The Butterfly Conspiracy Page 6

  He raised both hands in desperate disbelief.

  His expression turned thoughtful as he leaned over to her and said, “This lady of yours who died, Lady Sophia—was there a mark on her arm where the butterfly sat? Any sign that it bit or stung her, or some agent perhaps causing skin irritation?”

  “Shortly after she collapsed, she was moved behind a screen, away from prying eyes. I don’t recall seeing anything on her arm, but I didn’t have a chance to look closely. Her face was very mottled in appearance. And she had difficulty breathing. The former army doctor who happened to attend the lecture said the symptoms all suggested poisoning.”

  Galileo nodded. “Our friend Raven has a point, though; it could have happened at her home. Before she left for the lecture. Not all poisons are fast acting. Well, I assume they will look into what she ate and drank before she left.”

  “We should look into that,” Merula said. “We should do anything we can to gather proof that my uncle is not involved.”

  She looked around her at the cages with all the extraordinary creatures. “Suppose someone died and they said one of your creatures was responsible just because they don’t know anything about them and are afraid of them. How would you feel?”

  Galileo surveyed her from under his fine brows. His skin was pale, probably from spending all of his time indoors doing his experiments. Or could he be addicted to opium or other drugs? Uncle Rupert had warned her that some people in scientific circles induced their creativity by artificial means.

  Galileo said, “Do you believe your butterfly was the cause?”

  “No, but I can’t be sure. In hindsight, I feel I should never have taken the chance of letting it fly free. I did it because Royston claimed it wasn’t real, a mere fabrication of paper and threads.”

  “Ah, so that is why my gallant friend is now helping you out. He feels guilty for his part in it.” Galileo went to a glass cage and stared into it. Without taking his eyes off the contents, he gestured with a narrow hand for her to come stand by his side.

  Inside the glass case was a strange creature, much like a lizard but with brighter colors and eyes that looked as though they were inserted in tubes. As Merula watched it, she noticed that the eyes moved in different directions, as if the creature was looking both ways at the same time.

  “It’s a chameleon,” Galileo said. “You see, it can observe its surroundings from various angles. It can also adjust its color. If I were to take it off that branch and put it on a red apple, its skin would turn red.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s a trick to escape predators who can’t see him when he has the same color as his surroundings.” Galileo glanced at her. “Most people live like that, blending in with their surroundings, adjusting themselves so as not to stand out. If you stand out, you are conspicuous and you might end up under attack.”

  Merula waited for him to go on. When he didn’t, she said, “Your collection is rather extraordinary and your chemical work not without risk.”

  “I stand out, you mean,” he said with a smile. “I chose to. I understand that your uncle is accused of murder and you feel guilty and compelled to look into his case. It will make you stand out, and it might even put you in danger. If I believe you, if only for the sake of argument, and assume Lady Sophia did not die because of the butterfly, someone poisoned her and is letting your uncle take the blame for it. That someone won’t be happy when you start asking questions and casting doubt on what really happened to the unfortunate lady. So instead of feeling guilty and compelled to assist, you’d better ask yourself if you really want to stand out and get yourself into danger. If it is your conscious choice, it will be much easier to face whatever will come your way.”

  “I see your point,” Merula said.

  For a moment, the despair of being locked in the burning conservatory came back to her, and a shiver ran down her spine. Those men had taken an enormous risk and still they had done it, hastily, unstoppable. There had been but a few men who knew about tonight’s events. Once more people knew about it—and if it made its way into the papers, the whole of London would soon know about it—more aggression would be aroused, more impulsive actions undertaken. She was a fugitive now and dragging other people into misery with her. Royston, this kind scientist by her side, and his rather unusual manservant with the mud-caked boots. People she longed to know more about, but people she also didn’t want to put in peril for her sake.

  She asked softly, “In bringing the butterfly here, I’m involving you. Do you mind? We can take it along again and leave.”

  Galileo shook his head. “I’m delighted with the chance to take a closer look at it. I have nothing of a reputation I can lose. You can stay here with me for the time being. If you don’t mind all these creatures living under the same roof.”

  “As long as they are safely behind glass, I don’t mind.”

  “Excellent.” He looked over her stained dress. “I have nothing to offer you by way of clothes.”

  Merula flushed at his frank reference. The night was upon them, and she could hardly go to bed in this dress. There was also the morning to consider, and how could she conduct an investigation into Lady Sophia’s death with nothing to wear?

  “I have an idea,” she said. “Your man Bowsprit, does he go all over London?”

  “Naturally. But he is not my man Bowsprit. He’s Raven’s valet.”

  “Really? But what was he doing here tonight?”

  “Helping me out with my experiments. He’s fascinated by science, and I can’t blame him. Inside vials, discoveries are made that will impact the future of mankind profoundly.”

  Galileo took a deep breath as if he was about to launch into an explanation of this lofty statement, but a look at her made him reconsider. She had to look every bit as exhausted as she felt. Galileo said, “Bowsprit can go wherever you need him to go.”

  “Good. Then I need to give him some instructions.” Merula turned away and then added, “Thank you for showing me these fascinating creatures and telling me about how they live.”

