Lost and Gone Forever

by Alex Grecian

  62

  When Walter and Claire emerged from Hammersmith’s office, they were holding hands.

  “Does this mean I get my bedroll back?”

  “Yes,” Day said. “Thank you, Nevil.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’m just glad things are back to normal at last.” He glanced at Fiona and shook his head. “No, not normal. I’m sorry.”

  “I know what you meant,” Fiona said.

  “Timothy Pinch mentioned you yesterday,” Hammersmith said.

  Fiona wrinkled her nose, but before she could respond, the door opened and Sir Edward Bradford strolled into the office. There was a small bandage on his scalp, just above his temple.

  “Ah, everyone’s here,” he said. “Good. Saves me some time.”

  Hammersmith poured another cup of tea and set it at the corner of the desk where Sir Edward could reach it. “Did you find Mr Oberon’s body?”

  “It’s hard to say,” Sir Edward said. “Three of the corpses found there were women, and one was a child, probably a boy.”

  “His name was Ambrose,” Day said. “I never knew his full name. Just Ambrose.”

  “Ah. Yes, Ambrose then. Of the three men who were dug out of that ruin, it’s impossible to say anything about them. Mr Pinch is working to find identifying marks of some sort, but I’ve seen the bodies and I don’t hold out much hope.”

  “I was only now on my way to see you,” Day said. “To turn myself in.”

  “Turn yourself in for what? Surely Mrs Day has told you I have no interest in arresting you.”

  “Someone ought to pay for stabbing Leland Carlyle.”

  “Oh, that. No. That was clearly self-defense. Fiona was kind enough to pick up Carlyle’s rifle, a Martini-Henry, from where he’d dropped it in the street. Inspector Tiffany examined the weapon, and it had recently been fired. We’re just pleased that the round apparently missed you.”

  Day looked at Fiona, who made a show of fixing her hair in its chignon. “Self-defense?” he said.

  “Indeed. I’ve pieced together what must have happened, based in part on knowledge I have of Mr Carlyle’s recent activities. Mrs Day, you may not wish to hear some of this.”

  “It’s all right. I can bear it.”

  “Very well. Your father seems to have been engaged in a sort of private war with this Oberon person, and Oberon apparently thought it was clever to use Carlyle’s son-in-law as a pawn. So he captured and manipulated Inspector Day. In return, Carlyle hired a soldier of fortune to pursue Oberon, and Plumm’s became their battleground. We found the hired killer’s body in that alley, and it turns out the fellow was wanted in several other countries. He’s suspected of murdering an ambassador. Honestly, we’re all lucky Mr Day escaped with his life.”

  “Then I’m really free to go home again?”

  “By all means, do. You’ve had a long holiday, Walter, and it’s high time you went home and got back to work. That boy Simon is going to be a policeman when he grows up and he needs some instruction. Take the rest of the week, relax. I’ll see you first thing Monday morning at your desk.”

  “My desk? I’m back at the Yard?”

  “I never sacked you.” He frowned and turned his gaze on Nevil. “Now, Mr Hammersmith, I did make the mistake of sacking you. In light of your single-minded work in bringing Mr Day back to us, I’ve reexamined that decision. I’d like you back Monday morning as well, if you’re willing.”

  “I thought you—”

  “I always worried you’d get yourself killed as a policeman. But you haven’t stopped putting yourself in the way of danger and you’re not dead yet. I might as well make use of your particular talents if I can. And we need someone to mind Mr Day so this sort of thing doesn’t happen again. He gets into an extraordinary amount of trouble himself. I think more than when the two of you are together.”

  Hatty put down her teacup. “What about this place?”

  “If you close the Hammersmith Agency, I will have nothing with which to occupy my days,” Eugenia said. “I quite like it here.”

  Hammersmith sighed. “I do, too, but we’ve lost our biggest client.” He nodded at Claire. “I don’t think I can afford to keep the doors open now.”

  “You could,” Hatty said, “if you had a sergeant’s salary.”

  Sir Edward stood quietly watching them, stroking his beard. Hammersmith looked from Hatty to him, and Sir Edward shrugged his shoulders.

  “I can’t do both things,” Hammersmith said.

  “I’ll run this place for you,” Hatty said. “You know I can do it. I’ll bring in new clients to replace Mrs Day, and the agency will practically pay for itself.”

  “You can’t call it the Hammersmith Agency if Nevil isn’t even here,” Fiona said.

  “Actually, I do have an idea along those lines,” Hammersmith said. “Something your friend Mr Goodpenny told me, Fiona. He made me realize I shouldn’t be alone all my life. And seeing Mr and Mrs Day back together again only reinforces that.”

  “Oh,” Fiona said. She took a step forward.

