“Usually, I’d say no,” Zinnie admitted. “But she knows that her livelihood depends on her keeping quiet. She’ll play along, at least for now.”
Sadie nodded. “Back to the doctor’s then?” she asked. “We’ve been away from Nell for too long.”
Zinnie took her sister’s hand. “You go. There’s somewhere else I need to be first.”
“But Zinnie—”
“I know,” Zinnie said. “I’ll come soon, I promise. But I’ve got to find a way to solve Aelfine’s problem if I want to keep us all safe, and I think that means bringing MacDuff to justice. Trust me,” she said, when Sadie looked alarmed, before digging in her pocket and pulling out the crown she’d got back from Constance the day before. “Take this for food and go. I’ll join you as soon as I can, I promise. Give Nell a kiss from me.”
Conan Doyle had not long returned from the Royal Infirmary when Zinnie was shown into his study. He was sitting in an armchair beside the window, rifling through a broadsheet. He looked up when his butler showed her in.
“Aha, Miss Zinnie. It’s fortuitous that you should choose to call at this moment, as I was just going to come and find you. There’s been a development.”
“I know. You’ve had another earless body.”
Conan Doyle stood up, a look of consternation on his face. “But how on earth could you know that?”
“Because I know where the ears were sent. To Phineas MacDuff.”
The frown on Conan Doyle’s face deepened as he searched his memory. “You mean … the owner of that new place on George Street? The one who was at Lady Sarah’s seance?”
“The very same.”
“That can’t be right,” said the medical student. “If he was the one being plagued by such grotesquery – if he was being sent them, deliberately – he’d have taken the matter to the police and there would be a report of it in one of these –” he shook the newspaper still in his hand – “and there has been not a whisper of it. I would know if there had been. I’ve checked. Frequently.”
Zinnie shook her head. “I don’t think he would have taken it to the police. I don’t think Phineas MacDuff is what he seems.”
“What do you mean? How do you know any of this anyway?”
“I … went to the House of Wonders. To have a look around.”
“What? But it’s not open yet!”
Zinnie shrugged. “Maybe not for you toffs…”
“I am not a toff,” Conan Doyle said in an affronted voice.
“All right, man-with-his-own-carriage,” she said. “Do you want to hear about this or not?”
Conan Doyle sighed and sat back down again, waving her into the chair opposite. “Very well. Might as well tell me what you know, I suppose.”
Zinnie took a seat and chewed her lip for a minute as she tried to work out how to proceed without bringing Aelfine into the conversation. “It’s a horrible place,” she said. “There are all sorts of terrible things in there.”
Conan Doyle crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. “Well, other cultures can seem strange to the uneducated mind,” he said.
“It wasn’t the masks or anything like that,” Zinnie said, trying and failing to keep a scathing note out of her voice. “He’s got living things too. Things in cages.”
“So it’s a zoo as well.” Conan Doyle shrugged. “That makes sense. He’s travelled extensively – it’s not surprising he’s collected live specimens.”
“No, that’s not—” Zinnie stopped. She’d been about to say that she thought he had people in there too, but the only one she actually knew about was Aelfine.
“Tell me about the ears,” Conan Doyle prompted. “What makes you think MacDuff is the one who received them?”
“Because I heard him say so.” She relayed the exchange she had overheard between MacDuff and Talbot.
“How strange,” Conan Doyle said with a frown, staring out of the window. “Perhaps someone brought them to him, knowing that he’s interested in … unusual items. They might have thought he would pay money to add them to his collection.”
“No,” said Zinnie. “That definitely wasn’t it.”
Conan Doyle frowned. “I know I suggested finding alternative help in recovering what he’d lost. But why wouldn’t he go to the police over the ears?”
“I think he’s a crook,” Zinnie said. “And a crook wouldn’t ask the police for help, would he?”
“A crook? Why would you say that? Just because he’s a collector of things you don’t understand doesn’t mean—”
“He’s a murderer.”
“What?” Conan Doyle spluttered. “That’s preposterous!”