  “Thank you for not fainting when I showed them.” Galileo grimaced. “I can’t get anybody to come and clean here. Not even for twice the wages others pay.”

  Merula laughed softly as she returned to where Royston was waiting. He was in deep conversation with Bowsprit but stepped away from his valet when he saw her. “How do you like his horror cabinet?”

  “I had never seen a chameleon before. Or a live snake. Only pinned-up skins. Now, I have a request.”

  Royston smiled at her tone. “Out with it.”

  “Well, I have only this.” Merula gestured at her clothes. “I need to sleep, and we have to get out tomorrow and investigate.”

  “Excuse me, but I have to get out tomorrow and investigate.” Royston leaned back on his heels. “You will stay here and wait for the butterfly to hatch so you and Galileo can study it closer.”

  “We have no way of knowing when it will hatch. And we need so much information. We need to divide tasks. Galileo can determine whether the butterfly is poisonous or not. Bowsprit will need to talk to Lady Sophia’s servants here in the city and find out what she ate and drank before she left for the lecture. If there was anything unusual: if she complained about not feeling well, anything arriving for her shortly before she left, a box of chocolates, anything that might have contained the poison.”

  Royston was listening with a frown, but he didn’t interrupt her.

  Merula continued, “You and I must go to Lady Sophia’s house in the country. I know from my cousin Julia that Lady Sophia spent most of her time there. She didn’t like social gatherings.”

  “Not to mention her husband’s entire zoological collection is kept there,” Galileo said. “It’s worth a fortune, they say.”

  “And now Foxwell inherits it all,” Royston said pensively. “We might be able to learn something useful about him from the servants there. The house is open for the public, I believe, because of its curio c
abinet.”

  Merula clapped her hands together. “Perfect. We can pose as innocent travelers stopping off to see the curio cabinet we have heard so much about. News of Lady Sophia’s death will not have reached them yet, so we must go there right after breakfast.”

  Royston made a mock bow. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. I need clothes. Bowsprit has to meet our maid Lamb at her mother’s. She always goes there to take care of her. Ask Lamb to pack a small case for me with what I need for a few days and take it out the back of the house, where she can give it to Bowsprit.”

  “After the fire, the police might be there,” Royston protested.

  But Merula looked at the big standing clock and said, “I think they will be gone by now. Maybe they have one man watching the house from the outside to see if I return. But Lamb should be able to get in and out.”

  “What if they also watch the back,” Bowsprit said, “and they search the case she is carrying? As soon as they realize it’s clothes for you, they will question her about your whereabouts.”

  “Yes.” Merula frowned at this unwelcome possibility. “I can’t get poor Lamb into trouble. She’s a nervous little thing as it is.”

  Bowsprit’s expression lit. “She can carry out the washing or items that supposedly need mending. She can put your clothes and what you need under sheets and pillowcases. The police are probably not watching the back of the house, but if they are, they will not consider her actions suspicious. She has to do it in the morning then. I will bring it here so you can change before you leave for Lady Sophia’s country estate. You will have to sleep in that dress. I’m sorry about that.”

  Merula shrugged. “I’m already glad I don’t have to sleep in the street.” She yawned. “We’d better all turn in, because we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Merula slept fitfully, dreaming of butterflies that flew over her uncle’s house, spreading a fine powder that set everything on fire. Through the haze, she heard Galileo call out to her about a chameleon and needing to adjust, while Bowsprit carried a basket with laundry that toppled as Lamb rolled out of it, clutching a bird without feet.

  When she finally got up, stiff and uncomfortable in her crinkled dress, she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all and that the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

  But once she entered the room where Galileo lay on his stomach on the floor comparing formulas in notebooks while Royston poured coffee in cups without saucers, her mood cleared. The hot coffee filled her with pleasant warmth, and when Royston even managed to conjure up sausages with scrambled eggs, Merula dug in and soon felt like a new person.

  “I have a perfectly good dining room downstairs,” Galileo declared from his prostrate position, “but he doesn’t want us to use it because of some exaggerated idea that someone might peep in from the street and see you.”

  “Well, your windows are at street level, and we can hardly keep the curtains closed all day,” Royston said as he poured more coffee. “I won’t feel at ease until Bowsprit is back here with Merula’s belongings and we can be on our way out of the city.”

  Galileo didn’t reply. He slapped a notebook, uttered a stifled “I knew it,” and scrambled to his feet to make more notes on some papers on a desk in the corner.

  Last night, Merula had been too distracted by their ordeal, the foul smells, and all the exotic animals in the other room to pay much attention to the furniture, but now she realized that the room was filled with pieces that would make an antiques dealer salivate.

  Galileo’s desk had beautiful ivory birds and flowers worked into the surface and decorated brass handles on the drawers, while the chairs on both sides of a tall cabinet had delicate twirled legs and embroidery with golden thread on the faded pillows. Little dents in the wood and tears in the fabric, however, suggested that no thought had been given to preserving these lovely pieces, as the owner was obviously more interested in his research than in his possessions.

