Spider Silk

by A. Wendeberg

  ‘Gold?’ Sévère asked, as Olivia placed the lump into his outstretched hand.

  ‘The note reads, I am sorry. The jeweller told me it’s 3.8 troy ounces with a purity of more than ninety-five per cent.’

  ‘That must be twenty, thirty pounds sterling,’ Sévère mused.

  ‘Twenty-seven.’

  He rolled the metal around on his palm, held it up close to his eyes, and squinted. ‘Could have come from anywhere. All one needs to do is melt down jewellery or sovereigns. The question is, why.’ He looked up at her. ‘Have you got an idea?’

  ‘Not the slightest. But it certainly wasn’t Frost.’

  ‘No. The note is handwritten and not a sick threat.’ Sévère scrutinised the note, sniffed the paper, and harrumphed. ‘I smell no perfume. The hand looks as if it might be from a man.’

  ‘William found out that the man from London Joint Stock Bank manages investments. He won’t say what he’s doing for Mr Frank. But if Mr Frank invests in gold, this might be his.’ She snatched the lump from him. At Sévère’s amused glance she added, ‘I do know this is conjecture. Investing in gold doesn’t mean he has it lying around his house.’

  Sévère patted his hammock. As she sat down, her shoulder pressed to his, he said, ‘There was something in Mr Frank’s statement that…’ He scratched his stubbly chin. ‘I will let it grow.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I’ll let it grow.’ He tapped his chin. ‘When the trial continues, the jury will see a new face and new evidence. I appear…good-natured with a beard. Less angles on which to cut oneself. It might help them forget all the incriminating details they heard during the first three days.’

  ‘But the solicitor-general will remind them in his closing speech, will he not?’

  His smile and his eyes grew soft. ‘Look at the amiable man with his brace and his crutch. Do you believe what the evil attorney is saying?’

  She poked his chest and grinned. ‘Very amiable, very much the very poor, innocent man.’

  His smile faded. ‘About Mr Frank’s witness statement. Have you noticed that he did not mention washing his wife’s body? He was asked to describe the night his wife died. Mrs Appleton told you that he washed his wife’s body, and after that she washed it again. Yet neither mentioned it in their witness statements. Not a word about it. You told me that you found her pushing about a bucket with towels and waxed paper which were later burned. If we were to assume that Mrs Frank was murdered and Johnston was…a calamity, we might also assume that aconitia was applied onto Mrs Frank’s skin to kill her. When Johnston tried to revive her, he touched her frequently and intensely enough to transport poison from her skin to his own. We might further assume that Mr Frank or Mrs Appleton then washed the poison off Mrs Frank’s body to avoid detection. And to avoid poisoning themselves, waxed paper was placed between the wet towel or flannel and their own skin as they washed hers.’

  Olivia stared at her hands and sucked in a breath. She turned her wrists to gaze at her palms, and frowned. ‘After the postmortem… Rose told me that she’d gone to Johnston and wished him good night. That she held his hand, and rubbed off a speck of blood. She came to my room, looking ill. Later, she vomited. It wasn’t violent, merely a mouthful. As might be expected from a girl who had just witnessed something horrible. But what if she were experiencing the effects of aconitine? She kept scratching her hand. Her right palm.’

  Sévère’s spine snapped to attention. ‘Go to Bicker at once. Rose has to give a witness statement. Should Dr Barry not be able to find aconitine in Johnston’s skin samples, my release might hinge on the girl alone.’

  Olivia snatched his hand. ‘I believe… What if…’ She felt the pressure of his warm fingers and her thoughts lined up, the jumble in her mind cleared. ‘The rim of his hat was moist, Netty said. He arrived at the house sweating. The jury heard her say it. I’ll ask Bicker to have Johnston’s bowler hat confiscated and sent to Dr Barry for analysis.’

  Sévère pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it, but abruptly dropped it like hot cinder. ‘My apologies. I didn’t mean to break my promise.’ He seemed genuinely shocked.

  ‘I’m not entirely blind, Gavriel. I do see the difference,’ she said softly. ‘A kiss given in joy and gratitude, not in… Not taken with greed and little thought.’

  ‘There was little thought. And I might also be greedy.’

