Nettleblack, page 16
Septimus swallowed, quite audibly. “I – look, I never said I wanted – ”
“Well, then!” They tossed a glance past Septimus’s shoulder, to where I trembled at the corridor’s end. “If this is but benign Hallowe’en sport, why not vary the rigmarole, and let your sweet-haired colleague have a go at demanding my secrets? Or, better yet – shall I call for dear Director Ballestas? Terribly unfortunate for her to miss the fun, particularly the part where I request your immediate dismissal unless you let go of me this instant.”
I couldn’t catch Septimus’s face, but the chignon twitched. Plums, that was indication enough. “Well! I’ve got a witness too! I was provoked!”
Property laughed outright. “You certainly were, dear. But do you imagine the pride of Bedford College will take the pageboy’s word for it? Don’t fret – ” (and this to me, with a pale-toothed grin) “ – it isn’t your honesty the Director will doubt, it’s your nerve. How can she assume otherwise, but that you’ll simply be parroting all the excuses your fearsome Division Sergeant drilled into you?”
“She can think for herself!”
“As can you.” Property grinned, leaned up until their teeth were a quivering thumb’s-width from Septimus’s chin. “A whole gauntlet of furious thoughts pounding the inside of that frowning forehead. I wonder how many of them you’ve shared with your employer of late?”
Septimus hissed. “You – ”
“Division Sergeant!”
The two sprang apart, quite as if they’d both been surprised in some peculiar flirtation. The Director had appeared at my shoulder, as stern as her indefatigable smile allowed, sleeve folded over sleeve in nonchalant menace. Her voice was a veritable rein to Septimus, though it hardly did anything to dampen Property’s amusement. Dapper with innocence, the cravat designer simply darted their fingers down the glove-buttons, finally fastened the cuff back over their wrist.
“I can only apologise if Septimus has been giving you any trouble, Miss – or – Mr. – Property. I assure you, it’s not at all the Division’s intention to menace you.”
Property dashed a hand over their pomaded hair, curled their lip when their kidskin fingers came away with grease at the tips. “Just Property, if you please. For future reference. But as for your question – I don’t think the sweet sergeant was attempting to – ah – menace me. Unless she disagrees?”
“Yes!” Septimus burst out. Apples, I surmised, but it must have been pure instinct to disagree with Property, whatever the ominous consequences. “I – I mean – no – I didn’t mean – I wasn’t – ”
“Darling, you’ve already dug your grave,” Property drawled, mock-weary, “It would be simply unkind of me to stand by and let you embroider a winding-sheet to go with it. Now – ”
“I ain’t embroidering anything!”
A sharp cackle. “And we’ve brought her back to ain’t! Don’t you bother to retort, or I’ll make a complaint. Gracious, I’m a poet! Director Ballestas – look – I really do have things to be getting on with today, effeminately lovely as your new recruit may be – so, am I here purely to appreciate the architectural fruits of your council funding, or is there another reason?”
Septimus and I quite flushed in unison, though she had her mouth open and a retort halfway past her collar before the Director glowered her quiet.
“Very well, Property, you’ve had your fun. I appreciate that this quarrel between you and Septimus must be trying, but I can’t allow you to insult her – ”
“Can’t you? So I’m to copy one of your placating smiles, and bow to the sweet sergeant’s every spontaneous calumny, and never mind the havoc your Division’s constant attention wreaks on my life? Am I to be making a complaint after all, then?”
Now we all stared at them. Unnervingly unmatched with the wicked smirk, one eyebrow arched neatly in perfect sincerity.
It was the Director’s turn to flush. “I’m sure we meant no offence – ”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Now, what was it you all wanted from me this time? Ah, yes – The Pirates of Penzance!”
“Precisely.” The Director swallowed, plumbing for the calming smile and not quite reaching it. At Property’s side, Septimus was glaring at the floor, gnawing her lower lip to spots of blood. “As I understand from Septimus, you were perfectly positioned to witness the moment the head was discovered.”
