A Case of Grave Danger

by Sophie Cleverly

  The ruined church was not exactly like my dream, but as these things go, it was not too dissimilar.

  It stood surrounded by trees, most of the walls partially collapsed, the windows empty of glass. The graveyard stood in disarray, filled with ancient stones that I couldn’t read. I wondered what had happened to it. A lightning strike? Destroyed by Henry the Eighth? I couldn’t be sure.

  ‘I must have seen this place before,’ I said. ‘I dreamed of it, somehow. Well, it was different, but …’

  ‘I don’t know if I remember it, though.’ Oliver shuffled, hands in his pockets. ‘It does seem … familiar. In an odd way.’

  Bones had already jumped the low wall and was sniffing through the gravestones. He seemed on the hunt for something.

  I turned to look around, wondering if I could spot why Miss Stone might have come to this place. The other side of the street seemed fairly ordinary, but one thing that did stand out was a sign that read

  HAVISHAM GENTLEMAN’S CLUB,

  the letters picked out in gold. There were several wellpainted carriages outside, and footmen waiting. The air smelled of smoke, but with a hint of expensive dinners.

  Oliver saw me looking. ‘What’s it say, miss? Looks fancy.’

  ‘It’s a club for gentlemen,’ I told him. ‘Rich ones, I would say.’

  ‘Like the folks that were killed,’ he said, still staring at the place.

  I snapped my fingers. ‘Good thinking!’

  ‘This seems familiar too. Wait …’ He squinted at it, chasing the memory. ‘Is it called … Hav … Havisham Club?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I told him. ‘Same as the borough.’

  ‘I think I’ve been here,’ he said. ‘Yes! I have! I had this mate … Jimmy Tucker. He was a shoeshine boy like me. I remember … he told me there were rich folks round here, that there’d be good business.’

  I lowered my voice. ‘So you could have been here when Miss Stone was here!’ I was about to suggest we go into the club and see if we could learn anything there, but Bones began barking somewhere out of sight. ‘Where has he got to?’

  Oliver and I hopped over the wall and waded through the overgrown grass, as I called for Bones. His bark was echoing off the ruined walls.

  I ran my fingertips along some of the ancient, lichen-covered stones. The whispers in my head were quiet, old and rattling. Inside … one seemed to say, the words tickling my hair as they blew past my ear. I patted the mottled stone in thanks.

  We entered through a crumbling archway. Instinctively, I looked down at the floor – wondering if the pine needles from my dream would be there. But no, the ground was littered with crunchy brown leaves instead. Ivy wound its way up the bare stone. Even with no roof, it was a little dark within thanks to the shadowy trees and the high walls. It felt hushed, secret. A place where nefarious deeds might be carried out.

  Bones came barrelling over to me, his paws coated with mud. ‘Yuck,’ I said with a smile, batting him away.

  ‘I think I know this place too,’ Oliver said. Then, suddenly, he clutched the scar on the back of his head. ‘I don’t feel right, miss …’

  Bones barked. ‘Shh, boy,’ I said. ‘Let Oliver think.’

  I took Oliver’s hand gently. ‘Just forget about everything else for a second, and look around. See if it comes to you.’

  We stood there in silence as Oliver stared at the walls and breathed in the air. ‘I do remember this,’ he said, the words coming out slow and heavy. ‘I was … I was here. But it was dark.’

  ‘What can you see?’ I whispered, closing my eyes.

  ‘Darkness, and … there were sounds, in here. I think I came to investigate. Maybe I thought I could sleep here for the night, you know. But I saw … Someone. Someone in black …’

  Bones barked again, and I opened my eyes. He clearly seemed to be trying to get our attention. ‘What is it, boy?’

  He ran over to the alcove at the back of the church, and as I followed I saw why his paws were dirty. He had dug a big hole in the earth, and something metal was glinting underneath, wrapped in brown paper. I reached in and pulled it out, bits of the paper disintegrating as I peeled it apart.

  I turned to Oliver, the object heavy in my hands. ‘Someone with a hammer?’

  His mouth dropped open. ‘That’s it! That’s …’ He ran over, his hands shaking, and reached for it.

