The Witch Watch (13 page)

The bell rang before she could lose herself in the task. Fearing the church had returned with more arguments, everyone (except for Gilbert) went downstairs when Alice answered the door.

“Mr. Moxley! I am very surprised to see you!” she cried.

“I imagine you are. I imagine most assassins are shocked when they discover their victims are still alive.” Mr. Moxley had a strange, animated irritation about him this morning. He seemed to be outraged and jesting at the same time.

“Assassin? What is this silly business?” Alice demanded.

“Yes!” he replied, pointing an accusing finger at her, “An assassin. You, all of you, have waylaid me with your absurd foolishness, and if it does not lead to my death then it will be miraculous.”

“Is this about the church?” Alice asked.

“The church! No. Thank God no, and may He forgive me for saying that I hope to have nothing whatsoever to do with them again. I have never met anything so bad for religion as the church.”

Alice considered telling him about the altercation this morning, but thought better of it and let Mr. Moxley continue.

“Last evening! Imagine the heart-stopping shock I experienced last evening when a Member of Parliament called on me and informed me that I had thrown Sir Edward James Brooks into prison. I insisted that I had done no such thing, and would certainly remember it if I had thrown Edward into the lockhouse. This person suggested that perhaps it was done by one of my subordinates. ‘No!’ I insisted. I had just visited that morning and spoken with the lovely and altogether brilliant Alice White, and she had never breathed any mention of any arrest into my ear. And certainly she would not have sat with me for an entire morning without bothering to inform me that she had locked away a very powerful and influential member of parliament, tossing him into the cage with all sorts of cutthroats and lunatics. Imagine my utter, nearly fatal shock when I learned that you had done precisely that.”

“Oh Mr. Moxley, I am so-”

“But!” he shouted before she could begin to devise an apology, “I learned later that this report was not accurate. It was, in fact, foolishly, madly optimistic. The truth, the real truth, which I only discovered when I arrived to release Edward, was that you had, in fact, locked him up along with a powerful industrialist, a famous general, and a well-liked judge.”

Alice didn’t dare say anything, but could only stand with her mouth open.

Captain Turpin came to her rescue. “See here. If you’ve objecting to the imprisonment, then take it up with me. It was done under my orders and I don’t apologize for it.”

“Then Captain,” replied Moxley, “I do not pretend to know all the pressures your job might entail, but I’m afraid I must give you this order: Should the occasion ever come where you want to imprison four incredibly wealthy, powerful, and beloved men and charge them with capital witchcraft, then you should also bring with you some shred of proof, some fragment of evidence to which you might attach your outlandish and controversial charges. Barring that, I should hope you would have the decency to send one of your men to come round and shoot me, so as to spare me dealing with the aftermath.”

“I can assure you, we had a bounty of reasons to arrest those men, whoever they may have been,” Turpin said stoically.

“Indeed. Well I have heard their case - or as much of it as I could make out over my own terrified groveling - and I think I know enough to argue it for them. Would you like to try and convict them in my eyes before you attempt it in a court of their dear friends who all owe them favors? Go ahead. Make your case, and I will be an advocate for the accused.” Mr. Moxley led them into the sitting room and placed Alice behind a small table. “You shall be our judge,” he said with a bow. “You don’t need to say anything at all. Just listen to our arguments with minimal interest and worry about your future career prospects should your Ladyship rule incorrectly in this case.”

“Mr. Moxley,” Alice said patiently, “This is absurd. I know almost nothing at all of being a justice.”

“How fortunate. This will add an unexpected element of authenticity to the proceedings. Now Captain Turpin, come over here and stand opposite me. Yes. Now simply explain the arrest of these four men.” Mr. Moxley made a grand gesture towards the empty couch.

Captain Turpin foundered and looked around the room in dismay.

“Come now, Captain,” Mr. Moxley coached, “This will be far more difficult in a court packed with outraged friends of the accused.

“They conspired to raise a body from the dead,” said the captain, gradually getting into the spirit of the thing. “The tomb of Lord Mordaunt had been sealed, and the tools to break the chains were found nearby.”

“Did they? What was their role in this necromancy? Did any of them perform the magic themselves?”

“No. That was done by another, who they employed, and who is still at large.”

Moxley nodded. “When I released the accused from prison, I found they had been beaten. Was that your doing?”

“Certainly not,” the Turpin bristled. “That was done by the fellow who got away. Or by the abomination.”

“But a moment ago you said the man was their employee, and you’re claiming the abomination was created at their behest. Why is it that this supposed servant assaulted them? Doesn’t it seem more likely that my clients were visiting the resting place of a dear friend on the anniversary of his death, and were set upon by grave robbers?”

Turpin was becoming visibly frustrated now. “They were on the land of the late Viscount Mordaunt. Very suspicious!”

“When Viscount Barrington Oswald Mordaunt died, his property passed to Sir Edward James Brooks, one of the accused.”

“They were in league together. They were all wearing black robes!” Turpin said hotly.

Mr. Moxley sighed. “Mr. Turpin, have you ever been inside of a criminal court? A real one, I mean, and not one held in your sitting room and presided over by a girl of twenty-four.”

“The court asserts, for the record, that Her Ladyship is no less than twenty-five,” Alice said grandly.

“I have been to court on occasion,” said the captain. “More so in your predecessor’s day, when I was needed to be a witness against men accused of witchcraft.”

“Do you recall how the men, particularly the judge, dressed on those occasions?” Mr. Moxley asked smugly.

“They wore... dark robes,” Turpin muttered in frustration. “But see here, these robes were different! They had hoods! And it was well after midnight, so their claim of simply visiting the grave of a friend is preposterous.”

