A Case of Grave Danger

by Sophie Cleverly

  It was the piece of paper with the list of victims’ names.

  I grinned down at Bones. ‘Well done, boy,’ I said. Now we could investigate the list ourselves. Perhaps there was hope yet!

  here were four names on the list:

  Randall Wutherford

  Bjorn Wulf Eriksen

  Joseph Comely-Parsons

  Winston Aberforth

  None were names that I recognised, but I had to say they all had a fancy ring to them. They didn’t sound like the names of your average man on the street, or the penniless man in the workhouse. Yet somehow these relatively young men had all ended up in our cemetery, in paupers’ graves with no headstones. Only the generosity of my father had seen to it that they had separate graves at all. No one had identified them – until now.

  Whatever game Inspector Holbrook was playing, I felt certain he would have let the victims’ families know about their deaths. Which raised the question – what had they believed had become of these men before now? That they had gone missing? Or – a darker thought – did they not care?

  There were answers out there somewhere, and Oliver and I needed to find them. That was what I had to focus on. I tried to put Father’s debts out of my mind for now. Being in debt didn’t make him guilty of murder, I knew that much. If the blackmail was real, though … I shivered. Our lives could really be at stake, and Father – to what lengths would he have gone to protect us?

  Unfortunately, the letter gave us nothing to go on as to who could have sent it or forged it. The list of names at least gave us a place to start, though, and I thought I had a plan for how to do it.

  ‘But how will we find these people?’ Oliver asked. ‘We can’t exactly get Bones to sniff ’em out, not when they’re … you know.’

  ‘Dead?’ I replied, setting the paper back down on the table. ‘Precisely. But they must have families. And they aren’t long dead.’

  Oliver still looked puzzled. ‘So we ask around? The whole city?’

  I stared at him. ‘No, you silly goose. There’s a much easier way. Come on.’

  * * *

  I could hear Maddy consoling Mother somewhere inside the house.

  ‘We’re just going out to the cemetery!’ I called.

  Maddy’s head appeared round a doorframe. ‘No further, all right, young miss?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, my fingers firmly crossed behind my back.

  I knew I was misbehaving. Frankly, with all that had happened the past couple of days, I thought that most people would be lying in bed with a cold compress over their eyes at this point. I, however, was not about to give up. If I had to misbehave, then so be it. We’d be back before they had a chance to wonder where we’d gone.

  With the list of names firmly grasped in my gloved hand, I followed Bones and Oliver outside. Bones darted off ahead of us.

  Our destination was the Post Office, which seemed to perplex Oliver somewhat.

  ‘We can’t send letters to dead folks, miss,’ he said. ‘What good would that do?’

  I just laughed. He would soon see what I was up to.

  The Post Office was merely a few streets away once we’d exited the cemetery through the tall iron gates. We ran to keep up with Bones and stopped outside to catch our breath, blowing misty clouds into the chilly air.

  Bones whined and pawed at the ground. I looked up to see a sign on the door that read

  NO DOGS ALLOWED

  Spoilsports.

  ‘Stay here and look after him,’ I said, and I was pretty certain that both Oliver and Bones each thought I was speaking to them.

  When I came back outside a short while later, Oliver was sitting on the pavement, scratching Bones behind the ears. They both jumped up to greet me. ‘Well?’ Oliver said. ‘Did you find anything?’

  I held out the piece of paper, which now had lines of my messy looped handwriting below each name.

  Randall Wutherford

  8 Barnaby Crescent

  Bjorn Wulf Eriksen

  15 Pleasantview, Lansdowne

  Joseph Comely-Parsons

  Windermere House, Jeffords Lane

  Winston Aberforth

  Arnvale House, Coppington Avenue

  ‘Addresses,’ I explained, tapping them. ‘The Post Office directory has almost everyone in the city. Or at least anyone who is head of a household.’ That unfortunately meant I’d have no chance of looking up the whereabouts of Miss Stone – not to mention that her name was so common. ‘All of these men were in there. I suppose it hasn’t yet been updated since their untimely demise.’

  Oliver nodded thoughtfully. ‘Clever. So all of them are heads of a household? Rich blokes?’