“Why? Because you ate a fancy dinner with him at some lady’s house?”
“No, of course not, that’s not…” Conan Doyle sighed. “Just tell me what makes you think such a thing.”
“He said that he’d originally thought the ears were sent by the fortune-teller that worked for him, and that they’d stop arriving when she’d been ‘dealt’ with, but they hadn’t. I think he killed her because he thought she was sending him the ears as a message.”
“What, just because she’s gone off somewhere you think she’s dead? That’s absurd,” Conan Doyle said hotly. “It’s more likely that she left of her own accord. She probably just joined a circus – people in such professions move around a lot. Perhaps she didn’t like staying in one place.”
“But that’s not what it sounded like,” Zinnie said, desperately trying to think of a way to convince him without revealing Aelfine’s existence. “It sounded as if he’d been the one to make her disappear. If he thought she was the one sending the ears as a message, he must have also thought she knew something about him that he didn’t want anyone else to know. Something really bad. Something that would make him want to get rid of her.”
Conan Doyle sighed. “This is all just conjecture, Miss Zinnie, and very wild conjecture at that. We don’t even know that this woman’s dead. There’s no evidence of that, is there?”
Zinnie thought of what Aelfine had told them, that she knew where her mother’s body lay. A corpse would count as evidence surely? But how could Zinnie lead Conan Doyle there without revealing how she knew where and who it was?
“I’m more interested in why MacDuff has been receiving severed ears,” Conan Doyle mused, oblivious to Zinnie’s thoughts. “And, moreover, why he’s employed this Talbot person instead of going to the police. That certainly smacks of wanting to conceal something.”
Zinnie swallowed her frustration. “Did you make those sketches?” she asked. “Of the men without their ears?”
“I did.” Conan Doyle rose and went to his desk, pulling out his notebooks as Zinnie joined him. “They’re in here. Why, what are you thinking?”
“Not sure. Something else I heard MacDuff say.”
“All right,” Conan Doyle said, laying out the sketches before her. “What is it?”
Zinnie examined each drawing. “These are exactly what the bodies looked like?”
“As close as I could get them,” Conan Doyle told her. “I’m no artist, I’m afraid.”
Zinnie pointed to a series of scars across each of the dead men’s chests. They were linked together in haphazard semicircles.
“Are those the burns you told me about?” Zinnie asked, pointing to the scars. “Where you think they each tried to remove a tattoo?”
“Yes, indeed. I think they’re burn or scorch marks, perhaps from a cattle brand.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
Conan Doyle shrugged. “I think they each bore the same tattoo, and these marks were left when they tried to erase them. They were doing it in a rush. There are the remains of black marks beneath still visible, you see? Not enough to work out what was there unfortunately. They did a good job of wiping out whatever they didn’t want anyone else to see. But the shape left behind says to me that each of the men had the same tattoo, so they probably at least knew each other.”
Zi
nnie looked at the sketches for another moment. Then she picked up a pencil and found a clean corner of paper.
“What are you doing?” Conan Doyle asked.
Zinnie didn’t answer. She looked at each of the three sketches again and copied just the marks sticking out from beneath the first burn. When she joined the marks from the three different sketches together in her single drawing, the result looked like most of a circle with a little angled strike through on the bottom curve. Zinnie leaned back and looked at it.
“Great Scott!” Conan Doyle exclaimed.
“I’m not good with letters,” Zinnie said. “Never was, even when I was wee. But I always got one right. The Q. Because I liked what it looked like and I liked the sound it makes. That looks like it could be a Q to me. What about you?”
Conan Doyle nodded. “I think you’re right. Let’s see what other letters we can come up with.”
Not many was the answer. But they did come up with what might have been an E, a K and a G.
“That was a truly stunning piece of deductive reasoning, Miss Zinnie,” Conan Doyle said. “But I’m not sure it’s much help to us, in the end.”
Zinnie handed him the pencil. “Can you write something down? Two words: ‘Queensland Kings’.”
