A Case of Grave Danger

by Sophie Cleverly

  ‘I was following a lead!’ I grumbled back, feeling a little perturbed that he had seen through me that easily. I waved towards the chapel. ‘I saw the Black Widow go in. I was trying to chase after her. But then Bones had to go and jump up at the wrong lady.’

  Bones simply stared upwards, and I got the sense that he was cross with me too.

  ‘All right,’ I huffed, ‘I thought she was the Black Widow as well, but it was just some poor lady with a spider brooch. They must be in fashion. But the real Black Widow was there, trust me. I saw her outside. Everyone was talking about murder. I thought they must have been referring to old Mr Walcott, but then I saw her. And she dropped this.’

  I handed him the crumpled notes as the colour drained from his face.

  ‘I can’t …’ he started, and I realised I was being foolish again.

  I read the writing on the piece of paper out to him but it didn’t do anything to improve his complexion. ‘What does it mean?’ he asked quietly. ‘This is really odd. And who is she accusing?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I don’t have the part that was torn off, and I didn’t hear any names. That’s why I was hoping to catch up with her.’

  He stared back at me for a moment, as if weighing up whether to ask a question, but he eventually asked it. ‘Why didn’t you tell your pa the truth about why you were there? That you were investigating?’

  I kicked at the dust with my shoe, making Bones jump and scuttle behind Oliver. ‘Because he wouldn’t understand, would he? You heard what he said. A funeral is NOT the place for a girl.’ I made a face. ‘He’d have a fit if he knew what I was really up to.’

  ‘Well, funerals ain’t much fun, miss,’ he said, petting Bones.

  ‘I know that,’ I snapped back. ‘But they let you do it. Nobody looked at you and said “he’s just a boy, he doesn’t belong there, he’s too delicate …” Did they?’

  ‘No.’ Oliver’s mouth twitched half a smile. ‘Maybe they should have.’

  ‘Ha! Come on.’ With a tilt of my head I gestured for us to start walking. If Father re-emerged, he wouldn’t take kindly to me hanging around like a lost urchin. ‘Here’s the thing. People look at you, or Thomas, or Father, and they see a person. They look at me and all they see is a girl.’

  We emerged through the gates between the chapels, and out into the street. It was less busy now, with many having gone inside, but there were people standing around – still gossiping, by the looks of it. Bones trotted along at our heels, seeming slightly miffed.

  Oliver nodded thoughtfully, considering my words. ‘When my pa sent me out to shine shoes, I remember we passed a shop lad, from one of the big places. He was all dressed up in a fancy uniform. I asked my pa – “why can’t I work in a shop, like him?” an’ he just shook his head, said “That ain’t for the likes of us, son. You’ll shine shoes or you’ll starve.” Maybe he was right. But he … he put me in a box.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked as we made our way down the street, Bones trotting alongside us.

  ‘He put me in a box I didn’t want to be in,’ Oliver explained. I fought the urge to mention his brief time in a literal box. ‘Or maybe the world put me in it. It seems to me you’re in a box too.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ I said. ‘If I solve this case, and find out who tried to murder you …’ I waved the mysterious notes, ‘it won’t just make sure you’re safe. It might just mean I can break out of my box.’

  ‘But how are we going to do it?’ He frowned, staring down at his feet on the cobbles. ‘Get to the bottom of all this?’

  I gripped the papers tightly in my hand. It worried me too. We needed to find more to go on. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘but we must.’

  When we arrived back at the shop, Mother was in quite a state.

  ‘Violet!’ she shrieked as we came in the front door. ‘Wherever have you been? I’ve been so worried. I’ve had Thomas scouring the cemetery for you!’

  The truth was teetering on my tongue, but I knew Mother wouldn’t understand any more than Father had. ‘I tried to go to the funeral,’ I said with a shrug.

  Mother put her hands on her hips and just stared at me, speechless. ‘Young lady,’ she said. ‘I don’t know that I’m surprised, but I’m certainly not happy. What were you thinking?’

