The Spider- Chapter 22-23

'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.'

Chapter 1-4| Chapters 5-6| Chapters 7-8|Chapters 9-11| Chapter 12|Chapter 13|Chapter 14-15|Chapter 16-17|Chapter 18-19 | Chapter 20|Chapter 21

22

Having failed to convince Mae that Paulie could help around her premises, Muldoon instead offered Paulie a bed in his dwelling. Mae agreed to bring down a mattress for him to sleep on, and as it was cold down there, she also provided an extra blanket. “Upstairs is no place for children, Daniel,” she insisted.

“There’s nowhere he can go where he won’t see anything?”

“It’s been a while since you’ve been to this kind of place, hasn’t it?” she said, rolling her heavy brown eyes. “I’ll not have children in here. I had a girl last week insisting she was old enough. Said it must have been easier than selling matches on the street. I sent her away. Said she could clean for me if she was desperate, but I won’t have it. Life’s short enough.” She made the sign of the cross and adjusted her shawl.

Muldoon held his hands up in surrender. “I hadn’t thought it through, Mae.”

She pulled a blanket from the store room cupboard. “You don’t say.” She handed it to him and assessed her dishevelled tenant. “Who’s the girl then?”

“Miss Jones? She’s part of the investigation.”

“Didn’t look like that to me.”

“It never does, Mae.” He turned to walk away.

“She’s rather helpful, coming all the way out here to speak to you.”

“That she is.” Muldoon opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. “Thank you, Mae.”

🕷

Muldoon lay wide awake in his bed. Paulie, on the other hand, had fallen asleep within minutes of receiving the mattress. The small boy slept curled up like a dog in front of Muldoon’s meagre fire, his blanket up to his chin. The little boots that he had bought with his wages rested by the back door. At first, Muldoon was distracted by the boy's gentle snoring, but after some time, it settled into the natural rhythm of the basement.

He chuckled to himself when he heard an abrupt fart echo across the adjoining rooms. He hadn’t had a housemate for a long time, or even a pet for that matter.

He’d brought his case file into his bedroom with him with the intention of reviewing his findings in bed, but he was preoccupied by the doctor’s diary that sat on his bedside table. Frustratingly, Swinson wrote in code, and Muldoon was too tired to decipher it. It taunted him silently, daring him to open it and try again. Muldoon, unable to face it, rolled over and tried to get some sleep.

His dreams were vivid that night. He dreamt that he was sitting on a park bench with Sarah. They watched Elsie play with a kite on the hill overlooking the river. Swans sailed across the pond behind her, and it was a clear, windy day. He turned to look at Sarah, who was wearing a white cotton gown—the one he’d seen on the dressmaker's dummy in the guest room of Percy Street. She looked beautiful, with loose wavy hair hanging down to her waist.

“Well done, Elsie,” she said, as Elsie effortlessly flew the kite. Sarah’s sketchbook lay open on the floor at their feet, and Muldoon bent down to pick it up. Placing it on his lap, he admired the drawing that Sarah had done of Elsie flying a kite. The wind flicked past another handful of pages and opened again at the ghastly image of the man staring at him. He turned to look at Sarah and saw that she was furious. “How dare you,” she said, slapping him across the face.

“Who is he? Who is he, Sarah?” Muldoon asked, surprising even himself with the amount of emotion in his voice. “What does he mean to you?”

He stole one more look at the dark stranger glaring at him from the paper before she picked up the book and walked away, asking Elsie to follow. Elsie let go of the kite and ran to her governess, holding her hand and turning to look once more at Muldoon. He looked on in bewilderment as Elsie placed a finger to her lips and said “shh.”

They were standing on the hill looking down at him—three of them: Mary, Elsie and Sarah. Elsie stood between them, holding their hands. Muldoon rose from the bench and fixed his attention on Mary, who wasn’t bleeding any more, nor was she difficult to look at. Her face was clean, and there was no gash on her neck. She smiled down at Elsie, who smiled back. Lying between Muldoon and the women on the hill, was a line of dolls.

🕷

Muldoon woke to see that the room was still pitch black. He wondered if he’d even been asleep, and rolled over to check his pocket watch. It was midnight. From the other room, he could hear Paulie babbling in his sleep and smacking his lips together. He reached for his matches and struck one, lighting the gas lamp beside his bed.

