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Grave Matters, Lord Danvers Investigates #2

By Donna Fletcher Crow

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1
Lady Antonia Hoover gave a little shiver of excitement. Or was it of fear?
Lord Charles Danvers, her companion, in morning
frock coat and stately tall black hat, looked at her with the softness only she ever saw from him, and a smile lit his craggy features. He patted the hand resting on his arm. “It won’t be long now.”
That was precisely what was worrying Antonia, but she smiled back and adjusted her deep-brimmed bonnet so that the lace and flowers would frame her heart-shaped face to best advantage. She was determined that if she were to be cut to ribbons along with thirty thousand other Londoners and foreign visitors, she would meet her fate looking her best.
Certainly the Crystal Palace was looking its best for The Great Exhibition of the Works of Industry of All Nations. It gleamed far brighter than the Hope Diamond as the morning sunshine streamed through the innumerable glass panels over their heads. Indeed, Antonia felt as if she were inside a gigantic diamond. This was the culmination of months, even years, of planning and work. Since the first of the year thousands of workers had been employed putting the finishing touches on the huge, elegant, steel and glass building and arranging the fourteen thousand exhibits that came from all over the world. Within the space of three months, more than one hundred thousand articles had been prepared for display in eleven miles of stalls.
All of Britain—indeed, most of the world—was Exhibition mad. Every shop and hotel in London displayed multilingual signs soliciting trade from foreign visitors. Hundreds of carriages of every condition filled the streets for miles in every direction. The capital was garrisoned with soldiers, and six thousand extra policemen had been called to duty—all precautions in case any of the dire warnings of rampant and violent crimes so many prophets of doom had predicted the event would bring on their heads should come true.
Just that morning, 1 May1851, The Times had warned that when the model frigate on the Serpentine fired its guns in salute of the queen’s arrival “the concussion will shiver the glass roof of the Palace and thousands of ladies will be cut into mincemeat.” Antonia pulled her bonnet more firmly around her face.
But even such a dreadful augury couldn’t suppress her spirits for long. Every time she looked upward at the gleaming crystal arch, hundreds of feet above her head, she felt again the shock of delighted surprise that had met her on first entering the great transept. At the far end two huge elm trees, giants of Hyde Park, rose far into the air. Their wealth of luxuriant green leaves was as free and unconfined as if still standing under the open sky. Just to her right the waters of the creamy-gold fluted glass fountain plashed from its many tiers, a gentle accompaniment to the floating strains of the orchestra. Everywhere she looked, Antonia’s eyes were dazzled with tropical foliage, luxuriant flowers, rich carpets, and elegantly clad people.
Yet a tickle of fear remained. Could all this display of beauty, wealth, and power be swept away in a single moment? All these people be sent to eternity with the firing of a single salute? And then she looked at the tall man beside her. She knew that it wasn’t the material things around her she feared for most, nor for the thousands of other lives thronging about them, nor even for her own. It was her dearest Charles who held the focus of all her days and all her life.
Since that autumn day two and a half years ago when he had rescued her from abduction and brought their murderous acquaintance to justice, Charles had filled her formerly shallow existence with meaning—Charles and the faith they were growing in together. What if the great crystal dome should shatter down on them in millions of razor shards as predicted? Charles would protect her with his own body.
But she would not want to be protected—not to go on without him. She clung tighter to his arm, gripping it with both lace-mitted hands. Why had she been so headstrong? Why had she insisted that they attend the opening day? She had been insane to accept such a risk just two days before their wedding.
She started to breathe a prayer but was interrupted by the cheering of the crowds filling the park. The queen had arrived. A pause the space of three heartbeats brought a second roar of approval, telling those inside that the world-famous aeronaut Worthing Spenser, who had been waiting just outside the palace in his Union Jack draped balloon, had begun his ascent in honor of the queen—a feat he would repeat every few days throughout the Exhibition.
The orchestra stopped playing. All inside the Crystal Palace seemed to hold their breath. The only sound was the falling of water onto petals of blown glass. Then, like a gentle choir of highpitched voices from all over the building, the many clocks included in the various exhibits chimed twelve o’clock.
It was time.
