The Lazarus Gate (14 page)

‘Jim, my circumstances are unexpected, indeed, but I would never wish to cause the dear lady any distress. She has been nothing but charitable during my short stay.’ I paused, collecting my thoughts—I knew what I had to do to make things right

‘As soon as I am recovered, I shall make peace with Mrs. Whitinger, and make other living arrangements, of course. Now that I am of independent means, I must strike out on my own; this episode has merely given me the nudge out of the door that I required.’

Jim reached out a hand and patted my shoulder. He seemed to approve. ‘A fine sentiment, dear boy, but I would not expect you to stand alone so soon—I will help you. And besides,’ he added with a smile, ‘you’ve done a deuced bad job of picking your friends so far. I’ll have to assist you for your own good.’

I managed to laugh about that at least, before it dawned on me that Jim might know more than he was saying about Apollo Lycea. ‘I must ask you, Jim, what exactly have you heard about my circumstances, and the company I have kept?’

‘Enough,’ he replied enigmatically. ‘In particular, Mrs. Whitinger has complained of a popinjay who was most brusque with her when you were recently attacked by ruffians in the street. This is the same man, I presume, with whom you were seen breaking into an East End flat? Yes, the army has its sources too.’

‘Then you must know that I am innocent of all charges? That I was acting in the interests of the Crown.’

‘Yes. Although to what end, who can know? Honestly, John, within a week of returning to England you have been attacked, turned into a burglar and caught up in some anarchist plot. What surprises me the most is that Scotland Yard hasn’t been banging down poor Mrs. Whitinger’s door to find out what you know about the other explosions. You must have friends in high places.’

‘Other explosions?’ I suppose I knew what he was about to tell me before he had even begun. Nonetheless, I struggled to sit up, despite Jim’s protestations. I was agitated that the case had moved on without me whilst I had been lying there insensible. Under duress, Jim cursed my stubbornness and helped me to the sitting room. Someone had made up a fire, which was as yet unlit. Jim sat me down in the armchair with a newspaper and scrabbled about for a box of matches as I pored over the front pages. The story of yet another dynamite attack in London was still the main news even days after the fact, and the reports included eyewitness accounts of the latest atrocity, and scathing indictments of Scotland Yard’s attempts to apprehend the villains responsible. The first explosion, at Commercial Road, had been unusual due to the time of day. Five people had died in the blast, and a score more were injured; but of course, that had only been the start of the terror that had struck the East End that day. As I’d guessed, with a sinking feeling, there had been two more attacks. One in Shoreditch, which had only narrowly missed the old town hall, and another at St. Dunstan’s Hill, audaciously close to the Royal Armouries. The newspapermen were not alone in speculating why those nearby sites of importance had been spared. I had no map to hand, and wanted nothing more than to track one down—I was sure now that I had found the pattern; that I could identify their real target and solve this case.

The fire was blazing soon in the hearth, and Jim called down to Mrs. Whitinger, telling her that I was up and about, and asking for a pot of coffee, before taking a seat opposite me.

‘So, are you going to tell me who it is you’ve been working for?’ he asked me directly.

‘I am not sure if I can, and that is the honest truth. Nothing has been asked of me except that I serve my country; until I am sure of what is expected of me, I must assume that my work is not to be public knowledge, and that my employers wish it to remain so.’

‘I see. I suppose that is understandable, although you have not exactly been acting covertly. As I said before, the army has eyes and ears too.’

‘How much do you know?’ I was on edge. Although I still trusted Jim and had feelings of loyalty towards the service, I knew I had been careless and naïve in conducting my duties for the Apollonian.

‘Don’t look so worried. I know what you got up to at Commercial Road. I know that before that you had a meeting at the Apollonian Club, and I also know that your compatriot is named Hanlocke. By all accounts he is a shady character, who lives inexplicably beyond his means and acts like a shameless cad at all times, even when dealing with sensitive old ladies.’

Almost on cue, there was a quiet knock at the door, and Mrs. Whitinger entered carrying a silver tray with a pot of coffee and accoutrements. We exchanged pleasantries, although I could see that I was living under her roof on sufferance. I asked if I had received any other visitors in the past two days, at which I received a cold stare.

