A Case of Grave Danger

by Sophie Cleverly

  Besides, it was important. If someone had really targeted Oliver, they could still be out there.

  ‘I’ve heard you talking to your pa,’ he said. ‘You’re clever, miss, an’ you know about all this death stuff.’

  I nodded, pleased that he thought that, but I did have my doubts about us going into this alone. ‘Shouldn’t we go to the police first?’

  ‘Your pa told me not to bother,’ he said with a shrug. ‘More or less said they wouldn’t give two figs about the murder of a street boy who turned out to not even be dead.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I replied. ‘He does have a point.’ Bones poked his head into my lap and I stroked his smooth fur while I considered the matter. ‘And of course, if there is a murderer on the loose, it’s preferable that they don’t know you’re still alive. Perhaps it would be better to do this in secret.’ The word was more than a little thrilling to me. A secret investigation, just like something out of one of Thomas’s Penny Dreadfuls that he borrowed from older boys at school, with their daring detectives and vile villains.

  Oliver fidgeted for a few moments, his deep brown eyes staring out at the graveyard. The last of the summer’s butterflies landed on a nearby stone, its wings gently opening and closing. ‘You’re right,’ he said finally. ‘I shouldn’t risk anything. So you’ll help me?’

  I jumped up. ‘Yes!’ I said, as Bones barked his approval. ‘Of course! You leave it with me. I’ll come up with a plan for where to start.’

  Now a smile crept over Oliver’s face, and his eyes brightened. ‘Thank you, miss. You don’t know what this means to me.’

  ‘Please,’ I insisted once again, ‘call me Violet.’

  ‘Very well, miss,’ he said with a wink.

  I threw the book at him.

  * * *

  I spent the evening racking my brains for how to start. It was nice to have a real puzzle to keep me occupied for once.

  Oliver’s words rang in my mind. The missing file: that was indeed suspicious. Perhaps that was the place to start. And the police – even if we couldn’t report to them, perhaps they could still tell us something useful.

  * * *

  The next morning, Bones and I found Oliver cleaning the mortuary, sluicing water over the (unoccupied) slab. He was once again wearing the tatty brown overalls, plus a cap. One of Father’s old tweed jackets that he must have had since he was a boy hung on the hook by the door, and I presumed Oliver had been donated that too.

  I perched against a rack of shelves while Bones sniffed the floor. He wasn’t allowed in the mortuary, but there was no one around to see. Father was out at the stable yard down the street, making sure the horses were seen to. ‘I’ve got a plan,’ I said to Oliver.

  He looked up at me, then about the room as if a plan were about to appear spontaneously. ‘What sort of plan?’

  ‘A plan to find out what happened to you. I think we need to check the filing cabinets. If someone stole your file, then they could have left a clue. And then we need to head for the police station.’

  He picked up a cloth and started scrubbing. ‘I need to do this first, miss. An’ I thought you said we weren’t going to the police?’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ I grabbed his arm to stop him. ‘You asked me to investigate, so you have to trust me on this. We need to get started. If someone wanted you dead, do you think they’ll settle for alive?’

  He threw the cloth down again. ‘All right! All right. I’ll help you search through the files.’

  I grinned at him. ‘Oliver, you’re the best dead boy I know.’

  ‘I’m the only dead boy you know,’ he pointed out.

  Once he’d been to take off his overalls and donned the tweed jacket, we went into the shop, and I began pulling open some of the heavy drawers of Father’s filing cabinets.

  ‘We need to look where your file was.’ I rifled through the O section, peering inside. There had to be a clue somewhere.

  ‘Aha!’ I said, pulling out a tiny object that glinted in the weak sunlight.

  Oliver stared back at me, bemused.

  I quickly realised that I was not holding a vital clue, but a rather deceased bluebottle. Bones hopped up and snapped it from my fingers. ‘Ugh,’ I moaned. ‘Keep looking.’

  Oliver leaned over and picked out a random file, waving it up at me. ‘What does this say, Miss Violet?’

  ‘It says O’Connor. Don’t you recognise when it’s not your own name?’

