A Crimson Warning

38

“That’s all fine for the lot of you,” Jeremy said. “But I’m never showing my face in public again.” We’d gathered in the library, each of us still reeling from the events of the previous week. “It’s all over and I’ve got not a single drop of paint to show for it. Not a drop! Meanwhile, our darling Em—my darling Em—is the only one of us to have made the cut. She gets paint.”

“The paint was for Colin,” I said, centering on the table my favorite Greek vase, its black figures depicting the siege of Troy.

“Right,” Jeremy said. “Hargreaves, the model of everything good in England, has something to hide? You’ll never convince me it wasn’t meant for you.”

“This isn’t funny, you know,” Ivy said. “People are dead. And think of all those whose lives have been decimated.”

“I hate to agree with old Barnes, but you can’t say they didn’t deserve it,” Jeremy said. “It never pays to live badly unless you’re happy for others to know.” He puffed on his cigar and looked contemplative for a moment. “I say, that was a bloody good phrase. You think Oscar Wilde would want it?”

“You think too highly of yourself, Jeremy,” I said.

“We shouldn’t be joking about this.” Ivy pressed her pink lips together. Her face was drawn and pale.

“It’s all over now,” I said. “There’s no more need to worry.”

Her whole body trembling, she started to cry.

“Ivy, darling, what is it?” I asked.

“I can’t live with myself any longer,” she said. “I’ve done something so wretched. Every day has been agony, waiting to see if my secret was the next to be exposed.”

“You?” Jeremy doubled over, laughing. “Ivy, there’s no one in England—no, the world—less likely to have done something dreadful than you. I’ve seen you remove ants from picnic blankets in lieu of smashing them.”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” she said, her voice raw.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” I said. “Barnes has been stopped, and you’ve nothing more to fear.”

“Nothing but your censure and my husband’s,” she said. “After all these weeks of worrying, I’ve decided I must confess everything. I couldn’t live with myself otherwise. And I certainly couldn’t live through another period terrified of exposure.”

“There’s no need, Ivy,” Colin said, moving to sit next to her.

“I must.” She took a deep breath. “I did something terrible when you were all in Vienna and Robert was in Newgate, awaiting trial for murder.”

“That was a dreadful time, Ivy,” I said. “Anyone might have strayed into morally ambiguous territory. You were afraid your husband was going to be executed.”

“Very afraid,” she said. “And although I had faith in your skills as an investigator, Emily, I still worried that you might not be able to clear his name. I was frantic. And I couldn’t think of any other way to save him.”

“We were all frantic,” I said.

“But I did something immoral,” she said. “I found a man, a poor man. A man with no income, an invalid wife, and more children than he could ever hope to feed. He’d lost his job in some dreadful factory and couldn’t find another that paid enough. So I made an offer to him.”

We all sat, our stillness almost inhuman. Ivy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Colin handed her a handkerchief.

“I told him that if he would agree to confess to the murder, I would see to it that his wife received the best medical care money could buy and that I would support his family in a style better than any in which they’d ever lived.”

“But if he confessed—” I started, but she interrupted.

“Yes, he would be hanged for the crime,” she said. “But he would die knowing his loved ones would be looked after in a way they couldn’t be if he were alive and trying to care for them.”

“Oh, Ivy,” I said.

Tears poured down her face. “I know how awful it was to do,” she said. “I’m ashamed of myself. But I’m not like you, Emily. I’m not strong enough to live without my husband.”

“Ivy Brandon!” Jeremy rescued us from the heavy silence engulfing the room. “That you, of all people, would make me look a paragon of English goodness.”

“It’s no joking matter, Jeremy,” she said.

“No?” he asked. “I seem to remember Emily clearing Robert’s name and your husband being released from jail. Correct?”

“Yes,” she said.

“So, your working-class bloke? Did he ever make his confession?”

“No.”

“Which suggests—now, do correct me if I’m wrong for I’ve not Emily’s investigative mind—it suggests he was not, in fact, hanged?”

“No,” Ivy said.

“And do tell us, Mrs. Brandon, about the plight of his family today.” Jeremy had never performed with such bravado. “Did you, upon finding you didn’t need them, cut them off from all support?”

“Heavens, no!” she said. “I’ve looked after them the whole time. They’re happily settled in Newcastle. The children have a governess. Their father has no need for a job.”

“And the health of the man’s dear wife?” Jeremy asked.

“She suffers from consumption, but receives the best care possible.”

