‘He is not supposed to have that in his room,’ the valet admitted, ‘but Easterly is frightened of the dark. He has lots of nightmares.’
‘What about?’ I asked.
‘Ghosts.’ Hesketh replaced the plank.
Sidney Grice went through the chest of drawers. ‘Aha.’ He reached deep inside and came out with the husk of a bluebottle held by one wing in a pair of tweezers.
‘Is that significant?’ I asked.
‘Only to the spider that desiccated it.’ Mr G reached back in to replace it.
‘So nothing surprising?’ It seemed to me that we were finding next to nothing at all.
My guardian rose with no apparent muscular effort.
‘The world will have to try harder than that to astonish me.’
There was a Bible on the pine bedside table, bookmarked with a ribbon, and I went to the page. There had been no passages marked about smiting thine enemies or any other exhortations to violence.
‘And God sent an angel to shut the lions’ mouths,’ I read out.
‘Too many mouths are closed,’ my guardian complained. He whipped round with his cane jabbing the air an inch under the valet’s chin. ‘What are you not telling us, Hesketh?’
Hesketh’s cheek tremored. ‘If I knew of anything that would help catch Mr Nathan’s murderer, if I knew of any way that I could assist, I would give my life to do so.’
There were tears in the valet’s eyes and he wiped them hastily away, and I knew that nobody could feign such heartbreak.
‘Pull yourself together,’ my godfather said, and I imagined he meant it encouragingly because he made as if to pat Hesketh’s back, but did not quite manage. Sidney Grice disliked physical contact with people, which made the time he had hugged me when I came home from hell all the more precious and – so far – unique. ‘Come, Austin Anthony Hesketh, dignified and fastidious valet to two murdered masters. Come, Miss Middleton, whom I shall not essay to delineate at present. Let us climb another flight and emulate the matronly Mrs Augusta Garstang by bursting unannounced into Mademoiselle Veronique Bonnay’s place of rest in the confident expectation of not encountering her there.’
26
✥
The Hook
THE FOURTH FLOOR followed the plan of the men’s quarters and we went into the right-hand room – Veronique’s – first.
A double bed on an iron frame stood side on to us, the head of it against the right-hand wall. It had not been made.
‘Maids rarely get time to look after their own rooms,’ Hesketh excused Veronique. ‘This used to be Kate’s but I have never told Veronique that.’
‘Is anything in here original?’ I asked.
‘It is difficult to be sure.’ The valet surveyed the furniture. ‘I know the mattress and bedding were burned and there was a rug, but I think the bedstead and the furniture are the same. I have only been in this room twice. Mr Garstang asked me to deal with a rat once and I was too occupied with that to notice much else.’
‘When was the second time you were in here?’ Sidney Grice browsed around.
‘The fifteenth of May 1878,’ Hesketh replied.
‘A Wednesday, the feast of Achillius of Larissa and Hilary of Galatea, to name but two, also the start of the bullfighting season in that most Catholic of countries, Spain, which might have been of interest to Miss Angelina Innocenti, but –’ Mr G strolled round Hesketh as he recited this information – ‘I doubt that any of those occasions impinge much upon your servile existence. How can you be so precise and does that indifferent repair to the ceiling have any bearing upon your anecdote?’
Hesketh recoiled. ‘A maid at the time, Anne Smith, hung herself from a lamp hook.’ He turned away. ‘I helped to cut her down. Mr Mortlock had the hook taken out.’
I stared at the faint rhomboid patch of slightly rougher plasterwork overhead. ‘Do you know why she did it?’
‘I do not know the details but I believe she was unhappy in love.’ Hesketh touched a pillow with the back of his fingers as one might a dead relative.
‘Who is not?’ Mr G said to himself and looked round, apparently surprised to find us with him. ‘Your information is of severely truncated use to me,’ Mr G grumbled, rather unfairly, I thought. ‘Who identified the Garstang household’s bodies?’
‘I did, sir.’ Hesketh closed his eyes, but he should have known that a memory can only be blotted out by keeping them open. Any child can tell you that horrors are the worst when there is nothing to see. ‘The police took me round the house.’
