A Case of Grave Danger

by Sophie Cleverly

  I found the back door shut – Bones hadn’t been able to get out to look for them – so I flung it open and ran out into the yard.

  Mother was there, hanging washing on the line. She looked calm and quiet, a wooden peg in her mouth and two in her hands. For the tiniest second, I didn’t want to break her blissful ignorance, but there was no other way.

  ‘Mother!’ I cried.

  She took the peg out. ‘Don’t shout, Violet, I’m right here,’ she said. ‘Anyone would think—’

  ‘Father’s been arrested!’ I interrupted. Bones barked mournfully.

  Her expression froze for a moment. ‘Violet, if this is some kind of jape …’

  ‘It’s not, I swear it!’ I panted, putting my hands on my knees. ‘Two policemen arrived, and an inspector.’ I waved the card at her. ‘They said he was accused of murder, and they found a hammer, and they took him away!’

  Mother threw the washing into the basket and stepped towards me. ‘Slow down, Violet; what did they say?’

  ‘Someone’s accused him, Mother. Of murdering the men in the graveyard. They think he murdered Oliver too, because they don’t know he’s alive!’ I straightened up. ‘And they found a hammer that they said is the murder weapon, but it can’t be Father’s, he said he’d never seen it before. We have to do something. We must go down to the station, right away!’

  Mother had gone unusually pale. ‘Are you certain?’

  Of course I’m certain, I wanted to say. It happened in front of my very eyes. But I was too afraid for that. Instead, I simply nodded. ‘We … we have to help him, Mama.’

  I hadn’t called her Mama since I was about five years old. Suddenly I felt like a small child again. Helpless. Afraid.

  ‘Where are Thomas and Oliver?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know! Not in the house,’ I said. ‘Perhaps they’re at the stable yard.’

  Mother quickly abandoned the washing. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We’ll find them and go down to the station. I’ll get this cleared up straight away. It must simply be a misunderstanding.’

  I clung to her words – in that moment, they were my only hope.

  * * *

  We found Thomas and Oliver at the stable yard as I’d thought, tending the horses. Mother, with the calm manner of all mothers who are suffering something terrible, bent down to talk to Thomas.

  ‘I need to go out somewhere with your sister. Stay in the house,’ she ordered. ‘Don’t let anyone in.’

  ‘But—’ he started, with a jealous glance in my direction.

  Mother put a finger to his lips. ‘It’s very important. Stay here, keep an eye on Bones. Can you do this for me?’

  Thomas looked like he was about to protest, but after taking in the expression on Mother’s face he apparently thought better of it. ‘Yes, Mother,’ he said, before wiping his hands on his trousers and heading for home.

  ‘What’s going on, miss?’ Oliver asked.

  For some reason I couldn’t put the whole explanation into words. It was Oliver’s worried eyes and wringing hands. He knew something was wrong. ‘We need to go to the police station, right now,’ was all I managed. ‘I’ll explain on the way.’

  e hurried through the streets, me clutching Father’s spectacles in my hand. Mother had stopped talking. I could tell all the worries in the world were going through her head. Murder was a very serious charge. It meant the death penalty.

  I was trying desperately not to think about it.

  Father’s a good man, I told myself. It’s all just a misunderstanding. We’ll have him out by the end of the day.

  The constables hadn’t listened to me, but then I was just a girl. With Mother and Oliver to back me up, they would surely change their minds. I’d eventually found the strength to explain to Oliver what had happened, and he was now marching along with us in silent resolve.

  When we reached the station, Oliver suddenly stopped at the bottom of the steps.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked him. I watched as Mother bustled up to the doors ahead of us.

  ‘They’ll probably remember I said I was a reporter called Jack Danger,’ he hissed.

  ‘Drat,’ I said. ‘You’re right. I was hoping you could tell them you weren’t a victim, and that Father didn’t hurt you.’

  He winced and rubbed his head. ‘I’m sure he didn’t, miss, but … I don’t remember nothing.’ His frown crushed a little of my hope. ‘I’m not certain it’ll help, not if there’s four other blokes dead and buried.’

