Verity Sparks and the Scarlet Hand (20 page)

“Splendid, splendid.” It was Mr Leviny. He must have arrived early to consult with Papa before they caught the train to Bendigo.

“Do you think it will do any good? After all this time?” Papa sounded unsure.

“Of course it will!” This other voice was loud, boastful, arrogant. I knew immediately who it was. “The mere mention of a reward will get them scurrying around like the vermin they are.”

I opened the door. “Good morning, Papa. And Mr Leviny.” Then I turned to the other visitor. “Good morning, Mr Melmoth.”

“Good morning.” He didn’t even look at me. A newspaper was spread open on one of the side tables, and he was stabbing his finger at an illustration in the middle of a page. “This picture, will get everyone talking. Jog some memories.” He rubbed his hands together. “Then the fun will begin.”

I stood next to Papa so I could get a good look at the paper. The picture Mr Melmoth spoke of showed a campfire in a clearing, surrounded by dark forest. Sprawled next to the fire, oozing blood, was a corpse. You could tell it was a corpse, because there was a body but no head.

The text above it read:

GRUESOME AND GRISLY – OUT OF THE PAST

“Fun?” Papa gazed at the dismembered body and shook his head. “I do not think so, Mr Melmoth.” Then he looked pointedly at the clock. “George has the phaeton ready and we must go, Ernö, or we will miss our train.” He folded the paper. “Thank you, Mr Melmoth, for coming to show us your work. Hannah will show you out. Good day.”

Papa was trying to get rid of him, but Mr Melmoth didn’t take the hint. “When they see this in the
Advertiser
, they’ll come creeping from their holes,” he gloated. “The Red Gauntlet, indeed. By the time I am finished with him, he will be the Dead Gauntlet!”

“Mr Melmoth,” said Papa with a frown, gesturing towards me. “There is a young lady present.”

“And we really must go,” said Mr Leviny. “Where is Mr Mallard? Is he ready?”

There was a sudden flurry of activity as the gentlemen got their coats, hats and walking sticks. Mr Mallard, still combing his curly hair, came rushing from his bedroom; Mr Melmoth was shown the door; the three gentlemen got into the phaeton; hooves and wheels crunched down the gravel drive and onto the road and they were gone.

Today they would organise the ransom money – but that was only the start. The kidnappers still needed to give us more instructions. The money had to be handed over. Helen and Drucilla had to be returned. Where? When? There was so much that could go wrong.

I picked up the newspaper and went into the dining room. There was still a little bacon and some scrambled egg left in one of the silver dishes, but I wasn’t feeling hungry. Perhaps a cup of tea would be enough for me this morning. Maybe some toast. I would go to the kitchen in a moment. First, I wanted to read the paper.

In the early 1860s, the Red Gauntlet and his gang created a reign of terror in the district. No law-abiding citizen was safe from their depredations. No less a personage than the esteemed member of the judiciary, Judge Collins of Tantamount Park, fell victim to these ruffians. He and Mr Ernest Leviny of Castlemaine, while taking a valuable presentation cup to the Bishop of Sandhurst, were attacked and robbed. Judge Collins was kidnapped and held to ransom; thankfully he was returned to the bosom of his family unharmed. Mr Leviny offered a large reward for the return of the presentation cup, and this still stands.

So this is what Mr Melmoth meant when he’d promised to stir things up and get the cockroaches out of the woodwork. A reward was all very well, but would putting pressure on the Red Gauntlet Gang endanger the two ladies? Mr Melmoth had a score to settle and didn’t care two hoots about Helen or Drucilla. All Mr Melmoth cared about was Mr Melmoth.

Hannah, with perfect timing, came into the room with a tray. “Here’s a fresh pot of tea for you,” she said. “Would you like some toast?”

“Yes, please, Hannah. You must have read my mind.”

“I’ll just take these plates away then I’ll make you some.”

As she passed behind me with a pile of dirty dishes, she caught sight of the newspaper. “What’s that you’re reading, miss?”

“It’s about the Red Gauntlet. That’s why Mr Melmoth was here this morning. He wanted to show us his … Hannah?”

