The Cabinets of Barnaby Mayne

by Elsa Hart

  “You were seen,” said Cecily.

  “Seen? Who saw me?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” said Meacan. “We know about your duplicates.”

  Carlyle opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed incapable of collecting his thoughts and closed it again.

  “I wondered,” said Cecily, “what it could have been that drew you to visit the collections when you appeared to have so little interest in them.”

  “You cannot accuse me,” said Carlyle. “There isn’t anything missing from the Mayne collection, or from this one.”

  “And what of Sir Barnaby’s murder?”

  Carlyle’s eyes widened in horrified disbelief. “His murder? What about his murder? Dinley killed him. I had nothing to do with it.”

  Meacan closed the notebook. Instead of giving it back, she tapped the cover thoughtfully. “What if Dinley didn’t do it? What if Sir Barnaby found out you were stealing his jewels? What if there was something in his study you wanted that you couldn’t duplicate, so you went in and took it from him?”

  “N-none of that is true.”

  “Then what is true?”

  Carlyle swallowed, his throat working against his tight neckcloth.

  “We know,” said Meacan with a sigh. “There is no reason not to enjoy an opportunity to speak freely of your endeavors. You can even boast a little, if you like.”

  Carlyle daubed a cuff to his forehead. When he lowered his hand, he seemed to have regained some of his bravado. “I see no value in dry bones and stuffed birds. I see no worth in a pebble that a charlatan tells me is the very same stone that struck Goliath. Gold is worth what it is worth. An emerald is worth what it is worth. Yes, I took the jewels, but if you accuse me, I will deny—”

  “But we have this,” said Meacan. She waved the notebook. “So indulge my curiosity, please. How did you make the duplicates?”

  Carlyle licked his lips and glanced across the lawn. “I— There is a lady who serves as housekeeper in the shop of a goldsmith,” he said. “She has a talent for the craft.”

  “Well, you may tell her she has proved more deft with her handiwork than you were with yours. They are very good duplicates. Please pass along my compliments. And tell her should she need employment, I have a friend—”

  Cecily broke in hastily. “What did you do after Sir Barnaby ended the tour?”

  “I did precisely what I said I did. I continued through the rooms.”

  “And completed the remainder of your substitutions as you went.”

  Carlyle dropped his chin in a barely perceptible nod.

  “You didn’t come through the Plant Room because there was nothing in it of interest to you.”

  Again, Carlyle nodded.

  “What do you know of John Rose?”

  Carlyle looked genuinely bewildered. “John Rose? I’ve never heard the name before.”

  Movement caught Cecily’s eye. The guests of Inwood’s tour were reconvening at the back door of the house. She turned to Carlyle. “Did you see anything pertaining to the death of Sir Barnaby that you have not already disclosed?”

  After a moment, Carlyle’s eyes lit up. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, I did. If you want to know who has been keeping secrets about that day, I suggest you stop interrogating me and speak to the foreigner. Ask him what he was doing shoving a bloodstained letter behind a specimen jar.”

  “The foreigner? Do you mean Otto Helm?”

  Carlyle nodded eagerly. “I saw him from the stairs. He was in the hall outside Sir Barnaby’s study. He was reading a letter. It wasn’t any concern of mine, but I know what I saw. There was blood on that piece of paper. And as I watched, he folded it and hid it up among the jars.”

  “Could you see whether the blood was in a particular shape?” asked Cecily. “The shape, perhaps, of a hand?”

  Carlyle considered this. “Might have been. I only glimpsed it.”

  “And you said he put the letter up on the shelf?”

  “He did. Stuffed it right there between the jars. Then he turned, and I think he saw that I was there, but he looked as if he was staring right through me.”

  “What happened then?”

  Carlyle shrugged. “I went down to the Stone Room to see if there was anything more of interest there. I think I heard Helm go upstairs, but I cannot say for certain. As I said, it was none of my concern.”

