Death at the Crystal Palace Read online

  A rustle of skirts and light laughter towed me past New Guinea to Australia, where a woman’s figure solidified in the darkness. I heard more laughter and then a man’s low tones.

  I scuttled forward, ensuring I made plenty of noise. The woman gasped and turned, and the man she was with—I glimpsed only a tall person with a beard—vanished past the clump of Australian plants.

  “Miss Morris?” I called softly.

  Harriet strode abruptly out of the shadows. “What do you mean, spying on me? What are you doing here?”

  Her words did not sting, because I sensed great fear beneath them. I wondered who the man was, and why Harriet had arranged to meet him here in a part of the Palace not lit for the gathering.

  “I was sent to look for you, miss,” I said. “Your uncle has taken ill, and your mother wishes for you to all go home.”

  “Does she?” Harriet shook her skirt free of a bramble-like plant. “Drat it. What is the matter with Uncle Arthur? What have you to do with it? You are a maid, are you not?”

  “Your uncle fears he ate something that disagreed with him,” I said, ignoring her mistake about my profession.

  Harriet glanced in concern toward the wider aisle, then she rounded on me and seized my arm in a firm grip. “Not a word, do you understand? You say nothing about what you saw, or I’ll have you sacked.”

  “You have no need to threaten me, Miss Morris. Now, before you race off, let me help you pin your hair. It is greatly mussed.”

  Harriet released my arm to clap a hand to her hat, crushing the lace curled on top of it. The hat had slipped sideways, and dark tendrils of hair drooped haphazardly to her shoulders.

  I quickly slid a few hairpins from her complicated braid, tucked in the stray locks, and smoothed the entire coiffure.

  “Much better,” I declared.

  Did she thank me for my trouble? No, the young lady glared at me and rushed away toward the gathering point.

  I scanned the darkness for the man, but he’d gone. I wondered if he’d been one of the guests this evening or if he’d traveled here furtively to see Harriet.

  I left Australia and moved back across the globe to the refreshment area. Harriet was hurrying toward her mother, the very picture of worry. A man bent over Sir Arthur, holding his wrist—I assumed Daniel had managed to find a doctor. George had joined them, but Jonathan and Erica remained absent.

  I recalled Erica wandering into the Pompeian house, so I turned my steps that way. Bobby and Miss Townsend were scouring the guests for the missing family members, and when Miss Townsend caught my eye, she shook her head. No luck.

  The door of the Pompeian house stood ajar, and I stepped inside.

  It was dark here, but enough light leaked over the open roof and doorway to provide faint illumination. An atrium filled the front of the house, a square pool of water in its center. Doorways grouped around this led to small cubicles. Red and yellow walls held painted scenes of people reclining on couches, playing lyres, or dancing.

  I glimpsed all this only in passing, my eyes drawn to what lay the floor of the atrium. Erica sprawled facedown and motionless next to the pool, one hand outstretched as though she’d tried and failed to reach the cool water.

  10

  Mrs. Hume.” I raced forward, dropping to my knees. I turned her over, Erica’s body flopping limply onto my lap.

  Her face was gray, her half-closed eyes glinting in the dim light. I had little idea how to find someone’s pulse, but I lifted her hand and peeled back her glove.

  Her skin was warm, and as I touched her, Erica dragged in a hoarse breath.

  Not dead, but very, very ill.

  “Mrs. Hume.” I patted her face, but she only groaned and did not acknowledge me. I spied a handkerchief peeking from her sleeve, pulled it out, dunked it into the pool’s water, and dabbed her face. “Wake up, my dear, please.”

  I needed to fetch the doctor. I started to rise but was pulled down by a surprisingly strong grip.

  “Henry,” Erica whispered. “You must—” She broke off with another moan.

  “Do not move. I will bring help.”

  “Don’t leave me.” Her plea was heartbreaking. “Henry . . .” She began to silently cry.

  I pried her fingers from me and hurried to the door. “Bobby!” I shouted, seeing her nearest.

  Bobby immediately started for me, Miss Townsend following.