‘A terrible thing to put him through. I found it gruelling enough and they meant nothing to me personally. It was Hesketh who drew our attention to Lionel Engra being missing and took us to the room where we found him.’
We stood for a while as if in prayer – Sidney Grice, Hesketh and me – and, in the quiet of my heart, I did intercede for them, these people who had died so cruelly, and I waited for the valet to open his eyes again before asking, ‘Is this the bed where the razor was found?’
Another wooden wedge lay on its side by the threshold, perhaps slightly dented, but I was bored with them now.
‘So I am told.’ Hesketh straightened a sheet automatically.
‘Miss Middleton has a rare talent for eliciting hearsay information from people,’ Mr G told him.
I trod on a creaking floorboard.
‘The joist is sagging.’ Sidney Grice tried his weight on it. ‘But not alarmingly.’ He searched the chest of drawers, humming to himself, before rising with his brow furrowed. ‘Show me Senorita Angelina Innocenti’s old dormitory.’
We did not even enter the last room, a mirror of Veronique’s, the bed bars and the mattress thin. Sidney Grice glanced inside, clicked his tongue, and closed the door as if anxious not to disturb an occupant.
‘Is there anything else you wish or do not wish to tell us concerning this domain of feminine slumber?’ Mr G blew on his fingertips.
The valet hesitated. ‘I do not think so.’
‘Then accompany us to Nathan Roptine Mortlock’s bedchamber, spurning any opportunity – real or imagined – for procrastination,’ Sidney Grice flung his arm forward, urging his troops to battle, ‘the very instant that you have absorbed this useful information.’ My guardian paused. ‘Pictures and coats may be hung: people – as many who have crossed my righteous path have borne witness – are not hung. They are hanged.’
‘I am sure Anne Smith would be relieved to hear that,’ I conjectured sarcastically as we went back into the corridor.
The loft hatch was, as Quigley had informed us, padlocked.
‘Is anything stored in there?’ I asked.
‘Nothing you would want to bring down, miss.’ Hesketh followed my gaze. ‘Mr Mortlock was so afraid of somebody getting on the roof and removing tiles to gain entry that he had a dozen mantraps and all sorts of other contraptions installed.’
‘How on earth did he live here?’ And I tried not to picture Cherry, a child, in this house of horrors.
‘In fear, miss.’ Hesketh opened another door. ‘In mortal terror.’
27
✥
The Chasm and the Scar
HESKETH LED THE way down again, stooped now under the weight of Gethsemane’s history.
Sidney Grice came last, bending his knees and jumping off the bottom step as a child might splash into a puddle.
‘Who else used Miss Charity’s room?’ My godfather stuck his cane into a floorboard knothole and left it standing upright.
‘Do you mean while she was here, sir?’ Hesketh fiddled with his bow tie.
‘Do not delude yourself – nor essay to delude me – that answering my question with a question answers my question.’ Mr G fell rigidly to the floor, breaking his fall with his hands just before his nose did the job for him.
Hesketh put his left hand over his mouth. ‘Nobody, sir.’ His voice came muted.
‘In fact, Mr…’ Hesketh’s words trailed away as he watched my guardian.<
br />
‘Complete your sentence.’ Sidney Grice scratched at a board like a dog burying a bone.
‘I was only about to say that Mr Garstang did not care for visitors.’ Hesketh stood mesmerized by Sidney Grice, who was snuffling along like a bloodhound searching for that bone.
I went to Nathan Mortlock’s bedroom door. It was split and hung awkwardly, with the top outer edge a good inch or more below the lintel and extending past the post, so that it could not be fully shut. The paint was chipped and scraped through to the woodwork in places. The handle had been removed and a chain emerged from the hole and through a staple that had been driven into the jamb. The other end of the chain came from behind the door and a sturdy padlock had been passed through the links.
I wiggled the hasp. It felt secure.
‘Why has the door been smashed?’ I asked.
‘I speculated rationally about that.’ Mr G got on to his side. ‘But I did not like to ask for three reasons, all of which must – and therefore shall – remain occult.’
Hesketh forced himself to concentrate on my question as my guardian rolled on to his back. ‘After my master did not respond to my knocks, I raised the alarm.’