Property’s other eyebrow soared up to match the raised one. “Gracious, she really is clutching at straws, isn’t she?”
“We simply wish to ask you what you saw,” the Director snapped, blinking the quip away. Property, unfazed, was already halfway into another pinwheeling retort when the Director cut across them, unfurling her voice until it thrummed the spiders in the roof-beams above. “Cassandra, the sketch!”
Sloeberries. It must have been horrendously apparent even to Property – pears, especially to Property – that Cassandra’s imminent mocking scrutiny was all but the last humiliating straw for Septimus. She folded her arms and hunched back into her shoulders, as if to squeeze the colour out of her face, barely managing it before a rattle of steps announced the other Division Sergeant’s arrival. Gertie was following her, just to intensify the gauntlet, lurking in the shadows to relish the chaos she had determined to enjoy the previous night. Much to my twitching alarm, Cassandra was brandishing the sketch I had made – the handiwork of the disastrous creature who sent three drawing-masters sprinting in disgust, a thousand times more gauche by the drizzly light of day.
“The Ballestas protégée! Mighty descendant of Freetown’s finest innovator!” Property cried. Cassandra shot them a wry look, shrivelled it hastily to a loyal sneer the moment she caught her mother’s eye.
“Back at the Division again, I see. We ought to make you a detective.”
Property winked at her. “You’ve got ink on your nose, prophetess.”
The remark, for all its offhand insouciance, shot Cassandra’s face straight to sudden staring suspicion – only for an instant, before she slapped the sneer back into place. The Director slid the sketch from her daughter’s hand, pinched her a curious frown, a question which the latter seemed not in the least inclined to answer. With Cassandra unforthcoming on her brief consternation, the Director turned away from her, and – peaches, no! – offered the travesty of a drawing to Property.
“This is the man whose head was found at the theatre. To jog your memory.”
The cravat designer’s expression in the face of that sketch would have been enough to hurl even a genuine artist’s oeuvre on the bonfire. It was more than sufficient for curdling my innards, stinging the blush across my cheekbones, draining spare reserves of gumption out through my twisting fingers.
“I see. Well. The outline style is an interesting choice – we have a young Pre-Raphaelite in our midst! – but I must confess my memory decidedly un-jogged. Really, sweet Divisioners – flattered as I ought to be that you all deem me such a dastardly medium, I truly do not possess the capacity to pick loose the seams of this town’s criminal underthings, and my ignorance on that matter is not about to change.”
It was impossible to discern whether Septimus or I were more profoundly in the grip of cringing mortification. Property twirled the sketch in their gloved hand like an improvised fan, chin tilted with a puckish smile.
“But, for the sake of your poor mortal souls, I’ll offer up what I do know. Stalwart Monsieur Ticket Register spoke brave and true: I did indeed attend that performance, and I did indeed quiver as your proverbial tête noire came wafting out of the pirate-chest – ”
“Hang on!”
All eyes jerked to Septimus, as indeed did a fair number of spasming hands. The Director was already moving to draw her back – Cassandra to assist her mother – Property to swat her with the sketch for the sudden interruption – but she wasn’t making for the cravat designer. Instead, with a universal glower for the room’s wariness, she stalked to the desk, grabbed the nearest ledger, flipped it to an empty page and shoved it towards me. Pointedly oblivious to Cassandra’s furious stare, she jabbed a pencil into my hand.
“Note this all down.”
Cassandra’s mouth fell open. “But – ”
“What?” Septimus snapped, skidding about to glare at her. “She knows her letters. Ain’t only you who gets to write.”
For a startling moment, it seemed as if Cassandra intended to thrash past her and snatch the ledger from me. Property’s eyes glinted, in evident hope that she would. The Director cleared her throat, an improvised warning, striding between the two Division Sergeants to cut off their scowls.
“Septimus, Cassandra, attend to the testimony. Please continue, Property.”
