The Spider: Chapter 16-17
Chapter 1-4| Chapters 5-6| Chapters 7-8|Chapters 9-11| Chapter 12|Chapter 13|Chapter 14
The spider is a gothic horror novel set in Victorian England. Recap: Part 1 ended with the seance. After weeks of paranoia and things going bump in the night, Frances came face to face with Mary. Last week, we met Inspector Daniel Muldoon, who will be leading the investigation and uncovering more than he bargained for.
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16
Although he had insisted that everybody act as normal while he conducted his inspection of the house, Muldoon felt he had become something of a spectacle. The little blonde head appeared again when he entered the hall.
“Hello,” he said, waving. It remained where it was, only exposing a pair of blue eyes and a button nose. Before he could introduce himself, the little head disappeared and from what he could hear, had returned to the piano.
“I should like to collect some written statements as well as my findings, Mrs Mckinnon,” he said as he put his jacket back on.
The old woman seemed flustered. “Oh,” she said, looking up at him.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
The housekeeper wrung her hands again. “No, it is perfectly acceptable sir but um… Maggie… the maid? She can’t read or write well, Inspector.”
Muldoon thought for a moment. “I can write hers down, if she’s happy to dictate?”
Mrs Mckinnon shook her head solemnly. “You‘ve heard her speak, have you not? The wee lass has a terrible stutter, Inspector. She can barely string a sentence together.” Mrs Mckinnon opened the basement door for him. “Anyway, I shan't stand over you,” she said. He descended with footsteps that seemed to rattle the hollow wooden staircase and walked into the cramped corridor that separated their quarters. “My room is the first on the left,” she called down. “What is it you’re looking for down there?” she asked, leaning over the top step.
“Anything useful for my investigation, Mrs Mckinnon, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more.”
“Understood,” she said, closing the door gently.
Muldoon, finally alone, opened the first door on the left. As predicted, he found only a small room with a single bed. Behind the door was a washstand and a dresser with a modest, unframed mirror on the wall. He gently looked inside the small chest of drawers beside Violet Mckinnon’s bed, finding only a few things: a bible, a crochet hook, some wool, a pair of tweezers and scissors. In a move that he was later embarrassed to have made, he opened the bible and checked for pockets or cavities where a witch may have hidden her relics. There were none. He carefully placed the things back as he found them and closed the drawers. At the foot of the bed stood an old oak trunk. Muldoon brought his handkerchief from his pocket and held it in his hand, just in case. With his other hand, he opened the lid and peered in. Amidst some clothing and a woollen shawl was a little leather-bound notebook. He flicked through it and found nothing of significance. He gently lifted the folded clothing and moved his hand across the bottom, knocking on it. Satisfied that there were no secret compartments, he closed it and sighed with relief. The old lady’s not too good to be true, he thought.
A grey beam of light from the little window above the bed illuminated the room. He looked up at it and noticed that it sat level with the patio of the garden; he wouldn’t have been able to see anything other than the passing of feet. He closed the trunk and placed his handkerchief back into his pocket.
The room directly opposite was Maggie’s; unlike the housekeeper, she did not have a chest of drawers beside her bed. Behind the door was a modest mirror and a washstand. The rooms looked identical until he opened the trunk. He pushed some shawls and clothing to one side and stopped in his tracks. Surprised to see books, a heap of letters and a journal, he shot a quick glance over his shoulder. Fumbling through the envelopes, he could see that they were all addressed to a “Margaret Ross,” of five, Percy street. He opened one from the bottom of the bundle.
“Dear Maggie,
My darling sister, I have missed you so. I cannot tell you how heartbroken I was to see you go last week. Father says it is only temporary, but I do hope that you don’t mind the posting. I also hope that the people are kind to you and treat you well. Please write me whenever you get the chance. On days when I feel I am ailing, I worry that you are ill, too. I pray for you every day.
I hope that you found the Trollope book interesting. I shall love nothing more than to hear your thoughts.
