9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

H ugh hated to intrude upon a family so soon into their mourning, but memories were fleeting. So, he took a hackney to Elm Square, where the front of the viscount’s townhouse had been draped in black mourning silk and a black wreath hung on the door. He knocked on the door, and it was answered by a young maid with a black armband around her upper right arm. “Hello, miss,” he said, giving her a gracious nod. “I am Constable Hugh Danbury, of the Metropolitan Police. Is your mistress in?”

“She is, sir, but I’m afraid she’s quite unwell,” the maid said with a polite curtsy. “Took to her bed when the news of Master Emeril arrived.”

He was sure it had been a shock. “I understand. Is there someone else with whom I might speak? I have some questions pertaining to the investigation into what happened.”

“Yes, sir.” The girl curtsied again. “Please, come in. I’ll fetch the housekeeper.”

“Thank you, miss,” Hugh said, stepping inside the parlor where the girl gestured. She turned and hurried off, leaving him alone in the room. The mantle looked as though it were made of marble, a warm fire glowing behind a cut-glass screen to keep away the autumn chill. The furniture was polished and brightly upholstered, with no visible patches or repairs. Several porcelain figurines stood on the mantle, and he studied them. His mother had loved porcelain figurines, though she could not afford many of them.

A soft trod of feet alerted him to the arrival of the housekeeper. She was a round-faced woman, her graying dark hair swept up into a simple bun. Her gray dress was modest, and she too had a black mourning band around her upper arm. She gave him a polite smile as she entered. “Good afternoon, sir. I’m Mrs. Pitman, the housekeeper. Please, sit.” She gestured to one of the chairs that Hugh guessed was worth more than his entire month’s salary. He sat down uneasily on the edge of it, and Mrs. Pitman took a seat on a matching chaise.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” Hugh said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “It must have come as quite a shock.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Pitman said with a rusty sigh. “Tragic.”

“How is Lady Jardin holding up?”

“She has never had great health, and Lord Jardin’s death was quite overwhelming for her,” Mrs. Pitman said. Hugh noticed that she hadn’t actually answered the question, but he let it go.

“I can imagine,” he said. “I do have some questions about Lord Jardin from last night.”

Mrs. Pitman nodded. “I will answer what I can, sir.”

“Last night before he went out, what did the viscount have for dinner?”

“Oh.” Mrs. Pitman seemed surprised by this question and had to think for a moment. “Roast beef, and pickled vegetables.”

“What about dessert?”

Mrs. Pitman shook her head. “No, sir. He never had much of a sweet tooth.”

“So, you did not prepare anything with apples in it?” Hugh asked.

“Oh, heavens, no!” Mrs. Pitman said. “We don’t even have apples in the house, sir. I’m allergic to ‘em, you see. Break out in hives if I even touch them.”

“Oh!” Hugh said. “But did Viscount Jardin eat apples?”

“Sometimes, sir. Lady Jardin, she likes blueberry tarts from this bakery on Fleet Street, and I think the viscount would get some apple turnovers for himself. Actually, last night, sir, he sent lil’ Robbie out to that bakery. Robbie’s the groom’s son, runs errands and the like.”

Hugh raised a brow, making notes on his notepad. “What time was this?”

“Oh, he sent him out… must have been shortly after five or so. Dinner was at six, her ladyship likes to retire early on account of her health. Robbie came back as dinner was finishing.”

“I see,” Hugh said slowly. “Do you know what the viscount did after he ate dinner?”

“Let’s see… He took his brandy and a cigar, like he usually does. Her ladyship went to bed, and he went up and changed clothes, said he was going to go out.”

“What did he change into?”

“Out of his dinner jacket, at least, sir. He had his top hat and his black cape on when he left.”

That was what both the creature and the charred corpse of the viscount had been wearing. Hugh nodded thoughtfully. “After he changed clothes, what happened?”

Mrs. Pitman rubbed her hands on her apron. “Before her ladyship went to bed, she did have one of the tarts Robbie had brought back. I know because Lord Jardin brought the plate to the dining room and handed it to me. I was finishing clearing the table. He said he was going out, and then he left.”

“Did he say where he was going or if he was meeting anyone?” Hugh asked.

Mrs. Pitman shook her head. “No, sir. I know he sometimes goes to one of those fancy gentlemen’s clubs, but I couldn’t say if that was where he went last night.”

Hugh made another note. “Do you know which clubs he frequented?”

“I couldn’t say, sir,” Mrs. Pitman said. “He did not take his horse or his carriage though, the groom would have mentioned it to me.”

Hugh frowned as he studied his notes. A possible visit to a gentlemen’s club, which was hardly unusual for upper class men to do, did not give him much to go on. “And he did not return home again?”

“No, sir.”