Property dipped the Director an ironical bow. “With relish, my sweet utopian. Where was I? Of course – quivering – quivering along with, I’m sorry to say, a goodly proportion of Dallyangle’s population, and a companion in my box to keep me out of mischief. The theatre shuddered under the roars of the pirate chorus – it was presumably supposed to constitute a song – and then, under the roars of the audience, as said pirate chorus opened their chest and brandished a head to the flies. But I couldn’t have planted that head in the chest – for, gracious, I’m sure at least one individual here has considered the possibility – as I spent a good two hours before curtain-up enjoying a chaotic eel-supper with that same companion of mine, who would be more than happy to vouch for my presence should the need arise. The only person who went anywhere near that chest pre-head was the one who brought it onstage for the infinitely stupid burglary scene – a sort of moth-eaten Prince Charming with golden hair and a painted tattoo. Idle speculation, but – isn’t that sweet Septimus’s brother?”
Across the desk, Septimus’s voice cracked. I couldn’t look up; my pencil was all but aflame with my frantic scribbling. “You – you’d dare – ”
Property ignored her. “I don’t know who put that head there, but I can assure you that it wasn’t me. Apart from anything else, I’ve no need to have done it. Whoever the culprit was – and, I say it again, the only one who touched that chest was our fraternal tenor – they were clearly determined to get your attention. Dio mio, but wouldn’t you all agree I’ve got quite enough of that?”
The stunned silence that followed this aria was just enough for me to scrawl in the last few details, my thumb cricked taut on the pencil – it was a veritable race against time before I snapped it. I didn’t lift my gaze from the page when a few sleek steps crossed the room towards me, not until a curled hand cupped my chin and raised my head. How could I do otherwise than gasp, with the dregs of pomade on their gloves cold and slimy against my skin? Septimus gasped too – the Director must have been holding her back, with eyes or hand.
Sweet bergamots. Property’s smirk was suddenly alarmingly close.
“Now, sweet Hylas, I do hope you kept up. Make sure you add a footnote for your Division Sergeant – have it stress quite how stupendously lucky she is that I’m not making another complaint.”
I blinked. I hardly dared do more.
Property swirled about on one polished leather boot, sauntered back towards the doors. The rain was still beading down the windowpanes, not that it slowed their pace in the slightest. They were astonishingly at ease – more than at ease – they were whistling, and the tune I just about recognised. I’d had it sung at me, jaunty in Lorrie’s voice, as he grinned on the market’s edge, a short strange sentiment about crowbars and centre-bits and Cat-Like Tread.
“They won’t,” Septimus snarled, as the doors slammed. A slap of rain across the floor was all we got by way of retort. “They won’t pin this on Lorrie. Damn it, I won’t let ’em!”
Cassandra leant back on the desk, not without a quick scowl towards where I lurked trembling with the ledger. “Isn’t this a sea-change, Javert! You usually explode with pride whenever anyone brings up your brother and his pirate-chest – ”
“Cassandra, enough,” the Director hissed. Her voice slumped into a sigh, long and shuddering. “No one will be jumping to any conclusions. Matthew is still compiling testimonies from the backstage workers – once we’ve examined them, the business should hopefully become clearer. Septimus, take the rest of the day off.”
Septimus stared at her, jaw slackening. “No! Not if you’re – ”
“No one is going to approach your brother tonight. You have my word.”
“But – the head – we have to – ”
“We have to maintain control of the situation. As far as Dallyangle is concerned, the Division is dealing expertly with this unpleasant matter – but we will only be able to deal expertly with this unpleasant matter if you keep your emotions out of it. Inviting Property into another case was a mistake, and one which you will not repeat.”
“But – ”
“You’re off-duty until tomorrow morning. That’s an order, Division Sergeant.”
Septimus shouldered past her and stormed down the corridor before I could even draw breath, far too swiftly for me to make out her features. Gertie followed suit in a noiseless retreat, not without a wry grimace to me before the corridor swallowed her up. I was half-inclined to drop the ledger and trace the same path. Pomegranates, I’ve not the faintest why – it just seemed horrendously imperative to search out Septimus’s face and assure it that I hadn’t been swayed by Property’s spiel. But I didn’t – I couldn’t. Having me spasming at her heels would doubtless only shrivel her mood further.
