She shook her head.
“Ah, it’s just the one body. Coroner will come for it by the end of the day.” The constable pointed to a table draped in cloth. “Just a small fry, I’m afraid.” He pulled the cloth back to reveal a boy with pale hair and skin a deathly alabaster. The flesh of his face was sinking, and his jaw was darkened by a bruise … or perhaps decay. Asher glanced at Kate out of the corner of his eye. Though she stood straight, her face had lost all color.
“Is it your friend?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He braced himself to catch her, thinking she might fall to the floor in a faint, but somehow she held steady. After a moment she took a step closer, lifting the cloth to peer at the boy’s hand before turning to the constable. “I see marks on his wrist, as though he were bound.”
Asher stared at her, unsettled by such a coldly stated observation. Beside him the constable nodded absently.
“There’s a bruise on his jaw, too, but he had that the last time I saw him,” she continued. “How did he die?”
The constable snapped his fingers. “Now I remember hearing of this one. Dick said something about it just this morning.” He took a deep breath and shook his head.
Asher waited in vain for him to continue. “Well? What did you hear?”
The constable’s only response was another deep sigh.
Asher dug into his pocket again. “For pity’s sake, this is the last coin I have.”
“Well, I won’t show you the entire body,” the constable said, pocketing the money, “but from what I heard, there’s no evidence of fatal trauma. No cuts or heavy bruising.” He pulled the cloth to the boy’s waist. “They did note these two marks.”
Asher leaned in. Two red splotches stood out on the boy’s sunken chest. “What are they?”
The constable shrugged. “Search me. They look a bit like burns, but nothing that would kill a boy. The only other thing I can say is, he wasn’t outside for very long, ’cause there’s no maggots. Someone kept him in a cool, sheltered place after he died. For a while, anyway.” He turned to Kate. “You say you know who he is?”
“His name was Billy,” she said quietly. “I’m afraid I don’t know his surname. He might have been an orphan. He worked for … well, he did odd jobs around Castle End.”
“That’s not much to go on,” the constable said.
“Did you find anything in his clothes?” Kate asked. “A gold watch, perhaps?”
He moved across the room to open a drawer. “No watch here. Why would a boy like this have a gold watch?”
“Because I lent it to him,” Kate said, her expression forbidding.
“No doubt he sold it, or it was stolen,” the constable said. “You said he was a Castle End boy, right? That other body—the old man—was from Castle End, too. Curious, ain’t it?”
Kate didn’t blink. “What will happen to the body?”
“Well, I ain’t exactly certain.” The constable frowned. “With no one to claim him, he’ll likely find his rest in a pauper’s grave at Mill Road. There’s the inquest to get through yet, though that’s not likely to take long.”
Asher pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to the young man. “We are staying at Summerfield College. Would you contact me about burial when the coroner is done with him?”
Once out of the building, Asher paused to inhale the smells of the street. Even fresh pony droppings were a relief after that death reek. Kate stood rigidly next to him, her eyes dark against the pale of her skin.
He cleared his throat. “Are you … I mean, shall we go?”
Her only response was a curt nod.
As they made their way back to the college, Kate kept her head down. Her silence unsettled him. He’d offered money to that fool of a constable, not to mention his card, but she didn’t seem at all grateful or inclined to explain. Why was she keeping him in the dark?
He did know one thing, however—the boy had been her friend. Perhaps she was struggling not to cry. A gentler approach might draw her out, but Asher wasn’t accustomed to speaking in a soothing way to young ladies.
“May I know more about this poor friend of yours?” he finally asked.
Kate gave him a sidelong glance but said nothing.
“Miss Poole, I’m only curious. You went to a lot of trouble to see his body.”
She sighed. “I thank you for your company—and your coins—today. You made things much easier than they otherwise would have been.”
He nodded, somewhat mollified.