Hannah dumped the dishes on the table, snatched up the paper and scanned it quickly.

“Hannah, what’s wrong?”

She stripped off her apron. “I’ll be back in an hour,” she said. Her voice was trembling.

“But what’s wrong, Hannah? What’s the matter?”

She didn’t answer me. “I must go.”

I followed her out into the hall. “Can I help you, Hannah?”

“No, no. Oh my Lord, what’s to be done?” Without her bonnet or gloves, she rushed out of the front door and down the drive.

Mr Melmoth’s article about the Red Gauntlet … That’s what upset Hannah. Upset? She was more than that. Hannah was terrified. Why? What did she have to do with the Red Gauntlet?

Hannah returned an hour later, as she said she would. But she wasn’t alone. Doctor Judd was with her.

“Go and get Harold, lassie,” he told me. “This concerns him too. Bring him to the kitchen, will you? But first, I’ll put this muck where it belongs.” And he threw the whole newspaper into the fire.

Harold and Mohan were sitting with Mr Petrov. I opened the door slightly and beckoned. “Harold,” I whispered. “Doctor Judd wants you.”

Harold slipped out of the room and closed the door quietly. “What is it?” he asked. His voice had a tense edge to it. “Is it about Uncle?”

“No. I’m sorry, Harold; I didn’t mean to worry you. I’m not sure, but I think it’s about the Red Gauntlet.”

Doctor Judd was sitting at the kitchen table and he motioned for us to join him. He began. “I’ve nothing against Ernest Leviny but it was a mistake bringing in that Detective Melmoth. He’s a … a …” Doctor Judd looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Never mind what he is. This search for the Red Gauntlet is all nonsense. We – Hannah and I – know for a fact that he couldn’t have done it.” The doctor looked across at Hannah. She nodded. “It is impossible for the Red Gauntlet to have kidnapped the ladies. You have seen the proof for yourself, in the cellar at Blumberg.”

What could Doctor Judd mean? Bizarre thoughts flew through my mind. Was someone buried underneath the flagstones? Or pickled in a barrel? And then suddenly I understood.

“It’s Hermann, isn’t it?”

“Yes, lassie,” said Doctor Judd. “You picked it. Hermann Schroeder is the Red Gauntlet.”

Hannah’s accent grew stronger as she told us the story. “He is my half-brother. Jack Munro is his real name. He wasn’t a bad laddie. But he was bold, hot-tempered, and – to be honest with you – none too bright. I tried to keep him on the straight and narrow, but once he fell in with bad company he didn’t have a chance. I won’t make excuses for him; he liked the excitement of it. He was in too deep before he realised that he was heading for the gallows if he was caught.”

“What happened?” asked Harold.

“The doctor will tell it.”

Doctor Judd nodded. “Well, in 1861 Melmoth started his hunt in earnest. With his network of spies and informers, he nearly caught them several times, and it was only due to luck that they got away. Jack decided the life was not for him. He didn’t want to die on the end of a rope so he decided to go west. But the others had a hold over him – his sister. You see, Hannah had hidden stolen goods in her house. All unknowingly, as a favour for Jack, but ignorance is no excuse in the eyes of the law. Jack was caught in a trap of his own making.

“The gang did one last robbery. You know the story. Ernest Leviny offered a reward. The gang took to the hills and then, as far as I can understand it, they decided to split up and go their separate ways. But the thing was, none of them trusted the others. Each of them was sure that he’d be betrayed for money. A fight broke out and one man was killed outright. Jack was shot in the face and pushed off the hillside onto the rocks below. But he wasn’t dead.”

“I don’t know how he did it,” said Hannah. “But he walked and staggered and crawled to Blumberg. It took him three days.”

The doctor took off his steel-rimmed spectacles and rubbed them with his handkerchief. “And this is where I come into the story. The Dohnts had a man named Hermann Schroeder working for them in the vineyard. They were clearing up the vine prunings one day and this Schroeder had been drinking. He fell into the fire and was badly burned. I attended him. He died a few days after Jack staggered to Blumberg. He was secretly buried and–”

“And you did a switch,” I said.

