didn't?"
"I mean, really like her."
"I've told you. The young lady is a friend. A friend that I haven't seen in a long time."
The flower girl watched as a red flush settled across Lawrence's cheeks. "Here," she said, selecting a spray of yellow flowers from a water-filled trough. She teased them expertly into a small posy and passed them to Lawrence. "Primrose and rue," she said.
"What does that mean?"
"Friendship," said the girl, crossing her fingers behind her back.
"Ideal," said Lawrence. He paid her and left the shop.
She smiled as she watched him walk away, hoping that she had done the right thing. Despite her youth, Verity Naylor had been working with flowers and lovesick men for a long time. She understood them better than they understood themselves. She hoped the young lady concerned would appreciate the pretty yellow nosegay and its underlying message – eternal love with a trace of regret.
Lawrence had always adhered to an exacting standard of dress. He was smart by nature, whether working or socialising. So, although he had visited the gaol that day, his attire was still acceptable for dining in a high-class hotel. He arrived at the Adelphi, handed his coat to the doorman, and found a nearby gentlemen's convenience. There, he straightened his bow tie and checked his jacket for dust and hairs. He nodded at his reflection, satisfied that nothing was out of place and proceeded to the reception hall. Three smartly-dressed hotel staff were sitting behind a long counter. As he approached, two of them stood and offered to help, almost competing to be the most useful. Lawrence asked for Loveday, and the shorter of the two men directed him to a small seating area with comfortable sofas in which to recline. But he was in no mood for sitting and paced the small room. Now and then he examined his reflection in a mirror conveniently set above an empty fireplace.
He had only been waiting a short time, though it felt a lot longer, when Loveday appeared. She was a vision of beauty clad in a blue satin dress with a scooped neck and a shaped waist that accentuated her graceful figure. She beckoned him from the doorway, and as he walked towards her, she turned away. He followed her across the reception hall and into an opulent sitting room with a long bar down the side. She sat on a leather sofa and patted the seat beside her. "Sit down," she said.
A waiter appeared in front of them before Lawrence had a chance to reply. "What drinks can I get for sir and madam?" he asked.
Loveday grinned. "What would you recommend?"
"A cocktail, perhaps?" said the waiter.
"Oh, yes. Choose one for me."
"As you wish. What would you like to drink, sir?"
"I would like a brandy," said Lawrence. "Don't put anything in it."
The waiter nodded and proceeded in the direction of the bar.
"Are they for me?" asked Loveday.
Lawrence looked at the posy in his hand. "Of course," he said. "Sorry. The waiter distracted me."
He presented the flowers to Loveday. "They smell beautiful," she said, placing them on the table in front. "I like it here," she continued. "It's a pity I have to get on a rotten old train on Wednesday."
"It won't take long."
"But I have to change at Crewe," she said, her mouth set in a downward turn. "Still, it could be worse. At least I'm travelling first class."
Lawrence thought about his rail journey between Bury and Liverpool. He had been perfectly comfortable in second class, and it had not occurred to him to travel otherwise.
"I suppose someone will meet you at the other end?" he asked.
"Naturally," said Loveday. "I am staying in Pittville Circus Road with my schoolfriend and her family. They will send a carriage."
"Then I am sure your journey will not be too arduous," he assured her. "You may even enjoy it."
The waiter returned with two drinks on a silver salver. "A white lady for you, madam," he said, placing the glass on the table in front. "And your brandy, sir."
Loveday raised her glass and clinked it against Lawrence's. "Your very good health," she said, sipping the delicate cocktail. "Delicious."
Another drink followed before they made their way into the dining room. They sat at a table for two and shared a bottle of wine over a three-course dinner – a sumptuous and no doubt expensive dinner, the cost of which Lawrence had already considered. The next stop after the flower shop had been the bank where he had withdrawn a sizeable sum. Though Lawrence had known the meal wouldn't be cheap, nothing had prepared him for the size of the bill when it arrived. He swallowed, and carefully peeled several high denomination notes from his wallet, hoping that there would be enough to cover the cost. He already regretted not drawing a more substantial sum earlier and had just enough money to save him from embarrassment. But the thought of explaining the extravagance to Violet left him cold. He would have to replace it with cash from his resources rather than count it as a business expense. Loveday was blissfully unaware of all these concerns as Lawrence smiled at the waiter and paid with the confidence of a man of means.
"What now?" asked Loveday as they rose from the dinner table.
"Would you like to take a walk?" asked Lawrence.
Loveday snorted. "It's only nine o'clock, and we have the whole night ahead of us. I would like to do something more exciting than that."
"The whole night?" Lawrence echoed, taken aback. His plans had gone no further than the end of the meal, and the idea of the redoubtable Mrs Bramwell and his ten thirty curfew did not appeal.
"Well, I have nothing better to do," said Loveday. "Have you?"
Lawrence shook his head and held out his arm. Loveday took it, and they left the Adelphi hotel, strolling in a northerly direction.
