Spider Silk

by A. Wendeberg

  ‘Those won’t be necessary,’ Sévère said. ‘But I will require my crutch, my pain medication, and my cane. Will I be sent to the House of Detention?’

  ‘No. Given your position, I believe it unwise to put you up in a cell with men who might want to do you harm. You will be transferred to a solitary cell at Newgate.’

  Sévère shut his eyes for a moment and nodded. ‘May I have a word with my wife before we leave?’

  ‘Of course,’ Height answered. ‘You have as much time as I should need to search your house and confiscate further evidence.’

  Unspeaking, Sévère rose and approached Olivia. He pulled her aside and spoke softly into her ear, ‘Contact your barrister. You’ll want someone who’s familiar with certain facts. Ask Mr Gladstone and Mr Robson if they are willing to assist Mr Bicker in my defence.’ Seeing the faint tremble in her shoulders, he took her hand in his. ‘Whatever should unfold, your future will be taken care of.’

  ‘You have such a charming way of offending me, Coroner.’ She straightened, squeezed his hand in return, and subtly nodded toward the police. ‘I’ll have to be faster than they, I suppose.’

  Stone Walls

  Click.

  * * *

  Sévère’s gaze followed a spider scuttling across the arched ceiling of his cell until it disappeared into one of the many cracks in the mortar. For lack of a pillow, he’d folded an arm under his head. His legs were stretched out. At least there was a blanket. He’d wrapped it around his left leg, and covered it with his jacket. Cold crept into that limb faster than any other.

  He caught himself counting the whitewashed bricks, wondering if the mortar might be soft enough to carve himself a window to the outside world. Or an escape route. The chuckle that rolled up his throat sounded hollow.

  Click.

  He tried to direct his mind back to the case, to analyse the limited evidence he and Olivia had collected, and line up the events that had led to his arrest. But worry muddled his thoughts. What if… He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing his mind to focus.

  Click.

  Growling, he sat up and searched for the source of the clicking noise. In the semi-darkness it took him a while to locate a small puddle on the floor, and high above it, a white bump. A minuscule stalactite. Probably lime, he thought. Not that it mattered.

  He pulled off a sock — his right one — and placed it on the puddle. The next drop hit with a dull fop.

  Satisfied, Sévère covered up his weak leg again, and lay back down. If Olivia were able to find Bicker in his office and talk to him, the barrister should be arriving soon. Sévère needed to get a better grasp on himself. His time with Bicker would be limited. An hour or two at the most. He’d best make use of it.

  He tried to understand how precisely he had ended up in Newgate. The evidence against him was weak and circumstantial…although, to be honest, Inspector Height had shown decent detective skills. Sévère had to admit he would have seen himself as one of the main suspects had he considered the small bottle of aconitia powder and the jar of unguent. But there was nothing that could have been done differently. And there was no turning back time.

  Sévère put the matter aside.

  The hasty arrest was certainly due to a series of unfavourable circumstances: The dislike police and coroners cultivated against one another. The increasing demands of public and press for swift apprehensions, convictions, and sentencing. It was the fashion for policemen to quickly arrest whomever fit the bill of might-have-done-it. Which usually was the person who found the body, reported the crime, or was married to the victim.

  In this case it happened to be Sévère.

  To make matters worse, he was married to a former prostitute whose former regular was the Chief Magistrate — the man who had signed the warrant to take him into custody.

  He should have to navigate carefully around this topic when he spoke with Bicker.

  Sévère sucked in a breath. Inspector Height, too, knew Olivia’s background. Should she ever be called onto the witness stand, Height and Frost would make public what she’d been. Or still was. In the eyes of society, a whore was always a whore. And no jury would believe a word she said.

  Even if she never had to give her statement, Frost would not let slip this opportunity to further discredit Sévère. Most likely, some newspaperman would get an anonymous tip to check the true identity of the Coroner’s wife. And that would cause a scandal of such proportions as London had rarely seen. All Sévère’s and Olivia’s missteps and misfortunes would be paraded in court, and expatiated in all major newspapers across the city. Most likely across Britain. Their private lives would be dragged out into the open and run through the sewers.

