Spider Silk

by A. Wendeberg

  Higgins coughed. Alf looked puzzled.

  ‘Rose is the daughter of my former madam. What that woman planned for her was unacceptable to me, so I stole her away. One of my former regulars — a man I will not name here — knows Rose’s identity and where she grew up. As of this morning, he knows that she lives here.’

  Rose kept her gaze attached to the carpet.

  ‘That man is not to be trusted,’ Olivia continued. ‘He might tell Rose’s mother where she resides, so that Madame Rousseau can retrieve her child and put her to work. This must be prevented. If any of you sees a stranger loitering near the house, notify me. And Rose,’ Olivia rested her elbows on her knees, and waited for the girl to look up. ‘Stay at home for a few days. Don’t venture outside unless I or Mr Higgins accompanies you.’

  Rose pushed out her lower lip. Behind her eyes, her brain visibly rattled. Then her expression brightened. ‘No school?’

  ‘No school.’ Olivia nodded once. ‘Keep an eye on the street. If you see Bobby or your mother, warn one of us or the servants at once. Do you understand?’

  Rose produced a quiet, ‘Aye, Captain.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Olivia emptied her brandy and set the glass down with a vigorous clonk. ‘I will question the maid tomorrow. Mr Higgins, would you tail the dye chemist? I wish to know where he lives, if he has a wife and children, where he purchases his dyes, and which chemicals he uses.’

  Higgins dipped his head in assent, and stubbed out his cigarette.

  ‘Good,’ she said, and rubbed her brow. ‘Well, if that’s settled, I should consider introducing myself to the new coroner.’

  Miss Shepherd

  Olivia took an omnibus to Percy Circus, went into a cobbler’s shop at Vernon Street, and enquired after Mrs Muir.

  ‘House at the corner, just across Baptist Church,’ a bald man with white fringes and a sparse, grey beard told her. He sat on a three-legged stool. A wooden contraption between his knobby knees held a boot in place, to receive a new sole.

  ‘Thank you,’ Olivia said. ‘Have a nice day, sir.’

  She found the house and rang the bell. A servant admitted her, accepted her card, and led her into the parlour.

  ‘The missus will be with you shortly.’ The maid left with a curtsy.

  The room was so stuffed that the small space left to accommodate a table, chairs, and a chaise seemed like mere concession. Olivia stood in the centre of the parlour and turned slowly, taking in the details. Vases stuffed with artificial flowers, porcelain figurines, and ebony statues populated the floor, the mantlepiece, cupboards and window sills. Terrifying masks hung all around the walls, rimmed with black and bristly hair, mouths agape in laughter or screams.

  A creak pulled her attention to the door. A pinch of a woman sat there in a wheeling chair, her white hair neatly arranged on her head, her shoulders so bony they threatened to poke through the fabric of her flowery dress. Her voice was surprisingly strong. ‘A young guest. Such a pleasant and rare surprise.’

  A maid pushed Mrs Muir into the room, and Olivia introduced herself.

  ‘A lady detective! How very unusual. I read about you, Mrs Sévère.’

  The words hung in air, wafting about in beams of sunlight.

  Mrs Muir pointed a crooked finger up at the walls. ‘What do you think those are?’

  ‘Masks?’

  ‘Indeed they are. But they are also my memories. When I was young, I traveled.’ She fastened her pale gaze — one blue eye, one milky — onto Olivia. ‘I travelled without a husband.’

  Olivia sank to the chaise.

  ‘Imagine the outrage,’ Mrs Muir said with glee, waved a hand at the maid, and ordered tea and biscuits.

  The refreshments were swiftly delivered. Then the maid took a seat next to her mistress.

  ‘Margot — the maid who admitted you — said you wish to speak with Addie?’ Mrs Muir patted the arm of the young woman next to her.

  ‘If you allow, Mrs Muir.’

  ‘Of course! Given the little entertainment I get these days, I wouldn’t for my life forbid her to talk to you.’ Mrs Muir clasped her hands in her lap, expectation and curiosity pulsing in every fibre.

  ‘Well.’ Olivia cleared her throat.

  ‘Ah. You wish to talk to her in private.’ So much disappointment in such a small woman.

