“I am,” he said very softly, “rather dangerous…”He turned and walked off towards the balcony.
Constable Walnut and I moved down a side corridor, where a row of miniatures of Elijah’s early works were hung. They were botanical illustrations in black ink, dotted about like formula. I found them far more interesting than his portraiture. This was his work before he died. Before he met Lady Clarence. Before he was given his first demonic watch. This was who he had been. The illustrations were precise and methodical with sharp edges and a scientific line to them: they were curious dark little things. Ferns, mushrooms and weed-like creatures coiled over the wall, each with its scientific name, each with its own darkness.
“I don’t like them. They give me the creeps,” said Walnut, scratching his chin.
I could hear a splattering of applause and laughter behind us. Lady Clarence was giving a toast, her champagne glass lifted into the air, the crowd responding appropriately. The dead toasted the dead. All very civil. And then I saw Mr Loveheart walking towards the centre of the room, clapping in a long, slow motion. The crowd turned to watch him and parted for him like waves, lapping round his feet, circling him.
“Marvellous speech,” cried Loveheart, “really splendid!”
“Walnut, follow me, something is about to happen.” The constable and I edged closer to the main room.
Lady Clarence looked at Mr Loveheart rather pitifully. “Oh, John. It’s lovely for us to finally meet. It’s a shame your father can’t be here. He was a wonderful man.”
She was mocking him. A smile like a pair of scissors, I thought. She really does believe he is a fool. His outfit looked quite ridiculous. All that shocking green, all those hearts, pantomime almost. And his hair as yellow as butter, sticking up as though he had been hit by lightning. He looked as though he had stepped from the pages of a fairy tale, but I wasn’t sure what character he was.
The crowd tittered playfully, an obedient audience to Lady Clarence. I could see Doctor Cherrytree behind her, watching carefully. And he wasn’t laughing. Lady Clarence handed her champagne glass to Elijah to hold, another act of humiliation. This evening was really all about her. She was quite a lot taller than Loveheart, her gown heavy and wide. She was filling space and she was the only female in the room. Queen bee and her boys. And there was Mr Loveheart, the defective worker bee, floating, alien like. Hovering like an assassin.
“Your father, Lord Loveheart,” she continued, as smug as a bug, “was a sensible, reliable and wise man.” Her eyes lowered playfully, every compliment a reversed insult to Loveheart. “He was a patron of the arts and was always elegantly dressed.” Gentle laughter crept out of the audience. And yet Mr Loveheart remained quite still. “He will always have a place in our hearts.”
The audience applauded her.
Mr Loveheart bowed very low. “I am afraid, madam, that none of us have our hearts anymore.”
“What a curious remark,” she replied.
“Do you think it’s going to kick off?” said Walnut quietly from beside me. I really had no idea. I couldn’t predict anything Mr Loveheart would do. He could walk away laughing. He could have killed everyone in the room. I almost felt concern for him and I’m not sure why. My own world felt suddenly very small and very ordinary. I am a detective. I look for clues, I arrest criminals, I uphold the law of England. This was outside of my world and my own understanding. I was essentially useless in this situation. My own power limited. I was only an observer; he wanted me to observe.
A hand patted me on the shoulder. It was Doctor Cherrytree. “Detective, I wonder if I could have a private word with you upstairs.”
I told Constable Walnut to wait downstairs for me, and I followed the doctor up the stairs, past more of Elijah’s portraits of lords and ladies, some with little dogs, others with hunting rifles posed like kings and queens. Captured in time. Captured within the canvas. On to the balcony we stood under the gigantic portrait of Lady Clarence, heavy and imposing. I could almost feel her weight upon me, suffocating. It was as though she was floating, like a deity, and we were within a chapel, her acolytes below, rubbing their hands, dizzy with religious fervor.
Doctor Cherrytree tapped the rail of the balcony with his long, pale fingers. “I’m not sure how you managed to get into this private exhibition but–”
I interrupted him, “I was sent an invitation.”
“By whom?”
“It was anonymous.”
“I find that extremely hard to believe. In any case, it’s most inappropriate for you to be here. You have accused and insulted our members with the most ludicrous theories. I can’t have Lady Clarence upset.”
“You really all believe you can outwit Death?”