Mason shuddered. ‘No, thank you! That would be like cuddling a hedgehog! I think I’ll stick with my Emily here.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘I’ve just bought a new double blanket.’ She bent over the bed and kissed her husband warmly. ‘How are you feeling today, dear?’
‘A bit like I’ve been run over by a coach and horses. But it’s all right, they’ve confirmed there’s nothing serious.’
‘And how are you, Major?’ asked Mrs Mason, with a faint note of disapproval. ‘You two certainly get into some scrapes.’
Steele rose to his feet. ‘I’m fine, thank you, Emily. I let Jack take most of the blows. His skull is thicker than mine.’ He looked at the basket the lady was carrying. ‘You seem to have brought most of Covent Garden market with you.’
On view in Emily Mason’s basket were grapes, apples and oranges, as well as some other objects, unidentifiable in paper bags. She was also carrying a bunch of chrysanthemums.
‘Just a few things to cheer him up and make him better,’ said Emily, unloading fruit on to the bedside table until it began to look like a harvest festival display. Then she produced a solid item, wrapped in greaseproof paper, and handed it to Steele.
‘And I’ve brought something for you, Major,’ she announced. ‘I thought I’d see you here today.’
‘For me?’ Steele eyed the object cautiously.
‘It’s my special eel and onion pie. I know you don’t look after yourself properly. You tuck into that when you get home.’
‘Ah. Er … well, thank you, Emily. Er … do I heat it up?’
‘Doesn’t matter. Hot or cold, it’s full of goodness. Now what about my Jack? He’s been through the mill, hasn’t he? He’s going to need a lot of rest.’
‘I’m sure the nurse will see he gets that,’ Steele reassured her.
‘Yes, but when he gets out of here. He ought to have a holiday. I hope you’re not planning to get him back to work in a hurry.’
‘No, no, of course not,’ Steele lied.
‘He should have time to convalesce. He could do with some sea air. I’ll see if I can get us a few days at Mrs Hankey’s in Brighton.’
Mason pulled a disapproving face. ‘Brighton will be cold at this time of year.’
‘Well, we’ll see about that in a minute,’ said Emily ominously. ‘These flowers should be in water. Where can I get a vase?’
‘The nurse has a little room at the end of the passage,’ said Mason. ‘The dragon’s lair, I call it. I expect she’ll help you if you ask her several times. Turn left as you go out of here.’
‘All right,’ said Emily, opening the door. ‘And when I come back I’d like my Jack to myself, please, Major. No more business talk for him today.’ And with that she set off down the corridor.
‘Oh dear,’ said Steele with mock gravity. ‘Just when I need you, you’ll be in Brighton.’
‘Not bloody likely!’ said Mason vehemently. ‘Brighton brings on my rheumatism.’
‘But Emily says you need sea air.’
‘I’ll let her fan me with a kipper. I’ll be back on the job Sunday, if not sooner. Put money on it!’
‘I never bet on a certainty, you know that. It’s dishonest.’
‘Now for God’s sake, guv’nor, tell me what’s in Scully’s letter, and what you and I have to do!’
Steele told him, and Mason let out a whistle of astonishment.
Frankel’s oaths and cries of wrath could be heard while he was still outside, first in the coal store and then as he stomped back to the house. And when he flung open the back door and stormed in, his rage was incandescent.
‘The young vermin’s gone!’ he roared. ‘He’s got out! He’s gone!’
Stone and Prosser had been alerted by approaching sounds of fury from their employer, and by his bellowed demands for their immediate attendance, so they were waiting for him in the kitchen. Stone had been wondering what had brought on this outburst; Prosser, of course, knew the answer only too well, and had been quietly preparing himself to deal with the onslaught.
‘Gone?’ said Stone, with genuine astonishment. And then he added injudiciously, ‘He can’t have gone! I saw you lock him in this afternoon!’
The ferocity in Frankel’s voice went up several decibels.
‘If I say he’s gone, he’s bloody well gone, you brainless dolt! Or do you think he’s hiding under the coal? Perhaps you should go and search through it!’
