*They did not get the chance,' he said. *There were a few breakages but nothing too serious. The vicar picked most of the things up and I put them back on the shelf whilst his daughter composed herself. Ladies do not cope well with excitement.'

*They so rarely get any,' I informed them.

Sidney Grice, who had been leaning back with his eyes closed, opened them and asked, *How many children?'

*Six or seven.'

*Which?'

*Does it matter?'

*If it came to trial it would matter enormously to the seventh urchin who was or was not there. Had you met this vicar before?'

Mr Green winced and put his hand to his face. *I know him from a previous visit a a Reverend Golding from Saint Agatha's. He suffers with his ears too and asked what I could recommend.'

*That is the most intriguing petty crime I have come across in four years.'

My guardian waved a hand. *Proceed.'

*Well I told him...'

*Not with that twaddle,' Sidney Grice broke in. *Tell me about Mr Slab.'

Mr Green puffed-up but only for a moment. *The doctor put it down to a seizure'

*You have your doubts?'

Mr Green spread his hands as if to demonstrate that they were empty. *I have no opinion on the matter, Mr Grice but the rules of the society oblige me to ask you to investigate his pa.s.sing.'

My guardian yawned. *I am rather swamped by work at the moment.'

*It is a thousand pounds a time, Mr Grice with a two thousand pound bonus should you be able to prove that any member was murdered by another.'

*To be paid when?'

*After the death of the last member.'

*And what if I predecease you? Does the money stay in the society's fund? If so I am laying myself open to the same risks of murder as you so blockheadedly are.'

*We thought of that,' Mr Green said. *If you should die before all of us the money for each case you have investigated will be left to whosoever you desire.'

*But there is n.o.body to whom I would wish to leave money. I have not been cursed by children.'

*You have a mother,' I said and he shrugged.

*A few thousand pounds would be nothing to her. She probably spends that much every month purloining lumps of chipped stone from that old temple in Athens.'

*Another relative or friend or somebody you are fond of,' Mr Green suggested but my guardian frowned.

*There is no one.'

*What about Miss Middleton?'

*She does not enter any of those categories.'

Molly came in with a fresh pot.

*Perhaps you could have the money buried with you.' I poured our teas as Molly tried an elaborate curtsey and stumbled out of the room.

*That is the first sensible thing you have said,' my guardian told me, *especially as I intend to be cremated.'

Mr Green laughed uncertainly but Sidney Grice held out his hand and said, *Give me the roster.'

Mr Green pa.s.sed it across and my guardian perched his pince nez on the bridge of his long thin nose to study it with interest.

*Horatio Green,' he read out as if the name had a new meaning for him.

*Edwin Slab, Gentleman; Primrose McKay a an unsavoury lady if a small proportion of the stories are to be believed.'

*Is she connected to McKay's Sausages?' I asked and he nodded.

*One account has it that her father took her to the abattoir on her tenth birthday and that she found the experience highly entertaining. Her greatest joy was to be allowed to cut a sow's throat.'

*How horrible.' I fought down the nausea.

Sidney Grice blew his nose. *And by no means the worst I have heard of her.' He scratched his scarred ear. *She is very young.'

*Twenty-nine,' Mr Green confirmed, *but none of her female antecedents has lived beyond the age of thirty-five since records began. In fact...'

*The splendidly equestrian-sounding Warrington Gallop of Gallop's Snuff Emporium,' my guardian broke in. *The Reverend Enoch Jackaman, rector of Saint Cuthbert's Church; the eccentrically named Prometheus Piggety, self-proclaimed entrepreneur.' His had voice dropped soothingly. *Baroness Foskett,' he said loudly and Mr Green raised his eyebrows.

*You know the Baroness?'

*n.o.body has known her for almost three decades now. My father was a great friend of the late Baron and I often played in their house and garden with their late son the Honourable Rupert. What is so amusing, Miss Middleton?'

I covered my mouth. *I am sorry. It is just the thought of you playing.'

My guardian scowled. *I was a perfectly normal nine-year-old boy and Rupert was only thirteen years older. Many were the boisterous games we enjoyed...' a A slightly dreamy look fleeted across his face a *of chess or in more frivolous moods we would set each other mathematical or syllogistic problems.'Mr Green winked at me. *Quite a jack-the-lad then.'

Sidney Grice grunted and said, *I am nonplussed that Baroness Foskett engages in such a frivolous and foolhardy enterprise.'

*Why, the society was her idea.' Mr Green helped himself to the sugar and I added his milk. *She told me so herself.'

*I understood that she is still in deep mourning and receives no one.' My guardian leant forwards. *You have met her?'

Mr Green sipped his tea. *Well sort of,' he said and pulled a wry face. *This tea tastes very odd.'

My guardian tried his. *A touch flowery perhaps but we are trying a new blend from the lower eastern slopes of the Himalayas.'

*Very odd,' Mr Green said again and took another mouthful. He winced. *So hot.'

