A Crimson Warning

19

I woke up the following morning cramped and uncomfortable, having fallen asleep in the library waiting for Colin, who hadn’t returned during the night. I stretched my aching muscles as I rose from the settee and was about to ring for Davis when I saw him standing against the wall near the room’s front windows.

“Have you been there all night?” I asked.

“Yes, madam,” he said. “My instructions were to keep an eye on you. In the circumstances, I thought keeping two eyes on you would be preferable. Would you like to change your dress before breakfast?”

“Has Mr. Hargreaves sent any messages?”

“No, madam.”

“Are the Daltons awake?”

“Mrs. Dalton has breakfasted,” he said. “I sent a tray to her. She’s upstairs with her husband, who is still asleep. I’ve had the footmen report to me every hour so I would not have to leave you alone.”

“I don’t know how I’d ever manage without you,” I said.

“Thank you, madam.”

I went to my room, rang for Meg, and readied myself for the rest of the day. Once dressed, I checked on our guests—Mr. Dalton hadn’t stirred—and went to the breakfast room. Cook, who always refused to alter her menus because of what she called “Mr. Hargreaves’s business obligations,” had laden the sideboard with enough dishes to feed half of Park Lane. I took a plate and piled some buttered eggs on it, along with deviled chicken and some strawberries, but the fact was I had little appetite. I moved the eggs around with my fork, then took a slice of toast from the silver rack on the table and reached for the marmalade.

“I do hope you can manage to apply yourself with some enthusiasm,” Davis said, coming in with the morning mail. “Cook was in a state this morning when she saw how few of her tea cakes had been consumed last night. I’m certain you don’t want to cause her further distress over her eggs.”

As I scooped up a bite, Colin joined me. His evening kit was covered with dust and grime, and dark shadows smudged deep under his eyes.

“We searched his house, hers, and the warehouse. Sifted through every inch of ash,” he said. “This is all we found.” He handed me a golden locket hanging from a thin chain. I snapped it open to reveal a lock of hair and a miniature portrait of Mr. Dillman.

“Have you pulled the portrait out?” I asked.

“Yes, there’s nothing behind it. I suspect Cordelia was wearing it yesterday, as it exhibits no signs of having been through the fire.”

“Her parents would know, surely. Shall we ask them?”

I abandoned my plate and went upstairs, where we showed the Daltons what Colin had found. Cordelia’s mother nearly choked.

“She never took it off,” she said.

“So she was wearing it the day she was taken?” Colin asked.

“Yes, I’m certain of it.”

“Was it a gift from Mr. Dillman?” I asked.

“No, her father and I gave it to her on her birthday last year,” Mrs. Dalton said. Her husband, his face even more swollen this morning, did his best to nod in agreement.

“When did she add the portrait and the lock of hair?” I asked.

“That I don’t precisely know,” Mrs. Dalton said. “Do you think she dropped it on purpose yesterday?”

“I couldn’t say.” Colin handed the oval pendant back to me, and I set myself to examining it again. Its front was engraved with flowers, the back smooth and clean. Inside, nothing looked out of the ordinary.

“Will you excuse me?” I asked. “I have a thought and need a magnifying glass.”

Colin followed at once. “There’s nothing there, Emily. I checked thoroughly. Even magnified the portrait, front and back.”

“I’m not interested in the portrait,” I said, opening the door to the library and crossing to my desk. I opened the center drawer as I sat down, and pulled out a penknife and a magnifying glass. Using extreme care, I removed the lock of hair with the penknife, tugging gently at the tiny bits of narrow ribbon holding the strands together until the knots became undone. I put the hair in an envelope, not wanting to lose any of it, and smoothed the ribbon flat in front of me.

“I checked,” he said. “There’s nothing behind the hair, or anything hidden in it, either.”

Then I picked up the magnifying glass.

“A long series of numbers,” I said. “It’s written on the inside of the ribbon.”

“Well done, Emily,” Colin said. “I dismissed it as being too narrow. A careless mistake.”

“You’ve been up all night. You couldn’t have been thinking clearly.”

“That’s no excuse. Good thing I have you, eh?”

“Exceedingly good,” I said. “You’re a lucky man.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I’ll assume you mean the numbers, not your luck,” I said, thrilling to the feel of discovery. “They’re the rest of the catalog numbers from the British Museum—they go with the letters I found in Mr. Dillman’s pocket.”

“A reasonable guess,” he said, jotting them down in the notebook he’d pulled from his jacket pocket. “But even if we identify the objects, we’ve no reason to think he was using them for anything other than a game. And remember that there was nothing to be found when Mr. Dalton searched his library.”

“Maybe they’re in Mr. Dillman’s library.”

“We’ve both searched there as have Scotland Yard. There’s nothing left to be found, Emily.”

“We didn’t look behind the books,” I said.

“I did,” Colin said. “As soon as you told me about the game.”

