by Issy Brooke
Simeon left the water to come to the boil, and went to the box – or what remained of it, after they had smashed it to pieces to get at the contents. “They are rather gaudy.”
“But worth a great deal of money. With the sale of Rosedene, and these jewels, Tobias will be set up for life.”
“What little there remains of it.”
“Hush now. We will bring this to an end – and soon.”
MARIANNE WENT OUT THAT morning, her evening gown hidden under the large cloak, and used the last of the money she had borrowed from Jack to buy herself a plain, serviceable dark gown in shades of brown, and a decent bonnet. Gloves were expensive and she was wearing some that she found in Simeon’s chest of stage costumes. The air was chilly and the fog was coming down, settling in her chest and making her cough. She could keep the cloak pulled tight around herself in such weather, and she didn’t look too out of place in the mass of variety that thronged London’s streets. She wouldn’t have been able to walk through a village square without attracting notice, but the city was a world of its own.
She went first to Inspector Gladstone, who was busy in a meeting, but one of his policemen told her where she might find Tobias and led her down to the cells himself. She was not allowed in, and not allowed to be alone, but she was able to call through the bars. Half a dozen men were all together in the dark, smelly room. One of them cuffed Tobias on the back of the head, laughing, shoving him forward to the bars of the door.
“Are you all right? Have they harmed you?” she asked.
He spoke in a very low voice. “They have not. One or two of them, they look after me, on account of...” and he indicated his injured leg. “They’re not such bad men. They have stories. But ... what is going to happen to me?”
“I’ve come to tell you not to worry,” she told him, firmly. “I am going to get you released from here.”
“Now?” he cried in delight.
Her heart broke, just a little. “No, but soon. Just as soon as we can. So do not lose hope.”
She had to leave before she lost control of herself. She could not bear to see him in that vile, filthy place. The policeman was almost smiling at her distress as he led her away and said, “Well, miss, but what did you expect it to be like?”
WHEN SHE GOT BACK TO Simeon’s place, she was surprised and delighted to find Phoebe there.
“Have you come alone?” Marianne cried, rushing into her cousin’s embrace.
“I did!” Phoebe said, her eyes wide. “It was such a thrill! I told Emilia and Mr Barrington where I was going but I have sworn them to utmost secrecy unless I do not return home by this evening. Then they may raise any alarm that they see fit. But yes, I travelled on the train alone and I walked through the streets alone, like any common woman!”
She was dressed in dowdy clothing, and Marianne approved until she realised that Phoebe had actually borrowed her own travelling jacket. But she pushed that aside when Phoebe unwrapped the package she had brought with her.
“I thought you would need clothes so – Simeon, look away! These are ladies’ things! – so I have brought as much as I could find. Emilia and Nettie helped.”
“Oh, thank you!” Marianne scooped up the bundle of necessary items and took them off to the room she had now commandeered as her own bedroom. When she came back out, feeling a great deal fresher and more comfortable, Simeon was bringing some cups of tea over on a tray.
“How is my father?”
“He is utterly livid. He has had to be sedated. Mrs Crouch called for a doctor.”
“Oh my. Oh, I am so sorry to have brought all of this down at your door, Phoebe. You too, Simeon. I feel as if I have wrought a trail of disaster that has affected everyone I care about.”
“You are totally and utterly the most strong and moral and upright and perfectly correct person that I know,” Phoebe said, sitting close to her and patting her hands. “Believe that. I support you completely and so does everyone else.” She paused, and glared at Simeon until he stammered out, “Oh, yes, we do.”
“You see?” Phoebe went on. “So, what is your plan to make it all straight again?”
Marianne nearly laughed with exhaustion and confusion and anxiety. “Oh, the usual,” she said, artificially light. “A fake séance. It worked last time, after all.”
Phoebe frowned. “It did, but that was a totally different situation. I had an idea, you know.” She looked down coquettishly.
“What is it?”
Phoebe giggled. “Oh, it’s silly.”
“Fair enough, I shan’t ask.”
“Oh, play the game!”
Marianne sighed wearily. “Please, please, please tell me your wonderful idea.”
“We set the house on fire and she has to come out into the open.”
“Er – no. We cannot do that. That’s Tobias’s legacy; if it is destroyed, he gets nothing.”
“No, I should say, we simply pretend. Simeon can do it. Don’t they make artificial smoke in the theatres? Don’t they conjure up fire and flames on the stage? If she hears the crackle and she smells the smoke, surely she won’t risk being burned to death.”
Simeon said, “We could do that. With time. It is not something I have done but I know people who can do it.”
Marianne nodded. “We could. But I have a much better idea that is far more certain to work, and will also confirm exactly why I think Mrs Newman remains hiding in Rosedene.”
“Which is?”
“She thinks the jewels are still hidden there. We shall demonstrate to her that they are, and she will seek them out, and we will catch her red-handed. All will fall into place.”