The Director sighed again, one hand drumming an absentminded arpeggio onto the desk. Her face was all too clear, struck with threefold light from the lamps and the windows and the wood-burner. She was weary, devoid of her smile, creased at the eyes with the effort of pressing something down beneath her expression. I’d quite no idea whether I ought to speak, and she seemed in no hurry to find words. Instead, she slipped off her spectacles, dashed her fingers up to massage the dents they left on her nose.
“Cassandra,” she murmured eventually. Word by word, she was uncoiling, the careful poise of earlier gently put aside. “You have to stop vexing her.”
Cassandra snorted. “When she stops vexing you, I will!”
“Your mockery isn’t gallant,” the Director returned irritably, shining her glasses on her jacket sleeve. “It is exhausting. Do as you know I would, and end it.”
For a moment, Cassandra seemed on the point of retorting again – but this time, something caught it before the quip could form. She fished the ring of keys from her pocket, slipped them into her mother’s hand.
“I’ll do better. I’ll get the head back.”
It was the Director’s turn to stare. “What?”
“Don’t you fret, you haven’t got room for any more fret,” Cassandra blurted, squeezing the Director’s elbow. In four rather over-cheery strides, she had crossed the room and unhooked her lantern from where it dangled on the coat-stand. “Javert can’t find the head, that’s all. But I will. I’ll go and look tonight – have another try at the practical side. Panic not, you’ve still got one Division Sergeant who knows how to function!”
“Cassandra – are you telling me the head is missing?”
“Not after tonight, it won’t be!” Cassandra had a hand on the wood of the door, grinning beneath her freckles, eyes bright and triumphant. “Really, Mother – you could have a little more faith in me!”
“Cassandra – !”
But Cassandra was gone, swirling through the double doors, sauntering into the fading rain.
The Director glanced to me, and I remembered my continued existence at roughly the same instant. I started, enough to finally snap the pencil. I could only hope that my habitual terrified stare was not poised to incriminate me for yet another contemporaneous offence.
“Do you know anything of this, Miss Hyssop?”
Words. I’d all but forgotten them.
“I – erm – well – quite – I mean – yes – sort of – ”
“Where is the head?”
“Gone,” I managed, strangled as a piccolo. “I – erm – I think – missing since last night – quite – ”
She gritted her teeth. “And how many people know of this?”
“I – Septimus – Cassandra – Gertie – me – you – Septimus – ”
“I see.” Her fingers stiffened on the desk, pressed at the tips into a straining steeple. “We must make sure to keep it that way. There’s no need to worry the town. With any luck, Septimus has simply misplaced it.”
Property’s voice sang in my head – it isn’t your honesty they’ll doubt, it’s your nerve – and the phrases leapt out before I could quench them. “But – Septimus – she didn’t move it – it was in the morgue – erm – when Gertie and I left – after I drew the sketch – she can’t have lost it – and she was brilliant when she had it before – at the theatre – getting all the information – and – ”
“Miss Hyssop.” The Director uncreased herself at the eyes – the effect was startlingly stern. “Whilst I appreciate your good intentions, now is not the time for mounting the Division Sergeant’s defence. I have the whole Division to protect, and my own credibility with it, until this head can be found, and preventing any further mishaps must remain my priority. Of Septimus, I can only say this – I had high hopes for her, and it is my fervent wish that she will stop laying waste to them.”
I gulped, nodded. Her gaze was a warning. As far as she was concerned, there’d be no more discussion – of her strategic arrangements, of Septimus’s faltering abilities, of Cassandra’s parting-shot, of any of it. Not with me.
“Now.” She blinked hard, and the smile flared back, brighter than the gaslamps, elegant and serene and with entirely no hint left in it that anything was amiss. “I will search the building for the head, and – wait – is that your transcription?”