  The maid lifted her chin. ‘We can speak here. I tell my mistress everything.’

  Olivia looked at the two, cocked her head, and nodded. ‘You are Miss Addie Shepherd, Mrs Frank’s former personal maid who left her employ a few months ago, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Albert… Mr Perkin took me from a workhouse when I was eleven years old, and asked Mrs Frank, who is his half-sister, to employ me as a maid. At first, I worked in the scullery, but only a few months later, she asked me to be her personal maid. I was in her employ for nearly nine years.’

  ‘May I ask why you left your post?’

  Miss Shepherd dropped her gaze and frowned. ‘It is…complicated. But then perhaps…not so much. Mrs Appleton was in love with Mrs Frank. A hungry, unrequited love. I can’t be sure, but I believe she saw me as a child for the longest time, until one day, she found me tying Mrs Frank’s corset, and she saw a woman — a competitor — and wished me gone. She accused me of stealing money, small amounts here and there. And then a piece of Mrs Frank’s jewellery disappeared. By that time, Mrs Appleton has sown enough mistrust… But my mistress did not wish to report me. Perhaps she had doubts about Mrs Appleton’s statements. Perhaps she didn’t tell the police because there was no proof. But the mistrust was sown, and so I left and found a situation with Mrs Muir.’ She smiled at the wizened woman.

  ‘You had a room at the Franks?’

  Miss Shepherd nodded. ‘I shared a room with cook.’

  ‘And Mrs Appleton?’

  ‘She had her own room, of course. She’s the housekeeper.’

  ‘Of course.’ Olivia licked her lips. ‘Mr Perkin told me that he gave you a character. Did Mrs Frank not wish to do it herself, given the circumstances?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Interesting. Mrs Appleton told me that Mrs Frank sent you away because she couldn’t bear being touched by anyone but her husband.’

  At that, Addie Shepherd looked genuinely aghast. ‘If that were true, I am sure I would have noticed.’

  ‘Are you friends with Mr Perkin?’

  ‘I would think so. He is a very amiable man.’

  Olivia smiled. ‘Yes, he is.’

  ‘Women avoid looking at…’

  ‘His mouth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Olivia couldn’t help but think that Miss Shepherd had kissed Mr Perkin’s crooked mouth. ‘You are in love with him.’

  ‘I was. When I was young and foolish. We were…are friends.’

  ‘I see. Could you describe the relationship between Mrs Frank and her husband?’

  All air went out of Miss Shepherd. ‘I honestly can’t say. Perhaps I am too young to understand marriage. The Franks fought, they loved, they ignored each other.’ She shrugged, lost for words.

  ‘And how does Mr Perkin fit in? As I understand, he was a friend of the family and Mrs Frank’s half-brother.’

  Miss Shepherd’s expression darkened. ‘He is one of the nicest persons I know. Respectful and kind. But Mrs Frank was…using him. When she needed a confidante, he was the first she would talk to, not her husband. As far as I could tell, that is. I wasn’t privy to her thoughts. But whenever he needed something, anything, she ignored it.’

  ‘For example?’

  ‘Oh, there are plenty of examples.’ Miss Shepherd waved a dismissive hand. ‘I remember one winter particularly well. She sent me to fetch him. She knew he had a very bad cold and a high fever, and yet…she bade him come to her. When he finally arrived, all pale and weak, she bickered over trifles for an hour or more, then sent him away.’ Miss Shepherd shrugged. ‘Mrs Frank didn’t know any better. She saw herself first. Others were to ser
ve her. I am sorry. I shouldn’t speak of her thus.’

  ‘It’s all right, Miss Shepherd. Perhaps this will be the piece of information that helps me solve this case, and saves the life of an innocent man.’

  ‘Is your husband truly accused of murder?’

  Olivia nodded. ‘Now, pray tell, do you know anything about Mrs Frank’s miscarriages?’

  A whispered, ‘Yes.’

  Olivia waited. Miss Shepherd chewed on the inside of her cheek.

  ‘Well?’

  She heaved a sigh. ‘It was terrible. She was with child five times, and every time — always around the fourth month, I believe — she would fall ill. She would be pale, feverish, and have bad stomach aches. And then she would bleed and lose the child. The doctors and midwives couldn’t do anything about it.’