  I squeezed my hands into fists and let out a cry of frustration. ‘Come on,’ I said, grabbing his arm in a most unladylike fashion. ‘We have to go in anyway. If they think you’re a reporter, it might help.’

  I pulled him up the steps until we were both through the doors.

  The foyer was fairly large, with a solid desk across the middle. A man in uniform sat behind it. It was quiet, with only a couple of policemen standing around, and a few queuing people who looked in varying levels of mild distress. Mother gave them a quick glance before obviously deciding that our distress was greater. She approached the desk.

  I went up beside her while Oliver tried to hide behind me. Mother’s hand was shaking. I took hold of it.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ she started.

  For a moment, the policeman didn’t even look up. ‘One moment, madam,’ he said, slowly entering something in flowing handwriting in a log book.

  ‘It really is quite urgent,’ she said. ‘My husband—’

  ‘One moment, please,’ he repeated, barely meeting her eye. He carried on writing, and her hand tremored all the more. ‘You’ll have to wait your turn.’

  I glared at him. He had beady eyes and a flat nose. How dare he make us wait?

  Then I had an idea. I stepped back and shoved Oliver forward.

  Instantly, the man looked up, his expression brightening in recognition. ‘Oh, Mr Danger, is it? Back for another story?’

  Mother’s face was a picture. I was fairly certain mine was too.

  ‘Err, the same one, actually,’ Oliver told him. He seemed to straighten up then, as if putting on the role like an overcoat. ‘The one with the murders. I heard there was a development.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the policeman. ‘Well …’ He cleared his throat. ‘I can tell you that we have arrested a man in connection with those murders. If you need my details, it’s Sergeant Andrew Wilberforce. With one L.’

  ‘Right, yes, of course, thank you …’ Oliver said. The sergeant didn’t seem to notice that Oliver wasn’t carrying a notebook or pen, nor the fact that there was straw on his jacket and that he smelled slightly of horse. ‘But these ladies here—’

  ‘We met him outside,’ I interjected.

  ‘Yes, um, they’re the wife and daughter of the man you’ve arrested. So can you tell us more about who has accused him?’

  ‘Oh,’ said the policeman, with the merest glance at us. He seemed to find our presence about as interesting as a long-dead rat in the gutter. He leaned forward over the desk and spoke in a quieter voice to Oliver. ‘We received an anonymous tip-off.’

  ‘You would see my father hanged on an anonymous tip-off?’ I exclaimed, but Mother shushed me.

  ‘It was fairly detailed, and it placed the blame on the accused for the deaths of the five victims,’ the policeman continued. I wanted to protest again, to tell him that there weren’t five deaths – the fifth person was right beside us. But that would blow Oliver’s cover, and it was the only thing getting the man to talk at that moment. ‘Said he killed them with a blow from a hammer, and covered it up. We searched the accused’s property, and found the hammer in question. Probably no chance of bail for this one. That’s all I can say for now.’ His beady eyes twinkled. ‘But you will put my name in the article, won’t you?’

  The man spoke as if his words weren’t just like a hammer blow to all of us. I felt sick. Either Father had been arrested for murders he didn’t commit, or he’d been framed. There was no possible way that he
could be the monster who had done this.

  ‘You don’t honestly think,’ I said, stepping up to the desk, ‘that Edgar D. Veil, undertaker, a man with the most intimate knowledge of death and the deceased, would be so careless and obvious as to murder people with a hammer? He would do better than that!’

  ‘Violet!’ my mother snapped, appalled.

  The sergeant blinked at me. ‘I would watch what you say, little miss,’ he said darkly.

  ‘It just cannot be true,’ I insisted. ‘The hammer must have been planted. Father said it didn’t even belong to him. Maybe he found it and was just using it to fix up a coffin – he needs all manner of tools. It doesn’t mean a thing!’ I slammed my fist down on the desk, making everyone jump.

  ‘Please excuse her, sir, she doesn’t know what she’s saying.’ Mother’s glare shot through me like a bullet. ‘She’s distressed. We all are. Please, will you let me see my husband?’

