Frances and Mallow proceeded to walk along Bond Street in silence. Mallow recognized her ladyship’s mood and could practically see the gears turning in her head. She was lost in thought and would walk right out of London if she hadn’t finished thinking.
However, her ponderings only took a few blocks. “Mallow, was Miss Lockton’s sewing as good as you said?”
“Definitely, my lady. I think she’d do well at any fine dressmaker’s.” She summarized her talk with Susan Lockton.
“Very good,” said Frances after Mallow was done. “I wonder why her mother objects so strongly to her theatre work. Of course, many people don’t trust theatre folk, but considering how the Hallidays supported the actors, it seems a little hard of her.”
“Yes, my lady. And one more thing. As you know, I don’t like to gossip . . .”
“Of course not, Mallow. But we’re not gossiping. We’re investigating.”
“Very good, my lady. It seems Miss Lockton is a little sweet on the Reverend Halliday.”
“Is she now? Well he’s nicely set up, charming, and handsome. I daresay he’ll make some woman a good husband, and sooner rather than later might be best if he wants to avoid more fuss among the young women of his flock.”
“It’s very serious to be married to a vicar,” said Mallow, “and, although it’s not my place, my lady, since we’re investigating, I must say I’m not sure if Miss Lockton realizes how much responsibility comes with being a vicar’s wife.”
“Perhaps, Mallow, half of her infatuation is just to tweak her mother. I think Mrs. Lockton, for all that the vicar calls her ‘Aunt Em,’ is a little sweet on him herself.”
“My lady!” said Mallow, shock spreading across her face. “She’s known him since he was a babe in arms.”
Frances laughed. “It’s a little unusual. She’s probably twenty years older than he is and beyond childbearing years. But age sets no limits on the heart’s desires, and she’d be a marvelous vicar’s wife.” She had no doubt Mrs. Lockton would approach parish business with enormous energy and efficiency. “Also, we should be fair. My uncle, Lord Hoxley, has been sweet on women twenty or more years younger than he is. And I believe Mrs. Lockton has matrimony in mind, which is more than you could say for my uncle. But this is all a side issue, Mallow. I think Mrs. Lockton knows what happened the night Helen supposedly died. She seemed very uncomfortable when we spoke about it, and she comes from the same town as the Torrences. There are secrets and more secrets there, Mallow. This is about perspective and illusion. I wonder if the answer lies in Zen Buddhism, a religion practiced in the East.”
“You mean there are answers in a non-Christian religion, my lady?” said Mallow, a little nervously.
“Well, yes, Mallow. But it doesn’t mean it’s anti-Christian. For our purposes, it’s more about how you look at a problem. For example, remember our last visit in the country, where my brother and his friends were practicing archery?”
“Yes, my lady. Sir Avery Rowley shot an arrow into the herb garden and frightened Cook so badly she had to lie down for an hour.”
“Yes. That was unfortunate. But the point is, especially as far as Sir Avery is concerned, that in the West, we look at things separately. In the East, they look at things together. That is, the arrow and the target are not separate but part of the same reality. When you look at things like that, everything becomes more understandable.”
“Very good, my lady. I know Cook would appreciate that.”
“I’m sure. For now, I think I’ll visit Inspector Eastley and see if he’s come up with anything since last night. I recently had an idea, something I had forgotten, that will keep him and Constable Smith busy.”
They went home, and Frances changed back into her business-like shirtwaist before bicycling off to Scotland Yard. She didn’t see their stalker out front, but she suspected she wouldn’t be free of him forever.
The sergeant at the front desk frowned at her approach. “My lady, are you planning to be a frequent visitor with your bicycle?”
“Yes, I am, Sergeant.”
“Of course. It’s only that we have limited room here, my lady . . .” He let his voice trail off under Frances’s full gaze, his hope dashed that she would pick up his implications.
“I think over time you may expect more visits from women, and since bicycles are a healthful and economical form of transportation, you might consider creating a space to easily park them. In fact, thank you for bringing this up. I will write to the Commissioner myself.”
“My lady—”
“It’s quite all right. I’m just here to see Inspector Eastley. I know the way.”
It was business as usual in the Special Branch suite, with Constable Smith and others working at their desks and the door marked, “B. Eastley, Inspector,” shut.
Frances rapped on the door sharply and heard, “Come in.”
“Ah, Lady Frances,” said Eastley as she entered. “I have been expecting you. This is a little quicker than I thought, but please, take a seat. I suppose, full of energy, you’ve made a great deal of progress since our graveyard surprise and want to make sure that I have been just as busy.”
“Inspector, although you and I may differ on approaches, I have never doubted your dedication or work ethic.”
“I am relieved,” said Eastley. “As expected, with the agreement of Lambeth Palace, I have been asked to look into any crimes arising from the supposed missing body of Helen. Indeed, my lady, if you had come earlier today, you would not have found me. Constable Smith and I were in Maidstone. The sexton was back in service, and we had a talk with him about Helen’s grave.”
