The Butterfly Conspiracy Read online

  Merula shook her head at his excited tone. “Better choose something general like merchant. You don’t want them to remember you later on.”

  Royston’s face fell. “I guess not,” he agreed reluctantly. “That’s a shame. When one goes to play a part, one should choose a part that demands rather good playing. A merchant … Bah!”

  Merula suppressed a smile. Outside they found a hansom waiting for them. Royston grumbled, “I would have hired a carriage and let Bowsprit drive us if he wasn’t needed here in the city. I hope we can discover something telling from his inquiries into Lady Sophia’s last hours before her death. If we could prove she received a mysterious parcel that might have contained poisonous food items, we would be a long way toward diverting attention from your uncle.”

  Merula nodded. They climbed into the hansom, and the coachman urged the horse into motion. The morning air was fresh and clear and the sun was shining. The excitement Merula had felt about this unexpected journey returned full force. Why waste the morning worrying about her uncle being under arrest and her family in turmoil when she could try to do something to correct all of that while also enjoying the ride and hoping to learn something interesting at Lady Sophia’s country estate?

  “So Lady Sophia was married to an influential member of the Society?” Merula asked Royston.

  “Yes. You should ask somebody else about him, really, as I never had much contact with him. I never visited him at his house, and I only knew Lady Sophia by name before I saw her last night.”

  “Yes, I heard she was quite reclusive. I wonder if that was just her nature or if there was a reason for her behavior. It might be telling if we knew what it was.” Bad health? Or had Lady Sophia perhaps been afraid of meeting someone?

  “If there was such a reason,” Royston said in a warning tone. “From now on, as we are building theories to explain Lady Sophia’s death, we must only introduce facts as basis for our assumptions. If we start building a theory with nothing but assumptions and speculations, it’s bound to come clattering down around our ears, burying us under a ton of rubble.”

  “Maybe you can pretend to be an architect,” Merula said sweetly. “Your comparisons already fit that occupation.”

  Royston shook his head, but she saw the hint of a smile around his lips and in his eyes. “I mean it, Merula. We are investigating the death of a woman we barely know. Every assumption we make about her character, habits, or daily routine might lead us further away from the truth instead of closer to it. We must make sure we find out all we can about her so that we are equipped to reconstruct what happened before she died and what could have caused her collapse.”

  “I believe that in cases where people collapse, doctors often don’t know what caused it. They can establish that the heart stopped beating but not why. Do you think that we, mere laymen, can really find out what killed her?”

  Royston said, “Maybe our ignorance works to our advantage. I’ve heard of cases where the police were led astray because some smart inspector immediately started to follow a clue, or what he believed to be a clue, ignoring other evidence that might have led him straight to the culprit. So thinking you know it all, or have experience, can actually sometimes be a disadvantage. We are coming at this with an open mind. We will look at everything we learn and try to see a pattern. Something that connects the how and the why.”

  “I think the how will be hardest,” Merula said pensively. “Galileo asked me if I had seen a red rash on Lady Sophia’s arm where the butterfly sat, any sign that it had stung or bitten her or otherwise caused her to react to it. But I can’t say for certain. Do you know?”

  Royston shook his head. “But I don’t have to know. Before we left, I instructed Bowsprit not just to find out all he could about Lady Sophia’s last hours but also to get in touch with someone who works at the mortuary and try to find out anything peculiar about Lady Sophia’s body. Things like you mentioned: a rash, a response to a poisonous agent that might reveal to us how it was administered to her. She was in full sight of all of us the entire time.”

  Merula nodded. “It is very odd. She must have felt unwell already when she walked in. She was waving furiously with her fan.”

  “Aren’t those fans just fashionable? I think she merely wanted to show off that she had ostrich feathers.” Royston’s face contorted in distaste. “Ladies walk about with entire dead birds on their hats to show off that they can afford to pay for it. I can’t say I find it very charming.”

  “Do they kill the ostrich for the feathers?” Merula wondered. “Or does he shed them and then they are collected? I think peacock feathers are simply collected and the bird is not killed for them.”

  “I have no idea,” Royston said. “I never made a study of the ostrich.”

  After a short silence, he added with a self-deprecating smile, “Or of any other bird, for that matter. I’m afraid I’m a zoology novice and you have the better of me.”

  Merula glanced at him. Again she didn’t know if she should take him seriously or not. She had never before heard a man admit that a woman knew something better than he did. Royston had to be jesting somehow, feeling certain that he could play his part as experienced zoologist with verve.

  But Royston just stared ahead with a serious, almost grim expression. She wondered what he was thinking about.

  * * *

  The driveway to the estate was lined with tall oak trees whose leaves rustled in the morning breeze. In the meadow to their right, a beautiful black horse tossed his head and trotted along with the hansom for a while, halting abruptly when the gate didn’t permit him to go farther. Scraping with his powerful forehoof, he threw up clumps of grass and earth.

  Merula gasped when she saw the house with its high facade, two wings, and turrets that each carried a small golden weathercock. A fountain in front of the house sprayed water high up into the air, and a gardener trimmed the box hedges.

