The Curse Of The House Of Foskett (The Gower Street Detective Series) Read online

  She quivered. ‘And then I saw my chance to escape and rise above them all. Rupert fell in love with me. Imagine it, March. I could have been a baroness. Who knows what suitors I would have attracted? And then my mother found me. The club was her idea.’

  ‘It would be,’ I said.

  ‘When I heard that she had died it felt like everything that I wished for had lost its savour. It was Rupert who suggested bringing Sidney Grice into the club. Why not make our fortunes and be avenged at the same time? He hated Sidney for destroying what is most precious in any man – the sure and certain hope of immortality – but it is always a mistake to mix business with pleasure.’

  ‘Pleasure?’ I whispered and her expression lit up.

  ‘You have no idea, March, how exquisite is the joy of taking a life slowly and deliberately, the power and pitilessness of it.’

  I leaned away from her.

  ‘You are a monster.’

  But she smiled gently. ‘You are the monster, March – putting human suffering under the microscope, glorying in every detail and then pretending to be shocked. We are not so very different, you and I.’

  ‘No,’ I protested. ‘I tried to stop what you did.’

  ‘Did you really?’ Her voice was low and mocking. ‘Well, perhaps you should have tried harder. We scattered clues like rice at a wedding. Or did you merely follow what we did with a horrible fascination?’

  ‘No. I wept for those poor men.’

  ‘Poor men?’ she repeated. ‘Those poor men who so willingly killed for profit and jostled with each other to be seduced.’

  ‘How could you give yourself so cheaply?’ I asked and she chuckled.

  ‘I never gave myself to any man,’ she told me. ‘A hungry man who smells dinner is much more obliging than a man who has eaten and will very often move on.’

  ‘That is disgusting.’

  ‘Oh, March,’ she said softly, ‘I know the passion of your kisses.’

  The warder coughed, either in embarrassment or to remind us he was there.

  ‘Why did you tell me and not Mr Grice that you were going to Edinburgh?’ I asked as she picked a stray hair from my cheek.

  ‘So that you would not be suspicious if I went away. Things were coming to a head and I could see that Sidney was starting to pull the strands together. I did not tell him because he would have asked probing questions whereas you, March, you are a trusting child.’

  ‘And yet you would have thrown acid in my face.’

  She snorted. ‘It might have been an improvement.’

  ‘I would never have been as ugly as you have become,’ I retorted and the warder stepped forward.

  ‘No fighting, ladies.’

  Dorna laughed. ‘Why, my visitor and I have been doing battle since the day we met.’

  ‘And all the time I thought you were my friend.’

  ‘The murderer and the detective have one thing in common,’ she told me. ‘They have no friends. There are only victims or prospective victims.’

  I shivered. ‘When I saw you in the glass at the hospital I thought you were your mother’s ghost.’

  Dorna’s eyelid quivered. ‘Even my mother is not her own ghost yet.’ The tic shot up her cheek, twisting it sideways. ‘And now I shall never see her again. She can hardly visit me here.’

  ‘Oh, Dorna,’ I said, ‘surely you set out to cure, not to kill?’

  ‘And you?’ She clenched her left fist in her right. ‘What did you set out to do?’

  ‘To love and be loved.’

  Dorna put her head back and sucked in the thick, moist air. ‘That is too much to hope for, March.’

  ‘It is the hope that keeps me alive.’ I stood up. ‘I shall pray for you, Dorna.’

  She lowered her head very slowly. ‘Do not waste your words. It is too late for me and it was always too late for Sidney Grice. Pray for yourself, March, while there is still somebody to pray for.’

  I started to go.

  ‘They will not hang me,’ she cried with sudden fire. ‘I am too beautiful. Can you imagine it? I hear there are petitions to the Home Secretary. He owes favours to Sidney and Sidney will speak up for me. I shall pick ochre until my nails are torn from their roots. I may be transported, but in the end I shall be reprieved and survive to start again.’

  ‘Again?’ I could hardly speak the word.

  ‘March.’ Dorna pressed something into my hand. ‘Give him this.’

