Lady of Ashes (28 page)

Meanwhile, the men in the back were scribbling furiously.

Thankfully, after nearly three hours of questioning, Violet was permitted to leave. She needed to return home immediately and get out of her corset, as she hadn’t been breathing in more than short gasps all day. The boning was probably permanently imprinted on her skin.

“You performed admirably, Mrs. Morgan, my congratulations,” Samuel said as he handed her into the hackney before stepping up inside to join her.

“I had excellent preparation from my American solicitor,” she replied.

He laughed. “I suspect lawyers are the same the world over and your resilience and sturdy exterior would have gotten you through it, no matter what lawyer prepared you.”

“Speaking of my sturdy exterior, I find that I look forward to arriving home so that I can—”

“May I interest you in an ice from the confectioner’s before taking you home?”

“In the middle of winter?”

“I’m a man of few needs, Violet, but an ice cream cornet, I’m afraid, is a year-round requirement.”

“I could freeze to death while eating it.”

“If you could take on Lords Russell and Palmerston, I’ve no doubt you could quickly and easily conquer a small wafer filled with cream and sugar.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so. I insist. In fact, I am willing to place a bet on it.”

“Are you proposing a wager, sir?” It was highly inappropriate to be flirting with him, but how long had it been since she’d had a lighthearted moment like this? Her restrictive corset was forgotten.

“I am. Let’s see, I propose that if you are able to finish your ice cream, you will then have to accompany me on a sleigh ride through Hyde Park.”

“But that’s an activity for society members. Besides, I’m married and you’re not my husband. It isn’t done.”

“Yes, it would be absolutely scandalous.”

His eyes were dancing with humor. Very well, she could play this game, too. “Fine, I accept. Now, if I
cannot
eat my ice cream in its entirety, you, sir, will have to teach Susanna another game.”

“Accepted. I win either way. Now come, I know a place that doles out the tiniest of servings.”

Violet was quite happy when she lost the wager. She found herself breathing quite easily the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

“Lord Palmerston, ma’am.” The servant bowed as he let in her visitor. Was this someone else wanting to urge her back to work? Queen Victoria sighed. She supposed he was yet another minister she’d have to toss out on his ear.

She remained seated and offered him her hand. “Lord Palmerston, how good to see you,” she said in a voice that conveyed how displeased she was at the interruption.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I have news for you, important enough that I thought it wise to come to Osborne House and deliver it myself.”

“What is it?”

“You recall that the prince consort was instrumental in crafting a letter to the United States, advising their government of Britain’s position on the
Trent
Affair? It probably saved us from being dragged into a war with them.”

“Yes, we remember our dear Albert’s fine work with that.”

“In our ongoing effort to maintain friendly relations with both sides, Lord Russell and I gave Minister Adams permission to seek out any commerce raiders here in Great Britain, despite my misgivings about anything having to do with the Americans. The news here is mixed: He caught the trail of a pair of brothers seeking an opportunity to sell arms to the Confederacy, but one of them attempted to assassinate Adams.”

Why was it that men continued to find reason to intrigue, conspire, and do harm to one another when the entire country was in the depths of darkest mourning? Had they no sense of decency?

“No one was actually hurt—thank goodness, for it saved another diplomatic incident—but the pair of men slipped away to sea before they could be caught. The brothers’ names are Fletcher and Graham Morgan.”

Morgan? Where had she heard that name before? Oh, of course, the undertaker.

“One of our dear Albert’s undertakers was a woman named Mrs. Morgan.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s the odd thing. She’s Graham Morgan’s wife.”

Albert’s undertaker was married to a common criminal? Impossible.

“Was she part of their conspiracy?”

“No, Your Majesty. We have questioned her thoroughly and believe she had no knowledge of her husband’s schemes.”

“Naturally she was innocent. Albert wouldn’t have selected her otherwise.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Never mind. How is Mrs. Morgan?”

“Doing well, I suppose, madam.” Lord Palmerston’s face was puzzled.

“We have questioned Mrs. Morgan at length, madam, about whether she was involved in her husband’s activities. We concluded that she knew nothing, but have not issued a formal statement exonerating her, so as not to alienate the North.”

Victoria’s mind wandered as the prime minister rattled on about the state of things between Britain and both the United States and the Confederacy, especially now that Messrs. Mason and Slidell were in London.

Perhaps she’d been too hasty in her assessment of Mrs. Morgan. After all, dearest Albert had been impressed with her, and she had quickly and efficiently taken over much of Albert’s funeral service when Mr. Rowland came down ill. Victoria had only learned of the change in directors when she’d invited Mr. Rowland to Osborne House to give her every imaginable detail about her husband’s funeral.

He was of no use, since he’d ultimately missed it all as he lay shivering in bed. He’d sent Mrs. Morgan in his stead, and claimed she’d performed admirably. Victoria had forgotten about the funeral itself as she wrapped herself up in ordering scads of first-year mourning dresses, fans, and ornaments, certain that a grief as large as hers could never be overcome.

