A Study in Darkness (53 page)

“None.”

“I begin to see the difficulties with this case. On one hand, you have too much data. On the other, almost nothing at all.”

“Not to mention a number of key officials on leave, a hysterical press, the Blue King, and now bloody nonsense like
this.” Abberline rustled in the piles of paper, pulled out an envelope, and tossed it across the desk. “What do you make of that, Mr. Holmes?”

He picked it up, giving it a cursory look. “It’s postmarked the twenty-seventh.”

“It was forwarded on to us today.”

The envelope itself was unremarkable, but the ink was not. The scrawl was red, addressing the missive to
The Boss, Central News Office, London City
. A cold feeling crawled down Holmes’s neck as he pulled out the paper folded inside, a fresh gout of red words spilling to both sides of the page.

Holmes read the letter, then reread it, taking in the missed punctuation and awkward grammar, the postscript written crosswise at the bottom of the page. An amateur might be fooled, but this was someone trying to appear illiterate rather than a man truly struggling with words. Then Holmes pulled out his magnifying glass, peering at the writing more closely, examining every stroke.

Again, disguised, but not to him. A peculiar feeling crept over him, half triumph and half horror.
Got you
. He sucked in his breath, forcing back a wave of dismay that threatened to derail his train of logic altogether.

“You recognize the writer?” Abberline said, a little mockingly.

“If I did, I would have more than earned my place on this case, Inspector,” he said in his coolest tones. “But there are a few details of interest.”

“Such as?” asked Abberline, leaning forward in his chair with eyebrows raised.

Holmes cursed his obligation to interact with the man. He wanted to take the letter away and study it in peace and quiet. “Your killer did not write this letter. It is decidedly a hoax.”

“I might have guessed that much, Mr. Holmes.”

Holmes lowered his glass, feeling as if all the strength was ebbing out his toes. Strange as it seemed, there were things he truly didn’t want to know.

But he refused to show it. “I’m sorry, Inspector, all I can say is that the individual who wrote this is a well-educated man of about forty to forty-five, unmarried, with a sedentary lifestyle. He smokes, but not excessively, and has recently traveled to the north of the country. By occupation I would assume he is required to exhibit a degree of necessary creativity. Perhaps a journalist.”
Or a bureaucrat
.

“Impressive,” said Abberline. “Perhaps I can use you, if your powers of deduction are that acute.”

Holmes managed a smile.
They are, but my ability to lie is even sharper
.

* * *

BONG
!
BONG
!
BONG
!

Poppy sat with her back to the longcase clock that sat on the second-floor landing. If she touched it at the precise moment the chimes rang, a weird magnetic thrill rattled her teeth. No other clock did that, but this one was special. The doctor friend that Papa had known in Austria had made it, presumably when they were still friends. They weren’t now, and that was about all Poppy had been able to determine on that subject.

She rose, turning to admire the thing. The wood was a rich brown that gleamed in the sunlight. The top was arched with pointy bits at the corners like little towers. There were seven moving dials besides the actual clock, telling about things like whether the sun would shine that day—but that dial was usually wrong. The top part of the arch showed the scales at the apex of the sky, followed close behind by the scorpion. Below that were the painted faces of the moon, which currently appeared to be falling asleep. The most bizarre feature was the slot that shot out punch cards from time to time. Only Papa knew what they meant, and they usually made him curse and stomp off to his study.

When she was little, Poppy used to make up games about the clock, but since she’d reached the threshold of womanhood—as her mother never tired of reminding her—such things were beneath her. So she slumped to the floor in a sulk and stared moodily down the corridor of bedroom doors.
Bored, bored, bored
.

Something darted across her field of vision. She blinked, not quite sure she’d really seen it. And then it moved again. She sat up very slowly, peering down the carpet. It was a little gray mouse! And Poppy liked nothing more than animals.

A shiver of potential fun tickled through her. Silently, Poppy eased forward until she was balanced on her toes. The creature was standing on its hind legs, pushing on Imogen’s door as if it were trying to get inside. Since it was about the size of an eggcup, that obviously wasn’t working.

“Hey!” Poppy said in a stage whisper. “What do you think you’re doing?”

The mouse gave a startled squeak and dropped to all fours. They stared at each other for a long moment. There was something oddly shiny about the creature, and the thing turned tail and scampered off faster than any mouse had a right to. Poppy launched after it, having her first good time in what felt like weeks.

The thing slipped through the crack in Alice’s half-open door. Poppy lunged after it, tripped on the rug, and landed sprawling across the foot of the bed. Unfortunately, Alice was in it. She sat up with a squeak that sounded a lot like the mouse. “What are you doing?”

Poppy bit her lip, wondering what she should admit to. Alice glared, but still had that look like she was about to cry any moment.
Oh, bother, it’s not like I can make things any worse
.

“I’m chasing a mouse!” Poppy announced, maybe a little too loudly.

“What!” Alice snatched at the covers, her red hair tumbling around her like one of those paintings by Burne-Jones. Poppy so wanted Alice’s hair.

“It’s only a little one.” Poppy measured with her thumb and forefinger.

“Ah!” Alice squeaked again, pointing at the floor.

The mouse was making its escape in a gray blur. Poppy heard Imogen’s door open and her sister exclaim, “Oh, there you are!”

