“Well, I believe we all have souls,” she said, “and you just can’t see them.”
Kingsley nodded. He was afraid to contradict her.
“I believe my mother is in heaven and I will see her again someday.”
Kingsley smiled, but it was a sad smile. “I sincerely hope that day is a long way off,” he said.
“I mean that we’ll see her when we both die of old age, hundreds and hundreds of years from now.”
“It’s a pleasant thought, at least.”
“Maybe she’s looking at us right now. Maybe she’s smiling at us and making nice things happen for us.”
“That would be an excellent dream for you to have.”
“It would, wouldn’t it?”
They sat in companionable silence, staring at the embers in the fireplace, and eventually Fiona slid off the arm of the chair and into her father’s lap. He smoothed her hair away from her face and she shifted slightly, mumbled something unheard, and began to snore quietly.
Kingsley sat in the dark and watched the crackling remains of the fire until he fell asleep.
He didn’t dream about anything at all.
20
Walter Day laid his head on his wife’s pillow and closed his eyes. Beside him, Claire swept a lock of hair from her eyes and propped herself on one elbow, her other hand on her husband’s chest.
“Let me lie here a moment and I’ll return to my room,” Day said. “I should have stayed there. You need your sleep.”
“But your room is miles away from mine,” Claire said.
“Only down the hall.”
“That’s still too far. And I sleep too much as it is. I hardly see you anymore.”
“It’s this case.”
“I know that. I’m not complaining. What is the case, Walter?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“But I would love to hear about it.”
“It might upset you.”
“I’m no flower, you know.”
Day sighed. “I heard Percy Erwood still hasn’t married,” he said.
“Are you changing the subject, Mr Day?”
“You must have been the only woman for him.”
“I was never for him.”
She took her hand off Walter’s chest and moved away, staring in the dark direction of the ceiling.
“Why did you ever marry me and leave poor Percy in the lurch?” Day said.
“I declare,” she said. “You’re not going to worry about Percy Erwood for the rest of our long lives, are you?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m worried about him.”
“If you had your way, Percy Erwood would come here right now and carry me away.”
“Right now?”
“In the morning, then.”
“I would rather he didn’t.”
“As would I.”
Day smacked his lips and mumbled something Claire couldn’t make out.
“What’s that, dear?” she said.
“I said that I still remember the moment I fell in love with you.”
“Was I there or was it just you and Percy Erwood deciding amongst yourselves who ought to win me?”
“It was in church. That’s the only place I ever saw you. No, that’s not true. I saw you often when we were small, passing in the street sometimes, playing with your friends, and once in the post office, but church was the only place I felt like we might be on equal ground.”
“And you remember a single Sunday?”
“You were wearing a yellow dress. And a bonnet.”
“You remember the color of the dress?”
“And you wore gloves that nearly reached your elbows.”
“And you liked me?”
“You were the best and prettiest girl I had ever seen, and I knew you would never marry me because I wasn’t good enough.”
Claire smiled, though she knew Walter couldn’t see her. “I prefer to decide that sort of thing for myself.”
“And so,” Day said as though he hadn’t heard her, “I knew it was a hopeless cause, but I tried every day to be the best person I could be, to be good enough for you, whether you noticed or not.”
“You were always good enough, Walter Day,” she said. But she wasn’t sure whether she’d spoken loud enough for him to hear.
They lay there side by side for a long time then, Claire straining to see the ceiling. She thought her eyes would eventually adjust to the darkness, but they didn’t. Before long, Walter began to snore, and Claire curled up with her back along his side. She knew he would be gone from her bedroom by the time she woke in the morning.
“I married you,” she said, “because you’re the sort of man who remembers my yellow dress.”
She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come.
“Humph,” she said. “Percy Erwood, indeed.”
21
Constable Nevil Hammersmith paused with his hand on the knob and took a deep breath before opening the door and entering the Brass Tankard. It was the seventh pub he’d visited since parting ways with Pringle and they were getting more squalid as the hour grew late. The only pubs still open were the places that catered to serious drinkers and criminals. Unless he found what he was looking for soon, he feared he would get no sleep before his shift.
He still had a long night ahead of him.
DAY TWO
22
SEVENTEEN HOURS SINCE THE DISCOVERY OF MR LITTLE.
The sun climbed over the rooftops of Kentish Town, glancing through rain clouds and in at windows as it rose. Claire Day stood in front of her mirror, but she didn’t watch herself. She had enough experience that her fingers remembered what to do now; she didn’t need to see them.
She pulled the corset over her head and tugged it into place above her hips. She tightened the top set of laces below her shoulder blades and moved down, rung by rung, until she reached the middle of her back, where two loops hung down. She grabbed them and pulled the top half of the corset tight, whalebone biting into her sternum.
She took a shallow breath and started again at the bottom of the corset, just below her waist. Again, each set of laces was yanked taut until once more she reached the middle of her back. The loops, longer now, were crossed over each other and stretched again until they were long enough to wrap around to the front of Claire’s waist. She pulled as hard as she could and tied the ends into a discreet bow over her navel.
She looked down at her handiwork, what she could see of it, and frowned. Her maidservant had always made a prettier bow. Claire had resolved herself to the fact that she would never have a staff like the household she’d grown up in. Her husband was the loveliest man she’d ever met, and money meant nothing to him. They had little enough of it, but Walter routinely gave it away to anyone he met who appeared to be needy. Claire had no regrets.
She backed up and sat carefully on the edge of the bed, still avoiding her reflection in the mirror above the vanity.
She panted like a small dog, shallow breaths in and out. The inevitable suggestion of a deep breath presented itself to her and she tried to ignore it, but the thought grew until she felt she had to yawn.
Of course, she couldn’t yawn.
Instead, she felt her stomach turn over on itself, cramped though it was down there, and she ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the basin against the far wall before her gorge rose and she vomited water. It splashed her chin and dribbled from her nose. Thankfully, there was nothing else in her system, but still she continued to heave.
Finally, her body calmed itself and she slid to the floor, her eyes closed, her breathing slow and steady.
She sat there until the light of the dawning sun filtered through the curtains and turned the insides of her eyelids orange. Then she grabbed the edge of the basin and stood.
Claire wiped her face and rinsed out her mouth. She pulled a long lacy gown on over the corset and left the bathroom. Her husband’s room was just down the short hallway, and she could hear water splashing in a basin, Walter getting ready for the day. She hurried her steps. He would need a freshly pressed shirt for work.