  ‘Hum.’ Olivia pinned a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘You said you were accused of having taken jewellery from her. Do you know what the piece was, and if it was ever recovered?’

  ‘It was a treasured family heirloom, handed down from her grandmother to her mother, and then herself. I saw her wear it only once. It was a golden necklace.’

  ‘Could you describe it?’

  ‘Yes, I remember it very well because it was so unusual. A broad choker necklace. From the colonies…India, she said.’

  ‘And has it ever been found?’

  ‘No, not as far as I know.’

  ‘Does Mr Perkin have family?’

  The change of topic seemed to startle Miss Shepherd. She hesitated, then shook her head.

  ‘But?’ Olivia tried.

  Miss Shepherd looked up. ‘There is no but. He doesn’t have a wife. No children. I just wondered why.’

  ‘You’ve never asked him?’

  ‘I…did. He said he was unable to provide for them. I found this…odd.’

  ‘A debt, perhaps? Is he a gambler?’

  ‘No. He works hard. Very hard.’

  ‘Odd indeed.’ She looked to Mrs Muir, who had been listening silently throughout.

  Later in the afternoon, Olivia was admitted to Coroner Baxter’s offices, but the clerk told her that the coroner could not see her. Not this week, and not the following week. Seething, Olivia took a cab home, but halfway there she called up to the driver that she wished to go to the Leman Street police station instead.

  * * *

  ‘Inspector Height, thank you for seeing me. I promise I’ll take only a minute of your time.’ Without invitation, she sat in same chair Rose had used the previous day, took off her bonnet, and placed it on Height’s desk.

  Height arranged his papers and gazed at her through a haze of cigarette smoke and the unmistakable stench of onion sandwiches.

  ‘Now that we know that Johnston died of a contact poison, and that Mrs Frank was the last patient he attended to — a patient who died the same night he did — it might be prudent to confiscate the clothes Mrs Frank wore that night so we can send them to Dr Barry.’

  Height merely grunted.

  ‘Coroner Baxter won’t see me. I wished to ask him about recent cases of poisoning with aconitine. There is a possibility that Johnston was accidentally poisoned, and that there might be other such cases.’

  ‘There are none.’

  ‘Are you sure? What about poison cases in other divisions?’

  ‘I can assure you that there are none.’ His gaze remained flat.

  Sighing, she leant back in her chair. ‘Mr Height, I do understand that you wish me to leave as quickly as possible. I also understand that all I might say has no credibility whatsoever because of how I was forced to live. But for the sake of my husband, I beg you to overcome your…aversions. Aid me in solving this case.’

  Height rubbed his face. ‘Mrs Sévère, I feel currently quite unable to care much about your beliefs on aversions or poison cases. All I know is that there are no new aconitia poisonings, and no deaths that appear similar to that of Dr Johnston. Should one occur, I will send word.’

  Again, he arranged the papers on his desk. Obviously, Olivia had been dismissed.

  ‘Very well,’ she said and stood.

  When she reached the door, she stopped and turned back to Height. ‘You wouldn’t know any particulars about Mr Frank’s recent investments with the London Joint Stock Bank, would you?’

  Height slowly lifted his head.

  ‘Given that said investment happened shortly before his wife’s demise.’ She shrugged, placed the bonnet on her head, and turned the doorknob. ‘But…it’s probably not important. Have a good day, Inspector.’

  ‘Shut the door.’

  She forced the smile off her face as she pushed the door into its frame, and turned back to Height.

  ‘Enlighten me, Mrs Sévère. What is the reason for the Chief Magistrate’s interest in your husband?’

  An unexpected question, especially coming from Height. ‘He is not interested in my husband, and you know it.’

  ‘A mere suspicion. So he knew you as a…prostitute?’

  She kept her face blank. ‘Did you believe I would throw myself onto Johnston?’

  He jerked back in his chair. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Your odd reaction to my presence at Johnston’s exhumation. A naked man and a whore in one place can only mean one thing, can it not?’

