The Hanged Man (35 page)

“Dear God—James, how could you? And is that Dr. Hamish?”

“No names, please,” said James Fonteyn. He ceased pointing his gun at her and lifted his mask.

“What the devil are—”

“Lady Drina?” The man who'd warned them came close, holding a lantern high. His disguise didn't cover the port wine mark on his ear. “You shouldn't be here!” said Fingate. “This is no place for a lady.”

She was too angry for words, but intended to share a few regardless. An open door on the right … ugh, it would be the opium den. She grabbed the startled Fingate and dragged him in, trusting that Brook and the others would follow. They did so, bringing the woman as well. Dr. Hamish had swept her up and now eased her down again on the bare floor. Brook, to judge by his stance, was still ready to club someone and blocked the way out. Their intrusion drew no notice from the languid inhabitants of the room.

“James—” she began.

“I
can
explain—”

“There's no explanation for such depravity!”

“Of course not, so give me the benefit of a doubt and consider that I'm not here for pleasure.”

“Then why?”

“Staging a rescue, my dear. That woman the doctor is so carefully attending was being held against her will and we're trying to—”

Her mind abruptly leaped ahead without a logical progression of facts. “Rosalind Veltre,” she said to Brook.

James looked pained. “Please stop blurting names. These wretches won't remember anything, but—”

“Bother that, no one can hear a word over that damned drumming.”

“Such language, but you've a point. I expect you're on some mission for your employers, but I'm here out of the goodness of my generous heart. If we work together we might all get out alive.”

She looked at Fingate. “You went to James after escaping from the park?”

“You said I could trust him, and so it's proved. I didn't want to draw danger to you by going to Pendlebury House.”

Just as well. Teddy wouldn't have known what to do with him. “You knew of the card hidden in Father's cane?”

“It wasn't my place to read it, but considering the circumstances I thought I should in the hope of helping. I was sure you'd find it on your own. I didn't know what it meant, but Mr. Fonteyn and his friends sorted it out and that's what brought us here.”

“By many twists and turns,” said James, “the Ætherics caught my attention last month. The Psychic Service wasn't doing anything about them, and the lads and I decided to look into things on our own.”

“What happened last month?”

“One of our friends got involved. First séances, then metaphysical lectures, then suggestions that with modest donations he could be initiated into an inner circle where the real power lurked. They hinted that there was genuine magic to be learned if you got the right sort of instruction and had the inherent ability.”

“Magic? Charlatans and stage trickery, more like.”

“I know. So did he. The poor fellow went along with it for a lark but he must have been found out or learned things he shouldn't. His landlady missed him for the rent and came asking after him. A week later his body turned up in the Thames washed clean of anything a Reader could find. It was ruled death by misadventure, but Hamish and I rejected that. We began making inquiries and it put the wind up us. Why do you think we were so well armed when those hooded churls invaded my home?”

She'd been so busy that she'd not questioned it. When a Reading might result in the discovery of a murderer, having a weapon ready to hand was only sensible.

“When Fingate turned up after that dunking in the Serpentine we—”

“You were following me? Is that how you came to be in the park?”

“Well, yes, sort of, just a bit. That inspector friend of yours took me aside and gave me a few opinions on what he thought of the Service and that he didn't think they were doing all they could to look after you.”

“Lennon did that?”

“Bit of a rough fellow, but sharp instincts. He reasoned that if some band of madmen could do away with two peers in one night without batting an eye, then they'd do for you just as quick. We had volunteers keeping watch at a safe distance, at least until you disappeared into the Service building. Of course, when the shooting started they had to get clear, and I don't blame 'em. While the lads were busy, Hamish and I got what story Fingate had to tell and we set about looking for Mrs. Veltre. Took us a while to find the woman's flat, and then she wasn't in. We learned a few things from street Arabs that led us to think she'd been kidnapped, so Hamish and I toddled over and infiltrated this party hoping to find clues. Had to bring Fingate along, he wasn't keen to be on his own.”