"Look," said Loveday, pointing towards a grand neoclassical building ahead in the distance. "I think that's a concert hall. Shall we take a look?"
They drew nearer and joined the crowd of people making their way up the stone steps and through the columns beneath the portico. "There is a concert," said Loveday. "Let's go inside."
"I must get back," said Lawrence.
"Don't be silly. You have all night."
"I don't..." he began to say before realising that any further protestation would mean that he had to disclose the reason why. Lawrence could not bring himself to tell Loveday that he was spending the night in a low lodging establishment with a curfew. He swallowed and decided to go inside and take whatever fate decided to throw at him.
The concert turned out to be an organ recital given by a talented young musician. Even so, Lawrence was ambivalent to the performance and preoccupied with his watch. Loveday seemed equally distracted, chatting to Lawrence at inappropriate moments. She earned a series of pointed glances from ladies nearby to whom she appeared oblivious. It was eleven o'clock by the time they returned to the Adelphi.
"Are you coming inside?" asked Loveday.
"No," said Lawrence. "I must return to Bury tomorrow. I am only here on business."
"I know. You said. Your work sounds thrilling. I will visit your office one day."
Lawrence smiled. He had told Loveday about some of his more interesting cases over dinner, and it was fair to say that he'd exaggerated a little. "It's not as excit
ing as you might think," he said. "My cases are rather dull and routine most of the time."
"Don't go back, then," said Loveday. "Spend tomorrow with me. Then you can come to the railway station and see me off on Wednesday morning."
"Absolutely not," said Lawrence.
"At least come and see me tomorrow," she said plaintively.
"I can't."
"Why not? Who are you rushing back for?"
Lawrence opened his mouth to explain, then realised he hadn't told her about Violet. Not a word. Loveday had no idea that Violet was his business partner. He had not revealed that they were still acquainted nor that they had recently returned from a holiday together. Lawrence idly wondered why he hadn't thought to mention it, then dismissed the idea. His friendship with Violet wasn't relevant, and he could tell Loveday another time. Tomorrow perhaps.
"I will come for you at midday," said Lawrence eventually. "Think of somewhere you would like to visit, and I will take you there."
Loveday beamed. He took her hand and kissed it gently, then she waved goodbye and disappeared through the door of the Adelphi Hotel. Lawrence tightened his bow tie, then proceeded down Ranelagh Street, wondering where he was going to find a bed for the night.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Spring Fair
Wednesday, May 22, 1895
"Cheer up," Michael patted Violet's hand, encouragingly. "It's a beautiful day. See the children enjoying themselves."
Violet raised a weak smile. The maypole was still standing from earlier May Day celebrations, and three little girls weaved coloured ribbons around the pole as they danced. The spring fair was busy with many of the town's inhabitants outside enjoying the festivities. There were chairs and blankets spread across the grass. Trestle tables groaned under the weight of cakes and sandwiches, all provided by the town's tradesmen. The spring fair was free, and all from the wealthy to the most impoverished families were made welcome. Michael and Violet had chosen chairs overlooking the mere. The sun was out, and there was no trace of a breeze. The mere was peaceful and serene, which was more than could be said of Violet.
"Where is he, Michael?" she asked for the third time that day. "He has vanished off the face of the earth."
"You know where he is," said Michael reassuringly. "He sent a telegram."
"That was days ago, and I have sent another since," said Violet. "To Annie and she hasn't heard from him either, so I sent a telegram to Frederick Harpham and what do you think?"
"I can't imagine," said Michael, as if she hadn't already told him.
"He hasn't seen him. Not once, since his first visit. So where is he and more importantly, is he safe and well?"
"Lawrence has nine lives," said Michael. "You know that."
Violet glowered. "He nearly died last time."
"I know." Michael patted her hand. "But he isn't doing anything dangerous."
"He's visiting a gaol."
"Where there are guards to keep an eye on him. You don't need to worry."
Violet sighed, then smiled as she saw Joseph Pope and Arthur Thompson in the distance. She waved, and both men doffed their hats before disappearing into a canvas tent trimmed with yellow and red bunting. "They are running the tea tent," said Violet. "Would you like a cup?"
"Yes. Let's go inside," said Michael, glad of the opportunity to distract Violet from her worries.
The front and sides of the large tent were open to take full advantage of the evening sun. Rows of benches were half full of people enjoying a fine array of cakes. Violet sat down while Michael collected the teas. He returned carrying a plate of scones.
Violet pulled one apart and buttered it moodily.
"Jam?" asked Michael, pushing a small dish of preserve towards her.
She accepted and spooned a little onto her scone, smiling again at the men by the tea urn. Half a dozen Oddfellows, dressed in full regalia, were standing with Joseph and Arthur. She recognised one as George Fairweather who she'd met on her first visit to Diss.
"Their altruism is commendable," she said. "Very kind men."
"All lodges encourage charity," said Michael, "Masonic or otherwise."
