TITLE: The Case Of The Strange Footprints
AUTHOR: Talepiece
RATING: 12 cert.
PAIRING: Vastra/Jenny
SERIES: The Casebook Of Madame Vastra
CONTINUITY: This is the first story in the third volume of Vastra and Jenny stories.
DISCLAIMER: Own, I do not; sue, please do not.
CREDITS: This story is based on R Austin Freeman's The Man With The Nailed Shoes, one of the Dr Thorndyke mysteries.
NOTE: This is the first of four more Vastra and Jenny fics based on early detective stories. Ill-health and website woes scuppered my plan to write a Classic Who fic so apologies for the lack of posts in the break. I'm hoping to continue posting every month but there may be some delays depending on how I'm feeling.
I've taken liberties with the Coroner's Court system in this story.
POSTED: August 2014
While resting in the village of Little Sundersley, Madame Vastra and Miss Jenny Flint were surprised to find themselves assisting in the defence of a man of dubious past and questionable friends.
Jennifer Strax Vastra-Flint.
London, 1950.
"What I am trying to say, my dear," Madame Vastra said, "is that you are not indestructible."
"And what I'm trying to say," her companion, Jenny Flint said, "is that neither are you."
The two women walked along the artificial gap cut through the cliffs of Little Sundersley. They had agreed to take a few weeks sabbatical; a coastal holiday to allow them both to recover from what had been a difficult - if exciting - year. Jenny had immediately thought of a week in Brighton and was somewhat surprised to have her friend and companion suggest some remote little village on the East Coast.
Little Sundersley was exactly as its name implied: small. Indeed, it could be described as much as an outpost of civilisation as any of Her Imperial Majesty's colonies. The place had an old-world charm and all of the old-world manners and customs associated with that. Jenny had never even heard of the place and in fairness, most people were of the same mind. Little Sundersley's tiny population may have doubled during the summer months but it still left the population some way below that of the streets where Jenny had grown up.
Most of those visitors came for the rugged landscape and the plentiful bird life that flapped and squawked above the plentiful sandy wasteland that passed for a beach. To Jenny's amazement, Vastra had announced that she had family, "of a sort," in the area and begged her companion's indulgence in booking tickets to the nearest railway station. Which was a good few miles and not a very pleasant cart ride away.
They had arrived, tired and in Jenny's case, somewhat annoyed, to find themselves installed in two small lodging rooms under the suspicious eye of the owner and housekeeper, Mrs Cartwright. At least the rooms were clean and well enough laid out, Jenny had said while her lover noted that each bed was large enough for two.
So they had settled into the lazy - and nosey - local life. Walking the cliffs and beach when the weather allowed it; visiting the nearby Eastwich and its market; spending lazy afternoons cuddled together in one just-about-big-enough bed or the other. Mrs Cartwright's demeanour had softened, not least thanks to Jenny's generosity of spirit and Vastra's generosity of purse, and the two women had been accepted into what passed for society in Little Sundersley and its environs.
Now they had only a week remaining of their stay and yet again Vastra was trying to persuade her companion that she was a mere human and not necessarily able to keep up with a Silurian warrior. Though she was careful not to use such words. In truth, Jenny loved her even more for trying but the fact that she wouldn't stop was beginning to grate on her windswept nerves.
"Then let us agree," Vastra said in a conciliatory tone, "that we shall both attempt to take better care of ourselves. Yes?"
Jenny grinned, pulling Vastra closer with a tug on the arm that she already held, "Yeah, that'd be about right. We have been a bit daft this past year. Doing stuff that wasn't so smart, I mean."
"You are correct, my dear," Vastra smiled down at her through the heavy lace of her veil.
They walked on along a stretch of beach that showed little human passage but plenty of bird tracks. It really was quite pretty, Jenny thought as she looked out over the expanse of what she had learned was the North Sea. She'd never been further than Brighton before and that only for one day when she was a girl. Her Uncle had taken her there after he'd had a "particularly good few days". Jenny now understood that he'd pulled a big job and wanted to celebrate. It didn't detract from her love for him or that day; he had wanted to celebrate it with her after all.
"Madame?" Jenny said suddenly.