‘How?’ Mr G barked.
‘I called down the stairs.’
‘What did you call?’ Sidney Grice crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. ‘And be sure to use the exact words.’
‘It was something like—’
My guardian’s eyelids flicked apart.
‘Of all the things I did not ask for – and they are numberless – most especially I did not ask for something like your exact words.’ Mr G sat up, arms still folded. ‘Miss Middleton could have a guess at roughly what you said. Tell me now and tell me in a low voice.’
Hesketh frowned. ‘I said Easterly, come here at once.’
Sidney Grice leaped to his feet. ‘And where was the aforementioned footman whilst you were summoning him?’
‘Where he is now, sir.’
Sidney Grice drifted towards the banisters and called in a barely raised voice, ‘Are you still in your chair, Sou’ Easterly Gale Nutter?’
And immediately the response rose from afar. ‘Yes, sir. Shall Hi come up?’
‘Only if you wish to arouse the wrath of Herr Sidney Grice, die wunderbare persönliche detektiv,’ Sidney Grice cautioned.
No doubt Easterly thought my guardian’s description of himself in German sounded menacing for, ‘Hi think Hi shall stay here then, thank you, sir,’ came back faintly.
Mr G jogged backwards to stand between me and the entrance, side-on to both of us. His left hand went out to stroke a panel but, for some reason, his gaze was fixed upon me. Did he wink or did I imagine it? He shuffled round to place his right hand over the left and whistled six notes between his teeth.
Hesketh’s left hand was twitching afresh.
‘Did you try the door?’ I asked him.
The valet clutched his left wrist in his right. ‘Certainly I did, miss, but it was bolted on the inside.’
‘He must have been very frightened,’ I said as he forced himself to release his grip on the ball.
‘I have drafted a monograph on the reasons for locking bedroom doors.’ My guardian yanked his cane out of its makeshift stand. ‘And fear does indeed feature largely as a motive, though by no means exclusively.’ He clipped on his pince-nez and scrutinized the valet through the left lens. ‘What happened next, Austin Hesketh, and you may omit any dialogue. I do not care for the manner in which you deliver it.’
Hesketh caught another ball. ‘I explained to Easterly that I could not rouse Mr Mortlock. He tried as well, to no avail, and so we decided to break the door down.’
‘How?’ Sidney Grice asked sternly.
‘We put our shoulders to it but—’
‘I can see how the door was broken,’ my guardian butted in. ‘How did you decide that you were going to do it?’
Hesketh patted his thick greying hair as if checking it was still there. ‘I told Easterly that we would have to. He was nervous that Mr Mortlock might have taken a sleeping draught and be angry, but he saw the sense and—’
‘One and a half moments.’ Sidney Grice crouched, licked his left index finger and dabbed it on to a gouge. ‘So, having realized that your efforts were painful and futile and that the only things likely to break were your bones, you used a hammer.’ Mr G stood up, making a great display of effort to do so. ‘Whence did you get it? And I shall regard any pretence that you had one to hand with extreme scepticism.’
‘The cellar, sir.’ The valet fiddled with his tie again. ‘There was an old coal hammer there.’
‘That was the correct answer,’ Sidney Grice congratulated him and held out his finger. ‘Regard the apex of this lightly moistened digit and describe what you observe in seven words.’
Hesketh leaned over. ‘I can see a black particle, sir.’
‘Full marks for numeracy.’ Mr G opened his satchel. ‘And I am relieved that you will not be needing my Grice Patent Folding Magnifying Glass. I dislike lending to anyone, especially murder suspects.’
Hesketh caught his breath. ‘I fail to see how I can be suspected of a crime committed when I was many miles away.’
I waited for Sidney Grice to tell him about a man in Mexico who had been murdered by a woman in Chipping Norton, but he only smiled thinly and said, ‘Your failure may yet prove to be my success.’
I came over and took a peek. ‘May I borrow your glass?’
My guardian huffed. ‘Very well.’ And extracted a steel disc from his satchel, handing it to me as one entrusts a holy relic to a heretic. ‘But please exercise extreme caution. I have hardly had a chance to play with it myself yet.’
