by Simon Clarke
‘The intruder, whom Thomas chased, stole a carving of Faunus from the shrine.’
‘Ah …’
‘Does that mean something to you?’
‘I heard about this Gods of Rome business as a young man. I decided it was all wild rumour and didn’t give it much credence. After all, Alfred was never arrested, and the statues were never found. As a child, however, mythology interested me – mainly, because it contained stories about people inventing fabulous ways to fly.’ He chuckled. ‘There were tales of adventurers tethering birds to chairs and being carried away. There were stranger methods, too, such as gathering dew in jars and waiting for the sun to rise, because it was once believed that the sun had the power to make the morning dew rise into the air. Of all things, when I was a schoolboy, I actually soaked my clothes in dew one morning and waited for the sun to carry me above the treetops.’ He shook his head, remembering. ‘All I succeeded in doing was catching a cold.’
Abberline smiled at the man’s recollection then his face became grave. ‘Thomas and I wondered why our suspect would steal the Faunus in particular.’
Thomas placed his fingertips together. ‘Let’s see, what do I know of Faunus? Hmm, it’s such a long time ago since I read those books. I remember that in the ancient world gods often went by different names. Faunus was also known as Pan or Silvanus. He played a flutelike instrument while beautiful nymphs danced. Faunus lived in dangerous, wilderness places – the kind of forest where a man could find himself threatened by wild animals and bandits. Ah ….’ William held up his finger as he recalled another fact. ‘Faunus had the power to fill human beings with a dread of the unknown. He could make people frightened without them knowing what had frightened them. Faunus’s other name is Pan, of course, from which the word “panic” is derived. You could say Faunus is the god of irrational terror. Perhaps your suspect stole the Faunus carving in order to send us a message.’
Thomas asked, ‘What could such a message mean?’
Abberline thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps our suspect is warning us to be terrified of what we cannot see? To be scared of our own shadow.’
‘The he is reminding us of the curse of the Gods of Rome,’ said Thomas.
They sat there without speaking. Dark clouds covered the sun, and the gloom appeared to forewarn that the days ahead harboured a threat of peril. Thomas recalled the maid’s words as she called down from the window in panic (that word again –panic: a god-inflicted terror that makes the heart pound and clouds the senses). The girl had shouted: ‘Leave this place … you are in danger. Death follows you, and he is coming ever closer. …’
That afternoon brought a change of mood to the inhabitants of Newydd Hall. Warm sunshine bathed the house and gardens. What makes the place sunnier, Thomas Lloyd realized, is that Colonel Brampton isn’t here. The Colonel had announced in that characteristically bad-tempered way of his that he would take the train to Liverpool to discuss confidential matters with a superior, and that he wouldn’t return until tomorrow.
Everyone in the house seemed that bit more cheerful after that. Soldiers whistled music hall tunes, guards smiled and nodded at Thomas and Abberline as they examined the grounds. The troops were at ease with themselves now that their commanding officer wasn’t breathing fire down their necks.
Abberline, however, remained troubled. He scanned the forest and the Welsh hills. ‘A marksman could pick any more of a hundred places to wait until William Denby appeared. A modern rifle, equipped with a telescopic sight, can kill from a quarter of a mile away.’
Thomas nodded. ‘However, it will be impossible to keep William indoors. The military are pressing him hard to make more flights.’
‘Perhaps that’s where the man will be safest: high in the clouds where the assassin can’t find him.’
They strolled by a broad terrace at the side of the house. William sat there, between his daughter in the wheelchair, and a lady whom Thomas did not recognise. William beckoned them.
‘Inspector. Thomas. Allow me to introduce you to my wife. This is Prudence.’
An attractive woman of forty-five years of age, or thereabouts, dressed in white muslin held out her hand. They exchanged social pleasantries for a while.
William said, ‘Thomas has already met Edith, my daughter.’
‘Good day again.’ Thomas raised his hat to the girl in the chair.
The girl smiled brightly. ‘Will you write about this gathering for your newspaper? How will you describe us? Isn’t Mama lovely in her white dress? The sunshine demands that we dress cheerfully, don’t you agree?’