  A fleck of spittle flew from his mouth when Height burst out snorting. He rubbed his face, and said, ‘My apologies, but did you think…’ He gaped. ‘You do believe that was why Dr Taylor was hesitant to undress Johnston, why his assistants were nervous, and I asked you if you needed assistance? Has it occurred to you that we were worried the sight of a weeks-old corpse might distress you?’

  ‘I attended Dr Taylor’s postmortem examination of Dr Johnston entirely without fainting.’

  Height shook his head. ‘And is one to deduce from this that nothing can faze you? Taylor and I have witnessed enough policemen faint or grow ill at the sight of a corpse. Even those who aren’t novices to it. However, you are not entirely mistaken in your interpretation. I imagine it was somewhat disconcerting for the medical men to be with a former prostitute in the presence of one’s peers.’

  ‘You imagine?’ She laughed.

  Height leant forward and rested his elbows on his desk, ‘Was the Chief Magistrate a regular client or lover of yours, before you married Gavriel Sévère?’

  ‘It’s of no importance,’ she said and made to leave.

  ‘Even if — purely theoretical, of course — a Police Inspector begins to suspect that Mr Frost’s unusual interest in Mr Sévère’s case might be a little…sinister?’

  She froze. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Nothing that would allow me to confront him.’

  Olivia considered this, but didn’t speak.

  ‘At the very least tell me this: does he have reason for revenge?’

  She cocked her head. ‘Reason? No. There is no reasonable explanation for that man’s behaviour. However, if I were to make a witness statement as to the past seven years of knowing a man carnally, and how I came to practice a particular occupation, would a jury believe what I had to say?’

  She saw the cogwheels turn in Height’s skull. He blinked once, then dropped his gaze. ‘They might or might not. But now is not the time to find out.’

  Courtesan

  Dearest Olivia,

  Please accept my apology for my failure to attend today’s assembly of the detectives extraordinaire. Although I’m quite sure the suffering is exclusively on my side, for I do enjoy the magic that comes out of your kitchen. By the by — is your cook pretty and unmarried?

  The excuse for my absence is rather dull: I’m currently representing a client whose true name must not be revealed, lest certain criminal factions make my life a little less enjoyable. But I can say this much — the man is giving me a constant headache.

  To get to the main point of these ramblings: Employing special methods, I was able to extract crucial information from Mr Winspear of London Joint Stock Ba
nk. He tells me that his client Mr Frank co-owns a small gold mine in some terribly hot place in Africa, and that he purchased a pretty apartment at 82 Gloucester Terrace, Regent’s Park, eighteen month ago.

  Mr Winspear assures me that none of this is in any way as sinister as one might believe, although all of it has been kept from Mrs Frank’s eyes and ears. Whenever Mr Winspear visits Mr Frank, their hushed conversations take place behind closed doors.

  Yours respectfully,

  William

  * * *

  PS: Oh, how I wish I could be a fly on your bonnet when you visit Mr Frank’s lady at Gloucester Terrace. For a lady it must be!

  ‘Hum,’ Sévère said and lowered the letter onto his thigh. Olivia was perched next to him on the too-short hammock, her hips and shoulders wedged against his.

  She tapped the tips of her shoes to the puddle on the floor. ‘Higgins is loitering at Gloucester Terrace to find out who lives there. It’s easy to assume Mr Frank has a mistress, but what if…it’s not what we expect?’ Olivia shrugged. ‘It’s just that…there is this tangle of information, and some days I believe everyone is a suspect. And I wanted you to read this and share your thoughts with me before I talk to her.’

  ‘It feels like walking on quicksand, doesn’t it?’ Sévère mused, observing the small splashes she made on the floor of his cell. ‘It is always the next step that is the most important, but you can’t quite decide where to place your foot.’

  She ceased the tapping. ‘An apt description.’

  ‘Have you ever asked yourself why Mrs Appleton was so skittish?’

  Olivia opened her mouth, but only a hollow, ‘Ah,’ came out.

  ‘It would be easy to use Netty’s behaviour as a reference point, just as it would be wrong. So tell me, Olivia, when did Mrs Appleton appear nervous?’

  ‘She was nervous when we questioned her — when you questioned her — the day after her mistress died, and when I questioned her again a day later.’

  ‘Under which circumstances precisely?’ Sévère asked.