  ‘The real murder weapon,’ I said under my breath as I handed it over. I patted Bones. ‘Good boy!’

  Oliver stared down at the thing. ‘I definitely saw this. I saw someone being hit, I’m sure of it. Then the person in black noticed me, and …’ His lip was quivering and he turned the hammer over in his hands, then his eyes closed again. ‘I remember fear. I went cold. There wasn’t time to run.’ His breaths came in gasps and he clutched the back of his head.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I told him gently. ‘You don’t need to go too far. You’re not back there. You’re here with me. It’s safe.’

  He nodded his head slowly, and I waited for him to feel calm again. Bones curled around his legs, clinging to him, reassuring.

  I examined the hammer. I looked for traces of blood, but it seemed clean – aside from the dirt that covered the wrapping. The murderer had clearly wanted it hidden.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked Oliver when he seemed to be present again.

  ‘It’s just so strange, miss,’ Oliver said eventually, a faraway look in his eye. ‘To think it might’ve been … my last breath. An’ all because of this.’ He tossed the hammer a little way in the air with both hands, but it was heavy and he caught it with a thud.

  ‘And if your memory is right, just because you interrupted the murderer. Can you remember who it was? Was it Miss Stone?’ I asked, eager for answers.

  ‘I can’t say for sure,’ he replied. ‘I remember … a black shape in the darkness. Maybe it was a woman. It would make sense. The face was hidden, like hers usually is.’

  ‘It all fits,’ I said. We knew the Black Widow, Miss Stone, had come here – or near enough – from her journal entry. Oliver remembered witnessing something horrific here before he was knocked unconscious. And now Bones had found this hammer. ‘But why would she do it?’

  From all the detective stories I’d read (secretly in bed at night, as Mother and Father thought they were inappropriate reading material for a young lady), I knew you had to prove Means, Motive and Opportunity. Perhaps we could prove that Miss Stone had the Means and Opportunity, but what was her Motive? She’d had misfortunes in life, we knew, but why kill these men? Why pin it all on Father? Or were only the police responsible for that?

  Even if we knew all of those answers, we had no proof.

  ‘We need to find out why she would do this,’ Oliver said, echoing my thoughts. ‘We need to prove it. Or – or – have her confess.’

  We needed the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. We were so close, I could feel it. ‘Let’s look around here and then stop by the Havisham Club. Maybe we can find some more evidence.’

  We searched the ruins, and I ordered Bones to have a sniff around. There were several spots that he seemed interested in, and he would sit down and whine. But they were covered with grass and leaves, and there was nothing else to be found that I could see. If one or more of the murders had taken place there, the evidence had been cleaned up, or washed away in the rain, or hidden under the remains of autumn. Perhaps the attack Oliver had witnessed was one of the victims who had ended up in the river.

  With a heavy sigh, I decided it was time to head for the Havisham Club. We left the ruins and crossed the road, dodging several fancy carriages.

  ‘I’ve got the list of names,’ I whispered to Oliver. ‘Let’s see if they were all members here. And put that away.’

  Oliver looked confused for a moment. ‘Oh!’ he said, finally realising I meant the hammer, before concealing it behind his back.

  The doorman was tall with dark curls sticking out of his cap. He was eyeing us up as soo
n as we neared. I climbed the steps with determination, but he stuck his hand out immediately.

  ‘No dogs,’ he said with a sneer. ‘And definitely no girls.’

  Bones looked at the ground sheepishly, and I glared back at the man.

  ‘What about me?’ Oliver asked. ‘I’m neither of those.’

  The doorman stared right down his nose at him. ‘And what are you, some sort of street urchin? You’re not a member, that’s what matters.’ He sniffed. ‘Leave the premises immediately, or I shall have to call for the police.’

  ‘No need,’ said a familiar commanding voice from behind me.

  My stomach filled with dread as if I’d swallowed a bucket full of stones.

  ‘I’m already here.’

  turned to look at the looming figure of Inspector Holbrook as he ascended the steps. Bones gave a low, rumbling growl.

  ‘Are you haunting us?’

  He ignored me. ‘If I recall correctly, did I not give you two a final warning?’