Fumbling through the case file, he pulled out his evidence and looked over it, starting with Frances’ letters.

Please come home. I don’t give a damn about Mr Ellman–I need you here with me. Tell me where he is and I shall go to him myself. He has no right to keep you from me.

He chewed on the name for a time and fell asleep.

Some time after he had drifted off, he woke again. From the way the room was lit in pale grey, he estimated that it must have been dawn. Muldoon cleared the grit from his eyes, yawned, and checked his pocket watch. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning. Gulls screeched outside at the docks, and he heard the faint clip-clopping of hooves somewhere out on the street. He closed his eyes for a moment, and thought of the strange dream.

Unable to drift off again, he stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before the urge to use his chamber pot prevented him from relaxing any further. He got up and completed his usual morning routine, shaving the stubble from his face. As the razor glided up his neck, gently sliding across his adam’s apple, he thought of Mary’s ghost and her gaping throat. The distraction made him flinch; he caught a small trickle of blood rolling down his neck in the tiny shaving mirror. He picked up a towel and tended to it, thinking of the razor that Frances had. He went back to his case file and looked through the stack of letters again, searching for one in particular.

Anyway, I climbed to the attic. Mary showed me the way. I slipped into the entrance. It was so dark, but the potpourri was comforting and I slid the panel with ease. The little staircase is rather cold, but the room remains usable. There she was, on her hands and knees, looking right at me. Early morning light was trying its best to shine through the bricked up windows… She cannot speak, what with her throat being cut but she can touch things and move things. She lifted the lid of a chest beside her and passed me a razor.

Muldoon sank down onto the bed and stared at the letter once more. Potpourri. He recalled Sarah’s description of the nursery: “it’s a little cold in there, sometimes.” His stomach churned with excitement when he remembered the doll, staring at him. Mary needs her maids in a row!

“Paulie!” he called. “Paulie, wake up!”

The little lad rolled over and groaned. “What time is it?”

“Dolls in a row, Paulie—no, maids! Mary, er, something about a garden. Paulie, is there a song, or a story or something? A pretty garden and a row of maids?”

The boy sat up and rubbed his eyes. “It’s a girl song… Mary, Mary…” he hummed the rest until he got to “and pretty maids all in a row.”

“Paulie, you genius!” Muldoon clapped his hands together and paced the room in thought. “It’s too early—but I’ll get you some bread and bacon and I’ve got to get to the bridewell. I’ll leave you with some breakfast and you do—do whatever, sleep in, whatever. Go home if you like.” He went back to his room to finish dressing. “Hang on,” he said, speaking to nobody in particular. “Gill was on the night shift, which means he’s still there. Right, here’s some money. Go and get yourself something to eat when you wake up.” He came back into his office and slammed the spare key down along with a few coins before returning to his room. He secured the knot in his tie and bustled out of his office with his case file and jacket in his arms, leaving Paulie to drift back off to sleep again.

🕷

Gill was just about to leave when Muldoon came bursting into the bridewell foyer. “It’d better be good, Mulders. I was looking forward to a hot breakfast,” Gill said, adjusting his jacket.

“I think I know where the body is.”

Gill, Muldoon and a bleary-eyed Constable Lacey were the first to arrive at Percy street where they met three other constables at the door of the house. Muldoon stepped back from the house and looked at it, then he turned his head to observe the neighbouring properties. “Look,” he said to Gill, pointing at number five. “Every house on this street has windows at the top except for this one.”

“And?” asked Gill, half asleep and fully irritated.

“They’re attic windows. They’ve been bricked up.”

“Well what are we waiting for, then?” Gill asked.

“Just let me get up there and warn them. They’re probably still asleep.”

After a yawning Mrs Mckinnon let him in, Muldoon went in first and headed straight to the nursery. Sarah was still in her nightgown when he knocked. He averted his eyes from the thin cotton gown she wore at the door of the nursery. “Miss Jones, we need to come into the nursery. Could you wake the child and evacuate the premises, please?”

Her long plait of hair hung down her left breast and she covered the right with her arm. “Do I have time to dress?”