William laughed. ‘Edith, don’t bombard the gentleman with questions.’
‘I should like to be a newspaper reporter when I grow up,’ Edith said. ‘I shall write about events from a woman’s point-of-view, because men too often interpret the world, and all that occurs upon it, from their perspective.’
Abberline spoke cheerfully. ‘Your daughter has such a wise head on her shoulders.’
Prudence tut-tutted. ‘Edith, my dear, young ladies do not aspire for careers in any profession, let alone journalism.’
‘The world is changing, Mama. Isn’t that so, Inspector?’
‘Indeed so, yet sometimes I fear it changes too quickly. The minds of men and women appear to lag behind the pace of material progress, and it vexes them.’
Edith’s intelligent eyes lit up with delight. ‘Haven’t I had similar opinions in the past, Papa? Progress is like a torrent that catches hold of men and women and rushes them along so quickly that they are bewildered by the pace of change. Marvellous machines are being invented all the time. Why, only yesterday, I read about a new kind of photographic device that creates a moving picture.’
Prudence appeared discomfited by her daughter’s interests. ‘I’m sure the Inspector and Thomas are too busy to hear about these flights of fancy.’
Abberline smiled. ‘On the contrary, I am very interested.’
Edith beamed. ‘Just imagine. If such a camera were used here at this moment, we would see moving pictures of ourselves tomorrow, or ten years from now, and we’d be just as we are now. We would see Thomas nodding his head, just as he does at this moment. I would see my mouth moving as I speak – as it moves now. And we would look at my mother shaking her head, because what I say alarms her.’
The girl’s mother still shook her head. ‘Your subject matter doesn’t alarm me. What does worry me is that you’ll tire yourself speaking so much.’
‘I feel well this afternoon, Mama.’
William patted his daughter’s hand fondly. ‘Nevertheless, it wouldn’t be wise to over-do things, especially after the way you were coughing this morning.’
Edith gave a regretful sigh. ‘Very well. Though I do enjoy discussing this strange and wonderful world we live in.’
‘Gracious.’ Prudence Denby laughed. ‘You are ten years old, but you have the ways of a university professor.’
William kissed his daughter on the cheek. ‘And I value her more than can be said.’ He turned to Abberline and Thomas. ‘Gentlemen, seeing as the colonel is away I’ll give you a tour of our workshops. You can witness for yourselves what I’ve devoted my professional life to these past twenty-five years.’
Edith grinned. ‘One day I’ll fly up above the clouds with you, won’t I, Papa?’
‘One day.’ He smiled back at his daughter. ‘Yes, one day.’
Thomas walked with Abberline and William toward the white sheds that formed the balloon workshops.
William asked, ‘Do you know yet when you will open up my brother’s grave?’
Abberline said, ‘The Burial Act of 1857 stipulates that I must obtain an exhumation licence before I can remove the body. I’ve written to the Secretary of State in accordance with the rules set out in the Act. If the licence arrives tomorrow, I can exhume the body early the following morning.’
‘The exhumation will be respectful?’
‘Yes, I guarantee it. Boards will be erected
to screen the grave from public view. An official will also be present to oversee the operation; he’ll ensure that the rules relating to the removal of the body are followed to the smallest detail.’
They walked in silence for a moment. Eventually, William glanced back at his daughter and wife on the terrace. ‘Edith doesn’t have friends of her own age. We’re rather isolated here, and her lungs are so weak that she can’t attend school, so she reads night and day.’
‘And thinks a lot, too,’ said Abberline. ‘She is remarkably intelligent.’
‘Prudence worries that Edith thinks too much; however, I encourage my daughter to have an independent mind.’
Thomas smiled. ‘I believe she does have the aptitude and the intelligence to become a journalist when she is a grown woman.’
‘I wish that could be so.’ William’s expression became grave. ‘Her lungs are becoming weaker. My daughter, Mary, suffered from the same condition, as you know … she died when she was sixteen. I have to accept the possibility – and it frightens me to say these words – that Edith might not survive beyond the age of eighteen or so.’
