Inspector Abberline and the Gods of Rome

by Simon Clark

  ‘By all means, Mr Brown. I’m grateful for the information you’ve given me.’

  Brown strode away through the long grass and out of the quarry. Thomas followed Abberline up the slope to the path that led back to Fairfax Manor. White cloud bubbled up over the horizon. Abberline said a few words about April showers being on their way as a cold breeze gusted through the trees. Thomas saw that the policeman carried the remains of the pistol; scorched twine fluttered from the trigger.

  Thomas asked, ‘Will you tell Mr Denby about what you’ve found in the quarry?’

  ‘Indeed I will. Sir Alfred was very probably a victim of murder, and there is a real danger that Victor Denby might be the next to die.’

  *

  The butler – he of the grey hair and grey face – showed Inspector Abberline and Thomas Lloyd into the morning room. Its curtains were drawn shut against the sunlit world outside. Thomas noted a clutter of high-backed chairs, which would have been fashionable in the earlier part of Queen Victoria’s reign. Victor Denby rose from a sofa where he’d been reading a newspaper. He wore a dark suit, complete with a stiff, high-necked collar. The man appeared ill-at-ease. Thomas suspected it wasn’t just the uncomfortable furniture and clothes that rendered him so.

  ‘Sherry?’ offered Denby.

  ‘No, thank you.’ Abberline handed Denby the pistol – or, rather, its mangled remains. ‘You should see this.’

  ‘An old revolver? What of it?’

  ‘That, to all intents and purposes, is the weapon that killed your brother.’

  Denby suddenly became queasy. He quickly handed the gun back to Abberline before pulling a white handkerchief from his breast pocket. He used this to wipe his fingers so thoroughly that an observer might believe that the gun had been covered with blood. Thomas had seen that wasn’t the case, of course. It had merely become grimy from lying in the quarry for the last eight weeks or so.

  ‘Uh …’ Denby grunted. ‘Sit down. Tell me what you now know.’

  ‘You appear very pale, Mr Denby,’ Thomas said. ‘Would you like me to pour you a sherry?’

  ‘Brandy.’ Denby waved his hand at decanters arranged on a sideboard. ‘A large brandy.’

  Abberline sat on a straight-backed chair facing Denby, who remained hunched and pale-faced on the sofa.

  Abberline spoke gently. ‘Take a moment to compose yourself.’

  ‘I am composed – at least I will be once I’ve this.’ Taking the glass from Thomas, he downed the spirit in one huge gulp. ‘You’re saying my brother was shot?’

  ‘No. He died in the explosion.’ Abberline stood up. ‘If we go back to the workshop, I can describe what happened.’

  ‘I’d rather not.’ Denby’s expression turned to one of fear. The man was clearly afraid to step outside. ‘Tell me in here. You can do that?’

  ‘As you wish.’ Abberline nodded. ‘The killer devised a method to strike the death blow in such a way it would appear to be an accident. What’s more, he, or she, made certain that they were nowhere near Sir Alfred when he died. That way the killer wouldn’t be linked to the murder.’

  ‘But a pistol? How?’

  Inspector Abberline spoke softly. ‘I ask you to picture the following sequence of events. The assassin secretly watches your brother. They discover your late brother’s habits; that he punctually entered the workshop at six-thirty in order to collect gunpowder for the cannon, which he fires at seven o’clock prompt every morning. At the dead of night, the assassin forces the lock on the workshop door. He … let us call refer to the killer as “he” for the purposes of this explanation … he has with him a pistol loaded with a blank round.’ Abberline held up the pistol. The twine swung down from the trigger. ‘He also has a length of string and a small screw hook. He picks the lock of the door to the powder cupboard. He screws the hook onto the inside of the door. Then he fixes the pistol to the shelf, perhaps with more twine, which is now missing. The gun’s muzzle points at the keg of gunpowder. It’s likely that the killer also opened the keg and allowed powder to spill out onto the shelf. He then connected the trigger, using a length of twine, to the hook embedded on the inside of the door; this done in such a way that when the door was opened the line pulled the trigger, firing the pistol directly into the gunpowder. The keg contained perhaps five pounds of explosive material – sufficient to cause extensive damage to the workshop … as well as killing your brother.’