  I turned to Oliver, but he was staring at his shoes. Bones was sniffing the floor. No help at all.

  ‘I’m just naturally curious, Mother,’ I tried. ‘I thought you said a little curiosity was healthy in a girl?’

  ‘Yes, Violet, but your curiosity is positively morbid!’ She slammed her hand down on the desk, making a sheaf of papers jump. It was quite unlike her to do so. ‘You’ve disobeyed us, and gone gallivanting around on your own. Do you know what could have happened to you?’

  I could have died, I thought. Then perhaps they’d let me go to a funeral. But since I valued my life, I didn’t say that aloud. ‘I’m sorry, I truly am.’

  ‘Sorry isn’t good enough this time,’ my mother said. Her face was set in stone, and I knew she meant it. ‘You will go to your room until your father comes home.’

  With a huff, I strode towards the back of the shop and out into the corridor. Bones trailed along behind me, his tail between his legs.

  A few seconds later, I heard Oliver’s voice pipe up from behind me: ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but am I in trouble too?’

  I stopped, one foot on the stair.

  ‘No, Oliver,’ my mother said in a defeated voice. ‘You’re not in trouble. Go and sweep up, will you?’

  ‘In the suit, ma’am?’

  ‘No, I … just go away, Oliver.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am.’

  As Oliver trudged away to the funeral parlour, I stared down at the notes in my hand. This could be a lead, and I knew I was going to have to follow it.

  I may have been in big trouble now, but little was I to know at that moment that just round the corner, more trouble was waiting. If I was going to prove myself to the world, I would have to face it, head-on.

  he trouble was going to catch up with me sooner rather than later. Upstairs in my room, I heard Father clatter through the main door to the house. I quickly hid the mysterious torn paper under my pillow and picked up my embroidery.

  He pushed open the door. His arms were folded, and he stared at me wordlessly. That was never a good sign.

  I put the needlework down very gently, as if Father were gunpowder and the slightest spark might set him off. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quietly, but I couldn’t hide the waver in my voice.

  ‘Violet, listen to me now.’ He walked into the room. ‘You must stop this foolish behaviour. You cannot interfere with my work. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said quietly.

  He started to pad up and down the floor, the way that Bones would do. My nightstand wobbled beneath his heavy footsteps. ‘You may not have a governess to discipline you any more, but you must discipline yourself – learn to have some discipline. It isn’t only your reputation at stake. It is our family’s, and the business’s. And we can’t afford to lose those.’

  I picked the loose thread even harder, and bit my lip. ‘Do you care more for the business than for me?’ I asked quietly. I was pushing my luck, and I knew it.

  ‘Oh, Violet. You mustn’t talk that way.’ He sighed and sat down next to me, stroking a lock of hair back behind my ear. ‘You know how important you are to us. But the business is important too. It’s how we afford to eat. To own our home.’ He paused, and I wondered if he was about to tell me something, but he seemed to blink his thoughts away before continuing. ‘Without it, we could easily be the poor fellows in the morgue. You have to understand that.’

  Now it was my turn to sigh. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Good.’ He got to his feet again, brushing off his hands on his coat-tails.

  ‘But …’

  He turned to look at me, and his expression asked, What now?

  ‘I still think
it isn’t fair.’ I stood up beside him. ‘I should be allowed to do more.’

  ‘And you will be allowed to do more, when it is appropriate. But you’ll soon find that often life isn’t fair. Was it fair to everyone out there?’ He waved his hand in the direction of the cemetery. ‘Do you think so?’

  I shook my head slowly. I knew most of them. There were plenty of waves of sadness and emptiness that I felt out among the graves, of love and loss.

  ‘Life happens. We live the way we must. I’m telling you, this is the way you must live. It keeps you safe.’

  This time I nodded. I had more arguments, more ways to disagree, building up on my tongue – but I couldn’t let them spill out. This was the end of the conversation. I wouldn’t get another chance. ‘I’m sorry, Father.’