Jeremy threw his hands in the air. “Only you, Ivy, could turn a very nearly terrible sin into a great act of charity.”

“I was going to let the man hang for a crime he didn’t commit,” she said.

“I don’t believe for one second you would have ever gone through with it,” I said. “Look how tormented you are over just having thought about it. In the end, you wouldn’t have stood by and let it happen.”

“And furthermore,” Colin said, “the police would require more than a vague confession. This man would never have been able to give them the necessary details to convince them he was responsible for the murder.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I am,” he said. “And I agree with Emily. You would never have gone through with it.”

“You don’t all despise me?” she asked, wiping away more tears.

“Not in the slightest,” I said.

“You may depend upon our undying friendship forever,” Jeremy said.

“I don’t deserve you,” she said. “And can only hope Robert takes my confession as well as you all have. But I’m being so selfish and thinking only of myself. What will happen to Winifred?”

“There won’t be any charges filed against her. Her husband didn’t want the additional embarrassment. Nor did Lady Glover,” Colin said. “Mrs. Harris returned the extortion money, and Lady Glover was given the option to forgive or to face charges of her own for staging the kidnapping.”

“She made the right choice,” I said.

“But why did Winifred do it?” Ivy asked.

“She has secrets of her own that haunt her,” I said. “Her mother eloped with a cad of a man who turned out to be a complete profligate. He abandoned her eighteen months later, after which she took up with someone equally as bad and wound up infected with syphilis. She died trying to give birth to her second child, and lost the baby as well. Winifred, only two years old, was sent to live with relatives. She didn’t find out the truth about her background until she was an adult. At that point, she became obsessed with protecting her secret. She was convinced her husband would leave her if he knew what her mother had been.”

“I don’t understand how that led to extortion,” Ivy said.

“She was petrified when the paint started, convinced she’d be next, and as a result, starting keeping careful records about every secret she heard. And she heard quite a lot. She tried to analyze the facts and find anything that might enable her to identify who was spreading the gossip, and the paint. In the end, she found connections of one sort or another between each of the victims and Lady Glover. She came to the conclusion Lady Glover was behind the attacks.”

“No doubt there were connections because she’s trifled with nearly every husband in London,” Jeremy said.

“It wasn’t all affairs,” I said. “There were overlapping charities, servants who had worked for both Lady Glover and the victims, all sorts of things. As soon as she found the pictures and then realized that her own husband had become embroiled with Lady Glover, she was terrified she’d be the next whose life would be ruined.”

“She thought blackmail would keep Lady Glover quiet,” Colin said. “She’d also started writing to Mr. Foster. I thought this might be evidence of them working together, but it turns out she was campaigning to get him to introduce morality bills into Parliament.”

“Morality bills?” Jeremy asked. “Are such things even possible? If they are, I’m denouncing my citizenship and moving to France.”

“I wouldn’t be too worried,” Colin said.

“What about Bucephalus?” Ivy asked. “Who was behind the attempted poisoning?”

“Barnes,” Colin said. “He thought he’d make a bid to get us off the case, hoping I’d bow out if Emily was upset enough. When she stood firm after that scare, he sent her the note leading her to the body, thinking that might prove distressing enough to put her off.”

“He did have a flair for drama, didn’t he?” Jeremy asked. “Which I suppose explains his choice of red paint.”

“Barnes told us he’d made the bottle to help Dillman,” Colin said. “But in fact he left it for Dillman as a warning. He invented the whole story of Dillman coming to him for help. He waited until after he knew Dillman would have found the bottle, but heard nothing about it. No gossip, no rumors. He then realized his technique wasn’t dramatic enough. No one in England knew what it meant. So he switched to paint, which could neither be ignored nor hidden.”

“He used the deaf factory workers to splash the paint,” I said. “He was confident no one else would be able to decipher their primitive sign language.”

“And rightly so,” Colin said. “Scotland Yard weren’t able to understand them at all.”

“Barnes was lucky no one had guards in front of their house waiting to catch the painters,” Jeremy said.

“Some people tried that,” Colin said. “The vandalism was always done before the first light of dawn. Apparently, at least twice the ill-treated wretches in his employ didn’t leave paint as instructed because they saw signs of being watched.”

“Which lucky families dodged the attention?” Jeremy asked.

“Barnes wouldn’t tell,” I said.

“What about Foster and his mysterious visit to Westminster Abbey?” Jeremy asked.