My love, always.
Sissy.”
Muldoon looked down at the copy of Vanity Fair in the trunk. It was well-thumbed and had a bookmark halfway through the pages. Stunned, he sat down on the floor and opened some more letters.
“O’ cruel world. Why should that monster take you away from me? There are times when I wish a storm would come and lightning strike him down dead.
I miss you terribly.
My love, always,
Sissy.”
“It is rather lonely without you here. I think I will go mad. I thoroughly enjoyed your last letter– you are so funny, but I am afraid I am too sad to laugh much these days. I cannot wait until you are home again. This house hasn’t been the same since mother died. Father is grieving still, but he will not change his mind. You are to stay at Percy street. You must eat, Maggie. I know it is hard— I feel your anguish too, but we must believe that this isn’t forever.
Psalm 34:18
The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.
My love, always,
Sissy.”
Muldoon stared out at the tiny basement window for a moment, contemplating. Contrary to what Violet Mckinnon had just told him, the stuttering Maggie could read and write well– at least, Margaret Ross could. He looked back down at the letters and observed the sender’s address which baffled him all the more. Maggie had not revealed herself to be a witch or a fan of the occult, and shouldn’t have stirred any suspicion, but all evidence had to be collected. He removed one letter from the stack and stuffed it in his breast pocket and piled the others together, tying the cord around them. He returned them to the trunk and closed the lid. Standing up again, he looked about the room with a finality and hoped to find more secrets upstairs.
On second thought, he appreciated that the ground floor of the house, made lovely by the tinkling of a piano, felt open and more welcoming than the small, whitewashed servants quarters. Seeing that the door of the drawing room was open, he followed the trail of music and began the next phase of his investigation.
Sitting at the piano in the far corner of the room was a little, ringlet-headed girl of four or five years old, tapping the keys with her tiny pink tongue poking out of her mouth. Muldoon smiled at the sight of such a small person playing such a large instrument. Behind the child, a mousy-haired governess sat in the armchair, bent over her sewing.
Having entered the room unseen and with the efficiency of a cat, he stepped back against the sideboard and waited for the music to finish. When the child stopped, she turned to look at him and stared.
“Bravo,” he said, clapping gently. The governess almost leapt out of her chair and on seeing the inspector, stuffed her sewing in the basket beside her and stood to attention.
“Inspector,” she said, “how can we help you?”
Sarah Jones was tall, with a heart-shaped face and pale skin that looked even more ashen in the grey light of the cloudy morning. Muldoon smiled, revealing his dimples. “I’m conducting my investigation, Miss?”
“Jones,” she blushed. I’m Sarah Jones. She approached him with her hand held out. He shook it softly.
“I’m Daniel Muldoon.”
“Is this about…” Sarah quickly turned to look at the little girl who was watching them with an expression of fascination and turned back to Muldoon. “My mistress?” she whispered. Muldoon nodded.
“I’m just looking about the house for now, but I will be looking to speak with you by the end of the day.”
Sarah nodded. “Very well. Elsie has her tea at four. I should be able to speak with you then.”
“Are you a doctor?” asked the little girl, interrupting the conversation. Her governess gave her a scolding look but Muldoon laughed it off.
“Me? No, dear.”
“Mary says you’ve come to make Mummy better.”
Muldoon looked at the child for a moment and then back at the governess, whose complexion had faded from pale to deathly white. “She says things, Inspector,” she said nervously. “We surmised that it must be an imaginary friend.”
“Mary is not imaginary. She’s here!”
“Elsie, my darling,” Sarah said, “Please go and ask Mrs Mckinnon for a bun. You’ve earned a treat after all that piano practice.”
They watched the little girl climb down from the piano stool and skip to the door, where she stopped and looked at them for a moment with a piercing gaze that rendered her governess silent until she left the room. “Things haven’t been the same since, you know…” Sarah said, looking away. “The little one says things all the time. I never know what to believe.”
“Is that so?”