Antonia held her breath.
The guns fired their salute.
Antonia squeezed her eyes shut.
The roof held.
A soft sigh of relief breathed through the building.
“You weren’t nervous, were you?” Danvers bent to speak in Antonia’s ear.
She smiled back at him without comment. It was silly of her to worry, wasn’t it? After all, they were young and happy and ready to start their life together in the best of all possible worlds—wasn’t that what the Great Exhibition had been mounted to show?
From the first balcony the mighty organ now commanded attention as it pealed forth the opening strains of “God Save the Queen.” Victoria—splendid in a satin gown, a tartan sash over one creamy shoulder and gathered ribbons in her coiled hair—entered on the arm of her regally uniformed Albert, who had been the guiding force behind the concept and organization of the Exhibition.
As a silent testimony to the queen’s rejection of all doomsayers, she had brought two of her children with her as well. Princess Louise, wearing a pink satin frock with a circlet of flowers in her hair, clung to her mother’s hand, while Prince Edward, in a diminutive kilt and with a plaid over his shoulder, strove to match his stride to his father’s.
“…Send her victorious, long to reign over us…” the crowd sang, and every knee bent and head dipped as the royal family progressed up the length of the nave. “God save the Queen.”
Antonia was completely caught up in the glory of the moment, a moment that chased away all thought of the dire letters that had filled The Times for so many days, warning that in attending the Great Exhibition the queen would be exposing herself to horrible conspirators and assassins, fraud and immorality, man-traps and spring guns. The invited guests of a lady’s drawing room could not have conducted themselves better than this ardent throng.
The queen ascended the dais built in front of the fountain, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting and some of the most illustrious statesmen of the day. At the end of the national anthem Prince Albert descended from the platform to read the report of the Commission.
The queen replied. “My dear people, the sight of this glittering arch, far more lofty and spacious than the vaults of even our noblest cathedrals, is so vast, so glorious, so touching that one feels filled with devotion. One is overcome with a sense of mystery and must be reminded of that day when all ages and climes shall be gathered round the throne of their Maker.” Enthusiastic applause met her remarks.
“God bless my dear Albert, the author of this great peace festival. God bless my dearest country, which has shown itself so noble today. This is a day to live forever. Let us all raise our gratitude to the great God who pervades all and blesses all.”
The Archbishop of Canterbury, in full ecclesiastical robes of white and gold, stepped forward to lead in prayer. “Make us truly grateful, our Lord and our God, for Your many blessings to us individually and to us as a nation. May it ever be said of this great land, ‘Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord.’ And God save the queen.”
The archbishop had no more than lowered his hands when the voices of the mighty organ, the two hundred orchestral instruments assembled, and a six-hundred-voice choir sounded forth the “Hallelujah Chorus.”
Now Antonia gripped Charles’s arm not in fear, but in ecstasy.
Truly, as the queen had said, this was a day to live forever.
“Ha!elujah: For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth. Ha!elujah…”
The sun dazzled even more brightly through all the crystal arches as Antonia choked with praise, gratitude, and love. Nothing could go wrong now.
“Forever and ever…” The last “Hallelujah!” died away to be followed by a fanfare of trumpets.
Queen Victoria stepped to the edge of the dais and raised her hand. “I now declare this Great Exhibition to be open.”
Then the royal family led a procession up the stairs and through the exhibition rooms on the first floor, leaving the thirty thousand other guests free to view the marvels of art and industry at their leisure.
Danvers started to lead Antonia toward the stairs to the first gallery, but her steps lagged. “Oh, Charles, it was wonderful. I hardly feel capable of—” She stopped mid-step, her face turning red.
There was no mistaking the familiar ruffle at her feet, rippling out the petticoats under her wide, ivory, striped silk skirt. How could it have happened? How could she, alone of all the thousands of visitors there, have been the one to break the rules? The balconies were lined with policemen. Which would be the first to spot her malfeasance?
Always alert to her feelings, Danvers turned in concern. “Tonia, what’s wrong?”
Wordlessly she pointed to the floor, just beyond the toe of her right foot, and raised her skirt a bare two inches. The rules were clear, the prohibitions unequivocal: No profanity, no smoking, no alcohol, no dogs.
