Silhouette (4 page)

‘So, you been busy since we last visited?’ Clara wondered when the Doctor had gone again. It was warmer in the tent and she was in no hurry to finish her tea and cake.

‘Pretty much. But nothing too exciting. We did have a haunted house to investigate last month. Poltergeist breaking plates and making the chandeliers swing about.’

‘That sounds exciting,’ Clara told her, thinking back to the haunted house she had visited with the Doctor not all that long ago and shivering at the memory.

‘Nah. Turned out it was built on top of the Bakerloo Line and whenever a train went underneath it made the place shake.’

Clara laughed. ‘And how’s Strax?’

Jenny smiled. ‘Same as ever, I’m sorry to say. He’s off doing his own investigation at the moment.’

‘Wearing an inverness cape and deerstalker hat?’

‘Mercifully not. Some drinking partner of his got bumped off last night and he’s taken umbrage.’

Clara put down her teacup. ‘I’m not surprised. A pub brawl or something?’

‘Sounds a bit more peculiar than that. But Strax didn’t say much about it, except he’s going to find the culprit and do something nasty to them involving
coronic acid and scissor grenades.’

Finding a murderer had turned out not to be quite as easy as Strax had hoped and expected. He had learned a lot from his interrogation of local inhabitants, employing a level of subtlety that he felt Madame Vastra would have been proud of. He had killed no one, hadn’t even threatened torture – well, except to that rude urchin who tried to remove Strax’s wallet from his jacket pocket. He wouldn’t try that again in a hurry. Even when his fingers were better.

But what Strax had learned did not reassure him. The local police were not terribly forthcoming, even when Strax mentioned Vastra’s name. But Inspector Goodwin had let slip that Rick Bellamy was not the first victim.

A sympathetic pathologist, who seemed to be labouring under the misconception that Strax was suffering from some sort of physiological disorder, was more helpful.

‘Quite desiccated,’ he explained. ‘It’s as if his entire body was drained of everything that made the poor man what he is. Left behind a withered husk that was only identified by the contents of his wallet. Surprised the murderer left that behind, not that there was much money in it.’

‘Could it be a case of death from natural causes?’ Strax wondered. He hoped not.

‘If we had just one instance of such a condition then I might agree with you. But no, this poor fellow – like all the others – was killed quite deliberately. But as to how or by whom, well, I have to confess I’m rather stumped.’

Having obtained a list of the victims’ names and addresses, Strax attempted to find a common thread that linked them. There was none. A landlady, a publican, a brother, and a young woman called Maud (who seemed to have no concept of personal space and was altogether so familiar that Strax suspected she was involved in some form of personal espionage) all painted very different pictures of the victims. They were different ages, from different areas – though all rather deprived – and some were apparently female.

The only thing they seemed to have in common, Strax reflected as he made his way through the East End streets, was that they were down on their luck and none too pleased about it. Strax imagined they would all have got on rather well with Bellamy, swapping stories about how awful or expensive or generally unpleasant everything was.

Strax needed time to reflect on what he had discovered. Perhaps he would consult Jenny or Vastra and see what they thought. But first he would inspect the scene of the latest crime. He knew Bellamy’s body had been removed as he had been allowed a glimpse of it at the morgue, so the unhelpful police should
have moved on. It did not look as if the poor man had enjoyed an honourable death – all the more reason to avenge him. So muttering angrily to himself, he made his way towards where Bellamy had been found.

Strax found the narrow alleyway where the body had been discovered in the early hours. His shoulders almost touched the walls on either side as he reached a large building that seemed to be abandoned and derelict. Ahead of him, a figure stepped out of a shadowy doorway. He was dressed in a sort of ritual apparel that Strax had seen before – all black, with a tall helmet on top of his head, a swathe of dark material hanging from the back. Strax seemed to recall that personnel in this sort of uniform were responsible for the removal and burial of the dead.

‘Your client has already been removed,’ Strax announced helpfully.

The man’s face did not move. ‘You seem angry about something,’ he said, his voice deep and dark.

Strax considered this. ‘No,’ he decided. ‘I am on a mission to avenge the death of a colleague. There is nothing more honourable or satisfying.’