  The sergeant gave a weary sigh. ‘All right, madam. He’s down in the cells. Follow me. Will you be joining us, Mr Danger?’

  For a moment Oliver said nothing, and then suddenly realised he was being spoken to. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Of course.’

  I took a deep breath, steadied myself.

  I had to stay calm. Father needed me.

  We followed Sergeant Wilberforce down a set of gaslit stairs, so narrow that we had to walk one at a time. It almost felt as though we were descending into another world. Brick arches rose over our heads, the light flickering across them.

  At the bottom, the passageway widened a little, and I could see a corridor stretching away before us, with that same high arched ceiling. The ghostly lights illuminated a set of sturdy-looking black cell doors, each with an opening hatch cut into the wood. I gave Oliver a worried glance, and saw my anxiety reflected in his own eyes.

  ‘Here,’ said the sergeant, stopping outside one of the doors. ‘You get five minutes. I’ll wait here. No funny business, all right?’

  We shared a sideways glance, and remained silent.

  He unlocked the door and slid back a heavy bolt. As I peered inside the cell, I couldn’t help but gasp.

  It was a tiny room, with whitewashed brick walls. There were few furnishings besides a cracked latrine and sink in one corner, a simple desk and a hammock. And there on the grey flagstone floor, with his head on his knees, was Father.

  It was as if I heard a tearing in the world, felt it beneath my feet, but I blinked my eyes and there was nothing.

  Father tilted his head towards us, slowly and bleary-eyed, but soon scrambled up when he realised who we were.

  ‘Go on,’ the sergeant said, pushing us into the tiny space.

  Mother hesitated for a moment, before rushing forward and throwing her arms round Father’s neck. Oliver and I stepped inside with trepidation. There was only room for us to stay just inside the door. I heard a clank as the sergeant swung it shut behind us. I felt as though we’d just been sealed inside a tomb.

  ‘Oh, Edgar,’ Mother sobbed.

  I felt the cell walls pushing in on me and sank back against the cold stone. I couldn’t think of a single reason why Father would commit murder, no matter what the police thought. I gently handed Father’s spectacles back to him when Mother let go. He took them and put them on. I couldn’t find the words.

  ‘The charges aren’t good,’ Father finally said.

  ‘Aren’t good?’ Mother exclaimed. ‘Edgar, you could be hanged!’

  Father’s face was the colour of sour milk. ‘I know, Iris,’ he said again, a hint of desperation in his voice. ‘But I didn’t do this, I swear. I didn’t do what they said I did.’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said, wiping her tears with her handkerchief. ‘Of course not.’

  Oliver stepped forward. ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘We’ll find a way to help you. I don’t know who hurt me, but … I’m as certain as Violet that it wasn’t you. You’re a kind man, and I just … I don’t get any bad feeling from you, even if I can’t remember what happened. I mean it, we’ll get you out of here, sir.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Father flatly. His eyes looked empty. I knew he was worried and that he didn’t believe that Oliver had anything that could help. I wasn’t certain if I did either.

  Oliver turned to me in desperation. ‘The Black Widow …’ he muttered.

  I flinched at the mention of her. In all the commotion, I’d almost forgotten. ‘We need to find her,’ I said.

  Mother turned to look at us. ‘Who?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said quickly. I didn’t want to explain, nor was I sure if we really knew anything beyond our suspicions and the fact that she’d been lurking in the shadows. Perhaps we were clutching at straws, but they were the only straws we had right now.

  Mother’s eyebrows narrowed, although she stayed clinging to Father. ‘What are you up to, Violet? And why on earth does the policeman think that Oliver is a reporter?’

  Summoning my courage, I took a small step further into the miserable cell. ‘We still don’t know what happened to him.’ I waved towards my friend. ‘That’s not to mention the poor souls lying in the cemetery. That’s why I went to the funeral yesterday. I was investigating, because I thought it could be connected to them all. There were people spreading rumours of murder.’ I shuddered, thinking of the context those words now had. ‘The police have got it wrong,’ I added. ‘I feel sure that if we can find out the truth of how Oliver came to us, we’ll find the key to who’s behind this.’

