The inspector’s mouth dropped slightly open. Then his eyes narrowed as his jaw tightened again. ‘I don’t make apologies,’ he said. ‘I follow the law.’
‘Well, the law was wrong,’ I replied. ‘Miss Stone was the murderer, not Father. You imprisoned the wrong person.’
He snorted. ‘You have some gumption, girl, I’ll tell you that. Well, yes, I can confirm that your Miss Stone has confessed after we captured her. With the written record of the murders and the real weapon, and the fact that she was wielding a knife at the scene, the case is iron clad.’ Then something changed in his expression. ‘Just a stroke of luck, I suppose, that she fell through that glass-topped tomb and became trapped. Along with her confession.’
I opened my mouth, but said nothing. For once, I realised the wisdom of not speaking. I glanced at Oliver, and he grinned back at me. Somehow, Inspector Holbrook’s omission was the greatest compliment he could have given.
‘Will that be all?’ he said.
There was something I wanted to ask him. Something that I knew would eat away at me if I didn’t say it. ‘Sir … Miss Stone had to give up her daughter. Would you be able to find her? Tell her what’s happened? Perhaps she’d like to meet her mother, even though … well, you know.’
The inspector scrutinised me for a moment as if I were a complicated puzzle that he didn’t quite understand. ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Very well then.’
With that, Inspector Holbrook raised his eyebrows, pulled his pipe out of his pocket, and excused himself to leave.
I breathed out.
Mother and Father came back over to us, Mother red-faced and beaming. Father clapped his hands together. ‘We should get back. The business needs me. Violet, have any customers been in?’
I felt a rush of pride that he was asking me about the business. ‘We had to close up, Father. I’ll have the word sent around that you’re free – and not guilty of any crimes – as soon as possible.’
‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘We have a reputation to rebuild. And …’ he paused, looking a little embarrassed. ‘I have debts to pay off. The blackmail may have been a forgery, but I don’t want anything like this ever to happen again.’
I smiled up at him. We can do this, I thought. We can make the business better than ever, together.
‘Perhaps you ought to take some rest first, Edgar,’ Mother chastised.
‘Nonsense,’ he said with a smile. ‘I need to keep busy. We must get this behind us. There’s no time to waste.’ I had to wonder if he would feel the same once he was home, but perhaps he really was just filled with relief at his freedom. It was as though his life had a whole new start after coming so close to ending.
‘Father …’ I asked in a low voice. ‘Did you know? About Miss Stone? I mean … did you suspect …?’ I didn’t really know how to ask the question.
He frowned a little. ‘Not really, but …’ He turned to Mother. ‘I should have told you all that was going on.’ He hung his head. ‘I felt sorry for her, you know. I couldn’t keep a thief in the house, nor could I let anyone else hire one in good conscience, but I realised she was stealing for her daughter. I thought it kinder to keep it quiet. Perhaps I should have had more empathy, tried to improve her situation. If I had known …’
Maddy was watching him carefully, not saying a word. He looked up at her.
‘I will not repeat my mistakes,’ he said. ‘You are safe with us, Maddy. You too, Oliver. We’ll do our best for you.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ they both replied. Happiness blossomed inside me. Oliver was here to stay!
Father looked at us. ‘The police said you two were responsible for catching her. Is that true?’
‘Yes, Father,’ I nodded sheepishly, unsure whether I was about to receive praise or a telling-off. ‘Well, Bones helped.’
Father tickled Bones under the chin. ‘Good boy,’ he said. His eyes raised to us again. ‘It seems I underestimated you, daughter.’
I fought the urge to grin and tell him that I had told him so. I had always told him so. Perhaps now he saw what I meant.
My father was asked to sign a few pieces of paperwork, and then we were really free to go. What I wasn’t expecting was the crowd of journalists that had suddenly gathered outside the station.
‘The vultures, again!’ I exclaimed when I spotted them. ‘How did they get here so quickly?’ Bones barked a warning and I grabbed hold of his collar. There was a small sea of arms brandishing notebooks and pens, with the odd photographer amongst them.