William opened the shed door and invited them in. He pointed out what he called the ‘Endurance Cabin’. This was a basketwork carriage that would be suspended beneath a balloon when a long distance flight was necessary. There were bunk beds inside the Endurance Cabin, and Thomas recalled what William had admitted that morning, that he intended to carry his daughter on a balloon to a height where the purity of air might heal her lungs. Thomas guessed that this cabin would house the girl for that journey high above the earth. Colonel Brampton, however, undoubtedly believed this would house artillery spotters and the like for military purposes. Not William, though, Thomas told himself. For him, this is the vehicle that will save his daughter’s life.
Later that afternoon, Inspector Abberline interviewed members of domestic staff in the office that William Denby had allocated to him. There was a table that served as a desk, along with a number of straight-backed chairs and a comfortable sofa. Windows overlooked the yard and outbuildings at the back of the house. A blackboard and easel stood in the centre of the room. Abberline chalked headings that he considered significant to the case. He used the name Thomas had given to their only suspect so far: god thief. Other names included wiliam denby, joshua denby (to be exhumed) and sir alfred denby. Abberline drew white lines that radiated outwards from sir alfred denby, like the spokes of a wheel. At the end of most of these lines he added question marks. At the end of one line he wrote: gods of rome. At the end of another: murder by gunpowder.
When he conducted the interviews with footmen, grooms, maidservants and so on, he turned the easel so the blackboard faced the wall; that meant none of the staff could read what was written there. Because employees were rotated around the Denby country estates every few months, many weren’t present at Newydd Hall when Joshua Denby had fallen sick and died. Those that were offered vague statements about the master becoming increasingly unwell and weak in the summer of three years ago, and that he expired in the Winter. A doctor recorded the cause of death as congestion of the blood, which could stem from any number of illnesses.
Abberline sighed as he read the death certificate. ‘Congestion of the blood is a catchall cause of death. It’s only slightly more specific than “died as a result of a visitation from God”, which is sometimes still entered on death certificates – it’s an elegant sounding phrase meaning the doctor didn’t have a clue what killed his patient.’
Thomas decided to ask a question of his own that had been nagging at the back of his mind. ‘Inspector, you produced a letter from the Home Secretary earlier. Isn’t it unusual to have written authority from such a senior member of government?’
Abberline nodded. ‘I allowed William to gain the impression that very important people in high office are concerned about the slaughter of the Denby brothers – they are, of course, just as they are concerned about other crimes – but what really does alarm them are the Gods of Rome. They want me to find those statues.’
‘They really are that important?’
‘The statues are historical artefacts rightfully belonging to Italy; they’re also cast from gold, so immensely valuable. The Italian government want them back. They are building a museum in Rome. Those golden gods will be the museum’s crowning glory.’
‘There’s more to this than helping the Italians furnish their museum, isn’t there?’
‘Most astute of you, Thomas. The fact of the matter is, the Gods of Rome scandal embarrassed our royal family and very nearly caused an international incident.’
‘The royal family had no involvement in removing the statues from Italy, did they?’
‘No. But if they’d accepted stolen goods, as it were, it would have provoked letters of protest from the Italian prime minister, and accusations of depriving Italy of her heritage. Countries have gone to war for less.’
‘So, what are you really searching for here, Inspector? The man who killed the Denby brothers, or the golden statues?’
‘Both, naturally. However, our prime minster desperately wants me to find those statues. In fact, he’s told me that I should do everything humanly possible to get my hands on them.’
CHAPTER 22
Laura climbed out of bed to pour a drink of water from the jug. The powerful opiate she’d been given earlier had begun to leave her body. That slow withdrawal of narcotic left her dry-mouthed, sluggish and somehow jittery – as if she felt she should be doing something important but didn’t know what. Laura also tried to open the door. Locked … I’m still a prisoner.
‘I’ll break out of here,’ she said to herself. ‘When I do, I’ll set fire to the house.’ She laughed and it sounded like the laughter of a drunkard. The drug hadn’t completely left her yet.
