“We’re experts from London,” said Charley. “We know more than you can begin to imagine.”
“Have it your way,” said the constable, with a scowl. “If the Metropolitan Police Force wants to use children to do a man’s job, that’s up to them.” He stood aside to let them pass. “It’s a madhouse in there.” He bent low and whispered angrily, “You’re on your own.”
“That’s just the way we like it,” said Charley.
The constable was right about one thing. The grand house was in a state of hysteria. Sobbing could be heard coming from behind the closed door of the drawing room. A young maid sat at the foot of the sweeping staircase, her head in her hands. The poor girl was crying too, mumbling to herself between her tears. “Risen from the grave,” she muttered. “The stench! The power of those dead arms! And an awful mess in the study…I’ll be all day clearing that.” She started to cry again.
A man in a butler’s uniform spotted Billy and Charley hovering in the hallway. “Out!” he shouted. “Her Ladyship will not be seeing any visitors today!”
“She’ll see us, mate,” said Billy, flashing his police badge. “Billy Flint and Charlotte Steel, S.C.R.E.A.M. squad.”
Even though he was wearing white gloves, the butler took Billy’s open wallet with his forefinger and thumb, as if it was something that the cat had dragged in. He studied it carefully, his head swaying slightly as his glance went from Billy to Charley and back again. It was almost hypnotic, Charley thought; the butler reminded her of a snake or a lizard. There was definitely something cold-blooded about this man.
“And you are?” said Charley.
“I am Harris,” the butler replied. He handed Billy’s wallet back, then paused to wipe his gloved hands on his trouser leg. “The official police have just left,” he said. “We’ve already told Inspector Diggins everything we know. Why do you insist on distressing Her Ladyship even further?”
“We’ve not come to upset anyone,” said Billy. “But you know as well as we do that this ain’t no ordinary case.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Harris.
Billy raised his arms in front of him and lumbered around the hall going, ”Uuuurrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhh… Does that ring any bells, mate?”
“Inspector Diggins is convinced that the bandages are some sort of disguise.”
“Daft sort of disguise if you ask me. Is he very bright, this Inspector Diggins?”
“What my colleague is trying to say is that Detective Constable Flint and myself are London experts in…how shall we put it? Peculiar crimes. No one on the force is better placed to help Her Ladyship than us.”
Harris hesitated. “Forgive me,” he said. “This has been a trying time for all of us… My first thought, as always, is for Her Ladyship’s wellbeing.”
“Haaaa-rris!” A loud voice rang out and Harris hurried away obediently.
The butler returned a minute later. “Her Ladyship has generously agreed that she will meet with you in private, Miss Steel.” Harris turned and looked daggers at Billy. “You can wait downstairs in the servants’ quarters.”
“Suits me,” said Billy. “I know my place.” He made a show of wiping his nose on his sleeve. Harris pulled a disapproving face. “Plus,” Billy continued with a grin, “I’ve got some questions of my own that need answering. Like where was everyone at the time of the crime, and when can I get a bacon sandwich? I’m starving.”
Charley smiled privately as she watched Harris lead Billy away. She knew full well that Billy’s cheeky urchin routine was just that – an act, intended to keep his suspects off guard.
Charley found the lady of the house pacing backwards and forwards in her drawing room. The woman was every bit as fat as Doogie had described but, unlike Sir Gordon, there was strength in every line of her face. Even so, it looked to Charley as if Lady Fitzpatrick had seen the most terrible thing in the world. She could almost taste the woman’s fear.
“I’m Detective Constable Charlotte Steel, S.C.R.E.A.M. squad, Metropolitan Police,” Charley introduced herself. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Fitzpatrick.”
Lady Fitzpatrick turned to face her. “Charlotte Steel… Not related to Sir Simon Steel, by any chance?”
“He’s my father.”
“Oh,” said Lady Fitzpatrick, confused and embarrassed. “But Sir Simon told me that his daughter was at a finishing school in Switzerland.” The old woman tried to look anywhere except at Charley’s wheelchair.
“It was a sanatorium actually,” said Charley, “for my health. But it was so very dull that I couldn’t stand it. So now I’m back in Britain solving supernatural crimes for a living.”
“Oh,” said Lady Fitzpatrick again, lost for words.
“Polio, if you were wondering.” Charley leaned forwards, as if to share a secret. “Just between you and me,” she said, “I don’t know which annoys my father more – that I’m stuck in this wretched chair, or that, rather than sitting around waiting for someone to marry me, I’ve got myself a job instead.” She smiled. “On that note, I’d very much like to see the crime scene.”
“Let me show you now,” said Lady Fitzpatrick. “And then I think I will never set foot in that room again. Except in my nightmares.”
“I was sitting there,” Lady Fitzpatrick explained, pointing to an armchair beside the fire. “I’m a bit of a night owl so I’m often reading late into the night. It was Daddy’s favourite room too.” She sighed. “He was a lovely man…such a beautiful moustache.”
Charley felt at home with the oak-panelled walls, impressive bookcase and the delightful watercolour paintings of Highland scenes. But right now she wasn’t interested in any of those things; she was a detective, and she was looking for clues. “Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”
“I heard a scream and then some china breaking,” said Lady Fitzpatrick. “My first thought was that it was my new maid. She’s got a good heart but butterfingers. Costing me a fortune in teacups… Anyway, the disturbance grew louder and I realized that it had to be something more.”
“Why?”
“The screaming didn’t stop, for one thing. And then there were the footsteps.” Lady Fitzpatrick shuddered. “The whole floor shook… To my shame I was frozen to the spot – I couldn’t do anything except grip the arms of my chair as the footsteps came closer and closer.”
“And what about Harris, your butler? Didn’t he come to see what the disturbance was?”
“It was his night off unfortunately,” Lady Fitzpatrick went on. “And anyway, I don’t think that anyone would have been able to stop that…thing. Before I could even call for help, the creature burst in through the door. I know that I won’t forget that moment until my dying day…”
Charley placed her hand gently on Lady Fitzpatrick’s arm. “I know it’s difficult, but whatever you can tell me might help to stop this from happening to someone else.”
Lady Fitzpatrick took a deep breath. “The smell hit me first…the rotting sweetness of meat that has been left in the sun.” She shuddered at the memory. “Then I saw it… The grinning teeth and yellowed bones showing through the filthy grave clothes. One hand was charred, as if it had been burned –” she paused, questioning her own recollection of what she had seen – “but the bandages were white, not black. Strange. But who said that nightmares have to make sense? It was all so…terrible.
“I thought that it had come for me and I backed away against the wall. I even grabbed a poker from the fire to defend myself with.”
Charley gave an approving smile.