“All the time, but every now and then, I’ll feel a chill pass through me and she’ll know all about it. She says ‘that’s only Mary’ and continues to play with her toys or read her books.” Muldoon looked down at Sarah’s bitten fingernails as she spoke. “I’ve known Elsie since she was a baby, Inspector. She grows stranger every day, talking to this… Mary and stopping mid-sentence when I walk into the room, as though I have interrupted their conversation.” She shook her head and laughed. “Listen to me. I’m foolish. She’s just a child.”
“Children can sometimes speak strangely. They’re often used as vessels, Miss Jones. It’s not unreasonable to be afraid of their strange behaviour.”
Sarah looked him in the eye. “Vessels for what?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out, Miss Jones— are you all right?”
“If you’ll just excuse me,” she said, turning away and desperately reaching for the door handle. Muldoon lunged forward and caught her as she stumbled.
“Steady there,” he said, scooping her up. He laid her down on the nearest sofa and removed his jacket. “I’ll get you something.” He quickly poured a glass of brandy from the drinks cabinet and handed it to Sarah, who was trembling.
“I’m so sorry, I felt light-headed all of a sudden.”
Muldoon sat down in a chair opposite and regarded her for a moment. The dark rings under her eyes told him that she hadn’t slept in days, and he had noticed her wide-eyed horror when Elsie spoke of Mary. He encouraged her to sip the drink and leaned forward. “We don’t have to speak today,” he said quietly, pulling a card out of his pocket. “I’ll leave you my address.”
After Sarah had reassured him that she was well enough to stand, Muldoon left her resting on the sofa and returned to the hallway for the remainder of the investigation, passing Maggie on his way to the parlour room. She looked down at the floor and scuttled past him like a mouse, disappearing again into the back kitchen with her cleaning bucket and rag. His observation was interrupted by the striking of the grandfather clock behind him, calling for his attention. He approached it slowly, reading the numbers on the clock face. It was twelve o’clock.
Compelled by a force he hadn’t noticed before, he touched the wood of the clock until a sharp, hot sting shot through his fingertips all the way into his gut, forcing him to pull his hand away: danger. He fixed his eyes on the swinging pendulum that glided back and forth in harmony with the beating of his heart until it slowed completely. The hallway around him darkened to a point where he could only make out his warm breath in sub-zero temperatures, and transformed to a candle-lit hallway. When he looked at the glass around the door, the sky outside had blackened. In the corner of his eye, a shadow moved away from him, walking toward the stairs. He turned to look at the woman being dragged up the stairs by her feet. Her eyes, dead and hollow, stared right at him as he followed the trail of blood to the staircase. Her long, chestnut hair draped across each step like a train as her head rolled over each step and hit the lip with a bump. Muldoon stepped forward to follow and narrowed his eyes. The body was being dragged up the stairs by a man with no face.
17
“Inspector, is everything all right?”
Muldoon snapped out of his trance and fixed his gaze on the ruddy face of Violet Mckinnon. She had her hand on his sleeve. “Can I get you something?”
He shook his head. “Thank you, Mrs McKinnon. I’ll be fine.”
She slowly removed her hand and stepped back, studying his greyed face. “As long as you’re sure? You were staring into the abyss there.”
“I was, was I?” he asked, forcing a smile. “I don’t know what came over me. His head throbbed. “What time is it?”
“Why it’s twelve o’ clock, Inspector. Well, a minute past if we want to be particular.”
“Still?” He looked at the clock once more.
“I know. Time’s running away with me and all! I’ll be back in the kitchen if you need me.” She turned on her heel and headed to the back of the house.
“Mrs Mckinnon,” he called, staring at the clock again. The housekeeper turned to look at him from across the hall. “This clock here, is it working?”
She tilted her head in bafflement as they both watched the long hand move clockwise across its face, ticking quietly as it always did. “Yes, Inspector. I should think that it is, why?”
Muldoon stepped back from the clock and regarded it again. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Thank you.”
