The Dark Between Part 9

Kate grinned. "Ready to swallow her in one gulp."

Chapter 13.

Shamed by Kate Poole's threat, Asher kept to the background while Elsie posed the girl for a series of photographs. He'd taken a seat on a wooden bench, affecting boredom as Elsie brushed the girl's hair until it rippled softly down her back. It seemed to Asher that Kate's hair, glinting a deep auburn in the sunlight, sighed with relief to be free of its customary plaits. Elsie had dressed her in a loose-fitting white dress-some sort of nightgown, he thought-but it achieved the medieval look she'd sought for the portrait.

Asher had scoffed at the idea of photographing an awkward girl like Kate, but with her soft hair and flowing gown she wasn't quite so dreary a subject as he'd expected. Her face lost some of its sharpness when her hair hung loose by her cheeks. Her color had improved, too, and her skin looked smoother than when he'd first seen her.

Elsie, on the other hand-it took effort not to stare at her as she worked. For a girl who ordinarily moved as if walking through a dream, she was surprisingly precise with her camera. Her clear sense of purpose beguiled him, but at the same time he was intimidated by her expertise with the contraption. Afterward he offered to carry the camera and plate holder to the darkroom for her, but she declined. She hadn't met his gaze directly all morning.

As he watched her walk away, he sensed Kate at his elbow. He turned to find her smiling coyly. She looked almost pretty.

"My, what big eyes you have," she murmured.

He sighed. "Let's get this over with."

"Just allow me to dress-I'll be quick."

She was quick. In less than ten minutes she returned wearing an everyday white blouse and brown skirt, her hair restrained once more in plaits. Her hat was less crumpled than the first day he'd met her-perhaps Elsie had tended to it.

"I don't even know where we're going," he said.

"Regent Street, near Parker's Piece."

He stared at her blankly.

"It's not far. Just follow me."

They took the same route he and Elsie had taken the day before, but instead of turning at Trumpington, they continued on to Regent. The building, quite obvious with POLICE boldly chiseled into the stone arch above the door, stood on the west side of the road.

In that moment Asher imagined himself a police detective, or better yet a gentleman detective consulting with the police on a murder case. Surely that would be more interesting than a career spent in a dusty courtroom. He knew he was clever and had a good eye for details. He could become the sort of person who merely glanced at a dead body and knew exactly how the poor soul had died and why. He could be the American Sherlock Holmes-just as intuitive and logical, but not nearly so odd.

"All right," said Kate, clasping her hands. "There should be a constable at the front desk. Tell him you've heard about the murdered boy and you think we might be able to identify him."

"Why do I have to do everything?"

"You're male and you're posh. Don't you remember how Jones treated me at the Summerfield gate? He listened to you."

Subdued by her words, Asher opened the door, remembering just in time to let her go before him, and approached the young man hunched over the counter.

"Excuse me, constable?"

The man looked up. "Yeah?"

"We're, um ... we're here about the body found last night in Queens' Green."

"Here to confess, eh?" The man's eyes sparkled with mischief. He hardly looked older than Asher.

"Of course not!" Asher took a breath and relaxed his clenched fists. "We think we may know who it is."

The constable straightened. "Well, I've only just come on duty. Last night would have been Sergeant Floyd-he'd be more help to you."

"Is he here?"

"No, he don't come in until after four." He looked around. "Truth is, we're a little short of staff right now."

Kate stepped forward. "All I want is to see the body. I don't have any questions for the sergeant."

His eyes widened. "You want to gawp at a corpse? We're not running a sideshow here, miss."

"I'm not here for entertainment. I fear it's my friend you've got back there. Couldn't you please just let me have a look?" she asked. "It won't take much of your time."

The young constable studied her for a moment. "I'd like to help you, but it's contrary to the rules. I'd catch a great deal of trouble for letting a stranger off the street into the morgue."

"Perhaps we should go, Kate," Asher said quietly.

She turned bold eyes to him. "I think all the constable needs is a little encouragement."

"What?"

She rubbed her index finger and thumb together.

"I never suggested anything like that," the constable objected, and yet the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.