"My dear," Vastra said, somewhat distracted.
"When do I actually get to meet this family of yours?" Vastra's attention was focused a little way off at a patch of sand that was considerably more disturbed than most. Jenny had to tug on her arm to shift her focus, "You alright?"
"I am, my dear, forgive me. I was studying these footprints," Vastra indicated the patch of sand with a flick of her hand, "There is generally so little activity along these stretches of beach; the bird watchers," she hesitated over the phrase, still a little perplexed by the pastime, "usually stationing themselves a little higher on the cliffs."
"Could have been a group of walkers."
"No, I believe not, for there are no tracks further on and these two tracks were made some interval apart. Several hours at least," Vastra added as she peered down at the footprints.
"You really have been studying up, haven't you?"
Vastra straightened and turned to Jenny, "I have and Little Sundersley has been an excellent testing ground for my new-found knowledge."
"As long as you've enjoyed it," Jenny said indulgently.
"You have not, my dear?" Vastra said, failing to hide her disappointment.
"Oh, I have. Honestly," Jenny grinned at her, "it might not be the place I'd have chosen but it's a lovely little village and the locals have been surprisingly welcoming, I'd say. And this time with you, without cases and clients and grisly murders has been wonderful."
"I am pleased," Vastra said and pulled Jenny into a brief hug.
As she pulled back, Jenny said, "So, what else do these footprints tell us?"
"That one man, a fisherman, passed this way not more than a few hours ago but the other man, who appears to have come up from a boat to fetch something of considerable weight, returned through the gap at least four hours ago."
"Blimey," Jenny said, "it's like reading the tea leaves."
Vastra raised herself dramatically and Jenny laughed, "You tease me, my dear."
"I do, Madame, I do."
They walked on a little way and Jenny asked Vastra to explain her deductions. She listened carefully, trying to take in all the details before shaking her head in wonder.
"So it all comes down to the size of the boot, the length of the stride and the depth of the print?"
"Quite so," Vastra smiled beneath her veil, proud that her companion could take in such things so deftly, "Additionally, the depth of the footprint at toe and heel can indicate the posture of the walker."
"And you got the times from where they were in relation to the tide marks and where high water was a few hours ago and a few further back again? Clever that."
"I thank you," Vastra said and lead them away from the fascinating patch of sand.
They walked on a little and headed for another path that cut through the cliff and back towards the village. The locals called it Shepherd's Path and it rose high and steep up to the top of the cliff before dropping back down a little to the village itself or branching off to various smaller hamlets and farms.
It was getting late in the season now and most of the walkers and bird watchers had returned to their daily lives, to the bustle of the cities or the boredom of the towns and villages of England. It was not deserted though, as a group of men came into sight just ahead of them. There was the local Police Sergeant, Dr Burrows the local GP and a burly fisherman shrouded in sou'wester and sea boots. Behind them were two Constables bearing a stretcher.
The fisherman appeared to be leading the group in something of a diffident manner. He nodded as Sergeant Poole asked him something and half turned to point back down the beach from whence Vastra and Jenny came. The Sergeant caught sight of the women and looked uncertain for a moment before the fisherman said something and the group turned back towards the Path.
"Some poor sod's taken a tumble," Jenny said as they watched the men walk away.
The beach narrowed and arched around a small headland and Vastra and Jenny turned with it to find the party halted in a narrow bay, staring down at the prostrate form of a man. Dr Burrows was kneeling in the sand at the man's side while the Sergeant talked to the fisherman and the stretcher-bearers waited a few yards away.
"I fear he has not tumbled, my dear," Vastra said, "for he is lying above the high-water mark."
"Those footprints were his then?" Jenny asked.
Vastra did not have a chance to respond as they came upon the little group and the Sergeant waved them to a halt.
"Ladies, I'm afraid I really must ask you to remain there for this is no sight that you should see."
Dr Burrows laughed, saying, "Haven't you heard? This is The Great Detective herself, Poole, and her colleague Miss Flint besides."
The Sergeant appeared sceptical but even the fisherman seemed to know of the couple's great fame. The two Constables were now craning their necks to look back at the women. Jenny refrained from commenting on the fact that only the local constabulary seemed unaware of their profession. Typical Bobbies, always the last to get a clue.