  I did not need to ask who she meant. The warder looked at what she had given me but I had no reason to. I felt the hard metal and it bit into me.

  The warder turned sideways to let me pass.

  ‘I cared for you, Dorna. I cared so much,’ I just managed before the door clanged. ‘We both did.’ And the lock clashed and I walked in a dream down the corridors of perdition, through the gates which would never open for Dorna Berry again and into the explosion of life which was condemned to be extinguished in her.

  80

  Eight Minutes

  Sidney Grice was invited to the execution and attended with some alacrity, always keen to see his work completed, but he was quiet when he returned.

  ‘I never saw a woman face death with greater courage.’ He massaged his eye. ‘From her demeanour she might have been promenading along the Strand. They went to bind her ankles but she waved them away, saying, I shall not run off. She caught sight of me in the audience and called out I…’ Here his voice faltered a little. ‘I loved you. A damnable lie, of course… Then they put the hood over her head and the noose round her neck. I had had a word with the executioner and persuaded him to try a long drop to break her neck instantly but, as he pulled the lever, Dorna jumped sideways, presumably to try to make sure of it.’ He stopped, mouthed something silently and cleared his throat. ‘But her foot caught on the edge of the platform and the fall broke her leg – I heard it snap – and it slowed her enough to be sure that she struggled for eight long minutes in agony.’

  He shivered and did not raise any objections when I went to light the fire except to say, ‘Molly should do that.’

  ‘I like to do it.’ I poured his tea and brought out my father’s hip flask and held it out, but he put his hand over his cup.

  ‘Just a spoonful. Just this once,’ I said, but he kept his hand in place.

  He drank slowly and in silence, the fire glinting in the jackal ring on his watch chain.

  ‘Did you love her very much?’ I asked and he peered at me as if I were a new species.

  ‘What on earth would I want to do that for?’ He took out his eye and the socket was raw with inflammation.

  ‘People cannot choose whom they love.’

  ‘Then why do they bother doing it? Is it, by any chance, because they are witless and undisciplined?’ He swilled the last of his tea, staring deep into the dregs. ‘There is a decanter in the sideboard. I keep it for over-excited clients.’

  I got it out with two tumblers and poured us each a generous measure of brandy.

  ‘You seemed very fond of her.’

  ‘I was gaining her confidence.’ He raised the glass in an unspoken toast. ‘How could you think I would love a woman who committed such crimes?’ He put on his black eye patch. ‘For heaven’s sake, March – she preferred coffee to tea.’ His face froze and his lips struggled with each other, but even his silence could not muffle the howling of his soul.

  ‘She was so lovely,’ I said and the very life seemed to dwindle in him.

  ‘Quicklime.’ He looked around the room. ‘She is in quicklime now.’

  He put the tumbler to his mouth but, in a sudden movement, hurled it smashing into the fireplace.

  81

  Witchcraft, Tea and Crumpets

  Two days after the hanging a black carriage with curtained windows pulled up outside 125 Gower Street. It was the same frog-like equerry my guardian had sent away in such a pique only a few weeks ago.

  I offered him a seat but again he preferred to remain standing, while Sidney Grice staye
d in his chair, his feet crossed on the table.

  ‘My master has asked me to extend his warmest gratitude to you, Mr Grice, and this small reward.’ He handed my guardian a little velvet-covered box. ‘The photograph was exactly where you said it would be.’ The equerry smiled. ‘In another age you might have been burnt for witchcraft. In these more enlightened times, we stand in awe of your genius and my master requests that you accept the appointment as his official private detective.’

  ‘Personal,’ Sidney Grice grunted. ‘Tell your master I shall be happy to be of service – if I have no other pressing business.’ And when we were alone he flipped open the lid and I glanced over. It was the largest ruby I had ever seen.

  ‘But how did you know where it would be?’ I asked and he twisted his lips wryly.

  ‘My remark was meant to be ironic because that is exactly where I found a compromising letter at the end of last year. I did not think even he would be such a dunderhead as to use the same hiding place or to forget for a second time that he had done so.’