  ‘Goddammit!’ he cried, and slammed a fist against the wall. The sharp pain didn’t calm his nerves in the least.

  As he sucked the blood from his knuckles, he came to realise that he would have to stay in gaol for weeks while Olivia was being deeply humiliated. And he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

  They were both already ruined.

  Olivia stepped onto the pavement. She shut her eyes and filled her lungs. The attorneys Mr Gladstone and Mr Robinson had both agreed to take on Sévère’s case and assist Mr Bicker. Bicker was an agreeable man, she thought. He made a solidly professional impression, and had departed at once to see Sévère at Newgate.

  Her next task wouldn’t be as straightforward.

  She looked up and pushed through the bustle of afternoon shoppers, searching the busy street for an available cab. Several hansoms wove through the press of carts, omnibuses, bicycles, and hurried pedestrians. None of the carriages were empty.

  She walked down the street until she spotted a waiting cab, but quickly doused the reflex to summon it, wondering if she really needed to involve William. She felt an aversion to stirring up her past. William had been a regular client for more than two years. He had always been a perfect gentleman, but he certainly wouldn’t be happy when she showed up on his doorstep. There was a good chance he would be appalled.

  Her eyes followed the trajectory of a small, green ribbon as it was blown across the street by a summer breeze, then caught by the wheel of an omnibus, and slammed into horse dung.

  Smiling, she recalled William’s offer when they’d parted half a year ago. “If your husband causes you any trouble, let me know and I’ll turn him to pulp.” She lifted her arm and cried, ‘Cabbie!’

  * * *

  ‘Mr Burroughs can see you now,’ said the clerk who had admitted Olivia a few moments earlier. He showed her down a short corridor to William’s office.

  She stepped into the room and found herself facing an expansive behind in pinstripe trousers. ‘Did you drop something?’ she asked softly and shut the door.

  He wheeled around, his wrist knocking against a coffee pot that sat on a large desk. He just managed to catch the vessel before it vomited its contents over a disorderly stack of papers.

  ‘Damnation!’ burst through his formidable moustache. William cleared his throat, and looked up. Flustered, he blinked, and then his mouth split to a grin. ‘Such a pleasant surprise!’

  He approached her, grabbed her outstretched hand with both of his, and lifted her knuckles to his lips. ‘You look splendid, Olivia.’ He indicated a chair. ‘Please, sit, and pray tell me what brings you here.’

  She sat, dropped her bonnet on his desk, and pulled off her lace gloves, finger by finger. ‘I expect you’ve already heard it.’

  Mischievously, he waggled his eyebrows. ‘If your husband is involved in a scandal, then, no, I haven’t…’ His expression fell. ‘Clearly, something is worrying you! What is it? How can I help?’

  ‘Sévère was arrested this afternoon. Murder charges have been brought up against him.’

  William blew though his moustache. ‘Bloody hell. Did he do it, do you know?’

  ‘He is innocent. His friend died under suspicious circumstances in our house. We’ve been investigating it, and now…’
She clamped her mouth shut and frowned.

  William waited for her to continue. When she did not say more, he asked, ‘May I ask if you require a lawyer or a friend?’

  She inhaled deeply. ‘I believe I need both.’

  ‘Well, then.’ He leant back, and pushed a hand between two buttons of his waistcoat to scratch his portly stomach. ‘Allow me to offer you both.’

  Faintly, she smiled and gave him a little nod. ‘This case has taken on…proportions which are rather disturbing.’

  ‘Here, have a drop. You seem to be in need of it.’ He poured coffee into a small cup, and pushed it over to her.

  She drank, cleared her throat, and folded her hands on William’s desk. ‘The case against Sévère is fabricated. Chief Magistrate Frost signed the warrant.’

  ‘Frost signing the warrant does not indicate a fabrication—’

  ‘In this case, it does. Frost is a former client of mine. Among…certain individuals, he’s well known to have a taste for underage girls. Sévère and I were collecting evidence against him, and I believe he is behind this arrest because he knows we are investigating him.’

