The Alloy Heart by Quinn Loftis
“Of course,” the woman answered a little hesitantly. “Shush, Willy.” She grabbed a dummy from a small table in the hall, popped it into the young boy’s mouth, and then began rocking him in her arms. Willy’s cries subsided to a few dull whimpers. “Do come in,” she continued a little more pleasantly to the police officers. “I suppose this is about what’s been going on over in the park?”
“And what do you know about that?” Constable Jones practically snapped.
The lack of sleep associated with having his own new bundle of joy and having to work past the end of his shift this morning was testing the man’s limits. Foster made a funny noise in his throat and narrowed his eyes at Jones. The subtle art of dealing with witnesses was lost on the poor boy. He would never make Inspector.
“Nothing,” the woman responded, a tad defensively. “But I’ve seen you bobbies trampling the park’s beautiful flowers all morning. That’s part of the reason Robert and I bought this place—the view of the park. I don’t need you all blundering over everything, ruining the greenery. And I saw newspaper reporters knocking on every door in the neighborhood. I figured something was going on.”
“Forgive our lack of sophistication, Mrs…?”
“Browning, Julia Browning.”
“Mrs. Browning, I’m afraid some of our more junior officers just don’t understand the value of a well-manicured garden. I’ll have a word with the inspector about it, you can be sure ‘a that. Now, would you mind if we sit?”
“Of course not,” said Julia, her pleasant demeanor returning in an instant as she ushered them into the drawing room. The assistant inspector and the constable sat together on a flowered sofa. “Where are my manners? Can I offer you good gentlemen some tea?”
“No, no, ma’am,” Foster replied. “We won’t be here long, I assure you. You’re right, ‘a course. Something has been going on in the park. I hate to bring so terrible news into such a lovely home. I assume your husband is at work?”
“Yes, he works for a building society,” she said, dropping into an armchair opposite the policemen and balancing her baby boy in her lap. “He won’t be home until after business hours.”
“O’ course.” Foster went on. “Well, then, I must deliver this unpleasantness to you, I’m afraid. It seems there was a murder in the park last night. We need to know if you may have heard or seen anything. We can’t be sure, but it probably took place sometime in the wee hours ‘a the mornin’. When all descent folk would be asleep, no doubt.”
“Oh my goodness.” Mrs. Browning gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth and nearly tipping poor Willy into the floor. She let him slide down onto the floor where he landed on his stomach on an expensive oriental rug. He found a wooden horse under the coffee table and popped the dummy out of his mouth, replacing it with the toy. The boy seemed much more content now as he began furiously sucking on the horse. “Who was it?” Julia Browning managed to stammer when she finally regained her composure.
“No one you would now,” said Jones, finally reinserting himself into the conversation. Foster cast him another withering glare.
“What my colleague means,” Foster said, “is that it appears the deceased was a working-class woman, possibly a prostitute. Certainly not someone that would normally be associated with this kind of neighborhood.”
“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Browning. “That’s tragic. But I—” She gasped again and sprang up, moving to the front window and pulling back the curtains, practically tripping over little William in the process. “I did see something odd last night. But I didn’t think anything of it until now.”
“What did you see, Mrs. Browning?” asked Foster, who rose to his feet and moved across the drawing room to the picture window to stand alongside the woman.
Foster noticed that Constable Jones remained sitting, sulking, and staring around at his surroundings. Jones, for all his fatigue and complete lack of social awareness, was not entirely without investigative skills. He’d probably noticed the few odd bits of furnishings that bespoke a quaint attempt at entering high society. The young couple probably came from a working-class background. The husband had apparently landed a decent paying job, probably after earning some kind of scholarship for the city’s most unfortunate, and they were now scratching and clawing their way into London’s upper caste. But they would never be welcome. After several years, they might manage to employ one servant if they were frugal, but then probably only part time. Their children, however—young William—might benefit from all their parents’ hard labor. Foster knew this was something that Jones aspired to. The assistant inspector guessed that Jones secretly envied the woman’s husband.
“I can’t say what time it was,” began Mrs. Browning, “but it was certainly after midnight. I do remember our old grandfather chiming the hour at some point, and there were only a couple of tolls—two or three at the most. But I was sitting in this room, there on the sofa, nursing William. He only sleeps about six hours during the night.” She turned and pointed to where Constable Jones was sitting now. “Half asleep myself, if you want to know the truth. I heard a clattering come down the road—a horse and carriage. That brought me to my senses real quick. Why should someone be out at this time of night? We do occasionally get passersby at strange hours, mostly ne’er-do-wells stumbling through park, but I’ve never heard a carriage at that time of night.
“So I got up and came over here and peeked out. I was still holding Willy.” She made a cradling motion with one arm across her chest. “I saw a hansom cab turning onto Park Lane. It went a ways and then stopped, just on the other side of those trees, over by the Stanhope Gate.” She indicated a line of birch trees planted at the edge of the park next to an ornate wrought iron double gate. The entryway and the trees were surrounded by well-manicured flowers and bushes.
“And how were you able to see this, Mrs. Browning? Wasn’t it dark?” asked Constable Jones, finally rising and joining the pair at the window.