  ‘Good thinking,’ I replied. ‘I thought perhaps so from the names, but this does seem to confirm it. Let’s go!’

  ‘Whoa, whoa!’ Oliver held out his hands and stopped me from marching away. ‘You want to go to these places now? Shouldn’t we be getting back?’

  Bones looked up at me, his head tilted to one side as if he was questioning my decisions as well.

  ‘No time like the present,’ I said, eagerly gripping my list as a gust of wind threatened to grab it.

  ‘It’s not really the time—’ Oliver started, with an anxious glance back down the street.

  ‘There is no time!’ I shot back. My tone was perhaps a little harsher than I had intended. ‘Or did you forget that my father is locked up and waiting for the hangman?’

  Oliver said nothing for a moment, his big brown eyes just staring back at me. Then he finally continued: ‘He wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, miss. An’ I don’t neither.’

  ‘Then come with me,’ I said. I waved the paper at him. ‘I know Coppington Avenue – it’s a five-minute walk away. If it’ll make you feel better, we can head straight home afterwards.’ To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure where the others were, and would need to look them up on a map anyway. But I hoped Oliver would feel as though he were getting a compromise.

  He breathed out a small sigh. ‘All right. Let’s go.’

  Bones gave a cheerful bark and wagged his tail. ‘Go on then, boy!’ I told him. ‘Lead the way!’

  Coppington Avenue was one of the fanciest streets in our surrounding area. It was lined with poplar trees that shaded the grand stone dwellings, many with their own driveways and coach houses. Unlike many of the nearby roads that were dirty and shabby, the residents seemed to have made the effort to keep everything well swept.

  A pair of ladies covered in jewellery walked past us arm in arm, their long skirts sweeping the pavement.

  Oliver whistled through his teeth as we turned the corner. ‘Toffs,’ he said.

  ‘Indeed,’ I replied. ‘If Mr Aberforth owned a house here, he was a very rich man.’

  Bones trotted ahead of us and came to a stop outside a large pair of wrought-iron gates. He sniffed along the bottom of it, looking a bit unhappy. The sign read:

  Arnvale House

  I followed him and tried the gates. ‘Blast,’ I said. ‘Locked.’ I peered inside at the house up ahead. All seemed quiet, and the windows were covered with black drapes. The house was in mourning. I scuffed my shoe against the pavement. ‘We’re stuck.’

  ‘Wait, Bones,’ Oliver said suddenly, and I turned to see Bones dashing up the pavement and into a gap in the wall.

  With a quick glance at each other, Oliver and I ran after him and came to another, much smaller gate. This one was wide open, and led to a little path that snaked its way round the back. The servants’ entrance, surely.

  ‘Bones!’ I called. I spotted a black nose poking out from behind the back wall of the house. ‘Come here!’

  His face stuck out a little further, but he didn’t move. He wanted us to follow him.

  I took a deep breath and picked up my skirts. ‘All right …’

  ‘Miss,’ said Oliver, shuffling his feet. ‘They might … shoot us or something if we trespass.’

  ‘Oh, come on! This is our lead,’ I told him in n
o uncertain terms. ‘We’re taking it. If we can find a servant, they might know something.’ With that, I stepped on to the path, and followed the wagging tail disappearing from view. I heard reluctant footsteps crunching along the gravel behind me as Oliver followed.

  Arnvale House’s garden was breathtaking. It had been beautifully landscaped with fountains, statues and splashes of bright flowers everywhere. Yet it was strangely quiet. The water in the fountains remained still, and I couldn’t hear any birds singing in the trees. It was as if the whole garden was holding its breath while it waited for news of its master.

  I stopped for a second by one of the fountains, trying to feel for any ghostly echoes. All was quiet and still, but I tasted something sour in my mouth.

  I turned the corner with the path as it weaved behind the building, through a fragrant patch of herbs and lavender. There was a greenhouse there, brick-built at the bottom and shiny white wood and glass for the top. The door was wide open, and just as I was about to approach it, Bones came trotting into view, pursued rather slowly by an ageing gardener.

  ‘Where did you come from, eh?’ he was asking Bones, waving a trowel at him. Bones stopped in front of me and wagged his tail.