‘Other than that young doctor and Master James, only one,’ she said. ‘That rude gentleman, Mr. Hanlocke. He said he’d call back when you were feeling better.’ Her tone suggested that she’d rather Ambrose didn’t call back ever again. All I could do was thank her graciously; Jim took the coffee things from her and bade Mrs. Whitinger good day.

‘Jim, regardless of my association with Mr. Hanlocke, I must stress to you that I believe my work is of utmost importance. I am investigating the most heinous string of anarchist attacks that London has ever seen, and I know I’m getting close.’ Jim handed me a cup of coffee, and I paused to sip at it. ‘I must return to my employers as soon as I am able. No doubt they will need my report. I am surprised they have not been to see me already.’

Jim glanced towards the mantelpiece, and I instinctively followed his gaze and saw, for the first time, a sealed envelope sitting next to the carriage clock.

‘It looks as if they have already summoned you,’ said Jim, gravely. I reached for the letter, but stopped as the pain proved too much. Jim stood and made to pass it to me, then paused. ‘John, you’re a strange sort, I’ll admit; I know you’ve been through a lot, and it’s just that…’ He tailed off. He was still holding the letter, and I reached out for it.

‘What is it, Jim?’ I asked, taking the envelope from him. ‘Please, speak plainly.’

‘I fear you are in no fit state for such exploits.’ He was clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say. ‘You have been under great strain; Mrs. Whitinger says that you were incoherent after you were attacked on the street last week, as though you believed you were back in Burma. And last night, I came to call on you and you were raving about I-don’t-know-what; it was madness and fantasy, really. That’s why I stayed the night here, to make sure you were alright. Now you’re already talking about going back to work, which sounds to me just as perilous as being back in the army.’ He took a gulp of his coffee and set it down on the mantelpiece, looking relieved that he had said his piece.

I stared at the envelope in my hands, somewhat vacantly I suppose, and considered Jim’s words. I knew that my actions, my words and even my appearance were not those of a rational, sane man. Perhaps Jim was right; perhaps I was not ready for Apollo Lycea, dynamite attacks, or any of it. I felt Jim’s hand on my shoulder, and snapped back to lucidity.

‘Look, old fellow,’ said Jim, in a kindlier tone. ‘I can help you. I can see you aren’t going to take doctor’s orders and get more rest, so talk to me. Let me share the burden. I don’t trust this Hanlocke fellow one bit, so let me look after you. We’re comrades, you and I, and as I was sent to look out for you when you returned home, I would consider it neglect of my duties to let you go out of your mind or come to harm.’

‘And are they your only orders, Jim?’ I asked. ‘Or have your superiors told you to question me?’

‘Question you?’ Jim raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I think all this cloak-and-dagger stuff has made you paranoid. We serve the same Crown, just through different means. If you’re planning to get yourself knifed or blown up at any time in the future, you might do well to remember your friend at Horse Guards.’

Although I did not believe my suspicions entirely misplaced, I saw the sense of Jim’s words. And his manner was so candid that I could not believe he wished me any harm, nor would he try to deceive me. He sat down again and refilled his cup, and I turned my attention from him and opened the letter. It was a terse missive, and was as I had expected. Sir Toby wished me a rapid recovery, and requested my presence at the club as soon as I was well enough. He wrote that, given my ‘present circumstances’, he would understand if ‘I chose to renege upon the terms of my membership’. However, he noted that there would be a special meeting on Friday evening after dinner, and if I wished to continue my affiliation with the Apollonian, they would expect to see me in attendance. There was no mention of the dynamite attack, of my arrest, or of Ambrose, and Sir Toby advised discretion regarding the contents of the letter and the timing of the meeting. I slapped the letter down in my lap, somewhat annoyed that I had made the transition from celebrated agent to disposable asset in the space of a few short days.

‘Something the matter?’ asked Jim.

‘It appears that I have been excused duties by my new employers. They make no mention of my findings, nor even if Ambrose passed on what little intelligence we collected.’

‘Ah, yes. You said were close to a breakthrough in the case.’

‘Jim, I believe that I can trust you. Is that so?’

Captain Denny seemed surprised by the question. ‘Of course you can.’

