Agatha & the Scarlet Scarab

by Karl Fish

  As the minutes turned to hours, the slightest dapple of early morning sunlight splintered the fractured joists and speckled the desktop in front of him. Much to his relief, not a single insect could be seen. Their twilight hours were now gone for another day. The light was limited but he could just make out a few items on the desk. A spilt inkpot with accompanying quill splayed out near him. A couple of half-spherical paperweights, amazingly not with creatures entombed but bright flower heads. There was also the quarter-burned letter he had used to start off the candle. The corner was completely ruined, and just charred soot edging remained where it once presided. It was odd that it was perfectly left in the centre of the desk amidst such destruction, and almost impeccably intact. The Major unfurled and moved his hands into the subtle sprinkling of light to pull it closer for further examination.

  The front of the letter had been addressed to the Professor but the name and address had been struck through messily with ink and quill – no doubt the one now scattered across the desk.

  At the top of the letter, just above the scribbled-out line of the addressee: Professor Meredith Malco – on account of the burned-out corner, it now read, Major Boyd Colling.

  It was missing the dale suffix but as childlike as the hastily scribbled writing was it was definitely re-addressed to his self. The Major was completely perplexed. Why on earth would the Professor re-address a personal letter to him?

  Still, with little light at his disposal and time on his hands, he decided to open the letter anyway. The paper was folded into three and as it unravelled, it was evident the whole left-hand side had been a victim of the match strike hour’s prior. The sender’s address was all but vanished. The content, however, was relatively well intact.

  Dearest Professor Malco….

  I believe yourself or …. ………...

  in grave danger.

  Please contact me at yo.. ……. ………..

  Yours sincerely

  Professor G Belch……

  Collingdale drew a huge breath and read the letter over and over again. Its message was clear if somewhat missing the burned-away content, Professor G Belch, whoever that was, was warning the Professor. And now Professor Meticulous Meredith Malcolm lay dead just feet away from him. Perhaps it wasn’t an accident after all. Coincidence, maybe? An airstrike that happened to cover a more sinister event? Surely not. No air force in the world could pinpoint such a strike.

  The sunrise couldn’t come soon enough. The visibility in the laboratory was still too poor to examine the letter and envelope in more detail. The addressee’s details may have been missing from the letter itself but once in the true light of day, he could examine it in far greater detail. Who was Professor G Belch?

  ‘Sir? Sir, are you still in there?’ came the welcome sound of two actuaries with fully charged battery torches that shone beams of light into the remains of the laboratory.

  A full cheek puff of relief exhaled through the Major’s fine moustache, which had seen a few insect invaders during that long night, came at last.

  ‘Here, at the desk!’ Collingdale called out. ‘Shine your light over here.’

  Through the fractured joists and plasterwork, over the fallen glass and exhibitions, the Major trod a weary path as he could finally find his way back. Clutching in one hand the letter addressed to Professor Malcolm and in the other The Peacekeeper.

  ‘Have you been in there all night, sir?’ one of them asked.

  A solid nod came from the army man with The Peacekeeper now tucked under his right arm as he opened and re-read the letter. Looking at the two staff who were now at his disposal, he quickly formed a plan.

  ‘Divide and conquer today,’ he announced. ‘Two actions to be concluded by the end of the day.’ Pointing to the first person, a slim man, he ordered him to direct all staff who came back to work to immediately make their way to the laboratory. ‘I have unfortunate news. A cadaver remains within this dark cavern. I fear it is our Professor. All staff are to continue the excavation and supporting structure of this area to ensure we have smooth access to the body and to make more sense of what has happened here.’

  The first actuary scribbled notes furiously, nodded, and dutifully made their way to the Museum entrance to start directions. The second, shorter man, waited with pen in hand for the Major’s next order.

  ‘I need you to help me understand the origin of this letter,’ he advised, unfolding the paper burned down one side.

  The actuary lent forward and held the letter up. The light was still too hard to read anything with clarity.

  ‘Leave it with me, Major. I have a few ideas but need to get this into the light.’