  ‘I wish you would lie more often.’

  When he opened his mouth to reply, she cut across him, ‘I will make sure Rose gives her statement tomorrow. I also need to speak with the personal maid Mrs Frank employed up until a few months ago. She might have insights on the Franks that no one else has. I spoke to her brother — Mrs Frank’s half-brother. He is the dye chemist at the fashion boutique on Sillwood Street, and he told me about Mrs Frank’s many miscarriages, and her history of a weak heart. I asked him if Mrs Appleton warms Mr Frank’s bed. He said he doesn’t think so, and I believe him.’

  Sévère was silent. The dripping noise seemed louder than the last time she’d been here. She looked up at the ceiling, and tried to find the source, but failed.

  ‘You are a good detective,’ he began. ‘If you wish, you may keep my offices for your private detective agency.’

  ‘Are you jesting? I heard Bicker mention that you wish to modify your will. How can you even think of the possibility of a death sentence?’

  ‘I have to consider all possibilities. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it.’

  She dipped her head. ‘I… I have, of course.’

  ‘The offer stands, whether I be released, or not.’

  The or not hung heavily between them.

  New Witness

  Higgins stood by the door, hand on the knob. ‘They are still there. The whole horde of them. Would you like me to scare them off?’

  Olivia came to an abrupt halt in the hallway. Rose bumped into her back.

  ‘They can rot on the pavement for all I care.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I might need shooting lessons, though. Would newspaper men be an appropriate target, do you think?’

  A flash of surprise. He doused it with a dry, ‘The brougham is ready, Mistress.’

  They went through the stables and climbed into the carriage. Olivia pulled the curtains shut. As Higgins steered them out of the courtyard, cries of ‘Mrs Sévère! Mrs Sévère! Just one question!’ made Olivia cringe. She was certain the servants had learned about her past occupation in the morning papers. Netty had not met her eye while serving breakfast.

  She was surprised that it had taken days for the information to leak to the papers — information that wasn’t supposed to leave the court room at all. She had expected it to be front page news within hours of the so-called Dr X letter being presented to the jurymen.

  They alighted in front of the Leman Street police station. Rose’s fingers felt clammy in Olivia’s hand as they crossed the walkway. The girl had been fidgeting since Olivia had told her the previous night that her witness statement would be taken by Inspector Height at Division H Headquarters at ten o’clock the next day.

  Two bobbies stood under the marble arch at the entrance, bickering through unkempt moustaches.

  ‘Excuse us,’ Olivia said as she pushed past them, tugging at Rose who had bent her neck to read a decree on a nearby billboard.

  A scarecrow of a policeman received them, and led them up a staircase, into an office. He wore a jacket that was too large for his bony frame, and probably a third- or fourth-hand piece. It was clean enough, but the cuffs and collar were frayed, and the elbows patched. ‘Inspector’ll be here in a minute,’ he said as a way of bidding his farewell.

  ‘They really should let in fresh air,’ Rose said, and pinched her nose.

  Olivia shushed her, but walked up to the window and tore it wide open. Clouds of tobacco smoke gradually cleared.

  The door was opened and Height walked in followed by…

  Olivia braced herself on the windowsill.

  ‘Goo
d day to you, Mrs Sévère. May I introduce Chief Magistrate Frost and Detective Sergeant Thick. PC Mizen will record the young lady’s statement.’ He pulled a chair out for Rose and bade her sit.

  Olivia nodded at everyone in the room, dampening the urge to push between Frost and the girl, to shield her from him. All she could do was position herself behind Rose’s chair, eyes on Frost and the Detective Sergeant, who had now arranged themselves along the wall.

  PC Mizen found a stool and sat, back bent, bespectacled eyes intently on his pencil.

  Height settled down at his desk, resting his elbows on the worm-eaten surface. He gifted Rose a brief smile, and said, ‘The attorney of your master told us you have observed something peculiar regarding the death of Dr Johnston.’

  A shy bob of her head. Her braids slipped off her shoulders.

  Olivia patted Rose’s arm. Height looked up at her and gave a minute shake of his head. She squeezed Rose once, then removed her hand.

  ‘Will you tell me what it was that you observed?’ he asked.