  He shrugged. ‘I didn’t go to school for that long. Besides, this writing is all …’ he made a squiggly gesture in the air with one hand. ‘Ain’t that a surname anyway?’

  I slapped myself on the forehead and shouted, ‘Of course! I’m being silly.’ Father hadn’t known Oliver’s surname, nor his first name. ‘You were a John Doe!’

  He wrinkled his nose. ‘Who’s that? I don’t know any John Doe. They thought I was pretending to be him, or something?’

  ‘No, no, no. That’s the name they use for someone who we haven’t been able to formally identify. Father keeps those files at the end of the alphabet.’ I rushed over to the cabinet nearest the front window. ‘Look, down here.’

  I sat down on the wooden floor, in a most unladylike fashion that Mother would not have approved of, and pulled the bottom drawer open. The files that remained had a somewhat ruffled appearance – it must have been from Father rifling through them. But it looked to me as though more than one was missing.

  Bones trotted over and began sniffing one of the drawer corners intently, pawing at it. ‘What is it, boy?’ I asked. As I looked closer, I saw there was a loose nail at the bottom of the drawer, and caught on it was a piece of black lace, a rough triangle shape with a floral pattern. I tugged it out and inspected it.

  ‘Lace?’ Oliver asked, wrinkling his nose. ‘Is it yours?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. I couldn’t remember tearing any of my clothes. ‘Hmm. It could be Mother’s, I suppose. She does have some like it.’ I stood up again, pulled my purse from my pocket and tucked it inside. ‘This could actually be a clue. I’ll keep hold of it.’

  If the lace didn’t belong to me, or to Mother – that meant someone had come in and gone through the files in the drawer from which Oliver’s had gone missing. It was highly suspicious, to say the least.

  ‘Good work, Bones.’ I patted the dog on the head, and his tongue lolled out happily.

  Oliver still looked puzzled. ‘So we’re going to talk to the police now?’

  ‘Well, you are,’ I said, though he didn’t seem to notice the implication.

  ‘Does your ma let you go out alone?’ he shot back.

  ‘Ha!’ I laughed. ‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’ I went over to the desk and snatched up a tiny notebook and a pencil. ‘We’ll be back before she knows it. Come on!’

  liver shrugged and then held the door of the shop open for me to pass. I smiled smugly at him and skipped out into the street, holding up my skirts so as not to trail them in the dirt. He looked at me like I was mad, so I gave him a little curtsey and then dashed off in the direction of the shops, Bones rushing alongside me.

  Now, this might seem a little eccentric, but you must understand that I very rarely got to escape the confines of the house and Seven Gates Cemetery by myself. Mother thought that the outside world was filled with criminals, and Father would always say that there was a job that needed doing that was more important than going to the theatre, or the zoological gardens, or a tearoom. Whenever I went out, it always had to be with someone else as my chaperone.

  So the excursion was a welcome change for me. A breeze was blowing, bringing fresh chill air into the usual city smog, as the chimneys of every house and shop and factory poured smoke into the sky.

  Oliver was chasing me, laughing and shouting at me to slow down. I ran with the wind in my hair, speeding around corners and leaping over gutters. Even in my long black dress, I was still fast. Though not as fast as Bones, who had the speed of a greyhound to his advantage and alw
ays seemed to know where I was going.

  I nearly ran into an elderly gentleman, who stumbled sideways. ‘Oops!’ I exclaimed. ‘My apologies, sir!’ I hastily helped him back upright and continued on my way while he muttered curses in my direction.

  The police station was not too far away, being within the borough of Seven Gates. I came to a halt in front of it, where Bones stood waiting and panting. The building was a tall and imposing brick affair, with big steps and heavy doors. ‘Keep up,’ I teased as Oliver finally came round the corner.

  ‘I’m only just back in the land of the living, miss,’ he said, gasping as he gripped his knees and panting just like the dog. ‘That was a bit much for me.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. I waited for him to recover before I sprang the news on him. ‘So here’s the plan. You’re going inside.’

  ‘What?’ he exclaimed nervously, as a policeman in a tall hat wandered past.