Hugh nodded, looking around the room as he tried to think if there was anything else, anything at all, that might help trace the viscount’s whereabouts. His eyes flicked to the little porcelain figurines and their gold-edged gilt wings. “Oh. Do you know, did he have anything wrapped in gold paper?”

Mrs. Pitman looked surprised, and she smoothed her apron with her liver-spotted hand. “As a matter of fact, yes. The basket with the tarts Robbie had fetched from the bakery was still on the sideboard. Before he left, he did take something out of it. Wrapped in gold paper, it was.”

“What was in it?” Hugh asked.

“He didn’t open it, sir, but it was like this.” She made a few motions with her hands to indicate the size. “He left with it.”

“Still wrapped in the gold paper?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you think it came from the bakery?”

“I figure it must’ave, sir. It was in the basket with her ladyship’s tarts.”

“There was apple and pastry found in the viscount’s stomach, along with the remains of dinner,” Hugh said. “Could it have been an apple pastry of some kind?”

“Oh, certainly, it was about that size,” Mrs. Pitman agreed.

“I am going to need the name and address of that bakery,” Hugh said.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Pitman said, rising to her feet. She moved over to the desk, writing something down before handing it to him. “Is there anything else I can help you with at this time, Constable?”

Hugh took the paper with a grateful smile. “One more question, ma’am. Lord and Lady Jardin, how was their relationship?”

Mrs. Pitman’s polite smile suddenly froze on her face, and Hugh knew he had touched on something with his question.

“I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, sir,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her.

“The dead cannot hurt us, ma’am. It is the living we should be concerned about,” Hugh said with what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Mrs. Pitman slowly sat down on the edge of the chair, leaning closer to him and dropping her voice a bit. “Lord Jardin, he is- or rather, was a… complicated man. Never been one to show much affection, even towards his wife, delicate thing that she is. Sort of gruff and stubborn. A bit of bulldog in him, I’m convinced.”

“Did he hit Lady Jardin?” Hugh asked.

“No,” Mrs. Pitman said, shaking her head gravely. “Not with his fists. But his words, certainly. To be honest, I don’t think she’s all that upset that he’s gone. I never did like the way he treated her ladyship either.”

Hugh nodded and rose to his feet. “I have taken up enough of your time. Thank you very much, ma’am.” He patted the pocket where her folded paper lay. “I shall continue my investigation. My apologies again on your loss.”

Once out of the house and inside the hackney, Hugh pulled out the folded piece of paper. Elysium Bakery and Emporium , it read, with an address on Fleet Street. Hugh glanced out the window. It was getting dark now; most bakeries closed around sundown, as the bakers were often up quite early in the morning to prepare the daily wares. He figured he might have better luck going to the bakery tomorrow. He returned to The Yard to write up some notes before he went out on his patrol in the dark, making sure he had both his lantern and his truncheon at the ready. Jack had said there was at least one more of these creatures running around the streets. As much as he didn’t want to encounter another of these monstrous beings or find any more corpses, he also wanted to find out what was causing these strange occurrences. And hopefully live through it.

Jack

Jack was surprisingly on edge with Hugh gone. Hugh had locked the apartment door, with Jack’s reassurances that he could easily get in and out via the bedroom window. As if something as simple as a locked door could keep Spring-Heeled Jack in, or out! But he also understood Hugh’s trepidation about him being out when people could still easily spot him.

He was curious what was causing this sudden appearance of monstrosities. It had to be the reason that he was here, why the universe had suddenly summoned him to his soulmate. And Hugh had a good heart. He had seen that the moment he first observed him talking to witnesses and his fellow officers after Christopher’s murder. And their first shared kisses and caresses had been divine.

He impatiently waited for the sun to go down; the final sliver of sunlight had just vanished over the horizon when he threw open the bedroom window to leap onto the rooftop of the nearby building. To his credit, he did try to be as quiet and stealthy as possible. He wanted Hugh to be proud of his sneaking abilities, but even more so, he wanted to make sure that Hugh was safe.

True to his word, Jack kept an eye out for options to hide his horns. Many of the ladies wore large hats, with bright colors, feathers, ribbons, and other fancy things attached to them. Jack thought he would look rather fetching in a large, plumed hat, but unfortunately, the style for men was much less ostentatious. He observed several men on the streets, wearing various types of hats upon their heads, before deciding the tall ones would likely serve his purpose. He had overheard someone call it a ‘top hat,’ which seemed rather silly. Of course, a hat went on top.

He found a shop that had a display of wooden heads out front with a variety of hats. He picked up one of the top hats and slid it carefully over his horns. There was a little silver mirror there, and he picked it up to admire himself. Satan’s bonnet, he looked rather dashing! The brim of the top hat shaded his bonfire eyes a little; he might even be able to pass for human at a glance. Hugh would be so proud!