Muldoon checked his watch. “Be as quick as you can. There are a lot of anxious policemen waiting outside. Myself included.” Her lips parted to say something but she stopped herself and closed the door. He heard her rush around the room, gently rousing Elsie. Five minutes later, they came out of the room. Sarah, now fully dressed, held a sleepy Elsie in her arms—the little girl’s chin resting on her shoulder. “Here,” he said, lifting Elsie out of her arms. “I’ve got to lock you up in the drawing room.”

Sarah went ahead of him down the stairs without question. He carried Elsie down and placed her on the sofa of the drawing room. “Please don’t come out. Don’t let her see anything,” he said before leaving the room.

Muldoon ran back up the stairs, puffing and panting until he was back in the nursery. From the window of the nursery, he waved a hand and gestured for Gill to follow him up.

Muldoon, the bile rising in his throat, stepped over to the wardrobe and opened it. He put his hand inside, heading for the back; he found a bag of potpourri dangling from a hook. He grabbed it and pulled it out. Annoyed with himself for missing it the first time, he tossed the bag of lavender aside and reached in again. He banged on the panel at the back of the wardrobe. Nothing. Using both hands, he gave the back panel a shove. Nothing. Running his fingers up the corners of the panel, he noticed that there was a small gap between the side of the panel and the side of the wardrobe. Sticking his finger into the gap, he nudged it to the left. The panel slid across like a door. His heart leapt into his throat.

“What is it, sir?” asked a constable behind him. It was Lacey.

Muldoon pulled his head out of the wardrobe and with a flash of intensity in his eyes, he grinned. “It’s the jackpot, Lacey.”

Lacey peered in behind Muldoon as he climbed back into the wardrobe and completely opened the panel. “Lacey, remove these things from the wardrobe and follow me up,” he said, feeling for the first step of the staircase in front of him.

Constable Lacey hurried to remove the clothes and laid them on the small bed. He hesitated for a moment when he was faced with the entrance, as something made his nose curl.

“Lacey, get up here, and bring a crowbar,” Muldoon called, “and be quick about it.”

The young constable did as he was told, and after acquiring a selection of tools from the outhouse, followed the inspector into the attic.

---

23

January 18th, 1886

Dear Margaret,

I know that this letter will cause you pain to read, but you must understand that I am happy. Love can change a man, and I believe that we are in love, and that the pain he caused was nothing more than a young boy’s boorishness. What cold hearts they have before they know love!

I would not expect you to see his charming nature, as siblings often cannot, but I assure you that he is kind. He tries to be kind.

Forgive me for leaving as I did, but nobody would have approved. They don’t understand him like I do.

Our love is like those we have read about in our books, and you know which one I speak of: “He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” We are as doomed as we are destined, and I must take my place by his side, for he cannot be without me.

Please tell my mother and father that I am well. It breaks my heart for us to have parted like this, but it is for the best.

I believe in redemption, as I know you do also. We are to go to Europe for our honeymoon. He has promised to take me to Rome.

I hope that we can be friends again, for I love you and Sissy like sisters.

All my love,

Mary

🕷

“Put a warrant out for Mr Bryant,” Gill said, slamming a police file down on Constable Lacey’s desk. Young Constable Lacey, true to the form of a broken-in horse nodded, and headed to the door with his helmet under his arm. “And Lacey, come straight back!”

“Lacey, wait!” called Muldoon, looking at Gill. The gangly red-faced constable stopped and waited for further orders. “He’s already on the ship home. He must be. Shouldn’t we keep it quiet so that he gets off the ship?”

Gill stroked his chin. “Good point. Is it stopping off anywhere?”

“I don’t know, but let’s not take the risk. Let him come home thinking everything’s fine.”

Gill nodded. “Lacey, just get the signature. No telegraphs. Right—go!” Lacey left the room.

Gill watched Muldoon walk to the window and stand in front of it with his arms folded. “What are you so mopey about? We’ve got a body.”

“We don’t know who it is, though.”

“No, that’s true. You can go back to the house and find out.”

Muldoon looked up at the ceiling. “I can’t get any sense out of Mrs Bryant,” he said regretfully.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“I think she’s taking opium.”

“Well take it off her then!”

Muldoon looked at Gill and held out his hands. “She’ll die if I do that.”

