No stone unturned, p.1
No Stone Unturned, page 1
part #1 of Lucy Lawrence Series
No Stone Unturned
By Pam Lecky
First Kindle Edition © 2019 Pam Lecky
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CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
About the Author
Acknowledgements
PART ONE
***
The Trouble with Charlie
CHAPTER 1
St John’s Wood, London, October 1886
Lucy Lawrence looked up from her book with a start. Something had struck the windowpane, shattering the silence of the room. For a moment she wondered if she had imagined it, but Horace, her ginger cat, was staring at the window, his eyes wide and his ears laid back.
“What is it, Horace?” Lucy asked. But the cat simply settled down with a yawn and resumed his nap. Lucy laughed. “What a useful fellow you are!”
She went to the window, her curiosity too niggling to ignore. There was nothing obvious to account for the sound she’d heard but as she turned away, movement caught her eye. A blackbird was hopping towards the undergrowth near the wall, one of its wings half-open and held awkwardly. The poor thing must have flown into the window. Wasn’t there a superstition about that? For several minutes Lucy stood watching the bird’s hiding place. Perhaps she should send her maid Mary out to see if the bird could be helped? But minutes later, to her relief, the bird emerged and flew up in to the bare branches of the cherry tree.
The afternoon was drawing in. To continue reading the lamps needed to be lit, but Lucy remained standing at the window. It wasn’t just that the abandoned book no longer held any interest: the real problem was boredom. It was half past four on a cold, grey afternoon and another evening alone was all she had to look forward to. As Charlie’s trips away had become more frequent, so too for Lucy had the melancholy contemplation of the four walls around her. After ten years of marriage perhaps this was how every couple ended up, but it wasn’t what she had envisaged the day she agreed to elope.
She sighed and considered the mirror image of her own home across the road: highly respectable, pretentious and bland—much like its inhabitants, she thought with a wry smile. Despite her family connections, Lucy had been ostracised from the beginning, the ladies of Abbey Gardens making it clear what they thought of her elopement and the subsequent scandal for the house of Somerville. At first, she didn’t care, too wrapped up in her own happiness and relief that she had escaped Yorkshire, but gradually the exclusion had its effect. And now it was magnified by being trapped in an increasingly lonely marital home.
It was all right for Charlie: he had his clubs and business interests and was rarely at home. One morning at breakfast, Lucy had broached the subject of her loneliness with him. He had suggested she do charity work. Wasn’t that what most of the ladies did, Charlie said, before burying his nose in his newspaper. Now the highlights of her week were the days she spent visiting patients at the Royal Free on Gray’s Inn Road. There, at least, the other ladies accepted her at face value and she had formed new friendships. But it wasn’t enough. Other days she prowled the galleries and museums, eager for knowledge, desperate to find an interest. But at the end of every day she still had to return to Abbey Gardens to eat alone or endure silence if Charlie was in one of his moods. She had given up so much to be with him, but he had changed. Gone was the fun-loving man-about-town: he had been replaced by a surlier version, particularly when they were alone.
Shortage of money and no heir were the predominant themes of their arguments in the early days. At first, Lucy had stood her ground. Charlie had known well the risk of no dowry if they eloped. A letter from her father’s solicitor soon after they settled in London had confirmed it. As for her childless state, she had seen several doctors but none could give her a reason. Encouraged by his parents, Charlie had insisted the blame had to lie with her. After several miscarriages, it was easier to agree. If she still daydreamed of being a mother, she kept it to herself.
Over time, they had fallen into a routine of avoidance. Love had flown long ago and with no money of her own and estranged from her family, Lucy had no choice but to stay. Burnt bridges and all of that, she could almost hear her mother sneer. Her only hope was Charlie would turn back to their marriage and they might salvage something. In the meantime, the future stretched out before her as bleak as a Yorkshire moor in midwinter.
But it wasn’t in Lucy’s nature to mope. She would speak to Charlie on his return from Scotland and try to explain how she felt. If only they could afford a little holiday; she was convinced some time spent together might re-ignite the spark. They had honeymooned in Italy and she had adored the country and the climate. Not that it had to be somewhere foreign; she’d happily settle for Brighton or Lyme Regis. But she couldn’t help herself. Soon she was daydreaming of the piazze of Rome, Siena and Florence. She could almost feel the warmth of the sun on her skin.
The sight of a police constable walking down the road brought Lucy back to everyday life. As he drew closer, she realised the policeman was looking for a particular house. Could scandal lurk behind one of her neighbours’ doors? How intriguing! But to her astonishment, he stopped at her gate, consulted a card he pulled from the pocket of his greatcoat and turned in. Lucy scooted back to her seat. What could he possibly want?