“Then there must be another place where he had hidden something. Something in his personal possessions may give us greater insight into his personality—and that, in turn, may point us in the right direction.”

“It’s an interesting idea.”

“I’d like to pursue it this afternoon,” I said.

“It can’t hurt,” he said. “Davis can oversee the Daltons for a few hours.”

“The Daltons are here?” My mother burst into the room, our butler two paces behind her.

“Lady Bromley, sir,” he called to Colin, before bowing and returning to the corridor.

“What on earth are you two up to?” my mother asked, taking a seat without being asked. “I’ve just been round their house and was told they’d gone to the country. Which made no sense at this time of year. I knew something had to be wrong.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Dalton was attacked yesterday by the man who murdered Mr. Michael Dillman,” Colin said. “We’re keeping him and his wife here until he’s recovered.”

“Is that quite safe?” she asked.

“You know my primary job is to look after your daughter.”

“Oh, Mr. Hargreaves, you are very good,” she said. “Forgive me for worrying, but I know enough about the nature of your activities to be concerned. In fact, it’s those activities that have brought me here today.”

“Mother, I’m afraid we were about to—”

“Do not interrupt, Emily. It’s unbecoming. I’ve just seen the queen and had a lengthy discussion with her about the numerous services you’ve rendered for the Crown. She agreed with me that you should be made KCMG.”

“Lady Bromley, please understand I am flattered, but that is not something I could even begin to consider,” Colin said. “What I do is no more significant than any other servant of the empire.”

“Your modesty is to be admired, sir, but surely you don’t mean to refuse the queen’s honor?”

“He’s done just that on two previous occasions,” I said.

“I’m perfectly well aware of that, Emily,” she said. “Was it perhaps because—”

Colin stopped her. “Please don’t try to change my mind,” he said. “It will only cause tension between myself and Her Majesty. She has accepted my position on similar matters before. I’d prefer not to test her goodwill again.”

“Which is why you must accept the honor gracefully,” my mother said. “It’s an outrage you’ve not been made a peer.”

“I shouldn’t want that, either,” he said.

“I don’t believe you, Mr. Hargreaves. I think, in fact, I’ve identified the problem. You’re more ambitious than I’d thought, and that impresses me.” She nodded, slowly, a smile creeping onto her face. “I will see what can be done.”

“No, Lady Bromley, I wouldn’t want you to do that,” he said. “You must believe me, I—”

“Enough,” she said, rising from her seat. “I take my leave from you both now, but shall hope to return soon with even better news.”

“Please—” She was gone before Colin could get another word out.

I put my elbows on the desktop and rested my chin on them. I could feel my eyes dancing. “I think you’re beginning to see just what a force of nature she can be.”

“I’ve already witnessed that,” he said.

“Yes, but she’s never directed her full power at you. I’m rather pleased to see the focus taken off me,” I said. “It’s a welcome relief. Notice she didn’t make any mention of my involvement with the Women’s Liberal Federation.”

Colin grunted, but said nothing.

“So, to Mr. Dillman’s?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Let me sleep for two hours and we’ll set off.”

“Shall I send Davis up with a tray for you when it’s time? You’ll need something to eat as well as some rest.”

“That would be perfect,” he said. “Have you work to do, or would you care to join me upstairs?”

“Alas, I’ve too much to do at the moment,” I said. “But maybe I’ll bring your tray up myself.”

He gave me a kiss and made sure Davis was installed in the room before leaving me. I studied Cordelia’s locket and considered the many possible suspects before us. Part of the trouble was there was almost no one in London who didn’t have reason to lash out at society. I set myself to the task of writing a list of everyone who’d given me cause to wonder, but had trouble focusing. Distracted and unsettled, I decided to read, but not even Mary Elizabeth Braddon could get my attention in my current frame of mind. I tossed aside The Venetians and began to browse the library’s shelves. I started in fiction, having no interest in true stories at the moment, running a finger along the spines of volume after volume, when suddenly something struck me. I went back to my desk.

Maybe Cordelia’s game had led me astray. Mr. Dillman’s numbers could be library catalog citations.

3 July 1893

Belgrave Square, London

I think my scheme to find Mr. Barnes a bride may be more successful than I’d ever hoped! My two candidates are both interested, their families are delighted, and the prospective groom couldn’t be happier. It’s so lovely to have something good come during this horrid season. I only wish Emily hadn’t left the ball in such a rush last night. I’d hoped to enlist her help.

Winifred told me some things she considers alarming about Cordelia Dalton today. She had nothing to say that’s pertinent to Emily’s investigation of Mr. Dillman’s death, only that Cordelia is prone to reading books some would consider inappropriate for young ladies. I can hardly condemn her for it, given my own proclivity for such works. Winifred believes it’s a symptom of deeper problems, and has gone so far as to suggest Cordelia’s fortunate to have been saved from marrying Mr. Dillman. He, too, it seems, had a penchant for the inappropriate.

I breathed not a word to her about my taste in novels.