“Oh, yes. And to my father-in-law. They would like to have an heir, ideally a male—a son. To carry on the dynasty of potted meat pharaohs.” She said this last with sudden venom. A single tear slipped from her left eye and trickled down her cheek. Angrily she wiped at it with her fingertips, then drew in her breath and closed her eyes.
I turned to Holmes. “Perhaps we should continue with this interview at another time.”
He gave a brief nod, but Violet shook her head. “Not at all. Please forgive me. I should not have... I am perfectly well.”
“This interview need not last much longer,” Holmes said. “The incident at the ball occurred nearly a year and a half ago. When did you find this note?” He raised the piece of parchment.
“Almost two weeks ago, Mr. Holmes. I came into the library at around eleven in the morning. It was on my desk there.” She pointed to the corner. Above the desk’s surface were pigeonholes, papers stuffed into many of the holes, while books and envelopes were stacked neatly to the side. “I do not think that the content bothered me so much as finding such a thing in my own home.”
My hands tightened on the chair arms. “I imagine so. Rather like discovering a large spider in one’s bed.”
Violet only shrugged. Holmes briefly raised his black eyebrows. “Spiders do not disturb you?”
“Do not all proper, God-fearing British women despise spiders?” Her ironic smile faded away. “No, I do not care for them.”
Holmes nodded, then stood up abruptly and went to the desk.
“This is an impressive piece of furniture, Mrs. Wheelwright. Ah, all the pigeonholes are labeled: grocer, greengrocer, milliner, haberdasher, tailor, cobbler, and so on. I take it you manage the household accounts?”
“I do, Mr. Holmes. With Mr. and Mrs. Lovejoy’s assistance.”
“That must be no small task for a household of this size. How many servants do you employ?”
“Thirty-three here in town.”
My jaw dropped slightly. Michelle and I employed a woman to do the cleaning and the cooking, and it was difficult to imagine two people requiring so many servants. Of course, there would be the cook and her two or three helpers, a variety of maids, footmen, gardeners to care for the grounds, men to maintain the horses and carriages, and so on. I simply would not want such a mob under the same roof with Michelle and me!
Holmes returned to his chair but did not sit. “You found the note in the morning two weeks ago. When had you last been in the library before then?”
“The afternoon before.”
“Would your husband or anyone else have used the library in the interval?”
Violet’s mocking smile returned. “No. He prefers billiards or his club to books. My maid Gertrude tidied the room at about nine, but no one else would have come in here.”
“You said you were not superstitious, Mrs. Wheelwright. Therefore one other person obviously came in here. As the room was left unattended for over twelve hours, almost anyone might have crept in and left this foul thing.” He raised the paper in emphasis. “Who do you think might have left it, Mrs. Wheelwright?”
She drew in her breath, squaring her shoulders. “I honestly do not know. Logically, I suppose it must have been one of the servants, and yet, I know them all, and I cannot think that any of them would have done it.”
“You know them all?”
“Yes. I interview all the servants before they are hired, and I make it my business to know them. I want them to feel welcome in my home.”
Holmes was genuinely astonished. He opened his mouth, then reconsidered and closed it. Finally, he said, “When was the last time you hired a new servant?”
Violet’s brow wrinkled briefly. “I think it has been nearly two years.”
Again Holmes could not hide his astonishment. I had heard several of my wealthier patients complain about getting and keeping decent help. To have had no turnover in such a large staff in two years was remarkable.
“What exactly did you do when you found the note?”
“I showed it to Mrs. Lovejoy. She could not imagine where it came from. No, that is the wrong way to put it —she believes the note is the devil’s handiwork. And I showed it to Donald that evening when he came home.”
“He seems to think the gypsy curse has been effective, that several of the partygoers have been struck down.”
Violet laughed. “I know. It is so reassuring to blame our misfortunes on malevolent spirits rather than blind chance or our own failings.”
“You do not believe that the gypsy curse had anything to do with Lord Harrington’s death?”
She shook her head. “No. To me he always seemed a trifle... peculiar. His wife had much to bear. Age, sickness, and death always take their toll. The crowd at the ball was so large that misfortune would naturally have struck many of the participants.”
Holmes nodded thoughtfully. “So one might think.”
Violet raised only her right eyebrow. “You seem skeptical, Mr. Holmes.”
“I always am, so early in a case. One must not leap to conclusions. Is there anything else you wish to tell me, Mrs. Wheelwright? No? In that case, I shall want to talk separately to Mr. and Mrs. Lovejoy.”
“Very well, Mr. Holmes.” She stood and adjusted the skirts of her dress.
“Thank you for your assistance, madam.”
She gave him a glorious smile. “The pleasure was mine.”
Holmes’ gaze lingered on her as she left the room. His guard was down, and his admiration for her was apparent. I thought of making some jest, but I knew it would anger him. And who could blame him? She was a beautiful and desirable woman. Some men might be put off by the power of her intellect, but certainly to Holmes it made her all the more appealing. Were I in his shoes, I would have cursed the divorce laws for compelling such a woman to remain with a man who was so poor a match for her.
Holmes stood up, again walked over to the desk, and peered at the pigeonholes. “Mrs. Wheelwright is obviously not fearful of doing her sums. Ah, do come in, Mrs. Lovejoy. Please be seated.”
Mrs. Lovejoy was a rather austere-looking woman of about the same height and build as Violet, perhaps a bit older, but with none of her employer’s beauty or animation. She parted her black hair down the middle, leaving exposed a white furrow, and her skin was very pale. Her eyes were large, brown and rather vacant, her face narrow, almost gaunt, with prominent cheekbones. She wore a black muslin dress, a plain cut, with a multitude of tiny black buttons down the front. All in all, she recalled a dour Puritan of Cromwell’s time. She sat down and regarded Holmes warily.
“And how long have you been in Mrs. Wheelwright’s service, madam?”
“About six years, sir.” She was very soft spoken.
“And what kind of mistress is she?”
“The very best there is, sir.”
“And Mr. Wheelwright, what kind of master is he?”
She blinked twice. Her eyelids were almost translucent; the skin between her dark brows and her lashes a faint blue. “The master is... a fair man.”
“Indeed?” Holmes sat back against the tabletop. “And what do you make of the business with the gypsy curse and the note Mrs. Wheelwright found?”
“The devil’s work, sir—the devil himself.”
A smile pulled briefly at Holmes’ lips. “Do you know why the devil would have singled out your mistress?”
“Because of her goodness. She cares for all us servants and sets an example for all the cruel and stingy mistresses and masters, and she works to help the poor.”
“And does your mistress have any enemies? Besides the devil?”
“No, sir.”
“Has she dismissed anyone for bad conduct in the last year or two?”
“No, sir.”
“Has she reprimanded anyone publicly or lost her temper at any of the staff?”
Mrs. Lovejoy shook her head. “Certainly not.”
