Sweet Things Dying - Prologue I

The first instalment from the first Adam Cole novel...

Welcome readers! Below is the first chapter from Sweet Things Dying, the first novel in the Adam Cole series. Enjoy and comment! If you like what you read and wish to read more, please subscribe using the buttons below…

Prologue I

London

October 1886

Adam Cole, private investigator, kicked through a mound of leaves and newsprint caught up on a street corner and marched with head down, lost in thought over the single line of the message that had drawn him out into the evening:

GIRL HOME – COME AT ONCE

The “girl” was Heather Bloom, but why pay the telegraph office for the extra letters to write her name in full?  That she was home effectively ended an arduous investigation he’d been working the last three days. The summons should square up the last of his fee, though he was worried her parents would argue otherwise since Heather had returned on her own.

In any case, he hoped to get some answers if only to satisfy his own suspicions as to why Heather Bloom had run off to begin with; why she’d left a note threatening suicide before vanishing and leaving her family sick with worry.

“Hardly the actions of a girl from a proper home,” said Sacker, the solicitor through whom Cole had received the case – through whom he received all his cases. He had said it three days earlier when they’d first discussed the matter.

At the time, Cole thought he’d agreed with the sentiment, but hadn’t put much significance into it. He had no idea what a “proper home” was. “She’s just eighteen,” he added. “There’s no telling what goes through a girl’s mind at that age.”

“But thoughts of suicide?”

Cole shrugged: “It’s not so unusual. The pressures of becoming a woman and all that. Expectations of marriage, children…” He shivered at the thought. “And with her parents being so bloody pious – ”

“And that’s just it,” said Sacker. “Her father is a god-damned reverend. One would think she’d know better than to kill herself. What does the Bible say about suicide being the greatest sin?”

 When he’d first hired Cole to find Heather, Reverend Bloom had expressed concern over his daughter’s soul if she indeed took such a drastic step. Cole could only reassure him that it was just a note. There was no reason to assume she meant it. He reiterated the thought to Sacker: “I will approach this as if she’s alive and will be found as such.”

And he had been right to. Now she was home, and Cole was outside her door. He wondered if he’d be allowed to question her, to get the answers three days of pounding the streets had failed to turn up. But to get those answers would mean getting past the good reverend.

Directly he knocked the door was opened. The glare of light that spilled out from the foyer was immediately eclipsed:

“Good evening, Mr. Cole. Thank you for coming.”

The sonorous voice – the practised tone of a public speaker – rattled the bones under Cole’s flesh. He removed his hat and nodded. “Reverend Bloom. Thank you for the notice. I came as soon as Mr. Sacker forwarded it. I trust Heather is well?”

“She is home and seems in good health.”

“I’m glad to hear of it. May I?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, but the large man stepped aside and let Cole inside.

“Quite the wind has stirred up,” Bloom said, closing the door. “Leave your coat here. This way.”

A fire in the grate warmed the book-lined parlour off the foyer. Only one other person was in the room. It was not Heather but instead her mother who gave a meek smile from a high-backed chair positioned close to the fire.

Cole nodded: “Mrs. Bloom. I’m happy to hear of Miss Heather’s safe return. You must be relieved.”

She opened her mouth, paused. Her eyes flitted past Cole’s shoulder. He could feel the weight of Bloom’s shadow pass over the room as the man filled the doorway behind him.

Mrs. Bloom smiled. “Naturally, Mr. Cole. Thank you.”

“When did she return?”

Reverend Bloomed answered: “Not two hours ago.”

Cole disliked the feel of the man so close behind him. He stepped side-long and glanced at the two of them. “Of her own volition?” he asked.

“Quite so. She came in through the door as always, as if nothing had happened. She might have been returning from a day’s work. She tried to slink upstairs. We were sat in here praying for her safe return, no less. And the Good Lord delivered, Mr. Cole.” The eyes behind the round, gold-rimmed spectacles narrowed as if to say, Whereas you did not.

“A miracle you might say.”

“Only a fool would think otherwise.”

Of Mrs. Bloom, Cole asked, “Did you speak with your daughter? Could she tell you where she’s been these last few days?”