  ‘You lose that on pain of death. Do you hear?’ Collingdale barked.

  The short man nodded, all too well-versed in the Major’s style, then light-footed made they made their way through the cavernous halls of the Museum together.

  Collingdale, exhausted from his sleepless and foodless night, composed himself and marched towards his office. He rarely entered it and preferred much more to be hands-on but only in his office did he have the ledger of the next of kin. There he would find Professor Malcolm’s address and spouse’s name before he made a trip he did not wish to make.

  ****

  ‘Rise and shine, sleepyhead,’ Gideon’s enthusiastic charms echoed into Aggie’s room. They were wasted on his niece so early in the morning. Purrsia the cat offered a disapproving ‘Meow’ as Gideon entered and sat down beside them, disturbing their perfect slumber. Nan followed close behind carrying a breakfast tray that had the rare luxury of both boiled egg & soldiers with crispy bacon. Both girl and cat were lured out of the warm blankets by the overpowering smell of deliciousness.

  ‘A treat for a unique day,’ Gideon enthused.

  Aggie, who had never attended school, not in the traditional sense, did not share her uncle’s enthusiasm. For as long as she could remember, Florrie had been primary carer and governess. She had been a teacher who was strict but fair. Her schooling had been that of structured reading, writing, and arithmetic as most modern staples demanded, and would often last from post-morning breakfast to midday. Afternoons allowed her to pursue more practical matters. Now, this is where her great aunt was somewhat of a revolutionary. Traditionally, needlecraft and pursuits designed to improve ‘One’s posture’ were considered ideal for the so-called fairer sex. Aunt Florrie couldn’t agree less. ‘Absolute poppycock!’ as she would say. So, in her matriarchal single-mindedness, each day of the week had dedicated themes and dedicated visiting teachers. Five different governesses supporting Florrie for the five days of the week, excluding weekends – of course.

  Mondays began with Governess Fairfax, where practical training and physical exercise were employed to blow away the cobwebs of restful weekends. Afternoons alternated between modern languages and physical education. Of course, Florrie was too old to exhaust herself but would instead employee wilful experts in their fields. An ex-military man to run Aggie through her paces around Hyde Park, a professional fencer to teach her to parry the foil. She even remembered a sparring bout with a boxer from Bethnal Green, broken-nose Barry, although Florrie herself had admitted she might have been a little too young for that encounter. There had been so many different experts, Aggie could not remember them all but what she had preferred out of everything were cross-country runs. They were a tonic to the morning teachings that could so often drag and become repetitive.

  Tuesdays with Miss Grace were dedicated to science and again where appropriate, her great aunt employed professionals for occasional visits. Aggie recalled vividly a faulty Bunsen burner in the basement, which almost blew up the house.

  Religious education, cultures of the world, art, and art history were the Wednesday preserve of Miss Woes. It had always struck Aggie how the two worlds of art and religion were so often inadvertently intertwined, regardless of faith. On Thursdays, it was geography with Miss Fargo. Map reading, orientation, capital cities, and very rarely a
visit to the Maritime Museums of Greenwich to understand how centuries of stargazing and pioneer had allowed humans to navigate the globe.

  Finally, on Fridays, Miss Lovegood, and a full recap of the past four days where she was tested by Florrie as the five tutors gathered altogether just on that day. She feared Fridays the most and, in particular, letting them down.

  It was safe to say that despite being a bright and attentive student she longed for the long runs her aunt rarely afforded her away from the house. It was during these jaunts she thought long and hard about almost everything, particularly her parents.

  So now, after all these years of almost isolated teaching, she was actually going to embark on schooling, with other students of her own age, in a strange village, miles away from home. What’s more, Lyle could be lying in wait in any passageway.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, Aggie. It really will not be that bad,’ Gideon reassured her.

  Aggie wasn’t easily convinced. Gideon had still not explained the cloak-and-dagger essence of her arrival, and last night someone had sought to attack her. She felt nothing else could be so bad. She longed to see Florrie and yet, again, Gideon would not divulge anything other than she was still alive.