"I didn't know that until I met Francis," said Violet. "I thought these organisations were men's clubs – more for socialising than anything else."
"Hmmm." The conversation ground to a halt as Michael finished his scone and Violet watched the mere in front of them through faraway eyes.
"How are you getting on with your investigation?" he asked, snapping her out of her reverie.
"I've ground to a halt," she confessed. "Lawrence asked me to get a list of all women old enough to be the writer of the Scole confession."
"I didn't think you knew much about her?"
"We don't."
"Then how do you know what age she is?"
"Oh, I see. Well, we made certain assumptions. The writer referred to Fanny Nunn who died almost twenty years ago, and she would have been well into her maturity then, but probably older still. So I've drawn up a list of females aged fifty or over who died between 1887 and 1892."
"Why those years?"
"Because William Jackson said that Moyse went to Liverpool in 1892 and we know he left the Antipodes in 1887. It's quite a tidy timeframe."
"Yes. That makes sense," said Michael. "Then you have made progress."
"Not really." Violet looked glumly at the list that she had retrieved from her bag. "I've only noted entries from Saint Mary's. We realised soon after, that the writer could have died in one of the other villages or she could have been a Catholic, Methodist or Baptist – any denomination really. We realised we were chasing our tails and gave up."
"That's a shame. I can help if you like. It's not such a big task when you consider that you only need records for five years."
"I suppose so. It couldn't do any harm."
"Show me what you have written."
Violet passed her notebook to Michael and finished off the last of her scone while he read. After a few moments, he looked up at her with a frown.
"Have you looked closely at this?"
"Not since I wrote it."
"There are an awful lot of deaths from drowning."
"Yes, I noticed that. But Lawrence and I have dealt with coastal cases, and there are always more drownings in villages by the sea. I suppose it's the same for any large body of water?"
"No. The sea is tidal and dangerous. Ships are not always seaworthy, or men get washed overboard. There are many reasons why drownings are more prevalent by the coast. The mere is still and quiet. There shouldn't be the same number of deaths associated with it at all."
Violet pulled the book towards her and looked again. "I see what you mean," she said. "Yes. I will look further into it. I'll go to Saint Mary's again tomorrow and recheck the register. Perhaps I'll collect records back to the year of Fanny's death."
She was about to elaborate when Harry Aldrich walked up to their table and clapped Michael on the back.
"Good to see you again, Vicar," he said.
Michael stood and shook his hand. "Splendid weather for the fair," he replied. "It seems to be going very well, indeed."
"Yes. We couldn't have asked for a finer day. Now, my little boy William is outside and about to race his young playmates on their hobby horses. I must go outside and cheer him on."
"I can't miss that," said Michael, rising to join him. "Are you coming, Violet?"
Violet shook her head and continued reading through the list of names. Michael was right about the drownings. The number was unnaturally high, and she had been dimly aware, but not enough to react. Michael's comment had solidified her concerns. She would ask Lawrence's opinion, as soon as she managed to track him down.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Trapped
Thursday, May 23, 1895
Lawrence Harpham was the first thing on Violet's mind when she woke the next morning. The second was the unexplained presence of a note by the door of her bedroom. She peered at it with unfo
cused eyes, then sat up to see if it became more explicable when viewed from a different angle. Finally, she got out of bed, padded over to the door and picked it up.
The handwriting on the envelope was unfamiliar, with Violet's name scrawled on the front in block capitals. Inside, was a single sheet of paper covered in green ink. It read "Meet me at the disused house by the Baptist Church in Denmark Street. I have some information that may help you in your quest. Come at two o'clock Tell no one."
Violet bit her lip as she scrutinised the paper. If the writer of the note thought that she would go wandering into an empty house without mentioning it to anyone else, he didn't know her at all. She was far too intelligent to do anything that foolish. But clearly, somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to make contact, and there must be a reason. She decided to follow the lead in the safest possible way. She would tell Michael and make sure that he was nearby and in a position to watch over her in case of trouble.
She dressed quickly and decided not to bother with breakfast. Her appetite had vanished over the last few days, and she preferred to make an early start at Saint Mary's instead. She located the vicar and sat quietly copying death dates for the women of the parish from the years 1875 until 1887. These, together with the records she already possessed, gave her almost twenty years' worth of information. Then, glad that she'd had the foresight to wear flat-heeled boots, she embarked on the long walk to Michael's parish church in Frenze. She arrived at Saint Andrew's a little after eleven thirty, out of breath and very warm. The tiny church, surrounded by stone pillars and wrought iron railings, stood at the end of a long footpath. The sun was high, and the grass was beginning to dry out after several days without rain. She walked inside and found Michael sitting in the vestry, writing in a large register.
"Violet. I wasn't expecting you."
"No. Sorry. I need your help."
Michael closed the heavy book. "I was planning to spend today on church matters," he said ruefully.
"I know. I am sorry to have kept you away from your work so often. You will be glad when I have gone."
The Lawrence Harpham Boxset Page 65