  CHAPTER 30

  The Dolphin was an old inn, the structure of which had survived the fire that had devoured so much of the city three decades before. Its worn beams and crooked windows made it a comfortably creaking establishment that regarded both guests and passersby with an expression of cheerful expectation. It looked as if it wanted to tell stories of what it had seen, and was waiting patiently for someone to realize it could talk. For Cecily and Meacan, it provided a temporary respite after the journey back into the reaching claws of city smoke.

  Cecily was of the opinion that retrieving the bloodstained paper from the Mayne house should be their first priority, as knowing its contents would give them an advantage when they spoke to Helm. Meacan disagreed. She wanted to go directly to the Weary Elephant and confront him.

  “He could depart the city at any moment,” Meacan argued. “He’s recovered enough to travel. The longer we give him, the more likely he is to slither off back to Sweden like one of those sinister snakes he so admires.”

  “I don’t think you can hold his interest in serpents against him,” said Cecily. She liked snakes. Every time she saw one curled on a sunny rock or stretched across a leafy lane she had to remind herself to keep a wary distance. She always wanted to look more closely at the diamonds and stripes and spots given definition by the mosaic armor of their scales, to observe the bunching and rippling of muscles, to see the forked tongues taste the air as if it held information for them that it did not for her. “I’m sure you’d agree,” she said, “that you can no more hold all snakes culpable in the Fall than you can hold all women responsible for it.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing to do with our departure from Eden,” said Meacan. “That serpent spoke. If I encountered a talking snake I’d be much more at ease with it. It’s the silent way they shift themselves that I find unnerving. If something with fangs is coming for me, I’d rather it announce itself first.”

  They were still debating what to do when there was a knock on the door. It was the innkeeper’s wife, a capable proprietress armored in a dress of dark wool who gave the impression not only of being prepared for almost anything that could conceivably happen at an inn, but of having seen it happen before. “A note has come for Mrs. Barlow,” she said.

  Meacan took the proffered paper and opened it. Their new hostess, seeing her expression, tactfully retreated and closed the door behind her.

  “It’s from the clerk at the Old Bailey,” said Meacan. “Walter Dinley has been tried.”

  Cecily thought she must have misheard. “But he can’t have been. It’s too soon. And what of witnesses? Wouldn’t we have been called?”

  “They made time for it because it was such a clear case,” said Meacan grimly. “No witnesses were required after the constable gave evidence. It was over in six minutes.”

  It was clear from Meacan’s face and tone what had happened. “Guilty,” murmured Cecily. “And the sentence?”

  “He’s to be hanged at Tyburn.”

  “Has a date been set?”

  Meacan began to pace the room. “Not yet. We still have time. There can be an appeal.”

  “We are close to the truth,” said Cecily. “I know we are. I will go to the Mayne house and search for the paper. You make sure Helm stays where he is.”

  Meacan stopped and closed her eyes. “You are right,” she announced as she opened them. “I don’t like the idea of separating, but the two tasks are of equal importance. I should be the one to go to the house, though. If everyone has departed and it’s locked, I’ll be able to find a way in.”

  They agreed. Cecily would go the Weary Elep
hant, ascertain that Helm was indeed in residence, and take up a position in the tavern. Meacan would join her there after she had retrieved the paper from the Mayne house. Before they parted, Meacan subjected Cecily to an extensive and stern list of warnings.

  “Keep to the crowded places,” she said as she pulled on her gloves. “If you see the man who followed you, or another like him, point and shout thief and constable as loud as you can. When you arrive at the Weary Elephant, tell the proprietor you are friends with Mrs. Barlow and he’ll make sure you aren’t bothered. And tell him to save a mince pie for me. Be wary of the customers—it’s a rougher establishment than this one.” Meacan paused for breath, then concluded with a look that brooked no opposition. “And on no account are you to speak to Helm alone. He may be leaning on a crutch, but as he himself would be the first to tell you, the venom of an injured snake is no less deadly than that of a hale one.”

  * * *

  It was nearing suppertime, and the Weary Elephant’s famous mince pies had drawn a crowd eager to rest tired feet and wash away the day’s doldrums with ale and company. The tavern was full, the noise cacophonous. Chair legs slid and tables rocked and it seemed to Cecily the only unmoving things in the room were the slumped candles that had not yet been lit. She didn’t have to inquire whether Helm was there. She perceived him at once, sitting alone at a small table in the corner.