Seconds later the sound of the bell echoed through the house and she heard the maid’s distinctive step in the hallway. The door opened and Mary’s head peeped in. Her colour was high and her blond curls were escaping her cap. Lucy recognised the warning signs: a domestic situation was developing. Only that morning she heard cook complaining to Mary she was run off her feet. Matters below stairs were not happy and she could not blame the servants for being aggrieved. Mary had been hired as her lady’s maid but now had to combine those duties with parlour maid too. The constant lack of money meant they were often short-staffed, but the consequences were always hers to deal with. Like most men, Charlie had a talent for avoiding any hint of domestic trouble.
“Are you at home, at all, ma’am?” the maid asked, her Dublin accent more pronounced than usual.
“No. Send whoever it is away, there’s a good girl.”
Picking up her book, Lucy tried to concentrate but found her attention focused on the murmur of voices out in the hallway. Mary came in again, this time her face as white as her apron.
“Well?”
“I’m fierce sorry, ma’am, but it’s the polis and he says it’s urgent.” She took a step closer and lowered her voice. “There’s no budging ’im. Awful serious, he is! Insists on seeing you, ma’am.”
“Policeman, Mary, please!” The maid blushed and Lucy regretted the reprimand. “Did he tell you what he wants?” she asked in a gentler tone.
“Yes, it’s about the master, ma’am. I … I think you need to speak to him.”
Lucy frowned. She could think of no reason for Charlie to be involved with the police. It must be serious, for Mary was usually robust in disposing of unwanted visitors. “Very well, Mary—show him in.”
Moments later, Mary ushered a burly policeman into the room. “Constable Enright, ma’am.”
“Come in, Constable, what can I do for you?” Lucy asked, looking up at the figure whose tall form now dominated her drawing room.
Much to her surprise Mary lingered at the door, her fingers twitching at her apron. But Lucy didn’t have time to question the maid’s odd behaviour or admonish her. The constable took a step towards her, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm. By his solemn expression she knew it wasn’t good news.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to disturb you, madam. I’m from Vine Street Station.”
“Vine Street—aren’t you a little off your beat?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been sent by my inspector. Would you mind confirming if this is the residence of Mr Charles Lawrence?”
“Yes, it is and I am his wife. Is Mr Lawrenc
“Possibly, ma’am. There was an unfortunate accident on Regent Street earlier this afternoon. We believe your husband was involved.”
Relieved, Lucy shook her head. “That cannot be, Constable. My husband left for Edinburgh four days’ ago to visit his parents.”
“Oh!” he said, his brow furrowed. “That’s strange.” From his pocket he drew out a card and handed it to her. “Would you mind taking a look at this? It was found on … uh, the deceased.”
Deceased? Lucy’s mind was spinning as she glanced at the visiting card. It was Charlie’s. “My husband is a man of business, Constable,” she said. “Perhaps this unfortunate person was a professional acquaintance and had Mr Lawrence’s card on his person.”
“We don’t believe so, ma’am. The card was one of many and came from a case found in the inside pocket of the dead gentleman’s jacket.”
Mary gasped and crossed herself. Lucy glanced at her and shook her head. There had to be a logical explanation for this mix-up. Charlie was in Scotland.
“I do not know why a stranger would have my husband’s card case, if indeed it is; however, as I said, he is away. This cannot have anything to do with him.”
The constable cast her a glance laced with sympathy, which was disconcerting. “Please ma’am, my inspector—Inspector McQuillan—has asked for a family member to attend Dufour Place Mortuary to make a formal identification. For the sake of the gentleman’s next of kin, it is important we confirm his identity as quickly as possible. Our only lead is the card case and its contents, ma’am. So even if it’s just to eliminate your husband … Perhaps there is someone available?”
Lucy sighed. “No, constable, there is only me.”
The constable shifted on his feet. “I hate to ask, ma’am, but it would be of great help to us …”
“Very well, I will come and assist you if I can.” Of course, it couldn’t be Charlie, Lucy reasoned, but the policeman wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Someone had to go. Besides, it would relieve the tedium of another evening with only Horace for company.
Soho, London
Lucy alighted from the hansom cab on Broad Street and waited while Constable Enright tossed a coin up to the cabbie. Despite her warm coat, she shivered as a gust sent the last of the autumn leaves scurrying along the pavement.
“This way, ma’am,” the constable said, turning down a narrow street. Halfway down, he slowed and they entered a cobbled courtyard. Even at the entrance gate the odour of disinfectant hung in the air. Inside was worse, and it was all Lucy could do not to gag. She wondered how the people who worked here could stand it. That and being in close proximity to death all day. Was it something you could get used to?
Constable Enright led the way down a long featureless corridor. Several rooms branched off the hallway but Lucy kept her eyes on the broad shoulders of the police officer ahead of her. None of this had nothing to do with Charlie, of course. Boredom and curiosity had driven her here, but now she was regretting the impulse. Death made her uncomfortable and she was about to view the body of a stranger. What had possessed her to agree to this? She really would have to find more hobbies.