“Well, find a way, Mulders. Do some of your God magic, I don’t know.” Gill turned on his heel and headed for the door. “And go and see the employer as well. I want a statement regarding Bryant’s character. I’ll see if I can get you a doctor. Chop chop!” Gill clapped his hands and pushed his body against the door, opening it with his backside and rolling away. He disappeared down the corridor.

🕷

Given the choice between returning to Mrs Bryant or meeting with Mr Bryant’s employer, Muldoon decided to try the offices of Ellman and Co. first. Discovering that Ellman was ‘at home today,’ and having been given the home address of the shipping tycoon by a very helpful young lady secretary, he hopped on a quiet train in the light drizzle to Allerton. Watching the world hurtle past as he sat still in the rocking carriage, Muldoon thought of what he was going to say. As far as he knew, Bryant had worked for Ellman for less than a year, but Ellman appeared to have great influence over the self-made businessman, and something else was particularly interesting to him: the address of Thomas Ellman was the same correspondence address he had seen on the top of Margaret Ross’ letters. He felt in his pocket for his badge and relaxed.

The rain had dissipated by the time he reached the house. The mansion in question was an enormous sandstone building, styled in the fashionable ‘new gothic’ that many properties in the area had adopted. The trees, blazen with orange and red foliage, looked striking against their dark trunks and branches. Shells of conkers and dry, crisp leaves crunched under his boots as he approached Springheath Hall.

He waited at the wrought iron gates for the gatekeeper to come out. When the old man finally materialised, he needed only to take one look at Muldoon’s badge and opened the gate, tipping his cap as he closed it behind the visitor. “Mornin’ sir.”

Muldoon walked up to the great house’s steps and waited on the top of them, ringing the bell. A middle-aged maid answered. “I’m here to see Mr Ellman,” he said, flashing his badge once more. “I’m Detective Inspector Muldoon.” She opened the great door and let him in.

“I’ll let him know. Please wait here,” she said, scurrying across the impeccably polished floor of the hallway. He removed his hat and waited, looking up at the gilded-framed portraits and paintings along the walls, some of which were taller than the tallest man he knew. A couple of minutes passed before the maid came back. “This way, please.”

He followed her over to a sunroom at the back of the house, where an older man was sitting at a table, reading a newspaper in his smoking jacket. He folded the paper and rose from the seat, holding out a hand to Muldoon. “Inspector, what can I do for you today?”

Muldoon shook Ellman’s hand firmly. “Mr Ellman, I am here to collect a statement from you.”

Ellman gestured for Muldoon to join him in his corner of the room among parlour palms and a decorative bird cage with nothing in it. Both men sat down at the table. “What is this concerning, may I ask?” Ellman asked.

“An employee of yours. John Bryant. He’s currently…” Muldoon’s answer was cut short when he caught sight of a woman on the lawn with a small dog bouncing along to the tune of its own incessant yapping beside her. She was petite, with pale skin and waves of strawberry blonde hair gathered neatly at the nape of her neck. As far as he was concerned, he was looking at Maggie in a lady’s clothing. He quickly looked away and back at Ellman. “He’s currently on his way back from South Africa. I wondered if you could tell me what the nature of his trip was and when exactly he will be back?”

“Bryant?” He tilted his head, thinking. “Percy street?”

“Yes, that’s the gentleman in question.”

“He’s overseeing a mining project over there on my behalf. I am not very well, you see.” He coughed into a handkerchief, as though on cue. Muldoon leaned back in the chair, trying not to look at Maggie’s doppelganger outside. “There was a bit of tension with one of our partners, and Mr Bryant went down to sort it all out. He is due back…” he waved a hand. “I’ll have to ask Gladys. Gladys!” he called.

The maid Muldoon had seen before returned to the sunroom and waited for instruction. “Gladys, my dear, please could you fetch me my diary?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s the old gout,” Ellman said, indicating at his slippers with his cane. “I can’t walk far these days.” Ellman was noticeably fat, with a nest of grey hair that circled around a shiny, bald centre. His beard was long, with a curled moustache under his Roman nose. Despite his apparent poor health, the man seemed comfortable, and his cheeks flushed with vigour.