  Royston froze. He lifted a hand. “I hear footfalls on the backstairs.”

  “Must be Bowsprit.” Galileo threw down his pen and stared up at the ceiling as if he intended to catch another idea.

  Royston said, “We can’t be sure. Merula, go into the other room. If someone intruded, I don’t want you to be there when we deal with him.”

  It sounded rather ominous, and once Merula was in the other room with the door shut, she had to fight the urge to open it a crack and spy to see what was happening. If someone had come in, who could it be? What would he want? And how would Royston “deal with him”?

  She did hope he wouldn’t use violence and get himself into trouble with the police. For now they might be fugitives, but they were innocent fugitives. If they started hurting people, intruders or not, they would be making themselves culpable and increasing Uncle Rupert’s troubles.

  The door burst open, and she shrank back. Royston stood on the threshold. “It’s Bowsprit with your clothes,” he announced.

  Merula exhaled in relief and hurried out to meet the valet.

  Bowsprit stood leaning over a big basket he had put in a chair. “Your maid,” he said with a sour face, “was very hard to persuade that I could be trusted. She wanted to come here herself to see you. I told her she’d only be putting you in danger. She was shocked at all that had happened, even though she wasn’t in the house when the fire occurred.”

  “How are Aunt Emma and Julia doing?” Merula asked, her throat constricting at the idea of the nightmare her family had been thrust into.

  “I think your aunt had a nervous fit, but Lamb said she often has those and it’s never serious.”

  Merula suppressed an involuntary smile at Lamb’s frank assessment of her aunt’s condition.

  Bowsprit continued, “Your cousin Julia was more worried for you than for herself, it seemed.”

  “That’s sweet.” Merula picked up the basket, which was surprisingly heavy. “I will go dress myself. Oh … did you hear anything that might be worthwhile?”

  Bowsprit shifted his weight. “Of course I took the liberty of asking Lamb a question or two. She doesn’t like Foxwell, even though she has never seen him. But there is talk in the household that he’s after Julia—and not because he really cares for her.”

  “Still, that is odd,” Merula said. “Foxwell is heir to a fortune. He can get any woman he wants. Julia is charming, I daresay, but in the circles in which he moves, he must be able to do better. I mean, in terms of money or connections. Why would Foxwell have set his sights on Julia?”

  “Another thing we need to look into.” Royston rolled his shoulders back. Merula was gratified by this slight evidence that he too had not slept well. “Foxwell’s reason for accusing your uncle of murder is tied to his interest in Julia, so who knows how it might all be connected? Why are you not changing?”

  Thus admonished, Merula rushed away with her basket, still wondering at the weight of it.

  In her temporary quarters, she laid the basket on the bed and looked through it, silently thanking Lamb for knowing exactly what she couldn’t do without. She changed into a dark blue dress that was perfect for traveling and put on the pendant that she usually wore under her clothes. It had been left with her when she had been delivered to her aunt and uncle as a baby, and the engraving on the pendant contained the only clue to her parents’ past. A name, perhaps of a place in Dartmoor.

  Wearing it made her feel connected to her origins somehow, even if she didn’t know what her parents had been doing in Dartmoor, if they had married there, or lived there, or whatever else the place name might mean.

  If it was even a place name and not something else altogether. Aunt Emma had made it clear often enough that she didn’t want Merula to ask questions about her mother and father, let alone try to find things out about them on her own.

  Topping her neatly pinned-up hair with a small hat, Merula studied her features in the mirror. She couldn’t deny that she was excited at the prospect of
leaving London and taking a little day trip into the countryside, admiring its lush views, and exploring Lady Sophia’s famous curio cabinet. It was rumored to contain mounted animals of some rare, recently discovered species, and Merula couldn’t wait to see those.

  Still, their journey had a very serious purpose, and she needed to prepare herself to ask the servants innocent questions that would reveal how relations had been between Lady Sophia and her future heir, Foxwell.

  Maybe also between Lady Sophia and other members of the Society. Couldn’t it be somehow significant that she had died at a zoological lecture? In any case, men with knowledge of rare animals might also know more about poison than other people did.

  Pensive, Merula walked downstairs to find Royston waiting for her in the hallway. He reached out his hand to her, helping her down the last three steps of the stairs. “You look lovely.”

  “Not overdone for the occasion, I hope?” she asked quickly. She was never quite certain if he meant the things he said or was jesting in his semi-cynical way. She had heard Royston didn’t have a high regard for women and had affronted his sister-in-law terribly the first time he had met her, but to Merula he had been nothing but kind and considerate, taking her ideas seriously and almost treating her like an equal. It was rather confusing, especially considering that, by working with him to solve the death, she was placing everything she held dear in his hands.

  “Not at all overdone,” Royston assured her. “We will have to introduce ourselves somehow, I suppose, so we will be Mr. and Mrs. Dutton from Walkingwoods, staying with friends in London who recommended the curio cabinet to us. I can’t quite decide yet what my profession will be. There are so many exciting possibilities. I could, for instance, be an engineer working to bring electricity to every home.”