“He’s come forward and confessed everything,” Colin said. “He was the one sending the notes to Lady Glover that we all believed came from our villain. They’ve had a relationship for some time—that is information not to leave this room—and he was sorry she felt so unappreciated by her husband.”

“And receiving letters from a criminal was supposed to make her feel better about herself?” Ivy asked.

“You saw for yourself it did,” Colin said. “He knows her well. He’d hidden the sealing wax and seal, along with a stash of paper in the Abbey, on the off chance someone found it in his possession and thought he was behind the whole nasty business, not just some false letters.”

“He picked the spot because he’d formed a habit of ending his days—which were often more like late nights—with a stop in the Abbey for quiet contemplation and prayer. The caretakers were used to this and took no notice of him. He realized he could easily hide and remove his things so long as he did it when the tourists were all gone. He hadn’t counted on having to fetch it all in a hurry during the day when he could be seen.”

“So why did he do it then?” Ivy asked.

“He was afraid I’d learned about the purported election fraud,” I said.

“Fraud he had nothing to do with,” Colin said.

“Yes, well, we have somewhat disparate views on that subject,” I said. “He thought he should gather up any evidence that could make him seem connected to the crimes and then he rushed to Mr. Barnes’s house to seek his advice on what he should do. When he saw the rooster heads, which he recognized as the sort of thing Barnes had told him was used by islanders, he misunderstood. He thought it was his friend’s way of warning him not to come inside. So he raced to the Abbey instead to remove the evidence he’d left there.”

“You did an excellent job keeping Barnes distracted for so long,” Jeremy said. “I don’t know what would have happened if he’d stumbled upon us with the unfortunate roosters. But what of the business of him lying about his dinner party?”

“Mr. Barnes saw Mr. Foster in the corridor after I’d left his office,” I said. “Mr. Foster told him what had happened and asked to meet him at Barnes’s house. Mr. Barnes wanted a handy excuse to head home.”

“So Foster was running about like a fool,” Jeremy said. “I know, Hargreaves, you’re fond of the man’s politics. I won’t bother to argue with you on that count. But you must admit he’d make a terrible criminal. He has so little foresight. Do you think such a man could really be a decent prime minister? I’d prefer someone who could be devious if the situation required it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure Mr. Foster wouldn’t fit the bill,” I said.

“What about the servant Lady Glover saw collecting the letter she left on her doorstep?” Ivy asked.

“She invented that,” I said. “I think she’d be much happier if she chose to return to the stage.”

“So, in the end, of all our suspects, only Mr. Foster turned out to be really good,” she said.

“I’m not entirely convinced of his much-lauded character,” I said. “But shall do as instructed and speak no further on the subject.”

Colin pulled a face, then laughed. “I do wish you all could have seen Emily in Scotland Yard. She made quite an excellent report—thorough and well organized.”

“They were more than a little shocked that you let me make it,” I said, smiling.

“It’s time they learn they’re going to have to accept you as a force that won’t be ignored,” he said. “I have a suspicion, though, that is something they’ll find easier before long.”

“Poor Mr. Foster,” Ivy said. “He must be terribly upset to have lost his closest friend in such an infamous manner. Mr. Barnes has proved a master of psychological torment.”

“Can you blame him?” I said. “Look at how he was treated. Should we expect different, if we lay such cruel judgment on a person simply because of the identity of his father?”

“It doesn’t mean he should go about murdering people,” Jeremy said. “It isn’t civilized. And I, for one, want to go on the record to say that I never gave a fig who his father was. All things considered, I couldn’t be happier with the outcome of this.”

“I could be,” I said.

“How so?” Colin asked.

“I can’t decide which I’m more interested in knowing: Why our steps have been painted red or what your involvement was in the ever mysterious Anderson matter. Perhaps the two are related.”

“Anderson? That old thing?” Jeremy asked. “Nobody cares about that anymore.”

“Even he knows?” I glared at my husband, half serious, half in jest.

“Only because I was there,” Jeremy said.

“You were there?” I asked. “What happened?”

Colin buried his face in his hands.

“It was your lofty husband’s first foray into service for the Crown,” Jeremy said. “A group of us were at Balmoral, part of the royal party, and some useless lady-in-waiting, Miss Anderson, let one of the queen’s favorite collies escape. She was beside herself … convinced she’d lose her position and be ruined. Hargreaves, here, took it upon himself to save the girl’s neck. She was rather a pretty thing, wasn’t she, Hargreaves?”

“The dog or the girl?” Colin asked.