  She corrected herself. He was the only person sitting, but he was not alone. Three hulking men surrounded him. The largest of them had his hands resting palms-down on the table. He was leaning forward so that his nose almost touched Helm’s.

  “He smells French,” Cecily heard the man say as she approached. She glanced around the room in search of the proprietor, but she could not identify him amid the clamor and bustle.

  Helm was shaking his head and trying to speak above the din, but the man confronting him slapped his hands on the table so hard it made Helm jump. “Why don’t you tell him what we do with French invaders,” he said to one of his companions.

  The other man flicked the knot of the sling tied at Helm’s shoulder to support his injured arm. “It looks like someone already started our work for us.”

  Cecily made the quick decision that her promise not to engage Helm before Meacan’s arrival did not apply to the current situation. Allowing Helm to be reduced once again to bruises and broken bones by a trio of drunken bullies wasn’t going to help anyone. She squared her shoulders and spoke with all the brusque authority she could summon. “There you are, Mr. Helm,” she said. “The Duke apologizes for the delay.”

  Helm’s eyes fixed on her in surprise. She saw his lips form her name. “The Duke,” she said again, “asks you to meet him in your room. He had the proprietor take him upstairs so that you would be able to speak without interruption.” She looked coldly at the leader of the men. His reddened eyes were now directed upward at the imagined nobleman pacing the floor of a room above them.

  Helm rose to his feet. Cecily handed him his crutch. Together they made for the stairs. Cecily glanced once over her shoulder, and was relieved to see that the three would-be aggressors had taken the table and drawn out a deck of cards. Slowly, leaning heavily on the crutch, Helm led Cecily upstairs to a small chamber that smelled stale and musty. Its furniture was old and scratched, and by the number of trunks piled in the corners and clothes spread out to air, Cecily guessed it was a shared room. There was no one else in it now. She went in after Helm and shut the door behind them, abruptly muffling the noise from downstairs.

  “I am most grateful for your assistance,” said Helm as he lowered himself gingerly into a chair. He looked around the dingy room. There was a skittering sound from one corner, and they both saw a thin tail disappear into a hole in the wall. Helm winced. “I am sorry I cannot welcome you to a more comfortable place, Lady Kay. My funds provided only for modest travel, and since my misfortune, they are still more reduced.”

  Cecily remained near the door. “I promised I would not speak to you alone,” she said. “But now that the opportunity presents itself, I cannot ignore it. I assure you, though, that if you make any sudden move toward me, I will open this door and call for help. I am certain those three men downstairs would not hesitate to come to my aid.”

  Helm shifted nervously in his chair. “I do not understand you, Lady Kay.”

  The room was silent except for the threatening hum of carousing from downstairs. “I know that when you left the Serpent Room on the day of the tour, you did not go to the library,” said Cecily. “I also know that you took a piece of paper from Sir Barnaby’s desk after he died, and hid it among the jars in the hall. Unless you can give me a satisfactory explanation to the contrary, I will be forced to conclude that you are the true murderer of Barnaby Mayne, and to summon a constable at once.”

  Beneath his unkempt wig, Helm’s face contorted. “I beg of you not to do so,” he cried. “I did not take any paper, and I did not kill him. I swear it to you.”

  “Will you tell me the truth?”

  Helm’s gaze dropped to the floor and he said nothing. Cecily opened the door just enough for the clatter and clamor of the tavern to swell into the room. Helm lifted his head. “Please do not call,” he said quietly. “I will tell you everything.”

  Cecily shut the door and the room was quiet again. Helm took a deep, uneven breath. “I would have confessed it all to you before,” he said, “if I believed it to be of importance to anyone but myself. I did not like to lie to you, for I have for you the highest respect.”

  Cecily maintained a flinty expression. “If what you are going to say relates to the murder of your host, I cannot imagine how you could have thought it was important only to you.”

  “But that is just it,” said Helm. “What I have to say is in no way connected to the death of Sir Barnaby. On that matter, I know only what I have been told.”