  We had tea, crumpets, muffins and fruit cake that afternoon, with our chairs pulled close to the glowing fire. This was the nearest thing to luxury I had known since I arrived.

  ‘I am still not clear—’

  ‘You will never be that.’

  I let the insult pass. ‘Are the New Chartists really such a threat?’

  Sidney Grice stretched lavishly. ‘The New Chartists are an unimaginative invention of our very good friend, Inspector Quigley. He planned to arrest a few would-be rabble-rousers, have them deported and announce that he had saved the empire.’

  ‘Was Inspector Pound trying to infiltrate their organization then?’ I hoped he would not be involved in such a shabby plot.

  My guardian yawned. ‘Pound had real criminals to tackle. There were reliable rumours of a planned assault on Coutts Bank and he was trying to get into the gang.’

  ‘And I ruined it for him.’

  Mr G selected a muffin carefully, though they all looked the same to me. ‘On the contrary, the gang thought they had been infiltrated and, with the attempted murder of a police officer over their heads, fled to Canada and Australia where their violent ways will be properly appreciated.’ He nibbled his dry muffin. ‘So it would seem that your clog-footed intervention did the inspector’s job for him.’

  ‘I do not suppose he will thank me.’ I saw his look of disgust as I spread the butter on my crumpet and said, ‘I did not know you had had malaria.’

  ‘I still get occasional bouts. That is one reason I lock myself away.’

  I cut my crumpet in half. ‘Next time I will look after you.’

  ‘I do not need any fuss.’

  ‘Perhaps I need to.’

  He massaged his brow. ‘I will think about it.’

  ‘And, while you are thinking about it, we will get that eye cleaned up.’

  He wiped his fingers. ‘Yes, Nurse.’

  ‘That is better. Now, would you like the last slice of cake?’

  ‘No,’ Sidney Grice said. ‘Let us share – and then we have work to do.’

  ‘We?’ I cut it in two and he raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You cannot spend your entire life lounging about and preening yourself if you are to be London’s first female personal detective.’

  ‘Do you think I could?’

  Sidney Grice leaned back and surveyed me lazily. ‘Time will tell,’ he said with something very nearly like a smile.

  Postscript

  Primrose McKay did not reappear until after the hanging, though she did write a letter asking if she could attend. Sidney Grice got his three thousand pounds for every murder and the rest of the fortune was hers. Much good did it do her. With breathtaking misjudgement she married her footman, the notorious Thurston Gates, and had her neck broken in an unwitnessed riding accident within the month.

  The affair of the Fosketts was over and the discreet recognition of Sidney Grice in royal circles was of enormous help in restoring his professional pride and standing, but there was one affair which did not seem likely to be resolved – until I received a letter.

  I went back to University College Hospital that evening and I had not even reached Liston Ward when I saw him – Inspector Pound, leaning lightly on the arm of Nurse Ramsey and heavily on a walking stick.

  ‘Should you be out of bed?’ I asked. He still looked haggard. His suit hung loosely on his frame and he wore a shirt open at the top with no collar.

  ‘No, he should not.’ She tried to sound cross as she steadied him. ‘You can use this side room – only don’t be too long or I’ll be in trouble.’

  She sat him on a wooden chair and left us alone together.

  ‘You look so much better,’ I said.

  ‘Now that my moustaches have recovered.’ He smiled.

  ‘I am sorry about that.’

  We fell into an awkward silence, but he broke it with, ‘They want to move me into a private cottage hospital in Dorset. They think the fresh air might do me good, but I’m not sure my lungs would know what to do with it.’

  I looked up. ‘But can you afford it?’ And he shook his head.

  ‘At three guineas a day plus doctor’s fees? I’m on the wrong side of the law for that,’ he observed wryly. ‘It appears that a gentleman who wishes to remain anonymous offered to foot the bill, but I like to know who I am in debt to.’

  I could make a very good guess but I only said, ‘I am glad I shall still be able to visit you.’

  ‘I should miss that,’ he admitted and a shaft of pain shot up the side of his face.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  The inspector shook his head and cleared his throat. ‘I believe you may have overheard my colleagues.’ He struggled for words.