  Oliver took a deep breath. ‘I pretended to be a reporter to get some information, ma’am. I’m helping her investigate.’ He winced a little at Mother’s expression. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’ He turned to my father. ‘Sir, is there anything you can remember about the victims that might help us?’

  Father let go of Mother. He rubbed his temples in frustration. ‘I should have noticed …’ he muttered to himself. ‘Well, they all had head wounds. The coroner … he dismissed them quickly, thought they were the usual Sadler’s Croft drunkards. He said the cause of death was obvious. They’d all fallen and hit their heads …’ He frowned as he said it, as if he was only now unsure of what he’d been told.

  ‘But they were all, in fact, murdered,’ I said. ‘Which means the murderer is still at large. And whoever they are, they’ve falsely accused you.’

  Father’s frown deepened.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who’d want to do that, sir?’ Oliver asked, taking well to his interviewer role.

  ‘No,’ Father said quickly.

  ‘Please,’ I begged him, stepping closer. ‘Is there anyone who might feel wronged or—’

  ‘I said NO, Violet!’ he snapped.

  I felt my whole body tense. ‘But … Father—’

  ‘I must forbid you from investigating,’ he said. ‘This is not one of your games. This is not a trivial matter. This is my life …’

  I felt my eyes prick with tears. ‘That’s why I’m trying to help!’

  ‘I will not discuss this.’ He flung his hand out, making Mother jump this time. ‘You will not go running after murderers. It’s foolish and dangerous. Do you understand?’

  Now my mouth just flapped open uselessly. This was the only way we might be able to help Father. What else could we do?

  ‘I said, do you understand?’ Father demanded.

  A shuddering breath filled my lungs. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Edgar,’ my mother said gently, taking his hand.

  I felt the first tear fall down my cheek.

  We were interrupted by the sergeant entering the room. ‘Time’s up,’ he said.

  I wanted to protest, but the fight had gone out of me. I closed my eyes, wishing more than anything that I could see Father smiling and wishing me goodnight, and not standing there empty-eyed against the cold walls of a prison cell.

  When I opened them, I watched Mother slowly pulling away from Father … could almost feel her pain as she dropped his hand. Father slumped back against the cell wall, like a clockwork marionette wind
ing down for the last time. He said nothing as we left.

  The sergeant turned and deadlocked the door, with a final thud.

  I couldn’t help feeling, as we made our solemn procession back up the stairs, that I might have lost my father forever.

  other cried silently all the way home. I couldn’t think of a single comforting word to say to her.

  I didn’t cry any more. I couldn’t. I had to stay strong, and if I started, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop. Yet as we walked, I became convinced of something. Something that was slowly burning its way through my veins.

  I felt sure I could get to the bottom of this and free my father. Whatever it took.

  Of course, he had just expressly forbidden me from doing any sort of investigating. And yes, he would be furious if he found out. But he was trapped in a prison cell, and if I did nothing he might never see the light of day again. Or worse, he would face the hangman. If I could do something, anything, then I was going to. Once he was safely back with us, he could be as furious as he wanted.

  My mistake had been to try and talk to him about it. I prayed I hadn’t ruined my last moments with my father. How could I have been so foolish? I ought to have kept my mouth shut. Around Mother too.

  At least I had Oliver. Together, we could prove Father’s innocence. That was what I kept telling myself, so that I could put one foot in front of the other.

  It began to rain, spitting cold down on us. It seemed appropriate.

  We eventually arrived back at the shop. We’d left in such a hurry that we’d forgotten to lock up.

  ‘Wh-who’s there?’ came a small voice from behind the desk.

  Mother wiped her eyes and peered blearily. ‘Thomas? Didn’t I tell you to stay in the house?’

  As I approached, I saw that my little brother was sitting in Father’s chair. He wore a pair of Father’s spectacles, and was holding Bones’s collar tightly with one hand while grasping one of our miniature coffin samplers in the other. Bones whimpered quietly.

  ‘Nobody was in here,’ Thomas said, a little shakily. ‘I thought there might be customers. I was … I was being responsible.’