  ‘I knew it was murder,’ breathed Denby with an expression of dread. ‘I knew.’

  ‘Do you know anyone who might wish to harm your brother?’

  Denby shook his head. ‘But my brothers have been dying violent, and unexplained deaths for years.’

  ‘Sir Alfred was the fourth of your brothers whose death has been the subject of an inquest. And an inquest is only held when the coroner must decide whether that death is a result of accident, suicide, manslaughter or murder.’

  Denby shuddered. ‘The deaths of my brothers were all judged to be accidental. I say otherwise. Some monster … an evil, despicable monster … has set out to kill every single one of us.’ He lurched to his feet. ‘I know I shall be next. I’ve been marked for death! But if the killer steps through that door, he’ll rue the day. He won’t find me such an easy victim.’ Denby reached into his jacket and pulled out a revolver. Unlike the one in Abberline’s hand, this one gleamed brightly. He aimed the weapon at the door, as if hoping the murderer would rush into the room. ‘I’ll kill him!’

  Thomas saw the man’s finger curl round the trigger. Denby’s hand was shaking; his eyes blazed with nothing less than mania. Thomas didn’t hesitate. He reached forward, pushed the man’s hand down, until the gun pointed at the floor, then he twisted the weapon from his fingers.

  ‘Give it back, damn you!’ bellowed Denby. ‘How dare you behave so impudently in my home?’

  ‘I’ll not give it back, sir. At least not yet.’

  ‘That pistol is mine. I need it to protect my life.’

  ‘I’ve nearly been shot once today, sir. I don’t intend there to be a second time.’

  Denby slumped back onto the settee. The man shook so much he could hardly breathe.

  ‘Another brandy please, Thomas.’ Abberline held out his hand and Thomas passed him the revolver. Abberline checked that the hammer wasn’t cocked before slipping it into his coat pocket. ‘We’ll sit with Mr Denby for a few moments, while he recovers his composure. After that, I’ll explain what we must do next.’

  Thomas walked around the morning room. He noticed scribbled calculations on at least a dozen sheets of paper that were scattered across a desk. Victor Denby had been totting up household expenses. Even a cursory glance revealed that income exceeded expenditure. A rather desperate looking line beneath one calculation read starkly: Cut staff by one third. It had been fifteen minutes since Thomas had taken the pistol from Denby’s hand. The man, meanwhile, had downed another brandy, and was much calmer. Abberline took the opportunity to make notes in a small leather-bound book that he’d taken from his pocket.

  When Thomas eased back a curtain to look outside he heard Denby groan with alarm. Abberline shook his head as he caught Thomas’s eye. Thomas closed the curtain and sat down on a chair.

  At last, Victor Denby took a deep breath before shaking himself out of his torpor. ‘My apologies, gentlemen. The shock of you confirming that my brother was deliberately murdered struck against my nerves harder than I could have imagined.’

  ‘That’s perfectly understandable. A shock like that could unnerve any man.’ Abberline returned the notebook to his pocket. ‘Do you feel able to continue our conversation?’

  ‘Yes, quite able, Inspector.’

  ‘I ask for your complete co-operation.’

  ‘You have it, sir.’ Denby’s manner had become almost humble. ‘When you capture my brother’s murderer you will have saved my life. I see it in such simple terms. Because the devil who took Alfred’s life no doubt intends to kill me and my surviving brothers.’
>
  ‘How many brothers are still alive?’

  ‘Apart from myself, there are three. The oldest brother I have already told you about: he’s a missionary in Africa. Then there is Thaddeus: he’s sixty-one and has an estate in Scotland. My youngest brother is forty-five. He runs a place in North Wales.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘William Denby.’

  ‘The balloon man?’ asked Thomas. ‘He once flew across the English Channel, didn’t he?’

  ‘These days he’s involved with military research. Using balloons to direct artillery fire and for signalling. All hush-hush, though.’

  Abberline said, ‘I’ll visit both men in person, inform them what I’ve discovered here, and, perhaps more importantly, warn them to keep their guard up.’

  ‘You do believe I and my brothers are in danger?’

  ‘Yes, sir, grave danger.’