  I realized as Bobby reached the house that I’d neglected to call her Lady Roberta, but I was too worried to be bothered by niceties. Bobby didn’t seem to notice, in any case, as she charged over the threshold.

  “Oh, good Lord,” she said, stopping short when she saw Erica. “Is she all right?”

  “She is not. Please help me get her off this floor, and then she must have the doctor.”

  No chairs stood in this house, only a bench against a wall in the open room beyond the atrium. Bobby leaned to Erica, who blinked at her in confusion, and wound an arm under the ill woman. I supported Erica’s other side, and together Bobby and I heaved her to her feet and a few tottered steps to the bench.

  Erica collapsed to it, her head dropping back to the wall, her pale face filmed with perspiration. I quickly removed her hat and dabbed her face with the wet handkerchief once more.

  Miss Townsend had arrived as we moved Erica, and now she studied the woman, her expression grave. “Bobby, run for the doctor,” Miss Townsend ordered. She took a seat on Erica’s other side, and Bobby made her swift way out the door. “Mrs. Hume, what did you eat?”

  Erica dragged in a few ragged breaths. “Nothing.”

  “Nonsense, it had to have been something. Or drank? What did you take tonight?”

  “Only some tea.”

  We’d all drunk tea out of communal pots that round-cheeked waitresses had carried about. My heart beat swiftly—had whoever wished to poison Lady Covington dropped a dollop of something into the tea?

  Miss Townsend guessed my thoughts. “If it was in the tea, many more people would already be ill. She must have ingested it at home before they departed.”

  “Cynthia.” My fears surged. Cynthia had said she’d eaten and drunk only what the whole family did. Had the noxious substance been served before or after she’d left the house this evening?

  “Cyn appears to be fine,” Miss Townsend said, but her face creased in worry. “Miss Morris seems all right as well. I’ve not found Mr. Morris.”

  Was Jonathan lying in a moaning heap in some aisle in the darkness? I clutched the lip of the wooden bench to keep myself from racing away to find him. I would wait for the doctor, as Erica seemed to be quieter with me next to her.

  “Henry.” Erica’s hand found mine. “Please look after him for me. Promise me.”

  “Who is Henry?” I asked her gently. I’d not heard the name from anyone in the family, nor had Cynthia mentioned him.

  “Promise . . .” Erica’s eyes were losing focus.

  “Yes, I promise.” I patted her hand.

  Erica’s grip went slack. I touched her face in alarm, but she still breathed, if shallowly.

  A commotion at the door announced the arrival of Bobby with the doctor. Daniel followed them, along with Mr. Fielding, Cynthia, and Mr. Thanos, and behind them, a wide-eyed Jonathan.

  I vacated my seat, and the doctor, without paying much attention to me, took my place. He pried open one of Erica’s eyes, pressed fingers to her pulse, loosened her jaw, and examined her mouth and tongue.

  Daniel halted by my side, but like the doctor, he behaved as though he stood next to empty air. I knew he’d taken the position deliberately, however, and I felt better with the warmth of him beside me. He wore scent, a light spice that smelled costly.

  Jonathan shoved rudely past Mr. Thanos, but his face was drawn with concern. “We’ll see to her. Mama has sent for a coach to take us to the tra
in.”

  The doctor turned to him gravely. “It is too late for that. She must not travel. I will take her to my surgery, which is not far from here, and try to purge her. You have a coach, you say?”

  Jonathan acknowledged this impatiently, and the doctor and Miss Townsend pried Erica to her feet between them. It was clear the young woman could not stand, let alone walk. Daniel made a move to her, but Jonathan cut him out and lifted Erica into his arms himself.

  Jonathan strode out with Erica to the cooler air of the nave. Lady Covington rushed to them, snapping orders for all to clear out of the way.

  “Vicar,” the doctor said in a low voice as he passed Mr. Fielding. “We might need you.”

  Mr. Fielding did not look happy, but he nodded, gave me a pat on the shoulder, and followed him.