Jack was no thief, of course. He took a handful of coins from his pocket. He had no idea what the currency of his current location looked like, so he just dropped all of them next to the empty wooden head before taking to the rooftops again. An actual gentleman would walk on the streets, but Jack was too impatient to find Hugh and make sure he was safe, and using the roofs was much faster. He could move quite quickly when he wanted to, both running and jumping, so he made quick work of the distance between Hugh’s home and Scotland Yard.

It only took him a few minutes to find Hugh on patrol. The young man looked so handsome in his police uniform. Jack admired him from the roof for a moment before he slid almost silently down a pipe attached to the building, landing on the ledge of a second-floor window just above Hugh’s head.

“No murder tonight?” he asked, gazing down at Hugh from the window ledge.

Hugh looked up, and the smile that crossed his face at seeing him was the most beautiful thing Jack had ever seen. “So far, so good. I like the hat.”

“I just picked it up,” Jack replied, hopping down to land next to him. He touched the brim of the hat the way he had seen other men do. “Do I pass for a gentleman? Or am I still a scoundrel?”

Hugh chuckled. “Keep your cape around you while we’re out, and you should look respectable enough. We’ll have to find you something to cover your chest.”

“I thought you liked it,” Jack said with a playful grin at Hugh.

Hugh’s cheeks went pink; he really was so easily flustered by Jack’s flirting. “I do,” he said softly. “But if you want to pass for human, you won’t want to attract attention.”

Jack rolled his eyes and gave a playful yawn. “ You are the one who wants me to pass for human, my dear Hugh. I am perfectly happy to be Spring-Heeled Jack.”

“Point taken,” Hugh said. They drifted over to the shadow of the building, and Hugh recounted his conversation with Dr. Ledbetter and the strange appearance of the body.

The details about the viscount’s changed appearance from the monstrous creature back to his human form was rather troubling, Jack thought. “I suppose that whatever is causing the transformation may be begun and ended at will. Or perhaps it only can be maintained while the person is alive. That does, of course, present quite an interesting problem.”

Hugh nodded in slight frustration. “Because it could be anyone, and we may not know who it is before it’s too late.”

“Precisely,” Jack said.

“There’s no indications that you’re aware of that differentiate these monsters from other people?”

“Such as?” Jack asked curiously.

Hugh shrugged. “I don’t know. An aura? A smell?”

“Good heavens, Hugh, I am not a bloodhound,” Jack replied with a good-natured roll of his eyes. “No, I’m afraid there is nothing distinct about these creatures compared to any other humans.”

“Oh! There was also something found on the victim’s body, inside the chest cavity,” Hugh said. “A crumpled piece of gold paper, like it had fallen as the killer devoured the victim.”

“Gold paper?” Jack asked thoughtfully.

Hugh nodded. “I may have a lead on that too.” He told Jack about his conversation with Mrs. Pitman regarding the viscount’s final meal and leaving out the door with a gold paper-wrapped parcel.

“It would stand to reason that they are one and the same!” Jack said, slapping his knee in excitement. “Jupiter’s jellyfish, you are an excellent investigator! Well done, Hugh!”

Hugh flushed a little. “Well, it is my job.”

“Indeed, but that is most exceptional sleuthing. What is the next step?”

“I’m going to visit the bakery tomorrow,” Hugh said. “See if I can learn anything about the viscount. Unfortunately, beyond the gold paper, I have no idea what I’m looking for.”

“A decent start anyway!” Jack declared. “We shall investigate the bakery forthwith!”

“We?” Hugh asked. “Jack, you can’t go with me.”

Jack frowned. “But I hid my horns,” he said, a slight pout in his voice. Hadn’t that been what Hugh asked him to do?

“Yes, but you still don’t look human enough in daylight,” Hugh replied. He reached up his hand and touched it to Jack’s chest. The warmth there sent a thrill through Jack, and he placed his own hand over Hugh’s. “I know you want to come with me and protect me, and I appreciate it, I really do. But for things like this, you have to let me do my job.”

Jack heaved a deep sigh. “Very well, I understand. But please promise me that you will take someone with you to the bakery in case of trouble?”

Hugh smiled and squeezed his hand tightly. “I will,” he promised.

Hugh

The next afternoon, Hugh enlisted Constable Depesh to go with him to the Elysium Bakery and Emporium in Fleet Street. It was a nice-looking two-story building with a staircase on the outside of the building that looked like it led up to a set of rooms above. They arrived during what must have been the dinner rush, as the shop was quite busy, so they wandered about, looking at the various shelves. While the bakery had many pastries and confections, it also held a number of colorful bottles with neatly printed labels that were oddly generic. ‘For Finding Love,’ read one. ‘For Health,’ read another. There were also packs of tarot cards stacked neatly on a shelf, and, besides that, a display of necklaces with colorful crystals dangling from them.