“I'm not keen to be with company, either,” he put in, distress overcoming his usually diffident manner. “Not here.”

“I know, there will be billy-hell if we're caught. Some guards back there noticed us and we had to defend ourselves.” He held up a white-gloved hand, which had blood on the knuckles. “Look what one fellow's nose did! I just bought these, too. When those lads wake up they'll be in a foul mood and tell all their friends.”

Alex had heard enough. “Then
go
. You have no idea the danger you're in.”

“Actually, I do, but you can't see my whey-faced cheeks in this light.”

“Stop joking and leave. When you get outside go left. There's a Black Maria in the square. Go straight to it and tell them I sent you.”

“Delighted to do so, but we may not get past the other brutes they have on watch. We're heeled, but I'd rather not shoot one.”

“Do whatever is needed. You were going to anyway, weren't you?”

“Having permission takes all the fun out of it. You're coming along, of course.”

“I'm not done here. Get her out. Quietly if you can, but out no matter what. What's the matter with her, Doctor?”

“Not sure,” said Hamish. “Perhaps laudanum. There's another prisoner but we couldn't manage him and the lady both. Had to make a choice and she won.”

“Another one?”

“We couldn't break the lock on his door, just peek through a grate. Nasty strange place they've put him, like something from an opera. He's tied to a chair in a room full of—”

“Where?”

“Back that way. A pry bar or a fireplace poker might remove that lock. He's wild, but looks weak as a kitten. Your man and Fingate should be able to handle him. Off his head with brain fever I shouldn't wonder.”

“Who is he?”

“Don't know. Said his name was Benedict and he demanded that we kill him.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

In Which Miss Pendlebury Reflects

“My enemy's enemy is my friend,” Alex muttered, feeling hopeful when the old Arab proverb popped into her head. If the Black Dawn found it necessary to hold prisoners, it followed that such unfortunates might be helpful to the Service. So far on this expedition she had learned much that was shocking, but nothing of use.

She again ordered James and Dr. Hamish to get Veltre away so she and Brook, with Fingate guiding them, could deal with the other captive.

Hamish was reluctant, but her cousin pointed out that “Alex has the bit in her teeth, just get out of her way and God help anyone who doesn't.”

Such an exaggeration, she thought, but it convinced the doctor to take up his patient and leave. He departed, muttering about the hemp smoke addling them all.

Fingate's excellent memory got them through a perfect maze of halls. At each turn they paused to check for guardians, but none were there to give challenge.

“Is this not too easy?” she asked in a normal tone of voice. The drumming had faded, though it was still to be heard. “Shouldn't there be someone on watch?”

“Mr. Fonteyn thought so, too,” said Fingate.

“Everyone's at that … gathering,” said Brook. “How did you find Mrs. Veltre?”

“By accident, sir. The doctors thought serving staff would know something useful. We followed them to catch someone to question, but came to this instead.”

Fingate paused and adjusted the wick of his lantern to increase the light. They were before a “T” intersection. A length of string, ends tied to nails driven into the mortar, stretched across its opening. A sheet of folded foolscap hung from the string.

Neatly printed in ink, it read: D
O NOT ENTER.
V
IOLATORS FACE DISMISSAL WITHOUT CHARACTER … OR DEATH.
The last word was underscored.

Serving as a signature at the bottom was a skull over crossed bones.

Brook cleared his throat. “
That
is utterly ridiculous.”

“I disagree, sir. A servant lacking a character reference lacks work. For some, death is preferable to ruin. Once Dr. Fonteyn saw that he insisted on investigating.”

“He'd find it irresistible,” said Alex. “As do I. Fingate, if you would, please,” she added, with an encouraging gesture.

“Yes, Miss Drina.” He ducked under the string, resuming the lead. “We were cautious, of course. Dr. Fonteyn had concerns about trapdoors and bottomless pits.”

“He is fond of lurid reading.”