  ‘I have a surprise for you!’ Gideon exclaimed, and briefly left the room.

  ‘Please, eat. Don’t let get cold,’ Nan told her in her unusual accent. ‘If you don’t eat, I will eat. Eggs are very rare thing now.’

  Aggie was all too aware of what luxury this breakfast was. As privileged as her life had been with Florrie, there was still rationing, and eggs, bread, and bacon commanded great prices. Particularly if they were procured on the black market.

  Aggie dipped a soldier into the succulent deep yellow yolk and savoured its rich taste. Purrsia the cat had managed to snaffle a strand of fatty pork rind, and it hung like a mouse’s tail from his mouth and whiskers.

  ‘Here it is,’ Gideon said enthusiastically as he presented a grey set of clothes in front of his niece.

  ‘What are those?’ she replied in a reluctant tone, mouth half full.

  ‘What are these?’ he replied indignantly. ‘This is your school uniform.’

  He held aloft the clothing for all to see. In front of him was a grey jacket, its lapels piped with a blue and white edging. The breast pocket had a dark shadow where once a school badge had been displayed but was now no longer present. A skirt, ankle-length, was also grey but just below the waistline, a band of elasticated blue ran around it. A white collarless shirt accompanied it, as did a straw boater that was frayed at the edges and had definitely seen better days.

  ‘It’s vile,’ Aggie replied.

  ‘It’s Ambledown Priory colours,’ Gideon replied defensively. ‘I wore these colours, as did your mother. You should be proud.’

  ‘She wore those colours?’

  ‘Your mother wore these colours. That’s right.’ Her uncle accentuated the fact they had actually belonged to her mother.

  Aggie paused. The light bulb suddenly flickered in her head while fear enveloped her. She started scrabbling around looking for the blue velvet box and magnifying glass it protected inside. The only item she had owned of her mother’s she had forgotten about it for the second time in one day.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s safe,’ Gideon advised his niece knowingly.

  ‘I want it. It is mine.’

  ‘That it is, but I think for today I will keep it safe. Can’t risk losing it on your first day at school.’

  ‘And what if I refuse to go to school?’ Aggie argued back.

  ‘Then I’ll refuse to tell you where it is.’

  ‘I’ll go to the police.’

  ‘And tell them what, Aggie? Your own uncle kidnapped you from bomb-ridden London and brought you to the peace and quiet of the country?’

  ‘Mysteriously kidnapped me, more like. And if that’s what it takes. After all, you don’t even want people knowing we’re related. Do you?’

  ‘They won’t pay any attention to you. There’s a war on, child. Don’t you realise?’

  ‘Don’t you realise all you do is treat me like a small child. I have faced air-raids almost every night in London. I’m not five years old!’

  The instant agitated volley from the teenager was unexpected.

  Gideon recalled how quickly his twin and himself would fly into sibling spats at the drop of a hat. His niece, orphaned and isolated with Florrie for so long still possessed her mother’s unbreakable spirit and, unsurprisingly, after the past few days she’d had, was not in the frame of mind to be agreeable to his every decision. Gideon retracted from a full-on argument.

  ‘I’m your guardian, Aggie. I’m just trying to protect you,’ Gideon responded in a more conciliatory tone.

  ‘How? By keeping secrets from me, and never telling me what is really going on?’

  ‘It’s compli–’

  ‘–cated?’ Aggie shouted, finishing her uncle’s sentence.

  A verbal joust with his niece who quite clearly was everything her mother had been would get him nowhere.

  ‘Fine, you can have your precious box. If you lose it, then it’s yours to lose. But I have important business to conclude and I cannot babysit you all day. You’re right, you’re not a child anymore. School will keep you safe. It’s up to you.’

  ‘I don’t need babysitting,’ Aggie instantly responded.

  ‘That’s absolutely fine. School it is.’ He smiled back calmly.

  Gideon left the room. Aggie pulled at her strange new haircut and let out a frustrated scream. Purrsia fled in fear.