This time, though, things were different.
‘Mr Veil! Is it true that you’ve been cleared of all charges?’
‘Mr Veil! Tempest Smith, Weekly Bugle – did you know the accused?’
‘What can you tell us about the new suspect?’
Father raised his hands graciously as we descended the steps. ‘One at a time, gentlemen. I will answer some of your questions, but then I really must get home with my family.’
A familiar journalist stepped forward. ‘Briar, Morning Times. Reports are calling her the Black Widow. How did they catch her?’
Father turned to me. ‘I think, perhaps, my daughter might be the one to answer that.’
inter came with a sharp frost on the air, and then the snow fell. The cemetery was beautiful, draped in white, untouched.
Untouched, that is, until Bones raced out into it, leaping through the snow and barking with joy. He rummaged with his paws, spraying white flakes in all directions.
‘Calm down, boy,’ I said, laughing, as Oliver and I jogged along in his wake.
‘Wait for me!’ Thomas called after us. He was dragging his favourite red kite behind him, the ribbon ends trailing on the ground.
Father waved out of the back door at us. He was heading out to the stableyard to meet his men for the day. Business was really picking up now – which perhaps was uncouth to say when it came to the business of death. But death went on no matter what we did. We were the ones who helped others to remember, who dealt with things so they didn’t have to.
Father was allowing me to help out a little more, and Oliver was on duty most days. Father thought it wouldn’t be long before we could afford to give him a small wage.
That day we had been given the morning off while Father arranged a ceremony. The snow was our reward.
Bones dashed up the hill, the snow coming up his long legs quite a way. It was deep and fluffy. A lone robin tweeted at us from one of the headstones as we made our way along the path.
I sighed with delight. ‘Isn’t this beautiful?’
‘It’s freezing,’ said Oliver in a teasing tone. ‘I can’t feel my nose.’
I gave him a gentle jab in the shoulder. ‘Don’t ruin it!’
Oliver had grown in confidence and happiness in the past few weeks, slowly shedding the weight of what had happened to him.
I felt relaxed too, but I had to admit that something inside me was itching for adventure. I kept thinking of Miss Stone’s words – that the world would never let me be anything other than an undertaker’s daughter. All my life I had wanted to be seen as more than that, to help with the business in my own right. Even if I managed to prove to my parents that I could be an undertaker … would I be content with that? Or did I want something more?
I think, deep down, I already knew the answer. I was going to change how the world saw me. After all that had just happened, I was no longer sure if undertaking was for me. But solving mysteries – investigating, helping people, stopping villains – the thought thrilled me.
Violet Veil: Private Investigator. I grinned as I walked. No: Consulting Detective.
It was time to find my own work. Work that bridged the dead and the living, just like me. Could I do it? Would anyone support me? Only time would tell.
Oliver and I reached the top of the hill, and I swept away the snow on an old chest tomb, its edges dripping with icicles. ‘Sorry, Mr Bonneville,’ I said as I hopped up on to it. ‘You’ve got the best view. I hope you
don’t mind.’ A ghostly chuckle tickled my ears, and the cold tomb became a little warmer.
Oliver jumped up beside me, and we looked down over the cemetery. It was blissful – untouched and white and quiet but for the gentle wind that blew the tree branches. The rows of stones laid out before us, winding down the hill to our house, and beyond that the city with its thousands of chimneys puffing smoke.
The silence was broken by Thomas whooping as he launched his kite into the air. It was a funny sight – the small boy in his best black suit, trailing a soaring bright red kite over the graves.
I ran my fingers over the words on Mr Bonneville’s tomb. That which thou sowest is not quickened except it die. Father had told me about this one, once. It meant ‘what you sow does not come to life unless it dies’. He said it meant that endings are what give life meaning.
‘What do you want to do with your life, Oliver?’ I asked suddenly.
He smiled and pulled out the waxed paper bag containing bread and cheese that Maddy had given us. ‘I’m happy sitting here, Violet.’