Asher glanced back at Kate, fully prepared to end this farce with a cutting remark, but her expression choked the words in his throat. Her chin was up, but her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

Before coming to Cambridge he'd never bribed anyone in his life, but if this continued he'd be bankrupt by the end of the week. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a half crown. "Well, constable?"

The young man affected indecision for the briefest moment. Then he grinned. "Oh, why not-I'm bored as it is. But I can't be away from the desk for more than a moment."

"A moment is all I need," said Kate.

Pocketing the coin, the constable led them down a long corridor, past several offices, to a room at the far end of the building. When he opened the door, a sickening odor a.s.sailed Asher's nostrils. Was that the smell of a dead body? How was it possible to live your life working amid such a stench? Feeling lightheaded, he quickly drew a handkerchief from his pocket. After staring at it for a moment, he steadied himself and offered it to Kate.

She shook her head.

"Ah, it's just the one body. Coroner will come for it by the end of the day." The constable pointed to a table draped in cloth. "Just a small fry, I'm afraid." He pulled the cloth back to reveal a boy with pale hair and skin a deathly alabaster. The flesh of his face was sinking, and his jaw was darkened by a bruise ... or perhaps decay. Asher glanced at Kate out of the corner of his eye. Though she stood straight, her face had lost all color.

"Is it your friend?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

He braced himself to catch her, thinking she might fall to the floor in a faint, but somehow she held steady. After a moment she took a step closer, lifting the cloth to peer at the boy's hand before turning to the constable. "I see marks on his wrist, as though he were bound."

Asher stared at her, unsettled by such a coldly stated observation. Beside him the constable nodded absently.

"There's a bruise on his jaw, too, but he had that the last time I saw him," she continued. "How did he die?"

The constable snapped his fingers. "Now I remember hearing of this one. d.i.c.k said something about it just this morning." He took a deep breath and shook his head.

Asher waited in vain for him to continue. "Well? What did you hear?"

The constable's only response was another deep sigh.

Asher dug into his pocket again. "For pity's sake, this is the last coin I have."

"Well, I won't show you the entire body," the constable said, pocketing the money, "but from what I heard, there's no evidence of fatal trauma. No cuts or heavy bruising." He pulled the cloth to the boy's waist. "They did note these two marks."

Asher leaned in. Two red splotches stood out on the boy's sunken chest. "What are they?"

The constable shrugged. "Search me. They look a bit like burns, but nothing that would kill a boy. The only other thing I can say is, he wasn't outside for very long, 'cause there's no maggots. Someone kept him in a cool, sheltered place after he died. For a while, anyway." He turned to Kate. "You say you know who he is?"

"His name was Billy," she said quietly. "I'm afraid I don't know his surname. He might have been an orphan. He worked for ... well, he did odd jobs around Castle End."

"That's not much to go on," the constable said.

"Did you find anything in his clothes?" Kate asked. "A gold watch, perhaps?"

He moved across the room to open a drawer. "No watch here. Why would a boy like this have a gold watch?"

"Because I lent it to him," Kate said, her expression forbidding.

"No doubt he sold it, or it was stolen," the constable said. "You said he was a Castle End boy, right? That other body-the old man-was from Castle End, too. Curious, ain't it?"

Kate didn't blink. "What will happen to the body?"

"Well, I ain't exactly certain." The constable frowned. "With no one to claim him, he'll likely find his rest in a pauper's grave at Mill Road. There's the inquest to get through yet, though that's not likely to take long."

Asher pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to the young man. "We are staying at Summerfield College. Would you contact me about burial when the coroner is done with him?"

Once out of the building, Asher paused to inhale the smells of the street. Even fresh pony droppings were a relief after that death reek. Kate stood rigidly next to him, her eyes dark against the pale of her skin.

He cleared his throat. "Are you ... I mean, shall we go?"

Her only response was a curt nod.

As they made their way back to the college, Kate kept her head down. Her silence unsettled him. He'd offered money to that fool of a constable, not to mention his card, but she didn't seem at all grateful or inclined to explain. Why was she keeping him in the dark?