  In the distance, birds sang. Merula distinguished at least five different calls. This had to be a delightful place to live. No wonder Lady Sophia had hidden out here rather than staying in the bustling city.

  As they approached, they saw a man of middle age standing on the front terrace speaking with someone through the half-opened front door. The person inside wasn’t visible, as the door was kept at such an angle that the visitor couldn’t get in. He seemed to want to enter desperately, as he had placed his hand on the door and was exerting some pressure, judging by his reddish cheeks.

  Or perhaps they were red with anger, for as the hansom halted in front of the steps leading up the terrace, Merula heard the man shout, “I want my emperor penguin back right now. I have not come out here to be insulted. It is my property and I demand it back.”

  “His what?” Merula asked Royston.

  He shrugged. “I thought he said emperor penguin. A penguin is a kind of bird from the deep south. They live in a world of snow and ice, I was told. And although they are birds, they can’t fly. Their wings aren’t developed enough. They walk upright, like we do.”

  Royston stepped out of the hansom and said, “Like this.” He put his heels together, turned his feet out to form a V, clasped his arms closely to his body, and waddled forward in a strange, shuffling gait.

  Merula suppressed a peel of laughter. “I can hardly believe that.”

  “You ask him.” Royston reached out to help her out of the hansom. “He apparently owns an emperor penguin, so he should know.”

  He told their coachman to let the horse trot through the estate’s park a little so he would stay warm while they went inside. The coachman nodded and let the horse walk.

  Royston pulled Merula’s arm through his, leading her up the steps. She had to remind herself that they were Mr. and Mrs. Dutton from Walkingwoods, out here for a nice little day trip to a curio cabinet. As a wife, she had to throw her husband admiring glances and hold her tongue while he spoke with the servants.

  The man at the door said, “I demand to speak with Foxwell.
”

  Both Merula and Royston froze. If Foxwell was there, he’d recognize them in a heartbeat. Their whole plan would go awry at once. But as the hansom was already moving away, it was too late to turn back now.

  The person inside said something, and the door snapped shut with a vicious click. The man banged on it with his fist, shouting, “You cannot do this! I will go to the police.”

  The door stayed shut. If Foxwell was in there, he didn’t seem to want to show himself to this particular visitor.

  The man, now deep red with rage at the treatment he had received, exhaled in a huff.

  Royston called out to him, “Is the curio cabinet not open for the day?”

  The man turned to them. He had a short white beard and lively blue eyes. He said with a scoff, “Curio cabinet. You’re here for that? Full of borrowed items they show off as if they are their own. But they are not. Remember that when you go in there and have a look around. Just borrowed it is, all of it. And they refuse to return it. Stolen, it is!”

  “You mean,” Royston said, “that you lent this family some of your zoological specimens for them to put on display, but now that you want them back, they don’t want to return them to you?”

  “Exactly. My emperor penguin cost me a fortune. Newly discovered species. You might have read about it in the papers.”

  Although she hadn’t, Merula nodded. “From the deep south, yes? A bird that can’t fly because his wings aren’t fully developed.” She was just repeating what Royston had told her, but it worked.

  The man nodded eagerly. “Exactly. You are a most astute young lady.” He reached out his hand to Royston. “Newbury.”

  Royston grabbed his hand. “Dutton. I’m a merchant from Walkingwoods. We’re just taking a little tour, and we heard that the curio cabinet here is very good. But if it is, as you say, stocked with borrowed items, I feel … uncomfortable visiting it.”

  Merula didn’t like being ignored, but she realized it would be best to let the men discuss the situation and let Royston learn as much as he possibly could.

  Newbury said, “I used to come here all the time when Lady Sophia’s husband was still alive. I advised him on the curio cabinet. He wanted to set it up, but he didn’t have the expertise to know what pieces to purchase. I advised him. How sorry I am now that I did! I said that it might be best to borrow some expensive specimens first and see how well the cabinet did at attracting visitors. He agreed, and I put him in touch with collectors, who were all eager to contribute. He was a very well liked man, and well respected. Unfortunately, after his sudden death, his widow refused to return our property to us.”

  “Why would you want it returned?” Royston asked. “If the cabinet was doing well, why not continue as you had before the death?”

  “Ah.” Newbury scoffed. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his hot face. “Death always changes things. New masters come around. Lady Sophia never had any children, you know, and when her husband died, his entire fortune fell to her to live off for as long as she lived, but with an heir already waiting in the wings, so to speak. Her nephew Foxwell. He is a very unpleasant person, believing he knows about zoology when he simply does not. When he saw the collection, he assumed it all belonged to his uncle, and he refuses to return anything to us who lent it to the cabinet. He turned Lady Sophia against all of us and made her suspicious of us. I come here to ask for my emperor penguin, and I am shooed away from the door as if I am a beggar. Asking for my own property! How dare they.”

  “But Lady Sophia isn’t here right now. Can a butler or housekeeper just turn you away?”

  “She instructed them. Or perhaps Foxwell did. I don’t know. But I intend to take legal action against them. I can prove it’s my emperor penguin, and I will get it back.” Newbury nodded firmly and seemed intent on passing them down the steps.

  Merula said quickly, “You spoke of having put Lady Sophia’s husband in touch with other collectors as well. So there are others who have not had their specimens returned, I presume?”

