‘Bow Street,’ she said in her soft, wheezing way, echoing Ballantine’s introduction of himself. ‘Yes, I received word from my brother that I was to enjoy such a visit. I hope you can find my book, sir.’
‘We will do our best, ma’am,’ said Ballantine. ‘May I introduce my associates to you?’
‘Associates?’ she faltered, looking from one to the other in puzzlement. When her scrutiny reached Lady Honoria, she stopped, and frowned.
‘You are thinking I ought rightly to be in my grave, ma’am,’ said Lady Honoria kindly. ‘Indeed, you are quite right! But once in a while it is amusing to come out of it again, and an adventure is always a welcome diversion, is it not?’
Ballantine coughed. ‘The matter of your book seems to extend some way beyond the ordinary, ma’am. I have taken the liberty of bringing a few Werths along, and a Maundevyle. Between them, they do seem to possess an unusual degree of expertise in the bizarre.’
‘Werth,’ echoed Mrs. Daventry. ‘I believe I know that name.’
She could say this without visible recoil, which clearly heartened Gussie as much as it puzzled Theo.
‘Perhaps you could tell us about your book, Mrs. Daventry,’ said Ballantine quickly. ‘I take it the thing was in some way remarkable?’
‘Or I would not have had a Runner called in to retrieve it?’ said Mrs. Daventry. ‘Quite so, sir. And from the company you keep, I see you are accustomed to the remarkable.’
‘A bit more so today than I was last week,’ muttered Ballantine.
‘Nonetheless, sir, I am afraid you may find my story too remarkable for credence.’
‘That is in the highest degree unlikely,’ promised Gussie. ‘You will find us ready to believe anything.’
Ballantine cleared his throat. ‘Miss Werth means to say that she is — er, acquainted — with one or two remarkable books herself.’
‘It is true, then?’ said Mrs. Daventry.
Nobody answered her, save with a collection of blank looks.
‘Is there not said to be a legendary book at Werth Towers?’ said Mrs. Daventry. ‘A book of curses?’
‘Good heavens, is that known so far abroad?’ said Gussie.
‘It is not a book of curses,’ said Lady Honoria in a gently chiding tone.
‘No, true,’ said Gussie. ‘It is itself a curse.’
Mrs. Daventry hesitated. ‘The book I have lost was sold to me last year,’ she said. ‘It is a curse-book, dating from some centuries past.’
‘Curses, ma’am?’ said Ballantine. ‘And did you use any of them?’
‘To my disappointment, I have not been able to read it.’
‘Who were you intending to curse, if I may ask?’
‘No one in particular,’ said Mrs. Daventry.
‘Very well. And how did you come to realise that the book was missing?’
‘One night, about a week ago, I left the curse-book lying open upon my reading-stand when I went up to my bedchamber. I was awoken in the night by a tremendous noise, and when I came down, I found several of my servants in various states of injury, and the book gone.’
‘I see.’
‘And the window of my book-room was broken,’ she continued. ‘Quite shattered into pieces.’
‘How do you imagine that came about, ma’am?’
‘I do not know. I suppose the thieves entered, and doubtless escaped, that way.’
‘And now we come to the matter of the thieves. Do you know of anyone who knew you possessed the book, and might have wanted to take it?’
‘No one. The sale was conducted privately, and naturally I have not been in the habit of speaking of it.’
‘Its former owners, perhaps?’
‘The book was sold to me out of the personal effects of a recently deceased gentleman. The seller offered it for a price far below its real worth, which I am ashamed to say I took advantage of. He can have had no idea of what he was selling, and did not appear at all interested. I bought it as one of several titles, the rest being of no particular interest.’
Gussie chose this moment to interfere. ‘Did you ever notice anything unusual about the book, Mrs. Daventry? Besides the nature of the contents?’
‘I do not know what you mean,’ said Mrs. Daventry.
‘Any — any unusual behaviour?’
‘Behaviour? A book? No indeed.’
‘Sounds in the night?’
Mrs. Daventry stared. ‘You are aware we are speaking of a book, Miss Werth?’
‘Perfectly, ma’am.’