  ‘I hid in the closet.’ Her voice was so small, Olivia wished she could reach out and smooth Rose’s hair. But it would appear as though she influenced the witness, which PC Mizen would write down at once, and the jurymen would get to read. So she pulled herself together. After all, no one would be harmed.

  ‘You hid in the closet.’ Height repeated, and it was enough to open the flood gates.

  ‘I hid in the closet. In the laundry room. I wanted to see him, but I didn’t know…didn’t know…’ A small sob. ‘They cut him up and there was so much blood. I squeezed my eyes shut and my ears but…it took so long. I was cold and hungry and tired and didn’t want to sit in the closet any longer because everything hurt. And then all the blood was gone and I climbed out and he was… I swear I’ll stop being so nosey!’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Height said. ‘So you climbed out of the closet and looked at Dr Johnston. What did you see?’

  ‘He looked like he was sleeping. But there were awful stitches around his head and throat.’ She motioned to her own face.

  Height nodded.

  ‘I swear I wanted to leave right away, but then I thought…I thought it’s impolite. So I went to him and wished him a good night.’

  PC Mizen snorted. Rose blushed and dropped her gaze.

  ‘PC Mizen, you are not interrupt the witness.’ Height said.

  Mizen muttered an apology, and bent lower over his notes.

  ‘That was very considerate of you, Miss Rousseau. And did you leave after you said your farewells to Dr Johnston?’

  ‘Not right away. I saw that there was a small drop of blood on his hand. I didn’t want to rub it off on my sleeve, because it leaves stains. So I…um…used spittle.’

  ‘Where on his hand was it?’

  She pointed at her right palm.

  ‘What did you use to wipe it off if you didn’t use your sleeve?’

  ‘Just my hand. I rubbed his hand till it was dry and clean. It even got a little bit warmer. He was so cold, you know. And then I told him I was sorry.’

  ‘What were you sorry about?’

  ‘That he was dead and cut up and laid out in our laundry room.’

  Height was silent for a moment. Then he said. ‘What happened after you wiped the blood off Dr Johnston’s hand?’

  Rose stared at her own palms and whispered, ‘I went to Olivia’s room and into her bed. I was so tired. I hadn’t slept a wink. And I was afraid I would dream of it…of him. And then I… My hand began to prickle, and then it burned.’

  Absentmindedly, she scratched her right palm. ‘It burned terribly. And then I was sick.’

  ‘You were sick?’

  ‘Yes. On the…the carpet.’

  ‘Where you very sick?’

  ‘Only a little.’

  ‘For how long?’

  Rose answered so softly, Height asked her to repeat herself.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I… Olivia helped me sleep.’

  ‘Did she give you sleep medicine?’

  ‘She sang a lullaby.’

  Height narrowed his gaze at Olivia, but addressed Rose, ‘When you woke up, did you still feel poorly?’

  ‘No, but I was very hungry and I missed Mr Pimley’s lessons.’

  ‘Mr Pimley of Pell Street tutors you?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not very good.’

  ‘You are doing all right, Rose,’ Olivia said, and looked up to find Frost’s bored gaze directed at something outside the window.

  Height asked a few more questions, basically making Rose repeat the main points of her statement. He prodded for weaknesses and lies, but found none. He asked Rose if she was prepared to repeat her statement at court, upon which she produced a tittering, ‘Yes.’

  Height leant back and nodded, satisfied. ‘Thank you, Miss Rousseau. Mrs Sévère, as I understand, you are the girl’s mistress and guardian?’

  ‘I am. She is my maid.’

  ‘Very well. I will need you to read her statement. Both of you will sign at the bottom, as will all gentlemen who witnessed Miss Rousseau’s statement today.’

  Before PC Mizen handed his notes to her, she said, ‘May I ask why the Chief Magistrate is present? Surely, the statement of a little girl can’t be worth his time.’

  Frost smiled. ‘Are you suggesting you know the responsibilities of a Chief Magistrate, Mrs Sévère?’

  Olivia shoved down all the nasty replies that threatened to spill from her mouth. ‘I suggested that your time is precious, Chief Magistrate.’

  ‘It is, Mrs Sévère. It is.’ With that, he placed his hat onto his head and made to leave.

