March 19th 1872
HENRY MORTIMER
Detective Constable Henry Mortimer ran his fingers through his hair and groaned in frustration. He'd been struggling on this case for nearly a week already, but he was still no closer to finding out the answer. This had to be the most formidable case he'd ever taken on. The more he looked over the evidence and eyewitness accounts he'd gathered over the last few days, the more confused he became. None of it added up.
Mortimer glanced at the clock, quietly ticking away in the corner, and cursed. It was late. He was exhausted. Any sane person would call it a night and retire to bed, but not Mortimer. He was determined to solve the case, no matter what it took.
For a moment, Mortimer wondered if he'd met his match at last. Maybe, after more than twenty years of work, he'd finally come across a case that even he couldn't solve. Mortimer quickly dismissed the thought. He couldn't give up now. For the sake of Charles Chapworth's reputation - and the poor innocent boy who had tragically lost his life in the blaze. Mortimer couldn't just let the culprit walk free. He owed the boy that much at least. It was his job to uphold justice. They all trusted him; he couldn't let them all down. Too much was at stake here.
"Tea, sir?" Mortimer looked up to see his young assistant, Clive Burton, walk into his office with a tea tray.
"Thank you, Clive," Mortimer replied, and took a sip from his cup. Earl Grey. No milk, two sugars. Clive knew him so well.
Mortimer felt the tea warm him up and clear his mind. Feeling fresher and invigorated, Mortimer turned back to the pile of evidence.
"You must be exhausted, sir," said Clive, "Perhaps it's time to call it a day. Some rest will do us both good."
"No." Said Mortimer firmly. Clive looked hurt, and looked like he was about to say something, but stayed decided to keep silent. It was only then that Mortimer realised how unfair it was that he was keeping Clive back against his will. He quickly added, "You go home, Clive. I'm sorry. I should have realised. It's late, and you're tired. I'll see you again in the morning."
Mortimer realised how tired he was. A week of sleepless nights was catching up on him. And his assistant must be just as exhausted as he was. Clive was still so young. This was one of his first cases, and he was so eager to please. Clive still had his whole life in front of him. It wouldn't do to have him falling ill at a time like this. Perhaps it would be best if they waited until morning.
But Clive only smiled and shook his head. "If you think I'd let you stay here by yourself and do all the work, then you are greatly mistaken. I'm your assistant. It's my duty to help you however I can."
Mortimer smiled. He'd anticipated that answer. "Very well then."
He got up from his desk, and started pacing around the room. There had to be something he was missing. Some blindingly obvious piece of evidence that was staring him in the face. He was so close to finding the answer. He just had to look a little bit more.
"We're so close, Clive," said Mortimer, "So close. We just have to last a little longer. I feel like there's a piece missing. And once we find that piece, the whole puzzle will fall into place."
"Perhaps going over the evidence again will help?" suggested Clive.
"Alright then," agreed Mortimer, "On Friday the thirteenth of this month, Chapworth Manor burnt down to the ground. Help was sought immediately, but because of the manor's isolated location, it didn't arrive for three quarters of an hour. By then it was too late, and it was too late for the manor to be saved."
By the time the fire fighters arrived, most of the manor had been reduced to nothing more than piles of ash and blackened rubble. Thankfully, all the residents were safe outside. Huddling together as they watched their home burn down. Well, all except for one.
"I still can't help but think there's something significant about the date," said Clive, "I mean, Friday the thirteenth. It must have been planned. To make a statement or something."
"That, or it really is an unlucky date." Mortimer had to grin.
"I didn't think you were superstitious, sir," said Clive, surprised.
"I'm not," smiled Mortimer. "So then, the culprit was the superstitious sort. He or she chose the date specifically. It also suggests that the fire was planned. Not a clumsy chambermaid accidentally knocking over a candlestick, then."
"So you don't think it was one of the servants?" Clive flicked through the files they'd collected, looking for any connections they might have missed.
Mortimer sighed. "I'm not sure. Really, at this point we can't rule out anything. The fire might even have been started by the poor boy that perished in it. What cruel irony that would've been."
"Doesn't it strike you as odd, that none of the Chapworths were hurt in the blaze?" asked Clive, "I mean, no one was seriously injured at all, except for that poor servant boy."
Mortimer smiled. "Very good, Clive. I see you're learning fast." Clive grinned, always happy to receive praise. "Yes, you're correct. There is something fishy about that. My guess is that the one responsible for the fire did not intend to cause harm, only to destroy the manor. Perhaps they held a grudge against the Chapworths."
"A dislike for the Chapworths, but unwilling to hurt any of them. Or perhaps the culprit was against hurting people in general."
"It was a message," decided Chapworth, "The one responsible for the crime did it out of revenge, or spite, or both. But no one was supposed to get hurt."