Mrs. Daventry’s reaction having effectively answered Gussie’s question, she abandoned the line of enquiry.
‘I’d be glad to speak to the servants, if I may,’ said Ballantine. ‘All those who were present in the book-room at the time of the book’s disappearance, and particularly those who came away injured.’
Mrs. Daventry rang the bell.
The merest glance at the welts on Robert Footman’s arms, the savagery evident upon the first housemaid’s legs, and the butler’s ruined fingers, was sufficient to confirm the whole party’s suspicions.
‘It’s my belief there never was a thief,’ said Gussie, once the servants had been dismissed, and they were left alone in the book-room.
‘No thief?’ said Mr. Ballantine, disbelieving. ‘You cannot mean to tell me that curse-book threw itself out the window?’
‘Having seen the Book of Werth,’ said Theo, ‘I wonder that you can doubt it.’
‘There are reasons why it was always kept in the cellar,’ added Lady Honoria. ‘No windows down there.’
‘I am unsure whether to feel envious or relieved,’ said Lord Maundevyle unexpectedly, having absented himself from the interviewing of the servants, and maintained a general silence since. ‘There is an ancient book in the possession of my family, but it is not half so fascinating.’
‘A sadly inert thing, I collect?’ said Gussie. ‘Not much in the habit of fomenting disaster?’
Lord Maundevyle inclined his head. ‘I shall mention the curse-book to my mother,’ he murmured. ‘I am persuaded she will require one of her own.’
Gussie’s grin was outright malicious.
‘You might be right, about the thief,’ said Ballantine, having ignored these asides altogether as he prowled about the book-room. ‘None of the servants said anything that proves they saw an intruder. It has only been assumed, from the presence and the nature of the injuries.’
The book-room had been tidied, Theo surmised, since the event with the curse-book, for there was little sign of the tussle that had evidently taken place there. One of the large windows remained boarded-up ahead of a glazier’s attention, which rendered the room rather dark. Theo received an impression of outdated but comfortable décor, with much dark wood and slightly threadbare armchairs. Since Mrs. Daventry in no way appeared short of the means to refurbish the room, he supposed it was kept in its present state out of preference, perhaps even sentiment. The smells of beeswax and book-dust hung heavy upon the air.
‘But,’ said Lord Maundevyle, after a moment, ‘Mrs. Daventry said that her curse-book had exhibited no unusual behaviour before, and she had owned it for a year.’
‘There are times,’ said Gussie, ‘when our own, dear Book appears quite sluggish. One might almost take it for an ordinary book, in such moments as that.’
‘For a whole year together?’ said Ballantine.
‘Well, perhaps not,’ Gussie admitted. ‘But I have not been in the habit of visiting it every year. Theo?’
Theo shrugged his shoulders. ‘Nor have I, but I should be surprised.’
‘Aye,’ said Ballantine. ‘So, then. Either we are in the wrong entirely, and there has indeed been a thief, perhaps attended by aggressive beasts. Or, something has… awoken this curse-book, a few nights ago.’
‘To what end?’ said Gussie. ‘If it did throw itself out of the window, as you so wonderfully put it, why did it do so?’
‘Where was it proposing to go?’ Theo agr
eed.
‘It could be anywhere by now,’ said Ballantine.
‘But I doubt it has gone anywhere quietly,’ said Gussie. ‘Stealth does not tend to be a prominent quality with such tomes.’
‘Then we’d better enquire about the town,’ said Ballantine.
‘That could take all week,’ objected Theo, who, despite feeling a more than passing interest in the matter of the duplicate Book, had no desire at all to extend his stay in Suffolk past the end of the day.
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Ballantine. ‘Such news gets about. We’ve only to find the largest inn in Woodburgh, and make our enquiries. If there is anything to learn, you can bet it’s to be heard there.’
‘I suppose you spend a lot of time visiting inns,’ said Gussie, rather wistfully.
‘With one thing and another, yes,’ Ballantine agreed.
‘What a fine Runner you would have made, cousin,’ said Theo.
‘Had I been a man? Yes, I think I would.’
‘Licensed to poke your nose into everything that is going on! It is a tragedy you were born a female.’