  My feet felt glued to the spot. Belatedly, I realised I was perhaps being foolish. What on earth was I going to say? How was I going to explain what we were doing there?

  The old man’s eyes met mine. ‘Hullo, young miss,’ he said, tipping his flat cap at me. ‘Oh, and young master,’ he added as Oliver came to a stop beside me.

  I breathed out. The gardener seemed friendly enough. Perhaps this would work after all. I just prayed Bones wouldn’t start digging up his carrots.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ I said. ‘I … um … I’m Violet …’ I trailed off. I had been about to give my surname, but perhaps that wasn’t wise on an investigation. Besides, he might have read the papers. A pseudonym would have been a better idea.

  ‘An’ I’m Jack Danger,’ said Oliver cheerily. He was clearly a little further ahead of me on that point.

  ‘Can I help you both?’ asked the gardener, bending down to stick the trowel into the soil. I noticed his hands were scarred and calloused. Bones tried to lick his fingers. The man smiled and patted him gently.

  I gathered myself and tried again. ‘We live nearby,’ I told him, which wasn’t exactly untrue. ‘We heard something happened to Mr Aberforth.’

  I was expecting the gardener’s expression to change – for him to look sad, or angry. They had presumably just had the news that their master had been murdered, after all. But the smile didn’t leave his face.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said. He looked almost serene.

  I was thrown. ‘I’m sorry … did you not …?’

  ‘Well, between you and me …’ He tapped his nose at us. ‘We won’t miss him.’

  ‘But … all this?’ Oliver said, gesturing at the black-draped windows.

  ‘Pssh,’ said the gardener. ‘Just for show.’ He paused for a moment, looking down at the neat plants. ‘Mr Aberforth wasn’t a kind man, you see. We all breathed a sigh of relief when he went missing.’ He waved his hand slowly in front of me. ‘These scars aren’t from gardening, lass. One step out of line and he’d beat us over the knuckles with his cane.’

  I winced. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The man simply sighed and looked up at the setting sun, shading his eyes.

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might’ve wanted your master dead?’ Oliver asked.

  The gardener looked back at us. ‘Anyone,’ he said finally. ‘Anyone who met him.’

  e weaved through the curving paths of the cemetery and back home, only to find that our absence really hadn’t been noted. Mother was locked in her room, wading in her sorrows. Thomas was back to playing with his tin soldiers, but he could tell something wasn’t right. He kept asking Maddy about Father every two seconds, and soon was being met with nothing but weary looks.

  It seemed as though the first part of our investigation was rather fruitless. All we’d gained was that Mr Aberforth was very nasty, and could have been in anyone’s bad books. The gardener had told us he didn’t know a Miss Stone, either. We hadn’t exactly narrowed anything down.

  But I wasn’t going to let that stop us. Inspector Holbrook and his men may have been determined to pin the murders on my father, but their determination could not match mine. I had to find the truth, whatever it may be.

  I spent the evening poring over the city map with Oliver. Although he couldn’t read the street names, he could read the streets. I found the addresses of our remaining three victims, and he quickly traced a route. His memory had blank spots, but the city was still his home and he clearly knew it well. I noted that all of the victims lived fairly near to us.

  That night, I dreamed of Father. Of the walls pressing in on his cell until he was trapped between them. I woke to find Bones resting on my bed, holding the list of names in his mouth. He knew how to give me purpose.

  Mother seemed a little better at breakfast, but there was no mention of Father, nor of his supposed terrible debts. It worried me that she had known about or at least suspected it – and her reaction to the blackmail news had not been good. She chatted about the weather and how she was sure we’d be opening the doors of the business again soon. She was distracting herself, I knew. I felt as though there was an axe hanging over all of our heads. Politely ignoring it wasn’t going to save us.

  I repeated the names of the victims over and over in my head. Randall Wutherford. Bjorn Wulf Eriksen. Joseph Comely-Parsons. Winston Aberforth. And … Oliver? How on earth did he fit into all this? These rich, powerful men, and a street boy?

  ‘Do you even have a surname?’ I asked Oliver over the table.