He frowned but did as he was told. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Could that be what the tattoos said?”
Conan Doyle considered and then nodded. “Perhaps. Why?”
“MacDuff was talking about them, but I don’t know what they are. The Queensland Kings, he said. And, at the seance, he kept asking about kings, didn’t he? He wanted to know if any of them were there in the spirit realm – if any of them were dead.”
Conan Doyle frowned. “But Queensland is in Australia. MacDuff is American; when Lady Sarah was putting him in his place about travelling, he said he’d never been to Australia. What connection could there be?”
Zinnie shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I heard.”
Conan Doyle set his jaw. “Well, Miss Zinnie,” he said. “It must mean something. There is clearly a game afoot and I am determined to find out what it is. Leave this with me. I’ll make some enquiries.”
“She’s a tough one,” Doctor Jex-Blake told Zinnie, as they stood outside Nell’s sickroom. “And lucky too. It’s bronchitis, not consumption. If it had been the latter, there would have been nothing I could do to save her. Still, I honestly didn’t think your sister had much of a chance, but thanks to Sadie’s ministrations and Nell’s strong will, it looks as if she might pull through. There’s a long way to go yet, mind. Her fever has broken but her lungs are still congested. However, we are hopeful that we can clear them.”
Relief left Zinnie light-headed. Through the open door, she could see Sadie standing at Nell’s bedside. Nell had a towel over her head, concealing both her face and the steaming bowl that Sadie was holding under her nose.
“I’m glad you’re here, Zinnie,” the doctor went on. “Will you come with me for a moment or two? There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Zinnie followed as Jex-Blake led her down the hallway. Her fingers clutched the money left in her pocket – Zinnie assumed this conversation would be about payment for Nell’s care. It took her by surprise then that, when the doctor pushed open a door, it revealed a small parlour where Lady Sarah Montague was sipping tea from a china cup.
“Miss Zinnie!” Lady Sarah exclaimed, as Jex-Blake ushered her inside. “How lovely it is to see you again. I’m so glad to hear that your littlest sister seems to be on the mend.”
“Thank you, Lady Sarah,” Zinnie said, as Doctor Jex-Blake moved past her and took her own chair. The two women glanced at each other and Zinnie felt a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach. Nothing good ever came of adults sharing looks like that. She pulled out the coins. “I can pay now.”
Doctor Jex-Blake smiled. “There’s no need, Zinnie. Lady Sarah has already covered the costs incurred.”
“I – why would you do that?” Zinnie stammered, her surprise making her rude.
Lady Sarah waved a hand as she took a sip of her tea. “It was nothing, Zinnie. The least I could do. I have a lot of money and I spend much of it on what could be considered extreme frivolity when one understands the troubles to be found on your side of Edinburgh. Meeting you and your sisters has made me aware that I really could do more in that respect. Which is what Doctor Jex-Blake and I have been discussing.”
Zinnie’s heart sank further still. “We don’t need help, if that’s what you’re going to say. We’re fine.”
“Zinnie,” the doctor said gently. “You’ve done a marvellous job in helping two children who would otherwise have suffered horribly, and been all alone in doing so. But you’re not ‘fine’. None of you are. Look at Nell. That place you live in – it’s not fit for a child. And really, my dear, you’re still a child yourself. How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” Zinnie lied, but the doctor’s look told her she hadn’t been believed. The cold clutch of fear tightened its grip round her heart. “You can’t take them away. You can’t lock them up.”
“No one’s talking about locking anyone up,” Lady Sarah said in a soothing voice. “I know of several wonderful institutions—”
“Not an orphanage,” Zinnie said in full-fledged panic. “I won’t let you put Nell in one of those places.”
“But she’d be looked after well. She’d be fed, cared for and—”
“Cared for?” Zinnie asked. “Mr Conan Doyle couldn’t even be sure that his hospital would look after her!”
Doctor Jex-Blake looked away. “It was far more expedient to bring her here, Zinnie.”