Gussie did not take this bait, but only smiled. ‘Well, here is my one chance to play at being a Runner, and I can assure you I mean to make the most of it.’
‘It is no game,’ said Ballantine, with a frown.
‘Is it not?’ said Gussie, clearly disappointed. ‘Why, but there are rules, and stakes, and consequences for losing—’
‘No real prize for winning, though,’ said Ballantine dryly.
‘Save the natural satisfaction of seeing justice done,’ said Gussie primly.
‘That, of course.’
‘Shall we go?’ said Theo. ‘The Book is not going to subdue itself.’
‘Yes,’ said Gussie, and strode for the door.
‘Perhaps I shall go first, Miss Werth?’ said Ballantine, mildly enough.
Gussie stopped short. ‘Right,’ she said.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The largest of Woodburgh’s three inns was the White Hart, encouragingly situated not so very far from Mrs. Daventry’s house. Being the premier coaching-inn besides, it was a commodious place, bustling with ostlers and grooms as well as cook-staff, housemaids and guests.
Mr. Ballantine insisted on going to see the innkeepers alone, to Gussie’s disappointment.
‘They will speak openly to a Runner in ways they wouldn’t to a young lady of quality like yourself,’ said he, in firm response to Gussie’s protests.
‘Or an alarming old woman?’ said Lady Honoria.
‘I believe you may terrify the poor souls, ma’am.’
‘Nonsense! When you can see I am on my best behaviour.’ She smiled.
‘I shall go in alone,’ repeated Mr. Ballantine.
He did so, spared further protests. Gussie was left standing in the street, Lord Maundevyle a stern and silent presence upon her left, and Theo drifting restlessly about upon her right. Great-Aunt Honoria gave a windy sigh.
‘Well, I am thirsty,’ said Gussie, after two minutes of this. ‘I am sure one of you will be so kind as to attend me into this lovely inn, where I am sure I shall find refreshment.’ Without further ado she strode across the street and entered the inn, not pausing to determine whether any of her companions proposed to join her.
She spotted Mr. Ballantine at once, though fortunately he had his back to her, already deep in consultation with a respectable-looking man who could only be the innkeeper.
A woman she took to be the innkeeper’s wife saw Gussie as she entered the taproom, and came over immediately. The curtsey she dropped, and her manner, indicated that the quality of Gussie’s pelisse and gown was not lost upon her. ‘Shall you be wanting a room, Miss…?’ said she, her gaze darting over Gussie’s shoulder, perhaps in search of the companions she was doubtless expected to have.
‘Werth,’ said Gussie. ‘No, certainly not! I would only like to order some lemonade, if you have it, and a light nuncheon. Perhaps a private parlour? And it appears I shall be dining alone, for my companions are all of them far too lily-livered to come in here with me.’
‘Lily-livered?’ faltered the innkeeper’s wife.
‘Yes, for Mr. Ballantine will frown awfully, and he is severe when displeased.’
‘If you’ll forgive me, Miss Werth, you ought not to be wandering the town alone,’ said the innkeeper’s wife. ‘Not that I would ordinarily presume to say so, but you see, there’s been disturbances. It’s not safe to go about alone. Mr. Baker’s been saying so to all as has passed through.’
‘Disturbances!’ said Gussie. ‘Excellent! Do tell me more.’
That won her a wary look from Mrs. Baker, as she now took the woman to be. ‘Two people was attacked in the street,’ she said, lowering her voice, as though to speak at a normal volume might invite the attention of the attacker. ‘Not a week ago. The watchman may never recover the use of his arm, they say. And—’ her voice sank even further ‘—there’s a vagrant who’s dead.’
‘Dead!’ Gussie stared at the woman in shock. ‘Quite dead! Are you certain?’
‘Fully certain of it, Miss Werth, and so I hope you will take care in Woodburgh.’
‘Where did these events take place?’ Gussie asked.
‘Not three streets away, in Pelham Lane.’
Whether Gussie’s shocked ejaculation had been heard so far away as the street, or whether hunger or curiosity had brought the gentlemen along with her, Gussie shortly found herself flanked by Lords Maundevyle and Bedgberry, to whom poor Mrs. Baker, overcome by such a quantity of gentry, quite effaced herself.