“Then we saw three fellows loitering … here. They weren't part of the gathering to judge by their clothes. The doctors attempted to engage them in conversation, but were rebuffed and told to go back or know the reason why. Dr. Fonteyn took that as a challenge. It did not end well for them. We had to hide them, unbolted this door, and that's how we found the lady. Gave us a turn seeing a body lying there. She woke up enough to give her name when asked, then fainted again. While Dr. Hamish looked after her, Dr. Fonteyn and I dragged the guards through and shot the bolt on them.”

“They're in there?” The stout door had grate set into it, but the opening was too high for her to see in. Brook obliged, taking the lantern a moment and holding it up.

“Three ruffians, dead to the world,” he reported.

Fingate looked pleased. “They got a stern knocking about for their sauce. A dreadful place for a lady; I'll not feel sorry for them.” He indicated another bolted door across the hall. “The man, Benedict, heard the row and called to us while we were sorting things. Dr. Hamish couldn't get much sense from him.”

A large padlock of ancient vintage was in place.

“It's too big for my lock picks,” Alex said. “Your walking stick, Mr. Brook?”

He gave the lantern to her and tried striking and then levering the hasp loose, but wood was no match for iron. He stopped before the stick snapped.

“We searched the men for a key,” said Fingate, “and then Dr. Fonteyn tried to shoot the lock, but barely made a dent. A more powerful cartridge might have an effect.”

The grate on this door was set lower, but Alex had to hold the lantern uncomfortably close to her head to get light through the opening.

The blood drained from her face and she retreated a step, nearly dropping the lantern. Fingate grabbed it in time.

“What is it?” asked Brook.

“I … I must get in there. Both of you … over there.” Her hands shook as she got the Webley free.

“But the noise—” Brook objected.

The roar was impressive, so was the damage to the padlock, but it took another shot to defeat it. She wrenched it from the hasp and pushed hard on the heavy door. For all her want of hurry, she paused on the threshold.

In the center of the chamber, bolted to the stone-flagged floor, was a massive chair. A tall, thin man with a ragged beard was chained to it by his wrists and ankles, his head bowed forward; dark hair, hanging in strings, hid his face. He wore a dressing gown and slippers. His hands trembled, fingers twitching as though playing a piano.

The prisoner's eyes were closed and he took no notice of them, even when Brook shook him a little. He tested the chains.

“Miss Pendlebury, will your picks defeat these locks? They're smaller.”

“Shooting's faster.”

“And more dangerous. Noise and ricochets, you know.”

“Let me try,” said Fingate.

“You can crack locks?” asked Brook.

“Who do you think taught me?” Alex tossed the ring at Fingate.

The prisoner remained silent, fingers tapping empty air.

The chamber was swathed, ceiling to stone floor, in thick red velvet draperies. Little wonder Dr. Hamish had thought of the opera; they had the look of stage curtains. Alex's heart thumped. She cautiously approached the wall in front of the dozing man.

A few experimental delvings to find an edge and she pulled a long length of heavy velvet away to reveal a mirror under it. Her startled reflection floated in red-tinted shadows.

The mirror was enormous, four feet wide and twice as tall and encased in an iron grid like a cage which was bolted to the wall. Near the bottom the caging had a thick iron mesh door just over a foot square with a padlock attached. She could have slipped through such an opening, but not a grown man.

She twitched aside another sheeting of velvet and found another mirror, this one without a door in its cage. Alex and Brook worked their way around. The lantern's light reflected a dozen times over in cage encased mirrors that lined all four walls. They were well made, no warps or ripples in their silvery finish.

Sybil's cheerful command came fresh to Alex's mind:
Break them. Break all of them and damn the bad luck, think of England!

“How the devil did they get these things down here and why would anyone bother?” asked Brook. “And these bars—?”

“Somehow they interfere with Sybil's ability. That must be worth much to anyone planning an action that she might foretell. Progress, Mr. Fingate?”

“A few more to go.”

The man in the chair suddenly raised his head, blinking. He shook hair from his wild eyes. “Get out of here,” he said in a high, strong voice. “Kill me and then GET OUT!”