“And she didn’t go to the police?”
“No, she was terrified, as she was still his wife and property. He would have killed her. I said that she could stay with me until we could sort something out. She had no family: her monies were in the possession of that villain, Hummingbird. She stayed with me for three months and eventually I arranged her transportation to Paris to stay with my sister; to begin a new life. I gave her the money to do it and she never came back. She is now engaged to a Captain Flint of the British navy, who knows nothing of her past, and will travel with him to the South Americas. When I read the article of his young girl’s forthcoming marriage, well, I had to try to prevent it somehow.”
“Would Guinevere Harlowe be prepared to make a statement?”
“I cannot have her involved in this. If he knew she were alive he would surely try to murder her.”
“I cannot arrest a man on a mere rumour. I need her statement; I need proof, Mr Ink-Squid.”
“She does not know I have come here. I vowed I would never betray her trust. But seeing this young girl is to be married to him. It is a death sentence.”
“This young girl, Boo Boo, will be his seventh wife,” I say and lean back into my chair, thinking.
“Seventh?” Mr Ink-Squid cries. “There must be something that can be done. There must be!”
“Tell me, Mr Ink-Squid, do you believe in fate? You do run a magic emporium, so I expect you are predisposed towards the more unusual and unexplained aspects of life?”
“Well, yes, I suppose. It was my father’s shop originally. He was a magician, performed on stage, and when he retired opened the shop. It’s all illusion, of course: hidden mirrors, sleight of hand.”
“Yes, illusion, quite. I have met this girl Boo Boo before. She was his adopted daughter. My friend Detective White went missing at the Professor’s house while trying to rescue her.”
“I am so sorry. Do you believe him murdered?” he replies
“I have never found out the truth. The only witness was the girl and do you know what she said to me?”
I pause.
“She said he had turned him into a butterfly.”
“Perhaps she was in shock?” he said
“That’s what I thought for many years. It has haunted me. I cannot let it go and yet there have been no further developments. I keep dreaming about that girl and what she said.”
“It is guilt, perhaps. It weighs heavily on your mind. He was your friend.”
“What if she was telling the truth?”
“It is an impossible thing you suggest. Maybe you should speak to her again, convince her not to marry this monster. Maybe she will remember what really happened.”
“Thank you, Mr Ink-Squid, for your information. I will see what I can do and I will keep you informed if there are any developments,” and I shake his hand.
“I would be most grateful. We cannot let anything happen to that young woman,” and he leaves me sinking into my chair; the weight of darkness pressing upon me.
I suddenly remember seeing a magician’s trick of concealing a butterfly in his top hat so it flew out. It escaped only at the end.
Village of Darkwound
Detective Waxford and Professor Hummingbird’s Wives
This bloody place never changes! Deranged woodlands, crawling with specimens of toadstools with fangs and potato-brained villagers.
I am outside the home of Professor Hummingbird. I know that he is away on business in London, seeing his brother Ignatius. I knock on the door. If no one replies I will break in.
A young woman in a black dress opens the door.
“Ah, Miss Boo Boo. Hello again. It has been many years since we last met.”
“I remember you,” she says.
“I need to ask you once again, what happened to Detective White, Constable Walnut and Mr Loveheart?”
“Please, come in,” she says, and I follow her into the hall of red and she points to three butterflies on the wall: one brown, one white and one bright red.
“It is as I told you before. The Professor turned them into butterflies.”
“You realise what you are telling me is madness.”
She doesn’t respond. She is a very strange young woman, moving silently, as though she does not exist.
“I need to know what happened to them. I have to know.”
“I have already told you.”
“ARE THEY ALIVE?” I shout, gripping her by the shoulders. She doesn’t flinch.
“Yes, but they are trapped.”
“What must I do to free them?”
“Smash the glass,” she says so softly.
“What?” I say, almost laughing. “You have gone mad!”
“Smash the glass,” she says again, willing me to do it.
“LUNACY!” I shout.