  “I am not the only damaged party, no. Far from it. In fact, I know that Lord Havilock had a fierce argument with Lady Sophia about it just last week. It seems a friend from the Americas is visiting him and wants to purchase some of his apes. But they are in the curio cabinet and thus out of reach. He was quite cross about it. Understandable. The friend will sail back to the Americas in a few days, and if Havilock can’t liberate the apes before that, the chance for a sale will have passed.” The man shook his head. “A sad business, really. Well, good day to you.” And he marched off down the steps.

  Royston said softly to Merula, “Well, well, so despite his friendly act with Lady Sophia last night, calling her his guest of honor and all, Havilock had also had an argument with her about specimens she didn’t want to return. He had a buyer for them, a one-time opportunity that was about to slip through his fingers. Does that constitute a motive for murder?”

  “It would,” Merula said, “if Havilock expected Lady Sophia’s heir to be more open to his pleas. But I don’t really think Foxwell will be. Do you?”

  Royston shook his head. “I don’t think so, no.”

  “So what would killing Lady Sophia change then? Murder is so drastic. Why risk it when you aren’t sure it will solve anything?”

  Royston nodded. “You have a point. Still, we have to look into Havilock’s dispute with Lady Sophia about his apes.”

  “You were with a man last night who was carrying a mounted monkey. Would he know more about it?”

  “Justin Devereaux. Perhaps. I could ask him.”

  Royston turned to the front door. “Let’s ring just to see what happens.”

  They rang, but nobody came to the door.

  Royston said, “They must think it’s Newbury again and don’t want to open up and give him a chance of shoving his foot in. Well, that leaves us locked out as well. We could walk around the house and see if we can knock on a window somewhere and draw attention to ourselves.”

  They started to walk across the terrace that stretched all the way along the house’s front, peeking into the windows. There was a sitting room with heavy oak furniture and paintings on the walls, a library with overfull bookshelves.

  “I don’t see a single mounted animal anywhere,” Merula said, puzzled.

  “Perhaps they are kept separate? Upstairs?” Royston hazarded.

  Suddenly, from around the corner of the house, a man in a green jacket came at them. Ahead of him, a large mastiff strained on its leash. The dog barked at them and bared a set of excellent, gleaming teeth.

  “Away from here,” the man called. “Back to your hansom and off the grounds.”

  “Excuse me,” Royston said, making sure he stayed out of reach of the snarling mastiff. “We came all the way from Walkingwoods to see the curio cabinet.”

  “It’s closed at the moment. We don’t like snooping about.”

  “We rang at the front door,” Royston said coldly. “But no one appeared. We assumed there was another entrance.”

  “We are terribly sorry,” Merula cut in, trying to sound anxious. “Could you restrain your dog? He looks so fierce.”

  “We don’t like snooping,” the man repeated. “Off you go.”

  Royston turned away, ushering Merula ahead of him. “He means it,” he whispered. “I’ve seen that fanatical look in men’s eyes before. If he releases that dog, we’re in serious trouble.”

  They hurried back to the steps and down onto the gravel. Their hansom appeared from the left and halted to let them climb in. “I think you’re treating innocent visitors terribly here,” Royston called to the man with the dog. “I will complain about it.”

  “You do that,” the man said, grinning as meanly as the mastiff. “Lady Sophia won’t mind.”

  “No, she won’t, as she’s dead,” Royston whispered to Merula as he helped her into the hansom. “Apparently they don’t know yet, as we expected. Still, we have not set one foot inside, and we have no
idea how extensive the collection is or why they are so protective of it.”

  “Maybe it is no longer here,” Merula said as she leaned back against the padded seat.

  “What?” Royston said, sinking beside her.

  The dog still barked, and the nervous horse began to pull with a jerk, throwing them against each other.

  Straightening herself again, Merula explained, “Maybe Lady Sophia’s husband sold off part of his collection even though some items weren’t his. Maybe she couldn’t return Newbury’s penguin to him because she no longer had it.”

  Royston nodded slowly. “An interesting suggestion. But we’ve seen nothing to support it. It’s a large house, so the fact that we didn’t see any animals as we walked around doesn’t mean anything. We’d need to know how many people lent specimens to the cabinet and how many of them actually got anything back. If any of them did.”

  “Would your friend Devereaux also know about that?”

  “If it includes apes, he’s interested, so who knows?” Royston leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. “Even though we didn’t get inside, the visit wasn’t without interest. We should find out just how angry Havilock was about his missed chance to sell. He’s all smiles when you meet him, and still something in his eyes suggests he can get angry when he feels wronged.”

  “Most men do.” Merula sighed. “That’s exactly the reason people will believe my uncle capable of harming Lady Sophia, as she humiliated him. I know he’d never hurt someone, but who will believe that?”

  Royston patted her arm. “We have another lead now. And who knows what Bowsprit may have come up with? I bet you we are making more progress than the police.”

  But as they rattled into London’s inner heart, newspaper salesmen on every corner carried huge signs saying “Arrest in Sensational Butterfly Case” and “Butterfly Conspiracy Reaches Deep.”