“Not yet. My husband – ”

“I stopped Heather on the stairs,” Bloom said, “and I demanded an explanation – an apology for what she’d put her mother and I through.”

“A bit of a harsh welcome, was it not?”

Bloom snapped his head around. The fire in the grate flashed off his spectacles. “Do you think so, Mr. Cole? Is that your opinion as a father? Or am I right to recall you have no children?”

“You’re quite correct, reverend. I haven’t. But I think you misunderstood my meaning.” Best not rile Bloom too much. Or else he’d find himself crawling back to Sacker with empty pockets. “I meant from the girl,” he said. “For her to march in here without a word seems rather disrespectful.”

“Yes, I quite thought so. My wife may disagree.”

“She is just a girl,” Mrs. Bloom said. “And she’s fast becoming a woman. This is a difficult time in her life.”

Bloom scoffed: “Difficult? How so? She has a good home, a job – she is much admired.”

“Admiration has its burdens,” Mrs. Bloom added.

Yes she was admired, Cole thought, if only on the outside. Pretty and popular. The centre of attention at her work. But still a stranger to everyone with whom Cole had enquired. Most admitted that while they knew of her, they did not really know her and could name no one who did. Her parents could not name a single friend she had, beyond those she was made to have at church. To everyone she was just the Reverend and Mrs. Bloom’s daughter.

There were suitors. Men who were served their coffee by her and who thought they loved her – hoped she might, if they pushed hard enough, fall for them. Some would brag that she secretly had fallen for them, but Cole never took the bragging as more than just that.

Her disappearance had raised an alarm, sent many into the street to help find her. Only no one had any idea where to start looking. It took Heather Bloom returning on her own for the mystery of her disappearance to end. For Cole, questions remained.

“Did she say anything when you confronted her?” he asked.

Bloom shrugged. “She has said she was sorry but needed some time to compose herself. I nearly grabbed her by the arm, pulled her down the stairs and made her explain herself, but my wife insisted she be allowed some time.”

“Where is she now?”

“Her room in the garret.”

Cole glanced toward the stairs, startled to see a small face regarding him between the balustrades. It was like a doll’s face, very white with big, unblinking eyes. But it was not a doll. It was a girl of no more than ten, though the spark of interest within her eyes suggested a curiosity beyond simple childish wonder. He smiled politely but she gave no response – just a deeper stare. A creepy little girl, he thought.

“Sweet girl,” he said aloud.

Bloom looked to the stairs. “Milly! How long have you been there? Go on, off to bed.”

Milly rose to her feet, eyes locked on Cole, then turned and raced up the stairs. When her footfalls had vanished to an upper floor, Bloom said, “The impertinence of these girls, Mr. Cole! May God give me strength.”

At the start of his enquiries Cole had asked if there were any siblings. Bloom had said there was just one sister but had refused his request to speak with her. He’d insisted, “She is much too young to be of any use.” And that had been an end of it.

And now it was an end of it and Cole’s interest returned to Heather.

“Before I make my leave, reverend, would it be possible to speak with Heather if only for a few moments?”

“You must forgive me if I fail to see the point now that she is home.”

“Professional interest,” he said, but knew some elaboration was needed. “I may be able to learn something about where she went and why – maybe I can determine if there was a who involved…”

“There was no who,” Bloom said. “She is a spoiled and strong-willed girl, but her morals – ”

“All the same,” said Cole, interrupting. “You and her employer both mentioned she piqued an interest in many desirous suitors.”

“You imply my daughter may be some weak whore?”

Cole was surprised. “No, not at all. But surely you see the logic in the possibility of some gentleman entering her life? If not, then perhaps there is a more mundane explanation. Give me a chance to uncover it and I may be able to put your mind at ease, and keep her from running off again.”

“If she has no wish to explain herself to us why would she suddenly want to expose herself to a poor detective who failed to find her in the first place?”

The barb pierced his chest and Cole tensed. Stay professional, he told himself. “Well, I…”

“Bernard!”

