The Web Weaver by Sam Siciliano

Abigail,” Violet said.
    Violet paused as she and Mrs. Lovejoy reached the doorway. With her back to us, Violet said, “Jonathan, may I have a brief word with you? There are... some chores.”
    Lovejoy glanced at Holmes and me. “Pardon me, gentlemen. I shall be with you in an instant.” He returned almost at once. “Now then, Mr. Holmes, how may I assist you?”
    “Do sit down, Mr. Lovejoy.” We all sat. Holmes crossed his legs. “We were discussing church when your wife swooned.”
    Lovejoy shrugged. “I would know nothing about that, sir. My wife does the churchgoing for us both. I believe in the Deity, but I cannot abide having some sanctimonious man in a black gown preach at me.”
    “Your wife seems to have a religious bent.”
    “She does, sir. She is always praying for everyone and trying to save us from the devil’s snares.” Lovejoy seemed faintly amused.
    “I would presume your wife attends church every Sunday?”
    “Ah, you might well think that, but she does not. She has rather strict requirements for a congregation and preacher; she has found no church that truly satisfies her.”
    Holmes’ gray eyes watched the butler closely. “That does seem odd.”
    “She is very opinionated, sir, very opinionated indeed, but a good woman and a good wife, despite all her talk of the devil.”
    “She did mention a church she attends occasionally.”
    Lovejoy nodded. “On Hampstead Street, I believe.”
    “Is not that the Reverend Obadiah Dunbar’s church?”
    Lovejoy smiled. He had very good teeth, white and straight. “As I indicated, Mr. Holmes, you are asking the wrong man. I have not set foot in a church for many a year. Are you a frequent churchgoer yourself?”
    “I am not.”
    Lovejoy gave a brief laugh. “Then we understand one another.”
    “We digress, Mr. Lovejoy. What can you tell me about this ugly business with the note?”
    Lovejoy’s smile vanished. “Not much, I fear.”
    “How long have you been employed by the Wheelwrights, Mr. Lovejoy?”
    “My wife and I have been with them for about six years. Before that we were with the Stamps of Liverpool, the small household of an elderly couple. After their deaths—which followed closely upon one another—we came to London.”
    “Who employed you?”
    “Mrs. Wheelwright. She is a very capable wife, Mr. Holmes. There are those ladies who have neither the ability nor the inclination to manage a large household. Mrs. Wheelwright, to the contrary, involves herself in every detail. Not a meal is cooked, not a room furnished, not a maid hired, not a bill paid, without her consideration. She is a brilliant woman, sir, kind-hearted and charming as well.”
    Holmes nodded. “So I have seen. And what of your master?”
    Lovejoy’s enthusiasm was checked midair and seemed to spiral slowly downward. “Well, sir, Mr. Wheelwright is an honest, decent man. Frankly, I do not deal with him so often as with the mistress. He has his personal valet and does not much concern himself with the running of his household.”
    “He lets his wife manage it for him.”
    Lovejoy nodded. “Exactly, sir. She is very good at it, and after all, it is a wife’s duty.”
    “Does Mrs. Wheelwright have any enemies?” Holmes asked. “Or is there anyone on your staff who might harbor some minor resentment against her?”
    “No.”
    “Your wife appeared equally certain.”
    “There is no question of it. No one in London pays better wages—you would be surprised how stingy some of the illustrious wealthy can be.”
    Holmes shook his head. “No, I would not.”
    “Moreover, she treats everyone from me and Mrs. Lovejoy to the lowest scullery maid with equal respect. I have never had an unkind word from her. She has no enemies under this roof.”
    “What of Mr. Wheelwright? Does he have enemies?”
    Lovejoy hesitated. “Perhaps.”
    “Who in the house dislikes him?”
    “‘Dislike’ is perhaps too strong, sir. There have been misunderstandings on occasion.