The Secrets of Gaslight Lane

by M. R. C. Kasasian

  ‘It is difficult to see how. A coach would be too slow as would a cross-country journey on other lines. One would have to hire a special train but nobody took a special that night. I have checked.’

  I had another thought. ‘What if he smuggled the murderer into the house, went to Nuneaton and returned when the deed was done to sneak him out of the house again?’

  ‘A solution which has an element of charm in its naivety and does not completely lack elegance,’ my guardian conceded. ‘But how would he let his accomplice out? The house was sealed and it was swarming with policemen almost immediately afterwards, and so I must reluctantly place it near the back of the pending file of possible explanations.’

  ‘It might imply that Hesketh knew something was going to happen,’ I reasoned and Sidney Grice closed his book.

  ‘For once we are in complete agreement,’ he said. ‘Though whether he had any concept of what that something might be is another unresolved issue.’

  There was something hard in my mouth and I removed it as surreptitiously as I could. ‘I cannot think what motive Hesketh would have had – unless he benefited in Nathan Mortlock’s will.’ The hard piece was blue in my napkin.

  ‘He did not.’ My guardian cut a circular section out of the middle of his dinner and put it to one side. ‘I have communicated with his solicitors, the incomparable Madder, Lynn, O’Shay and Head, of Suez Square.’

  ‘In fact he could be putting himself out of a job,’ I pondered. The blue bit was a glass bead, I decided, and placed it on my side plate. ‘Cherry might not want a valet.’

  ‘Indeed not.’ He turned the disc upside down and reinserted it into his omelette.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ I scraped my plate clean.

  ‘Perhaps we should defer our plans until we discover the identity of our caller.’ He pushed his plate aside.

  I did not admit that I had heard nothing but, a minute later, I heard footsteps.

  ‘There’s a man outside who wants to be inside.’ Molly clutched her hands over her stomach. ‘He’s ever so handysome and wet. I like a wet man, dontn’t not you not, miss?’

  ‘What is his name?’ I asked before her employer did so less politely.

  Molly crossed her eyes and dealt with her itchy tooth. ‘It’s H… Hes… No, dontn’t not tell me… Hesk-buth.’

  ‘Close enough,’ I said and we followed her downstairs.

  45

  ✥

  The Conversion of Emergencies

  IT WAS COMING down hard, that filthy used bathwater that passes for rain in London, and the wind was whipping Hesketh’s umbrella up and the water under it. He came in gratefully.

  ‘I am so sorry to disturb you both,’ he panted, propping his umbrella in the stand.

  ‘And Miss Middleton,’ Molly prompted. ‘You disterved her too.’

  ‘It is a maid’s job to be disturbed,’ Mr G told her.

  ‘And I certainly am.’ Molly hung up Hesketh’s overcoat and bowler hat, and he shook his trousers in an effort to dry them.

  ‘Come through,’ I invited and we settled in the study, me and my godfather in our armchairs, with Hesketh declining my offer and taking a wooden chair for himself.

  Spirit was curled up on the hearth, her left whiskers crinkled from when she had lain too close to the grate.

  ‘I would not dream of calling at such an hour if it were not important.’

  ‘Has something ever so exciting happened?’ Molly hovered in the doorway. ‘Has a red-handed highwayman been terrorifying women in their beds?’

  ‘Tea,’ her employer rapped and she lumbered off.

  ‘What has happened?’ I asked.

  ‘How unlike you not to have told him,’ Mr G mumbled.

  ‘Miss Cherry came back this morning.’ Hesketh was still a little out of breath. ‘And she brought another detective with her. I believe you know of him.’

  ‘Charlatan Cockerel,’ my guardian breathed.

  ‘He brought four men to search the house.’

  ‘And did they discover anything?’ I asked.

  ‘They were very thorough,’ he replied. ‘They took everything out of all the drawers and cupboards and, to give them their due, they put it all neatly away again.’

  ‘It never fails to astonish me how people insist on converting an emergency into an anecdote,’ Sidney Grice grumbled.

  ‘Please go on.’ I reached down to stroke Spirit. Her fur was gritty with cold ashes.

  ‘They even brought a ladder and went into the loft.’ He wiped his face dry with a white handkerchief.