“Tinker.” Danvers shook his head at the nose of Tonia’s golden terrier poking out from under her skirt. “How did he get in?”
“I can’t imagine. I told him to wait in the carriage. I thought he did.”
Danvers surveyed the crowd separating them from the nearest exits. “Well, there’s little hope of getting him out now. I suggest we simply proceed as if we didn’t know he was there. If one of Her Majesty’s officers chooses to impound the little beast it’ll serve him right.”
“Charles, you’re heartless.” But Antonia could think of no better solution. Fortunately, as they progressed toward the wrought iron staircase Tinker seemed to decide that the safest course in such a crowd was to stay tucked well under his mistress’s petticoats.
At first they merely wandered, carried along in the same direction as the crowd. The riot of color and textures burst on Antonia’s senses like a Far Eastern bazaar: silks and satins; furs and feathers; jeweled weapons and saddles; clocks; cabinets; couches, chairs, thrones in ivory and zebra wood; adornments in jet, jasper, and jade; tapestry, embroidery, lace; leatherwork; gold and silver filigree; perfumes; tobaccos; exotic food, drink; china… At last she stopped, breathless, and leaned against one of the steel supports of the balcony above them. “Oh, wait. I don’t think I can take in any more.”
“Shall we choose a special exhibit to view and leave the rest for another day?” Danvers suggested, opening his official catalogue. “There is Prince Albert’s Model Dwelling House over by the barracks. They say it is a clever, economic design which can make acceptable housing available to all—even those in the poorest slums.” Tonia didn’t reply, so he turned another page. “Brunei’s thirty-one-ton, broad-gauge locomotive might make a change from onyx carvings and brocade.”
Tonia laughed. “Indeed it would, my dear Charles. As would the model of the Liverpool Docks, complete with sixteen hundred fully rigged ships, or the raw materials section with piles of ores, timber, and ivory tusks. But I had something more restful in mind.”
“Well—” Charles perused his book. “Guns and models of warships and submarines don’t seem to be quite the thing.” He turned a few pages. “Second gallery: textiles, furniture, exhibits from America, Morocco, Scotland…”
Antonia looked upward to the top level of the great palace. It seemed that little of the crowd had made its way to the upper reaches as yet. Uncrowded domestic exhibits would be just the thing.
With typical enthusiasm, the Americans had reserved far more space than they could fill, so much of their display consisted of stacks of milk-churns, piles of biscuits—which they labeled cookies —and stacks of soap. Danvers did find some of their offerings interesting, however. There was a vacuum coffin guaranteed to prevent decay, a machine for turning over pages of music, and a model of a floating church.
Antonia was examining a gigantic piano designed to be played by four performers at one time when a family group with three exuberant little boys entered the exhibit. With considerable alarm she felt Tinker’s tail beating against her leg. She knew the next moments would bring him bounding out with a friendly bark. “Heel, Tinker,” she commanded sharply and walked briskly toward the Scottish exhibit from which the other party had apparently just come.
It was a perfect choice. Charles and Antonia had the room quite to themselves for the moment. Danvers was immediately taken with the display of a Dumfries hatter, which offered “Parisian hats for gentlemen.”
“Oh, Charles, this is just the thing.” Antonia pointed to a “Patent Ventilating Hat,” which provided fresh air through a series of channels cut in thin cork, and featured a valve fixed to the top of the crown that could be opened and shut at the wearer’s pleasure to allow perspiration to escape. “Shall I order you one for a wedding present, Charles? I should think it might come in handy the next time Aunt Elfrida starts issuing orders.”
“Thank you, my dear, but I shall endeavor to remain calm in the dowager duchess of Aethelbert’s presence without the assistance of a cork hat. Tell me, though, what do you think of some of this fine furniture for Norwood Park?” He referred to his family estate which Antonia and he would make their home after their marriage.
They moved to the side of the exhibit to examine a massive, black oak chair that had been passed and repassed through carving machines until not the smallest area of its surface remained flat— including the seat.
Antonia ran her fingers over the deep carving. “It certainly might be a good thing to own should we have visitors who are inclined to sit too long.”