‘Then, if you will indulge me, I would like to run some hypotheses by you; some deductions I have made about the case. The things we discuss must not leave this room. I have sworn no oaths, but I firmly believe the fewer people who know of my findings the better—that includes your commanding officer at Horse Guards.’

‘You have my word, John. I will help you… as a friend, not as an officer.’

‘Good. But is there any chance of breakfast first? I am sick with hunger.’

Jim smiled and got to his feet. ‘Capital! That’s the first sign of recovery—I shall go and organise a tray.’

Over breakfast I told Jim what I had discovered so far, albeit with a few small details omitted—the identity of my employer, the connection with spiritualists in particular, and the bizarre events that I had experienced in Commercial Road prior to the explosion. With hindsight I have no idea why I spoke so freely at all—perhaps months of isolation had made me more garrulous, or perhaps I was under too much strain and really did need to share the burden. In any case, having someone to discuss the case with was a welcome help; Jim was more attentive than Ambrose, and his contributions refined my theories until I was sure I was in touching distance of the truth. Yet the epiphany that would crack the case remained tantalisingly out of reach.

Jim was fascinated by my ‘triangle theory’ as he called it, and the precision of the map coordinates. I had no sooner finished my breakfast than he leapt from his seat in excitement and dashed for his coat.

‘Where on earth are you going in such a hurry?’ I asked him.

‘I’m going to get a map!’ he declared. ‘And a daily paper—I shall be five minutes, and then we will see what these anarchists are up to.’

* * *

We spent the afternoon discussing the case, moving in turn, moment by moment, from thoughtful debate to excited theorising, the hours flying by. The map was laid out on the floor, weighted at the corners by our coffee cups and sugar bowl, and Jim crawled around marking important locations on it with a pencil as I sat like an invalid in my relocated armchair, pointing directions with my cane in the manner of a great military campaigner.

Eventually, we collected our thoughts and several pages of scrawled notes and drew our conclusions over afternoon tea.

‘We have to investigate the central points in each instance before we can come to any firm conclusions,’ said Jim. ‘Obviously you have already visited Marble Arch, and the strange marks you found are fascinating, but confounding. If we find similar signs at the other two coordinates, then we will be on to something.’

‘We?’ I asked, with a thin smile.

‘Well, I hate to be presumptuous, but you’re in no fit state to go investigating alone. And I dare say I’ll get you into less trouble than that rake you’ve been knocking about with.’

‘I’m sorry Jim,’ I said, with a heavy heart, ‘but I cannot take you along. This agency that I serve… I have the distinct impression that I’ve already said too much. As soon as I’m well I ought to report to Sir Toby.’

‘I see,’ Jim replied, and took a sip of tea whilst trying to mask his disappointment. He did not put up a fight, which surprised me. Rather than appearing disheartened he seemed sorry for me; as though I had got myself into a mess from which he had hoped to help me escape. ‘Well, John, if your mind is set on it, you should certainly visit the hospital,’ he continued, ‘but if I might make a suggestion, the attacks in that area were carried out late last year, and it is probable that the trail has gone cold by now. I believe the freshest clues will be found at the most recent site, which according to all of our information is here.’ He leaned forward and jabbed a finger at the thick pencil mark he had made on the map but ten minutes prior. ‘The centre of the triangle is Commercial Street, Spitalfields. And if our suspects are following a pattern of using significant structures to make their getaway, then there are only two possibilities: Christ Church, or the Ten Bells. But you’d best get yourself in rude health before venturing back to the East End.’

‘I imagine the Ten Bells is the best place to start,’ Jim stated. ‘Although you’d best be on your guard in that pit. A few words in the right ears and some persuasion of the monetary kind and you’ll surely find out if anyone saw anything.’

I was not so sure about that, as my fruitless conversation with the estimable Madam Walpole had proven. The thought of her made me shudder, and I pulled the woollen blanket that Mrs. Whitinger had left in my rooms up around my legs; the warning the old medium had given me still haunted my thoughts.

‘The sins of the father shall be visited upon the son.’

What would my father have done? He had been torn between the army and Apollo Lycea, had he not? Where did his loyalties lie? I wondered, perhaps still half-feverish, who had done more to earn mine.