  ‘I was with the army,’ I reminded him. ‘I know how men talk.’ I took a slow breath. ‘But it was not what I heard that hurt me.’

  Inspector Pound’s gaze fell away and he rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘If I had said anything, they would have mocked you and I could not face that.’

  ‘So I am to believe that you did not defend me in order to defend me?’ My voice shook.

  His hand went to the back of his neck. ‘I was weak and I am sorry for that.’

  I remembered a letter and a man striding away through the dust, taking my last chance to forgive him.

  ‘You have been staring at death,’ I said.

  ‘That is no excuse.’ The inspector coughed from deep in his chest. ‘The next time I see them I shall tell them exactly how I feel.’

  ‘I would rather you told me.’

  He flopped his arms. ‘You are a remarkable woman and I have come to respect and… admire you.’ He put his palm gingerly over his wound. ‘Miss Middleton…’

  ‘Call me March.’

  ‘March’ – he looked at his hands – ‘there is a favour I need to ask of you.’

  ‘I shall do my best.’

  ‘I know that.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘I have my mother’s wedding ring around my neck and it is my fear that I shall be robbed of it whilst I am asleep. So many people come and go in the ward.’

  I chewed my lower lip. ‘Why not ask your sister?’

  He fiddled with his jacket buttons. ‘I would never get it back. Lucinda is of the opinion that it would be best sold to improve our situation.’

  ‘Not when it means so much,’ I said.

  ‘It means a great deal to me.’ He reached under his shirt and pulled out a black cord with a plain gold band round it. ‘I wonder…’ he looked into my eyes and I saw that his were dark blue, ‘if you would consent to’ – he cleared his throat again – ‘wear it for me?’

  He looked down.

  ‘Around my neck?’ I asked and he looked at me again, and all at once his face was alive.

  ‘For the time being,’ he said.

  ‘Put it on for me.’ I leaned over him and he slipped the cord over my head, and my hair brushed against his.

  Inspector Po
und shivered. ‘How lovely you are,’ he whispered. ‘Have you ever been kissed?’ I closed my eyes and when I opened them I was happy to find myself held closely in his.

  *

  There were two letters on the desk for me when I returned, one from Mr Warwick, the land agent, saying he had found a tenant for the Grange. I was glad that the house would be looked after but I hated the idea of strangers living there.

  The other was in a plain brown, badly creased and grubby envelope with no stamp upon it. The handwriting was small and fluid, and I hardly dared recognize it as I ripped the flap open and sat in my usual chair.

  Mr G was buried behind a newspaper and grunted absently to acknowledge my presence.

  My Dear March,

  I know that I have no right to address you thus but I cannot call you anything else for I have truly come to love you in the short time we had.

  I cannot ask you to think well of me, but only to believe that I spent my whole life seeking to heal before I met that woman. Perhaps you were lucky never to have known your mother for it was meeting mine that set me on this terrible course.

  I make no excuses and ask no forgiveness, but if anybody can bring Eleanor Quarrel to justice I truly believe it is you.

  I do not add ‘and your guardian’ for, if I have one wish before they take me from here into the executioner’s shed, it is that you see him for what he is.

  This is the last letter I shall ever write, the last there shall ever be of me, and I shall not waste it in idle words.

  Be strong, March, as I tried to be: be true as I know you are and I once was: but most of all guard your heart.

  I am afraid for you, March. You must leave that house. Leave it today or Sidney Grice will destroy you, just as he destroyed me and just as surely as he murdered your mother.

  I shall bear you in my last breath.

  Ever yours

  Dorna.

  I stared at the letter and reread it twice.

  ‘Oh, Dorna,’ I whispered and let the paper fall. It seemed to hang a while before it sailed, swishing from side to side across the hearth and settling face up upon the glowing coals. The middle blackened and the edges curled and it rose a little before falling back, the paper as black as the words upon it, and the flames crept yellow around it, shot red through it with white wisps and then blue rising high into shadows flickering over the dark tragedy of the accursed House of Foskett.