  I looked at Oliver, whose cheeks were burning red. I wasn’t sure whether it was embarrassment or defiance, but I thought it was probably a bit of both. He said nothing.

  ‘We’re not doing anything wrong,’ I insisted, folding my arms as I looked up at him. ‘We’re in a public place. Just talking to people.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Funny how the people you keep talking to are the same people that I wish to talk to. It’s almost as if you are investigating.’

  I gulped, but I still had some fight left. ‘Well, inspector, if you would do your jobs properly …’

  I trailed off under the intensity of his gaze.

  ‘You would like to see me doing my job?’ he said.

  We nodded cautiously.

  ‘Very well. You’re under arrest for impeding my investigation.’

  ‘No, wait!’ Oliver started. Bones barked and I shushed him and pulled him behind me. My blood ran cold as I pictured us tossed in a cold cell alongside Father.

  ‘Please,’ I said, as quietly as possible. The doorman of the club rolled his eyes and turned away. ‘Don’t. We’ll get out of your way, I promise.’

  The inspector narrowed his eyebrows. ‘Give me one good reason not to lock you two up.’

  ‘We ain’t done nothing,’ Oliver said – but I knew that was no use. Father hadn’t done anything either, and look where that had got him. We needed to try a different tactic.

  ‘Well if you won’t let us leave, perhaps you’ll let us help you,’ I said, thinking on my feet. ‘We know things about the murders. Let us tell you.’

  He fixed his frown on me for a few moments, and I held my breath as I wondered if he was about to clap us in irons. Then his face softened, just the tiniest amount. ‘Come over here a minute,’ he said, gesturing across the street and away from the rude doorman. ‘We’ll see if you have anything of any importance. And if not, you will be going straight back to your parents. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said quickly.

  ‘Don’t have any— I mean, yes,’ said Oliver as I elbowed him.

  ‘And you keep that dog under control,’ Inspector Holbrook added. Bones looked up at him with shining, innocent eyes.

  We crossed the road, trailing after him like lost ducks. He sat down on a bench and pulled out a pipe and a book of matches. I waited for him to start speaking, but he stayed silent as he lit the pipe and a plume of the horrible smoke puffed up.

  ‘This is my break,’ he said finally. ‘You talk, now. As soon as you’re done, I shall be continuing my job.’

  Oliver laid the heavy hammer down on the bench beside him, still wrapped in the tatty paper.

  ‘I believe our former governess Miss Stone has a grudge against my father.’ I paused, not wanting to give too much away – I still didn’t trust the inspector. ‘We found a diary entry she’d written where she talked about stealing aboard the Necropolis railway to come here. Three stops away from her house, by the river.’

  The inspector barely blinked. ‘Show me?’

  I pulled the folded diary entry from my pocket and held it in front of Inspector Holbrook’s eyes.

  ‘Hmm.’

  Sensing he wasn’t going to ask further questions, I continued: ‘We searched the old church and found this hammer.’ I waved at the parcel on the bench, and Oliver bent down to unwrap it.

  The inspector merely frowned. Another plume of smoke rose from his pipe.

  ‘I think you’ll find,’ I said, ‘that this is the murder weapon. It must match the one you found in Father’s possession. That one was planted, you see. He’s been falsely accused.’

  ‘Let’s forget about that for a moment,’ said the inspector, leaning forward – I frowned, not likely to forget any time soon. ‘So you two found this hammer.’

  ‘Well, Bones dug it up,’ Oliver said, but his words were drowned by hoofbeats from the road. Bones looked up proudly, but the inspector ignored them both.

  ‘But why are you trying to get into the Havisham Club?’ he asked.

  I glanced at Oliver, who was mouthing no at me. I too had realised that explaining might be seen as proof that we had indeed stolen the list of names.

  Oh well, I thought. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  ‘We wanted to see if the victims were members there.’ I shrugged. ‘It seemed the logical next step. I thought perhaps we could ask about when they were last seen at the club.’

  The inspector stared down at his pipe for a moment. ‘So you are telling me that you think perhaps the victims were all members of this club, and that the murderer was luring them from there to their doom.’