Alone again, he stood back by the front door and folded his arms, watching. The carpeted stairs that had just been coated in a woman’s blood were clean. There was nobody in the hallway. Unable to move any further from the vision replaying in his mind, he stepped outside for a cigarette.
Standing on the front step, he admired the view of the street; it was quiet, but there was enough life passing by in the form of coaches, pedestrians and wagons. He walked down into the front garden and looked back at the house. Elsie Bryant’s face appeared in the parlour room window, staring at him. He waved gently, but she didn’t wave back. Instead she put her finger to her mouth, her lips forming the “shhhh” shape. Not knowing what to do about her stare, Muldoon simply smiled. She disappeared from view, easing his discomfort. Still halfway through his cigarette, he decided to explore the side of the house and the back garden. The tall wooden gate opened with a simple push of the spring latch. He stepped into the garden and closed it behind him.
Beside the house was a simple gravel path, forking off to a stairway that led to the basement and a modest garden straight ahead, with patio furniture and decorative shrubs. At the back of the walled garden was a simple brick outhouse. He approached it and had a tug at the wooden door: locked. The padlock looked old and appeared speckled with rust, but it was still too tough for a man without a key or a bag of tools. He moved to the side of the structure and looked in through the cobwebbed window. There wasn’t much to see inside apart from some garden tools and a few refuse sacks along the back wall. He stepped back and took another drag of his cigarette, looking up at the house again, fixing his eye on the back kitchen and then down to the basement.
He remained still, and watched Maggie go into the back kitchen and hang out some white laundry. She was rolling them through a mangle before awkwardly pegging them to the line. He studied her as she held out shirts and nightgowns.
Margaret Ross was a fine actress, and he didn’t trust her at all.
Later, when Muldoon had finished his fruitless inspection of the downstairs rooms, he found himself loitering outside the parlour room door. The sound of piano music had beckoned him to return and listen. He slid into the room with the stealthiness of a prowling cat and took a seat in the corner, unnoticed. This time, the pianist played with the confidence of a player much older than four.
Sarah was playing something he found beautiful but didn’t recognise; he was intrigued and sat down on the sofa where she had been lying when he last saw her. She played with conviction, and he admired her skill as he waited patiently for her to finish. The colour had returned to her face and for a moment, he could have believed that the previous incident hadn’t happened at all.
“What are you playing?” he asked when she finished and rested her hands on her lap.
“Elgar. Salut D Amor.”
Muldoon, embarrassed by his lack of musical ear or a fluency in French, nodded. “It sounds lovely,” he said. Sarah smiled. “He hasn’t been composing long. I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of him.” She looked down at her lap, not knowing what else to say.
He took a deep breath and released it, along with his hesitation to speak. “I’m sorry for what I said, Miss Jones.” She lifted her head to read him. He cleared his throat. “About what I said—you know—vessels. I shouldn’t have said that. It was insensitive of me.”
“That’s quite all right.”
“No, it’s not, Miss Jones. I should know better than to say such things about a child you so clearly love.”
Her eyes were glassy with tears as she listened to him speak. She swallowed and said, “Please tell me she’s not in danger.”
“I can’t say that for sure. She’s not possessed, however. That’s all I know.”
Sarah sobbed into her hands. Muldoon gritted his teeth and sat there for a moment before deciding to stand over her and place a hand on her shoulder. “Try not to worry, Miss Jones. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” He didn’t know if he could, or would, but a woman’s tears were a powerful weapon, whether she meant to use them or not. He thought it best to be optimistic. She wiped her tears away with her handkerchief and stood up. “I’m sorry. It has been a very difficult time, Inspector.”
“I understand.”
Before they could say any more, Elsie burst into the room with her doll, Blissy in her arms. “Sorry I’m late. I was playing.”
Sarah, not knowing if she had told Elsie to come back or not, smiled and opened her arms. Elsie ran into them and embraced Sarah, directing her eyes toward Muldoon. “We should go to the park, Elsie,” Sarah said, stroking the little girl’s hair. “We haven’t gone for a walk today. How would you like that? We should get some fresh air.”