"Can we safely say that it wasn't of the Chapworths who started the fire?" Asked Clive, "After all, it would make no sense for one of them to burn down their own house."
"Perhaps," answered Mortimer, "I should think so, although one cannot be sure of anything at the moment. We must not forget that Charles Chapworth's sister and her family were staying at the manor during the time of the fire."
"His sister, sir?"
"Yes, his sister. The one who was disgraced, for making a marriage that...shall we say...was disproved of by her parents."
"Oh yes!" Exclaimed Clive, "I recall that now. There was quite a scandal about that. It must be...what? Twelve or thirteen years ago now?"
"She was cut off from the family fortune." Mortimer shook his head sadly. "That must have been hard for her."
"People do crazy things for love," shrugged Clive. "Anyway. Why was she staying at Chapworth Manor, then? If I were her I'd want to stay as far away from that place as possible. Do you think she reconciled with her brother?"
"Perhaps," said Mortimer, "But there have been rumours that her family have been struggling financially as of late. Her husband - despite the fact that he's a brilliant genius -" there was a tinge of admiration in Mortimer's voice. "Hasn't been able to come up with any new inventions for a few years now. It's extraordinary how fast the bills pile up."
"Ah," sighed Clive, "It's always about the money in the end, isn't it? Do you think it was her who started the fire, then?"
"No," decided Mortimer, "It wasn't her. If her brother lost his home, then she would lose hers, too. She was taking a huge risk, living at Chapworth Manor. From what I've heard her relationship with Charles Chapworth has been...uneasy. She wouldn't want to do anything to displease him, or she'd have been thrown out onto the streets quicker than you can blink."
No, it wasn't Chapworth's sister who started the fire. Mortimer was sure of that. Call it instinct. Her children, on the other hand, Mortimer wasn't sure about.
Mortimer felt his mind wandering. There was something he was missing. If only he could think what it was.
Suddenly, Clive gasped. "You don't think it could have been the butler, do you? The butler had full access to Charles Chapworth's personal affairs, and it would have been easy to tweak a few strings to make things go his way."
"Sound reasoning, my boy," said Mortimer, "but to be honest with you, no, I don't think it was the butler. Sir Jeggings is extremely loyal to the Chapworths, and would rather die than commit such a crime. I saw as much when I interviewed him. Such loyalty is impossible to fake."
Mortimer was distracted. There was something nagging at the edge of his mind. But every time he got close to touching it, it slipped away
All of a sudden, Mortimer remembered what it was. Of course! How could he have forgotten? "The fire at the marmalade factory!"
Clive frowned. "Sorry, I don't quite understand."
"Clive, do you remember?" Mortimer was getting excited now, his pacing becoming faster and faster. "It must have been about eight years ago now. It was a summer's day - one of the hottest days on record. Chapworth and co. marmalade factory was burnt down to the ground - just as Chapworth manor is now."
Clive's eyes widened. "Yes sir, I remember now! It was a terrible tragedy. So many people lost their lives in the disaster. But...that was an accident, wasn't it?"
Mortimer shrugged. "It seemed like it. There was an investigation, but nothing of note was discovered. Eventually people forgot about it. The remains of the factory were cleared away, and the bodies buried. People moved on. That's what they do."
"But now...you're not so sure it was an accident?" Clive asked quizzically.
"No, no, nots like that." Mortimer shook his head. "The marmalade factory was an accident. A tragic accident, but an accident nonetheless. No. What I'm saying is that the two events are connected."
By now Clive was thoroughly confused. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir. So both the manor and the factory burnt down to the ground. But that's the only connection I see."
"I don't believe in coincidences. Everything happens for a reason. Even Chapworth manor burnt down for a reason. There are patterns everywhere, just waiting to be discovered. Now I just have to - "
Mortimer broke of mid-sentence. Yes. Oh, yes. Of course. It was so obvious! How could he have missed it? Yes, it all made sense now
Mortimer had found the culprit. He was sure of it. He had solved the case. It was all over. It was odd though, he had to admit. After all, who would've suspected someone so innoecent-looking to commit such a horrible crime?
"Sir, are you alright?" Asked Clive with concern.
Mortimer smiled. Now he was truly in his element. Doing what he did best. "Indulge me for a moment here. Imagine that you had lost a loved one in the marmalade factory accident. How would you feel?"
"I...sad, unbelieving, angry maybe?"
"What else?" Mortimer encouraged. By now he was getting very excited.
"Well, I suppose I'd be angry at the Chapworths. After all, it was their factory. What are you getting at, sir?"
"Well, if you were angry at the Chapworths, what would you do?"
"I'd hate them, I guess. I'd want to make them pay for what they did." Clive gasped as he finally began to comprehend the situation. "Sir, you don't mean..."
Mortimer smiled. "My dear boy, I know who it was that started the fire."