by A. Wendeberg
Olivia flattened her hands on the notes before her. Then she began, ‘Correspondence with Sévère is agonisingly slow, and this problem needs to be solved right away. Hence, I have registered a private detective agency as my new business. Higgins is my assistant, Alf and Rose are…’ she glanced at the girl and smirked, ‘…my spies. And Mr Burroughs…’ she gave William a nod, ‘…will make sure that we do not get ourselves arrested.’
‘At least not before you’ve got your husband out of gaol,’ William said through a mouthful of crumbles.
‘Precisely. Now, as Mr Burroughs has explained to me, Sévère is allowed to hire a private detective to assist his case. Acting as Sévère’s private investigator permits me to meet him in his cell to discuss evidence, strategy, and the like. The second advantage is that I can collect said evidence as official business.’
‘Given anyone takes a lady detective serious,’ William muttered.
Higgins glued his gaze onto William.
Olivia looked up at the coachman. ‘This is where Mr Higgins comes into play.’
He answered with a small nod, and pushed his bowler off his brow with a lazy flick of his fingers. ‘The lady will be taken serious, have no doubt.’
‘Thank you, Mr Higgins. As to—’
‘But what about me?’ Rose piped up. Alf pulled harder on his ear.
‘You, my impatient pirate, will put on trousers, hide your hair beneath a cap, and rub soot on your cheeks. I assume you know perfectly how to do that?’
Rose had the decency to look a little ashamed. She had months of experience sneaking away in disguise, believing no one knew.
Olivia gave a satisfied nod, and turned to Alf. ‘You, young man, will be a perfect gentleman. I’m not planning to send you into dangerous situations, but you will look out for Rose. Is that clear?’
Alf dropped his gaze, and nodded once.
‘And you!’ She narrowed her eyes back at the girl. ‘Show him some respect. You two will be working together. I have no need for two assistants that keep pulling each other’s hair.’
‘She punched me!’ Alf provided.
‘You pinched me first!’ Rose stamped her foot. ‘And you put tadpoles into my soup!’
‘Quiet,’ Higgins said in a voice so low that silence fell at once.
Until a loud slurping noise pulled everyone’s attention to William. He emptied his teacup and placed it with a soft clink on its saucer. ‘Excellent. Now that I have your attention,’ he said, and smacked his lips, ‘…and the children have ceased their bickering, may I recommend we hurry up and address the list your husband has sent you?’
Olivia cleared her throat. ‘Rose, Alf, whenever your school and work duties permit, you will mingle with the local urchins, talk to costermongers, crawlers, anyone who might be able to provide information on the Johnstons and the Franks. But don’t be too obvious about it. And be careful.’
Alf rolled his eyes and was promptly thwacked by Rose.
Olivia dismissed the two, and addressed Higgins and Williams. ‘Sévère asked me to cast a wider net. To talk to all shopkeepers in the area of the Franks’ and the Johnstons’ homes, tail all household members. Learn about all friends, enemies, neighbours, colleagues. Find out about life insurances and bank accounts, and if there have been notable withdrawals, cheques that have not been honoured, and so on.’
‘The police might have already looked into those last,’ William said.
Olivia’s eyebrows rose. ‘Mr Frank is a witness, not a suspect.’
‘Well then, we make him one.’
‘How?’
‘Do you have your cards?’
‘They’ll be ready by tomorrow, the printer assured me.’
William scratched his chin. ‘Hum.’
When he didn’t continue, Olivia said, ‘There’s not much hope Dr Barry will find anything in the samples I brought him today.’
William looked up. ‘Samples?’
‘Oh, did I forget to tell you? Well, last night…’ She told him about the scorched remnants of the towels and waxed paper she’d collected from the hearth at the Franks’ residence, and that she’d brought them to Dr Barry to have them analysed for poison. And that Barry had expressed sincere doubt that the fabric, even if it had been in contact with a poison prior to burning, would have any trace of it left on its remains.