  Nan, who had sat back quietly during the entire remonstration picked up the school clothes and held them up in front of the adolescent girl.

  ‘Your mother wear these. Her initials are inside.’

  Aggie’s temporary anger subsided as the housekeeper passed the clothes over. Aggie turned the jacket inside out and began scouring the labels for ink or stitched initials.

  ‘Your uncle loves you very much. He lost his sister, he was her twin, and he had known her all his life. And he worries every moment of day he lose you too.’

  Aggie was listening but not responding, belligerence being a common family trait.

  ‘Perhaps you go to school? You be safe,’ Nan concluded, removing the breakfast tray as she left the room.

  Aggie searched in vain but couldn’t find any initials inside the grey suit jacket. Instead, she decided to try it on for size. She wondered how old her mother had been when she had first worn it. By the condition of the hat, it had certainly been worn a lot.

  Gideon was seated in his parlour. In front of him a series of cartographer’s tools and ordnance maps were placed across the floor; far too big for any desk. Two taps came from the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he answered.

  ‘How do I look?’ Aggie asked.

  ‘Apart from our attempts at a haircut, you look quite the part. You wear it well, Aggie. It suits you. Well, the cuffs are obviously too long, but apart from that, perfect.’ Uncle Gideon approached his niece and helped turn the cuffs inside out. ‘This is yours,’ he said, handing her the blue velvet box she had coveted so much during the argument. ‘Be sure to look after it.’ He smiled.

  ‘I will,’ she replied before tip-toeing up to place a small peck on his cheek.

  There was a double thud at the front door.

  ‘Giddy, Giddy! It’s freezing out ’ere. Urry Up!’ came Eric Peabody’s cockney chime.

  ‘Your escort party has arrived.’ Gideon squirmed at his niece

  Aggie raised an eyebrow to her uncle as he proceeded to open the door.

  Eric’s exuberant face was already peering through the letterbox as the door opened. Eric, his older sister Elizabeth, and younger sister Gemima were huddled on the stairs, breathing into their clasped hands and trying to keep warm.

  ‘It’s brass monkeys out ’ere today. You got a coat?’ Eric asked Aggie.

  ‘I’m not sure. Have I got a coat, Uncle?’ Aggie asked
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br />   ‘Let’s just check. Sorry while I keep out the chill,’ Gideon responded, closing the door to the freezing Peabodys.

  ‘Charming!’ Eric shouted from outside.

  ‘Remember, for everybody’s sake, I am not your uncle. Just your evacuation host. OK?’

  ‘If you say so,’ Aggie replied nonchalantly.

  ‘Aggie, it’s very serious. We have a lot of history here and I cannot risk some people knowing. I will tell you as much as I can tonight. I promise you. Everything will become clear and Cairo will be explained in full.’

  Aggie welcomed the news but was nervous as to what Gideon had held back. Despite her years of demanding answers from her great aunt, who barely even acknowledged the facts, she had never really thought through the consequences of such revelations. For the time being, it allowed her to take her mind off of last night’s encounter with Lyle and focus her thoughts on questioning Gideon after school.

  ‘So, what’s my surname? I’m bound to be asked my surname. It’s a bit peculiar if we were not related but we had the same name,’ she said.

  ‘You’re right. It’s Chatsmore. Agatha Chatsmore. If you forget just think of all those cats from Cecile’s. Lots of them – More – and the French for cat – chat. Chats-more. Simple.’

  Aggie just smiled and opened the door. Wearing her mother’s slightly oversized uniform and a long grey cloak her uncle had just provided her, she alighted the stairs to where the Peabodys were waiting.

  ‘Urry up then!’ Eric shouted. ‘Don’t want any of the Brothers to cane me for lateness. Again!’ he laughed and skipped off with the eagerness of a young boy but the face of an adult man.

  ‘Ignore him, Agatha. He’s just Eric,’ came Elizabeth’s voice.

  ‘And you’re Elizabeth, right?’ Aggie replied.

  ‘Well-remembered. And this is our little Gem.’