Sunday 3nd August 1879: Highbury Hall, Birmingham

Over breakfast the following morning Silas regaled us with his midnight adventures; he didn’t return to his room after all. Though he found nothing new (resisting the urge to descend into the basement) he did encounter my mandrill at which point he wisely turned back and really did retire for the night.

“Wise decision, Spikey,” Chamberlain snorted as he shovelled a lychee into his mouth. “You know what they say: a man who meets a mandrill on a dark night has made a wrong turn.”

“Indeed sir,” I laughed, “But tell me; what are you keeping in the large pond do the east? I saw something rather large writing around in there—another of your pets?”

“I told you already Gideon, that would be the Cod,” Silas said.

“Koi, not cod,” Chamberlain corrected.

“I find it hard to believe a koi could grow so large,” I smiled, thinking of those in Kew, but Chamberlain had moved on. He was in high spirits; the rest must have done him some good. He queried our late night stalking about the house, to which we mentioned the gurgling and howls. He brushed it off, telling us he heard nothing of the sort.

“Something is wrong here, Joseph. What are you hiding?” Silas pressed.

“I assure you there are no murderous magicians on the premises,” Chamberlain smirked. The scoundrel was turning our paranoia back on ourselves!

Curious about his illness (of which he would let on little, and was very particular about refusing any medical help from Silas ) I asked him how long he had been treating himself with the sap of the Wraith.

“Only a week, madam,” he said brusquely.

“Any side effects? Mr Watson seemed certain there could be unintended, and rather dangerous, consequences.”

“Nothing worth noting: fatigue, mainly, some slight head and body aches. The disease resurges, as is it’s wont, but each time it is a little less debilitating.”

“That is good to hear,” Blackwood said. “What is your intent with the yeast we collected?”

“It’s quite simple: as you know we only have the one orchid, so in order to continue our work we need more samples to work on. I hope to use the yeast to foster tissue samples which we can experiment with. Speaking of which—Spikey, time to get to work!”

Leaving the gentlemen to their science, I decided to take a turn around the grounds. I ventured out toward the eastern pond then circled around the back of the house, seeing the dovecote smoking in the distance. At the far western end of the house was a well maintained hedge with an iron gate, adjacent to the glasshouse. As I approached I could see another pond lay within.

It was rather smaller than the open pond but still of good size, rectangular and rather lovely. On the near edge there was a fair amount of water that had overflowed; something had either climbed or been dragged out of the pond. My mind went back to the ‘koi’, but I could see nothing moving in the water. It was a lovely deep green, indicating the pool was deeper than one might expect.

As I took all this in I noticed a glint on the stone border. I hiked my skirts and crouched to find a golden trinket lay in the puddled water.

A piece of gold jewelrry with a flat, round base from which a small handle extends, topped with a ringlet to attach to a chain

The base of the object had a flat round surface, as if it might hold a photograph or sketch, and it had a small extension to attach to a chain. It must have broken free and dropped here. Engraved on the surface of the base were two initials: MM or WW, it was unclear which. I considered it might belong to Mr Van der Valk, but those weren’t two V’s.

I turned it in my hand and discovered the protruding pipe could be rotated which allowed a magnifying glass to slide out from the base.

The same trinket, now with a magnifying glass the size of the base that has been rotated free

A loupe! Such as a jeweller might use…or, I realised suddenly, a botanist?

WW. Watson? Could it be? I wracked my memory but could not recall his first name. And what on earth would he have been doing out here—he had left for London yesterday, and I was certain he had not been around earlier. Unless he had come snooping?

A mystery indeed.

As I pondered this Silas arrived, somewhat to my surprise. “Silas? Weren’t you working with Chamberlain?”

“I was but, unsurprisingly, he was taken by a sudden bout of exhaustion. This is a nice pond you have found.”

“It is, and it’s not all I found: look at this,” I handed over the loupe.

Silex examined it, concurring with the theory that Watson might be the owner. “I have a bad feeling about this, Gideon.”

“About what?” Blackwood said suddenly. I nearly fell in the pool such was my surprise; he could move quietly for such a large man.

“Take a look at this Blackwood.”

“‘WW’…William Watson?” Blackwood said immediately.

“So it was his!” I exclaimed.

“Yes. And I think your use of the past tense is appropriate,” Silas frowned. “For I am certain William Watson is dead.”

“Dead? What on earth do you mean?”

“Look at the pattern of the water that has splashed from the pond, Gideon. Something was thrown in there and held down, and I am betting that ‘something’ was Mr Watson.”

“I think Dr Hawthorne is right,” Blackwood nodded, crouching. “This pool is deep enough, and the splash radius is consistent.”

I paled. “But…”

“Van der Valk would have no trouble overpowering someone the size of Watson,” Silas said. “And we know he protects Chamberlain and always has done.”

“Why would he want him dead?!”

“Professional jealousy? To foreclose any possibility of the Velvet Wraith being taken?”

“There’s more,” Blackwood said. “I ventured into the basement and found a remarkable series of pipes and valves. Far too large for a property this size. In the greenhouse I had also discovered irrigation pipes, but the volume of water flowing through the basement pipes is enormous. Even these ponds can’t explain it. I think perhaps they are used for moving bodies around.”

“Bodies?! Why on earth would you think that??” I cried. This was getting preposterous.

“Think about it: how better to hide the evidence than by shuttling it through underground pipes.”

“You are saying Chamberlain is murdering people? More than just Watson? Why on earth?!”

“Come with me,” Blackwood said, charging off.

The pipework was indeed prodigious. And it was indeed possible that a human body might fit through them. But I could not fathom how both Silas and Blackwood had used that fact, and that of the trinket, to conclude that death on a grand scale was in motion.