He did know one thing, however-the boy had been her friend. Perhaps she was struggling not to cry. A gentler approach might draw her out, but Asher wasn't accustomed to speaking in a soothing way to young ladies.

"May I know more about this poor friend of yours?" he finally asked.

Kate gave him a sidelong glance but said nothing.

"Miss Poole, I'm only curious. You went to a lot of trouble to see his body."

She sighed. "I thank you for your company-and your coins-today. You made things much easier than they otherwise would have been."

He nodded, somewhat mollified.

"There's not much more to say," she continued. "Billy's dead, and at the moment I've no idea who's responsible." She glanced at him again. "But you can be sure I'll find out."

Chapter 14.

Elsie gently dropped the paper into the developing solution. The negative image from the gla.s.s plate blossomed quickly over the stiff paper, creating a positive image of Kate reaching for a rose, her head turned to the side and hair rippling over her shoulder.

"You've put her in a nightgown," her aunt had exclaimed.

"We're not leaving the grounds of the garden," she'd calmly replied. "Besides, you can't see anything. She's fully covered." Aunt Helena merely rolled her eyes.

Elsie smiled as she immersed the photograph in fixing solution. She'd tried for something like Julia Margaret Cameron's The Gardener's Daughter-the virginal, innocent beauty of a girl contemplating a flower. In this photograph Kate seemed bored rather than enraptured, but it still worked well.

For the second image, she had moved the camera closer for a profile view of Kate standing by the vine-covered outer wall of the Thompson Building. Here she'd aimed to follow the style of Cameron's Maud or Alethea, with the subject's hair mingling with the greenery, her expression otherworldly. Kate's hair turned out beautifully, but Kate herself was stifling a giggle. Elsie had to admit it was charming to see Kate smile, but there was nothing ethereal about her expression.

The third was the best of the lot. Kate stood in front of a young willow tree, a slender branch held before her face. The gentle morning light softened the girl's skin. Elsie had asked her to look directly into the camera, but the expression of challenge on Kate's face had been entirely her own idea. Look at me, her eyes said. I know something you don't. I've seen things you haven't. Elsie preferred this bold expression to the demure profile of the first two photographs.

She'd taken only three shots of Kate, but one plate remained. She studied it, trying to recall what it was. She'd not brought any undeveloped plates from Peverel Place. When she held it up to the amber light, she could make out two figures standing next to a large structure.

The last time she'd used her camera was ... Oh yes. It was the photograph of Asher and Kate, taken near the small outbuilding at the far end of the garden. That was the day she'd had her seizure-the day her new acquaintances had witnessed just how strange she could be. What a warm welcome she'd given them.

She exposed the plate to paper and placed the latter in the developing solution. The image spread like a stain, revealing Asher, wide-eyed and smiling fatuously, standing next to a grimacing Kate. Elsie giggled. It was a crisply focused shot, but certainly not a flattering likeness of either of them.

A blur next to Kate caught Elsie's eye. She bent closer, scrutinizing the flaw, but the details were impossible to make out in the low light. She quickly lifted the print and placed it in the finishing solution, waiting the appropriate amount of time before she could risk exposing the image to bright light. Finally she switched on the electric lamp-such a marvel-and held the print near it.

It wasn't a flaw in the photograph. It was a blur, indeed, but the blur had human outlines. Squinting, she could just make out a small boy standing next to Kate. A small boy in a very grown-up jacket and hat. Had she double-exposed the plate? She couldn't see how, for she'd not encountered any children for months.

The closer she looked, the clearer the details became. Under the brim of his hat the boy's eyes were dark splotches. His mouth gaped in a silent cry.

Elsie dropped the photo with a shudder.

Though she'd longed to run directly to Tec after that wretched visit to the police station, Kate barely had time to drop by the kitchen and stuff a piece of bread in her mouth before reporting to Freeman at the library. She couldn't afford to rouse the woman's ire anytime soon if she wanted to keep her situation, and thus she had no choice but to push her sorrow and frustration to the back of her mind. She threw herself into work for the rest of the day, heaving boxes and sorting through unruly stacks of books as if her life depended on it. Before she left to change for supper, Freeman nodded grudgingly.

"Good work, Poole."