“There’s not much more to say,” she continued. “Billy’s dead, and at the moment I’ve no idea who’s responsible.” She glanced at him again. “But you can be sure I’ll find out.”
Chapter 14
Elsie gently dropped the paper into the developing solution. The negative image from the glass plate blossomed quickly over the stiff paper, creating a positive image of Kate reaching for a rose, her head turned to the side and hair rippling over her shoulder.
“You’ve put her in a nightgown,” her aunt had exclaimed.
“We’re not leaving the grounds of the garden,” she’d calmly replied. “Besides, you can’t see anything. She’s fully covered.” Aunt Helena merely rolled her eyes.
Elsie smiled as she immersed the photograph in fixing solution. She’d tried for something like Julia Margaret Cameron’s The Gardener’s Daughter—the virginal, innocent beauty of a girl contemplating a flower. In this photograph Kate seemed bored rather than enraptured, but it still worked well.
For the second image, she had moved the camera closer for a profile view of Kate standing by the vine-covered outer wall of the Thompson Building. Here she’d aimed to follow the style of Cameron’s Maud or Alethea, with the subject’s hair mingling with the greenery, her expression otherworldly. Kate’s hair turned out beautifully, but Kate herself was stifling a giggle. Elsie had to admit it was charming to see Kate smile, but there was nothing ethereal about her expression.
The third was the best of the lot. Kate stood in front of a young willow tree, a slender branch held before her face. The gentle morning light softened the girl’s skin. Elsie had asked her to look directly into the camera, but the expression of challenge on Kate’s face had been entirely her own idea. Look at me, her eyes said. I know something you don’t. I’ve seen things you haven’t. Elsie preferred this bold expression to the demure profile of the first two photographs.
She’d taken only three shots of Kate, but one plate remained. She studied it, trying to recall what it was. She’d not brought any undeveloped plates from Peverel Place. When she held it up to the amber light, she could make out two figures standing next to a large structure.
The last time she’d used her camera was … Oh yes. It was the photograph of Asher and Kate, taken near the small outbuilding at the far end of the garden. That was the day she’d had her seizure—the day her new acquaintances had witnessed just how strange she could be. What a warm welcome she’d given them.
She exposed the plate to paper and placed the latter in the developing solution. The image spread like a stain, revealing Asher, wide-eyed and smiling fatuously, standing next to a grimacing Kate. Elsie giggled. It was a crisply focused shot, but certainly not a flattering likeness of either of them.
A blur next to Kate caught Elsie’s eye. She bent closer, scrutinizing the flaw, but the details were impossible to make out in the low light. She quickly lifted the print and placed it in the finishing solution, waiting the appropriate amount of time before she could risk exposing the image to bright light. Finally she switched on the electric lamp—such a marvel—and held the print near it.
It wasn’t a flaw in the photograph. It was a blur, indeed, but the blur had human outlines. Squinting, she could just make out a small boy standing next to Kate. A small boy in a very grown-up jacket and hat. Had she double-exposed the plate? She couldn’t see how, for she’d not encountered any children for months.
The closer she looked, t
he clearer the details became. Under the brim of his hat the boy’s eyes were dark splotches. His mouth gaped in a silent cry.
Elsie dropped the photo with a shudder.
Though she’d longed to run directly to Tec after that wretched visit to the police station, Kate barely had time to drop by the kitchen and stuff a piece of bread in her mouth before reporting to Freeman at the library. She couldn’t afford to rouse the woman’s ire anytime soon if she wanted to keep her situation, and thus she had no choice but to push her sorrow and frustration to the back of her mind. She threw herself into work for the rest of the day, heaving boxes and sorting through unruly stacks of books as if her life depended on it. Before she left to change for supper, Freeman nodded grudgingly.
“Good work, Poole.”
The simple compliment didn’t erase the horrors of the morning, but it was something.