  “If that is true, why did you lie?”

  “Because I was ashamed of what I had done.”

  “And what exactly did you do?”

  Helm did not answer at once. He picked at one of the frayed edges of his bandages. “You are a woman informed of the world,” he said at last. “You are aware, then, of the great war being fought between my country and that of Russia?”

  Cecily blinked as her mind tried to accommodate the unanticipated subject. In Smyrna, it had been the conflict between the Russians and the Ottomans that had dominated conversation, but she knew something of the war between Russia and Sweden that was slowly pulling one country after another into its orbit. “I do,” she said slowly.

  “But you question its relevance to the circumstances of the present,” said Helm. “I will explain. Consider your own England’s troubled history with France. As we saw in the threats of the men downstairs who mistook my accent for that of a Frenchman, it is a history that has kindled unquenchable hatred in English hearts. It is the same in my home, except that our history is with Russia, and is of late more troubled than it has ever been.”

  “I have heard,” said Cecily, “that though your young king has shown himself to be a stalwart leader, the Russians have claimed a number of recent victories.”

  Emotion flared in Helm’s eyes. “It is not only fortresses that have been lost, but towns, also, and small hamlets unprepared for war.”

  “I do sympathize with your distress, Mr. Helm. But what connection does this have to the day of the murder?”

  Helm composed himself. “I came to the Mayne house with no expectation of any such connection. I was full only of anticipation, for I was happy to give to Sir Barnaby the catalogue he desired, happy to see an abundance of serpents very well preserved, and happy to accept the offer of Mr. Dinley to show me the rooms after I said I would not have time to join the tour.”

  “But something must have changed.”

  “Yes.” Helm closed his eyes as if he was unwilling to return to the memory. With an obvious effort, he opened them and continued. “Mr. Dinley wished to be considerate of my f
eelings. He believed it his obligation to inform me that there was to be a man from Russia among the guests to attend the tour that day. He mentioned it to me because he did not know whether a cordial interaction between us would be possible.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I thanked him for his solicitude, and I assured him there would be no unpleasant confrontation. I did not ask the name of this Russian, but I assumed him to be a fellow scholar. For the purpose of scientific collaboration, I believe the quarrels of countries may be set aside.”

  “But there was no Russian on the tour,” said Cecily. As she spoke, she recalled Sir Barnaby’s expectant looks out the window of the Stone Room while they waited for guests to arrive, and his words as the tour began. Our company is not complete.

  “He did not arrive,” said Helm. “I was relieved when the group came to the Serpent Room and I heard no Russian accent among the guests.”

  “But who was he? And what prevented him from attending?”

  “I suspect it was merely the caprice of his nature that kept him away,” said Helm. “And the effect of the strong spirits he drinks from morning until night.” There was bitterness in his voice.

  “You know this man,” said Cecily.

  “I did not then. I have since made his—” Helm hesitated. “His acquaintance.” Helm touched one of the bruises on the side of his face.

  “Your injuries,” said Cecily. “Is he the one who attacked you?”

  Helm grimaced and continued his account. “The day continued at first without trouble. Despite my fatigue from many weeks of travel, I worked with great attention and pleasure. Until I came to the snake that is called the Spotted Ribbon Snake.”

  “The Spotted Ribbon Snake,” Cecily repeated. “I have not heard of it.”

  Despite the gravity of the situation, Helm’s eyes brightened and he warmed to his subject. “There is little yet written of the species,” he said. “In the books and letters I have read, it is reported that the Spotted Ribbon Snake is a species different from the Green Spotted Snake. But I suspect that, due to the variation in color depending on how recently a snake has shed—” Helm checked himself. “My apologies. The details are not of importance. What I wish to communicate is that I wanted to investigate the possibility that the two serpents were not two different species, but in fact the same. I had the Spotted Ribbon Snake before me, but there was no specimen of the Green Spotted Snake in the room. It was then that I remembered the shelves in the hall. That morning, after Mr. Dinley upset the jar, I had noticed that there were several serpents kept there among the fish. I thought I might find a Green Spotted Snake among them.”