‘Olivia, you must understand that you are not acting on behalf of an official of the crown anymore.’ William rubbed his scalp and shook his head. ‘You are the prisoner’s wife. You cannot confiscate evidence, and hope to have it hold up in court.’
Olivia shoulders slumped. ‘So even if he does find poison, it can’t be used as evidence?’
‘Bet on it.’
‘But what if you confiscate it, Mr Burroughs?’ Higgins asked.
‘An entirely different matter. As long as you don’t hire me as your attorney, that is. And that is why you’ll need me—’
‘What did you mean with making Mr Frank a suspect?’ Olivia cut across William.
He tilted his head to one side, eyeing Higgins and Olivia. Then he smiled meekly. ‘Suspect is such a harsh word. Let us simply say that shedding a new light on the man might come in useful. And not to forget Mrs Johnston! In the court room, they’ll both be treated like victims. They’ve lost their spouses and are in mourning. No attorney in his right mind would touch them with anything less than kid gloves. However, if we can make the police believe that Mr Frank and Mrs Johnston might not be as innocent as they appear, Inspector Height might aid us in our investigation.’
Higgins left his spot by the door, sauntered across the room, and took a seat next to Olivia. William narrowed his gaze at the man, an expression of calculation flickering across his face. ‘Is Mr Higgins the tail?’
Higgins lowered his head in acknowledgement. ‘That is one of my responsibilities.’
‘Excellent. Now, we want to be extremely careful. Olivia, you will need to be established as a private investigator. It has to be official. Public, even. Hum… Best announced by the judge himself, and spread by every newspaper in town.’
Olivia spit out her tea. ‘Excuse me?’
William grinned and slipped another biscuit into his mouth. ‘A good attorney at law is much like a warlord. He must know his enemy’s every next step. Should it give him an advantage, he allows himself to appear weak when in truth he is strong. He must hit his adversaries when least they expect it.’
‘Sounds to me much like being a—’ She clamped her mouth shut, her teeth clacking together.
She’d almost said “whore.”
Evidence
Olivia waited for Higgins to shut the door. Then she pushed the tray with the last biscuit over to William, leant back in her chair, and rubbed her burning eyes. She dearly hoped Higgins would find the mysterious stranger who had visited the Franks shortly before the death of Mrs Frank.
She stretched her neck until it crackled. Her bones felt brittle, her muscles ached. She longed for a hot bath and several hours of uninterrupted sleep. ‘Frost is sending me love letters.’
William coughed. His belly hopped beneath his waistcoat and the buttons threatened to pop off. ‘Love letters?’
‘I’m being sarcastic. He’s threatening me. He knows that I’m alone, now that Sévère is in prison. What precisely his goal is, I don’t know, but…’ She curled her fingers to a fist and watched how the blood drained from her knuckles. ‘I know that he’s using this mess to his advantage. He would love to see me fall, and so…he’s now…’
‘Giving you a shove,’ William completed her sentence.
She huffed.
‘But why?’ he asked.
‘He needs to win. At any cost. Whenever I was unable to receive him — and this happened only a handful of times in all those years — he would punish me afterwards. And now I’m eluding him for good. He can’t live with that. He must own me, yet he can’t. So he seeks revenge.’
‘And you believe he arranged the evidence
so that your husband appears guilty instead of…whom? Frost himself?’
Olivia frowned. ‘I wish I knew. I doubt Frost did it. At least I can’t see why he would…’ She groaned and pressed her knuckles to her eyes. ‘There’s so much to do and so little time! But I know… I just know that I have to find evidence of Frost’s crimes. He has to be made responsible. If only I could prove that he assaults young girls… They would be rid of him. And I would be rid of him. And he couldn’t…’ impatiently, she waved her hands in the air, ‘…manipulate evidence, and whatever else he’s doing. By the Queen’s arse! This is utterly frustrating!’
‘It won’t help you,’ William said softly. ‘I’ve been frequenting bawdy houses for years. You know that.’