"So much for no mysteries," Jenny said under her breath before speaking up, "Anything we can help with, gents?"
The Sergeant bristled but Burrows pointed to the body and said, "It's right up your alley, ladies; certainly murder. You'll notice the knife wound bare inches above the heart."
"Death within but a few seconds, Doctor?" Vastra said.
"Exactly."
"And no sign of the knife nearby so not done by his own hand," Jenny added and noticed that the Sergeant's expression had shifted from annoyance to wonder.
"He's quite stiff and cold too," Burrows went on, "so he's been dead a good twelve hours at least."
"Not good for him, alas," Vastra pointed out.
Jenny considered the body carefully. She might not be The Great Detective herself but she'd seen more than her share of dead bodies in her lifetime. This one was a man of about thirty-five years, thin and frail-looking almost to the point of emaciation. He lay in an easy slump with half-closed eyes and an unusually relaxed posture for a murder victim.
Vastra allowed her gaze to shift to the surrounding area and noted the footprints with interest. There were scuff marks all around the body and at first sight it appeared that the man had put up quite a fight. One set of prints was particularly interesting. They appeared to be the hob-nailed boots of a labourer but there was something odd about the pattern of nails.
The Sergeant was studying them too and making detailed notes in his little pocketbook. He leaned low over the strange prints and frowned.
"Sporting shoes, I believe," Vastra said, "Notice the unusual diamond-shaped pattern and the lack of iron tips at toe and heel."
"Shooting boots, perhaps?" the Sergeant said and raised a brow towards Vastra.
"Indeed."
They straightened up just as the Doctor stood from beside the body and the Sergeant said, "The deceased gentleman - a Mr Hearn - appears to have been walking home from Port Marston. Nate here," he indicated the fisherman, "saw the footprints along the shore as I'm certain you ladies must have done also; the rubber heels make them easy to identify."
Vastra nodded, "His murderer must have known he was coming then, Sergeant, and been keeping a lookout."
"Quite right, Madame. He saw Mr Hearn enter the bay, came down the path and attacked. There was quite a struggle by the looks of it and then the murderer stabbed poor Hearn before returning up the path. You can see the double tracks up between there and here, though I'm afraid they won't last long as you go up higher, for the ground gets very hard in places."
Vastra nodded as if in full agreement with the man but Jenny sensed her doubt. Still, they bid the group goodbye as the Doctor, fisherman and stretcher party left to return to the village directly and the Sergeant excused himself to hurry off up the path and follow any possible tracks.
Jenny waited a moment until they had all dispersed before she looked up at Vastra, whose head remained tilted in consideration of the area where the late Mr Hearn had lain.
"You're not so sure, Madame?"
"I am not, I confess."
"Best we get on up after the Sergeant then and have a look at these tracks." Vastra turned now and smiled through the lace of her veil. Jenny rolled her eyes but said nothing until they were climbing the path when she added, "The Sarge seems like a good man."
"I believe so, quite intelligent given his profession. I would dearly like to take a look into that notebook of his but I do fear he has made an error in his assumptions."
Jenny made to offer to lift the pocketbook at the first opportunity but thought better of it. Instead, she said, "Just how much have you missed this business then?"
"I cannot think what you mean, my dear."
"Oh, aye," Jenny muttered but could say no more as they came upon the Sergeant studying yet more footprints.
Despite the Sergeant's fears, they were plentiful and quite clearly delineated, the ground being largely sandstone and hence not too hard to take the prints. Most of the rock had been softened by the weather and was patchy with dry herbage, only a few areas were too hard to show the markings as the tracks rose with the path which zigzagged its way up the cliff towards the top.
The softer rock showed several clear prints of the unusually nailed shoes, though many were now obliterated by the Sergeant's newer - and also hob-nailed - boots. The sagacious officer was skulking up and down the short expanse of path that held the clearest tracks, head bent low and attention absolute.
After a few minutes of Vastra and Jenny watching the man work, his head jerked up suddenly and he stared at the ladies in surprise.
"Heavens, ladies," he said in embarrassment, "but I didn't see you there at all."