When Kate finally sat down at the dining table, she couldn’t help staring at Mr. and Mrs. Thompson. They looked to be dressed in their Sunday best. Mr. Thompson’s suit, not nearly as shabby as his daily wear, had been carefully brushed, and his tiepin sparkled against the glossy red silk at his throat. His wife was dressed in her usual dark colors, but this particular fabric boasted sheen and a subtle stripe. Kate peered closer. The woman was wearing earrings, too.
“Is this a special occasion, Aunt?” asked Elsie brightly.
“We have a Society meeting tonight,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Just a small gathering for the local members to plan the agenda for our London meeting Saturday after next.”
A rash of goose bumps prickled Kate’s arms. “Would this be the Metaphysical Society, ma’am?”
“Indeed,” she murmured, not meeting Kate’s gaze.
“What exactly do you do at these meetings?” blurted Kate. “I mean, I know about the Society. I just wondered …”
Mrs. Thompson smiled. “Don’t worry, Kate. I’m glad to tell you. Usually we hear reports on recent findings and research. We might also discuss the latest publications on metaphysical subjects, and make plans for future meetings and conferences.”
Recent research. Did that mean Mr. Thompson would be reporting on the frauds of Mrs. Martineau? Would they all laugh at Mr. Eliot for being duped into believing that a scrawny fourteen-year-old girl was a spirit apparition? The thought of Eliot’s shocked silence, his plump lips tight with dismay, was deeply satisfying. But his shame was linked to hers, so Kate said nothing. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Asher, who was frowning at his glass of wine.
Mrs. Thompson must also have noticed his expression, for her next words were directed at him. “I hope you don’t mind keeping the girls company in our absence, Mr. Beale. We ask that you all stay in this building tonight. Certainly you must not venture outdoors, not with the recent disturbing incidents.”
Her gaze quickly turned forbidding, and Kate nodded in compliance.
“Certainly, ma’am,” Asher said.
Just as quickly Mrs. Thompson’s expression turned affable again. “I know you three will have a lovely time together without the subduing influence of your elders. Of course Millie shall be at hand, should you need anything.”
Kate stifled the urge to roll her eyes. By that she meant Millie’s ears and eyes would be open, and her tongue ready to wag, should the three of them get up to any trouble.
“And you must not forget about our dinner party this weekend,” continued Mrs. Thompson. “We intend to introduce Mr. Beale to our Trinity friends so that he might learn about the college, but we invite you young ladies to attend as well.”
Kate nodded again, not certain what to say and noting that Elsie’s smile lacked enthusiasm.
An hour later the three took their places in the sitting room. Asher stared at an unopened book in his lap while Elsie looked blankly in the direction of the window. Kate glanced at the clock and saw that it was only eight. She wasn’t the least bit tired. It was still light out, for goodness’ sake. Perhaps it was better to retire to her room than to sit in this frozen silence. And yet, if she sat alone in her room, her mind would turn to Billy.
“Miss Poole, isn’t it about time you told us about your dead friend?”
Kate stiffened.
“What dead friend?” Elsie gasped.
“No one’s told her, Poole,” Asher said. “Why don’t you explain? We could work through the evidence together.”
“You know I don’t wish to speak of it,” Kate replied sharply.
“What are you two talking about?”
Asher closed his book. “She’s been blackmailing me, Elsie, buying my compliance with threats of telling you that I stare at you when you’re not looking. Well, of course I stare at you! You’re a beautiful girl.” He turned back to Kate, his cheeks spotted with color. “All right, you must spill it now. Start with the police calling for Mr. Thompson.”
Bastard. And yet she was impressed by this sudden appearance of a backbone. After considering them both for a moment—they did seem genuinely concerned—she cleared her throat and recounted the details leading up to the police station visit.
Elsie’s eyes widened. “This body was found in Queens’ Green yesterday? Why did no one tell me?”
“You retired early … after your episode,” said Asher.
