Murder in mayfair, p.2
Murder In Mayfair, page 2
“My, how many cold mornin’s did I find you sittin’ right there a’ fore the fire, readin’ a book, or writin’ in your journal?” She perched on the edge of the bed as she ruminated on our shared past. “Lady Carstairs, she dinna’ rouse herself a’fore noon most days so you had plenty of time to y’self, ain’t that right?”
Her observation brought a somewhat sad smile of remembrance to my face as I sipped the warm chocolate. “Indeed, I did pass many long hours right here. But, I never minded being alone. The years I passed in this house with Lady Carstairs were quite happy ones for me.” A sigh escaped me. “I confess I fully expected my life here to go on forever.”
“Ever’thin’ comes to an end,” the older woman said as she rose to her feet. “But, I ‘spect you’ll soon be a-findin’ yerself a nice young man to marry, now won’t ye?”
I chuckled. “Not if I spend all my days sitting here on the floor. Although I can think of far worse places to be.”
Mrs. Gant moved a step closer to the bedchamber door. “To say truth, Mr. Gant and I are a bit anxious as to where we’ll be goin’ once Mr. Haworth shuts up the house. Have ye’ heard him say what he has in mind or . . . when he might be a’turnin’ us out?”
My hands wrapped about the warm cup, I shook my head. “I’ve heard nothing definite. This morning Miss Haworth mentioned that her father means to sell the house once all the furnishings and what-not are removed. Miss Haworth and I have discussed calling on a few curiosity shops soon, perhaps even today.”
The elderly woman’s eyes widened. “Curiosity shops, ‘ye say? Seems a bit odd to me her father would allow that.”
I paid her remark no mind. Mr. Haworth was quite protective of his only daughter but Cathleen was not a flighty or irresponsible sort and often went shopping on her own so to allow us to call at a curiosity shop did not seem the least bit odd to me. “I will keep my ears open and let you know the minute I hear anything from either of the Haworths,” I said.
“Be right thoughtful of you, Miss Juliette. Don’t mind sayin’ I’ve missed you around here, and so has Mr. G, make no mistake.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gant. I’ve missed you too.” Taking another sip of my warm drink, I returned to my solitary work as she quitted the room.
By early afternoon, I was feeling a bit fatigued and also quite hungry so after alerting Mrs. Gant that I was leaving, I again donned my warm cloak and gloves and set out for my return walk to Harley Street. Once there, I found Cathleen and her father about to go through to the dining chamber.
“Ah, good afternoon, Juliette. You are just in time to join us,” Mr. Haworth said when he spotted me entering the house.
Handing my wrapper to Mitchell, the Haworth butler, who hung it on a peg in the foyer, I hurried to catch up to the family.
“I gathered some useful information for you and Cathleen this morning,” Mr.Haworth, a somewhat stout, dark-haired gentleman, said.
“Oh?” I smiled up at him.
As the three of us took seats around the cozy oblong dining table, Mr. Haworth continued. “At my office this morning, I jotted down the names of several reputable curiosity dealers taken from the Post Office Directory, which not only contains the current proprietor’s name but also provides the direction to his establishment. To satisfy myself as to the dealers’ reputations, I cross-referenced the names with recent cases of fraud that have come before the court. Unfortunately, not all curiosity dealers are reputable,” he warned. “A case is currently being heard at the Old Bailey of a dealer who inadvertently, or perhaps not,” he added, “purchased stolen goods. Fellow was brought up on charges when the innocent purchaser of said items declared that a houseguest of his claimed his friend’s new acquisitions had recently been stolen from him.”
Cathleen and I exchanged alarmed glances.
“But, how are we to prove to a dealer that what we wish to sell has not been stolen?” Cathleen asked.
Mr. Haworth smiled indulgently. “I doubt anyone would take either of you for thieves, my dear.”
“Well, that does rather put my mind at ease,” I said on a laugh.
“At any rate,” Mr. Haworth went on. “Of those shops which I deem proper for you and Juliette to call upon, three are located on Regent Street; two on New Bond Street. You have my permission to call upon them at your leisure,” he aimed a stern look at his daughter, “provided, of course, you are accompanied by both a maid and a footman.”