I hinged the lens out and was struck by how clean his skin was and how regularly the rugae ran, but I learned nothing else from my experience. The tiny ragged black speck became a larger ragged black speck and I saw a long-healed demi-lunar scar that I had not noticed before, running down the side of his finger and disappearing into the first crease.
‘Thank you.’ I handed the glass back. ‘That tells me all I need to know for the present.’
Mr G put a finger to his eye and took a closer look. ‘Humph,’ he humphed suspiciously and put his glass away.
‘Shall we go in?’ I suggested.
‘How uncannily you have read my thoughts,’ my godfather said without a hint of sarcasm, taking Quigley’s key from his waistcoat pocket between his thumb and forefinger. ‘For this…’ the lock clicked and Mr G lifted it out to let the ends of the chain fall apart, ‘I do not require absolute silence.’
And, with the flat of his hands, he pressed upon the door.
28
✥
Beyond the Threshold
DARKNESS WAITED BEYOND the threshold, perforated by two small orange lights on the far wall.
‘Amplify the illumination,’ Mr G commanded and Hesketh hurried to turn up the gas.
The flames rose instantly and the mantles glowed yellow then white, flooding the room in their cold light.
‘Dear God,’ I said.
‘One wonders where he was while this was going on.’ Mr G stepped inside like a child on his first visit to the Crystal Palace. ‘Taking tea with a vicar, I expect.’
Hesketh bristled at such profanity but held his peace.
I had seen a great deal of blood when I helped my father in his surgery and whilst I had accompanied my guardian on his investigations, but it never ceased to horrify me. Sidney Grice’s face was alive, though, and I did not think it was just the flare of gaslight making it gleam.
The bed had been partially remade but left unchanged, and was heavy with stains. Great lakes of solidified blackness lay on the sheets, blankets and eiderdown, surrounded by smaller pools. The arched oak bedhead and the paisley papered wall behind it were smeared and bespattered with streaks and drops. The top of the two pillows was saturated in gore and still bore the imprint of the head that had lain upon it
in those last agonized heartbeats.
‘Who pulled the bedding back up?’ Mr G probed.
Hesketh stood mesmerized by the scene. ‘I did, sir. Inspector Quigley instructed me to reset the scene as closely as I could after Mr Garstang was removed.’
‘How did your master’s body present itself to you?’
‘He was lying on his back, sir, with his arms under the sheets.’
‘As I surmised.’ Mr G shifted his weight. His right leg hurt him on prolonged standing, though he would never have admitted it. ‘Proceed.’
Hesketh coughed. ‘His throat had been cut. There was a gaping wound and a great deal of blood everywhere.’
‘Did you touch anything?’ I asked, unwilling to do so myself.
Hesketh interlocked his fingers. ‘Nothing, miss. I shut the door and told Easterly to fetch the police.’
An empty picture frame lay face down on the dressing table, its back taken off and the contents removed.
‘The Dürer?’ I enquired and the valet raised his hands to chest height, perhaps in supplication, before confirming, ‘The drawing of the lady.’
Sidney Grice was walking slowly round the bed, placing each foot carefully as if trying to step in another man’s prints in the sand.
‘Who lifted the pillow?’
‘Inspector Quigley, sir.’ Hesketh’s voice was distant. ‘He wanted to see if there was a knife underneath it.’
‘And was there?’
‘No, sir.’ Hesketh blew out through his mouth. ‘He put it back in exactly the same spot.’
‘Oh, Hesketh.’ Sidney Grice whipped out his spring-loaded knife and the blade flicked out. ‘Untruths spray from your mouth like the venom of a spitting cobra. This pillow was replaced approximately fourteen degrees out of line as can be witnessed by the margins of gore around it.’
Hesketh flapped a hand. ‘It was not a deliberate lie.’
My guardian levered a crusty plaque from the top sheet. ‘A giraffe will be a giraffe whatever your intentions towards it.’ He popped his find into an envelope and pencilled a long series of numbers on it. ‘Let us scrutinize the portal.’
The Secrets of Gaslight Lane Page 13