  ‘And did they find anything up there?’ I was trying hard not to take offence at his implication that Cochran was more meticulous than we had been.

  ‘Only the mantraps,’ Hesketh said.

  ‘I do hope something dreadful befell him.’ Sidney Grice brightened up.

  ‘They measured it all,’ Hesketh continued. ‘And Mr Cochran calculated that there was a secret chamber over Mr Mortlock’s bedroom.’

  I sat up but Mr G leaned back, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘They sent out for crowbars and sledgehammers and broke the wall down. It was hard going because it had been strengthened with iron bars and—’

  ‘Oh, do let me guess,’ Sidney Grice begged. ‘They found they had broken into the loft of the North wing.’

  ‘Quite so, sir.’ Hesketh folded his handkerchief. ‘Mr Mortlock was concerned when he divided Gethsemane because the loft space ran all the way along the house. He had reinforced partitions put in. I did inform Mr Cochran that this was the case, but he was adamant that his measurements were correct. Miss Cherry said he will have to pay to rectify it.’

  ‘Rapture of raptures.’ Sidney Grice clapped his hands. ‘Did any other disasters befall them?

  ‘I had never been in the loft before and I had not appreciated how fortified it was,’ Hesketh told him. ‘Long spikes have been fixed to the lathes – like a picture I saw of the defences against cavalry once.’ Hesketh winced. ‘One of the men trod on a spike and it went straight through his foot. They had great difficulty in getting him free and he had to be taken to the doctor’s.’

  ‘I do hope it was Spindoe,’ Mr G said eagerly.

  ‘I believe that was the gentleman’s name.’ Hesketh could not quite hide his distaste at my guardian’s glee.

  Sidney Grice brought his unusual display of exuberance under control. ‘But you have not come out on such a foul night just to bring us tidings of comfort and joy.’

  Hesketh mopped his face again, though more from distraction than to dry it, I thought. ‘Mr Cochran then interviewed all the domestic staff, starting with me.’

  ‘Clearly he has not demolished your well-constructed alibi or we should not be having this cosy fireside chat now,’ Mr G surmised.

  Hesketh’s mouth tightened but he made no rejoinder.

  ‘No, sir. They have arrested Veronique.’

  ‘Well, they got the wrong one there,’ Molly declared, backing in with the tray.

  ‘Have you met my new assistant?’ my guardian asked Hesketh.

  ‘Lord bless you, sir, ’course I have,’ Molly cackled. ‘I met Miss Middleton a small number of years ago.’

  ‘Mr Grice was not talking to you, Molly,’ I tried to explain, and she put the tray down warily.

  ‘Gawd, why not?’ Molly knocked her hat sideways. ‘Did he find that pillowcase what ripped itself when I was changering the beds and that I put at the bottom of the cupboard? Has he discoverered how I sneaked out the other day when you were at Miss Maud Lock’s house?’

  ‘He has now.’ I shushed her before any more confessions came tumbling out. ‘Why do you think the police had arrested the wrong person?’

  Her employer leaned forwards, his jaw resting on his fist. ‘Do share your wisdom,’ he implored.

  ‘Well,’ Molly leaned her elbow on the back of the chair as if it were a public bar, ‘Vernornic is such a lovely name and in all the things I’ve seen, wicked women have evil names
like…’ She twirled a lock of her hair around a finger. ‘Hagabag or Little Nell or…’ She noticed her employer’s expression and whispered, more loudly than she had spoken, ‘I’d better go now before you make him any grampier than he unusually is.’

  ‘Why has Veronique been arrested?’ I asked as I poured out three teas, on the assumption that Hesketh would like one but feel duty bound to refuse it if I offered.

  ‘I am not sure of all the details, miss.’

  ‘It would be pretty to hear at least one of them before the week is out,’ Sidney Grice grunted.

  I passed Hesketh the sugar bowl.

  ‘I gather that Mr Cochran felt Veronique’s explanation of the presence of the murder weapon in her bedroom was unsatisfactory.’ He scattered sugar on the tray in his agitation.

  ‘She offered me no explanation at all.’ Mr G stirred his tea energetically in both directions.

  ‘Nor to Mr Cochran,’ Hesketh told him, ‘which he found highly suspicious. Then there was the case of the razor being badly stropped.’