“Certainly, Father,” Cathleen replied meekly.
“Shall we begin this afternoon?” I inquired, gazing anxiously at first the older gentleman and then his daughter. “I set out a selection of smaller articles this morning I thought we might begin with.”
“I’ve no need for the carriage this afternoon,” Mr. Haworth said, “so today will be satisfactory with me, so long as both you young ladies agree to remain together once you enter a shop and, while you are there, you continue to be watchful. If you see or hear anything untoward, or spot anyone who looks the least bit objectionable . . .” he cast a stern gaze in his daughter’s direction. “I believe you take my meaning, Cathleen; you are to leave immediately.”
After a pause in which he took a few bites of the roasted beef and potatoes on his plate, he added, “I expect you young ladies will come upon a good many shops whilst you are out and about, but you must promise to never enter one located on Wardour Street. There have been several cases of counterfeit artifacts turning up in shops in that quarter of the city, therefore I insist you avoid that area altogether.”
As I was uncertain where Wardour Street was located, I did not think there was any chance of our straying out of bounds and said so.
“It pleases me to know I can count on you to follow my guidance to the letter, Juliette.” He cast another stern glance at his daughter. “Not that I believe you would knowingly cross me again, sweetheart.”
Father and daughter exchanged a look but when nothing further was said on the subject, I did not venture to remark upon the oddity. After concluding the small meal, the three of us went our separate ways although Mr. Haworth caught up to me in the corridor and in a hushed tone informed me that he and Cathleen had earlier agreed that I should receive a commission for any sales the two of us might make on our own. “As a way of further compensating you for all your hard work, my dear.”
I thanked the gentleman for his generosity and a quarter hour later, Cathleen and I both returned below-stairs, she accompanied by a rather dour-faced maid named Mrs. Darnell, who appeared to be about forty, was on the plumpish side and who I had noticed often seemed a good bit cheeky. After the three of us wrapped warm woolen scarves around our necks and donned cloaks and gloves, we exited the house and headed toward the curb where the tidy hooded Haworth carriage awaited us. Apparently John, who normally served as head footman, had agreed to drive us today, and to also be watchful should we require liberating from any sort of dodgy situation.
I, of course, did not expect that, given our destination, which was not terribly far from where we were located now, we would meet up with any situation that would require our being rescued from, but I refrained from saying so aloud. Mr. Haworth was quite protective of his only daughter and for that, I expect we should both feel grateful.
We drove first to Lady Carstairs’ home, located on the veriest fringe of Mayfair on Henrietta Street, which was also near enough to both Regent Street and also New Bond Street that we could have walked the remainder of the way to our destination if it weren’t for the discomfort of the cold wind that continued to blow. At any rate, John helped the three of us alight from the tidy coach, then agreed to wait for us on the bench outdoors, whilst we hurried inside to fill our reticules, and a shopping bag brought along for just that purpose, with the assortment of items I had earlier set out.
“To begin with a few small items will provide us with a feel for how things go,” I remarked to Cathleen. Neither of us had ever sold anything before, not even Mrs. Darnell, although I wasn’t certain I believed her firm denial of possessing any knowledge in regard to how such a thing might be done. Once, back inside the small carriage, Cathleen appeared to suddenly grow anxious over exactly how to proceed.
“What do we say first? Are we to introduce ourselves to the proprietor, or simply blurt out that we have something to sell?”
I chuckled. “Perhaps we should just casually saunter into the shop as if we are customers and appear to look around a bit so as to ascertain what sort of establishment it might be, judging from what manner of artifacts are on display. We can leave the shopping bag in the carriage and if we decide to approach the proprietor, we can send Mrs. Darnell back out to fetch it.”
“I ain’t doin’ no fetchin’.”
Following the woman’s outspoken remark, my head shook while Cathleen’s whirled around. “Mrs. Darnell, I explained to you earlier what our excursion today consists of.”
“You didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout no fetchin.” The older woman thrust one of her chins into the air and stubbornly folded her arms across her middle.
