The Chemickal Marriage

ears, peered past the panel with disapproval.
    ‘Who are you?’ Miss Temple demanded, before he could speak.
    ‘I am Mr Kelling.’
    ‘Why do you not keep such a door locked, Mr Kelling, instead of allowing innocent women to blunder onto so shocking a sight? It is disgraceful and cruel!’
    Kelling studied her shrewdly. ‘You were told to wait.’
    ‘With that smell? Now I’ve been sickened. Now I just want some air.’
    ‘Of course. If you would follow me.’
    Kelling stepped aside. Under his arm was tucked an oblong box of dark wood. He led her into the corridor and locked the door behind him.
    ‘Who was that girl?’ asked Miss Temple. ‘And what was that horrid stink?’
    ‘An unfortunate orphan.’ Kelling’s voice was glazed with apology, like watered honey on a poor-quality gammon. ‘The odour is regrettable.’
    ‘I did not expect dead orphans in a palace.’
    ‘One wouldn’t.’
    ‘What did she die
of
?’
    ‘An inevitable question.’
    A period of silence made clear it was also a question to which Miss Temple would get no answer. ‘What do
you
do here, Mr Kelling?’
    ‘Whatever I am asked.’
    ‘So you’re someone’s spaniel?’
    They reached another door. Kelling waved her through.
    ‘Mr Schoepfil.’
    Miss Temple stopped where she stood. ‘I don’t want to see any Mr Schoepfil.’
    ‘He insists on seeing
you
.’
    She was offered an upholstered chair. The only other furniture in the room was a little table on wheels, stacked with folders. Kelling gave Schoepfil the oblong box, then made a discreet exit. Schoepfil opened the narrow casket eagerly, pecking at its contents with the tip of one gloved finger, counting to seven. He snapped the box shut and impishly raised his eyebrows, inviting Miss Temple to share his pleasure.
    ‘Your first
audience
with the Queen?’ He nodded before she could reply, and rapped the stack of folders with a grey-gloved fist. ‘I offer no refreshment – there is no time – as much as I would enjoy chatting at length with someone who, however inadvertently, might answer so
many
matters digging at my mind. I believe you even knew my cousin – I expect you saw her die! I imagine the event was
spectacular
.’ Mr Schoepfil’s hands flapped at either side of his neck and a wretched squawk came from his mouth, enacting – it took Miss Temple a moment to realize – Lydia Vandaariff’s decapitation. ‘Dreadful! Still, a stupid girl, and sacrificed with no more thought than a loaf of stale bread given to pigs. But
you
– you’re a different fish. One gathers – one
sifts
– even within the lies! – and the name of Miss Celestial Temple
persistently
appears.’
    He pursed his lips with a lemony expectation.
    ‘I would like to leave,’ said Miss Temple.
    Schoepfil shook his head. ‘No, no, no – think and move on.’
    ‘What can you want with me?’
    ‘Less by the second, I assure you.’
    ‘Where is the Contessa?’
    ‘Is she your patroness?’
    ‘She can go hang. Where is Lord Axewith?’
    ‘Why should a little thing like you care about
him
?’
    ‘He was at the baths. His watch stopped working for the steam.’
    ‘Lord Axewith was called to his wife, who is unwell.’
    Miss Temple gazed back, blankly, knowing this was a lie – or, conversely, that it was the truth and Colonel Bronque was the liar.
    ‘Is not the city on fire?’
    ‘Yes, sometimes others are kind enough to manage things for you.’ Schoepfil unexpectedly grinned. ‘Most likely you should die here and now! What would you say to that? I am
nearly
in jest – but not all, because I
know
– and when one
knows
, one must always
fear
. Have you learnt that – learnt it enough? When did you last see the Trapping child alive?’
    Miss Temple did not want to answer, but saw no value in the information. ‘At the Customs House, before the explosion.’
    ‘
Ah
. As I
suspected
.’
    ‘But that’s not where she was killed.’
    ‘Of course not.’ Schoepfil let out a frustrated huff, his torso compacted in a contemplative hunch. Again Miss Temple attempted to prompt him.
    ‘Francesca’s sickness –’
    ‘Too fragile, could have predicted it ten miles away.’ He tapped his thin lips with a thumb. ‘But where does that leave
you
?’
    ‘I have killed four men,’ said Miss Temple.
    ‘I do not doubt it. One’s fingertips tingle.
Come!
’
    He snatched up the oblong box and hauled her to the door, Miss Temple restraining an urge to kick. They passed Kelling in the