The man took a few steps closer, and Strax himself also approached, stepping out of the shadows and into the pale winter sunlight for the first time.

The man stopped as he saw Strax properly for the first time. He reached up and touched the brim of his tall hat. ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he said. ‘If you will
excuse me, I have business elsewhere.’

Somehow he squeezed past Strax and continued down the alleyway. Strax turned to watch him go. But all he saw was a fading shadow on the end wall.

It seemed likely that Hapworth had visited the Frost Fair as well as the Carnival of Curiosities. Indeed, he must have passed through it to get to the Carnival in the first place. The fair was big, stretched out across the bank of the Thames, with some stalls and attractions on the frozen river itself. It made sense for Jenny and Clara to split up to cover as much of it as they could.

Jenny gave Clara a good description of Hapworth. ‘If we know where he went and who and what he saw, we might get a clue to what upset him before he headed home,’ she said. ‘Though it might not be anything here at all, of course.’

‘Won’t know till we find out, though, will we?’ Clara said. ‘I’ll meet you back at the tea tent. That’s probably where the Doctor will look for us too.’

It was her feet that got coldest. Trudging through the snow as it turned to slush beneath the feet of so many other people, Clara could feel the chill eating through the soles of her boots. There was no sign
of Jenny in the crowds, and Clara couldn’t honestly say she was making much progress. She had found several people who definitely remembered Marlowe Hapworth from yesterday. But none of them could recall anything remarkable about him or his behaviour or demeanour. There were others who thought that perhaps they had seen him, but could not be sure. But none of them could offer anything much of interest about an elderly man apparently enjoying the Frost Fair on a bright, crisp winter’s afternoon.

They had not really agreed a time to meet back at the tea tent, but Clara assumed it would take Jenny about as long to cover the half of the fair she had taken as Clara took to go round hers. So as soon as she was done she headed back. The tent was crowded now, and she had to wait for a table to become free.

Clara was still deciding whether she wanted anything to eat along with her cup of tea when someone cleared their throat politely beside her.

‘Excuse me?’

She looked up to see a young man, about her own age, standing with his hand resting on the back of one of the chairs.

‘Do you mind terribly if I join you?’ he asked. ‘Only it’s rather crowded at the moment.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sorry, if you’re expecting company then of course I shall look for another table.’

‘No, no,’ Clara said quickly. ‘Please do join me. I’m
meeting a friend but she might be a while yet. So I’d be glad of the company.’

‘You’re very kind.’ He sat down opposite Clara, and smiled.

Clara couldn’t help but smile back. The man seemed polite and self-assured. His dark hair was combed back from his rather handsome face. As he turned to wave to a waitress, Clara saw that his nose turned up just very slightly at the end, rather as her own did.

‘What can I order for you?’ he asked as a waitress approached. ‘The toasted tea cakes are very good.’ Clara found she quite fancied a toasted tea cake now he mentioned it.

‘Please, let this be my treat,’ he said as the waitress departed again. ‘In return for your generously sharing your table with me. I’m sorry, I haven’t even asked your name and here I am buying you tea cake.’

‘Clara.’

‘How do you do, Miss Clara.’

She laughed. ‘No, just Clara will do.’

‘How informal. Then please, I am Oswald.’

‘Oswald?’

His smile faded. ‘You don’t like the name?’

‘No, I’m surprised that’s all.’

‘I didn’t realise it was a surprising name.’

‘
My
name is also Oswald,’ she explained. ‘Clara Oswald.’

‘It seems we have a lot in common then – our names and a penchant for toasted tea cakes.’

Oswald was pleasant company and easy to speak to. The tea cakes were indeed very good, and Clara found herself laughing and enjoying the company. Oswald turned out to be tutor to several children, and was impressed to discover that Clara was herself a teacher, though he seemed slightly confused as to why she wasn’t in school today. She managed to gloss over that, and found herself telling him more than she had intended about herself. She told him that she had travelled extensively, but kept the details vague.

‘Your friend is a long time,’ Oswald said as they ordered another pot of tea. ‘I do hope she hasn’t been detained.’