“Very well, then,” I spoke up, thinking it odd that not above five minutes ago the woman had voiced no objection whatever to toting our rather heavy shopping bag out to the carriage for us. “If we decide to show the curiosity dealer what is in our shopping bag, perhaps you will agree to ask John to carry it into the shop for us.”
Mrs. Darnell sniffed. “I ‘spose I could do that.”
“Indeed you can and you will,” Cathleen muttered irritably. As the carriage was even now slowing and in seconds had rumbled to a halt before a cramped-looking little shop in New Bond Street, she murmured, “Oh, my. We have arrived.” She turned an anxious gaze on me. “Juliette, I insist you do the talking. I am certain I shall not be able to think of a single intelligent thing to say.”
Seated between us, I noted Mrs. Darnell’s head, partially covered by a mobcap with a flat-brimmed black felt hat perched atop it, shake from side to side.
“You mustn’t fret, Cathleen, I mean, Miss Haworth, I will indeed do the talking. I shall introduce you to the proprietor as ‘Miss Haworth’ and myself as Miss Abbott and say that we have brought along a few valuable items from the collection of the late Lady Carstairs, which we wish to offer up for sale.”
Cathleen’s brown eyes lit up. “That sounds perfectly grand, Juliette. I am so glad you are here. No matter what you say, I shan’t say a word to the contrary. You have my permission to handle the entire transaction from start to finish.”
“What shall I say?” inquired Mrs. Darnell.
“Nothing!” Cathleen fairly barked. “You are to follow my lead and remain silent.”
At times, I thought Cathleen sounded exactly like her father. As a solicitor who had argued cases before the Old Bailey himself, I knew that when necessary, he could be quite an imposing figure, indeed. And, to say truth, on more than one occasion since I had been residing with the Haworth family, I had been surprised to note the generally demure Miss Cathleen Haworth come close to all out losing her temper. Seemingly over nothing of import. Thus far, however, and to my immense relief, none of her irritability had ever been directed at me.
Inside the shop on New Bond Street, which the sign in the window declared dealt in everything from Antique Armor to Dresden China plus a ‘World of Curiosities’ we found . . .
CHAPTER 2
Something Objectionable . . .
A COLORFUL ASSORTMENT of interesting novelties awaited us within, but after closer inspection, I leaned in to whisper into Cathleen’s ear. “I rather think the quality here is not quite as elegant as I hoped.”
“Do you think we should go elsewhere?”
I nodded, whereupon Cathleen touched Mrs. Darnell’s arm, she now bent nearly double in order to closely examine a clumsily carved wooden figurine of a boy beating a toy drum.
The proprietor, having noticed that we, the only customers presently browsing in his shop, were now turning to make a hasty exit, exclaimed, “But ladies, you have not yet seen the . . .”
“Perhaps another time, sir,” I replied, leading the way to the door, Cathleen and Mrs. Darnell dutifully following behind me.
Spotting us, John hopped down from the bench to assist us into the carriage. As I stood waiting on the flagway, a long gaze scanned the shops across the way. Despite the cold weather, a goodly number of pedestrians were traversing the walkway and the cobbled street was clogged with carriages.
Whilst residing with Lady Carstairs, I had often strolled up and down this end of New Bond Street on my own, it being quite near Henrietta Street and never once, on any one of my countless solitary walks in Mayfair, had I ever encountered anything untoward. Now, my gaze alighted upon a shop directly across the cobbled street, the sign above it proclaiming the proprietor to be a Discerning Purveyor of Curiosities and Fine Antiquities. Of a sudden, I recalled having been there before and that I found the shop’s contents and the proprietor to be quite respectable.
“Cathleen,” I said impulsively, “so long as we are here, shall we just . . .pop over there?” A gloved finger indicated the shop across the way.
Having not yet settled herself inside the carriage, Cathleen glanced over her shoulder. “But, Father said . . .”
“I have been in that shop before,” I declared. “On many of my walks about Mayfair, I even ventured as far afield as Grosvenor Street.”
“Very well, then. You’ve no need to come with us, Mrs. Darnell.” The older woman, already seated, was now busy patting the folds of her long skirt into place. “We shall only be a moment.”