“The streetlights give off a strong light at night. I mean, the gas ones not so much, but we do have four Teslas in the park, one at each corner. Those are beautiful. You can see one of them, just there.” She pointed to a large, clear, glass globe affixed to a tall iron pole at the corner of the Knightsbridge and Park Lane, about a hundred or so yards away. The inside of the globe held a large purple crystal, which was sitting in metal brackets connected to wires that ran down inside the pole.
Jones grunted but didn’t say anything. Neither did he return to his seat, but now stared in the same direction as Foster and Mrs. Browning.
“And then what did you see Mrs. Browning,” Foster prompted.
“Well, after the cab stopped, a man jumped down from the driver’s seat and hopped into the cab itself. It sat there for a long time—well, it felt like a long time for me, watching through the curtains. After a while, the driver got back out and then a woman got out. It was hard to see with the trees in the way.”
“Are you sure it was a woman?” asked Foster.
“Not really. The driver was for certain a man. He was terribly tall. I’ve never seen a woman that tall. The woman that got out of the cab second, well … I only say she was a woman because she was shorter and because of the way the tall one was treating her.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jones, all thoughts of his warm bed now forgotten.
“Well, he was kind of coaxing her along, real gentle like. He helped her down the steps of the cab, kind of like you might help your grandmother, you know?”
“Did she seem elderly?” said Foster. “Or maybe she was sick?”
“I can’t say,” responded Mrs. Browning. “She was moving real slow, but the trees were casting shadows. The neighborhood lights are good, but it was definitely still too dark to see them plainly, especially from this far away.”
“Then what happened?” continued Jones.
“This is the weird part. He sort of … let her go, and she hobbled along by herself for a bit. Then she went behind the trees,
“And what did the man do?” asked Foster.
“He stayed behind, by the cab. He had something in his hands, and he was looking down. I couldn’t see what. Then, all of a sudden, he ran toward where she had disappeared behind the trees, and he was gone. Willy had fallen asleep in my arms at this point and was getting heavy. I was about to go put him back in his crib, but I kept watching. A few more minutes, I kept telling myself. I admit I was curious as to what they were up to.”
Foster began scribbling furiously in his notepad. “Did you see anything else?” he asked.
“Nothing happened for several minutes. I was just about to give up and put Willy and I both to bed when I saw the man coming back.”
“What did he do?” asked Jones.
“He just hopped up into the driver’s seat and gave the horse a lash and off he went. I didn’t see the woman anywhere. I stood a bit longer looking for her, but I never saw anything else. Eventually I got tired and went to bed.”
“How long was it, Mrs. Browning, from the time that the woman walked off by herself and the time that the man chased after her?” asked John.
“Oh, I’d say a couple of minutes, at most.”
“And how long until he came back?”
“I don’t know, maybe five minutes. Like I said, I was terribly tired and William was getting heavy. A minute coulda been an hour, and an hour coulda been a minute.”
“Is there anything else that happened, Mrs. Browning?” asked Foster. He could see in her eyes the woman had given him all the information she had.
“No, sir. I just—” Julia began, pausing and staring down at Willy, who had moved on from his toy horse and had found a sock doll to gnaw on. “That woman I saw … she was probably the one that was murdered, wasn’t she?”
“No proof of that ma’am. She might not have anything to do with the people you saw,” said Jones in a clipped voice, his fatigue returning in full force.
“I believe we’ve inconvenienced you quite enough, Mrs. Browning,” said John. “Just one more question and we’ll be out of your hair. Do those Tesla lights come on automatically at night?” Foster asked, pointing over his shoulder and out the window.
“No, sir,” she answered. “There’s a switch. It’s behind lock and key. A man from the guild comes around once a night around dusk. He unlocks a box and flips a switch, then another man comes by every morning and turns it back off.”
“And you’re sure the light was on last night?”
“Oh, yes, sir. You can see the purple glow through the window after dark. It’s beautiful. That was another reason Robert and I liked this house so much. Instant mood lighting. And it’s the only purple one. All the other park lights are pink.”
“One final inconvenience, Mrs. Browning. Would it be okay if I came back by tomorrow night after dark? I’d like to see for myself what the park looks like at night, if you don’t mind?”
“Certainly,” she responded with a hint of excitement in her voice. Foster could already see the woman relaying the tale in her mind to her ‘friends’ at the Junior League. This story was going to make those hens at the club eat their hearts out.
Chapter Four
Tuesday, 3rd May 1887
At precisely 2:00 p.m.
Punctual, as always. Olivia listened from the kitchen as Sophia pulled the door open and smiled at Dexter Hughley, who, much like Dr. Jackson Elliot had earlier that morning, stood waiting on the steps of 34 Mount Street with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Also like Dr. Elliot, Mr. Hughley squeezed his flowers nervously. Unlike Elliot’s flowers, however, these actually were intended for Olivia Hill.