“Did you tell him it was empty of Helen but containing an infant?” asked Frances.
“Good question. We didn’t for now, but he isn’t a stupid man, and when a Scotland Yard inspector started asking him questions right after a marquess’s daughter did, he knew something was up. He was alternately frightened and truculent when we asked him about the grave, but although I think he knew something was odd about the burial, he didn’t know what. You’re looking very proud of yourself, my lady.”
Frances did feel proud of herself. She had done better than she had expected. “Rather. It is pleasing to know a Special Branch inspector wasn’t able to get any more information than I could.”
Eastley rewarded her with a rare laugh. “Indeed. We didn’t get any more out of him, which narrows the field down. Who was involved in the deception? Mr. and Mrs. Halliday, both deceased. If there were trusted servants, I’m sure they’re gone too.”
“And Helen. Don’t forget Helen, née Louisa Torrence.”
Eastley frowned and leaned back in his chair. “So you don’t think she was a victim or even a bystander to this but an active conspirator? That’s interesting.”
“Yes, I do. She was an unconventional woman, a daring woman. I don’t know why or how she did what she did, Inspector, but I think I know her. I can imagine her having the presence of mind to plan something like this. Faking her death. Also, I thought of one more thing that may be of interest to you. We were only concerned with the grave, but we didn’t talk about how Helen came to be at the Hallidays. I don’t suppose you’ve spoken with the Hallidays’ son, the Reverend Samuel Halliday?”
“Not yet. And it is possible I may never. You need to understand, Lady Frances, my writ extends to the possible desecration of a grave under the authority of the Church of England. The sexton, I believe, has been cleared. I know nothing about the vicar, except Lambeth Palace told me he was dead, and while alive there was no blemish on his record. Burying a mislabeled coffin may be bizarre but is not a crime in itself. And there’s no evidence the child was a murder victim.”
“But aren’t you concerned that Helen’s body is . . . somewhere? Desecrated?”
“Ah, but you have convinced me, my lady, that Helen planned this and is out somewhere happily leading her life. Maybe the child was just the offspring of an impoverished family and Helen and Hallidays gave this child a well-appointed grave. At any rate, that’s what my report will conclude.” He smiled.
Frances shook her head. “So you’re going to use my own words against me? Can you stop just like that? How can you just let a mystery like that go?”
“My lady, look at my desk. Look at these files. Real cases, real crimes. I am a public servant. We can’t all be independently wealthy aristocrats spending time doing whatever we want.”
Frances turned a little red at that. Why did he start having to bring class and money into their discussion? “That was needlessly insulting.”
Eastley raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see how. It’s true. And for the record, my lady, I would’ve said the same thing to an independently wealthy male aristocrat sitting in that chair.”
Yes, you would’ve, thought Frances. Inspector Eastley may not like working with members of the nobility, but he will work with women. Give him his due. “Point taken, Inspector. Very well, an agreement. I know you well enough to say in confidence that you don’t want this investigation to end, even if you plan to issue a report saying that, whatever happened, there was no crime—”
“And I know you well enough to say that you’re going to pursue this to a conclusion. Very well. As long as you don’t wade into police matters, I wish you luck. So if that’s all . . . ?”
“It is certainly not all, Inspector. I need something from you. Yes, I have time and money. But you have access and resources. We will share. I am going to tell you something that I forgot in the shock of our discovery last night. I spoke with Reverend Halliday, and he said that his parents told him Helen was a widow. Her husband had been murdered.”
Eastley frowned, and Frances watched him think. “You want me to solve a thirty-year-old murder? Even if I wanted to, that’s not my department.”
“He was stabbed, Inspector. That’s what the Reverend Halliday told me. And just days ago, another man who had courted Helen, a member of the Green Players, was stabbed to death outside the Emerald Theatre. What do you say to that?”
Eastley sighed and spread out his hands. “What do you want me to do, Lady Frances? Draw a line between stabbings thirty years apart?”
“I want you to go through records. There must be records. I need the details of the murder of Helen’s husband. We can narrow down the dates. You and Constable Smith can surely find them. Then we can compare the two murders. It can’t be that difficult, and I know you want to solve the mystery as much as I do.”
Eastley thought some more as Frances watched him. She suddenly realized that she had half jumped out of her seat. Her mother would not have approved of her getting so excited—in a police inspector’s office, no less.
“I could arrange for you and Miss Mallow to wander through the stacks of records. But records that old would be found in a dusty basement storeroom. Your maid would only be upset at how dirty your hands and dress got. Oh, very well. I make no promises, but I’ll see what we can find.”
“Thank you,” said Frances, forcing herself to calm down. “I appreciate that.”
“I’m glad that’s settled,” he said. “Just one more thing. As you swept passed the front desk, the duty sergeant called to inform—or should I say, warn me—that you were on your way. He also asked me to advise you not to leave your bicycle in the lobby.”