Stone showed no inclination to accept this invitation.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said in his weaselly way. ‘I wasn’t arguing with you. It’s just that I can’t understand it. The boy must be in league with the devil!’
‘The devil himself couldn’t have helped him, if you two had kept watch properly!’ Frankel glared at his underlings. ‘How did he get out? How did it happen, eh? Tell me that!’
Prosser broke the tense silence.
‘When you locked him in, guv’nor, did you leave the key in the lock?’
‘Dammit, I don’t know!’ barked Frankel. ‘What the hell has that got to do with it?’
‘These young villains got a trick where they push the key out and drag it in under the door. When you lock someone in, you oughta take the key.’
At this suggestion of negligence on his own part, Frankel’s temper mounted further. ‘Never mind that! He should have been watched! All the time! You should have been watching the coal house!’
‘You never said that,’ Prosser protested. ‘You told me to clean upstairs. That’s what I been doing.’
‘Don’t bandy words with me, you oaf! You’re idle, that’s what you are! Idle and stupid!’
‘Can’t be in two places at once, can I?’
The veins stood out on Frankel’s forehead. ‘You’re idle, I say! And now you’re insolent as well!’ The doctor now had a target for his anger. ‘I know you, Prosser. Loafing around drinking beer when you should be on duty! You let that young blackguard escape!’
‘I told you, guv’nor, I was upst—’
The raging Frankel cut him short. ‘Lies! Lies! Don’t you argue with me, you cur! I’ll have to teach you a lesson!’
He was still carrying the stick with which he’d been looking forward to thrashing the boy. Now he swung a vicious blow at the servant’s head.
Prosser ducked and grabbed the stick as it whirled through the empty air. As so often in the past, he would have liked to break it over his employer’s skull. But, as before, he reminded himself that it was Frankel who brought in good money for all of them. It was too soon to kill him. So he restrained himself and just broke the stick over his own knee. Then he tossed the broken pieces to the ground and stood looking calmly at his master.
Frankel stared back at him with hatred in his eyes. He was a big man, but Prosser was bigger. And the fellow was useful. There was a moment of suspense, during which Stone moved a little further away from the two large men. Finally, Frankel contented himself with saying, ‘You’ll pay for that.’
From a safe distance the secretary strove to ease the situation.
‘There may still be traces of the boy’s blood on the larder floor,’ he suggested. ‘If we gave the dog a sniff of that, he might be able to track the wretch down. He’s probably got no further than the Heath.’
‘You mean, you’ll take the dog out and search for him?’ rasped Frankel.
The secretary’s face would have paled had it not been already devoid of colour. As it was, there was just a tightening of the skin.
‘I’d rather not, sir,’ he said. ‘Surely Prosser’s the man for that job. I have to finish last week’s accounts.’
Prosser was dismissive. ‘There’d be no sense in it,’ he said. ‘The boy could have got out hours ago. Likely he’s miles away by now.’
The fire had gone out of Frankel since the failed confrontation. And the wine that had helped to influence his wrath was now becoming debilitating. He sat down on a kitchen chair and scowled at Stone.
&nbs
p; ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I want Prosser in the house for the next few days, in case we get a visit from Slaughter’s men. It seems he’s not happy with our new arrangement.’
‘Then what do we do about the boy?’ Stone asked.
Frankel shrugged. ‘Nothing. Forget about him. If he doesn’t starve on the Heath he’ll probably drown in one of the ponds. When I’ve finished this commission from Lensky I’ll go down to the slums and find another urchin.’
11
‘I FEAR SOME of the plants are looking poorly,’ said Harriet. She closed the conservatory door behind her.
Clare was sitting at her father’s desk, writing studiously. She paused and looked up. ‘That’s because no one’s thought of tending them since we lost Mrs Butters. Plants need a little love, like the rest of us.’
‘How very remiss we’ve been,’ admitted her sister. ‘We should be looking after them in her memory. Well, I’ve given them all some water now.’