  I lowered my voice. ‘Say you’re a reporter for the local newspaper, and you’ve heard there might be a murderer on the loose. See what you can get out of them.’

  ‘I don’t think I look much like a reporter, though,’ he said, pulling off his cap and wringing it between his hands.

  I shrugged. ‘Well they won’t listen to me, will they? They’ll say I’m just a girl.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Just tell them you’re short for your age if they question it.’ I pulled out the notebook and pencil and thrust them into his hands. ‘Use these.’

  ‘All right,’ he said eventually, after a few moments of nervous shuffling, ‘whatever you say.’ He took a deep breath, and Bones licked his boots for good luck. Then he slouched into the station.

  I waited on a patch of grass next to the building. The dew seeped into the bottom of my skirts, and there was a chill in the air, but I paid little attention to it. I threw a stick for Bones to pass the time. When Oliver returned, he descended the steps quickly and handed me the notebook. Bones greeted him with a wagging tail.

  I squinted at it. It was a page of unintelligible scribbles. Drat. I’d somehow forgotten that Oliver’s reading and writing skills left a lot to be desired.

  ‘Never mind that,’ he said. ‘That was just to make them think I was taking notes. Got it all up here.’ He tapped his forehead.

  ‘Tell me what you found out!’

  ‘Walking first, then talking.’ He gently pushed away the dog, who was jumping up to greet him. ‘We’ve got to get back, or your ma will go spare.’

  ‘Come on, Bones, let’s go,’ I called, following Oliver as he marched on ahead. ‘All right, now we’re walking,’ I said. ‘Tell me!’

  ‘The bobby on the desk was a bit distracted, so he didn’t really ask questions. I said my name was Jack Danger and that I was a reporter—’

  I stopped. ‘Really? Jack Danger? Are you serious?’

  Oliver smirked. ‘Well, like I said, he wasn’t bothered. An’ I might have slipped him a coin from a couple that your pa lent me. But he said, now that I mentioned it, he did recall some similar incidents in recent months. Five people that were not too old, found in an’ around Sadler’s Croft with blows to the head.’ As Oliver spoke, he rubbed his scar subconsciously with one hand.

  We hurried along. ‘Didn’t they investigate?’ I asked.

  ‘The bobby said nothing seemed suspicious, especially not for Sadler’s Croft. One bloke was at the bottom of some icy steps – they thought he’d had a tumble. One was apparently “riotously drunk” an’ holding a broken bottle, so it was a bar fight, they guessed. Two were dragged out of the river. The final one …’

  He trailed off, and I soon realised why. ‘The final one was you? I suppose they don’t know you’re alive, do they? What did he say about you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing much. Said I was found outside some toffs’ club.’

  I stared at him suspiciously.

  ‘I don’t remember any of it!’ he protested. ‘I don’t think that’s the sort of place I would hang about. I wouldn’t steal nothing if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  I had a thought. ‘Oliver – all these men were in their prime, with the same sort of head injury … could it be that someone was trying to make their deaths look like accidents?’

  ‘But I’m young,’ Oliver said. ‘So I don’t have that in common with those blokes.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. It was true. Another brick wall.

  ‘That ain’t all,’ replied Oliver as he went to cross the street, gesturing for me to follow him.

  ‘What else?’ I asked. I glanced around, just in case anyone was listening. The way he said it had made it seem rather important.

  ‘All of them – well, excepting me, obviously – are in the graveyard by your house. Your pa did their funerals.’

  I wrinkled my nose. ‘That must be what Thomas noticed. He said there were several fresh graves. Grown men who weren’t old or ill. It does seem strange.’

  We turned the corner and were back on my street. The trees that lined it rustled their leaves prettily at us, and the dark branches waved overhead.

  There was someone standing outside the shop.

  Bones started growling and began to creep forward. With a gasp, I grabbed his collar and pushed Oliver back round the corner.

  ‘What is it?’ he said, eyes wide.