‘I mean in general,’ I said as I watched Thomas’s kite flutter in the breeze. ‘Now that you have a whole life ahead of you, with no murderous women lurking in the bushes? Or at least, so we hope.’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I suppose I’ll find out.’
I smiled at him and took a piece of bread. It was still warm from the oven. He had a point. Perhaps I didn’t need to know exactly where my destiny would take me. Not yet.
I was born in the mortuary. One day, I suppose I’ll end up there too.
It’s what’s in between that counts.
Dear reader,
I do hope you’ve enjoyed reading the first of Violet Veil’s adventures. I wrote this book partially to help myself deal with loss. It was actually rather enlightening and empowering to live through this character that faces death on a daily basis without ever losing her sense of self or purpose. She sees it for what it is – the natural way of all things, the autumn that must come to make way for the spring. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t value life – in fact, quite the opposite. She knows that life is precious, and she’ll fight to defend it and to bring justice to those who would try to take it away from anyone else.
Many people have helped me to bring Violet’s world to you. Thank you to my editor Michelle Misra for believing in the book – without you it would never have seen the light of day. And to Samantha Stewart and all the team at HarperCollins Children’s Books who have worked so hard on getting everything just right, from the text to the cover to the sales and marketing. You’re all superstars.
Special thanks to Hannah Peck, whose incredible illustrations have really brought it all to life!
Thanks also to my agent Jenny Savill and all at the Andrew Nurnberg Agency for your continued support. I mentioned the idea for this story to Jenny at our very first meeting, and her enthusiasm has kept me going throughout the years.
To my Writing Group of Wonders: Bernie, Charlie, Kim, Sarah and Sue – who have spent so much of their time reading chapters of this story and offering invaluable feedback. You can thank them for suggesting that Violet needed to have a dog!
To my class at the Bath Spa MA Writing for Young People – in what seems like the distant past now, they read the very first chapter of this book after I stayed up late into the night writing it because I couldn’t let the idea go.
To all those who have shared precious knowledge with me – many thanks, and I must note that any inaccuracies or wild jaunts away from the historical truth are my own. I should add that another reason for the writing of this series is my lifelong obsession with graveyards and cemeteries. They are incredible, fascinating places filled with history and nature. Two of my absolute favourites are Arnos Vale in Bristol, and Highgate in London, both in need of our support and protection. In particular, I have been to some wonderful events at Arnos Vale that have filled up my well of wisdom with all sorts of melancholy curiosities – and I must give special thanks to Kate Cherrell (of the wonderful website Burials and Beyond) for sharing her expertise on Victorian mourning there.
To Nightwish, as always, for reminding me to dance before the scythe.
To my husband and daughter, family and friends – my books could not happen without you all and your love (although they might happen a bit faster, it has to be said …)
And finally to you, the reader. Whether you’ve read my Scarlet and Ivy series or you’re completely new – welcome. I hope you enjoyed your stay in Seven Gates. Violet, Oliver and Bones will return soon!
Sophie Cleverly
Keep Reading …
Have you read the Scarlet & Ivy series by Sophie Cleverly? They are spine-tingling mysteries set in a creepy boarding school!
When troublesome Scarlet mysteriously disappears from Rookwood School, terrifying Miss Fox invites her quiet twin sister Ivy to ‘take her place’.
Ivy reluctantly agrees in the hopes of finding out what happened to her missing sister. For only at Rookwood will Ivy be able to unlock the secrets of Scarlet’s disappearance, through a scattered trail of diary pages carefully hidden all over the school.
Can Ivy solve the mystery before Miss Fox suspects? Or before an even greater danger presents itself?
The first in a mesmerising new series!
Books by Sophie Cleverly
The Violet Veil Mysteries in reading order
A CASE OF GRAVE DANGER
The Scarlet and Ivy series in reading order
THE LOST TWIN
THE WHISPERS IN THE WALLS
THE DANCE IN THE DARK
THE LIGHTS UNDER THE LAKE
THE CURSE IN THE CANDLELIGHT
THE LAST SECRET
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A Case of Grave Danger Page 20