Indeed she did. She’d been one of the women he visited.
‘And I’ve known about these “seductions” for just as long. I’ve tried to help. I’ve interviewed several girls. Perhaps fifteen, twenty. None of them were willing to prosecute. None of them knew their assailant’s name. Most said they had not even seen the assailant’s face, or wouldn’t recognise him if they saw him again. A few said they might recognise his voice.’
Olivia swallowed. She hadn’t recognised Frost when he had come to her the second time, a few days after his first assault. Until she saw the backs of his hands, heard his voice, his groans.
She turned her face away as William continued, ‘They did not wish to prosecute because they know that no one believes a girl who cries rape. A woman who has lost her chastity is a discredited witness. The fact that she was in a brothel would be seen as evidence of her consent, even though she had been abducted and drugged. The madam and all who work there would always swear she’d been a consenting party. And the girl would be condemned as an adventuress.’
Silence settled in the room. Olivia heard the tireless struggle of a fly as it bounced up and down a window pane. The clattering of hooves down on the street. One man shouting at another.
‘And this will go on as long as men have money and power, and women are forbidden both,’ she said.
‘And instead of protecting them, parents keep their daughters in the dark about all of this. A girl who knows what a man is capable of doesn’t appear innocent enough to potential suitors, making it harder to marry her off,’ William added sourly.
‘The meat market must thrive.’ Olivia inhaled deeply, pushed out a breath, and forced herself to not throw Sévère’s ashtray at William’s head. None of this was William’s fault.
‘As to building a case against Frost — theories of moral contamination are shifting. The law is growing more aware of rape and abuse. However, the legislation for prosecuting child abuse is extraordinarily complicated. You will find that a perpetrator might be charged with rape in one district, with a misdemeanour in another, and not at all in yet another. Successful prosecution depends not only on reliable witnesses — whom you don’t have — but also on the experience of the magistrate, the police, and the attorneys, as well as on the attitudes of the jurymen.’
‘Are you saying I will have to catch him in the act of raping a child?’
‘No, because he will claim that she told him she was of age and had offered herself to him. Furthermore, he’ll claim that you are accusing him to distract the jury, to influence your husband’s trial. ’
Olivia gazed out the window. She clenched her jaw until her teeth screeched.
‘I am sorry, Olivia. I truly am,’ William said softly.
She shook her head and blinked the burning from her eyes. After a moment, she asked, ‘Can he influence the outcome of Sévère’s trial?’
‘Officially, he can’t. Unofficially, he can steer your ship against a cliff. He can make evidence appear and disappear. He need only be careful about it. No one would think anything amiss. No one would ever suspect him.’
Olivia gazed at her hands, and nodded. Of course. He is the Chief Magistrate. He can do as he wishes.
The bell rang as she entered the chemist’s shop. She caught a whiff of something bitter. The scent disappeared the moment she sniffed again. At the counter, a man was bent over a note a customer had just given him. ‘I am not quite sure what it says here.’ A hairy finger pointed at crooked script.
‘Might want to ask Mr Walker to help you read it,’ the customer said gruffly. ‘It says “quinine,” by the by.’
The man squinted at the note. Olivia guessed him to be a rather new addition to the flock of assistants Mr Walker kept in employ.
‘Twenty grain?’
The customer — a bespectacled man in his seventies, pulled off his hat and pinched the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Indeed. Twenty grains.’
‘Humpf.’ The assistant frowned at the note.
‘My dear man, my presence is required elsewhere. So if you would please weigh twenty grains of quinine at your earliest convenience?’
Olivia’s gaze swept the room, the hundreds of small brown bottles, larger white bottles, dark wooden drawers and boxes. She folded her hands behind her back, and watched the assistant systematically weigh small amounts of white powder onto a piece of tinfoil, remove excess quinine, add a tiny bit more when he saw that the weight wasn’t quite correct, and again scoop off what he had put on too much.
Pulling in a slow breath, she begged for a patience she didn’t have.
