This is too easy. I am bored with this.
Mr Loveheart appears, sprinting across the lawn with a bunch of roses. He bows very low. “I thought you dealt with them rather tastefully.” He hands me the flowers.
“I am not available, Mr Loveheart. I am getting married on Saturday.”
“Then I will have to kill your wretched fiancé in a duel.”
“Duel? You were intent on blowing him up.”
“Yes, because it’s funnier. Miss Frogwish, my heart is in your hands, dear lady.”
“You have very pretty eyes, Mr Loveheart.”
“I won’t let you marry him, Boo Boo. I will not give up on you.”
I take the flowers and walk through the woods and think about his eyes, which are black like mine.
Detective Waxford and White find Pandora
I am outside the Lupine Asylum with Detective White. We have found Pandora, the fourth wife of Professor Hummingbird, committed to the madhouse. Of his six wives, we have discovered through advertisement in the Times that three are dead, one was buried alive and now lives in Paris and two were committed to an asylum, one escaping with the help of Mr Loveheart. This is our last lady.
Pandora is outside in the courtyard on a seat, knitting. It appears to be an extraordinary long yellow scarf she is making, despite there being a heat wave.
“Hello, Pandora. My name is Detective Waxford and this is Detective White. We would like to ask you some questions regarding your late husband, Professor Gabriel Hummingbird. He will be marrying a sixteen year-old this Saturday.”
She looks up from her knitting. The scarf, I estimate, must be twenty foot long, at least.
“Is she pretty?” Pandora asks, her voice very light and childlike.
“She is sixteen, madam, and in danger,” I say.
“He said I was pretty,” sighs Pandora. “He said that before we got married. Afterwards he just said I was mad.”
“What happened to you? How did you end up here?”
Pandora continues to knit, the great heaps of butter yellow wool trailing like Rapunzel’s hair by her feet. “After the wedding night he seemed bored with me already. I didn’t know how to please him. Maybe I should have made him a cake with some sugared flowers or a meringue. I’m not mad. I am a good girl. I am a good girl.”
I think to myself, she has been driven mad. He may as well have killed her.
Detective White kneels by her side. “It is a very beautiful scarf,” he says kindly.
“Thank you. The fairies helped me.”
Detective White and I head back to Scotland Yard. We are being followed.
“Percival, there’s something watching us,” I say, and glance over my shoulder, catching sight of a top-hatted gentleman with an eye patch. Instead of flinching, he acknowledges my suspicions with amusement.
When we arrive at Scotland Yard, Constable Walnut is waiting for us by the entrance, eating a mutton pie.
“Detectives, there’s a lady here to see you.” He looked at me sheepishly, wiping crumbs from his lips.
“Thank you, Walnut.” I open the door to my office. A lady in a long, moth-grey veil which covers her face is perched nervously on a chair by my desk.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Are you Henry Waxford?” her voice nervous, her small hand in a lace glove, pointing at me. She looks as though she belongs in another world, like a little ghost.
“Yes, and this is my colleague, Detective White. How may we help you madam?”
“I saw the pictures of those poor women in the Times. The brides of Gabriel Hummingbird. How many are still alive?”
“Three. Would you like some tea, Miss…?”
“Yes please. My name is Mary Summerfly.”
I pop my head out of the door and ask Walnut to bring in some tea and biscuits.
“Did you know any of these women?” I ask, sitting myself back down again.
“No, I never met any of them. I… I am…” She struggles terribly with the words.
“Are you alright, miss?” asks Detective White.
“No, I am not. My life is in danger. I need your help. I need your protection,” she gasps.
“You are safe with us, Miss Summerfly. Please tell us what has happened.”
“Do you know Gabriel Hummingbird?” I intervene.
“No, but I knew of his brother, Ignatius. I was brought up on the Romney Marsh. I lived with my Aunt in a small cottage near his family home. I used to take walks on the marshland and sometimes I would bump into him and we would have conversations. We would talk about the wildlife, mostly the butterflies. He seemed like an interesting, well-educated gentleman. I believe he works for the government, holds a position in the House of Lords.”
Walnut enters the room, announces, “We’re out of custard creams!” and lays the tray on the table.
“Thank you, Walnut,” replies Detective White. He begins pouring the tea.