She walked to the window in the hope of seeing Jake. The maid scanned the trees, aching to glimpse his face. Not so much as a sound left her throat, yet tears slowly rolled down her face. What had happened to her? Just last week she’d been a normal maidservant of eighteen. Her working days consisted of beating rugs, scrubbing floors, making up fires, polishing brass – all the usual duties of a maid who served in a country mansion. But something strange had invaded her mind this week. Suddenly, she had visions of the future. She saw how Captain Sefton would meet his death. He’d fallen out of the sky; his body broken by the cruel earth; those green eyes had stared up at her from where he lay; a river of blood had gushed from his mouth.
With a supreme effort, Laura clenched her fists, and willed her gaze to penetrate the gloom that gathered about the trees. Perhaps Jake was out there? Maybe he could see her, even if she couldn’t see him? She raised her hand and waved. All the while, her eyes swept back and forth along the treeline, searching for a familiar figure.
Yes … there was a figure. She leaned forwards until her forehead pressed against the cold glass. A man stood beneath a big oak tree right at the edge of the forest. But: no … it isn’t Jake. Her heart plummeted with disappointment.
‘It’s another vision,’ she told herself. ‘A spirit.’
The apparition stared back in her direction. It was too far away to make out its features. However, she didn’t feel how she usually felt when she saw the white-faced phantom. There was no sense of becoming detached from reality. No unearthly music from a flute. No sense of terror. No panic.
Merely, a stranger gazed at her, that’s all. She bit her lip hard. Pain stabbed through her skin. Therefore, the drug no longer numbed her. The world felt real. She could even catch aromas of beef being roasted for dinner. So … the figure must be real, mustn’t it? Why, then, was a man staring at Newydd Hall with such interest.
The man’s features were completely invisible to her beneath the brim of his hat. His, coat, though, was striking.
The coat was yellow. Bright yellow.
The figure in the yellow coat raised a hand above its head and waved. Laura Morgan waved back, and thought she saw the man give a
single nod to indicate that he’d noticed her. Then he glided back into the shadows and she could see him no more.
CHAPTER 23
The following morning, after breakfast, Inspector Abberline continued interviewing the staff. A laborious task that involved repeating the same questions:
~ Were you employed here when Joshua Denby fell ill three years ago?
~ Were you here at the time of his death?
~ Did you notice strangers in the grounds at or around that time?
After the fifth servant had left the room Abberline exhaled loudly, and turned to Thomas who sat in a chair by the window where he made notes.
‘All I can say with certainty,’ Abberline said, ‘is that that the answers are consistent. But they yield little in the way of useful information.’
Thomas checked his notes. ‘So far, none of the staff that who was here during the months of Joshua’s illness noticed anything unduly suspicious. They all say the same: that three years ago Joshua Denby fell ill during the summer and died in the winter.’
‘And not one member of staff recalls hearing anything about trespassers being seen in the grounds.’
‘It seems to me that we’ll learn more from Joshua’s dead body than the living.’
‘For now, that appears to be the case.’ Abberline took a piece of chalk and drew a thick, white line beneath the name sir alfred denby. ‘Most of the brothers, who are now deceased, were content to enjoy lives of leisure. The Denby brothers lived on income from the estates they managed. They spent their time fishing, shooting, playing cards, billiards and the like. None of those men led an industrious life. All were lazy, well-fed idlers, who were waited on by servants. They never married. They didn’t even try to earn any more money. All except for ….’ Abberline tapped the chalk against the name he’d just underscored.
‘Sir Alfred?’
‘He’s the only one who inherited his father’s zeal for profit. I had the opportunity to check the files before leaving London, and it seems Sir Alfred was known to the police. Although never charged with any crime, he had friends who were investigated over a diamond smuggling enterprise more than twenty years ago. No evidence attached itself to Sir Alfred. However, tax records reveal that he earned a substantial income through various business dealings, which weren’t connected to farming at Fairfax Manor. What the tax records reveal is that he supplied materials to house-builders.’
