I thought of the grandfather clock in Mr Chimes’ shop. I remembered that case. I had been on the scene when the little girl had been pulled out of the clock, still alive. A grandfather gone mad had stuffed two little girls in a coffin under his bed. I remember thinking what sort of world I was living in where this would happen. I thought that would be the last time I saw that awful clock and here it was again, a terrible warning.
Constable Walnut entered the room rather clumsily and interrupted my thoughts. “Sir, I’ve got the information for you. Sorry, it took a while to go through all the missing person reports.”
“What have you got?”
“In the last year, there have been over seventy missing children reported in the East End. I compared it to other areas, sir, and it’s significantly higher. I made some inquiries on Albert Chimes. A lot of large deliveries leaving his shop every month. Large wooden crates.”
“Large enough to put a child inside?”
“Yes, sir. Coffin sized.”
We arrived in the early evening at the impressive and rather intimidating townhouse of Lady Clarence. I made Constable Walnut polish his boots before we left. Lady Clarence sat in the drawing room, wearing a lavish purple gown. Above her, an enormous painting hung, like a mirror, depicting her sitting on the same sofa in the same dress. The effect was unnerving to say the least. A mirror image. A doppelganger trapped in a painting. She was in her fifties with unusual almond shaped eyes and her teeth, which were clenched, were yellow. Sitting by her side, perched like a loyal dog, sat the artist, Elijah Whistle. He was an uncomfortably thin-looking gentleman with oiled black hair and a nervous disposition. His hands trembled slightly, gripping the sofa. I wondered how he could be steady with a paint brush.
“Lady Clarence and Mr Whistle.” I’d taken off my hat. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“I have to be at the opera in an hour, sergeant, so let’s make this brief shall we?” she sneered. Her eyes fixed upon me, her doppelganger equally inhospitable.
“Of course. Could you tell me how you know the gentleman Albert Chimes, please?”
She didn’t flinch and looked rather annoyed. “Albert Chimes is my clockmaker. I acquire specially designed time pieces from him.” She held out her wrist. “Such as this.”
I moved closer to her and looked at the wristwatch; it was made of silver and had a ring of little yellow flowers in a precious stone around the clock. It made a tiny humming sound, a delicate whirring.
“And how did you meet Albert Chimes?”
“I have never met Mr Chimes. My father used to obtain time pieces from him and I have simply continued to use him for special commissions.”
I turned and looked at Mr Whistle. “And you, sir, you have also had pieces commissioned from Mr Chimes?”
Mr Whistle looked a little uncomfortable, his fingers tapping against his knee. “What’s this about exactly, has he done something?”
“Please answer the question, sir.”
“Lady Clarence recommended him to me when I needed a new pocket watch. But I have never met him.”
“Are they expensive?”
“Very,” said Lady Clarence proudly. “And worth every penny. He’s an artist and unrivalled in Europe as a watchmaker.”
“May I see your pocket watch, Mr Whistle?”
Mr Whistle passed it over to me, smoothing his hair back. It was silver with a soft whirring sound.
“It’s very handsome,” I said. “I wonder if you would look at this list and tell me if you are acquainted with any of the individuals on here?”
I passed the list to Lady Clarence first, who ran her eyes over it. “The Scottish duke, Campbell, I met at a hunting party a few years ago. Other than Elijah here, the only other person I had any acquaintance with was the former Lord Loveheart. His son John is a rogue and a wastrel, so I hear.”
“And you, sir?” I said, passing the list to Elijah. His little dark eyes swept carefully over the names.
“I have heard of Obadiah Deadlock. He is a recluse and astronomer. I have also met Lord Loveheart’s son, who came to an exhibition of my paintings at the Royal Academy. He was quite rude about my work.”
“What did he say?”
“He said my art was whimsical tripe.”
Constable Walnut coughed and scribbled down some hasty notes.
“Really?”
Lady Clarence responded, “Elijah is a superb portrait artist and has had many commissions. He was my discovery: I found him doing botanical illustrations for a reverend in Hove. I spotted his gift. Saved him from a life of near poverty in that accursed hole.”
“Hove really isn’t that bad. It’s quite nice in the summer,” remarked Constable Walnut.
“Thank you, Walnut,” and I gave him a knowing glance to be quiet. I looked again at the portrait of Lady Clarence. “It’s very lifelike. When did you paint it?”
Elijah fumbled with his answer and looked to Lady Clarence, who replied, “Last summer.”
Why would he be unsure of the date? I wondered.
“I am quite fond of still life myself, the odd bowl of fruit,” Walnut persisted.
“Thank you, constable, I am sure no one is interested in your opinion of art.”
“Will that be all then, sergeant?” She glared at me.
“One last question.” I handed her the photograph. “Have you ever seen this girl before?”