Sweet Things Dying - Chapter IX

In which Cole investigates Heather's bedroom...

IX

True to her word Milly cracked open the front door and waved to Cole who loitered in a doorway across the road. He glanced along the street as he crossed it. Seated on the steps of a house further down, a pipe stuck between his teeth, a man whom Cole vaguely recognised watched him go up and into the house. But he was forgotten as Milly eased the door shut and Cole turned his attention to the tomb-like silence of the house.

“Where is the maid?” he whispered.

“Busy in the kitchen. She nearly cried when she removed the groceries from the basket and saw the smashed eggs.”

“I’ll get her a chicken for Christmas.”

Milly held out an upturned hand: “And what have you got for me now?”

            Cole had tried to appeal to her nobility to let him into the house. Instead, after two minutes of pointless negotiation, he gave in and offered her a half-crown, with the promise of another if she busied the maid and got him inside.

            “You ought to be doing this for Heather,” he remarked.

            “You are doing this for Heather, and I am letting you do it for a small cost. I would say that brings things around nicely. Now, unless you pay, I will scream bloody murder.”

He rummaged in his pocket, produced the coin. “For a reverend’s daughter,” he said, dropping it into her hand, “you are a sinister little girl.”

She secreted the coin in her dresses. “Well, Jesus loves me no matter what.”

“He’s misjudged people before. Now, Heather’s room – is it still in the garret?”

“Keep your voice down. Yes, it is. And don’t walk so heavy on the stairs. I do not need to explain to the maid why I’m smuggling a ratty old man up to my sister’s room.”

“Nor do I need to explain to the police why I pushed a little girl down the stairs. So why don’t we both shut up?”

They wound their way to the top floor. Cole trod along the side edge of the stairs, where the joints were strongest and less likely to creak. Milly watched him and followed suit. They stopped on the uppermost landing.

“You are a remarkable sneak, Mr. Cole.”

“You’re quite good yourself.”

“I don’t suppose they will ever allow girls to become detectives?”

“Not unless you want detectives who shriek and faint every time they see blood or come across a corpse. It wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“I once saw a dog get run over by a cart. I neither shrieked nor fainted.”

“Then perhaps they will make an exception for you, Milly.”

He tried the garret door, found it locked.

“I told you father locked it. Do not even think of asking me to return the crown you gave me. I only promised to get you up here.”

“It’s no bother.”

He retrieved a small oilskin package from inside his coat. He knelt and unrolled it on the floor. Milly peered over his shoulder, watching as he removed thin metal picks from pouches stitched within and began to work at the lock. It proved more difficult than he’d assumed. Four minutes passed before the lock clicked.