Sidney Grice wrinkled his nose, looked briefly puzzled and, throwing his cup and saucer down, leapt up. *Stop!' He flung the table between them towards the hearth, smashing the china and spraying my dress with hot water. *Spit it out, man. Spit it out.'

Our visitor looked about him.

*Anywhere! On the floor!' my guardian shouted.

Mr Green gulped. *I couldn't do that.' He smacked his lips sourly and screwed up his face. *Goodness it burns.'

*You stupid man,' Sidney Grice prodded his lapel. *That was....'

*Prussic,' Mr Green said in confused wonder, *acid,' he whispered, letting his cup fall empty into his lap. He blanched and countless tiny beads of sweat broke out on his brow. His head jerked back and his mouth opened wide and he clutched the arms of the chair, raising his shoulders and expanding his chest to take a deep breath.

I rushed over, loosened his tie and undid the stud of his shirt collar. The sweat was trickling down his temples now. Mr Green exhaled heavily and took another shuddering breath, his face blood-red and his eyelids pulled back in terror.

*Save me.' The words came out half-strangled. *Please.'

*Do something,' my guardian barked. *You are the one with the medical experience.'

Mr Green's hands clutched at his neck. He was panting quickly and I could hear his lungs starting to fill with water. His complexion turned dark blue.

*Lean forwards.' I felt as if somebody else was giving the instructions. *And try to breathe slowly.' But I knew that whatever I said was useless.

Horatio Green's face was black now as he fought to take in air.

*Do not die in my house,' Sidney Grice said. *I absolutely forbid it.'

Horatio Green doubled up, the fluid gurgling in his chest. With one gigantic effort he struggled to his feet. His left hand went down but missed the arm of the chair and he slipped sideways. I caught his arm and he gripped the sleeve on my dress, pinching my skin so hard that I cried out.

*Stay conscious,' my guardian commanded.

*It is all right,' I said as he swayed forwards. I steadied myself. *It is all right,' I said again slowly. *I have got you and I shall not let you go'

Those eyes locked on mine in helpless desperation. I had seen that look before and I had hoped not to see it again.

What pa.s.sed through your mind as I cradled your face that last time? Did your love turn all at once to a sense of betrayal? *G.o.d bless you,' I said and I thought you nodded. You mouthed my name in flecks of your own blood.

*G.o.d bless you,' I said as his knees sagged under him. I held on but he was too heavy for me as he slumped.

My guardian grabbed him under the shoulders and tried to take his weight but he was a big man and we were off-balance. Horatio Green made one last shallow gurgling suck of air before it was flooded out of him and toppled backwards into his chair. I felt for his pulse but there was none to detect. I put my ear to his nose and listened for what I had no hope of hearing.

*Blast and blazes,' Sidney Grice put his hand to his forehead. *I have lost another client.'

Available from Head of Zeus in 2014.

About this Book.

Gower Street, London, 1882:.

Sidney Grice, London's most famous personal detective, drains his fifth pot of morning tea, and sets aside his copy of A Brief History of Impalement On The Metropolitan Line. He is expecting a visitor. From his library window, he can see a young, plain woman picking her way between the piles of horse-dung towards his front door. Sidney Grice shudders. For heaven's sake a she is wearing brown shoes.

March Middleton is Sidney Grice's ward, and she is new to London. With her sharp tongue and even sharper mind, March believes she could help on her guardian's next case a if only he did not think women were too feeble for detective work. But then a grisly murder in the slums proves too puzzling for even Sidney Grice's encyclopaedic brain... and he is forced to admit that March Middleton might be rather useful after all.

Set between the refined buildings of Victorian Bloomsbury and the stinking streets of London's East End, The Mangle Street Murders is for those who like their crime original, atmospheric, and very, very funny.

About this Series.

THE GOWER STREET DETECTIVE.

London, 1882.

Sidney Grice, London's most famous personal detective, has an encyclopaedic mind and a according to him a no emotions save his twin love of possessions and the truth.

March Middleton is Sidney Grice's ward and she is new to London. With her sharp tongue and even sharper mind, March is sure she could help her guardian solve his cases a if only he did not think women too feeble for detective work.

But even Grice must admit some puzzles are too great for even him to solve alone...

Set between the refined buildings of Victorian Bloomsbury and the stinking streets of London's East End, The Gower Street Detective is for those who like their crime original, atmospheric, and very, very funny.

1. The Mangle Street Murders.

Sidney Grice, London's most famous personal detective, is expecting a visitor. From his library window, he can see a young, plain woman picking her way between the piles of horse-dung towards his front door. Sidney Grice shudders. For heaven's sake a she is wearing brown shoes.

March Middleton is Sidney Grice's ward, and she is determined to help him on his next case. Her guardian thinks women are too feeble for detective work, but when a grisly murder in the slums proves too puzzling for even Sidney Grice's encyclopaedic brain, March Middleton turns out to be rather useful after all...

The Mangle Street Murders is available here.

2. The Curse of the House of Foskett.