The Small Museum (eBook)

A chilling historical mystery set against the Gothic backdrop of Victorian London

Jody Cooksley (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
384 Seiten
Allison & Busby (Verlag)
978-0-7490-3162-6 (ISBN)

Infos

Winner of the Caledonia Novel Award A shiver thrilled my spine at the thought of what might be contained in collections to be kept away from ordinary eyes ... London, 1873. Madeleine Brewster's marriage to Dr Lucius Everley was meant to be the solution to her family's sullied reputation. After all, Lucius is a well-respected collector of natural curiosities. His 'Small Museum' of bones and specimens in jars is his pride and joy, although firmly kept under lock and key. His sister Grace's philanthropic work with fallen women is also highly laudable, at first glance. However, Maddie soon finds herself unwelcome in what is meant to be her new home. The more she learns about both Lucius and Grace, the more she suspects that unimaginable horrors lie behind their polished reputations. Framed for a crime that would take her to the gallows and leave the Everleys free to continue their dark schemes, Maddie's only hope is her friend Caroline. She will do anything to prove Maddie's innocence before the trial reaches its fatal conclusion.

Jody Cooksley studied literature at Oxford Brookes University and has a Masters in Victorian Poetry. Her debut novel The Glass House is a fictional account of the life of nineteenth-century photographer, Julia Margaret Cameron. The Small Museum, Jody's third novel, won the 2023 Caledonia Novel Award. Jody is originally from Norwich and now lives in Cranleigh.

Textauszug

Exhibit 1

Grey stone female figurine. Hellenic. Catalogued 1873.

Our wedding was cold and silent, unmarked by flowers or hymns. Pity no choir drowned the noise of my sister. Isabel had no right to cry. She’d done nothing to save me and now her weeping echoed round the chapel and tore at my nerves. I gripped Father’s arm, feeling the darned patch in his suit, and watched the congregation through watery eyes. In the left pews sat as many family shreds as Mother could gather at short notice, overdressed in country finery. On Dr Everley’s side was a group of suited men, and a woman in a beautiful emerald dress with mourning bands. She couldn’t help those, but surely everyone knew green brought brides bad luck? A wide-brimmed hat hid her face from view; a fox stole clawed across her shoulders.

Mother beamed so brightly I felt ashamed. She had no need to pretend we were happy, everyone in the church knew my duty – a respectable marriage to heal our past. Isabel was quick enough to explain. What chance of escape, for either of us, if you refuse? So why was she crying? Not for me. Mother ignored her, turning to wave at the aunts like a duchess at a coronation, and Isabel snivelled into her handkerchief, throwing sideways looks at my shoes. Pale blue kid with two rows of buttons and heels that clicked when I walked. They were all that felt beautiful. Shoes for a lady, Mother had sighed as the cobblers boxed them up and Isabel sulked for a day. She was welcome to walk in them now.

My veil was the ‘something old’. A gift from Grandmother, delivered in a package of waxed paper stretched thin as her lips.

An heirloom meant for three sisters, was all she said but I knew she blamed Mother for Rebecca’s disgrace. She blamed her for this too, saying things about Dr Everley that made me anxious. Hinting at darkness. Father’s friendship with Dr Everley was shrouded in stage smoke, yet now I must promise to honour him, and all Mother said was that I should be glad he wasn’t ugly. He was tall, sword-slim, with just a streak of grey hair at his temple.

Through Grandmother’s fine lace I saw high cheekbones, eyes dark as tombs and deep lines around his mouth as though everything displeased him. Would marriage make him happy? He had certainly seemed keen, arranging things so quickly we’d barely had time to talk. I swallowed hard. As Mother said, I was to be wed, and I should make the best of it.

Paintings flanked the altar, crowding the wall. Gilded frames around the lives of saints. Symeon in his cave, Sebastian shot with arrows. The artist seemed especially to relish the sufferance of holy women. Devoted Agatha on fire; Felicity torn to pieces by wild animals; and Perpetua herself, so great a woman she could not be slain unless she herself willed it. When the service ended, Dr Everley took my hand and I recoiled at his icy touch. He didn’t lift the veil to kiss me. All along the aisle, one arm in the crook of his, the other aching from the weight of my bouquet, I imagined Perpetua and willed myself not to be slain.

At least there would be music at the reception. We came directly from the church, in two coaches which, to Mother’s delight, both bore the Everley crest.

‘Will there be dancing?’ Isabel indicated the string quartet setting up in the corner.

I shook my head, embarrassed. Who could imagine Dr Everley dancing? He was a man of letters, too clever for amusements. Father said his research was gaining attention, perhaps notoriety, and I always pictured him in a library. ‘Dr Everley’s a serious man.’

‘But he’s a gentleman. You’ll do alright here.’ Isabel surveyed the room, devouring details for Mother when they returned home and left me. ‘Those colours!’

