Chapter 12
The next evening, Valentine used the brass knocker to alert the household to his presence outside. The footman, dressed impeccably, greeted him and his overcoat and hat were taken.
He had never liked this house. It was ostentatiously decorated with dark and heavy drapes, maroon and gold colors with cold marble on the floors and staircases. It reminded Val of a government building or a museum, and he oftentimes expected certain portions of the house to be roped off when he arrived. It was not a warm and welcoming place.
He heard voices and the footman led him to the back sitting room which was adorned with book shelves along the walls and sofa and chairs in the middle of the room. His mother was seated on one sofa and his brother Rowland across from her in another. He was reading aloud from the Illustrated London News which was a weekly publication that featured pictures and shocking stories of society.
When his mother saw him, she smiled and he bent down to kiss her cheek and nodded at his brother.
“Rowland’s been reading us some silly drivel about Lillie Langtry,” his mother Arabella said. “Apparently she’s with child and her husband isn’t the father. There is talk it might be the child of Prince Louis of Battenberg,” she laughed. “She’ll ruin herself.”
“Unless the Prince of Wales saves her,” Rowland said drolly. “He’s very fond of his ex-mistress.”
“Hmmm,” Arabella said. She turned to Val. “How are you dear? You look pale.”
“I’m well Mother,” he said helping himself to a whiskey as his father joined them.
“Ah. Valentine.” Abram said shaking his hand. “Good to see you, my boy.”
“And you father,” he said pouring his father a whiskey.
“We’ve not seen you for some time,” Abram told his youngest son.
“I’ve been busy,” he told them.
“Oh yes, dear,” Arabella said. “I had tea a week ago. One of the ladies was asking about the tedious flower killer,” she shook her head.
“Asking about a flower killer at tea? Surely not,” Rowland said wittily.
“Indeed yes. And of course, they know what our dear Valentine does for a living so they asked if I knew anything about it,” she relayed.
“And what did you tell them, Mother dear,” Rowland said kissing the back of her hand.
“I said that our dear Valentine works on several cases and might or might not be working on it,” she shrugged.
“Quite right,” Rowland said.
“As if I would know anything about some killer,” she scoffed.
“As it happens Mother, I am working on the flower case,” Val said just as dinner was announced.
Arabella stood up and Rowland escorted his mother to the dining room with the two men following behind them.
“Are you really dear? How interesting,” she said, but the words seemed to tell him it was anything but.
“There are actually four women who have been killed.” Val said as they all sat down to eat.
“Valentine. We’re sitting down to eat. Our dining room isn’t the place for that sort of talk,” she told him dryly.
“I’m sorry Mother. I didn’t realize there was a special place to speak about death and murder,” he placed emphasis on his last words.
“Your Mother only means not while we are about to eat, Valentine,” his father clarified.
“Of course, Mother. I apologize,” Val said trying to smooth over his gaffe.
After dinner over coffee and brandy, his mother monopolized the conversation with mundane gossip while his father sat reading the evening news.
“Incidentally, Valentine, I did read about that fourth murder. Strange business,” Abram said to his son.