The assistant folded the tinfoil to a neat square, then chose a small paper envelope, wrote his name, the chemist’s name and address, the contents, date, and time onto it, then slipped the tinfoil packet inside. The customer reached for it, but the assistant held up his hand and said, ‘I have to enter the amount and your name into our poison register.’
‘Quinine is a poison?’ the customer said, gripping the front of his waistcoat.
‘Indeed it is.’ With that, the assistant whipped out a fat volume and slowly wrote the date, his name, the type and amount of poison, then looked up expectantly. ‘Your name, sir.’
‘Walter Clifton.’
‘Thank you.’
Money was exchanged for drug, and Mr Clifton left the shop. Olivia stared after him, thinking.
‘Miss?’
She turned and smiled. ‘Does the law require you to ask the name of a customer who wishes to purchase a poison from you?’
‘Of course it does. Do you wish to purchase a poison, Miss…?’
‘Mary Andrews. I need a small jar of Unguent aconitia.’
Olivia held out her hand and the horse nuzzled her palm in the darkness. Long, soft hairs tickled her skin. Warm scents of horse dung and straw, of barley and fresh hay soothed her. She leant her brow again the chestnut’s forehead. The horse snorted and pulled away.
‘You are making her nervous. Place your hand on her neck instead.’
Olivia jumped. She had not heard Higgins enter the stable.
‘So you do in fact know something about horses,’ she said, lifting her fingers and brushing them down the horse’s neck. The animal blinked its large, dark eyes and huffed.
‘I know how to listen.’
‘And did you learn anything new?’
He leant against the stable wall. ‘Other than you not being able to sleep, I’ve not learnt much. No one came or left. Mrs Johnston was watching the street and the houses across from hers until just after midnight. Two urchins are now keeping an eye on our subjects. I will catch a bit of sleep and relieve them before dawn. I doubt much will happen between now and then. What time is it, anyway?’
‘Half past one.’
‘Well then, I’d better make it quick,’ he said and rolled up in the straw.
‘You are sleeping in the stable?’
‘Harrumph,’ was the only answer.
Olivia fidgeted with a strand of the horse’s mane. ‘Mr Higgins, I have a favour to ask.’
He grunted and clapped one eye open.
‘You may…chose to not aid me in my…in that particular… Well, dammit. I need a revolver. You wouldn’t know how I could come by one, would
you?’
Fourth Act
Stars,
hide your fires.
Let not light
see
my black and deep
desires.
* * *
William Shakespeare
Trial
Day one
* * *
The court room was packed to suffocation long before the opening hour of the trial. The corridors were crowded, as was the domed marble hall, and even the stairs to the entrance. Ladies had donned their most fashionable garments and fanciest hats, as if this spectacle were not a murder trial, but a garden party.
The whole of London wanted to see the Coroner of Eastern Middlesex in the prisoner’s dock. Who would have thought the man a murderer? Who would have thought a respectable man so cold-blooded?
At quarter to eleven the judicial procession strode into the court room. Justice Sir Charles Hawkins was an imposing figure, robed in scarlet and ermine. He was immediately followed by two aldermen, the recorder, the sheriffs and under-sheriffs, and several Middlesex magistrates, among them Linton Frost. The man was like a knife slipped through Olivia’s armour.
The bench bowed to the court, the court returned the salutation, and everyone sat down.
Olivia’s stomach was in knots. She wanted to swipe the stupid flower bouquets and the small heaps of dried herbs off the desks that stood alongside the bench. She wanted to snatch the black cap from the judge, rip it to shreds and burn it. That black cap would press heavy on her every minute Sévère spent in the prisoner’s dock. It was a constant reminder that this trial was a matter of life and death.
All eyes turned to a small door in the back. It opened, and Sévère was led in. A man walked on Sévère’s right, while his left side leant heavily on a crutch. He appeared composed, almost detached, but Olivia saw the tension in his shoulders and jaw.
He faced the bench and managed an awkward half-bow.