However, Lord Palmerston’s mention of the name again reminded Victoria that she had never obtained the details she desired. Perhaps it was time to summon Mrs. Morgan. Surely another woman would understand her terrible sorrow and want to discuss it. Yes, she’d send a note today.

“Do you seek our signature for something, Lord Palmerston?”

“No, madam, I merely wanted you to hear from me about the state of things, especially since the criminals were related to the woman who—”

Victoria waved a hand. “Yes, yes, thank you. We’re tired now and wish to sleep.”

Palmerston hastily stood and bowed before leaving.

Victoria reached for a bell. She needed writing paper.

Far from removing herself from Graham’s skullduggery, Violet was being drawn further and further into it. First there was the grand inquisition by Lord Palmerston, which she’d sailed through thanks to Sam. Today, however, she opened the latest copy of
Punch
during breakfast, only to find an unflattering account and engraving of her questioning. The John Tenniel engraving depicted her as a harpy swooping over the heads of Palmerston, Russell, and Adams, plucking their heads off with her claws. The article inside
The Times
was even worse.

Violet crumpled the paper up and added it to the pile of them next to the fireplace, which Mrs. Porter would eventually twist into spills for lighting fires.

“What’s the matter, Mama? Are you angry with me?” Susanna asked.

“Of course not. The newspaper is full of nonsense today is all. Why would you think I’m angry with you?”

“You said you would teach me to read from the newspaper.”

“And I will. Just not from today’s paper. No pouting, Susanna, it’s unbecoming of a girl your age.”

After breakfast, she left with Susanna to head to the shop, stopping first at the bookseller’s for something new to read.

Susanna had picked up the odd habit of taking Mrs. Softpaws for walks on a lead. The cat didn’t seem to mind unless she saw a tasty mouse or another cat with whom to do battle, in which case Mrs. Softpaws struggled as though she were being led to her own hanging.

Violet realized she probably looked like the most eccentric woman in England walking London’s streets—an undertaker in her tall black hat accompanying a child and a leashed cat.

Graham would have much to say about their chances of entering society with
that
kind of odd behavior.

Worrying over Graham and his whereabouts had consumed great quantities of time, despite the fact that she’d not received the briefest of notes from him, but she was now resolved to cease her worries, which gave her more time to read.

The bookseller, however, was less than friendly.

“Yes?” he asked, his glasses far down on his nose.

“Good morning, Mr. Hatchard, I’m looking for a novel to read. Do you have anything new?”

“You could write your own lurid novel, I’m sure, Mrs. Morgan.”

Violet felt heat rush to her face. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t realize I’ve been selling merchandise to such a bad piece all these years.”

She saw the newspaper lying open on the counter behind him. So years of patronage meant nothing as compared to a garish piece in
The Times
.

“Mr. Hatchard, perhaps you don’t realize I have a young girl with me. Kindly mind your manners.”

“She looks old enough to me. Presumably you didn’t realize you had a young girl with you when you entered into your husband’s mischief.”

Violet’s heart pounded so noisily she barely heard her own next words. “I see you are the most gullible of men. My mother often warned me of simpletons who believe the baldest lie published by scurrilous newspapers seeking to sell copies. I’d once thought you were a man of taste, Mr. Hatchard, given your selection of fine books and the discerning clientele you attract, but I see now that you are just a common fool. Susanna, come, there are more respectable shops to visit.”

From the bookshop, she and Susanna went to the chemist’s, as Violet was nearly out of tooth powder. She received an equally frosty reception there with the owner, a man she’d patronized for years, who nearly refused to help and accepted her payment with complete disdain.

Once outside in the street, Violet took a deep breath.
This is dreadful,
she thought.
What if everyone in London is reading and believing this tripe? My business will shrivel up overnight. I cannot permit it. How ironic that I am found innocent before the government, but guilty, guilty, guilty in the court of public opinion.

She stood still in the middle of the noise and congestion around her, lost in contemplation over what to do about her situation, which did nothing but grow worse. Finally, Susanna squeezed her hand. “Are we going to open the shop for today?”

Violet then realized what she had to do. “Indeed we are. In fact, we’re going to open up everything.”

 

Violet took the advertisement she had written to Mary to ask her opinion.

“Oh, my dear, you’ve had such hardship lately. If you need someone strong to intervene for you, I can ask George to—”

“That’s quite all right. I intend to take care of this myself.”

“If you’re sure . . .” Mary proceeded to proffer advice on how to more strongly word her advertisement, which Violet planned to place in
The Times, The Illustrated London News, Punch,
and whatever other periodical she could find.

Violet was proud of the final published advertisement, which cost her a small fortune and took up a half page in several newspapers. It would be worth the money, if it stopped the libelous attacks against her.

Violet and Susanna were alone in the shop together, while Will and Harry were out hanging black crape on the family home of a local theater actor who had just passed on. Violet, meanwhile, was busy preparing his obituary notice. At least all of her business hadn’t dried up. She reviewed her notes as she wrote: