Silhouette

by Justin Richards

  She said: ‘And now what? We don’t even know where he’s gone?’

  Milton nodded and smiled as he read through the text. ‘Well done, Silhouette.’

  ‘Enlightening?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, very enlightening.’

  ‘I told you there was something odd about those two. Odd and dangerous.’

  ‘Your instincts as ever were correct. Affinity had similar anxieties. Well, now we know.’ He glanced down at the paper in his hand. ‘This Doctor is no more a Victorian gentleman than I am.’ He screwed the paper into a ball suddenly and threw it away. ‘We must deal with him, and with his friends.’

  ‘But what brought them to the Carnival?’ Silhouette wondered.

  ‘ “A man is dead,” the Doctor said,’ Milton told her. ‘That must be Hapworth.’

  ‘Do they know what he saw?’

  ‘No, or they wouldn’t be investigating the Carnival. They wouldn’t need to. They would already know about you.’

  ‘Then they are stumbling about in the dark,’ Silhouette told him.

  ‘Yes. But the danger is that they will stumble into something significant. I want them dealt with, Silhouette. Talk to Affinity. Sort it out. Quickly.’

  They walked slowly back along the street. On the pavement behind them, a crumpled ball of paper lay in the snow. It trembled, perhaps in a breeze, damp soaking slowly through it. Dark ink smudged and smeared, and dripped into the white snow. Like blood from a wound.

  The light was fading quickly. Clara could see the gas lamps coming on along the Embankment. Pale luminescence crept slowly along and casting a glow as far as the Frost Fair. Here lights were coming on as well, reflected back off the snow on the ground and the ice on the river to give the whole area an eerie, unreal quality.

  ‘I thought they had lamp-lighters to go round putting the lights on,’ she said.

  ‘Not any more,’ the Doctor told her. ‘In the early days of gas lamps that’s how it worked, but by now they’re almost all automatically controlled. They’re a clever lot, the Victorians. Invented all sorts of things, including powered flight.’

  ‘No,’ Clara told him. She knew this one. ‘That was the Wright Brothers. The first powered flight was at Kittyhawk in America.’

  ‘They had good publicists,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Everyone remembers the Wright Brothers. But that was the first powered flight outdoors.’

  ‘Outdoors?’

  ‘The Victorians had powered flight long before that, but indoors. Inside big warehouses. It was a sort of gimmick. A spectacle. An amusement. They didn’t regard it as being especially useful.’

  ‘So they let the Wright Brothers take the credit?’

  ‘It’s not the British way to boast, or to steal other people’s thunder. They invented the computer during the Second World War and didn’t bother to tell anyone about it for decades. I bet the kids in your class are all only too happy to let someone else take the credit when they do well at something. The same way that I’m always happy for you to take the credit for our achievements.’

  She could see from the way his mouth twitched that he was joking, and punched his shoulder lightly. ‘We should find Jenny. If she’s still here.’

  ‘She is.’ The Doctor pointed to the slight, dark-haired young woman walking towards them.

  *

  With the afternoon turning to evening and the temperature dropping, Jenny suggested they all return to Paternoster Row for supper and the benefit of a warm fire. Clara was more than happy to agree. The cold was eating through the soles of her boots and she wasn’t sure she had much feeling left in the tips of her fingers.

  Strax appeared briefly at dinner, telling them proudly that his own investigations were ongoing and that he expected to eliminate some suspects soon. By ‘eliminate’, Clara did not think he meant exonerate them from suspicion. For most of the evening, she and the Doctor sat with Vastra and Jenny in the drawing room, chatting over tea and later wine.

  Inevitably, their discussions returned to the dead of Marlowe Hapworth and the day’s investigations.

  ‘He was definitely at the Carnival,’ Jenny said. ‘I found several people as swore they’d seen him. And he was especially interested, according to one geezer I spoke to, in the shadow puppet show. Went back afterwards to find the people as run it.’

  ‘Silhouette,’ the Doctor said. ‘We spoke to her too. It was an impressive show.’

  ‘You think Hapworth might have seen something he shouldn’t?’ Vastra asked.

  ‘Backstage at the Shadowplay,’ Clara added.

  ‘I think he saw, or overheard something,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘Not necessarily to do with the Shadowplay. Maybe he went back into the tent and found someone else there, or heard someone talking through the tent wall. Or …’ He lapsed into silence, staring into the fire.

  ‘What about the scene of the crime?’ Clara asked. ‘Any good clues there?’

  ‘Alas, no,’ Vastra admitted. ‘A dead body in a locked room. Simple, and quite impossible.’

  ‘What about the origami connection?’

  ‘The what?’ Jenny asked.

  Clara gave them a brief account of how they had followed Milton to the empty house, and the origami bird they had found on the windowsill.

  ‘A connection,’ the Doctor said. ‘Possibly a significant one. But I still don’t see how it all fits together.’ He leapt to his feet. ‘I know what we need!’

  ‘What?’ Clara asked.

  ‘A good night’s sleep. Followed by a hearty breakfast. Then another day of investigating.’

  ‘But investigating what?’ Vastra said. ‘There is little more to be learned either from Hapworth’s study or from his manservant.’

  ‘The Carnival of Curiosities seems to be the focal point,’ the Doctor said. ‘Everyone goes there – Hapworth, Milton … But why? Who or what are they there to see?’

  ‘You reckon it’s worth going back again?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘I do.’ The Doctor was walking back and forth, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he considered. ‘I think I’ll have another word with Miss Silhouette.’

  ‘You just fancy her,’ Clara said.

  ‘Is she very pretty?’ Vastra asked.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Clara said. ‘On a scale of one to ten she’s about a twelve.’

  ‘Really?’ Jenny asked the Doctor.

  He seemed to be inspecting his fingernails. ‘What? Oh, I don’t know. Can’t say I really noticed.’

  Chapter

  7

  Clara woke late, and found that everyone else was already up and about. Strax had disappeared off to the East End to continue his own investigations. The Doctor and Vastra were chatting over tea and toasted crumpets. Jenny was busy somewhere in the house.

  Vastra had apparently promised the police inspector in charge of the Hapworth investigation that she would apprise him of any progress. There was none, of course – and he probably wasn’t interested anyway. Anything that suggested Hapworth’s death was not suicide at all but an impossible murder within a locked room was likely to be met with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. The Doctor, Jenny and Clara, meanwhile, set off for the Frost Fair.

  Outside, it was just as cold but for the moment at least the snow had stopped falling. The skies would have been clear except that the London smog swathed the entire city in a blanket of grey. The Palace of Westminster loomed out of the smoky air as they passed it, little more than a pencil-sketch outline. The muffled sound of Big Ben chimed the half-hour.

  The Frost Fair was quieter, perhaps because of the smog or perhaps simply because it was earlier in the day.

  ‘I’ll see if I can grab a word with our friend Silhouette,’ the Doctor said as they headed towards the Carnival of Curiosities. ‘You find out if anyone knows anything about the mysterious Mr Milton.’

  ‘Why don’t we come with you?’ Clara asked.

  ‘I think she might be more forthcoming if it’s just me. You’ll only get in the way.’
/>   ‘Forthcoming about what?’ Jenny asked.

  The Doctor shrugged. ‘Anything. What Hapworth was interested in. What he might have seen.’

  ‘You’re afraid we’ll cramp your style,’ Clara told him.

  ‘You will not cramp my style.’

  ‘Only because you don’t have any.’ Seeing his face darken, she quickly added: ‘Joke. Just joking. Really. Ha ha. Honestly, I think you’re incredibly stylish.’

  His expression lightened slightly. ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll see you later. And for your information, my style – my incredibly stylish style – is uncrampable.’ Then he turned and strode off towards the entry gate, brandishing a shiny penny. In moments the Doctor was swallowed up by the thick, grey air.

  ‘I hope he isn’t going to pay with a penny that has next year’s date on it,’ Clara said. ‘Again.’

  ‘This is going to be just like yesterday was,’ Jenny said. ‘Same questions, different description. So what’s this Milton bloke look like, then?’

  Clara described him as best she could. ‘Well, he’s middle-aged, just about. Thin, not very tall. He’s got dark hair cut quite short and it’s thinning. No sign of grey yet, though.’

  ‘Probably dyes it,’ Jenny said.

  ‘Might well. He struck me as quite vain. He’s got a beard too. Like a goatee, but short, you know – close to the chin. He was wearing a dark overcoat. Oh, and he carries a black cane with a silver top.’

  ‘Proper gent, ain’t he?’

  ‘Proper something,’ Clara said. ‘You want to stick together today, or split up again?’

  ‘Probably best to split up. But not for too long. Meet you at the tea tent again when we’ve done the Frost Fair?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan. I’ll need a hot drink before too long. Then we can head over to the Carnival and see how the Doctor’s doing chatting up the shadow puppet lady.’

  The smog was beginning to thin as the morning wore on. Even so, Clara could barely see from one stall in the fair to the next. She turned from asking a particularly unhelpful woman selling knitted scarfs and shawls about Milton. A man was approaching Clara out of the smog. His face shimmered as she tried to focus on it, gradually materialising out of the grey cloud and she saw that it was Oswald, the young tutor.

  ‘Clara!’ He seemed delighted to see her. ‘I had no idea you would be here today.’

  ‘Nor did I,’ she told him. ‘But you’re just the person I wanted to see.’

  ‘I am?’

  She threaded her arm through his and led him through the fair. ‘Your employer, Mr Milton.’

  ‘You met him yesterday.’

  ‘And very charming he was, too. So tell me about him.’

  ‘About Mr Milton?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, he’s not a rival for my affections or anything like that.’

  ‘Oh.’ Oswald considered this. ‘Good.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, he’s a rich man. Donates to the poor, or so I believe. Endows a trust, anyway. I’m not sure what else I can tell you. Why are you interested?’

  Clara ignored the question. ‘So where’s he get his money? Rich family?’

  ‘No, he made it in industry, I believe. Manufacturing of some sort. I’m not really sure exactly what. I really don’t know him that well, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s all right. Not your fault.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that acquaintanceship was anyone’s fault as such.’

  ‘No,’ Clara agreed. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘His main factory is in Alberneath Avenue, I do know that. I had to meet him there to be interviewed for the post of tutor, you see.’

  ‘So you saw what they make there?’

  ‘I saw a lot of machines. Oily and noisy, but much more than that I really couldn’t say.’

  Clara considered. ‘Where’s Alberneath Avenue?’

  ‘Not that far from here, actually. Out towards the East End, but it doesn’t take long in a cab.’

  ‘Great,’ she decided. ‘You’d better take me there.’

  ‘What?’ He stopped walking and turned to look down into Clara’s face. ‘Now?’

  She gave him her best smile. ‘Unless you have something better to do?’

  ‘Not better, as such. But I am supposed to be giving a lesson in a few minutes. I was taking a short cut through the Frost Fair. I suppose I could ask to postpone it,’ he said.

  ‘Would that be allowed?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t know. It’s not something I’ve ever asked before. Look,’ Oswald suggested, ‘why don’t I put you in a cab to Alberneath Avenue, and then I’ll follow on as soon as I can. If I can postpone the lesson all well and good. If not, well Mr Milton is probably there and could answer any questions you have. Then I can meet you as soon as my lesson finishes, in a little over an hour. How does that sound?’

  Clara thought about it. Should she go alone? But finding Jenny in the smog wouldn’t be easy, and goodness only knew where the Doctor had got to. If he was still with Silhouette he might not take kindly to being interrupted.

  Oswald had pulled a fob watch from his waistcoat pocket and was checking the time. ‘I really should be going, I’m afraid,’ he said, running his hand through his dark hair.

  ‘Then let’s find a cab on the way,’ Clara decided. ‘And you see if you can negotiate a stay of execution on the lesson.’

  The smog continued to thin as Jenny made her way round the Frost Fair. Several of the stallholders and sideshow attendants remembered her from the previous day.