‘Not too much, I trust. Plants shouldn’t be too wet at this time of year.’
‘I don’t think I’ve overdone it,’ said Harriet. ‘I do hope the hyacinths survive. Their scent is so cheering in the middle of winter.’
‘Let us hope we all survive,’ Clare responded. ‘With the atmosphere we have in this house, I fear it’s by no means certain.’
She returned to her work, which was research, as usual. This time she was scanning an enormous volume, open on the desk in front of her, and extracting more facts for her notebook.
Harriet sat down on her customary seat by the window, but now with no view to admire, for the curtains were drawn. Outside, it was a dark and dismal evening, with spots of rain falling from low clouds, and the wind soughing mournfully in the trees.
Inside, it should have been cosy, but it wasn’t. The lamps were lit but the fire in the grate was dull and smoking. Clare had lit it this morning, at her father’s bidding. But, in the absence of a housekeeper, too much of the old ash and cinders had been left behind, and the fire had not been properly managed throughout the day.
‘How lonely Hillside seems without Mrs Butters bustling about,’ lamented Harriet. ‘Thank heavens I have your company this evening. It’s good that you can sometimes do your work in here.’
‘Not for long, I’m afraid. I’m here because I need some information from Hosker’s Flora and Fauna of Southern England, and it’s too heavy to carry to my room. When I have all the facts I need I must return to my manuscript upstairs. You know I work better there.’
‘Oh dear.’ Harriet shook her head sadly. ‘Then I shall be desolate indeed. I would never have believed Father would go out and leave us tonight of all nights. I can’t think how he can be so heartless.’
‘You refuse to see him as he really is, sister. He is a monster. He cares nothing for either of us.’
‘And yet he gives us a home.’
‘Because it brings him money. From my mother’s will, and your mother’s trust. Funds which I’m sure he intends eventually to steal.’
‘Oh, Clare, I can’t believe that.’
‘Also, of course, he now has the services of an unpaid housekeeper. That reminds me. I have orders to lay out a meal for him to eat when he comes home. I must search the larder for something that will give him indigestion.’
‘Oh!’ Harriet cried out in anguish. ‘I cannot bear all this hostility!’ She picked up her embroidery and began to work at it listlessly.
For a while all was quiet, as the sisters got on with their different tasks. The patter of rain on the windows had abated. Harriet found the silence oppressive, and her nervous fingers dropped the needle. She put down her work in frustration and found a new topic of conversation.
‘I wonder when Father will find a replacement for Mrs Butters.’
‘Not for a long time, I fear.’ Clare continued writing, clearly able to work and talk at the same time. ‘Probably not until he thinks he’s losing face with his friends because he has no paid servants. Till then, he’ll be happy to go on using me as a slave.’
‘Perhaps I could help, if you would show me what to do.’
‘Thank you, but it’s usually quicker to do things oneself, rather than try and explain them to someone else. Besides, you are too delicate for heavy work.’
‘I would do my best.’
‘You would not like it. My back ached terribly yesterday, after I spent two hours cleaning the downstairs floors. And then Father came in and walked all over the kitchen in muddy shoes.’
‘That was just thoughtlessness. You should have told him.’
‘And give him an excuse to hit me again?’ Clare was now warming to her subject. She put down her notebook. ‘I was wrong just now when I said that Father didn’t care about you and me. The truth is, he hates us!’
‘Oh, surely not. That cannot be true.’
‘It is true. Did you know that after Mrs Butters was murdered, the inspector offered to have a policeman on duty here for the next few weeks and Father refused?’
‘What?’ Harriet was shocked. ‘He refused to let us have police protection?’
‘I heard the conversation. Father was rude and truculent. He told the inspector to his face that he didn’t trust the police and wouldn’t have them in the house any more than necessary.’
‘And now he deserts us to go and play whist! On a Sunday night! With the Maniac still at large! Doesn’t he realize that I’m almost frightened to death?’
‘I’m sure he does. Your death would suit Meredith Austin very well.’
‘You cannot mean that!’