  The others had gone, and I was left in relative privacy with Daniel. We stood in silence. I did not want to betray Daniel by any familiar gesture or even by turning to face him fully. A person’s ease with another tells much about what is between them.

  Daniel likewise made no sign that he knew me. He straightened his gloves and, as he bent his head to do so, murmured, “I will speak with you later.”

  If I had not been so focused on him, I’d have missed the words. They relieved me, but even refraining from giving him a nod took all my strength. I was not comfortable with subterfuge.

  Daniel adjusted his coat with an air of a man who did not know me from a rock in the road and walked away.

  Cynthia approached. “Lady Covington is asking for you.”

  “For me?” I deflated. “Probably to demand to know why I haven’t found the poisoner yet.”

  “Well, how could you?” Cynthia balled her hands. “That’s what you sent me to do, but I’ve failed, haven’t I? Jove, Mrs. H., I ate luncheon with them today. The poison can’t have been introduced then, or the rest of us would be rolling about in agony.”

  “Then we must discover how it was administered and when. That should help us discover who put it in whatever Erica imbibed.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Cynthia said somberly.

  She led me after the retreating crowd, the Palace growing eerily silent. I heard only my footsteps and Cynthia’s and our harried breaths.

  We caught up to the guests who were milling outside the entrance. Carriages clogged the road, coach lights glowing in the darkness.

  Cynthia towed me to Lady Covington’s hired coach. Lady Covington, who waited beside it, barely glanced at me before she was herding me and Cynthia inside.

  We took a seat facing Harriet, who twined her fingers together and gazed at anything but me. Someone handed in Lady Covington and slammed the door for her.

  “Where is Mrs. Hume?” I asked in bewilderment.

  “Jonathan procured a carriage at the front of the pack. He and Erica, the doctor, the vicar, and my brother have gone in that. Jonathan is a resourceful lad.” Lady Covington said it with pride, even in her agitation.

  “Did you eat luncheon with the others?” I asked her.

  “Of course I did. As did Cynthia and Harriet. Erica’s and my brother’s illnesses could have nothing to do with the luncheon.” She sounded very positive.

  “Then it was something they took after they arrived at the Crystal Palace,” I said. “Perhaps nothing to do with your illnesses at all.”

  “The symptoms are the same,” Lady Covington said. “Only much worse in Erica’s case. What my brother described is exactly how I have felt on occasion.”

  “Clumsy to do it here,” Cynthia remarked. “When every person attending took things from trays and drank out of the same teapots.”

  “Unless they ate something different from the others.” I stared out at the night, the glass reflecting a ghost of my face. “Perhaps apart, in secret.”

  “In secret?” Lady Covington’s tone snapped my attention to her. “What absolute nonsense. Why would Erica consume food in secret?”

  “Perhaps not food.” I strove to retain my patience. “A medicine or potion, either for digestion, or the complexion, or some such.”

  “Erica is a vain thing,” Harriet said decidedly. “Always looking for lotions or creams to put on her face. She’s getting long in the tooth.”

  “I know Arthur has no worries about his complexion,” Lady Covington said. “He and Erica would hardly take the same concoctions.”

  I fell silent. True, the only connection between Erica and her step-uncle was the fact that he had taken luncheon with the family, and they’d attended the gathering at the Crystal Palace tonight.

  My mind went back to Miss Townsend producing a box in our first-class coach and handing around glasses of brandy.

  “They could have eaten something on the journey,” I said. “Did you have refreshments along the way?”

  Harriet sat forward. “Oh yes. I’d forgotten. Cook packed a hamper. It was supposed to be for Mama, so she wouldn’t have to risk eating at the lectures. But Mama did not want anything, and the rest of us nibbled. Erica ate rather a lot.”

  I came alert. “What became of the hamper?”

  Harriet scowled. “I’m not to know. I’m not a servant.”

  “Harriet.” Lady Covington’s sharp word had Harriet flouncing back into her seat. “I will find out. When Cook makes things for me, they’re always all right. No one should have taken ill.”

  “That is so.” I groped for words, trying to put things delicately, but Cynthia had no such qualms.