“There is nothing inherently sinister about this,” I insisted.

“No, there isn’t, but it is suspicious,” Silas said.

“Gentlemen I find this all rather perplexing. Might I propose an alternate theory? Supposing you are right and Watson is dead, and that is his loupe,” I began. “Isn’t it possible that Mr Watson returned to the house hoping to break in and steal the Wraith away? And that on doing so he was intercepted by Van der Valk, a struggle ensued, and Watson was accidentally killed?”

“Perhaps. But why then is Watson’s loupe here?”

I shrugged. “Van der Valk might have wanted to destroy the evidence?” I had to admit this was rather weak.

“Precisely,” Blackwood said. “Using the pipes!”

“Oh come now. All of this just to dispose of a body or two?”

“Well. The only other place this much water could be used in earnest is the engine in the dovecote,” Blackwood suggested. “So we should go there first to find out.”

Off we went.

The engine was in full swing, and after some banter Blackwood managed to get it shut down as Silas’s insistence. He wanted to examine the grinding wheels, foul play at the top of his mind. “If they have disposed of Watson, what better way,” he had explained on the short walk to the dovecote.

“How is the engine cooled and water fed?” Blackwood asked innocently, “What is the source?”

“Why it comes from the reservoir,” Martin (or was it Roland) pointed, with stupendous mispronunciation. “Below ground it is.”

Silas climbed into the hopper as Blackwood guarded the switching mechanism in case the hapless bumpkins were in on the plot. I could see Silas suddenly frown, lean in further, and a grimace pass over his face as he collected god-only-knows what in a small handkerchief. As he clambered out he turned to Roland (or was it Martin?). “Tell me, how long has the engine been running today?”

“Why we started it earlier, not so long ago, perhaps around dawn?”

“And who has been…feeding it?”

“That would be me brother.”

“And where is he?”

“Ah he had to go of a sudden; other duties and such.”

Silas gave Blackwood and I a meaningful stare and led us outside.

“I found blood in the mechanism,” Silas whispered gravely. “Fresh blood. And bone shards. I would venture that this ‘brother’ has done the dirty work and got out quick smart.”

Before we could process this, Blackwood pointed back to the house. “The greenhouse chimney is working,” he said pointing, “Something is going on in there.”

“Quickly now!” Silas said, running back toward the house. “We might catch them in the act!”

I hurried into the greenhouse while Blackwood hustled around the house toward the chimney. Silas left us to it, returning to the lab to distract Chamberlain.

The pond inside the middle chamber also showed signs of disturbance, which excited and terrified me: was it true? Had Watson found his way in and been interrupted by Van der Valk? The inner orchid chamber looked untouched, further cementing the sequence of imagined events.

I looked over the pond toward the chimney outside and gasped: Van der Valk! He was shovelling something into the furnace, and Blackwood was heading his way. I ran over to the glass, trying to stay out of line of sight, just in time to see Blackwood about to round the corner. Through some miracle I caught his attention, which was enough to warn him. I saw him pull his trusty hammer from his belt and heft it, ready for anything.

He stepped forward and called out to Van der Valk, who turned calmly to face Blackwood. Through the glass I could hear the muffled conversation.

“Lighting the furnace are we?” Blackwood began.

“Yes sir,” Van der Valk said impassively.

“Need a hand do you?”

“I’m fine sir, no need to trouble yourself.”

“It’s no trouble at all; I’m well used to stoking a furnace. Why don’t you take a break and I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s mighty kind of you, sir. I might just do that, if you’re sure?”

“Not at all.”

Van der Valk walked calmly away, leaving Blackwood to the furnace. This threw a spanner in our suspicions; if evidence were being destroyed, Van der Valk would not simply leave it. Blackwood approached the furnace and set about his work, and I saw him draw something forth that looked a lot like a…bone.

I shuddered, pointed upstairs, and we both departed to find Silas.

“It’s a sheep bone,” Silas said as we gathered in the upstairs powder room. “Lamb, I believe.”

“Oh thank goodness,” I whispered. I realised I was carrying a great deal of stress about this whole series of events and the idea of human bones was a step too far.

“There’s still the matter of the blood and bone in the compactor,” Silas warned.

“But that too may merely be animals,” I said hopefully.

“It may. But I’m not willing to let this go quite yet.”

“Let’s see if we can catch Chamberlain out,” I suggested as we returned to his lab.

Chamberlain was busy preparing samples in small glass dishes, piping a solution into each before sealing it carefully.

“Are you sure this is safe, Dr Chamberlain?” I asked.

“Quite safe madam, it is a controlled environment.”

“I see. Sorry to repeat myself but you do know Mr Watson thought otherwise?”

“He did but he is a fool,” Chamberlain growled. “A simpering nobody who knows nothing and will learn nothing.”

I noted, as I’m sure did Silas and Blackwood, that Chamberlain gave nothing away—no hesitation, no sideward glances—and used the present tense when discussing Watson.

Retiring to the first floor parlour I felt deflated, defeated, and fatigued.

I slumped against the desk, not sure whether to be pleased or disappointed. We had thought to catch a mystery red handed and now it seemed we were back to square one: cries in the night and a lost loupe. At least we knew the reason for the gurgling sound now. But Silas had been right over breakfast: Chamberlain was hiding something, and that something was the heart of this matter.

Blackwood, kindly, seeing my distress, offered to procure me a cup of tea, which I accepted graciously. He stood by the curtains sipping from his mug (a cup being far too delicate) when he glanced out the window. “That’s odd. There’s someone out there by the front gate.”

A solitary figure stood at the central gates beyond the green, not the side road entrance through which most everyone entered, peering inwards toward the house.