The earl shook his head. “Raby had a prodigious memory, kept all of his records under his hat, as it were. I am afraid it made no end of trouble for his widow. She hadn’t the slightest idea of what half the contents were, so she simply sold everything for the best offer and took coin in hand.”
“A slipshod way for Mr. Raby to run a business,” I observed.
“But not unusual,” his lordship replied. “And far more discreet than keeping written records.”
“Yet it does little to answer our purposes,” I reminded him. “We have no idea where this waxwork—thisperson—came from or who put her there.”
“Of course,” the earl said in a subdued voice.
“The police will want to know everything about the acquisition,” Stoker began but Lord Rosemorran shied like a frightened pony.
“The police! Oh, no, no. That will never do.”
“But this must be investigated,” Stoker told him.
His lordship’s expression was stricken. “Certainly, certainly. But is it possible to do so discreetly? Without involving the police? As soon as the police are involved, the press are bound to discover the story. There will be no keeping it quiet.”
“You are concerned about possible scandal?” I asked gently.
“Most concerned,” he said. “I can see the lurid headlines in those filthy rags now, trumpeting the fact that this,” he waved his hands about vaguely, “was a gift to my daughter. The way they embroider and embellish! Poor Rose. It will follow her forever, the association with this distasteful situation.”
Stoker and I said nothing, but the earl hurried on, pressing his point.“And the crime involved here is not a hanging offence,” he pointed out. He paused in obvious confusion. “Or is it?”
“No,” Stoker assured him. “This sort of tampering with a dead body is reprehensible, but there are no signs of violence.”
‘There you are!” Lord Rosemorran said happily. “You can investigate and discover this young person’s identity, the story behind how she came to be in this state. And,” he said quickly, “if it becomes apparent that there was any question of foul play, I will of course agree to bringing in the proper authorities. But until then, perhaps we might do without the intrusion and the scandal? Would that be acceptable to you?” He finished on a hopeful note, and Stoker gave a gusty sigh.
“Yes, my lord.”
Lord Rosemorran turned to me with an appealing look.
“Yes, my lord,” I told him.
“Very good. Most grateful to you both.” He paused, his expression stricken. “What shall I say to Rose? She will be terribly distressed at losing her treasure. I must find something to ease the blow, some new amusement.”
“I have made Lady Rose a loan of the tamarin,” I told him. “Tell her she may keep the creature as long as she wishes.”
“Oh, you are kind,” the earl said. “Are you certain?”
“Quite,” I told Lord Rosemorran firmly.
He took a deep breath, rubbing his hands together briskly. “If there is nothing else I ought to be getting back to my stamps. I received a packet from Mauritius today,” he finished with an air of pleased contentment. “They have palm trees on them, you know. Most charming.”
“Of course, my lord. Go back to your stamps,” I told him, not unkindly. Stoker said nothing, but I could perceive a tiny muscle at his jawline jumping.
I showed the earl to the door, returning to find Stoker standing over the slumbering beauty, his expression serious.
“Veronica—” he began.
I held up a hand. “Let us not brangle, my love. This is the point in the proceedings when I insist something must be done, and that we are the persons who must do it. I will make an impassioned plea for justice. I will point out that this nameless creature deserves a proper burial. Now, I will allow she might have been handed over to some medical authority with all the necessary procedures being followed, but if she were not, then some misadventure may have befallen her, and a villain must be held accountable. I will further remind you that we have been, upon several occasions, the instruments of such justice, and that we are uniquely gifted in the requisite qualities for carrying out an investigation of this nature. Furthermore—”
I was warming to my theme when Stoker spoke up, clipping each consonant sharply. “Veronica, do be quiet.”
I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am not arguing with you. In fact, if you did not insist upon investigating what horrors befell this young woman, I would.”
“You would?”