  He nearly dropped his bacon. ‘Um.’ He scratched his ear. ‘Oats.’

  ‘Oliver Oats?’ I teased. ‘Sounds like a horse!’

  He laughed. ‘Says Violet Veil! You sound like … well, like an undertaker’s daughter, miss.’

  He had a point.

  I made excuses to Mother so that we could sneak out once again. This time, I promised, we were just going to buy a loaf of bread. Oliver stood with his hands in his pockets, concealing the list of victims. We didn’t need the map, he assured me, because he could remember the way. Together with Bones’s nose, I was sure we could sniff out the right addresses.

  I had peered through the front curtains, only to find that there were still a few journalists hanging about. We hadn’t taken a look at the day’s papers, and nor did I want to. Let them say what they liked about Father. We were going to prove him innocent.

  Mr Eriksen of Pleasantview was the first and the furthest away. I thought it best to take the omnibus. Mother never liked them – she preferred a cab, and she would have had a fit if she knew I was taking one alone (or with Oliver, which was probably worse). Unfortunately I only had a few coins left in my purse, and with Father locked up, there was a chance I wouldn’t get any more. The omnibus was cheaper, and I would still have just enough to buy the bread.

  We stood waiting in the street as smaller carriages rattled past. Eventually Bones raised his nose in the air, and sure enough the omnibus came clattering around the corner. How he could sense it over the city’s strong odour of horses and chimney smoke, I had no idea.

  ‘Never been on one of these, miss,’ Oliver told me.

  ‘Then how did you get about the city?’ I asked.

  He looked at me as if I were simple. ‘With my feet,’ he said.

  The omnibus was fairly new, with bench seats and painted sides plastered with advertisements for teas and chocolates. I quickly concealed Bones behind my skirts. He may have been tall but he was a black dog, after all, so he blended in well.

  A lanky conductor in a bowler hat hung off the staircase at the back. He tipped his hat at me as I offered him the coins.

  ‘Where you off to then?’ he asked us, a little suspiciously.

  ‘Lansdowne,’ I told him. ‘Pleasantview.’

&
nbsp; He tipped his hat and moved aside to let us on. I was glad he didn’t ask for a further explanation, because I didn’t particularly want to bring up murder. As soon as he was looking the other way, I ushered Bones up the steps.

  Oliver and I followed and sat together, wedged rather uncomfortably on a bench seat. Bones curled round my legs. We gained several more curious looks from other passengers, but I ignored them – and Oliver was too entranced by the ride to notice.

  ‘We’re so high up,’ he kept saying. ‘I feel like I’m eight feet tall! Ain’t this fun, miss!’

  I nodded, although I wasn’t sure he could tell I was nodding because the whole thing was so bumpy. The omnibus rattled through the streets, bouncing over the cobbles. Thankfully it’s dry today, I thought to myself, as I watched the wheels spin through the layers of muck in the road. A cold wind blew in our faces, and I pulled my shawl up to cover my nose anyway.

  Lansdowne was a toff area too, as Oliver noted. It wasn’t somewhere he’d ventured very often.We clambered from the omnibus, Bones wobbling down the stairs and then leaping off to the surprise of the conductor, who waved after him shouting ‘Oi!’ – but by then we were all running.

  It was pretty impossible to keep up with Bones, but the greyhound seemed to be holding back a little so that we could follow. Oliver had a rough idea of where we were going, and it didn’t take long before we found Pleasantview. It was a Georgian terrace of huge houses overlooking a park.

  ‘What are we going to say this time?’ Oliver asked as we stared up at the bright red door with a shiny brass 15 emblazoned above it. It had a matching brass door knocker in the shape of a wolf, from which hung a black wreath.

  ‘I think the less we say, the better,’ I replied. We wanted to learn about the victims, not give ourselves away. If word got out that we were investigating … it wouldn’t be good.

  ‘Can you feel anything here?’

  I closed my eyes and listened. My ears heard the distant bustle of the nearby street, the tweeting of birds in the trees, the laughter of some children running through the park. Below that … there was nothing but a strange feeling of unease. I blinked my eyes open again. ‘I don’t think this place is haunted, but I don’t think it’s particularly happy either.’