“And we will use the real jewels?” Simeon asked, nodded at the shards of wood around the bag of jewellery.
“Not ... not exactly,” Marianne replied. “This part is down to you, Simeon. Phoebe, we shall need your help again, if you would. How would you like to play the part of a medium once more?”
“I’d be delighted,” she replied, bouncing up and down.
“And we need one more,” Marianne said. “If he is still willing to talk to me.”
“Jack Monahan?”
“The same. And once this is over, we must find him a suitable wife.”
Phoebe shook her head. “Now we are straying into fantasies and impossible dreams,” she said. She stood up and gathered her things. “I should go home. They will miss me although I have let it be known I have a headache and am not to be disturbed. My mother probably thinks I have said it just to escape from her.”
“She is still there?” Marianne asked, getting up to help Phoebe with her cloak.
“She is.”
“I thought she would leave now I am gone.”
“She plans to ... just as soon as she has, in her words, made everything straight.”
“Dear God. Will she never go? The only option left is poison, isn’t it?”
Phoebe gripped Marianne’s forearms tightly, and said in a fierce voice, “Yes. Just a little. But, yes.”
Twenty-three
“It is very much based on the same thing that I was making for those Clay brothers,” Simeon told her that evening as they dined on jellied eels and brown, lumpy bread soaked in a broth that the street seller had assured them was “beef”. There was a fishy taint to it, and it wasn’t due to the eels, which were perfect.
Marianne grinned as she watched him demonstrate the workings of the small cabinet.
“It is exactly what I had hoped for,” she said with glee.
It was a wooden box, about three inches high and polished to let it slide without anything snagging. The bed in the Grand Bedroom was close to the floor but there was a gap. The box would be pushed far underneath, far enough to be out of sight. Projecting from the top edge was a long thin wooden strip, much like a ruler but with a groove in it, and with a piece of metal at the end. This would be hidden from view and only found by a finger-tip search.
When the metal square was depressed with enough force
, it would release a catch in the box, revealing a very strong magnet. The box would move – rather quickly, unfortunately, with no way of slowing it down – firing along the grooved wooden strip to reveal itself as it shot out from underneath the bed. It would trap unwary fingers, but that was unavoidable.
When the box was opened, it would reveal the jewels.
This was their sticking point, and the exercise which took them most of the day. Marianne had not wanted to have the jewels on show. She insisted that Simeon explore ways of projecting the image of the jewels, using mirrors, just like she had seen in the theatre.
It was not possible. Not at such a short distance. “This is stage trickery,” he had said, over and over. “At close quarters, it is obvious. And I would need a strong light, and more depth to the box, for anything like Pepper’s Ghost.”
So the real, actual jewellery would be laid in the box, which made her profoundly uneasy. Opening the box primed the system of thin wires. The act of reaching in and taking them would unleash a snare to snap around the wrist. At this point, the person would be stuck fast, at least to the box. Marianne wanted some kind of net to fall from the ceiling, too, but that was also vetoed by Simeon.
“By this point, we will be in the room,” he had argued.
“We will be rushing through the house.” The séance had to take place in another part of the house, and various other elaborate plays had to be acted out – or Mrs Newman would never be convinced.
“We can do it.”
“We will need Jack.” And once more she got up and paced through the room, staring out of the window for a messenger bringing a reply to her note.
The infuriating man was certainly making her sweat.
IN THE END, HER IMPATIENCE got the better of her. Now dressed in more comfortable, everyday clothing, she set forth out into the late afternoon. She was equipped to go straight on to Rosedene if possible, to set the trap before they conducted the séance itself. She had the cabinet, the jewels, and a terrifying feeling of impending disaster making butterflies dance in her stomach.
There was so much that could go wrong, not least the fact that she was in the crime-filled London streets hiding valuable trinkets about her person.
Immediately, she was accosted by street food vendors. At this time of day, the streets were busy with workers rushing home, and it was a popular time to buy food. The crowd around her was heading to the nearest railway station and the crush was immense as people fought to leave the city and she had to push against the flow. She bought as much food as she could get for a farthing and ate in a quiet corner, screened by a fancy column, and hoped that no one of importance saw her eating so publicly.
“Good evening. You have pie juice on your chin.”
“Jack.” She dabbed at her face with her glove. “Ugh.”
“When did I stop being Mr Monahan?”
She was surprised but she hoped she didn’t show it. She’d called him Jack in her head since she had met him. “I – don’t recall. Forgive me.”
“No, no. I like it. You’ve missed a bit. Here.” He took a monogrammed handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and wiped her cheek. She tried not to recoil, and accepted his ministrations as mutely as a child being fussed by a nurse.
“Are you fallen back into your old habit of stalking me?” she asked, trying to sound annoyed.
“Actually no. Although that was fun, wasn’t it? No; I have received your note and I was on my way to see you.”
“Oh, thank goodness.”
“It was somewhat cryptic. Shall we return to Simeon’s place, and you can tell me all about it?”