  “Then the poisoner jolly well had a go at the hamper,” she said. “When your back was turned, they bunged in the poison, but Erica and Sir Arthur ate it instead of you.”

  “I do not know how they could have done so,” Lady Covington said.

  “Did you have your eye on the hamper the entire time?” I asked, glancing to Harriet to include her in the question.

  Spots of red appeared on Lady Covington’s cheeks, burnished by the lamplight inside the coach. “Of course not. Forgive my brusqueness, Mrs. Holloway. I am quite worried about Erica.”

  “I et some of the strawberries,” Harriet said. “And I feel quite fit. No, I did not watch the hamper at all times. It was passed around, wasn’t it? We ladies shared one compartment, and a porter came and took it to the gentlemen once we’d had our fill. As I say, Erica ate much of it, greedy thing.”

  “Then it was out of your sight in the corridor,” I said.

  “My brother’s compartment was the next one along,” Lady Covington said. “But I see what you mean. The porter brought in the hamper, which had been loaded alongside our small amount of baggage. Arthur insisted on carrying a change of clothes in case his suit became soiled, and we always bring cushions and things to make train compartments more comfortable. Anyone could have tampered with the food between the time it left our coach at the railway station and the time it appeared in our compartment.”

  “Or before it even entered the carriage from your house,” Cynthia said. “Did you see anyone with the hamper before you departed?”

  “It came straight up from the kitchen,” Harriet said. “I watched Peter—he’s one of our footmen—bring it up the back stairs and shove it into the coach.”

  “Then anyone could have introduced poison at any time,” I said glumly.

  “Not Erica, obviously,” Lady Covington said.

  “I would not be so certain, Mama.” Harriet made a sour face. “She is beastly to everyone. She might have decided she’d take a dose of the poison to show she wasn’t trying to harm you. But miscalculated the amount.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Lady Covington said crisply. “She’d be very foolish to do so. She would never think of such a thing, in any case.”

  “No, she’s not very clever.” Harriet’s face softened. “I’m not fond of Erica, but I do not wish to see her so ill. She looked horrible, poor thing.”

 
; “What exactly did she eat?” I asked. “Did either of you notice?”

  “I had the strawberries, as I said,” Harriet answered. “Not many of them. I wasn’t very hungry, and they were a bit tasteless.”

  “Too early in the season,” I said.

  Harriet clearly had no idea why this mattered. “Erica ate about a dozen of the things, along with cream, a scone with currants, and two slices of your excellent lemon cake—the one whose recipe you brought Mama. I told you Erica was greedy. I am surprised there was anything left when the hamper reached the gentlemen.”

  “Please ask Sir Arthur what he had,” I said to Lady Covington. “Mr. Morris and Lord Covington did not seem to be ill at all.”

  “Jonathan never takes sick,” Harriet said, waving her brother away. “Neither does George, but that’s because he’s too pompous.”

  Lady Covington frowned but did not reprimand her. “Jonathan was good to help.”

  I recalled Jonathan’s stark worry as he lifted his stepsister and carried her from the Pompeian house. I wondered—did he have a tendresse for her? They were not related, after all, and their respective parents had married when they’d already been adults, or near to it.

  Or was Jonathan the poisoner, and his concern for Erica remorse that he’d poisoned the wrong woman?

  And who had been the gentleman Harriet had met in the dark? Did he have anything to do with trying to harm Lady Covington, and why? The man might be a suitor Lady Covington disapproved of, and with her death, the path might be clear for him to marry Harriet. I glanced at Harriet in speculation. She caught my eye and resolutely turned to look out of the window.

  In another quarter of an hour, we reached the doctor’s surgery, a cottage set back from the road behind a garden gate. It was a small place, almost lost in the dark and shadows of tall trees.

  No one appeared to assist us, and Cynthia, never liking to wait for that sort of thing, shoved the door open and leapt to the ground. She released the catch on the coach’s side to yank down the steps, and served as footman to hand us down. She shouted at the coachman to wait and opened the gate to lead us through the tiny garden.