  ‘How did we come to find ourselves living this nightmare, Inspector?’

  ‘That’s what I shall find out.’

  Somewhat unsteadily – a combination of brandy and utter shock – Denby rose to his feet and crossed the room, where he pulled a velvet cord. ‘I’ve rung for the butler. I’ll have him send telegrams to my brothers, warning them that they are in danger.’

  ‘I agree, they should be told at the earliest opportunity, even if such a telegram might come as a shock. Oh, and if you would tell your butler that we’ll be staying as guests.’

  ‘Really?’ Denby reacted with surprise.

  ‘This is where the real work begins. Travelling to and from London would be timeconsuming, and time is now absolutely of the essence. I urgently need to interview all the domestic staff who were here when Sir Alfred was killed.’

  ‘You’ll be able to speak to some of them.’ Denby sounded like his old blunt self again. ‘But not all.’

  ‘Why is that, Mr Denby?’

  ‘It’s family policy to transfer a quantity of staff to the other houses every few months. We find it avoids staff becoming overly comfortable and overly complacent. Also, as servants get to know each other too well they begin to form—’

  ‘Romantic liaisons?’ asked Thomas.

  ‘No. They form alliances. They begin to pilfer food, drink and ornaments, because they are confident that their fellow servants won’t betray them.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Thomas, ‘if unorthodox.’

  ‘Nevertheless, it works. Not a great deal is stolen from our houses. Three weeks ago one quarter of the staff from the Scottish house were transported down here. And one quarter of my staff were despatched northwards to Scotland. Keeps ‘em on their toes.’

  ‘In that case,’ Abberline said, ‘I’ll interview staff who were present at the time of the explosion, and I’ll interview the others when I reach your brothers’ properties in Wales and Scotland.’

  At that moment, the door opened. The grey butler glided in.

  ‘Sir?’ the butler asked with impeccable politeness.

  ‘I’m going to write a number of telegrams. They must be sent today.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  Victor Denby at least pretended he’d regained his composure. ‘Make up two rooms. These gentlemen will be staying overnight as my guests.’

  The butler looked down his nose at Abberline and Thomas. ‘Should I have rooms in the servants’ quarters prepared?’

  ‘Servants quarters?’ Denby considered the possibility of ordering just that for a moment, then: ‘No. They are important guests. Have rooms made up on the same floor as mine. Tell the cook that there will be two extra for dinner. I’ll ring again when the telegrams are ready.’

  ‘Very good, sir. Thank you, sir.’ The butler withdrew, bowing as he did so.

  Denby’s shoulders drooped. Now that the butler had gone he no longer kept up the pretence of being the brusque, authoritarian figure he once was.

  His eyes had a beseeching quality when he looked at Abberline. ‘You will find that devil of a murderer, won’t you, Inspector?’

  ‘I’ll do everything in my power to bring him to justice.’

  ‘I pray that you succeed, sir. With all my heart I do.’

  CHAPTER 9

  The maid thought: this is a world of wonder. I am seeing marvellous things. She glided through the forest. Sunlight pierced the branches. Brightly coloured birds swooped back and forth across the path in front of her. Grass shone a brilliant green. Laura caught the sweet scents of blossom on the trees. Birds sang – a symphony of shimmering notes that resembled the sinuous melody of a flute.

  The eighteen-year-old maid followed the figure. The tall, pale shape moved deeper into the forest. Here, gigantic oaks spread their limbs over her, burying her in deep shadow. The young maid felt happy in this hauntingly beautiful place. She wanted to catch up with the figure that possessed a face and hands that glowed as white as pearls. If only she could talk to the stranger. Somehow she knew he had an important message for her. Once she heard the phantom’s words she’d be happy and content for the rest of her life.

  Laura moved faster, plunging into that realm of shadow beneath the trees. Undergrowth tugged the hem of her nightdress as if the natural world tried to prevent her from pursuing the who was white as death, and who seemed to be enticing her further away from the house – leading her from safety to a place where lives are changed forever.

