Wyrde and Wild

Chapter One One could scarcely live all one’s life as a member of the House of Werth without becoming an expert in the question of dead versus living persons. As such, when Gussie entered her uncle’s London house to find a recumbent person stretched upon the floor of the best parlour, it did not take her long to sum up the essence of the situation. She reached for the bell. It was Mrs. Gavell herself who came in answer to the summons, efficient and obliging as a housekeeper ought to be. Gussie wondered, distantly, what had become of the maid. ‘Mrs. Gavell,’ greeted Gussie. ‘I don’t know quite how it has come about, but we appear to have developed a corpse.’ ‘So we have, ma’am,’ the housekeeper agreed. ‘Most untidy. I shall have it cleared away directly.’ Gussie accepted this, and withdrew to the hall. She had but just come in from an errand, and handed her bonnet and pelisse to the maid — ah yes, that was what had become of the girl, the garment was six inches deep in dirt at the hem and required urgent care. Really, winter could be so tiresome. A moment’s reflection brought her back to the parlour. ‘No, stay a moment,’ she said. ‘There ought to be some manner of enquiry, I suppose?’ ‘I don’t see as how it could be necessary,’ said the practical Mrs. Gavell, regarding the prone woman with an air of strong displeasure. ‘She’s dead as can be, and getting her nasty blood all over the master’s good carpet, at that.’ ‘Indeed, a reasonable person could hardly expect us to sacrifice a good carpet in the name of justice and truth,’ Gussie agreed. ‘My aunt will be livid. It took her three hours to choose something just perfectly to match the curtains. Coroners, however (and, I daresay, relatives) are not known for possessing a great deal of common sense.’ ‘You think them interfering Runners will want a look at her,’ sighed Mrs. Gavell. ‘I think it just possible, yes.’ In fact, Gussie was picturing Mr. Ballantine’s enraged countenance if she permitted Mrs. Gavell to tidy away the inconvenient remains before he should have had a chance to examine them. No, not rage; he was not a man of excitable temper. Exasperation, perhaps, and an air of patience strained to breaking-point. She had caused the man trouble enough of late, she supposed. As amusing as it was to exasperate him — a lady must have something to occupy her, after all — she ought, perhaps, to consult him. ‘Send a man out for Mr. Ballantine, please,’ she said to Mrs. Gavell. ‘Oh, but ma’am, can I not have her moved somewhere else? She won’t do any harm in the cellar, however much blood should come out. There’s a store-room standing empty just now which might have been made for the purpose.’ ‘It is a pity about the carpet,’ Gussie agreed with regret. ‘But I fear we shall have to disappoint my aunt, and leave her as she is. At least until the necessary persons have been informed.’ Mrs. Gavell bustled out, disapproving but resigned, leaving Gussie alone with the corpse. The unfortunate slain was not a young woman, Gussie surmised, but nor was she of any very advanced age. Her garments were good enough: a decent silk lustring gown in a fashionable shade of red; the pelisse worn over it of good material; a bonnet, modestly trimmed, that looked new. Not a lady, in all likelihood. Gussie had not an inkling as to who she might be, or, indeed, what she was doing in Lord Werth’s parlour. Her uncle and aunt were not home to ask, and neither was Theo. The latter was at his gentlemen’s club, she supposed: Stebbington’s, with that fellow Hargreve. The two got into a great deal of mischief together, leaving Gussie quite envious. She went out of the parlour in search of a footman, and soon discovered one. His name was Roger, she thought — was it? They were all new, hired a matter of weeks previously, when Lord and Lady Werth had taken up residence at their town-house following an unfortunate — and entirely accidental — fire at the Towers. Gussie had not had much to do with the hiring business, her aunt and Mrs. Gavell having arranged matters of staff and furniture between them. ‘Roger,’ she said, intercepting the young man as he was whisking his way towards the dining-parlour. ‘Did you happen to admit a guest to this house anywhere this morning? A lady?’ The footman stood a little straighter in his pristine uniform, and made Gussie a slight bow. ‘No, ma’am, I didn’t.’ ‘Oh! I see. Very well then, on you go.’ The same question to the other footman — a nameless fellow, as far as Gussie’s memory served — produced the same answer. After that she proceeded to question the maids, and finally Mrs. Gavell herself, and all with the same, curious result. It appeared that nobody had admitted the woman into the house. There were staff enough to answer the door when somebody knocked, Gussie would have said; so why had nobody let her in? The sound could hardly have been missed; the door-knocker was a solid thing, and set up quite the ruckus when suitably applied. Had the woman declined to knock? Perhaps she had crept into the house in secret, and wasn’t that an appealing idea! Gussie immediately felt more interest in the case. As she returned into the hall, a knock came upon the very door in question, nicely demonstrating Gussie’s notions as to the impossibility of failing to hear it. In fairness, whoever it was did seem in something of a hurry, or perhaps displeased; the door shook with the force of the pounding blows upon it. Gussie opened it, and smiled to find Mr. Ballantine upon the doorstep. ‘What,’ said he, in an awful voice, ‘have you done now, Miss Werth?’ ‘I do like you in that waistcoat,’ she replied. ‘The red suits you admirably. I suppose that wasn’t the entire reason for your becoming a Runner?’ ‘I didn’t choose the profession because the uniform matches my complexion, though I am most gratified by your pointing it out. And now an answer to my question, if you please.’ Gussie stepped back, opening the door wide, and permitting him to stamp over the threshold. ‘I haven’t done anything, except one or two things I flatter myself you will find useful. For example, you’ll be interested to know that none of the servants remembers admitting the woman to this house today, or ever at all. Is not that fascinating?’ ‘Which woman, where is she, and how came she to be a corpse?’ Mr. Ballantine brushed past her, a trifle rudely, but Gussie plumed herself on her patience, and did not point it out. ‘I do not have the first idea of her identity,’ Gussie answered, shutting the door, and smiling down the perplexed footman who had appeared in order to answer it. ‘I am sorry, Roger. I know it is eccentric of me to answer the door, and most likely improper, but I happened to be passing.’ An expression of mild disapproval crossed Roger’s face, quickly suppressed, and he went away again. Ballantine missed nothing of this. ‘The poor fellows will soon grow used to you, I daresay, Miss Werth.’ ‘You don’t believe that at all.’ ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t. Take me to this unfortunate woman, please. I can only hope she knew what disaster was like to follow her entrance to this house.’ ‘Very likely not,’ said Gussie cheerfully. ‘She is this way. Now, I have, as I’ve told you, questioned the servants already, though you may perhaps have some enquiries of your own to make—’ She stopped at the parlour-door, crestfallen, for besides an unfortunate quantity of drying blood upon the carpet, no sign remained of the deceased. Mr. Ballantine, behind her, sighed. ‘Some fresh calamity, I collect?’ Gussie advanced into the parlour, and conducted a search of the room. She did not really expect to find the slain woman hidden behind her aunt’s favourite divan, or concealed behind the drapes, but one was obliged to make certain. ‘No body,’ observed Mr. Ballantine, pausing before the blood-stain, and frowning down at it. ‘Not that it is much out of the ordinary for a corpse to think better of lying about, and take a turn about the room.’ ‘In this house I don’t suppose it is. Still, were she in such a state as to permit of it, I don’t imagine I would have been sent for.’ ‘No, I did not imagine it likely,’ Gussie agreed. ‘She did appear to be very freshly dead, and was quite inert. And my uncle, you know, is not here this morning, so he cannot have had anything to do with it.’ An idea occurred to her, and she rang the bell again. ‘Mrs. Gavell was quite insistent on removing her,’ she explained to Mr. Ballantine. ‘I did give instructions otherwise, but the degree of her concern about the carpet was of such a nature that she might have—’ ‘About the carpet?’ interrupted Mr. Ballantine. ‘Yes. It is new, you see, and my aunt is so fond of it— ah,’ she said to the maid just appearing at the door. ‘Please enquire of Mrs. Gavell if she should happen to have removed the deceased person from in here after all. I shall quite understand if she has, and she is not to imagine herself in any trouble.’ The maid returned Gussie a wide-eyed stare, and with a wobbly curtsey went away. ‘Do you have any trouble retaining servants as a rule, Miss Werth?’ said Ballantine. ‘I cannot at all imagine why we would,’ said Gussie with some impatience. ‘Really, one would think we were a troublesome family.’ ‘My mistake.’ Mrs. Gavell soon arrived, and, observing the unmistakeable absence of corpse, set her hands upon her hips. ‘Well, I cannot say as I’m not glad of it,’ she declared. ‘Such a mess as she was making! But no, ma’am, I did not ask for her to be taken out, and I’m certain none of the servants has done so.’ ‘Then there is nothing for it but to search the house,’ Gussie decided. ‘She cannot have gone very far, can she?’ In fact, she could, or so Gussie was forced to conclude. ‘Not a single corpse in the whole building!’ she said rather later, having participated in the search with great enthusiasm. Mr. Ballantine had not. He had confined himself to the parlour, where, he claimed, he would “examine the scene”. But when Gussie returned to the room, out of breath and patience both, she found him seated calmly upon a chair by the window. ‘Unfortunate,’ said he, looking up at her. ‘Either she has revived, then, in a fashion corpses are sometimes prone to do in these parts—’ ‘You refer, of course, to my uncle,’ Gussie put in. ‘And as I have said, he is not at home, so he cannot have interfered.’ ‘—or someone has removed her remains,’ finished Mr. Ballantine. ‘The same person, perhaps, who left her here in the first place.’ ‘The same person who killed her, you mean.’ ‘I don’t know that yet.’ He returned his gaze to the stained spot upon the floor. ‘Did you happen to take note of how she died?’ ‘Oh, certainly! I should say she was savaged to death.’ ‘Savaged?’ Gussie nodded, smiling. ‘There was, as you can see, a fair bit of blood, and her throat was entirely a ruin.’ ‘A ruin.’ ‘Quite.’ ‘If you would be so good as to try again, Miss Werth, in less dramatic language. How was it ruined? Slashed, say, with the blade of a knife? Crushed? What manner of weapon made the wound?’ Gussie smiled again, showing all her teeth. ‘I would not say as it was any weapon at all, Mr. Ballantine, save those a person is born with.’ ‘She was bitten.’ ‘Yes, and untidily, too. Theo would be appalled.’ Mention of Theo’s name brought Ballantine’s keen gaze back to Gussie’s face. ‘Ah, yes. And where is Lord Bedgberry this morning?’ ‘At his club, I should imagine. He has been frequenting Stebbington’s a great deal of late. He has scarcely come home all week.’ ‘Stebbington’s,’ sighed Mr. Ballantine. ‘It would be that, of course.’