The Penny Dreadful Curse by Anna Lord Read Free Book Online Page A

“No,” she replied. “There is a bookshop
across the way from the Mousehole. I would like to call in there
before it closes its door this evening and purchase some penny
dreadfuls. I would like to acquaint myself with the sorts of books
the victims wrote sooner rather than later. Please proceed, and add
the manner and place of death.”
    “Number 1 -
Saskia Frubb – hammerblow to head - Grapecuntlane.
    Number 2 – Eva
Gluckstein – fell down stairs – Bootham Bar.
    Number 3 –
Fanny Gorley – trampled by horse and cart - Micklegate.
    Number 4 –
Constance de la Mare – head bashed by masonry – Museum Garden.
    Number 5 –
Roberta Redford – drowned – Skeldergate.”
    “Don’t you
mean Redbeard?” said the Countess.
    “What?”
    “You just said
Redford?”
    “Her real name
was Roberta Redford but the landlady referred to her as Robbie
Redbeard so that’s how I decided to refer to her too. The landlady
said everyone called her by that name. Robbie Redbeard was the name
she used in her writing.”
    “It was her
pen name,” clarified Dr Watson.
    The inspector
nodded. “The landlady put it differently but that’s what she meant.
She said everyone who knew her called her Robbie Redbeard. She
wrote pirate stories and it suited her to use that name. She liked
her name to be recognized by shopkeepers and the like.”
    “It was her
nom de plume,” added the Countess.
    “Yes! That’s
the word the landlady used. Nom de plume!” The inspector stood up
abruptly. “I must get back to the police station and follow-up if
Mr Panglossian did actually travel to London. He is either a prime
villain or a prime victim. I would like to speak to him as soon as
practicable. I presume you would like to be in on the
interview?”
    They both
nodded.
    “I’ll let you
know when it has been arranged. Thank you for lunch, Dr Watson.
Good day to you, both,” he said, inclining his head.
    It was after
the inspector left the inn that the Countess glanced down at her
notes and frowned.
    “That’s odd,”
she said.
    “What’s
odd?”
    “Inspector
Bird described the death of Robbie Redbeard as drowning yet I would
have put it as strangulation.”
    Grapecuntlane
was only two blocks away from the Museum Garden so they decided to
walk, taking in Stonegate with its lovely shops along the way. The
latter was a delightful place; the antithesis of their final
destination for the day. Even in broad daylight Grapecuntlane was a
narrow, cold, dark, sinister, sunless place, overshadowed by tall,
windowless, brick walls. There were brick buttresses where
prostitutes might shelter out of the wind, away from the police,
and where killers might conceal themselves from prying eyes until
they were ready to strike. The few people who ventured down it
hurried as fast as they could as if in fear of their lives.
     
    Mr Corbie was
about to extinguish the gasolier when he heard the bell above the
door give a tinkle. “Good evening,” he said, smiling hopefully,
recognising the man and woman from the previous night who had
checked into the Mousehole Inne. “May I be of service?”
    The Countess’s
glance swept over the dusty shelves and returned to the anaemic
looking bookseller. “We are after some penny dreadfuls.”
    The hopeful
smile on Mr Corbie’s lips died a swift death. “This way,” he said,
leading them into the literary bowels. “I have all the latest
issues. A new batch arrived just the other day. They are arranged
in alphabetic order. Is there any author you are particularly
interested in? Dick Lancelot? Baroness du Bois? Conan le Coq?” He
gave slight shudder. “Or perhaps it is a particular genre that
interests you? Vampires? Werewolves? Ghosts?” He gave another
imperceptible shudder that had nothing to do with the supernatural.
“Knights? Cavaliers? Corsairs? Witches and Wizards?”
    “I am
interested in all of them?” trilled the Countess, turning to her
companion. “Isn’t that right, Dr Watson,” she