  ‘Still can’t find a man, eh?’ the chestnut seller remarked with a laugh. ‘I can help you there if you want, know what I mean?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean, and I ain’t interested,’ she told him. ‘So you seen this Milton bloke, or what?’

  ‘Can’t say as I remember seeing a gent like that. I probably would remember. Sounds like a proper toff.’

  Others that Jenny had spoken to didn’t even seem to remember her asking similar questions the previous day – which suggested that they weren’t going to be a lot of help in recalling any details about Milton. But she kept at it, gathering the occasional snippet of information. He might have passed by here; might have made a purchase there; could have been speaking to a man – or maybe it was a woman – just over there. Possibly …

  She peered into the smog as she left the candyfloss stall behind. A gust of wind cleared the air for a moment. Was that Clara, heading out of the Frost Fair and up towards the Embankment? Frowning, Jenny set off after her. The air closed in again, and she couldn’t see Clara – if it was Clara.

  As Jenny neared the edge of the Fair, a figure appeared suddenly from the heavy air and collided with her, sending her staggering back.

  ‘Oh my goodness, I’m most terribly sorry.’

  The man she had bumped into caught hold of Jenny’s arm to steady her.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she assured him.

  ‘Can’t see any distance at all in this,’ the man said, smiling.

  Jenny smiled back. At least he was polite, even if he didn’t look where he was going. Though he was right, it probably wasn’t his fault. The young man was wearing a plain suit with an equally plain hat. Fair hair poked out from beneath it in a slightly unruly manner. He looked about the same age as Jenny, slim build with high cheekbones and pronounced eyebrows. Quite attractive, really, she thought.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘now I’m delaying you.’

  ‘Oh that’s all right.’ She couldn’t see any sign of Clara now. It probably hadn’t been Clara at all. ‘I’m not going anywhere, really. Just sort of wandering.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you’d like to wander with me? If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition,’ he added quickly. ‘My name’s Stone, by the way.’ He lifted his hat slightly, allowing more of his fair hair to escape before he jammed it back down on his head. ‘Jim Stone. Friends call me Jimmy.’

  Jenny introduced her
self, and Jimmy laughed. ‘My sister’s called Jenny, what a coincidence.’

  Jimmy was also in service, it turned out as they made their way through the Frost Fair. He worked in the kitchens of ‘a posh house out in Mayfair,’ he told her. ‘It’s my afternoon off, and I managed to get away early to have a look at the Fair before finding some lunch.’

  ‘Shame you can’t see much of it today,’ Jenny told him.

  The police sergeant who had promised to keep Strax up to date on the investigations was as good as his word.

  ‘Found another one last night, they did,’ he explained as the two of them sat in a quiet corner of one of the local hostelries. ‘Just like the others, it was. Nothing but a dry husk.’

  ‘And where was the victim found?’ Strax demanded. ‘I shall need the exact coordinates calculated from galactic zero centre.’

  ‘Dunno about that,’ the sergeant told him. ‘But the poor woman was in Little Haber Street.’

  ‘Does this Little Haber Street have strategic significance?’

  The sergeant frowned. ‘It’s just off Alberneath Avenue, if that’s any help.’

  Strax considered. ‘It might be.’ Bellamy’s body had also been found in a passageway that connected to Alberneath Avenue. ‘Thank you for the information, primitive. It has been most helpful.’

  ‘You got any idea who or what is killing these people then, Mr Strax?’ the sergeant asked as Strax stood up.

  ‘No,’ Strax told him. ‘But I have a comrade who tells me that once one has eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must also be eliminated. Good day to you.’

  Chapter

  8

  Despite Oswald’s assurances that it was not far to Alberneath Avenue, the journey seemed to take a long time. Sat in the small hansom cab, most of Clara’s view of the journey consisted of the rear end of the horse and the smog above it. She felt a little uneasy, sat on the bench seat with nothing to stop her pitching forwards and out if the horse stopped suddenly. The driver was above and behind her, completely out of view. She only knew he was there from the twitch of the reins, and the occasional words of encouragement aimed at the horse.