'Til Death Do Us Part (9 page)

I
RENE
RETURNED
TO
her shop with the information she needed to confirm her suspicions. None of the three women who had been buried in the J. P. Fulton patented Safety Coffins had been elderly. They had all been young, attractive governesses with little in the way of family except the well-dressed man who brought in the bodies.

None of the women had died of natural causes. All had been murdered in the same manner. Their throats had been slit. In each case the bodies had been discovered by a male relative who told the funeral directors that he had not summoned the police because of a fear of scandal.

The memento mori items and the bells had all been ordered by the customer while the women were still alive. The coffins had been ordered after the deaths.

The description of the man who had delivered the bodies and paid the funeral directors for their discretion was always the same—a fine-looking, respectable gentleman, well-spoken and fashionably dressed. He claimed to be a distant relative of the victim who was willing to
pay well for the funeral directors' discretion. But he had used a different name on each occasion.

She opened a drawer and took out a sheet of black-bordered notepaper. She was not personally in mourning—her elderly husband had succumbed to a stroke over a decade earlier and she did not miss him in the slightest. But she always used black-bordered stationery for the same reason that she wore stylish black gowns. It was simply sound business to take advantage of every opportunity to advertise her wares.

She wrote a quick message and inserted the notepaper into a black-bordered envelope. Then she went to the rear door of her shop and summoned one of the boys who slept in a nearby doorway. She did not want to risk sending her message by the post.

She gave the envelope and a coin to the street urchin.

“See that this is delivered immediately. Wait for a reply. There will be another coin when you return.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

The boy, excited by the prospect of being able to afford a meal that night, took off at a run.

Irene went back upstairs to wait for the response to her note. If there was one thing she had learned from J. P. Fulton, it was that there were a number of creative ways to increase one's income if one remained alert to opportunities.

Those engaged in the funeral and mourning goods trade were often in a position to learn dark family secrets. After all, nothing hinted at the truth like death. An unmarried daughter who died in childbirth? A woman beaten to death by a brutal husband? A husband who succumbed to an accidental dose of rat poison? All such secrets could be quietly interred with the body by an accommodating funeral director, assuming someone was willing to pay for the silence.

Discretion was the key to a successful business.

“I
'
M
NOT
SURE
what to say,” Calista said.

Eudora crumpled the hankie in one hand. “Something happened a few years ago—something quite dreadful. My brother saved me but in the process he was scarred for life. Because of those terrible marks on his face, the woman he loved ended their association.”

“Really?” Calista frowned. “That seems rather unlikely.”

“It's the truth. Trent has never loved another woman, not the way he loved Althea. As I said, there have been occasional, discreet liaisons in the past few years. But after Althea broke his heart, he never loved again.”

“And you blame yourself.”

“Yes. Suffice it to say that the damage that was done to his face was intended to be inflicted on me.”

“Good heavens. I had no idea.”

Eudora mopped her eyes. “We never talk about it, not even within the family. But it's always there, somehow, if you know what I mean.”

“I understand family secrets. May I ask how old you were at the time of the . . . incident?”

“Fifteen. There are three of us but I'm the youngest. Our father died when I was twelve. Mother remarried when I was fourteen. Our stepfather proved to be a brute of a man. Mama was dreadfully unhappy. When she drowned in the pond many said she had suffered from lingering melancholia. But that wasn't true. And then came the incident that scarred Trent for life. I won't trouble you with the details. Suffice it to say that it all ended with him losing Althea.”

“Who, exactly, was Althea?”

“The daughter of a family that lived in the same village. Althea and Trent knew each other from childhood. They fell in love when Althea was eighteen and Trent was twenty-one. But Trent wanted to see the world before they got engaged. Althea promised to wait for him and she did. But shortly after he returned the incident occurred. She could no longer abide the sight of his face.

“All these years Harry and I have worried because Trent seemed unable to love again. But now I find myself in a dreadful panic because he has taken a keen interest in you.”

“For heaven's sake, your brother and I shared a cab,” Calista said. “There is no great love affair blossoming here, Miss Hastings.”

“I know my brother. He would not have paid another call on you today, let alone gone out driving with you, if he were not very interested—not when he has another chapter in his latest novel due at the publisher's.” Eudora's eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me that you cannot return his interest?”

“There are no affections to be returned.”

“He would never have met you if it hadn't been for me. I cannot bear the thought of being once again responsible for Trent enduring another doomed love affair.”

It was time to take command of the situation, Calista thought. Exasperated, she went back behind her desk but she did not sit down.

“For heaven's sake, Miss Hastings, calm yourself,” she said. “You
have allowed your imagination to run riot in this matter. I assure you, there is nothing of a romantic nature about my relationship with your brother. He has kindly offered to lend me the benefit of his expertise and advice regarding a certain situation in which I find myself. That is all there is to it.”

Eudora stared at her. “You require the expertise and advice of an author of detective fiction?”

