Читать книгу Goodly and Grave in a Deadly Case of Murder - Justine Windsor, Justine Windsor - Страница 9

Lord Grave and Bathsheba climbed through the opening, followed by Lucy. She always found it a strange sensation to grab the rubbery edges of a shortcut as she stepped through to the other side. When the three of them were standing safely in St Olaf’s graveyard, Lucy reversed the shortcut by closing her eyes and this time imagining the opening growing smaller and smaller. Sure enough, when she reopened her eyes, the hole she’d made was shrinking rapidly to a pinpoint. There was a gust of wind, which ruffled Lucy’s hair, followed by a loud sucking noise as the hole sealed itself shut.

“So what do we do next?”

“We need to speak to that gentleman over there,” Lord Grave said. The gentleman in question was trimming the grass round the edges of the graveyard. Lord Grave strode over to him.

“Good evening, my man, are you Mr Brakespear?”

Mr Brakespear didn’t reply. He was too busy staring goggle-eyed at Bathsheba.

“That’s a … a …” he gibbered.

“Panther. Yes. Perfectly tame, I assure you. Could I ask a few questions about what happened here yesterday evening?”

“But I’ve already spoken to the parish constable!”

“Yes, of course. But we’re detectives. Different area of expertise. Would you mind explaining again what happened?”

“C-certainly,” Mr Brakespear replied, continuing to eye Bathsheba warily. “I had a busy day yesterday. I’d buried Mr Shannon and Mrs Munt in the afternoon. So I was down at the Bird in Hand having a quiet pint before going home to bed. Then one of the other regulars came in, said they’d seen light in the graveyard. So I thought I’d better have a look.”

“Do go on,” said Lord Grave.

“Someone was standing on Mr Shannon’s grave over there, digging away.” Mr Brakespear pointed to a fresh grave on the other side of the graveyard. “Couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman; they were too far away. I called out to warn ’em off. Soon as they heard my voice whoever it was scarpered. When I went to check I found that Mr Shannon’s grave had a big hole in the soil. But the coffin hadn’t been touched. Reckon I disturbed the thief before they could get to it. It’s quite shook us all up. The vicar’s going to get some more mortsafes in, like that one on Mrs Munt’s grave. There’s a good offer in the Penny—”

“Most disturbing,” Lord Grave said. “Do you have any thoughts on what might be happening?”

“Well, have you read the Penny? Sir Absalom—”

“Ah yes, I’m well versed in Sir Absalom’s crackpot theories. Well, thank you for your help; we won’t keep you any longer. Oh, just a second, there’s a fly on your forehead.” Lord Grave reached out and placed the tip of his right index finger between the gravedigger’s eyebrows. Sparks crackled up the middle of his forehead, over his cap and down to the back of his head. Mr Brakespear’s eyes grew wide and unfocused. After a few seconds, Lord Grave removed his finger. The gravedigger silently turned on his heel and walked off.

“Why did you do that?” Lucy asked. “And what was it?”

“I didn’t want him remembering us, just in case. If he mentions anything to the parish constable about detectives making enquiries, it could raise awkward questions. So I tweaked him.”

“You did what?”

“Tweaked him.”

Suddenly Lucy realised what he meant. Lord Grave had tweaked the memories of the children she’d rescued from the clutches of Amethyst Shade to remove all traces of their ordeal from their minds. But until now, she’d never seen a tweak performed. It was most impressive how effortless he made it seem. She suspected it was harder than it looked.

“Can I learn how to tweak?”

“Yes, when I think you’re ready. It’s a very delicate skill you know. Multi-purpose too. You can tweak personalities as well as memories, for example. But get it wrong and you’re in dire straits. Now, let’s get on. We need something to hide behind, just in case my instincts are right and our graverobber makes a reappearance.”

“Look, we could hide behind that,” Lucy said, pointing to a statue of an angel, which stood near Mr Shannon’s grave. The statue was somewhat disturbing to look at. It was green with lichen and had holes where its eyeballs should be. However, the handy thing about the angel was that it stood on a tall, wide plinth, which could screen Lucy and Lord Grave as well as Bathsheba while affording a decent view of Mr Shannon’s grave.

