Free The Web Weaver by Sam Siciliano Page A

desk, and peered at the pigeonholes. “Mrs. Wheelwright is obviously not fearful of doing her sums. Ah, do come in, Mrs. Lovejoy. Please be seated.”
    Mrs. Lovejoy was a rather austere-looking woman of about the same height and build as Violet, perhaps a bit older, but with none of her employer’s beauty or animation. She parted her black hair down the middle, leaving exposed a white furrow, and her skin was very pale. Her eyes were large, brown and rather vacant, her face narrow, almost gaunt, with prominent cheekbones. She wore a black muslin dress, a plain cut, with a multitude of tiny black buttons down the front. All in all, she recalled a dour Puritan of Cromwell’s time. She sat down and regarded Holmes warily.
    “And how long have you been in Mrs. Wheelwright’s service, madam?”
    “About six years, sir.” She was very soft spoken.
    “And what kind of mistress is she?”
    “The very best there is, sir.”
    “And Mr. Wheelwright, what kind of master is he?”
    She blinked twice. Her eyelids were almost translucent; the skin between her dark brows and her lashes a faint blue. “The master is... a fair man.”
    “Indeed?” Holmes sat back against the tabletop. “And what do you make of the business with the gypsy curse and the note Mrs. Wheelwright found?”
    “The devil’s work, sir—the devil himself.”
    A smile pulled briefly at Holmes’ lips. “Do you know why the devil would have singled out your mistress?”
    “Because of her goodness. She cares for all us servants and sets an example for all the cruel and stingy mistresses and masters, and she works to help the poor.”
    “And does your mistress have any enemies? Besides the devil?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Has she dismissed anyone for bad conduct in the last year or two?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Has she reprimanded anyone publicly or lost her temper at any of the staff?”
    Mrs. Lovejoy shook her head. “Certainly not.”
    Holmes nodded. “I see. We are dealing with an angel.”
    Mrs. Lovejoy’s eyes rolled upward. “You do understand, sir. She is a veritable angel.”
    “No doubt. An angel of the Lord.”
    Mrs. Lovejoy’s eyes opened wide. “She is not! She is only...” She cut off her words, her face reddening. “I mean to say... she is... she is the angel... of this house . Our good angel of the house.” Her voice grew soft again.
    As puzzled as I, Holmes stared at her closely. “And do you honestly believe in angels and devils, Mrs. Lovejoy?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “And what does the devil look like?”
    “He has horns and a tail.”
    “Does he have a mustache and a goatee?”
    She stared angrily at him. “It does not do to mock the Evil One.”
    “And have you thought much about the nature of evil, Mrs. Lovejoy?”
    “What?”
    “Of what does evil consist? Come—you must have reflected upon the matter.”
    She hesitated, then the words burst forth. “It is those with power abusing the helpless, the less fortunate—it is men who beat and humiliate women, men who lie and brutalize and...” She cut off, suddenly.
    Holmes stared at her. “Ah.” Her cheeks had turned red. “It is the drunken laborer who comes home and beats his wife,” he said.
    “That is a good example.”
    “It is the manufacturer who employs men and women for long hours of toil under deplorable conditions, pays them a pittance, ruins their health, then dismisses them.”
    “Yes.” She nodded. “Yes, that is exactly it.”
    He was still watching her. “It is the rich man who dallies with a lady of ill repute until her looks are gone and then casts her adrift.”
    Mrs. Lovejoy hesitated only an instant; her eyes had caught fire. “ Yes .”
    “I see. And what do you think should be done about such evil?”
    Mrs. Lovejoy’s eyes showed a wild animation that I would not have expected from such a person. “I would make them...” Her voice rang out, suddenly loud and strong. She closed her eyes, and the muscles in her slender throat rippled as she