“It is not his writing skills that I need. It is his investigative talents.”

“But he doesn't have any. Trent is not a real detective. He only writes stories that feature one.”

“I understand, but he has volunteered his services and, to be frank, it is not as if I have a great many alternatives. None, actually. I am attempting to identify a person who seems to have focused his attentions on me. I do not want those attentions and I have done nothing to encourage them. He sends nasty little gifts and notes that have lately become quite threatening.”

“How horrible.” Eudora paused to absorb that information. “It must be very unnerving.”

“I will be the first to admit that the situation has started to affect my nerves.”

“You have no idea who is doing this?”

“None.” Calista glanced at the folders on her desk. “Although I have a theory that he may be one of the men I rejected as a client.”

“Someone who wishes to exact revenge, perhaps?”

“That would seem to be a distinct possibility.”

“You say my brother is investigating this matter for you?”

“We are investigating it
together
,” Calista said. She wanted to get that point quite clear. “Mr. Hastings believes he can be of some assistance to me. In fact he more or less insisted on giving me the benefit of his expertise. Rest assured you can attribute any improvement in
his mood to the simple fact that he is intrigued by the prospect of conducting a real investigation.”

Eudora considered that briefly and then she visibly brightened. “Yes, I see what you mean. Perhaps he views it as an opportunity to conduct research for his next novel. He is very keen on that sort of thing.”

“Precisely. In fact, I believe he employed that very word when we discussed the subject.
Research
.”

“Well, in that case, perhaps I ought to take an entirely different view of the situation. It is clear from Trent's improved mood that this research project is doing him a world of good. At the very least it will get him out of the house.”

“You're pleased that he might be persuaded to get out more on my account?”

“I told you, my brother has become a recluse, Miss Langley. Make no mistake, from time to time, he does associate with certain individuals he refers to as friends, but I fear that, for the most part, they are not the sort that one can invite for tea, if you see what I mean.”

“No,” Calista said. “I'm afraid I don't.”

“Let's just say that he enjoys an odd array of associates. My point is that anything that encourages him to socialize with normal, respectable people is a very good thing.” Eudora paused. “Unless there is some danger involved?”

“As to that, I cannot say. I am also new to the investigation business.”

“Oh, dear. Now I am quite torn. I don't know what to think.”

“Save yourself some time and energy because it is highly unlikely that your opinion will change your brother's mind in any way. Trust me when I tell you that I tried to talk him out of the idea.”

“He can be quite stubborn.” A gleam of curiosity lit Eudora's eyes. “Perhaps I can assist you both in the project?”

“Thank you for the offer but I have no idea what you could do.”
Calista picked up one of the files. “For that matter I'm not sure what I should be doing.”

Eudora rose and walked to the desk. “Those are the files of the potential clients you rejected?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Only about a dozen. I have been able to narrow the list by removing a few who seem to be too elderly.”

“What were your reasons for rejecting them?”

“The reasons varied. Several were attempting to conceal their marital status. Others I suspected were fortune hunters. And then there are those who simply made me uneasy for no particular reason. I never argue with my intuition when it comes to selecting my clients.”

“Perhaps you should start by sorting the files into specific categories.”

“What do you mean? One way or another, I believe that all of the applicants lied to me.”

“I understand,” Eudora said. “But it sounds like you are looking for someone who has developed an obsession with revenge. Knowing precisely why each was rejected might help you narrow the field.”

“You appear to be very knowledgeable on the subject.”

“As it happens, my other brother, Harry, is a doctor. He is quite taken with the new science of psychology. He talks a great deal about the work being done in the field in Germany and America. He's sure it will change the way certain areas of medicine are practiced.” Eudora contemplated the pile of folders. “May I take a look at your notes?”

Calista thought about that. “Would you, by any chance, be interested in accepting a temporary position as my assistant?”

Eudora's eyes brightened with enthusiasm. “I would be delighted to accept such an interesting position.”

Calista smiled. “In that capacity it would be entirely proper for you to help me review and organize my notes.”

Eudora flipped open a file. “These are excellent. Quite detailed. Harry would approve.”

“Thank you.”

Eudora turned a page in the file. “This one appears to have lied about his inheritance.”

“A rather common problem in my business.” Calista paused. “You say you know something about psychology?”

“Harry is the expert, not me, but I have learned a few things from him.”

“I don't suppose you would be interested in giving me your opinion on some of the people in those files?”

“I will see what I can do,” Eudora said.

Belatedly another thought occurred to Calista. “Your brother might not be pleased.”

“I make my own decisions, Miss Langley.”

“If you're certain you feel comfortable about doing this—”

Eudora tightened her grip on the file she was holding.

“Yes,” she said. “Quite comfortable. In fact, I will look forward to it.”

It occurred to Calista that Trent might not be the only member of the Hastings family who had been drifting through life of late.