‘Of course I mean it. Major Steele has confirmed that if you die unmarried, your father keeps your mother’s money.’
‘Please, Clare! I cannot bear to think of these things!’
Harriet’s voice was becoming shrill with emotion. Clare sought to placate her.
‘Well, that situation may not last much longer. Major Steele is working on your behalf. There may soon be big changes in your life.’
‘I do not want big changes!’ cried Harriet. ‘I just want my books and my garden and my cat, if only she would come back to me! And I want to be free of all this fear and anxiety!’
Clare resumed her note-taking, and made no reply.
Harriet strove to regain control of herself. She picked up her embroidery and tried again. But once more she found the silence too stressful, and broke it with another question. She forced herself to speak more calmly.
‘Is it certain that Mrs Butters was murdered?’
‘Oh yes. Quite certain.’ Clare’s answer was terse and casual, as she pressed on with her scribbling.
‘Dr Frankel said it was an accident, didn’t he?’ Harriet protested. ‘And those cellar steps are very steep.’
‘The devious Frankel said it was an accident to please Father, who obviously didn’t want a police investigation. But, as you must have heard, the police doctor said no. Mrs Butters had head injuries she could not have got in the fall.’
‘But who could have wanted to kill her?’
‘Some footpad, perhaps. Taking advantage of the open door. As you know, some housekeeping money seems to have gone from the kitchen drawer.’
‘What does Major Steele think?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve had no contact for several days. That assault on the Heath may have diverted his attention.’
‘Pray God he has not deserted us!’
‘I thought you were against accepting his help.’
‘I was, but now … oh heavens, I don’t know what to think. These are such desperate times!’
Again both young women were mute for a while, Clare busy with her research and Harriet sinking into nervous thoughts and wild imaginings.
And then suddenly, loud and clear, came the stark sound of a dog howling, somewhere out in the darkness: an awful sound, half threatening, half anguished.
Harriet gasped with fright. ‘Dear God!’ she cried. ‘What was that?’
Clare retained her composure. ‘I d
aresay it’s that big black hound that Dr Frankel keeps. The animal is almost as unpleasant as its master.’
‘It’s never howled like that before! I’ve heard it barking occasionally, but not that terrible noise.’
‘As you say, sister, these are desperate times. No doubt the dog shares your apprehension.’
As the fearful sound went on, Harriet put down the tray-cloth she was working on. ‘I cannot continue with this,’ she declared. ‘My hands are shaking.’
Clare did not look up from her work, and her advice was simple. ‘Well, read a book. There are plenty here.’
And then the noise ended abruptly. The beast’s last howl changed halfway into a sort of strangulated whimper. After that all was quiet again.
‘Ah. Someone has silenced him,’ said Clare. ‘And rather brutally, from the sound of it.’
‘It can’t be Dr Frankel – he’s playing whist with Father, isn’t he?’
‘So we’re told. All we know is, they went out together. So no doubt the deed was done by that evil secretary of his.’
‘Mr Stone? Is he evil?’
‘I would say so. I have seen him from my window, whipping that dog unmercifully while the creature was chained to a post. Mr Stone seemed to be enjoying himself.’
Harriet winced. ‘How horrible!’
‘I have also seen him prowling on the Heath at dusk. He carries field glasses, and I believe he peers into lighted windows. What I think is called a Peeping Tom.’
‘Then you’re right, he is indeed a wicked man,’ said Harriet. And then, more urgently, ‘Clare, I meant to tell you. I have seen that hideous tramp again, staring at our house. He terrifies me!’
‘Oh dear,’ said Clare insincerely. ‘Well, I suppose we should feel flattered to be attracting so much attention.’
Harriet recognized that she had been rebuffed. She was suddenly aware that the noise of the wind had ceased abruptly, as if turned off by an unseen hand. And somehow the absence of any sound was more baleful than the baying of the hound had been.
She rose and began pacing up and down. This annoyance soon drove Clare to a more positive reaction. She stopped what she was doing, sighed, and looked around.
Terror by Gaslight Page 18
