Alan Bradley - The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag

"Miss Flavia?"

"I'm sorry," I said, taking the knife from his shaking hands. "Have I broken it? I borrowed it yesterday to cut a bit of twine, and I might have jammed the blade. If I did, I'll buy you a new one."

This was sheer fantasy — I hadn't touched the thing — but I have learned that under certain circumstances, a fib is not only permissible, but can even be an act of perfect grace. I took the knife from his hands, opened it fully, and began rubbing it in smooth circles on the surface of the stone.

"No, it's fine," I said. "Phew! I'd have been in big trouble if I'd jiggered your best knife, wouldn't I?"

I snapped the blade shut and handed it back. Dogger took it from me, his fingers now much more sure of themselves.

I turned over an empty pail and sat on it as we shared a silence.

"It was good of you to think of feeding Nialla," I said, after a while.

"She needs a friend," he said. "She's — "

"Pregnant," I blurted.

"Yes."

"But how did you know that? Surely she didn't tell you?"

"Excessive salivation," Dogger said, "... and telangiectasia."

"Tel- what ?"

"Telangiectasia," he said in a mechanical voice, as if he were reading from an invisible book. "... Spider veins in proximity to the mouth, nose, and chin. Uncommon, but not unknown in early pregnancy."

"You amaze me, Dogger," I said. "How on earth do you know these things?"

"They float in my head," he replied quietly, "like corks upon the sea. I've read books, I think. I've had a lot of time on my hands."

"Ah!" I said. It was the most I'd heard him say in ages.

But Dogger's former captivity was not a topic for open discussion, and I knew that it was time to change the subject.

"Do you think she did it?" I asked. "Killed Rupert, I mean?"

Dogger knitted his eyebrows, as if thinking came to him only with the greatest effort.

"The police will think that," he said, nodding slowly. "Yes, that's what the police will think. They'll soon be along."

As it turned out, he was right.

"It is a well-known fact," Aunt Felicity trumpeted, "that the Black Death was brought into England by lawyers. Shakespeare said we ought to have hanged the lot of them, and in light of modern sanitary reform, we now know that he was right. This will never do, Haviland!"

She stuffed a handful of papers into a dusty hatbox and clapped the lid on. "It's a perfect disgrace," she added, "the way you've let things slide. Unless something turns up, you'll soon have no option but to sell up Buckshaw and take a cold-water flat in Battersea."

"Hello, all," I said, strolling into the library, pretending for the second time in less than half an hour that I was oblivious to what was going on.

"Ah, Flavia," Father said. "I think Mrs. Mullet requires an extra pair of hands in the kitchen."

"Of course," I said. "And shall I then be allowed to go to the ball?"

Father looked puzzled. My witty repartee was completely lost on him.

"Flavia!" Aunt Felicity said. "That's no way for a child to speak to a parent. I should have thought that you'd outgrown that saucy attitude by now. I don't know why you let these girls get away with it, Haviland."

Father moved towards the window and stared out across the ornamental lake towards the folly. He was taking refuge, as he often does, in letting his eyes, at least, escape an unpleasant situation.

Suddenly he whirled round to face her.

"Damn it all, Lissy," he said, in a voice so strong I think it surprised even him. "It isn't always easy for them. No ... it isn't always easy for them."

I think my mouth fell open as his closed.

Dear old Father! I could have hugged him, and if either of us had been other than who we were, I think I might have.

Aunt Felicity went back to rummaging among the papers.

"Statutory legacies ... personal chattels," she said with a sniff. "Where will it all end?"

"Flavia," Feely said, as I passed the open door of the drawing room, "a moment?"

She sounded suspiciously civil. She was up to something.

As I stepped inside, Daffy, who had been standing near the door, closed it softly behind me.

"We've been waiting for you," Feely said. "Please sit down."

"I'd rather not," I said. They had both remained standing, putting me at a disadvantage when it came to sudden flight.

"As you wish," Feely said, sitting down behind a small table and putting on her eyeglasses. Daffy stood with her back pressed against the door.

"I'm afraid we have some rather bad news for you," Feely said, toying with her spectacles like a judge at the Old Bailey.

I said nothing.

"While you've been gadding about the countryside, we've held a meeting, and we've all of us decided that you must go."

"In short, we've voted you out of the family," Daffy said. "It was unanimous."

"Unanimous?" I said. "This is just another of your stupid — "

"Dogger, of course, pleaded for leniency, but he was overruled by Aunt Felicity, who has more weight in these matters. He wanted you to be allowed to stay until the end of the week, but I'm afraid we can't permit it. It's been decided that you're to be gone by sundown."

"But — "

"Father has given instructions to Mr. Pringle, his solicitor, to draw up a Covenant of Reversion, which means, of course, that you will be returned to the Home for Unwed Mothers, who will have no option but to take you back."

"Because of the Covenant, you see," Daffy said. "It's in their Constitution. They can't say no. They can't refuse."

I clenched my fists as I felt the tears beginning to well up in my eyes. It was no good waiting upon reason.

I shoved Daffy roughly away from the door.

"Have you eaten those chocolates yet?" I demanded of Feely.

She was somewhat taken aback by the harshness in my voice.

"Well, no ...," she said.

"Better not," I spat. "They might be poisoned."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I'd done the wrong thing.

Blast it! I'd given myself away. All that work in my laboratory wasted!

Flavia , I thought, sometimes you're no brighter than a lightning-struck lizard .

Angry with myself for being angry, I stalked out of the room on general principles, and nobody tried to stop me.

I took a deep breath, relaxed my shoulders, and opened the kitchen door.

"Flavia," Mrs. Mullet called, "be a dear and fetch me a glass of sherry from the pantry. I've gone all-over strange. Not too much, mind, or else I shall be tipsy."

She was stretched full length in a chair by the window, her heels on the tiles, fanning herself with a small frying pan.

I did as I was bidden, and she gulped down the drink in a flash.

"What is it, Mrs. M?" I asked. "What's happened?"

"The police, dearie. They gave me such a turn, comin' for that young woman like they did."

"What young woman? You mean Nialla?"

She nodded glumly, waggling her empty glass. I refilled it.

"Such a dear, she is. Never done nobody no harm. She rapped at the kitchen door to thank me, and Alf, of course, for puttin' her up the night. Said she was movin' on — didn't want us to think she was ungrateful, like. No more the words were out of her mouth than that there Inspector whatsis — "

"Hewitt," I said.

"Hewitt. That's 'im — that's the one ... 'E shows up in the doorway right behind 'er. Spotted 'er comin' across from the coach house, 'e did."

"And then?"

"'E asked if 'e might have a word outside. Next thing I knows, poor girl's off in the car with 'im. I 'ad to run round the front to get a good look. Proper fagged me out, so it did."

I refilled her glass.

"I shouldn't ought to, dearie," she said, "but my poor old heart's not up to such a muddlederumpus."