The Web Weaver

“Violet—please. You mustn’t. You are safe now.”

“Is she hurt?” Donald Wheelwright had appeared in the doorway.

“Not seriously.” I could not keep the contempt from my voice. His terror of spiders was ludicrous. For such a giant to fear a harmless insect... I turned to Lovejoy. “How fairs your wife?”

“She appears to be breathing normally.”

I probed at Mrs. Lovejoy’s skull but found no bumps. “Perhaps she only fainted.” I took some smelling salts out of my bag, unscrewed the cap, and passed them back and forth under her nose. Her eyelids sprang open; she gasped and looked about.

Lovejoy clasped her hand tightly and pressed it to his chest. “Oh, my dearest, oh thank God!”

“Oh, Jonathan,” she murmured, her eyelids fluttering. She smiled, then closed her eyes. Abruptly, she sat up and stared about. “The mistress! The mistress! Oh, God help us all!”

“Calm yourself, Mrs. Lovejoy,” I said. “She has not been harmed.”

She stared up at her husband. “Not harmed? But where is... it?” She shuddered and covered her face with her hands.

Lovejoy and I looked at each other in confusion. “Abigail, dearest, to whom do you refer? What is ‘it’?”

She let her hands fall, her brown eyes opening wide. “Father in Heaven, protect us! Angels of God defend us!” Her voice was loud and piercing.

I glanced at the doorway. Mr. Wheelwright still stood there, filling the frame. Behind him was Gertrude. She obviously did not dare tell him to move aside.

“Please come in, Mr. Wheelwright,” I said, “or go into the hall.”

He frowned and took one reluctant step forward, then another, his eyes searching the floor. Gertrude walked past him and set down the silver tray bearing a decanter and glasses on the table.

I poured half a glass and gave it to Mrs. Lovejoy. “Drink this.”

Wearily she shook her head. “I do not drink spirits.”

“Consider it a medicine.” I gave her my most authoritative stare. “Drink it. Now.”

She took the glass reluctantly. Lovejoy said, “Drink it down, dearest. The doctor knows what is best.” She took a sip, coughed once, then took another sip.

I poured another glass and walked over to Violet. She was turned about in the chair, her face pressed against the velvet back, her right hand gripping the top. “Violet.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “Violet.” I tried to turn her forward, but her hand clutched at the chair. “Violet, what is wrong with you? Look at me. This is foolish.”

At last she let me turn her. Her face was red, her eyes swollen. “I feel so... awful.” Her lips twitched and started to form a grimace.

“Do not smile that way.” My voice was sharper than I intended. “Drink this.”

She took a big swallow and began to cough, her hand clutching her side. “Sip it. No...” I pulled the glass away. “Take small sips.”

I took a deep breath myself. Gertrude stared in horror at her mistress’s neck. “What... what did that to her?”

“The fiend!” shouted Mrs. Lovejoy. “The fiend from hell!”

Gertrude gave a sharp cry and stepped back. I heard other cries and talking in the hallway. Much of the household staff must have gathered there.

“The black man—I saw the black man—I saw the devil!”

My skirts trailed behind me as I spun about. “You keep silent! Not one more word, or I shall gag you myself!”

Mrs. Lovejoy’s eyes shone with fury, but it vanished at once. “Yes, Doctor.”

I took Gertrude by the shoulder. “Your mistress will soon be well again. I want you to go into the hall and tell everyone that she and Mrs. Lovejoy are in no danger. Everyone should go back to what they were doing. Can you do that for me?

She drew in her breath and squared her shoulders. I doubted she was even five feet tall, and again I felt like a giantess alongside her. “Yes, ma’am—Doctor, I mean.”

“Very good.” She did as I told her. “Close the door,” I said to Lovejoy.

Donald Wheelwright came close enough to the table to pour some brandy, and then he backed quickly away and downed the glass, the muscles of his massive neck rippling. I went to the table and poured some for myself. The brandy was very smooth, but burned slightly. Lovejoy stood beside his wife who sat in one chair, while Violet sat in the other, her mouth twitching as she struggled not to smile.

The door opened, and Sherlock Holmes strode into the room, his top hat and gloves in hand, his black greatcoat sweeping behind him. “What has transpired?”

I had never been so relieved to see anyone in my life. “Thank heavens you have come.” I leaned against the table, supporting myself with my right hand, suddenly aware of how exhausted and disturbed I felt.

Holmes was at my side at once. “You had better sit down.”

“There is nothing the matter with me.”

He pulled out one of the stout wooden chairs. “All the same, there is no reason to remain standing.”

“Thank you.” I sank into the chair and realized my feet were hurting again, despite my sensible shoes. If I had remained at home, I could have slipped out of the beastly shoes and warmed my feet before the fire. Henry was usually only too happy to massage my feet. At the thought of him, something seemed to catch in my throat. I looked up and saw Collins standing near the doorway, his rugged face flushed with excitement, his hands grasping the brim of his top hat.

“Collins?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Could you do me another service and go to my house to fetch my—Dr. Vernier? It is near Paddington Station.”

He laughed. “Have you forgotten how often we’ve driven you there?”

“Oh, of course—forgive me. Do not alarm him, but bring him here at once.”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

Holmes draped his greatcoat over a chair. He wore his usual black frock coat, the gold chain of his watch dangling between the pockets of his black waistcoat. He glanced at Mr. Wheelwright, who stood before one of the bookcases. “Would you not prefer to sit, sir?”

He shook his head.

“The spider must be gone,” I said. “He would not have lingered.”

“I’ll stand.” The tone of his voice was glacial.

Holmes set one hand on the oak table, his long fingers spread slightly apart. “Collins told me the spider was enormous, no doubt another fine specimen of tegenaria domestica. They can grow nearly six inches across. Quite harmless, however.”

Donald Wheelwright went paler still, his eyes shifting toward the doorway.

Holmes’ eyes swept about the room, his fingers tapping lightly at the table. “Collins told me all that happened. It is regrettable that everyone has gone stampeding through the room and grounds obliterating any hint of a footprint or other evidence.”

“Sherlock, I thought someone might be badly hurt. We could hardly...”

“I understand, Michelle. All the same, it is a pity. Collins said the window was still wide open when he came around the house.”

Lovejoy gave an emphatic nod. “So it was, Mr. Holmes.”

“And the two ladies were lying on the floor. Where exactly were they?”

“Violet was near the open window there,” I said, pointing to the one in the far corner. “Mrs. Lovejoy closer to the door.”

Holmes walked over to Violet. His presence seemed to steady her. She smiled once, a brief twitch, and then stared up at him, brushing aside a strand of black hair.

“Do you feel up to a few questions, Mrs. Wheelwright?”

She nodded. I joined them. “Are you certain Violet?” I put my hand on hers.