Poppy had always been convinced that her sister was odd, but that confirmed it. She heaved a sigh, having lost her quarry, and looked around the room. Then she noticed the suitcase on the bed. “Why are you sleeping with your suitcase?”

Alice made a face. “I’m dreaming about traveling to exotic lands.”

Poppy shrugged. “I’d pack the Worth gowns, if I were you. If you’re going to dream, you may as well look your best.”

A tear slid down Alice’s cheek. “I suppose I could dream those emeralds back, then.” She didn’t sound like she much cared.

“Unless you wanted something else. Like a camel.”

Alice looked up glumly. “Why a camel?”

“If you’re going to an exotic land, shouldn’t you pack a camel?”

It was a silly statement, and something like a smile hovered around Alice’s lips. That was good, Poppy thought. She’d begun to worry that Alice might never smile again. “Do you want to do something? I’m bored.”

Alice looked shocked, but then shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Poppy leaned forward, giving her best conspiratorial whisper. “We could make an alliance, like two prisoners in a tower.”

Alice’s eyes went wide. “We could?”

It made perfect sense to Poppy. She and Alice were the ones always left out, but Poppy guessed that Alice was pretty smart. Together they’d make a crack team of spies. “Tobias is tearing up the attic. Let’s find out what he’s looking for.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that. It’s something of your father’s, I think. He wouldn’t really say. Some old family business.”

Poppy rolled her eyes. “They keep whispering about those silly mechanical dolls. I bet that’s what it’s all about.”

Alice had the look of someone translating from another language. “Automatons?”

“We used to have some, up in the attic. They’re gone now. Tobias wants them back and Papa doesn’t want to talk about it. There’s some big secret about them.”

Alice look confused. Poppy knew exactly how she felt. “Listen, there’s a bundle of old letters in the steel box under the floor in Papa’s study. I bet whatever Tobias is looking for is in there.”

Alice blinked. “How do you even know that?”

Poppy felt a slight swell of pride. “I found out where he hides the key. It rained a lot last Christmas and I didn’t have much to do.”

“Do you know what those papers say?” Alice asked, shaking her head as if to clear it.

“No, they’re in German. I don’t read German. But I heard Tobias say that everything going wrong around here would be cleared up if he could just find out why the automatons are such a big secret.”

Alice looked sideways, obviously thinking. Hoping. She sat with her arms wrapped around her shins, her chin propped on one knee. “If it’s causing everything that’s gone wrong, it must be a huge secret.”

“The biggest.” A surge of anticipation made Poppy’s scalp prickle.

Alice raised one eyebrow. “You may not read German, but I do.”

BREAKING INTO LORD BANCROFT
’
S STUDY WAS NOT AS EASY
as it sounded. The brass handle had an impressive lock, and despite Poppy’s claim that she could pick any lock ever made, the thing refused to budge.

Alice felt like an idiot standing at the end of the corridor, listening for approaching footsteps. What she was doing was wrong, foolish, and potentially dangerous. She’d been led into a complete breach of everything sensible and right by a fourteen-year-old hoyden, and in her soul Alice knew she was going to pay.

But at least she was doing something besides moping, and even burglary was preferable to being trapped in misery for another afternoon. Her eyes were sandy from weeping, her limbs rubbery from lying down too much. Worst, her emotions still smarted, as if she’d been physically beaten but the bruises had sunk deep into her soul. Now this brainless escapade seemed rather fun—and after so much unhappiness, she planned to grab it with both hands and morals be damned.

She edged another inch toward the corner of the wall, straining her ears for any sound of movement, and felt something tickle her foot. She jumped, flicked her skirts, and saw something gray streak across the carpet.

“I think I just saw that wretched mouse again,” she hissed.

“We should go fetch the cook’s cat,” Poppy replied, rummaging in the keyhole with a pair of slim tools.

Alice felt her whole body wince at the thought of mouse bits all over. “Can’t we just catch it and put it outdoors?”

“Spies can’t afford to be tenderhearted.”

“You’re a bloodthirsty girl.”

Poppy made a comic face, about to respond—and then the lock clicked open. They scurried inside, closing the door behind them. The room was masculine, paneled in dark wood and smelling of Turkish tobacco. A desk sat crosswise in the corner opposite the door, a tiger’s head hanging above it. The tiger must have had a rough time of it, because it was missing one fang.

Alice walked farther into the room, wondering what she could find out about her new father-in-law by looking at his private space. There was a fancy spirit lighter as tall as she was, shaped like a silver phoenix. Books lined every wall, interrupted only by the windows and a huge wardrobe in the corner. Above the mantel, a clock ticked disapprovingly.

“The box is under the carpet,” Poppy said, pointing to the floor. “You lift that up while I get the key.”

Alice saw the corner of the carpet was beneath a fern stand. She moved the china pot with its luxurious occupant to the corner of the desk, then moved the wooden stand and peeled back the fine Turkish carpet. She saw at once that there was a slight gap in the floorboards. Alice got to her knees and began poking with her fingernails while Poppy was sticking her head up the chimney and feeling around for the secret hidey-hole. It was a good thing no one had decided to light a fire, or their plans would have been utterly ruined.