"You were most enthralled in your work, Sergeant," Vastra said.
"I was bemoaning the lost tracks as they move on, Madame," he indicated the path a little further up, "They stop just there, I'm afraid."
"So there's no way to know where the murderer came from or went too," Jenny said, genuinely sorry for the man.
"None at all!"
"The dead man, Sergeant," Vastra said, "this Mr Hearn. Was he a local?"
The Sergeant joined them, depositing his notebook in the inside pocket of his uniform coat.
"He was not, Madame. He'd been staying over the summer due to having a friend resident in the area."
"And who would that -" Jenny began but she was interrupted by the loud hails of a man from above them on the path.
They all turned to look as a tall, athletic man of some forty years hurried towards them. He wore the Norfolk knickerbockers of a country gent and had the appearance of a man not used to being troubled by a great deal, though he seemed to be quite troubled now.
"Mr Draper," the Sergeant greeted the man.
"Is it true, Sergeant Poole? About poor Mr Hearn?" Draper asked urgently. His face was pale with concern, his eyes darting along the path and between the small group. "He's been murdered?"
"I'm afraid so, Mr Draper, and I offer you my deepest condolences."
"Dear God. Oh, do forgive me, ladies."
"Not at all, Mr Draper," Vastra said and extended her hand, "Our condolences also."
"Yes," he said, taking her hand in a limp grasp, "yes, yes, of course. Ah, thank you, I mean."
"I was just coming to speak with you, Sir," the Sergeant said in a formal tone.
"Me?" Draper's skin grew more pallid still, "Whatever for?"
"Well, you were a friend of the deceased, Sir, and I have a few questions."
"Oh no," Draper's hands flapped around in panic, "no, I really didn't know Hearn that well at all. A mere acquaintance, nothing more."
You're going to get yourself nicked, Jenny thought as the man's panic grew. The Sergeant was having much the same thought and he pushed Draper on the subject, receiving less and less convincing responses each time.
"No, Sir," the Sergeant said in a firm tone, "I really must insist that you and I have a little chat about this now. We can escort the ladies back up to the top of the path and then go on to your cottage, eh?"
Draper had no choice but to agree and they moved off, making the steepening climb up the path in single file. After a few minutes, they came to a little patch of boggy ground created by a sharp dip in the cliff's side and the often heavy rainfall in the area. It had been a surprisingly dry summer and now what the Sergeant referred to as a pond was merely a narrow isthmus of half-dried mud.
Draper was leading the way and though he attempted to step clean over the thin patch of wetter ground, his shoe caught the edge and left a deep imprint. The Sergeant, immediately behind Draper and ahead of the two women, glanced down at the print and veered off his intended route dramatically.
Vastra swerved too and pulled Jenny with her. The two women overtook the Sergeant as he stood, eyes locked on the print. Jenny did her best to get a good look and still keep her footing as she followed Vastra around the muddier ground.
"Blimey," she whispered to Vastra as they caught up with Draper.
The man remained entirely unaware that he had sealed his fate. The imprint that he had left so clearly in the mud appeared to be an exact match for the unusually patterned shoes of the murderer.
"Mr Draper!" the Sergeant called out from behind them all, "Mr Draper, perhaps you're right." Draper stopped, turned to cast a terrified gaze on the officer and then relaxed as the Sergeant continued, "Perhaps it would be best if you got back to your cottage tonight and I talked to you tomorrow. It's been a hard knock for you, I'm sure."
"You're very kind, Sergeant Poole," Draper said with a glow of relief, "Very kind indeed."
With that, the Sergeant excused himself and all-but ran up the cliff, turning before the top to scramble the last few yards and run back to the village. Vastra and Jenny exchanged knowing looks but said nothing as Draper composed himself and then offered to walk them to the top of the cliff.
"I thank you, Mr Draper," Vastra said, "but you must be tired after such a day and I would not wish to detain you further."
Jenny winced at the use of the word "detain" but smiled to hide it as Draper took his leave and rushed away.
"You think he'll make a run for it?"
"The good Sergeant must think not and he appears to know his business. Though this is a singular case, my dear, and I rather fear it's more complex even than Sergeant Poole believes."