  ‘So he can notice things occasionally,’ Sidney Grice said acidly.

  Hesketh added a splash of milk. ‘Mr Cochran said that it must have been done by someone unused to doing it.’

  ‘But Veronique used to shave her father,’ I objected.

  ‘That is what she tried to tell Mr Cochran,’ Hesketh said, ‘and so he put her to the test. He gave her an old razor and got her to shave one of his men.’

  ‘Pitt?’ Mr G asked hopefully.

  ‘A Mr Cash, sir.’ Hesketh dabbed the back of his hair, which was still dripping down his neck.

  ‘Even better.’ I had never seen my godfather enjoying himself so much.

  ‘And unfortunately she cut him quite badly.’

  Sidney Grice thrilled. ‘On the neck?’

  ‘Both cheeks, sir.’

  ‘I suppose that will have to do.’ Mr G leaned back and pulled the bell rope. ‘Well.’ He jumped up. ‘I suppose we had better go and see her. Do you have a shaving kit, Miss Middleton?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ I gulped my tea.

  ‘Then we shall have to use mine.’

  ‘Run up the flag, Miss Middleton, then trot to the bathroom and fetch that ebony box which sits in splendid isolation on the window ledge.’

  ‘Why cannot you get it?’ I asked peevishly and he smiled.

  ‘I would have thought you might have known by now that I never trot.’ And, when Molly arrived with his insulated bottle, he told her, ‘Get your overcoat, Molly, and we shall see if you still have faith in Mademoiselle Veronique Bonnay after you have met her.’

  ‘Part of the team.’ Molly skipped like a dancing bear.

  ‘Your own solitary team,’ he conceded.

  ‘The bestest sort.’ She clasped herself joyously. ‘Shall I put on my going-out dress, sir?’

  ‘The one that makes you look like a troglodyte?’ he asked pleasantly.

  ‘That’s the one, sir, the one with brown sleeves and cuff, and brown collars and buttons, and a brown top and skirt, the only outside dress I’ve got.’ Molly was more excited than when he had given her a nought per cent increase in pay.

  ‘I think you look quite singular enough as it is.’

  I had not realized what bad molars Molly had until she bared them when her master said that.

  ‘Dontn’t you worry, miss,’ she reassured me. ‘There’ll always be a place for you in our solidary team – if you smarten yourself up.’

  46

  ✥

  Feet, Elbows and Liver

  HESKETH WAS SENT home with strict orders to report any further developments, and Molly squeezed herself with great difficulty and even greater pride between us into a hansom.

  ‘We would be much more comfortable in two cabs,’ I objected as she trampled on my skirts.

  ‘But all the poorer for it,’ my guardian replied as he breathed in.

  I had never really appreciated how broad Molly was until that moment, nor what pointy and nomadic elbows she possessed.

  ‘This is friendly,’ she burbled, her overcoat flapping in my face.

  ‘I never thought a scrap of a thing like you would take up so much space…’ At first I thought she was addressing her employer, but she saved her job by adding ‘miss’.

  At least the wind had died down and the rain was no more than a cold drizzle.

  ‘Or should I call you March now and—’

  ‘Do not dare even to think it,’ Mr G rumbled through whatever part of Molly was over his mouth.

  It was just as well there was so little traffic for I was getting cramp in both legs by the time we arrived at Marylebone, not helped by Molly, because she was overlapping us both, scrambling out first and over me, though, from Mr G’s protests, you might have thought it was over him.

  Sergeant Horwich watched us approach with his usual world-weariness.

  ‘Thought you might be coming,’ he told us. ‘But I wasn’t expecting you to bring reinforcements.’

  ‘I aintn’t not been reinforced,’ Molly objected.

  ‘Where is she now?’ Sidney Grice asked, never a man to waste pleasantries, especially with maids, and the sergeant jerked a thumb in the direction of the corridor.

  ‘Interview room four with Inspector Quigley.’

  ‘And who else?’ I asked urgently.

  ‘Perkins,’ he said and I breathed a sigh of relief, for, unlike his superior officer, Perkins was a decent man. ‘Only Perkins has gone for a cup of tea. Here, come back. You can’t just barge in there.’