‘Jenny’ll be here,’ Clara assured him. ‘And the Doctor too.’

‘Doctor? You’re not unwell, I hope?’

‘No. Another friend.’

‘A very good friend, I imagine from the way you say that.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘We have travelled together to, well, all sorts of places. He’s become a bit more grumpy recently,’ she found herself admitting. ‘He’s got, well,
older
, I suppose.’

‘Happens to us all.’

It was strange, Clara thought as the new pot of tea arrived, she had only known this man for a few
minutes but already it seemed like they were good friends. It was like she’d known Oswald for years. Several times when she hesitated, he seemed to know what she had been about to say. Seemed to sense how she felt. It was very easy to be in his company, she decided. And the fact that he was also very easy on the eye helped of course … She smiled and nodded as he offered to refill her cup.

Madame Vastra lowered her veil as she heard the study door open behind her. She turned from the bookcase she had been examining, and was surprised to see the Doctor standing in the doorway. She raised her veil again and nodded a greeting.

The Doctor strode in, pushing the door closed behind him. ‘Scene of the crime?’ he asked.

Vastra indicated Hapworth’s desk. ‘He was found slumped forward, the letter-opener in his back.’ There was still blood on the desktop and soaked into the blotter. Dark splashes surrounded the chair.

‘The police removed the body, and still have the letter-opener,’ Vastra explained. ‘They are, as seems to be the natural state of the police, baffled.’

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully. ‘I was speaking to Hapworth’s man, Carlisle. He says the door was locked and there’s no other way in or out. Is that right?’

‘Unless Carlisle is lying about the door. But he
seems truthful enough, and not a little upset.’

‘Distraught, even,’ the Doctor agreed.

‘The window was locked and shuttered. The lock is secure, with no signs of it being forced.’

‘Hidden doorway?’ the Doctor suggested. ‘Bookcases can conceal a variety of sins.’

‘Not in this case, so far as I can ascertain.’

‘So what do the police think, aside from being baffled?’

‘They have decided that it must be either suicide or a bizarre accident, under the circumstances. They are therefore happy for me to investigate.’

‘Well it saves them the effort.
Could
it be suicide?’ he wondered.

‘No.’

‘Or an accident?’

‘Unlikely. I saw the body
in situ
. He was stabbed in the middle of the back. He could not have reached to do it himself. As you can see, there is nowhere in the back of the chair where the blade could have been fixed either by accident or design for the poor man to fall back against and impale himself in such a manner.’

Vastra returned to her examination of the bookcases while the Doctor looked over the desk. A blood-stained sheet of writing paper bore the beginnings of a letter – just the salutation: ‘Madame Vastra’.

‘He was writing to me,’ she explained, seeing
where the Doctor was looking. ‘In a state of agitation, according to Carlisle. I did know Hapworth, though more in the nature of an acquaintance than as a friend. He was a man of learning, and his knowledge has proved useful in the past.’

‘Jenny said you knew him.’

Vastra nodded. ‘You have seen Jenny. That explains how you come to be here. You were at the Frost Fair?’

‘The Carnival of Curiosities.’ He picked up the cardboard ticket from beside the blotter. ‘And this is the only clue you have found that might explain where he had been or what had upset him?’

‘That and the three small birds.’

The Doctor frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. ‘Birds? What birds?’

‘Oh not real birds.’ Vastra turned from the bookcase. ‘They are made from paper, folded into the shape of a bird. Three of them. Rather stylised, quite clever.’

‘Origami, you mean?’

‘Do I?’

‘Japanese for “folded paper”, though thinking about it the word won’t be used much around here for another sixty years yet.’ He lifted the blotter to look underneath, then moved the wooden rack containing paper and envelopes. ‘So where are these origami birds?’

Vastra walked over to join him. ‘That’s strange,’ she
said, looking down at the desk. ‘They were just there, beside the carnival ticket. I wonder where they went.’

The Doctor shrugged. ‘Probably not important.’ He smiled. ‘It’s good to see you again, Vastra. And don’t worry about the birds. They must be around somewhere. They can’t have flown away.’