‘This isn’t his house.’ I would not give her the satisfaction of admitting it was beautiful. Watered silk dressed the walls in shimmering tangerine and the furniture was covered to match, low ottomans and broad-backed chairs in intimate groups. Small dark-wood tables waited to hold drinks and cigars. ‘He may live in a perfect hovel for all we know. I’m sure Mother forgot to request the details in her haste to see me off.’ I should have been trying to lift Isabel’s spirits, but I had no patience for such foolish talk. What did orange walls matter? My life was ripped apart.

‘Father’s been to his house.’

‘His clinic.’ I couldn’t imagine them as equals. Father had barely a fee-paying patient left. ‘You know Brewsters aren’t welcome in respectable places.’ I turned away too late to avoid the hurt in her face.

‘Don’t you want to be happy? You’ll want for nothing now.’

‘I wanted nothing before.’ Why should everyone’s fate rest in my hands? Isabel and the boys could look forward to the summer at Lynton and I would have enjoyed it more than any of them. It was never me who resented the creeping shame after Rebecca left, the lack of invitations, all the parties and picnics we missed. Lynton would have been enough for me. Walking the dogs in the coppice, taking my sketchbook, or setting my easel in the orchards. The scent of long grass and ripe apples. No-one to watch or admonish. No responsibilities. Before Dr Everley came, I was free as the swifts that returned in spring. As free as my brothers to sketch and draw all day. Afterwards I was made to wear dresses that caught on branches, hair dressed and fussed until my scalp ached. Mother closed my sketchbooks and balanced them on my head, training me to stand tall and walk without them falling. She dismissed my careful notes and drawings as ‘showing off’, and I bit my lip until it bled.

Isabel sighed. ‘You’ll have a house. A London address! And people to call. Your husband will be respected. You can stop worrying that you’ll die before you live.’

‘I’ve never worried about that.’ I frowned. Mother threw a sharp look from the buffet table and my heart sank as she bore down on us, a full plate in one hand, the other pulling at her too-tight gown.

‘For heaven’s sake, Madeleine, stop looking so miserable. You’re as far from a blushing bride as it’s possible to be! You don’t want Dr Everley changing his mind.’

‘It would be a little late if he did.’

‘You think he will like sarcasm? You’re lucky to be taken at all.’

I tried to smile before she moved off to seize Aunt Honour. No use parting on bad terms; I would miss them soon enough. I turned to Isabel. ‘You’ll come to stay, won’t you? As soon as you can.’ I could not imagine life without them.

‘You’ll need to ask permission for that now.’ Isabel looked across at Dr Everley, deep in conversation with an elaborately whiskered man. She sighed again. ‘Perhaps your new husband will want you all to himself.’

‘Lucius is not such a selfish man.’ The woman in the wide-veiled hat extended her hand and I pressed it, hit by an overpowering scent of roses and something sickly that I couldn’t place. My cheeks burnt to think what she’d overheard. Such striking looks, with amber eyes and deep-red hair set off by the green of her gown. The fox on her shoulders bared sharp white teeth.

‘Delighted to meet you, dear sister. Lucius has told me so little about you that I feared I would guess all wrong. But you’re perfect. So young. So pretty.’ Said with the confidence of one who knows her own appearance is unrivalled. ‘I’ll visit as soon as you’re settled. Do you like children? I could bring them, ghastly as they are. But we might better get to know each other if I leave them with Nurse.’ She paused, throwing her hair back over one shoulder. ‘But I mustn’t put you off. Lucius adores children.’

Dr Everley – I must try to call him Lucius – had told me very little. We had only walked together once, talking mostly of his work. I learnt about his expertise in bone-setting and the method by which his father cured a royal child of club foot. Yet I knew nothing of his family.

Isabel dropped an awkward curtsey and the woman turned, clasping her hands together in a dramatic gesture.

‘You must be dear Madeleine’s true sister; you look so very alike. I am Lucius’s sister, Grace. I hope you don’t mind me stealing her? I only had Lucius, and I have always longed for a sister of my own.’

‘We have brothers too. We know very well how they can be,’ I said, trying to cover my surprise. A new sister, just as beautiful as Rebecca.

‘Are they also doctors?’ She looked around as though trying to identify them, her lip curling slightly at the sight of Mother clinking glasses. ‘I hope not, for your sake. So dreary always being called to watch Lucius’s scientific experiments. Frogs and fireworks.’ She raised her hand as if to brush their childhood away, but her eyes shone. They must be very...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 16.5.2024
• Verlagsort: London
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Historische Kriminalromane
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Krimi / Thriller
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• Schlagworte: 19th century • collector • Crime • fallen women • Historical • Jody Cooksley • London • Murder • natural curiosities • Scientific Discovery • Small Museum • Victorian
• ISBN-10: 0-7490-3162-X / 074903162X
• ISBN-13: 978-0-7490-3162-6 / 9780749031626