‘Nuncheon for four, then?’ said Gussie.
‘Yes, ma’am, certainly,’ said Mrs. Baker.
‘Will your aunt want to take any refreshment?’ said Lord Maundevyle.
She caught his meaning: only a living woman could have need of such mundane considerations as sustenance. ‘I hardly know,’ she admitted. ‘Just because I have never known her to eat does not mean she will not wish to, I suppose? Besides, there is always Mr. Ballantine.’
‘You’re never here with that Runner, Miss?’ gasped Mrs. Baker.
‘Why, yes! In fact, I am a Runner myself, you know.’
Ignoring the widening of Mrs. Baker’s eyes, and the appalled stare directed at the spectre of Lady Honoria as she drifted into the inn, Gussie marched off in the direction indicated, and took up a comfortable position in a neat, snug little parlour, there to await her nuncheon.
‘If someone has actually died,’ said Gussie soon afterwards, when a selection of cold meats and a salad had been laid out upon the table, ‘then the matter is of greater urgency than we imagined.’
‘I suppose it’s of no use to tell you you ought not to be mixed up in it?’ said Theo.
‘No use at all.’
‘I thought not.’
Lady Honoria availed herself of a piece of bread, took a tentative mouthful, and swallowed it down with an expression of disgust. The bread was swiftly restored to the dish. ‘What a pity we did not bring Lord Werth with us,’ she mused. ‘He might have wrung some information out of the vagrant.’
Lord Maundevyle paused in the act of raising a forkful of meat to his lips, and set it down again. ‘He is not often in the habit of raising the dead, I hope?’
Gussie considered. ‘Not so very often, no.’
‘Not so much as he used to,’ sighed Honoria.
‘There can be no call for any raising of the dead,’ said Mr. Ballantine, storming the parlour with an expression of grave disapprobation. ‘I ought to have known I’d be subject to such ideas, in choosing such a disgraceful set of associates.’
‘But no, we are very useful,’ said Gussie, smiling at him. ‘Come now, how soon would you have drawn the correct conclusions, otherwise? You would be chasing non-existent thieves until Christmas.’
‘We are not yet certain that it is the correct conclusion, Miss Werth,’ he reminded her. ‘And did I not mention something about remaining outside until
I’d finished with my enquiries?’
‘You did, certainly, but I did not perfectly understand why,’ said Gussie, helping herself to a portion of a fine salmagundy. ‘You could not be under the impression that any of us might be mauled to death in here.’
‘I might be concerned about what’s thought of a young lady keeping company with a Runner.’
‘You are concerned for my reputation!’ Gussie beamed at him. ‘I pray you will not be, however. A young lady properly attended by her aunt can never be too much frowned upon, and besides, I am six-and-twenty; hardly a schoolroom miss.’
‘But three gentlemen—’ began he again.
‘I believe I have said it before,’ Gussie interrupted. ‘There is nothing that can salvage the reputation of the Werths abroad in England, and I don’t at all mean to waste my life in the attempt of it. Whatever my dear aunt may believe, no attention to the proprieties can possibly render me acceptable, and I am long past repining over it. Won’t you sit down?’ She waved her fork at the vacant seat next to Lord Maundevyle, aware the while of that gentleman’s steady regard, unreadable as ever. Did he disapprove of her? She did not mean to be unhappy about it if he did.
Mr. Ballantine condescended to sit, though not without a degree of displeased mutterings under his breath. He did not attempt again to remonstrate with her, however, and Gussie was glad of it. His solicitude could not offend her, but nor could it please, and after all he had no right of interest in her that might justify his interference in her affairs. Since the same could be said of Lord Maundevyle and Theo, obligingly, did not care, that left her free to do as she pleased, did it not?
‘We have news,’ she said, once Mr. Ballantine was fairly seated.
‘Oh?’ said he dangerously, his frown returning. ‘Do not tell me you’ve been making enquiries of your own.’
‘No, indeed,’ said Gussie. ‘It was not at all necessary. Everyone is concerned for my well-being, it seems, for that good Mrs. Baker could not stop talking of it. You have heard, of course, that someone is dead?’
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