grounds for dismissal. The Company is not renowned for its treatment
of its clerks.’
‘You hear a lot, wife.’
‘Well, it is books that I hear it from. They speak, in their own manner. So, Johnson took some time off work, and in that time somebody killed him, his wife, and his daughter. The
maidservant saw nothing?’
‘No. She was told to visit the house every third day. She did so, and on one of these visits she discovered the bodies. And then, there is this.’
He took the gold chain out of his pocket, and handed it to Abigail. She held it in her cupped hands as if it were liquid that might run through her fingers.
‘The wife’s?’
‘Yes. It locked a drawer in her dressing table. The drawer was itself empty.’
‘My God, Charles, is that her hair on it?’
‘Yes.’
Abigail gazed upon the gold chain and the hair wound within it.
‘The clasp is broken. Like it was torn from her neck.’
‘Such was my reckoning also.’
‘A woman with a key around her neck. A key to an open drawer. A woman with secrets, Charles.’
‘Indeed. Secrets which someone else now possesses.’
‘Was she killed for these secrets?’
‘That is my task to uncover.’
‘Shall we keep this here?’
‘Yes – I imagine you have some secret place of your own in which it will be safe.’
The remark was in somewhat bad taste, and Abigail did not respond to it. She placed the necklace in a pocket of her dress.
‘Well, husband. You have been busy since leaving me at the Hermitage stairs. What next, do you think?’
‘I must visit the offices of the Company. I have no experience of dealing with such institutions. I know not how it will develop.’
‘Your magistrate will accompany you, surely.’
‘Doubtless. He is a former Company man, after all.’
‘Indeed. The Indian service.’
‘You have read his memoirs.’
‘As I say, husband: books tell me many things.’
‘Well, then – what of these?’
He reached down to his satchel, and pulled out the three books he had taken from the house on the Highway. He passed them to her, and she looked over them.
‘Hmm. I know this one’ – she held up the
Environs of London
– ‘but the other two are a mystery to me. This one I cannot make head nor tail of, as I have no
Latin, but I know someone who perhaps can. And this one – “Dr John Dee”. The name is familiar to me. At least the book is in English.’
‘There are pages missing from the first book – the
Environs of London
.’
‘Ah, interesting. I wonder who tore them out. I assume you wish me to consult these books? To see if they might speak to me of something or other?’
‘It would be of great benefit to me.’
‘Really?’ She put her head on one side, like a dog weighing up its owner. ‘Are you humouring me, husband?’
‘By no means. These books were left in Johnson’s desk.’
She looked at him, her head still on one side. Her measuring was not quite finished.
‘Poor husband. It must have been an awful scene. All those slit throats. The blood must have been on everything.’
‘As a matter of fact, no. There was little blood. None at all, in fact.’
Abigail frowned.
‘But how can that be? A slit throat will send blood in arcs all over the place. The heart pumps it into the air through the open wound. It is a basic matter of circulation.’
‘Indeed? Well, how would you explain the lack of blood?’
‘Perhaps the place was cleaned after the murders.’
‘Yes. But I do not know why anyone should have done that. And there would still have been marks, surely.’
‘Or they were dead when their throats were cut. A stopped heart will pump no blood.’
She frowned.
‘What state were the bodies in, husband? If the maidservant visited every third day, they may have been there for almost three days.’
‘There was little sign of decomposition last night. More this morning; there were flies in the house then. But none last night.’
‘So, the bodies were fresh. There was
of its clerks.’
‘You hear a lot, wife.’
‘Well, it is books that I hear it from. They speak, in their own manner. So, Johnson took some time off work, and in that time somebody killed him, his wife, and his daughter. The
maidservant saw nothing?’
‘No. She was told to visit the house every third day. She did so, and on one of these visits she discovered the bodies. And then, there is this.’
He took the gold chain out of his pocket, and handed it to Abigail. She held it in her cupped hands as if it were liquid that might run through her fingers.
‘The wife’s?’
‘Yes. It locked a drawer in her dressing table. The drawer was itself empty.’
‘My God, Charles, is that her hair on it?’
‘Yes.’
Abigail gazed upon the gold chain and the hair wound within it.
‘The clasp is broken. Like it was torn from her neck.’
‘Such was my reckoning also.’
‘A woman with a key around her neck. A key to an open drawer. A woman with secrets, Charles.’
‘Indeed. Secrets which someone else now possesses.’
‘Was she killed for these secrets?’
‘That is my task to uncover.’
‘Shall we keep this here?’
‘Yes – I imagine you have some secret place of your own in which it will be safe.’
The remark was in somewhat bad taste, and Abigail did not respond to it. She placed the necklace in a pocket of her dress.
‘Well, husband. You have been busy since leaving me at the Hermitage stairs. What next, do you think?’
‘I must visit the offices of the Company. I have no experience of dealing with such institutions. I know not how it will develop.’
‘Your magistrate will accompany you, surely.’
‘Doubtless. He is a former Company man, after all.’
‘Indeed. The Indian service.’
‘You have read his memoirs.’
‘As I say, husband: books tell me many things.’
‘Well, then – what of these?’
He reached down to his satchel, and pulled out the three books he had taken from the house on the Highway. He passed them to her, and she looked over them.
‘Hmm. I know this one’ – she held up the
Environs of London
– ‘but the other two are a mystery to me. This one I cannot make head nor tail of, as I have no
Latin, but I know someone who perhaps can. And this one – “Dr John Dee”. The name is familiar to me. At least the book is in English.’
‘There are pages missing from the first book – the
Environs of London
.’
‘Ah, interesting. I wonder who tore them out. I assume you wish me to consult these books? To see if they might speak to me of something or other?’
‘It would be of great benefit to me.’
‘Really?’ She put her head on one side, like a dog weighing up its owner. ‘Are you humouring me, husband?’
‘By no means. These books were left in Johnson’s desk.’
She looked at him, her head still on one side. Her measuring was not quite finished.
‘Poor husband. It must have been an awful scene. All those slit throats. The blood must have been on everything.’
‘As a matter of fact, no. There was little blood. None at all, in fact.’
Abigail frowned.
‘But how can that be? A slit throat will send blood in arcs all over the place. The heart pumps it into the air through the open wound. It is a basic matter of circulation.’
‘Indeed? Well, how would you explain the lack of blood?’
‘Perhaps the place was cleaned after the murders.’
‘Yes. But I do not know why anyone should have done that. And there would still have been marks, surely.’
‘Or they were dead when their throats were cut. A stopped heart will pump no blood.’
She frowned.
‘What state were the bodies in, husband? If the maidservant visited every third day, they may have been there for almost three days.’
‘There was little sign of decomposition last night. More this morning; there were flies in the house then. But none last night.’
‘So, the bodies were fresh. There was
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