Kate noted the strange look that passed between them. “When I heard it was a young boy,” she continued, “I feared it was someone I knew. A friend of mine—Billy was his name—had been missing since Saturday night. So I asked Mr. Beale to accompany me to the police station to view the body, to confirm that it was my friend.”
Elsie’s brow furrowed. “You looked at the dead body?”
“She did,” Asher said. “Most girls I know wouldn’t have the stomach for it.”
“I’m nothing like most girls.”
“That much is becoming clear to me,” he said quietly.
“Do go on, Kate,” Elsie prompted.
“Billy was like a brother. We worked together for quite a long time.” She paused, grappling for the right words. “I needed to be certain it was him. But I also wanted to know what happened to him. I thought if I saw the body, I would have some idea of how he died. I suppose neither of you has ever lost someone dear to you … at least, not in such a peculiar way.” She clutched at her skirt to still the tremor in her hands. “It’s like a pain in your gut, the wondering.”
They stared at her.
“I understand,” Elsie finally murmured.
“You say you worked with this boy,” said Asher. “What do you mean? What sort of work?”
Kate looked to Elsie for help, but it was clear the girl would provide no cover. Her eager expression was eloquent—Elsie wished to hear the answer as much as Asher. “Well … we both worked for Mrs. Martineau. She’s a medium, very popular with ladies and gentlemen of Spiritualist leanings. I heard once that she really did have psychic powers when she was younger. But since I’ve known her, she’s relied on tricks and theatrics. She employs clever young boys from Castle End to search out clues on her patrons’ dead loved ones. That’s how she impresses them during her séances.”
“And Billy was one of those boys?” asked Elsie.
“He was the best of the lot.”
Asher leaned forward. “But what do you have to do with all this? You still haven’t explained how you worked with this boy.”
“When I was twelve and could no longer attend school, Mrs. Martineau hired me.”
“To do what?”
Kate paused, steeling herself. “I performed during her séances … as her spirit apparition.”
Asher snorted. “Spirit apparition? And Mr. Thompson found you out?” He shook his head. “I’d share this with my father if I had any interest in corresponding with him—yet another example of fraudulent Spiritualists.”
Kate shot him a dark look. “Your father is a member of the Metaphysical Society, isn’t he?”
Asher winced. “How did you know?”
“I’ve seen a list of members. Yo
ur father numbers among them, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, and even”—she glanced at Elsie—“Baron Rolleston.”
“My father?” Elsie gasped.
“Rolleston?” Asher frowned. “But your name is Atherton.”
“Rolleston is his title,” Elsie said absently. “His name is James Atherton. I just … it’s difficult to believe he’s a member.”
“I’ll show you the list later. If Baron Rolleston is not a member now, he was once.” Kate paused before turning to Asher. “My own father was, too. Mr. Thompson shelters me because my father was Frederic Stanton.”
Asher’s mouth fell open. “I know that name. He was a friend to my family—Father even stayed at his house during one of his trips to England.” He frowned. “But if you are Stanton’s child, why is your name Poole?”
Kate hesitated. “I am Frederic Stanton’s natural child,” she said softly. “I was born before he married. As a matter of fact, he refused to marry my mother.”
Elsie cast her eyes downward at this revelation. Asher merely stared.
“He supported us for a time,” Kate continued. “When Mum died, I had to fend for myself.” She looked away, not wanting to see their pity. “Do you know what this means? We are all children of Society members. Odd that we came together like this, don’t you think?”
“I came here partly to escape all that metaphysical hokum,” Asher said. “My father’s made a damn fool of himself over it.”
“After working with Mrs. Martineau,” Kate said quickly, “I had plenty of doubts myself. I still don’t understand precisely what the Metaphysical Society does. I thought Mr. Thompson came to the séance to expose Martineau as a fraud. But a book I found in the Summerfield library—the same one that listed our fathers and the Thompsons as members of the Society—devoted entire chapters to the belief that minds can communicate with each other without speech … even across great distances.”
The Dark Between Page 10