  I shared a glance with Oliver. ‘Perhaps, yes,’ I said. Bones barked, and I noticed the inspector flinched slightly. Ha! Not so stoic after all.

  ‘Let’s consider this as true for a moment. Let’s also say that most of the victims were found within the close vicinity.’ He still didn’t meet our eyes. ‘How do you know for certain that it was not your father that perpetrated these crimes?’

  The question stole my breath away.

  ‘I … he …’ I was floundering, and his eyes flicked up to mine immediately. He had found a loose thread in our argument and was pulling at it.

  He pointed at the diary entry with his pipe. ‘I have no way of verifying this. Your Aunt Gertrude could have written it for all we know. And your hammer?’

  ‘The murder weapon,’ I insisted, gripping Bones’s collar tightly.

  ‘A hammer on its own is just a hammer,’ he said. ‘All of this together – perhaps it adds up to something.’ He rubbed a hand across his bristly chin. ‘I mistook you for a foolish girl, Miss Veil, and you are clearly not – so I shall be frank with you. We have everything on your father for these murders, save for a confession – the hammer found in his possession that matches the head wounds, the files relating to the victims all missing from his records, the blackmail letter ordering him to harm the victims.’

  So all of the files were missing as I’d suspected, not just Oliver’s. ‘But who sent the letter?’ I asked desperately. I felt sure the answer was nobody. It was a forgery, it had to be.

  The inspector just shrugged. ‘We’ll find them,’ he said. ‘Anyway, if this woman you believe is guilty were to confess, well …’ He raised his hands in the air. ‘That would change things.’

  I bit my lip as I felt anger boil up under my skin. ‘Don’t you want to catch the real killer?’ He seemed as though he barely cared that my father’s life was on the line. ‘What has my father ever done to you, that you would see him hanged over this?’ My voice shook with desperation.

  ‘He’s a good man,’ Oliver added quietly. Bones whined in agreement.

  The inspector sighed. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘your father and I have had disagreements in the past. He worked with our coroner for a few years before his father died, when he took over the running of the business entirely. We didn’t see eye to eye.’

  ‘So that’s it!’ I said. ‘That’s why you’re prosecuting
him!’ Whether the inspector might be involved with the murders, I couldn’t say, but this was a motive for his treatment of Father if nothing else.

  ‘No, child,’ he replied, cradling his pipe thoughtfully. ‘The evidence is prosecuting him. Anger and hatred and jealousy do not speak the truth. Evidence does.’

  ‘Unless the evidence was planted by someone who feels all those things!’ I insisted. ‘I don’t understand why you believe he would do this, sir.’

  ‘Why do you believe that he wouldn’t?’

  Oliver stepped forward. ‘Because I came back from the dead, an’ Mr Veil saved me!’

  or once, Inspector Holbrook actually appeared to be shocked. The wind picked up, whipping leaves all around us as he stared in stunned silence.

  ‘What are you talking about, boy?’ he said eventually.

  Oliver took a deep breath. ‘My name is Oliver. I was living on the streets until I got whacked over the head, an’ everyone thought I was dead. I was deep out of it, a coma, maybe. I woke up at the Veils’ Undertaker’s. It was like I died an’ came back again.’

  ‘Show him your scar,’ I said. I was impressed with his forthrightness and bravery.

  He turned round, lifting his hair to show the inspector, whose eyes narrowed.

  ‘They took me in, sir. Mr Veil had me as his apprentice. But I couldn’t remember what happened, until now. I think I witnessed one of the murders. Right here.’ He pointed at the ruined church. ‘I was shoeshining on this street. I think … I remember I heard a commotion an’ came running, interrupted her. I got this for my troubles.’ He rubbed the scar again.

  ‘You’re sure it was a woman?’ the inspector asked, leaning forward. He laid his pipe down on the bench, forgotten. ‘Could you say for certain?’

  Oliver bit his lip. For a moment, I contemplated making him say yes, but I didn’t think we needed more lies. We needed the truth to set Father free.

  ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Everything’s foggy. But I swear I remember a black dress, an’ lace over her eyes. I just … I just can’t be certain.’