  ‘That woman in the black lace,’ I said, indicating with a tilt of my head. ‘Standing in front of the shop. I’ve seen her before. I recognise her clothes. On the day when we … found you, she was outside then too, staring. I just thought she was a grieving widow, but—’ I shuddered, unable to control it. I could feel the rumbling of Bones’s growls against my leg, just as he had growled at her before. He knew something was wrong.

  ‘Black lace?’ Oliver said. ‘Like we found in the drawer?’

  I slowly peered round again. ‘It doesn’t look quite the same,’ I said, remembering the floral pattern, ‘and I can’t see if there are any pieces missing …’

  ‘Maybe she is just a widow then,’ he said with a shrug.

  ‘But that’s not all,’ I insisted. ‘Bones growled at her before too. And the night that I found you outside – early on, there was someone looking in through our parlour window.’

  He frowned. ‘Could that have been her as well?’

  I thought about it. ‘I don’t know. It was hard to see the face, and the figure was only there for a moment. It was night-time, so all I saw were eyes.’

  Oliver just stared back at me, and he didn’t appear entirely convinced.

  I felt foolish. I wasn’t even sure now, as I looked across at the woman, that her mourning garb was the same. Ladies in mourning clothes were frequently outside our shop.

  However, Bones had a nose for trouble, and he definitely seemed to think something was wrong. He pulled at his collar, trying to get free. I knew he wanted to give chase.

  I peered back to take another look, but the woman was already hurrying away.

  e have to follow her,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ said Oliver. ‘No, we don’t! We need to get home before anyone notices we ain’t there!’

  ‘She must be up to something! Look at Bones!’ The dog was straining towards the woman, and I thought my arm was going to be pulled off. ‘He knows something’s the matter. Come on …’

  Before Oliver could protest further, I had turned on my heels and was running after the woman, Bones trotting ahead keenly.

  The street was bustling with people going about their daily business, with horses and carts and pedlars, but the woman was tall and I could see the black lace trailing down her back as she darted along the pavement. She scuttled along, and I noticed that she had a jet-black spider brooch pinned to the back of her head, set in a flash of silver. A Black Widow, I thought.

  I followed in her wake, Bones pulling me until we were near enough to slow down. I hoped Oliver would be close behind.

  The woman’s face … I’d only glimpsed it for a moment, that delicate lace tumbling over her features. But I’d se
en a scar, and those eyes … they stirred something inside me. I felt as though I’d seen them before, and not just that night at the window.

  I saw her pause, and I skidded to a halt, Bones stopping too in a tangle of legs. She was standing beside the cemetery gates, looking up at them. Then she walked through, as if she were going for a leisurely stroll.

  I heard panting beside me – and it wasn’t just Bones. I turned to see Oliver, his hands on his knees. ‘I’m out of shape,’ he said breathlessly. ‘We’re gonna be in big trouble if we don’t get back soon.’

  I hauled him back up. ‘Forget about that. She’s gone into our cemetery!’ I hissed. ‘Let’s go.’

  Although I had always thought of it as our cemetery, it wasn’t, not really. It belonged to the City Cemetery Company. It just happened that our house and funeral parlour were conveniently located right beside it, and it had always had a gate that backed on to our land. We had an arrangement, and we spent so much time there that it might as well be ours. I felt strangely protective of it, of anything that might threaten its tranquillity. The woman in black felt like an intruder to me, mourning dress or not.

  I followed her through the enormous iron gates, beneath the bell tower. Seven Gates Cemetery did not in fact have seven gates (I had counted) – it was just the name of the surrounding area. The graveyard itself was surrounded by a high wall, and those main gates would usually be locked with heavy chains at night, with the only other entrance being through our house. A cemetery was a business, and it was bad for business if bodies went missing. Ours was one of the safest, but grave robbers could be lurking round any corner. What if that was what this woman was doing? Scouting out the place, for her cronies to come in and steal ornaments – or worse?

  She wasn’t walking quickly, and I didn’t want to catch up with her. I merely wanted to observe. I pulled Oliver and Bones into one of the chapel alcoves while she walked up the pathway, which was wide enough for a hearse.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Oliver asked.