The police constable stopped at a door with the sign: “Mortuary Superintendent”. Inside, a middle-aged man sat behind a desk. He glanced up, his expression one of pique.
“This is Mrs Charles Lawrence, Superintendent Hendrick,” Enright said.
The superintendent stood and waved Lucy to a seat beside his desk. “Thank you, Constable, I’ll take things from here.” The constable closed over the door and Hendrick turned to Lucy. “Thank you for coming, Mrs Lawrence. I know this must be upsetting for you.”
“It is not upsetting in the least, but it is certainly inconvenient. I had no desire to visit this place, but the constable was insistent I accompany him.” Mr Hendrick gave her a startled look. “I should explain, Superintendent. As I told the policeman, it cannot be my husband in your mortuary as Mr Lawrence is visiting his family in Scotland and isn’t due to return to London until the end of the week.”
“I see.” Hendrick said, rubbing his chin. “That complicates matters.” He frowned down at the papers on his desk before looking across at her again. “Perhaps it might be best if we show you the deceased’s belongings first. That way we can avoid … any unnecessary unpleasantness.”
The idea of looking at any of the deceased souls lying in the rooms she had passed made her shudder. “I would appreciate that, sir.”
Hendrick left the room and Lucy heard him call for one of his colleagues. “Angus, bring me the personal items of the gentleman the Vine Street officers brought in earlier.”
On his return, the superintendent smiled awkwardly, sat down behind his desk and began to fidget with his pen. Lucy looked about the office, happy to avoid conversation. The silence was uncomfortable but there didn’t seem to be anything appropriate to say in the circumstances. Slowly her sense of unease grew. What if? was lurking at the back of her mind. No; she couldn’t think along those lines. She focused her attention on the clock above Hendrick’s head, wishing she was back in her own drawing room.
A few minutes later there was a tap at the door and a tall gentleman appeared in the doorway. Well-dressed, in a perfectly tailored Ulster coat of superfine black wool, glossy topper and finely crafted leather gloves, the man had a distinguished air and she wondered if he had foreign blood in his veins as his skin tone suggested. Striking, more than handsome, was her assessment of him. Surely he was someone you were more likely to see at Ascot than a mortuary, she thought. But then mortuaries were not her usual choice of places to visit either. Perhaps he was here to identify someone too.
Much to her consternation, he flicked a glance at her before greeting the superintendent by name. In that moment, she had been assessed and dismissed. It was an uncomfortable sensation and for the first time since she arrived Lucy suspected she was out of her depth. The newcomer stepped further in to the office.
“Mr Stone, you didn’t waste much time,” Hendrick said, sitting back in his chair.
“Vine Street notified me about Lawrence. Has there been a formal identification of the body yet? The police indicated it would happen today.”
Lucy smarted at his words, now well disposed to dislike this stranger who dared to use such disparaging terms about Charlie.
Hendrick stood up, glancing apologetically at her. “No, not yet. This is Mrs Lawrence; she only arrived a short time ago.” He turned to Lucy. “Mrs Lawrence, may I present Mr Stone? He is an insurance investigator.” By his tone, she guessed he did not hold Mr Stone or his occupation in high esteem.
The newcomer approached her, taking off his hat to reveal slightly curling ebony hair. Mr Stone gave her a nod of acknowledgement, but there was no hint of apology for his previous discourtesy. Instead, he subjected her to another scrutiny that verged on rude. There was something extremely arrogant about the man, she decided. And a tiny bit scary.
With a curt nod, she looked away. But she was curious to know why an insurance company would be interested in her Charlie. Of course, the only explanation for all of it was that there was another Charles Lawrence running around London up to no good. That must be it. However, Lucy’s heart began to pound. Letting out a slow breath, she returned to her survey of Mr Hendrick’s document filing cabinets, determined to ignore this Mr Stone with his unsettling gaze.
“Mrs Lawrence believes her husband is in Scotland, so I thought it best she examines the personal effects first, rather than the remains,” Hendrick said to Mr Stone.
“He is definitely in Edinburgh,” Lucy piped up. “There has been a mistake.”
Mr Stone exchanged a doubtful glance with the superintendent. “I am happy to await the outcome, in any case,” Mr Stone remarked.
Then he took the seat opposite her. Now fuming, Lucy just knew he assumed she was lying. She clasped her hands in her lap and prayed the nightmare would end soon. What had seemed a bit of an adventure was now taking on a different tone. And she was all too aware of being under the watchful eye of the insurance man who seemed to be perfectly at his ease, resting his gloved hands on the top of his cane.
“Ah, Angus,” Hendrick said as a small dark-haired fellow entered the office carrying a box. “Leave it on the desk.” He turned to Lucy. “Mrs Lawrence, would you care to inspect these items for me?”