John reached to re-assist Miss Haworth down from the carriage and the pair of us set out to pick our way across busy New Bond Street to the respectable-looking shop across the way.
Before entering the shop, Cathleen brightened when she spotted a pretty painted vase in the window. “Indeed. Judging merely from what is displayed in the window, I believe the artifacts here to be far more in line with what we have to sell. How clever of you, Juliette.”
Both of us eager to see what other treasures we might find within, we hurried inside. My eyes lit up at once and without hesitating a moment, I boldly approached the shop’s owner, whose name I suddenly recalled from one of my previous visits.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Keller. I am Miss Juliette Abbott. My friend, Miss Haworth, who is the niece of the late Lady Carstairs . . . of a certainty, you remember her, do you not? At any rate, Miss Haworth and I have been commissioned to sell a number of Lady Carstairs’ priceless artifacts.” All this I conveyed as I was setting my somewhat bulky reticule upon the counter and after pulling apart the strings, gingerly dipped into it to carefully remove the porcelain figurine within.
Unwrapping it, a pair of women browsing nearby hurried over. “Did I hear you mention the late Lady Carstairs? Oh, my, Elizabeth.” She turned to her friend. “Do take a look at this! It belonged to Lady Carstairs. I attended a reception at her home only last Season. At the time, she was raising money for the New London Foundling Home. How much do you want for this, young lady?”
“She was offering it for sale to me,” snapped Mr. Keller. “After I compensate Miss Abbott for it, I will place it on display for sale in my shop window, with a placard revealing from where . . .”
“But, I want it now!” cried the woman.
“Ladies, please,” I interrupted, not wishing the see the two of them resort to fisticuffs. “We’ve plenty more. This one is actually part of a set. You may each have one.” I turned to Cathleen, who thus far was hovering quietly near my elbow. “The mate to this figurine is in your reticule, is it not, Miss Haworth?”
Cathleen promptly set her reticule upon the counter and soon produced the mate to the exquisitely crafted figure of a young lady in full court costume right down, or rather up, to the tiny red plumes adorning her coiffure, upon which I still had a firm grip.
Moments later, after a fair price had been agreed upon between Mr. Keller and myself, he handed over the funds due us, then wearing a smile of satisfaction, promptly resold the figurines (allowing for a fine profit for himself) to the ladies patiently waiting to purchase their new treasures at the counter.
As the above transaction took place, both Cathleen and I stepped aside, smiling smugly as we waited until the resale was concluded; I, thinking that after the ladies quitted the shop, I would inform Mr. Keller that Miss Haworth and I had brought along a score of additional artifacts that we wished to sell. But before I could apprise Cathleen of my plan, I noticed a gentleman approaching us from the rear of the shop, his intent gaze fixed upon my companion.
Pausing before Cathleen, the gentleman touched the brim of his hat. “Miss Haworth.”
At the sound of his voice, Cathleen turned toward him. Watching the scene unfold, I was taken aback by both the flash of recognition in her eyes and the sudden flush of color that rose to her cheeks.
Lifting her chin, she scarcely murmured, “Mr. Chalmers.”
He reached as if to take her hand, but when she refused to stretch forth hers, he instead drew back and sketched a polite bow. “I am delighted to see you again, my dear.”
Cathleen said nothing, but I noted the flare of her nostrils and the sharp rise and fall of her breasts, as if the mere sight of the gentleman constituted an affront to her dignity.
Rebuffed, the gentleman merely nodded. “My deepest sympathies on the loss of your aunt, Lady Carstairs. I have dearly wished to . . .”
Suddenly, Cathleen aimed a firm gaze at me. “I shall wait for you in the carriage, Juliette.” Brushing past both me, and the stunned gentleman, she hurried toward the door, her empty reticule swinging limply from her wrist.
I sucked in a breath. “Oh. Oh, dear me, I-I . . .”
Having followed Cathleen’s progress as she fled from the shop, the gentleman turned toward me. “As you might have guessed, Miss . . .?”
“Abbott, sir. I was the late Lady Carstairs’ companion. Miss Haworth and I have been dear friends these many years.”