  He’s leading me on a dance of death, she thought. But she couldn’t turn back – not if she tried with every atom of strength and will-power that her body had to offer. He’s leading me on a dance of death, and when he’s ready he will stop and turn to face me. Then I’ll know who he really is. A spring bubbled up through rocks. Falling water made the sound of silver bells – a soft, hypnotic tinkling. Narrows shafts of such dazzling radiance pierced the branches to form pools of sunlight that seemed to burn on the earth like fire. She ran past the skull of a sheep. The path grew narrower. Bushes closed in. Soon she felt branches touching her arms and face.

  Laura followed the figure into a deeper darkness. The world grew silent. The birds stopped singing and a deathly hush settled on the place. The white figure stopped dead. Now it was turning …

  … turning toward her … in order to reveal its stark, white face. She held her breath, ready to fix her eyes on that face and recognize the identity of this spirit.

  ‘Laura!’ A man roughly caught her by the arm. ‘Laura, we’ve been looking for you everywhere!’

  The man who gripped her wore the livery of a footman. He was red-faced and very, very angry. ‘Miss Groom’s going to flay your hide for this.’ He looked back over his shoulder as he yelled, ‘I’ve found her. Over here!’

  Suddenly, more domestic staff appeared: the gardener, another footman, the coachman, and Daniel, the boy who cleaned the boots.

  Daniel stared at her in amazement. ‘By heck! Laura’s not in her clothes! Look, she’s wearing her nightdress!’

  The gardener tugged off his coat and put it over Laura’s shoulders.

  The coachman asked, ‘Why did you come out here into the forest?’

  ‘I followed him.’ She pointed at where the white figure had stood, but the path ahead was deserted; the phantom had gone.

  Laura sat on the bed while the housekeeper, Miss Groom, told her for the tenth – or was it the twentieth time? – that Laura was a foolish girl. Laura wore a clean nightdress; the other one she’d worn outdoors had become muddy. She must have fallen in the forest, but she neither remembered falling down, nor leaving the house.

  Meanwhile, Miss Groom tried to get at the truth. ‘What made you go into the wood, and in your nightdress of all things?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Surely, you must know. You’ve got a head on your shoulders, haven’t you?’

  ‘I lay down in this bed. The next thing I knew I was following a man.’

  ‘What man?’ Miss Groom’s eyes narrowed behind those strange-looking glasses she wore. ‘Did he touch you?’

  ‘No … and I
don’t know who it was. He was all strange to look at, even beautiful – so white and shining. Like a spirit, or … or an angel.’

  Miss Groom sighed – an expression of despair as much as frustration. ‘I’m so worried for you, child. This morning you fainted in the wood, and you uttered such nonsense about being chased by a ghost.’

  ‘That’s what happened, Miss Groom.’

  ‘Tut, child, and worse, much worse, you claimed you had some kind of clairvoyant vision that the gentleman who carried you into the house would fall from the sky and be killed.’

  ‘I did see that happen. I’m not lying.’

  ‘And look at you: face and arms all scratched. I don’t know what to do with you, I really don’t.’

  Laura paced the room, talking quickly as she did so. ‘I can see into the future, can’t I? That’s what’s happening. I’ve been given a gift. I know who will die, and I know how they will be killed. For some reason, God has given me the power of prophecy.’

  Miss Groom’s palm cracked across Laura’s face. ‘Do not say such terrible things! You are telling lies about seeing a ghost because you want everyone to think that you are special. But you’re not. You are a ridiculous child.’

  ‘I’m not a child. I’m eighteen.’

  The housekeeper stormed to the bedroom door. ‘You will stay here in the servants’ quarters until I say otherwise. But I’ve half a mind to send you home.’

  ‘Please don’t do that, Miss Groom. My parents are old and in poor health. They can hardly support themselves, let alone feed me.’

  ‘Then don’t bring shame on them by pretending you see things that aren’t there.’

  ‘But I do see them. And I really don’t remember leaving this room. It’s like I’m walking when I’m asleep.’

  Miss Groom glared at her. ‘Stay in bed, girl. Do not frighten the girls who share this room with you by telling them any more of your dreadful stories. Do you hear?’

  Laura’s parents relied on the money, which she sent home to them, and although she knew she was being unfairly treated by the housekeeper, she couldn’t risk losing her job, so she nodded. ‘Yes, Miss Groom. Please tell the staff how sorry I am for causing them so much trouble and worry.’