“Yes, sir,” he replies.
I stand up. There is nothing left of the house. Thangus Itch is dead, squashed by the door. I walk over to Walnut who is sitting next to the insolent lump of a sheep. I extend a hand to him and help him up from the ground.
“So, what’s the plan, sir?”
I look around us and out at the marshlands.
“We’ll search that church over there,” I say, pointing a finger, “and then we return to London.”
The pair of us, half blown up, stroll the half mile over the marshlands through grazing sheep and brown and grey butterflies, which swoop delicately over our heads. The earth is soft under our feet, the squidge and squash of bogland. The church is tiny, painted white, with a huge keyhole in the door. The key to the Hummingbird Manor House is still in my pocket. It fits perfectly into the church lock.
“As I thought, this church belongs to the Hummingbird family. We may find a clue yet, Walnut.”
The door swings open.
“Oh my God.”
Walnut faints. A nearby sheep bleats rather sarcastically.
The church is stuffed to the brim with skeletons and decaying body parts. Green flesh hanging off, leaking eye sockets. The stench is unbearable. It nearly knocks me over. I gag and feel dizzy.
And round the walls of the church are painted butterflies of a thousand different colours, each one glittering with alien beauty. I shut the door and pass out in an undignified heap on the grass.
Detective Waxford and Boo Boo investigate the Dancing Imp Theatre
It’s nearly midnight. Boo Boo and I are hiding behind the stage curtain of the Dancing Imp Theatre. I’ve got my gun and the little lady has her blades. The theatre is a ruin, the walls half collapsed. A tatty poster of A Midsummer’s Night Dream, starring Lavender Charm as Titania, hangs off the wall.
I’m sure Detective White and Constable Walnut’s investigations in the Romney Marsh have been uneventful. Nothing there but a load of sheep.
Suddenly there’s a noise from the side of the theatre: the sound of a carriage. And in step two men carrying a body, and behind them the eye-patched Mr Cobweb ordering them about. The men dump the body on the stage and then go off to retrieve another.
The body is of a young woman. Her chest has been cut open. An empty red space where her heart should be.
I signal to Boo Boo and we step out onto the stage. I aim my gun at Mr Cobweb’s head. Boo Boo launches her blades, one each landing in the forehead off the hired thugs. They fall to the ground rather neatly. She steps lightly over to them and pulls the blades out, pressing her foot against their skulls as leverage; slightly disturbing considering she’s only sixteen.
“Mr Cobweb,” I say. “Nice to see you again. Fan of the theatre, are you?”
Mr Cobweb, a little surprised, says, “Shit.”
“Would you care to explain to me the corpse on the stage?”
“Not especially.”
I shoot him in the knee and he screams.
“Let’s try that again, shall we?” Boo Boo stands next to him, her blade gently tapping his shoulder.
“Boo Boo and I would very much like to visit the Butterfly Club and I believe you will be taking us there. Or she’ll chop your arms off.”
“This is really a pointless exercise, Detective Waxford. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. Torture me all you wish…”
Boo Boo slices his arm off. It plumps to the floor.
“There was really no need for that!” he says through gritted teeth.
“Where is the Butterfly Club?” I ask again.
“This is ridiculous.”
“It’s not my arm lying on the floor.”
Boo Boo places her blade on his other arm.
“Stop that!”’ he cries.
“I am losing my patience. You know what I want, Mr Cobweb? I want to retire to a nice little cottage in the countryside. Relax. Write my memoirs. Maybe get a cat. Before I can do that, Mr Cobweb, I have to provide justice to this poor woman,” (and I look towards the stage) “and the countless other women being kidnapped and murdered by your associates. If it takes cutting off every single part of your anatomy to retrieve the information I require then I will do it.”
Boo Boo raises her blade.
“Houses of Parliament,” he says softly.
“What?”
“The Butterfly Club is underneath the Houses of Parliament.”
Part Four
The Butterfly Club
Houses of Parliament, 1889
It’s a full moon tonight. Why am I not surprised? Lightning cracks across the sky, exploding and sizzling a church rooftop. The London nightscape boils above our heads.
Mr Cobweb, Boo Boo and I are dressed in black hooded robes and we are outside the entrance to the Butterfly Club, situated underneath the Houses of Parliament. I have my gun against Mr Cobweb’s back in case he tries any funny business. I never thought I would see the day when I would be dressed up looking like this. It’s frankly bloody embarrassing. Infiltrating a cult!