Imogen Robertson - Instruments of Darkness

Mr. Graves was still too much concerned with what to do next for the children to note the air of collusion and triumph in the faces of Susan and Miss Chase over breakfast. The black box had yielded up some other treasures as he sat with it the previous night, and he was keen to know what the advice of the Chase family would be.

“I have found the will, Mr. Chase,” he said, putting that document into the buttery fingers of his host.

Mr. Chase nodded a little cautiously and, having drawn a pair of spectacles from his waistcoat, began to read.

“You are named as the guardian of the children then, Mr. Graves.”

Susan gave a little yelp of pleasure and Jonathan clapped his hands. Mr. Chase looked narrowly at Graves over the top of his spectacles as he grinned back at the children. “It is a heavy responsibility to place on one so young. I hope you will not take offense when I say I think it wrong of Alexander to place such a burden on you.”

The children’s faces fell, but Graves put his hands out to them between the bread rolls and coffee pots.

“I am sure he never thought it would be necessary to pass on their care. I am honored he thought so well of me.”

Mr. Chase continued to frown. “Yes, yes. That is all very fine and noble, sir, and I know you are a good man. But are you indeed a fit guardian for such young people? You are hardly established in the world yourself.”

Graves instinctively looked out into the street where Molloy had been standing the last day. His place was empty. He turned back to Chase, his face serious.

“You are right, of course, sir. But I am in a position to take over the shop, if necessary, in a way those with greater concerns,” he dropped his eyes, “might not be able to do.”

“Though that might be moot, given what we have discovered about Alexander’s family.”

“As you say.”

“But I told you what that man said!” Susan looked at them both, wide-eyed. “We must not let him know where we are. The people at the Hall sent him to kill us.”

Mr. Chase looked very dark. “If that is so, Susan, they will be punished. But, you are right, my dear, do not be alarmed, we must be discreet.” He looked at Graves again. “What do you propose, Mr. Graves? You and the children have a home here as long as you require it.”

“You are all kindness, sir.” Graves paused and then declared, “I propose to write to the local magistrate, if I can find out who he is.” And when Susan shook her head violently, “No, don’t worry, Susan, we can ask for any responses to be sent to the White Horse coffee shop. There is no need for us to tell them where we are.” Susan’s shoulders dropped again. “Then we can see where we are at.”

“Very well, Mr. Graves. That seems sensible, but I would be glad to talk to you more on these subjects.” Mr. Chase placed his napkin on the tablecloth. “Perhaps you will walk out with me today. I wish to see what the situation is in the town and would be glad of your company. My daughter and wife will look to the children in our absence.” He turned to his daughter. “Indulge an old man, my dear. Do not go beyond our street. Mr. Graves and I will know more when we return, but I think the streets are still too rough for ladies today.”

The vicar looked deeply uncomfortable. “Surely the squire …” he began.

Michaels’s voice in reply was almost a growl. “Squire’s got work enough. Your word is as good as anyone’s in the parish, is it not?”

The vicar decided not to answer directly.

They made an odd little group in the back yard of Crowther’s house. Hannah, rather pale, but steady on her feet, Michaels like an oak walking, with his unsuspecting dog at his feet, the vicar, red in the face already, and Crowther with the bundle under his arm.

“Right then,” Michaels announced. “First off, Hannah, I want you to have a look at the bottle there and say if it is the one Joshua drank out of last afternoon, and if it looks as it did when we sealed it after he was taken ill.”

She stepped forward smartly enough as Crowther unwrapped his bundle and showed her the bottle. She bent forward and ran her finger over the seal.

“Just as it was, sir.” She looked up at the vicar. “See, the wax we put around the stopper is just as it was last night. That’s the color of our kitchen candles. Look! There’s a bit where I let the wax fall crooked, because my hands were shaking a little.”

The vicar caught Michaels’s eye and hurriedly leaned forward to peer more closely where she indicated. He looked about him and shuffled his feet.

“Yes, I see, I see.”

The door to the house opened with a clatter and they saw Mrs. Westerman step into the yard. She paused for a second to look at them, before saying, “Good morning, Crowther. Gentlemen, Hannah. Your maid tells me you are about to kill a dog.”

The gentlemen bowed, and Hannah gave a friendly bob. Crowther replied rather wearily, “Indeed we are, Mrs. Westerman. At least, I fear so. Do you wish to observe?”

“If I may.”

Michaels turned to Hannah. “No need for you to stay now, if you don’t wish it, girl.”

Hannah glanced quickly at Crowther. “I am not afraid to see it,” she said, “but the kitchen at home is still in an awful mess.”

Crowther blinked at her. “I don’t doubt your stomach. Best go to your work though.”

She smiled in return, and at Harriet as she passed.

“I shan’t delay you by asking about Joshua’s kitchen,” Harriet said, “but if you are going to get that poor dog to drink liquor, had you not better pour it onto some meat of some sort?”

The men looked at each other in surprise and nodded. Harriet sighed and turned back into the kitchen, emerging a few moments later with a piece of beef shank on a cracked plate, that Crowther rather suspected had been designed for his own dinner. The dog caught the scent and whined. Harriet passed him the dish, and she saw the face of his own servant appear, then disappear rapidly at the back window.

“Mrs. Westerman, you are the handmaiden of science.”

She did not deign to reply, but took a seat on the edge of the raised herb beds. Crowther broke the seal and poured a glassful or so of the liquid over the meat and into the bowl. The dog whined again, and Michaels reached down automatically to stroke her head and pull her soft black ears. Crowther hesitated. Michaels caught his movement and looked up at him with a sad smile.

“Needs must, Mr. Crowther. Perhaps I shall put a sign over her grave saying ‘handmaiden of science’ too.”

The dog looked up at her master and licked his hand. Crowther set down the dish, and Michaels pulled free the string around the little bitch’s neck. She ran to the plate and paused briefly to sniff it, and then got down to eating with an appetite. They stood around and watched her. The dog dragged the last scraps from the bowl, sitting down to enjoy them in a splayed crouch on the flagstones, looking up every now and then as if afraid the strange figures standing around her might try to snatch it away. More minutes passed, and the dog wagged her tail and looked as if she planned to sleep.

Harriet wondered vaguely if she should ask Betsy to bring out tea. She plucked a sage leaf from the bush beside her and crushed it between her fingertips, holding it to her nose for the scent. There was a sharp whine and she looked at the dog. Her ears were back tightly on her head and she slunk to her master’s boot. Crowther picked up the dish by its extreme edge and took it to the pump, washing and filling it with water before putting it in front of the dog again. She sank her muzzle into it, lapping greedily, then whined and shivered again, then with a retch began to vomit. Crowther touched the vicar’s sleeve. He started a little.