“Because you didn’t care about the colour of her skin,” Zinnie pressed. “You and Lady Sarah and Mr Conan Doyle – none of you do. But how many people can you vouch for who would be the same?”
There was a brief silence.
“I don’t think that’s—” Lady Sarah began, but Zinnie cut her off once more.
“You don’t know,” Zinnie said fiercely. “You’ve never even been inside one, have you? I have. And I’d never let you put either of my sisters there. The only place Nell’s going is home with me and Sadie. I’ll look after her. I’ll look after both of them, just like I always have.”
“Zinnie—”
Whatever Jex-Blake had been about to say was cut off by the maid opening the door and offering a quick curtsey. “Beg pardon, ma’am, but there’s a policeman here to talk to you. Constable Roberts. It’s about the missing milk.”
“I’ll leave,” Zinnie said.
“Wait, please,” said the doctor. “This will only take a moment. Mary, show the policeman in.”
Zinnie edged towards the door, unwilling to be in the same room as the law, given that the law had plastered her face – or something that looked a lot like her face – all over the Old Town of Edinburgh.
“Beg pardon, Miss Jex-Blake, for disturbing you,” said the copper, as he came through the door. “I just need to check—”
Zinnie winced as she recognized the portly figure of the constable whose shin she had kicked to allow them to escape as they’d taken back the pocket watch. She turned her face away, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her, but Lady Luck really didn’t seem to be on her side at the moment.
“’Ere,” said Constable Roberts. “Don’t I know you, lad?”
Zinnie made a run for it, darting into action and round him before he had a chance to react. His shout of surprise echoed behind her as she flung open the door.
“You! Stop him! He’s a thief!”
Zinnie glanced at the front door but realized she’d never get it open in time. She ran deeper into the house instead.
“What’s been stolen, Constable?” she heard Lady Sarah cry, as they followed.
“Silver pocket watch from a pawnbroker’s on Bread Street,” Roberts puffed, already out of breath. “What’s he doing here?”
“I treat all sorts,” said Docto
r Jex-Blake.
“Got his fellow thieves here as well then?” Roberts shouted. “There’s three wanted, him and two girls.”
Zinnie slewed through an open door into an empty room and stopped dead, listening. She’d give herself up now if it meant Sadie and Nell were safe.
“No,” said the doctor. “No, definitely not.”
Zinnie breathed a sigh of relief, and then spied a way out. She ran across the room and hauled up the window. It looked out on to the neat garden. A moment later, Zinnie was out, running across the small lawn. She heard another shout as she scrambled atop the high brick wall at the other end and looked back to see the copper leaning out of the window. They both knew there was no chance he’d follow her, not that way.
“I’ll get you yet, lad, just see if I don’t!” he shouted. “Come back to this place and I’ll have you, that’s for sure.”
Zinnie dropped out of sight and was gone.
Zinnie ran back to the Royal Mile, her heart pounding in her chest. What must Doctor Jex-Blake and Lady Sarah think of her? She was grateful, at least, that they hadn’t given her up, which made her think that they’d keep Sadie and Nell from the law too. Zinnie could only hope that the door to Nell’s room would remain shut while Constable Roberts was inside the clinic walls. He wouldn’t think to question the word of the two ladies, but just a glimpse of either Sadie or Nell – and especially of them together – and even the flattest-footed of coppers would realize what he was seeing. She was relieved too that neither the doctor nor Lady Sarah had seen fit to correct the fact that he’d called her a boy.
What now, though? She couldn’t go back to the clinic, at least not right away. Roberts would be on the lookout for her. She’d hurt his pride, after all, not once but twice now. She thought briefly about going to Conan Doyle and asking him to explain to the police what she’d been doing with the pocket watch, but dismissed that notion immediately. She could well imagine the medical student’s expression when he realized she’d willingly become a criminal on his behalf. She wasn’t entirely sure he would help her once he knew, and it likely wouldn’t make a difference anyway. No, that wasn’t something she—
The House of Hidden Wonders Page 9