  ‘How little you know me, Sergeant Horwich,’ I called back.

  There were footsteps behind me, the unmistakeable irregular rhythm of my guardian’s gait and the thundering of a maid in full stampede.

  ‘Stop,’ my godfather commanded and I froze with my hand on the doorknob. He caught up with me. ‘He’s a tricky customer at the best of times. I think some finesse is required here.’

  A degree at a time he turned the handle and opened the door a crack, just in time for Molly to hurtle through with an earsplitting, ‘If you’ve hurted Veroncia I’ll rip your liver out of your ears.’

  ‘Not quite what I had in mind,’ Sidney Grice murmured to me as we followed her in.

  47

  ✥

  The Night of the Badger

  AT FIRST I could hardly see Veronique Bonnay, just the top of her golden hair over Inspector Quigley’s shoulder. He had her trapped in the far corner and was pressed against her. The only surprise was that he did not turn round to abuse us as we burst in, but only said urgently, ‘All right, all right.’

  Quigley was holding out both hands like a man being confronted with a gun and trying to back away, but Veronique was coming with him.

  ‘Tell her to let go,’ Quigley gulped and, as they came together to the middle of the room, I saw that the French maid had a tight grip on the detective’s trousers.

  ‘’E think,’ Veronique struggled with her th, ‘’e can do what ’e want wiz me – sal bête. If ’e try again ’e never try wiz anozzer woman.’

  Her fingers tensed and Quigley yelped. ‘All right, all right. Just a bitova misunderstanding. She don’t get English very well.’

  ‘You misunderstand again and I pull zem off,’ Veronique vowed, and nobody in interview room four had any doubt that she meant every word.

  ‘You had better let go now,’ Sidney Grice instructed with some reluctance, ‘if I am to get you out of here tonight.’

  ‘You make ’im be’ave?’

  Sidney Grice’s mouth twitched. ‘I think you have already done that.’

  Veronique Bonnay’s hand came away with a flourish that would have done credit to Sarah Bernhardt. Quigley folded over, clutching himself.

  ‘You’ll pay for this,’ he threatened through clenched teeth, but stepped back warily as Veronique put out her hand.

  A heavy tread grew louder.

  ‘A mug two-thirds full of hot water, Perkins, and be quick about it,’ Mr G
instructed without turning round. ‘That means one-third empty.’

  ‘Nobody orders my officers about.’ Quigley snarled, but the footsteps were already fading.

  ‘How does it feel to be in the same room with three women who have all beaten you in fights?’ I asked.

  ‘Bitch,’ he breathed, I suspected at me, but he had his eyes fixed on the French maid, who was watching him like a swordsman en garde.

  Sidney Grice strolled to the desk, put down his box and picked up a piece of paper.

  ‘Leave that alone.’ Quigley forced himself to straighten up but he could not mask his pain.

  ‘Mademoiselle Bonnay’s confession?’ He flipped the page over. ‘Unsigned.’

  ‘And zat is ’ow she stays.’ Veronique crossed her arms defiantly. ‘Not one word of her is mine.’

  ‘It is interesting, is it not, that she gives items their French sex when she speaks in English, for it is la confession not le.’ Mr G clipped on his pince-nez. ‘I have to give you credit for attempting the idiom but really, referring to the razor as he when any educated man would know it is la raisor not le… tut tut. Your tutor would have rapped your knuckles for that.’

  My guardian knew full well that Quigley had left the ragged school when he was ten and was largely self-educated, and I thought it unpleasant of Mr G to rub his nose in it, but it was difficult to feel too sorry for the man who had threatened to beat a confession out of me in this very room and evidently Molly had similar feelings.

  ‘You are an uncredit to your profission,’ she told the inspector and Quigley emitted a snort of derision.

  ‘Stupid mare.’

  ‘Who you calling a pig?’ She flexed her arms.

  I put my hands up to halt her. ‘Mares are horses, Molly.’

  ‘No, they aintn’t. Horses is horses. I see them every day.’ Molly bunched her muscles. ‘Do you want me to get a confessing out of him? Just give me five minutes.’

  ‘Threatening a police officer,’ Quigley told her lamely.

  ‘I think he has suffered enough for one night,’ her employer said, ‘and we have a more important role for you presently.’