“Yes. It was my husband Gottfried’s idea,” said Hannah. “Hermann had emigrated to South Australia but him being a drinker, you see, it made him hot-tempered and hasty. He quarrelled with everyone. He’d made his way to Castlemaine and we’d given him work at Blumberg. He had no relatives. There was no one to miss him.”

Such a sad and lonely life, I thought.

“We buried him at the end of a row of vines, and I planted a rosebush to remember him by,” said Hannah.

Those red rosehips I’d admired – perhaps the bush was on top of Hermann’s body.

“As for Jack – well, you saw for yourself.”

“So he’s been pretending to be Schroeder all these years?” said Harold.

There was one last twist to the tale. “No,” said the doctor. “With all his injuries a massive infection set in and for weeks he lay in a high fever. When the crisis was over, he was a changed man. Gentle, timid, almost like a child. He’d lost his memory completely. As far as he knows, he
is
Hermann Schroeder. How can we let him be tried for the Red Gauntlet’s crimes?”

“We need to tell Papa and Mr Leviny,” I said.

“Ernest Leviny is a fine, law-abiding citizen. He’d think it was his duty to tell the police. Jack would be jailed, or even hanged. And that’s not the end of it. The Dohnt family – including Hannah here – have all broken the law.” He gave a wry smile. “Not to mention myself.”

“This is very serious,” said Harold.

“It is that. I’ve taken a risk and told you a secret that’s been hidden for nearly twenty years. Somehow we have to stop that reptile Melmoth. If he stirs up enough trouble, someone may remember something and that poor broken laddie–”

“Melmoth
must
not get hold of Hermann,” I said. “So what we have to do is find Helen and Drucilla.”

“Verity? Are you all right?”

“Drucilla …” I felt myself swaying. Then darkness.

Drucilla. Her face dirty and bruised. Dark shadows under her eyes; a look of great concentration on her face. What was that in her hand? A card. A playing card. She was laying them out in a game of Patience. But it was very odd. Every card she turned over was the same – the Queen of Spades.

There was a crunching sound. She was munching into an apple, a large green apple, and turning over the cards. Queen of Spades, Queen of Spades …

Harold’s arms were around me. “You nearly fell off your chair.”

“It’s my fault. I’m mortified,” said Doctor Judd. “A horrible story such as this – why, no wonder she fainted.”

“I didn’t faint,” I said.

“You did,” he said. “Harold, help her to the sofa. I insist that you stay there all day, Verity.” His eyebrows bristled as he fixed me with a stern look. “All day.”

How frustrating. Like it or not, I was tucked up on the sofa like an invalid and the others were shooed out of the room. Harold poked his head around the door, but Doctor Judd waved him away. I had to listen to another ridiculous lecture on feminine frailty, and as if Hannah hadn’t enough to do, she had to bring me in a tray. Weak tea and dry toast. Very unappetising.

However, solitude wouldn’t hurt me. I needed to think.

I tried to put this latest vision together with the others. In the first one, I’d seen Drucilla looking watchful and afraid. Then grey stones – gravestones. When Harold and I had gone to the cemetery, I’d seen the name “Redpath” carved into them and known right away it was a clue. But according to Hannah and George, Redpath the stonemason was long gone or even dead …

I was so deep in thought I barely noticed the doorbell. Now I heard footsteps and voices.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s quite impossible for you to see Miss Verity.”

“Has she gone out?”

“She must stay quiet. Doctor’s orders.”

Doctor’s poppycock. I recognised that voice. “Mrs Brandywine!” I called, jumping off the sofa and sending the plate of uneaten toast flying. “I’m in here.”

Mrs Brandywine burst into the room. She was wearing a deep orange travelling cloak over her dress, and with her short squat figure she resembled a jar of marmalade. I was so pleased to see her I ignored polite manners and gave her a big hug. She hugged me back.

“It’s all right, Hannah,” I said. “This lady is a friend.”

“But the doctor said you were to stay quiet.”

“I’ll keep her very quiet,” whispered Mrs Brandywine.

Hannah regarded her suspiciously for a second or two, and then relaxed. “I will get you some refreshments, ma’am,” she said. “You’ll be famished from your journey.”