The sun began to set, accompanied by the twittering of the birds roosting in the trees. As darkness fell, the birds stopped singing one by one until a robin perched on the roof of the church gave the very final chirrup of the day. After that, the sounds of the night began. Bushes rustled with unseen creatures. An owl swooped overhead before diving towards the ground. There was a high-pitched squeak, and the owl arced back into the sky, a struggling mouse clutched in its talons.

The temperature in the churchyard was rapidly dropping. Lucy shivered a little and thought longingly of the cosy kitchen at Grave Hall. Mrs Crawley often made hot milk for everyone at the end of the day, sweetened with honey from the bees that Vonk the butler looked after.

“How long do you think we should stay for?” she asked Lord Grave.

“Until sun-up if need be. Now shush, we need to keep as quiet as possible.”

A moment later, Lord Grave sneezed loudly.

“That’s not exactly keeping quiet, is it?” Lucy whispered.

“I think I’ve caught Bertie’s cold,” Lord Grave said stiffly. “Luckily, I planned ahead.” He took a small bottle from his pocket, which contained a luminous yellow liquid. He unscrewed the top and drank the contents, his whole face and even his moustache twisting in disgust. Seconds later, steam piped out of his ears, wreathing himself, Lucy, Bathsheba and the angel in luminous yellow mist.

“What is that?” Lucy whispered.

“A cold remedy. Mrs Crawley gave it to me. You know, I think it’s working!”

Thankfully, the remedy did indeed seem to work, as there was no more sneezing or coughing from Lord Grave over the course of the next two hours, by which time Lucy was on the brink of screaming with boredom. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it a moment longer, Lord Grave nudged her.

“Someone’s coming,” he said in a low voice.

Lucy peered round the side of the eyeless angel’s plinth. Sure enough, a tall man was approaching, carrying a lantern. It was impossible to see his face properly as he had a scarf wrapped round his nose and mouth and the light from the lantern cast a shadow across his eyes and forehead. He carried a spade.

“Let’s wait a few moments. See what he does,” Lord Grave whispered.

They watched as the man reached Mr Shannon’s grave. He set his lantern down and began shovelling grave dirt into the bag he had with him.

“Oh no!” Lord Grave exclaimed softly.

“What is it?” Lucy whispered back.

“The dratted cold remedy’s wearing off. I’m going to … going to …”

Lucy hesitated, wondering whether she should put her hand over Lord Grave’s nose and mouth. He might think such an action very insubordinate. But before she could decide, his Lordship let rip a violent cough combined with a ferocious sneeze. The cough and the sneeze echoed around the graveyard, waking up the sleeping birds, which chirped and chattered in alarm.

Lucy held her breath, hoping that by some miracle the man hadn’t heard the commotion. But of course he had and he swiftly picked up the half-filled bag of grave dirt and sprinted off, something falling as he ran.

As soon as the man was out of sight, Lucy and Lord Grave leaped out from behind the stone angel. Lord Grave lit the lantern they had brought with them so they could investigate the object the man had dropped.

“It’s some sort of book,” Lucy said, bending down to pick it up, but before she could do so Lord Grave grabbed her arm.

“Wait. In this business, Lucy, it’s vital to assume everything is dangerous until you’ve proved otherwise.”

Lucy could see his point. She had made the disastrous mistake of trusting magical objects before, namely a clockwork raven, which had turned out to be a wicked magician in disguise. “So how do we tell whether it’s safe to touch?”

Lord Grave took what looked like a fat silver pencil from his pocket. “This is one of Lord Percy’s contraptions. It whistles if it detects harmful magic in an object. It’s Percy’s strongest skill, you know, to—”

A grating noise interrupted Lord Grave. Bathsheba gave a low growl of warning. Before Lucy could turn to see where the noise was coming from, a great stone fist slammed down on Lord Grave’s head, flattening his top hat and sending him slumping to the ground. The plinth the eyeless angel had stood on moments before was now empty. Its former occupant stepped over Lord Grave’s prone body and lunged at Lucy, growling in a completely un-angelic manner.