“I won’t torment you,” Jeremy said. “He spent two solid days searching for the wretched creature. By the time he returned to the castle, Her Majesty had been asking for the dog repeatedly and we’d all run out of excuses to explain where it might be. Enter the divine Hargreaves, covered with mud, but with the collie well in hand. The queen has been devoted to him ever since. I believe you found the whole incident slightly mortifying, didn’t you, Hargreaves?”

“Why?” Ivy said. “I think it’s a lovely story! What became of Miss Anderson?”

“Sophie Anderson married my brother two months later,” Colin said. “In the end, she preferred her gentlemen to stay out of the mud.”

“Right,” Jeremy said. “I quite forgot myself when I called her useless. I should show your sister-in-law more respect.”

“No offense taken, Bainbridge.”

I watched my husband closely. “Mr. Barnes wouldn’t have found that story worthy of red paint. And, knowing my own past as well as I do, I’m confident there’s nothing interesting enough in it for him.”

“So you’re saying the paint was for me?” Colin asked.

“I am.”

“No doubt you’re correct.”

I saw Ivy and Jeremy exchange worried glances, and I considered the situation before me. “Thinking about it, I don’t care what you’ve done. I trust you implicitly. Your work has, no doubt, required morally dubious action from time to time, but far be it for me to question your judgment. You’re welcome to your dark secrets. I know everything I need to about what kind of a man you are.”

“What an enlightened girl I’ve married,” he said, kissing my hand. “Thank you, Emily. Your faith means everything to me.”

So lost was I in the warmth of his eyes, I didn’t notice Davis standing in the doorway. He cleared his throat loudly. “Lady Bromley to see you, madam.”

“Heavens, she waited to be introduced,” I said, noticing that at the sound of her name I’d already sat up straighter.

My mother was beaming as she walked into the room. “My dear Mr. Hargreaves, I come with the best of news. How wonderful that you’re surrounded by friends to hear it with you.”

Colin stood up. “Lady Bromley, I think it’s probably best—”

“No, no,” she said. “This is to be my treat. Her Majesty is allowing me specially. You, dear sir, for the many services you’ve rendered for queen and country, are being offered an earldom.”

“An earldom?” Jeremy all but jumped to his feet. “Thank heavens it’s not more. I couldn’t have him with precedence over me. That would be unbearable.”

“You need not worry, Bainbridge,” Colin said. “I couldn’t possibly accept such an honor.”

“Don’t be silly,” my mother said. “Of course you’ll accept. Isn’t it delightful, Emily? You’ll be a countess! I couldn’t be more pleased.”

“I won’t accept,” Colin said.

My mother ignored him.

“What an honor,” Ivy said. “It is a wonderful thing, you must admit, and very well deserved.”

“I shan’t even discuss it,” Colin said. “Although you may inform Her Majesty I would be quite pleased to see my wife’s name on the New Year’s Honors list. Can you see to that?”

“Emily?” My mother balked. “Whatever for?”

“Until you can answer that question for me, with sincerity and no hesitation, I shall never consider accepting an honor of my own,” Colin said.

My mother so forgot herself she let her mouth hang open. “I don’t even know how to begin to respond to that.”

“Hence our problem,” he said. “Do think on it, though. I’m of the opinion the Royal Order of Victoria and Albert, Fourth Class, would be just right. In the meantime, we’ve port and cigars waiting for us. I don’t suppose you’d care to join?”

“I most certainly would not!”

“Then I suppose we’ve nothing further to discuss,” he said. My mother sputtered incoherently for a moment and then stalked out of the room, not bidding farewell to any of us. Jeremy collapsed in laughter, Ivy at his side.

“Forgive me,” Colin said. “It was crass, I know. But I don’t care who I offend or what ire I draw, be it your mother’s or the queen’s. I will see you appreciated in your own right, my dear, no matter what it takes. And until you are, I shall never, ever, accept an honor of my own. Not even should you decide you fancy having a noble husband.”

“No husband could be more noble,” I said.

“That’s quite enough of this romantic nonsense,” Jeremy said. “I’ve been promised port and cigars. Hargreaves?”

“Some things, Bainbridge, are more important than port and cigars,” Colin said, taking me into his arms and pressing his lips hard against mine, right in front of our friends. “Having just taken care of my favorite of those things—thank you for the kiss, dear wife—I’m going to tend to the rest of them straight away. Do you think I’ll have any trouble persuading the queen to see me on such short notice?”