Wyrde and Wild (Paperback)

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?’

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