“So the core of your arguments, as I understand them, is that these four powerful men should be charged with the capital offenses of trespassing on their own property, wearing the wrong robes, and staying up late?”

Turpin bowed his head in defeat before sitting down on the couch with the accused. “So what is to be done now?”

Alice wished she had a gavel so that she could end the proceedings properly. Instead she relinquished her post and sat beside the captain.

Mr. Moxley faced the large front window and watched the busy street traffic. Sooty rain fell down in icy curtains, robbing the outside world of color. It was nothing so exciting as a storm, but only a long, dull complaint of grey water that washed over all things without making anything clean. The street was overrun with laden carts driven by dirty workmen. The air was filled with the clatter of their passing over the soaked cobblestones.

“It has already been done,” Moxley replied. “The men are all released, their names are cleared, and I have begged them for mercy on your behalf.”

“I suppose I should thank you,” the captain said bitterly.

“I suppose you should,” said Moxley. “If it is of any comfort, I believe you. I’m sure the men are as guilty as you say. And I’m sure many others will come to the same conclusion when they hear the story. But since we lack the evidence to convict, all we have done is kindled their anger and rallied allies to their side.”

“Allies?” asked Alice nervously.

“It is to the advantage of a Nobleman to not have friends convicted of witchcraft. Guilt tends to spill over in these sorts of cases. People will ask a man, ‘How is it that you were such close friends with Sir Edward James Brooks for all these years and never knew about his sorcery? Perhaps you are one of his conspirators!’ You can see how they would want to avoid that, particularly if the church gets involved. No, your charges are politically dangerous to many people, and they will treat your accusations as slanderous. Even if they secretly believe you!”

“There is one more thing,” Alice said cautiously.

“Your tone of voice tells me that you are about to assail me with more bad news. I wish you wouldn’t. No, that’s not quite true. I would rather suffer the news than endure the agony of curiosity unquenched.”

“We have betrayal within our group. In the Ministry, I mean. The church was here this morning…”

Mr. Moxley cried out at the mention of the church, “The church! Our foes are now beyond counting.”

“They were here, and they knew about our prisoner. They knew exactly where to find him. They even knew what hour to strike so that they would find the house under minimal guard. It was just myself and one man. We were overpowered and the house searched.”

Mr. Moxley bowed his head, “That does explain why the place is so suddenly disheveled. When I arrived, I joked that you were trying to kill me. But it seems you were courted by death yourself. I wonder how you survived.”

“Through wits,” she said. “There was an unexpected bounty of them on our side, and a predictable famine of them from the church. But nevertheless, one of our number told them when and where to strike.”

“And I assume this Judas is still at large?”

“He is,” said the captain. “Jack. Lieutenant Stanway. He has been missing since yesterday morning.”

Moxley looked up at the ceiling, searching his memory. “Stanway? Is that the fellow I appointed to the group last year?”

Captain Turpin nodded. “You sent him along when Lieutenant Fisk was stabbed while chasing after those bone collectors. Nasty business.”

“Yes, I remember the man. Stanway, I mean. Intense. Eager. Bit of a crusader. I thought he would make a nice counter-balance to your pragmatism. Well, it seems that this morning none of us is innocent of self-sabotage.”

“I certainly don’t hold you responsible for his treason,” the captain said. “Jack has been loyal and eager enough since then. A bit overzealous, maybe, but I always assumed he would cool with age. I expected him to make a fine successor when I retired.”

“Still, he had to understand that by sending the church to our door he was killing Miss White,” Mr. Moxley said grimly.

“I suppose that’s true,” said Alice slowly. “I had not thought of it that way.”

“Well, if he’s decided to attack with gossip and secrets then he has entered my domain. I can disarm him, but not instantly. In the meantime your enemies will multiply whenever he exposes your secret. You should move your prisoner, or finish your business with it, and you should do so as soon as possible. Now that his bid with the church has gone awry, Jack will look elsewhere for allies. I will need to anticipate these and head him off, and to do that I will need to see what the papers have to say.” With this he stood up and made for the door without any of his usual pleasantries. “Curse that I must endure the rain twice in as many days. I will intensify my revenge for this cruelty.”

When he had gone, they retreated upstairs to find that Gilbert had seen to his own fitting. He’d managed to find clothes that were large enough to be put on. He was perhaps overdressed for their purposes, and looked like he had just arrived from a ball and not the grave. He wore a dark suit, and had found some gloves to cover his ragged hands.

Alice applauded. “Splendid! But I don’t think the black robe is a good match for the rest of it.”

“They are of similar color,” Gilbert pointed out.

“My father was famous for such errors of fashion. I don’t know why men assume that dressing one’s self is simply a matter of matching hues. Items should also match in their purpose, and degrees of formality. The suit is very fine, but the cloak is tattered and singed.”

Gilbert raised the hood. “Well, Lord Mordaunt has not invited us to a dinner-party. The hood will shadow my face so that I can walk about on my own.”

“You look rather severe. You have an excess of black, even without the cloak,” said the captain. “Too much like funeral attire.”

“This seems appropriate, given my condition,” said Gilbert. “Wherever I go, it’s always to a funeral.”

The captain frowned behind his whiskers. “This makes it safe for you to move about, I suppose. You can walk out on your own when the time comes.”

“I’m glad of that. Although I have no idea where I would go,” Gilbert said.

Alice sighed, “I still don’t see the entire picture, but I can tell that to restore Sophie we’ll need to have the two of you in the same room. Perhaps we could bring her here, but it might be better to take you to her. Provided we can find her at all, of course. She will be in some sort of state between life and death. It might not be safe to move her in that condition. Even if it is, I think that walking with you in your disguise is less likely to draw attention than hauling around an apparently lifeless girl. And I don’t think we should attempt the coffin disguise again.”