Mrs. Bloom had left her chair and joined them by the stairs. She put a hand on her husband’s arm and looked at Cole: “I am sorry. My husband has forgotten his place as a good Christian. Please forgive him. It is the tension of this whole matter, you see.”

Cole smiled thinly. “I understand,” he said. He understood that the righteous were often too self-righteous. For now he gritted his teeth and took it.

“Yes, it is all of that, too,” Bloom muttered. He avoided looking at Cole. “However, my point stands. I do not – ”

“Why not let him speak to her?” his wife insisted. “You know as well as I she may never speak the whole truth of it to us. She has been so distant.”

“Distant?” Cole asked. They’d said nothing of it before.

“An effect of her age and gender,” Bloom said dismissively.

“Perhaps. But surely there’s no harm in allowing me to try?”

“She will not speak to you any more than she will to me. If I cannot use the grace of the Lord to convince her to speak, what could you possibly do?”

“I have the advantage of being a fellow human being. I do not need guidance from your Almighty to convince her to speak with me. I’ve heard confessions from cheats, liars and murderers all.”

“And you compare my daughter to these?”

“Not in the least. But if she’s experienced some trouble…”

“What trouble? She’s been raised in a good home, a home blessed with God’s love. I have seen to it myself. She is without worry, always has been. I’ve seen to that, too. Do you question my abilities as a father? If you’re so impertinent as that, you’d best question the job your own father has done with you.’

Childhood memories stabbed at Cole. Memories of a bloody knife and a dead boy. His father, raving and shackled, being dragged off by police. Days of tears and fear that eventually calmed but, years later, had never fully left him.

He shook his head. “I’m certain you and Mrs. Bloom have done everything right. It is not impertinence I wish to express, only my fullest assistance.”

Bloom calmed. His wife touched his arm. “My dear,” she said, “perhaps we might speak a moment?” She nodded toward the parlour.

She was on his side. Cole could see it. She wanted his help, someone to reach her daughter. Bloom went with her into the parlour and closed the door. Voices, muted and harsh, flared from beyond it. They could argue for hours but it would always come down to the reverend’s word, which would always be no. And Cole would be told he was no longer needed and shown to the door. Would he still be paid?

Cole sighed. To hell with the money – Sacker could come get it himself. And to hell with Bloom. He smiled at that bit of irony and moved to get his coat and hat from the door he glanced back up the stairs. Somewhere up there sat a puzzle he wanted an answer to.

The parlour door still rattled with Bloom’s resonant voice. A thought struck him. How long would they go on? Could he buy himself some time, make them think he’d given up and left?

Cole grabbed his coat and hat from the rack and turned the knob so the foyer door popped open just an inch. It would look as though he’d not quite pulled it shut on leaving. Then, mindful of his tread on the stairs, he wound his way upward.

On the second floor he froze. A door creaked behind him. He turned and saw Milly’s small face. One big eye peeked through the gap between the door and the jamb.

He smiled at her: “I won’t be a moment.”

She widened the gap, watching as he disappeared up the stairs to the garret.

The single door on the top landing was, to his surprise, already ajar. Light spilled out, cutting an orange wedge into the darkness. He crept forward, fist poised to knock. Peering into the room he saw her in the flesh for the first time and realised all the monochrome photographs and vivid descriptions he’d been granted in his search for Heather Bloom had failed to capture her.

She sat at a small table under the garret window, a pen in her right-hand skittering across loose pages spread out before her. The pen stopped suddenly, the way a foraging rabbit freezes on hearing a twig snap. Cole realised why she’d left the door open. Had he not been so quiet on the stairs she would have sensed him coming sooner, giving her time to hide whatever she was writing.

She straightened and turned quickly in her chair. The movement whipped back the long tresses of her crimson hair that had hidden her face. The cabinet photos had displayed a girl with a composure of doe-like innocence. That illusion was shattered by the purple circles blotting her brown eyes and the worry etched into the corners of her mouth. Her cheeks were pale and sunken, as though she were just recovering from some long illness. Though Cole was certain it was not an illness that had worn the young woman down, but instead an inner turmoil that he hoped to bring to light, if only to better understand the riddle that was Heather Bloom.

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