“No,” she said. “In fact, I am on my way to Rosedene right now, and I hope you can accompany me.”
“Ah, more breaking and entering,” he said, falling into step alongside her.
“Only partly so. As a matter of fact, I have a key,” she said. “And I will give it to you when we get there. As for me, I shall indeed be breaking in.”
“This sounds to be a curious adventure indeed. And the purpose of all this?”
“To lay the groundwork for tomorrow’s séance, of course.”
“Oh, not again.”
“Yes, again. And I should be delighted if you would be one of our guests.”
He groaned. “Why do I agree to be mixed up in all of this?”
“Because we are to find you a wife!”
“Hmm.”
“And because you enjoy adventure and anything that is a little beyond the humdrum of everyday life,” she said.
“Oh no,” he said. “Those are your own reasons, you wanton harridan.”
She shrugged.
“AH. ROSEDENE,” JACK said, looking at the name etched into the stone pillar at the bottom of the driveway.
“Thank you so much for assisting with this.” She had grown serious as they approached the house. Now it was the dark of early evening, and the street lamps were few out in the suburbs.
“Not at all. When we are done here – well, when my part is done – I shall be back in town in time for the first hand of cards at my club.”
She passed him the key that she had been given by Inspector Gladstone. “If we both count to one hundred, that should give me enough time to get into my place before you begin.”
“Yes. Well, go then.”
She slipped away around the side of the house. It was almost fully dark here and the starlight did not penetrate the overhanging trees but she kept her hand outstretched and touching the dark bulk of the house, and she had been this way before anyway. She reached the shadowy crevice that contained the door that had been left open on her previous visit.
She waited, still counting, until she reached one hundred. Then she waited a little longer. Jack would be unlocking the door with great flamboyance and noise, and walking into the hall about now. If Mrs Newman was hiding in the house, this would attract her attention. Meanwhile, it was now time for Marianne to slip into the house via the back way.
She bent and unlaced her boots, and held them in her hands as she tiptoed along the freezing cold floor. If she was going to make a habit of creeping around houses, she’d have to invest in some silent shoes. Maybe overshoes made of felt? She filed that idea away for later. She reached the large central hallway and stopped, hiding herself behind the door that opened out in the vast space.
Jack was still there, calling out, “Hello? Is anybody here? Oh, bother.” He gave an exaggerated sigh and walked out, making each footfall deliberate and heavy. The door was locked again behind him. He had not wanted to be stuck on the outside while she did what she had to do, but it was the only way to draw Mrs Newman’s attention away.
Marianne hoped that this distraction had been enough. Without it, she had run the risk of encountering Mrs Newman unexpectedly. But with Mrs Newman’s attention bent on Jack, she would not have noticed Marianne also slipping in.
What she should do next was still unclear. Marianne tried to put herself in Mrs Newman’s shoes. What would she be likely to do now? If she thought that she was alone once more, she would go about her business.
The more urgent question was this: exactly what was her business?
So Marianne waited in the darkness, listening so hard that the sound of her own heartbeat threatened to overwhelm her.
She went rigid. She heard footsteps, slow and measured, passing overhead, just thuds on the carpeting. Then the walker had moved onto wooden floors and their boots sounded louder as they went to the uninhabited wing of the house. A door opened and closed.
Marianne waited but the door did not sound again and the house was utterly silent.
She couldn’t stay where she was any longer. She took a deep breath and crept up the stairs, but she did not follow the direction of the footsteps. Instead she turned to the left and headed for the Grand Bedroom once again. She entered as noiselessly as she could, and was pleased to find that the curtains were open. Enough light was coming from the stars and the moon from this angle, to cast the
room in shades of grey. She could make out the furniture and the general layout.
She slipped over to the bed and put the box on the floor. It fitted with just a few eighths of an inch to spare. Carefully she attached the long grooved strip, arranged the magnet, and pushed it deep underneath the bed. It could just be detected if you curled your fingers up and under the edge of the bed.
She knew that she should now leave, immediately. But she remembered what Simeon had said previously: the phonograph, or whatever was causing the noise, did not have to look like a phonograph. While she was here, then, she could not resist searching again. She began a fresh fingertip search of the place with one particular aim: this time, she was looking for anything that might be some part of a phonograph.
She examined the lamp on the dresser. She pressed every inch of the dresser itself. She peered behind chairs, under chairs, and worked her way right over, under and along the magnificent four-poster bed.
It had carvings in the massive posts, and the bed base seemed solid but as she went, using her fingers as much as her eyes, something moved. Her heart nearly stopped. She worked at the hidden drawer hastily and it slid out after much prodding.
It was empty.
It was not large enough to hide anything like a phonograph, and if some noise-making device had been hidden in there, how had it been operated and how had the noise escaped from the drawer? It was a dead end. Except that now she was certain where the jewellery had originally been hidden. She pushed the drawer closed again and continued on her search.