The Eyeball Collector Read Online Free PDF Page A

vital never to let your secrets be found out. Father fell into despair and refused to leave the study. The servants abandoned us, like rats leaving a ship. Many were engaged by the neighbours. Mrs Ecclestope claimed our cook – she had always coveted her stuffed goose. Even my tutor disappeared and my days were my own.
    Eventually we had nothing left and the sale of our home and its contents was placed in the hands of the solicitors and debt-collectors Messrs Badlesmire and Leavelund. Like vultures descending on a carcass they arrived and all that horrible day I watched every single one of our possessions being removed. Father remained tight-lipped and stoical throughout until they came into his study and began to take his butterfly collection.
    ‘Now, then, Mr Fitzbaudly,’ I heard Badlesmire warn. ‘No need for a scene, my good man. No need at all.’
    But before I could react Father had lunged at him to wrest a glass display case from his arms. As I tried to pull my father back, the case dropped and shattered. The colourful wings of the huge butterfly within, the one Father had shown me so happily only days before, tore against the sharp glass pieces and scattered, staining the carpet with their dust.
    Later that night when the house was empty and the invaders had gone, I found Father in the stripped butterfly house, staring into space.
    ‘It’s Truepin that’s done this,’ I told him with venom. ‘We must find him and take him to the courts for his lies and blackmailing ways. We must have justice!’
    ‘He will be well gone from this city,’ said my father. ‘He got what he wanted.’ He turned around and I was shocked by his pallor, as if all life was draining from him.
    ‘Maybe the newspapers are right,’ he said quietly. ‘Maybe I do deserve this.’
    ‘No one deserves this,’ I said hotly. ‘And who is Gulliver Truepin to sit in judgement on you anyway?’ I clenched my fist. ‘I swear if I ever find him . . .’
    Father shook his head. ‘No, violence is not the answer.’ He put out his hand and leaned on the wall as if to steady himself. ‘To refrain from imitation is the best revenge.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’ I was almost shouting but couldn’t help myself. ‘Surely you don’t believe that Truepin should go unpunished?’
    Suddenly Father moaned and clutched at his chest, then collapsed on to the stone floor. Instantly I dropped to my knees and took my father’s head in my lap. His eyes were wide and staring, his body was rigid and his breathing was harsh and irregular.
    ‘Hector,’ he gasped, ‘I always feared one day my secret would be discovered. I just didn’t realize how bad it would be. I’m so sorry – it was wrong of me.’
    I held back tears as I shook my head and told him it didn’t matter. His skin had taken on a green hue by now and his lips were blue. He struggled to take my arm, drawing me even closer to hear what he had to say.
    ‘It’s too late for me, but it’s not too late for you,’ he whispered. ‘Take heed. I know you’re angry now, but remember: when you run with wolves you become a wolf. Is that what you want?’
    ‘I only want justice,’ I sobbed.
    Father smiled up at me. ‘I know you will do the right thing,’ he breathed. Then his face contorted in a grimace. His grip tightened spasmodically on my arm. He emitted a long deep sigh, his fingers loosened and I knew he was dead.
    In the tenebrous shadows of the butterfly house I gripped the black cocoon at my neck until my knuckles went white. ‘Not justice then,’ I whispered, ‘but revenge.’
    Salve,
    Your friend,
    Hector
     
Chapter Seven
          
Fitch’s Home for Exposed Babies and Abandoned Boys
    There were no mourners at Augustus Fitzbaudly’s burial other than Hector. The vicar, grimacing in the rain, read a short passage from the Bible and hurried away to the shelter of the church, his performance directly proportional to the paltry sum he had been paid. In the absence