  He gave me a gentle nod in response, and then went to leave, before appearing to think better of it. He came back over and put his hand on my shoulder. ‘You stay in your room and think about it,’ he said. ‘You’ll do wonderful things, my girl. I know you will. Violet Victoria Veil. A strong name, like the queen.’ He smiled, and it looked odd against his funeral get-up. I felt my heart grow a little warmer.

  I just hoped that he wouldn’t find out what I was really up to.

  The next day, I spent the first few hours of the morning confined to my room, unsure when I would be allowed to come out. Mother helped me to dress in angry silence, and had Thomas bring me breakfast. I then sat alone, with Bones sulking on the end of my bed.

  I do despise being confined, but I wanted to use the time wisely. Since no one was keeping an eye on me, I pulled out the mysterious notes and pored over them.

  ‘We’re stuck, boy,’ I said to Bones. ‘How are we going to find out what that woman is up to? How is it all connected?’

  I went over to my dressing table, took out my ink pen and diary, and began jotting some notes.

  The Black Widow – did she steal Oliver’s file?

  Does the black lace belong to her?

  Why did she go to the old man’s funeral?

  Did she drop the notes?

  Why does she write of love and someone taking something from her? Is she spreading the rumours accusing someone? Who?

  I felt as though all I had were questions, with the answers far out of sight. But what could I do?

  Bones whined at my feet, padded over to the door and began scratching at it. ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘We need a plan.’

  INVESTIGATION PLAN

  Track down the Black Widow – dangerous

  Ask the ghosts for help – difficult

  Discover identities of the other victims – impossible!

  Nothing to go on!

  I threw my pen down in frustration, sending splatters of ink across the table. How was I to do any of this if I couldn’t leave the house?

  My grumpy solitude came to an abrupt end, though, when a bubble of commotion floated up from downstairs. Bones’s scratching became more frantic.

  ‘All right, boy!’ I said. I had to go and see what was going on. If anyone objected, I’d just have to tell them that Bones needed to be let out.

  I flung open the door, picked up my skirts and ran down the stairs. Bones hurtled ahead, his footsteps clattering as his paws hit the wood. To my surprise, Father was pacing the hallway at the bottom, running his hand anxiously through his hair. I could hear banging and shuffling from the funeral parlour. Bones stood beside it, growling and shaking.

  ‘Father?’ I asked. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Violet?’ He turned, his face white with surprise. ‘Get back upstairs, my dear …’

  ‘I know I’m supposed to stay in my room,’ I began, ‘but Bones—’

  ‘No,’ Father said, leaning down and putting his hands on my shoulders. ‘I don’t mean because of the punishment. The police are here. They’re searching the place.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, my brows knitting.

  Father stood straight again, taking off his spectacles and rubbing his eyes. ‘They said they had a warrant to investigate. Murdered men who all came through here …’

  I gasped. ‘You mean Oliver’s case?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, glancing around furtively while the banging continued in the background. I heard the gruff voices of policemen in discussion. ‘I just sent him out to the stables. But yes, I think it could well be.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ I said, wringing the fabric of my dress through my hands. ‘We just did their funerals; what evidence could they find here—’

  ‘Please, just go back upstairs, Violet,’ Father said firmly, but at that moment, the doors that led to the funeral parlour opened, and two police constables came striding out. Both had sombre moustaches, and even more sombre faces. One of them was holding something heavy, wrapped in paper. The other held a pair of handcuffs.

  Bones backed towards me, still growling. I took his collar in my hands. Something was wrong.

  ‘Mister Edgar Veil?’ one of them said.

  Father turned to them. His hands were shaking.

  The constable held up the object, and as the paper fell open, I caught a glimpse of dirty metal. A hammer. ‘We have reason to believe that this was the weapon used in the Seven Gates Case.’

  ‘What?’ I whispered. ‘No …’

  Within seconds, the other constable had grabbed Father’s hands and pushed them behind his back, the spectacles clattering to the floor. ‘We’re arresting you,’ he said, ‘on suspicion of murder.’

  couldn’t believe the words I’d just heard.