Depesh ran his finger over the box of one of the tarot cards. “Strange thing to have in a bakery,” he murmured.

Hugh nodded. “Perhaps that is the ‘emporium’ part. But I agree, it does seem odd.”

Depesh picked up the ‘For Finding Love’ potion in a bright red bottle, turning it around to read the back. “Really just seems like a novelty,” he said. “Simple ingredients, though there’s enough alcohol and opium to make anyone feel like they might be in love.”

Hugh chuckled, examining one of the necklaces that had a fiery red stone that reminded him of Jack’s eyes. “You don’t believe in magic?”

Depesh frowned thoughtfully as he replaced the bottle on the shelf. “I don’t really know. I wouldn’t discount it.”

The shop had cleared out enough for them to speak to the girl behind the counter now. She looked to be in her late teens, and she tossed her strawberry blond hair over her shoulder as she smiled at the two police officers. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. How may I help you?”

“Hello, miss,” Hugh said, nodding to her. “My name is Constable Hugh Danbury, and this is Constable Rezal Depesh. Do you know the owner of this shop?”

“My father and mother own it, and they do most of the baking too.” She glanced between them. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem. We just have a few questions about a recent customer.”

The girl smiled again, still looking a bit uneasy. “Perhaps I can help?”

“Perhaps,” Hugh said, giving her a reassuring smile. “What is your name?”

“Prudence, sir. Prudence Wilcox. My father is Hamish Wilcox, and my mother is Elizabeth.”

“Miss Wilcox,” Hugh said, giving her a polite nod. “This is quite the fine shop.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“When was this bakery opened?”

“Only last year, sir,” Prudence said.

“Only a year in business, and you seem to be doing quite well,” Hugh said, glancing around at all of the brightly colored bottles of tinctures and the glass domes over delicious-looking cakes, the airy curtains that fluttered in the breeze.

“Yes, sir. My father is a very good baker,” Prudence said.

“What else do you sell besides pastries?” Depesh asked, motioning to the bottles and tarot cards.

Prudence giggled softly. “My parents are quite the believers in the mystical. My mother believes crystals and potions can solve most of life’s problems. She reads the cards for women who come into the shop sometimes too.”

Hugh didn’t want to get too sidetracked from the reason they were here. “Tell me, Miss Wilcox. Do you use gold paper to wrap any of your pastries?”

Prudence stared at him in surprise. “Gold paper?” Hugh nodded. Prudence frowned thoughtfully. “Not that I know of, sir. We use the usual brown paper. My mother does like to do paper folding, and I know she has some gold paper upstairs. But we don’t use it down here in the bakery.”

“What sorts of clients do you usually have?” Depesh asked, looking around the shop again.

Prudence shrugged. “All kinds, sir.”

“Would you know if one of them is Viscount Emeril Jardin? Perhaps his boy, Robbie, or his housekeeper, Mrs. Pitman?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Prudence said with a nod. “Robbie was in here just a few days ago for the viscount. And a few more days before that too.”

“Is that common for him to be here that frequently?” Hugh asked.

Prudence shook her head. “No, sir. We usually only get an order from them once a month or so. But my father had a special request from the viscount.”

“What sort of special request?” Depesh asked.

“It was only one thing,” Prudence said. “An apple turnover.”

Hugh frowned thoughtfully. That matched up with the apple pastry found in the viscount’s stomach shortly before he died, and Mrs. Pitman’s story that he had taken a gold-wrapped pastry from the basket out with him. “What is so special about these apple turnovers?”

“I don’t rightly know, sir,” Prudence said, frowning a bit. “They don’t look any different than our usual ones.”

“Where do you get your apples?” Hugh asked.

“Most of them are grown outside the city, and the farmers bring them in fresh every week.”

“Do you know which farm?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, sir. I could ask my father if you need to know.”

Hugh wasn’t sure if that information would do them any good or not in this investigation, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. “If you could find out, that would be excellent.”

Prudence nodded, just as the door opened with a cheerful jangle of bells, letting in several ladies who made a beeline for the counter. “I’ll ask tonight, sirs, if you want to stop back tomorrow?”

“Thank you,” Hugh said, giving her a polite bow, and Depesh did the same. “We appreciate your time, Miss Wilcox.”

Prudence nodded and gave them a sweet smile before turning to the women who were oohing and ahhing over some little macarons in the display case. Hugh and Depesh walked outside into the late afternoon sun. Depesh turned to Hugh with a hopeful expression. “Learn anything useful?”

Hugh sighed. “I don’t think so. At least I know I have the right location. But what an apple turnover wrapped in gold paper has to do with this whole thing, I don’t understand.”

“It’s such an odd detail,” Depesh agreed. “Have the coroners identified the victim the viscount was… found with?”

“Not yet,” Hugh said. “Hopefully his identity will give us an idea where to look next.”