  He was half-way out the room when she called, ‘You have not answered my question.’

  ‘I see no reason to do so,’ he replied and left.

  Olivia’s gaze slid to Height who kept his mouth shut.

  ‘Can we go home?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Why did he not sign the witness statement? And why was he here?’ Olivia asked Height.

  The Inspector’s gaze drifted to the door that stood ajar, and then back to Olivia. ‘He’s worried this case will throw a bad light onto our judicial system. He will sign the statement later today. Now if you would, please.’ He nodded at the papers in Olivia’s hand.

  PC Mizen’s script was clean and easy to read. She signed at the bottom of each page, asked Rose to sign as well, then handed papers and pen to Height.

  As soon as Rose and Olivia exited the building, they were greeted by two newspaper reporters who effectively blocked their path. ‘Mrs Sévère, our readers wish to know the truth—’

  ‘Higgins!’ she bellowed.

  The coachman jumped off the brougham, swiftly covered the short distance, shoved aside the reporters, and held out his hand to Olivia.

  Onlookers must have heard her name, for several were pointing at her, muttering excitedly.

  She grabbed Higgins’ hand, her other hand firmly wrapped around Rose’s wrist, and together they fled the gathering crowd.

  Once safely inside the carriage, Olivia said to Rose, ‘You’ve earned a hot chocolate, my dear. I’ll have one, too. And Mr Higgins can have a brandy.’

  ‘Hot chocolate with brandy, if I may,’ sounded from the driver’s seat.

  ‘You can have an entire ewer full, Mr Higgins!’

  The wheels clattered noisily as the brougham turned from Little Alie onto Commercial. Rose picked at her nails, her eyes darting out the window and back at Olivia.

  And then Rose asked, ‘Why was Mr Wednesday at the police station? And why did you call him “Chief Magistrate?”’

  They sat around the coffee table in the smoking room, William with a tray of cookies all for himself, Higgins and Alf smoking cigarettes, Rose eating a sandwich and drinking milk, and Olivia staring up at the ceiling lamp, rolling a glass of brandy between her fingers.

  She cricked her neck and took in the room, the people waiting for her with various degrees of patience. ‘In about a week
, Dr Barry’s chemical analysis will show if there is a vegetable alkaloid in Dr Johnston’s skin samples. In two weeks, he might or might not be able to identify it as aconitine. He expressed his doubts, because of the embalmment fluids. But what we do know is this: It is highly likely that Johnston died of a contact poison. Sévère and I find it quite improbable that if his skin did come into contact with large amounts of poison, that he would have died of something else entirely shortly thereafter. And there is the matter of the bowler hat. Mr Bicker asked Inspector Height to confiscate it, and send it to Dr Barry.’

  William nodded at no one in particular. Higgins dropped a cylinder of ash into Sévère’s crystal ashtray, and solemnly clamped his smoke back between his lips.

  Olivia continued, ‘Oh, and Barry sent a note that he was unable to find a vegetable alkaloid in the ashes from the Franks’ laundry room hearth. But that was to be expected. Now. What I need you…’ she pointed her glass at Alf, ‘…to do is to trail the laundry maid to her home, and let me know as soon as she arrives there. I want to question her without Mrs Appleton or Mr Frank sniffing about.’

  ‘Aye, Captain,’ Rose said with a grin.

  Olivia felt a pang of regret. ‘Not you, First Mate. I will explain to you later.’

  Olivia braced herself and avoided looking at William — the only man in the room who had known about her past long before the newspapers smeared it all over London. ‘There’s another matter I wish to address before we proceed.’ She cleared her throat. ‘If one of you feels unable to work with me now that you know what I used to do for a living, you should leave, for I lack the energy and time to discuss my past with anyone.’

  No one said a word.

  William bit down on a cookie, noisily chewed a few times, wiped his moustache, and said, ‘Splendid. As to the more important things: I’m still working on our investment banker, and will notify you as soon as I learn anything new. Have you spoken to the personal maid, Olivia?’

  She held up her hand. ‘I’m not finished. You all know that I brought Rose here a day after the wedding. I assume you have already drawn your own conclusions as to her…upbringing.’ She waited for the men’s undivided attention.