They moved next to a towering half-tester bed of immense size, as heavily carved as the chair. After a space of some four hundred years the half-canopied bed was suddenly back in vogue. The posts at its head rose to a height of eight feet. About threequarters of the way up, projecting scrolls supported the half-tester, which was draped in the white, red, and black Royal Victoria tartan that had burst into popularity when the queen sported a croquet outfit in that design. The floor-length side drapes sheltered a heavily-carved chest-shaped headboard, which served as background for the plaid-covered bolster and eiderdown.
Danvers shook his head. “That looks more fitted for a corpse to lie in state on than for a night’s rest. Look—that footboard is so high it shuts in the sleeper like a prison. Completely impedes the free circulation of air.”
“Oh, but just see how cleverly the headboard is designed to serve as a blanket press or storage for extra bolsters.” Antonia moved toward the head of the bed, then paused. “And I do like the tartan hangings.” She touched the soft surface of the fine weaving. “I read that the queen has had tartan carpets installed in her palace on the Isle of Wight. This is certain to become most fashionable.”
Considerations of the future of Scottish weaving, however, fled from Antonia’s mind the next moment. The hem of her skirt began churning like a pot at the boil. Suddenly Tinker sprang toward the bed with a yap and snarl as if one of the four bed posts had snatched a meaty bone from him and deposited it in the cleverly designed headboard.
Hearing a party approaching, Antonia made a dive to catch her errant pet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Charles step forward and bow deeply to the approaching group. As her fingers closed around Tinker’s jaws, muffling his growls, the significance of the situation struck her. Charles was bowing to his sovereign.
With a swiftness born of necessity, Antonia managed to stuff Tinker under the folds of her fringed silk shawl, turn to the queen, and execute a perfect curtsy. The fact that her curtsy was deeper and held longer in the dip than normal owed more to her agitation than to her respect for the queen.
But Her Majesty seemed pleased by it, and she nodded in the direction of her dutiful subjects.
Then the queen’s attention was taken by the enormous bed. “Albert, is that not excellent? Ah, my dear Scotland is a constant source of pleasure. We shall commission this furniture maker for Balmoral.”
Prince Albert fingered the fine woolen plaid. “And the weaver too, I should think.” He turned toward the placard beside the display. “Raeburn of Edinburgh.” A secretary among the royal entourage scribbled a note.
Antonia, still frozen in her curtsy began to wobble. With a sigh of gratitude she relaxed against Danvers’s strong arm circling her waist and raising her to her feet. Silently they moved to the back of the exhibit until the royal family and their attendants swept along the gallery to examine the exotic treasures of Morocco.
Antonia, who had been holding her breath as tightly as she had been holding her pet, took in a great gulp of air with a gurgle of laughter. “Oh, Charles, I thought I was going to faint.” She pulled back the fringes of her shawl. “My poor Tinker, have I smothered you?”
The slight loosening of her grip was all the little terrier was waiting for. He sprang from her arms and leapt at the bed. Antonia and Danvers both lunged toward him but were turned back by the ferocity of his bared teeth and the earnestness of his barks. This time there was no muffling him.
Torn between concern for her pet and fear of offending her sovereign should Tinker’s barks reach the royal ears, Antonia tried to insert herself between Tinker and the massive headboard, which seemed to be the focal point of his barks. She was only vaguely aware of a crowd gathering behind her as she spoke soothingly to the dog and flung out her hand in an attempt to prevent his leaping up onto the bed. She miscalculated her gesture and struck the spring clasp securing the lid.
The lid flew up.
Tinker bounded onto the bed and into the chest, as the figure that had reentered the room stepped forward with a snap of her imperial fan. “Oh, charming. A most practical design. Do you not agree, Albert?”
The queen, who had apparently returned for a second look at the bed she wished to have installed in her Scottish castle, advanced as Antonia sank in yet another deep curtsy. Her Royal Majesty took one long look into the chest from which Tinker’s growls were emanating. Turning with the regal authority of one who ruled two-thirds of the world, Victoria Regina addressed the nearest of her attendants in a clear voice. “There is a person in that trunk. Please have him removed. He appears to be quite dead.”

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