“I would like to see the ducks again, and go to the Fairy Glen.”
“Then we shall. We shall. Go and get your coat, darling,” Sarah sniffed and wiped her eyes once more. The blotches on her skin from her fit of tears had refreshed her complexion. “Inspector, will you need anything more from me today?”
“I don’t think so, Miss Jones. I will be coming back tomorrow anyway for—”
Sarah raised a hand to silence him. “Then I have something you might want to see before you do,” she said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
Sarah returned promptly, placing a bundle of letters on Muldoon’s lap. “What’s this?” he asked, bemused.
“They’re from Mrs Bryant to Mr Bryant. She asked me to post them but we have no address for Mr Bryant, so I kept them safe for her.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why is there no address?”
“I… I don’t know,” she said. “I supposed that Mrs Bryant may have lost it or that he didn’t write. I really don’t know.”
“Is Mr Bryant well?”
“I think so. We haven’t received anything to suggest otherwise.”
Muldoon flicked through the envelopes. “This is a lot of letters. How long has Mr Bryant been away?”
Sarah thought for a moment and tucked some loose hair behind her ear. “It must have been… about two months by now? He went to South Africa.”
“What for?”
“Business. He works in the goldfields—well, he doesn’t mine any more but I think it is some sort of…” She blushed. “I have no idea, truth be told. I’m not… it’s not really any of my business. I’ve hardly ever spoken with Mr Bryant.” Muldoon watched the realisation sink into her face. “I suppose I don’t really know him.”
Muldoon cleared his throat. “It’s not unusual for a governess to not know much about her employers, Miss Jones.”
“But you see, Inspector Muldoon, it is in this case.” Sarah sat beside him on the sofa. “I’ve worked for the family for four years and Mrs Bryant has been a good friend to me. I cared for her and the baby— Elsie—when Frances was alone. He went off to Australia to find their fortune and she had nobody.”
“Not even her mother?”
Sarah shook her head vehemently. “No, you see– Mrs Larkin and the late Mr Larkin didn’t approve of the union with Mr Bryant,” she said, watching the door as she spoke. Muldoon listened intently. “They didn’t like him, but Frances married him anyway. They didn’t speak and when John left for Australia, she had no one.”
“Seems a bit harsh,” Muldoon said.
Sarah didn’t seem to notice the comment and kept talking. “He sent her some money to find a nanny, and she found me. I’d do anything for this family, but there has been no opportunity for me to really get to know Mr Bryant’s character.”
“I see,” Muldoon said, crossing his legs.
“Sorry, I don’t know why I went into detail with that. I just—I suppose you brought something to my attention. I don’t doubt that Mr Bryant is as kind and fair as Mrs Bryant, if that’s what you are wanting to know. It’s really none of my business, but Frances is a friend to me and I can’t think why she doesn’t have an address for him.”
Muldoon muttered in agreement. “It is unusual.”
Sarah stood up again and straightened her skirts before reaching for her green hat that waited on the table. “Anyway, Inspector,” she said, adjusting it neatly in the mirror. Muldoon thought that Miss Jones had the perfect head for a hat, with a fine pointed chin and a long, swan-like neck. She turned to face him once more. “If there is anything more you need of me, I will be here tomorrow.”
“Miss Jones,” he said as she reached for the door handle. “Have you read any of these letters?”
She seemed hurt by the question, and leaned against the door. “Heavens, no! I would never, Inspector. I swear on my life.”
“Very well. Thank you, Miss Jones.”
She left silently. Muldoon looked down at the stack of letters again and heard the front door close with a click. The house, having endured some brief excitement and activity, fell back into a deep slumber, its signs of life only evident by the ticking of the clocks.
I hope he opens the letters. Reminds me of the old Master Piece Theater. Be fun to see it acted out
Better and better, this story gets! I look forward to every new chapter!