  Suspicion of murder.

  ‘W-what is the meaning of this?’ I demanded.

  The first policeman looked down his nose at me as if I were a gnat buzzing around his face. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘Miss Violet Veil. I’m his daughter.’ I looked frantically at Father, whose face was still pale, eyebrows drawn.

  ‘You ought to keep quiet,’ said the second. He roughly grabbed Father’s hands and clicked the handcuffs round his wrists, locking them tight. ‘This is a serious business. I suggest you keep those lips shut.’

  Just then, another man strode through the doors from the funeral parlour. He was tall and imposing, wearing a tweed overcoat and a waistcoat with a watch chain neatly dangling from the pocket.

  The first policeman tipped his helmet at the man. ‘Inspector.’

  I stood unmoving as the man sized up my father with his gaze. Bones kept growling, that low rumble that spread through his chest, as he tried to pull away from me.

  ‘Mister Veil,’ the man said. His voice was quiet but commanding. ‘I am Detective Inspector Holbrook. We have reason to believe that you are responsible for the murder of five people.’

  I gasped, and a sense of dread crept over me. All that talk at the funeral earlier, the gossip, the whispers, the staring eyes … The word murder had been in the air. But it wasn’t old Mr Walcott they were talking about. It was Father!

  That was who they had been waiting for in the streets.

  ‘No,’ I said, but it came out as a feeble whisper. ‘Father … he wouldn’t do anything like that.’

  Father just stared at the hammer. He looked as though he were about to be sick. ‘I’ve never … that’s not mine,’ he said weakly.

  They were wrong about another thing too. There wasn’t a fifth victim. Oliver was alive! Surely he would have known if Father had been the one to attack him? He could tell them Father was innocent.

  But he wasn’t there. Father had sent him out.

  ‘Oliver! Mother!’ I called desperately towards the back of the house, hoping that someone, anyone would come along. I pointed Bones in their direction. ‘Fetch someone, boy,’ I begged, and he pulled free and bounded out.

  My outburst caught the attention of the inspector, and he walked slowly towards me. ‘Young miss, is this your father?’

  ‘Y-yes,’ I stuttered, cursing myself for stumbling over my words. ‘He wouldn’t do this!’

  ‘That’s what they all
say,’ I heard one of the constables mutter.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Father said, his voice low and weak. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. I swear. I didn’t even know they were murder victims,’ he added with shame. ‘Accidents, the coroner said.’

  The inspector ignored him. ‘Young miss,’ he said again. He had a formal tone, but there was something in his voice that I found worrying. It reminded me of a snake waiting to strike. ‘This is a grave matter. We believe your father has committed terrible crimes, and we need to take him in for questioning. Is your mother here somewhere?’

  I shook my head, unable to find the words. I didn’t know where she was.

  The inspector slipped me a printed card. ‘Well, when you find her, you tell her to come and see us.’

  ‘What … are you … basing this on?’ I asked. The words clawed their way from my throat. ‘You can’t possibly …’

  ‘We have enough to arrest him,’ the inspector said plainly. ‘We received an accusation.’ He gestured at the hammer, which the other constable was wrapping up again. ‘And now we have the murder weapon, which matches the crimes.’

  Shocked and ashamed, I started to cry. ‘Please don’t take him away,’ I said, gasping. It felt as though the air was being stolen from my lungs.

  There was an ounce of pity in the man’s expression. ‘We do what we have to,’ he said. Then he clicked his fingers and marched out towards the shop.

  I followed, but I was powerless to help as the constables led Father outside. His eyes met mine, and they seemed to be silently pleading. Through the shop window, I watched them drag him along the street until they were out of sight.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ I said tearfully to the empty window. But there was no one there to hear.

  * * *

  When I’d finally found my feet, I wiped the tears from my eyes, picked up Father’s fallen spectacles, and ran through to the house. ‘Mother! Oliver! Thomas!’ I called up the stairs. ‘Anyone?’ There was no answer. Where were they? Bones came clattering back to me, looking as confused and hurt as I felt.