“I came by your offices first thing this morning, sir. Your secretary kindly gave me your address. I need a character statement for Bryant, as he’s been away for some time, and I’m not able to ask his wife.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

“She’s quite ill, sir,” Muldoon said while the maid gently laid the diary on the table in front of Ellman.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ellman reached for his spectacles and placed them on the end of his nose. He opened the book and flicked through the pages. “Ah yes, he is due back on Monday next week. November the 28th. He’s sailing back on the Duncannon, it says here.”

“Thank you, sir.” Muldoon said, writing it down in his notebook. “Now could you tell me about your relationship with Mr Bryant.”

“He’s my employee. Married. One child. Lives on Percy Street.”

“Has he been married before, Mr Ellman?”

“I don’t know, Inspector.” He eyed Muldoon curiously. “Why would you want to know that?”

“This is a murder investigation, Mr Ellman,” Muldoon said, fixing his eyes on Ellman. “John Bryant is our number one suspect.”

Ellman’s eyes widened in horror. “John Bryant?” he asked, holding his hand to his head. “Bryant?”

“The body of a woman was found this morning at number five, Percy street. I was asked to come here and obtain a character statement from his most recent employer, and that’s you.”

“Yes, of course.” Ellman sat up straight and put his hands together in the wicker chair. “Well, I met him on a return voyage from Australia. Before my health took a turn, I liked to oversee new contracts in person, and I’d set up offices on the gold coast. It was something simple really—a game of cards. We played together a few times and I got to know him. He was affable, with a wife and child back home and I quite liked him. I thought him a promising young man and a keen businessman, so I invited him to buy shares in my company, of which he did, and that was that, really.”

Muldoon felt his brows furrowing and made a conscious effort to iron it out. “So you haven’t worked with him much?”

“Not really. I asked him to go to South Africa because I couldn’t, and he was happy to do it. Probably missed the peace and quiet of life in the goldfields.” Ellman laughed, reflecting. “Perhaps family life wasn’t for him.”

“Perhaps not,” Muldoon agreed, looking at the man’s dark eyes and wondering where he’d seen them before. Muldoon completed the rest of his statement and bid Ellman farewell. “I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”

Ellman sat in the chair, staring into the abyss and said in a quiet voice, “it’s such a shame. I quite liked him.”

“The case isn’t closed yet, sir.”

The old man snapped back into consciousness, flushing slightly. “Oh, I thought…”

Muldoon fixed his hat on his head. “Evidence certainly points that way. I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon enough.”

“What will happen to him, if he is guilty?”

“Well, he’ll be hanged of course, Mr Ellman.”

“Such a shame.” Ellman lowered his head and remained seated. “Why would he throw everything away like that? I’m shocked. Shocked I tell you.”

“Good day then, sir.” Muldoon tipped his hat and left the sunroom. On his way out, he turned one more time to try and look out into the garden. The girl he’d seen with the dog was gone.

On the train ride back to the city centre, he pulled out his notebook and flicked through it again. The visit to Ellman hadn’t been a complete waste of time, but he felt he had walked away from a three course meal still left in want of something more substantial.

Back within the enveloping smog and the ebb and flow of the busy city streets, Muldoon stopped at the bridewell and asked to borrow Constable Lacey. The two of them walked up to the east of the city together. For some time, they didn’t exchange a word. Muldoon saw the young man looking back in the direction of the bridewell as they walked on, and sighed.

“Stand down, Lacey. If I was going to go and get my pals, take you down an alley and shoot you, it would have happened by now.”

“I’m sorry for calling you a mick, sir.”

Muldoon shook his head. “Forget about it.”

“Very well, sir. Why do we need to go back there?”

“The murder weapon, Lacey. We don’t have it yet.”

“Why did you need me, sir?”

Muldoon stopped walking and glared at him. “What is this, Lacey? Are you a constable or not?”

“Sorry, sir, it’s just that—”

“Look,” Muldoon said, “Gill says you’re as green as grass but you’ve got good legs on you.” The lanky young man seemed so young to him: barely a boy. “Do something useful. You’ve seen your first dead body. You’re investigating your first murder. Find something interesting and maybe he’ll promote you to actual constable instead of punkawallah. How about that?”

Lacey nodded eagerly, still unsure as to why Muldoon wanted to help him.

“Let’s get on then.”