  William had grown still. His gaze lost focus, then flicked to the door and back at Olivia. He signalled to her to check the door. She rose without making a sound, tiptoed to the door and yanked it open. The corridor was empty.

  She shut the door and looked questioningly at William.

  ‘One of my clerks is a chronic eavesdropper. It has it’s uses…at times,’ he explained. ‘Come. Let’s sit over there.’ He indicated the chaise at the far side of the room. ‘And tell me everything from the beginning.’

  The warden walked Olivia to the galleries. A glass ceiling admitted the late afternoon sun, staining the golden rays a muddy yellow. Dust rained through the beams of light, creating an impression that the odours of stale urine, sweat, faeces — and the starchy smell reminiscent of the cheap establishments where she’d worked when she was very young — were a sticky substance that was destined to remain in her lungs forever.

  She clenched her teeth and followed the warden up the first flight of stairs, the second, third, and fourth. The metal steps echoed their footfalls. At each storey, prisoners pressed their faces up against the high, barred windows of their cell doors to see who was being brought in. Upon glimpsing Olivia, they hollered obscenities and made crude gestures.

  She wondered what Sévère had been obliged to endure when he was brought here. Surely, the news that the Coroner of Eastern Middlesex himself had been arrested on murder charges had spread like fire. Had anyone helped him climb the many stairs? Was he in fear for his life, or would the wardens be keeping him safe from the other prisoners?

  They came to a halt in front of a cell. She curled her trembling fingers to fists.

  Sévère rose as the warden locked the door behind Olivia’s back. As the man’s steps faded, her eyes touched on the whitewashed brick walls, the decrepit water tank in the far corner, the basin beneath it, and the bucket that served as privy. The bedding Sévère had risen from. His crutch. Next to the door, a table provided just enough space for one plate and one mug. A small stool that seemed to have been fashioned for a child. She blinked, and Sévère had the impression she was trying to will a window into the walls.

  He watched her turn and look at the small opening in the cell door — the only opening that let in light. She turned back and finally gazed at him. Her chest was heaving and her mouth a thin line.

  He sat back down on the bedding and bade her join him.

  ‘How are you doing?’ she asked, her voice brittle.

  ‘I am well, thank you.’ He inhaled and continued in a whisper. ‘Olivia, you must leave London.’

  He found no surprise in her expression.

  ‘I thought about it and decided against it,’ she answered quietly.

  ‘Olivia,’ he growled, ‘as soon as your past becomes known — and believe me, it will — every man will treat you as fair game. Especially Frost. I remember how that man looked at you. It still chills me. He is…an aberration, and yet, not the only man with such…tastes. If you could hear men talk amongst themselves, you’d know that—’

  ‘Don’t you think I know this?’

  His expression darkened, a dangerous flicker in his eyes. ‘You probably know this much better than most women.’

  Stretching his legs, he gazed up at the ceiling. Then he shook his head. ‘You must leave London in any case. Frost will make certain your past becomes known. The man wants you for himself. He probably believes that I’ll divorce you as soon as he spills the dirty details. Or he simply wants to discredit us. Whatever his motivations, as long as I’m in gaol, you are unprotected.’

  Olivia laughed, then made to speak. A nearby noise in the corridor stopped her. She scooted closer to Sévère and said softly, ‘Frost won’t dare reveal a thing.’

  Sévère lifted an eyebrow.

  She shrugged, but said no more.

  ‘If you believe he’ll refrain from doing so because he was your client and exhibited tastes the Bible doesn’t condone, you are mistaken. It’s always the woman who lures a man into immoral actions. Men can’t help themselves.’ His voice was thick with sarcasm.

  ‘Oh, that’s not it.’ She waved a dismissive hand. ‘I know I’ll lose credibility the moment it becomes known I was a whore. But I once had credibility. It was Frost who took it from me.’