Olivia peeked around the corner and laughed inwardly as she watched Dexter pull his shoulders back and raise his chin. It was like watching a man bracing for the firing squad. Deep down he must have known that Olivia didn’t want him, but his persistence was admirable. He smiled back at Sophia nervously. Olivia watched in silence as Sophia waited for Dexter to perform his usual pre-meeting ritual. He would make a comment on her good health, which was, ironically, anything but good. Then he would sheepishly inquire about Olivia, as if the visit hadn’t been prearranged. Olivia rolled at her eyes at the man’s boorishness. Even his greetings were predictable.
“Ms. Sophia,” he said with a slight bow. “You are looking well this day.”
Sophia smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Hughley. It is kind of you to say, no matter how untrue it might be. Please, come in.”
“Thank you, miss,” he responded. “Perchance, might your sister, Olivia, be available for a quick visit?”
“Of course, Dexter. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you. I’ll just go fetch her for you.”
“No need.” Olivia’s voice rang out as she appeared from the parlor. “I am here.” Olivia forced herself to smile, though inside she was growling like an angry bear that had been awoken from its hibernation too soon. Dexter Hughley was a perfectly nice man. A perfectly nice, boring man. And he seemed smitten with her. But Olivia wanted more than nice, and much more than smitten. She wanted a man that looked at her as if she was the moon and he was the tide that couldn’t help but be pulled to her. She wanted excitement and adventure. Her heart longed for— “Ow.” She grumbled as she was snapped from her thoughts by a pinch to the back of her arm, courtesy of her sister.
Sophia smiled at Olivia. “Mr. Hughley was just saying hello,” Sophia said as she practically screamed at Olivia with her eyes to pay attention.
“Ms. Olivia,” Dexter said and bowed lower than he had upon greeting Sophia. “I am glad you are home. I was hoping to have tea with you.”
“Tea,” Olivia said, still a little stunned at her sister’s pinch and her own wandering mind.
“Yes. Tea.” He agreed.
She bit her bottom lip and, after several minutes, finally nodded. Might as well get it over with. “Tea it is. Come on in, Mr. Hughley.”
“I would prefer you call me Dexter,” he told her, not for the first or second time.
“Now, now, Mr. Hughley. You and I both know that would be highly improper. You are a friend, and a gentleman. It would not do for me to go around spouting out your first name as if we were more intimately acquainted.” Olivia was not about to get sucked into sounding so familiar with the man. It would only put off other suitors if she allowed such a liberty.
Nora walked in carrying a tray of tea and crackers, halting the conversation. She set it down on the table that was situated between two large sofas. Olivia sat on the edge of the sofa facing the door, and Dexter sat across from her. She smirked, knowing he would have preferred to sit next to her. But when he’d taken a step in her direction, she’d given him a look that made it clear he was to stay on the other side.
Dexter reached forward and dropped a couple of lumps of sugar into his tea and then leaned back in the chair and quietly sipped. This was the part that always bothered him about calling upon Olivia. He was never quite sure what to say. So instead of making polite conversation, he would simply sit and stare, taking in all of her.
There he goes with the staring. Every time they had tea together, he would simply stare at her. It was beginning to give her a complex. “How have you been?” she finally asked when she could stand the silence no longer.
“Well,” he answered. “And you?”
She sighed. “I am splendid as long as I am reading. Embarking on a grand adventure as I am carried away in the pages. I find that everyday life is simply boring. I get up, get dressed, have breakfast, and then walk from room to room like a brainless ninny while waiting for something brilliant to happen. I want an adventure of my own. I want to sail across the ocean and discover a new land or an old one. I don’t care. I just want to go. I want to hunt wild bear and sleep under the stars in the great big wild. I want to be a famous detective, chasing a murderer though the streets of the city. I want—” She paused when she glanced at Dexter. His eyes had widene
“Adventures in books are safer, don’t you think?” Dexter asked after having heard her fantastic ideas.
Safer? Safer! Olivia groaned inwardly. Who cared about safe as long you were living? Maybe it was because she was having to watch her sister’s life be slowly leached from her body as her heart began to give out. Maybe that was the drive behind this need to explore and find excitement and adventure in life. Whatever the cause, Olivia knew it would never change. She was emotionally intelligent enough to know that her adventurous side intrigued Dexter, but it also terrified the man. He didn’t want to go on any adventures, she could see that plainly. He would be quite happy to have a home, a wife, children, and a simple life. No matter how hard he tried, Dexter wouldn’t convince her that such a life is what she really wanted. She knew he thought her fanciful ideas were nonsense, especially for a lady of society, but she didn’t care. She would have her adventures and nothing would stop her. And that meant poor Dexter was simply wasting his time. She wouldn’t be happy to just sit at home sewing cushions and playing the pianoforte when there was a huge world just waiting to be explored. “Safe is not a word that I include in my vocabulary. It’s a relative term. When is one truly safe? Why, even in your own home you could fall walking down the stairs, crack your skull on the bannister, and lie dead while blood spilled out … along with brains.”
“Olivia, really.” Sophia huffed as she entered the room. “I apologize, Mr. Hughley, for my sister’s frankness. She spends much of her time with her nose buried in fanciful stories.”
“Yes, well, books can have a positive impact,” he said haltingly. “But some can be inappropriate. Perhaps finding something new to read would be a good thing to try?”