  Sévère froze. His stomach roiled. He swallowed, and spoke with considerable effort. ‘He was your first.’

  ‘Yes. He was the man who paid Mrs Gretchen to abduct me.’

  ‘Why the deuce did you never tell me?’ His hand came down on his mouth. ‘And, by god, how could I have been so blind?’

  ‘I did not mention it because I found it insignificant.’

  ‘Insignificant? Insignificant? Woman, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’ He rubbed his scalp with vigour, then regarded her sharply and whispered, ‘I will kill this swine for you.’

  She smiled at him, then shook her head once. ‘We need Frost to make sure that no one mentions my past during the proceedings. And I’m certain he doesn’t want it mentioned, because he doesn’t want to take the risk of being implicated.’

  She sighed. ‘It will already be difficult enough for you to gain back your office as Coroner. You don’t need everyone knowing what I am. Or was. Now, let us focus on the case. Oh, but how is your leg doing? It’s awfully chill in here.’

  He grumbled at that. ‘The warden took the unguent from me.’

  ‘I will kill this swine for you,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye. Sévère snorted and poked a finger at her stomach.

  ‘Who’s your chemist?’ she asked.

  ‘Mr Walker.’

  ‘The one at Whitechapel Road?’

  ‘The very one.’

  ‘Was Bicker of any help today? Could he say anything as to the bail?’

  ‘There is no bail for murder suspects. And yes, he’s been very helpful already. He secured a second visitation, else the warden wouldn’t have allowed you to see me. It’s an exception. Only one visitor per day is permitted, one hour, at noon. It is best if Bicker and you visit on alternate days. In the meantime, write down all the questions you have and all the developments in our case. Bicker can bring your letter to me, so I can read it the day before you come here. Under the given circumstances, this is the most effective way to communicate.’

  ‘At least you have a very positive way of describing it,’ she said dryly.

  He took her hand in his, but dropped it after a short moment. ‘I am sorry you have to do this alone while I sit here and…take a holiday.’

  ‘Well, now I finally have the opportunity to prove my worth.’

  ‘You don’t need to prove anything to me, Olivia.’

  ‘Then I’ll prove to everyone else that a woman can solve a crime. Newspaper men are drooling over this case. The whole of London will read about Mrs Sévère saving her husband from the gallows.’ She clapped a han
d to her mouth, all colour draining from her cheeks. ‘I am so sorry. That was tasteless and cruel.’

  Sévère’s jaw set. ‘I fail to see how the reward of fame and glory could possibly be worth me sitting in a windowless cell in Newgate.’

  She dropped her gaze. ‘Gavriel,’ she said softly, ‘if it were possible, I would trade places with you.’

  ‘It is a waste of time to speculate—’

  ‘I’m not speculating,’ she cut across him. ‘I’m simply saying that I would take your place. It would make more sense. I’m well practiced in being held captive, and you are well practiced in investigating murder cases.’

  ‘And now our roles and expertise are reversed.’ He dropped his head in his hands and laughed. ‘Well, dammit to hell and back!’

  ‘I’m scared.’ She grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into it.

  He glanced down at her hand. ‘I am not. The bill of indictment will be rejected by the Grand Jury within a week. The evidence against me is too weak. I’ll never be brought to trial.’ He looked up at her then. ‘I’m convinced of that.’

  She cocked her head. ‘You are lying. I can see that you are worried.’

  ‘A little. This place isn’t exactly…pleasant.’

  Both froze as the clanking of keys and heavy footfalls announced the approaching warden.

  ‘I’ll get you out of here.’ She grinned and whispered, ‘Right after I kill that warden for you.’

  He covered her hand with his. ‘Whatever you do, Olivia, finding Johnston’s murderer is your first priority. Don’t let the trail go cold. Forget Frost for the time being, and focus on Johnston.’

  The sound of a key turning in a lock sent her to her feet. She straightened her skirts and gave Sévère a curt nod. ‘I’ll be the finest detective you’ve ever known.’

  He watched her leave, wondering what kind of man would ask his wife to hunt down a killer alone.