  “So if she’ll have me, I’d like to ask Miss Pitt to be my wife. Then she’ll be a Hammersmith, too, and the agency can remain as it is.”

  “Oh,” Hatty said. She looked round at the shocked expressions on her friends’ faces. “I had no idea.”

  “I’ve been considering it these last few weeks. It seems like a sound notion. Practical.”

  “Then, yes,” Hatty said. “Yes, I will marry you, Mr Hammersmith.”

  She was about to say something else, but the front door slammed and, through the window, they all watched Fiona Kingsley run away down the street until she was swallowed up by the unceasing traffic.

  Hammersmith frowned at Day. “I wonder what’s got into her,” he said.

  Day leaned close and spoke so that no one else would hear. “I’m afraid you have created a situation, Nevil.”

  EPILOGUE 1

  The giant blue globe had rolled down Prince Street, causing innumerable traffic accidents. At the corner of King William Street and West Cannon, it bounced off Monument Station, crushing a dog against the west wall of the building, and rolled south along King William to London Bridge. The globe hit the eastern side of the three-foot-high balustrade, breaking the rail and twelve posts, then caromed away to the other side, where it launched itself high into the air.

  It went down with a splash and floated away downriver.

  It eventually came to rest at the East India Docks, where it bobbed in the water for weeks, slowly losing its color. Boys from the area made a game of throwing rocks at it, trying to spin it or sink it, but despite the shoddy workmanship used in the construction of the Plumm’s building, it’s centerpiece installation proved to be surprisingly sturdy and watertight.

  John Plumm eventually had it hauled from the water, and a wide hole was cut through it. He furnished the inside as a foyer and attached it to the front of his renovated building, but he no longer had any interest in running a department store.

  His new venture, called the Globe, introduced cosmopolitan culture to the neighborhood, but at affordable prices. A rotating mural of foreign lands and people was painted, at great expense, along the spherical inside of the foyer, which whetted the public’s appetite for the sorts of unusual cocktails served inside.

  The nightclub was a success and remained open for many years, until a second fire on the premises ruined Plumm and prompted him to leave London for good. The globe was detached, the remains of the building torn down, and a small emporium was built in its place.

  The first stall to open there was Goodpenny’s Fine Stationery and Supplies.

  EPILOGUE 2

  In the summer of 1891, a man and a woman who claimed to be married moved into a cottage at the end of Prince Albert Street in Brighton. Their name, they said, was Oberon, and the man said he was a cousin of R
ichard and Joseph Hargreave. He also said the brothers had lent him their home so that he could take the salt air while convalescing from surgery. He moved slowly and rarely left the house, but those neighbors who visited found him charming, even courtly. His wife was not as agreeable, and so, before long, the couple was left alone.

  No one had been particularly close to the Hargreaves, and so no one bothered to write to them in London to verify the couple’s story. In fact, neither Richard nor Joseph Hargreave was ever seen in Brighton again.

  It was during this same period that the number of unsolved murders and unusual deaths began to increase in East Sussex, and the constabulary was kept busy. The couple who were staying in the Hargreaves’ cottage stopped receiving visitors, and their windows were hung with black crepe. Neighbors were told that Mrs Oberon’s sister had taken ill. Mr Oberon was often observed on the beach and he was always polite but distant. He walked slowly with a cane that had a distinctive brass knob at the handle. It was rumored that Mrs Oberon had left in the night to care for her sister, but she never returned.

  In the spring of 1892, Mr Oberon reported the news of his wife’s untimely death. She had fallen from a horse in Provence and had been instantly killed. Many residents of the area thought it strange that the crime rate fell back to routine levels after Mrs Oberon’s departure. It was unthinkable, however, that anyone would bring the subject up to Mr Oberon, who appeared quite distraught.

  Three months later he took a second wife, a young widow with a son. He took his new family away, claiming that there were too many memories for him in Brighton. He left no forwarding address or clue regarding his destination. The cottage on Prince Albert Street was shuttered and abandoned.

  A week after that, two detectives arrived from London. One of the detectives was tall and uncommonly handsome, though his clothing was stained and creased. The other man walked with a slight limp. They carried with them a sketch of Mr Oberon and asked about him in all of the local establishments. They spent some time walking up and down the beach, observing crowds at the racetrack and talking to the beat constable on Prince Albert Street. They did not answer anyone’s questions about themselves.

  There was much speculation after the detectives had gone, but soon life returned to normal. Every once in a while someone would see a silhouette on the beach at twilight and think, There goes Mr Oberon for his after-dinner smoke, before remembering that he had moved on.

  Many years later, when the cottage was torn down to make room for new terraced housing, the body of a woman was found behind the plaster of a pantry wall. No one living in the area was able to identify the badly decayed corpse, and there were no fingerprints left. She was buried in an unmarked grave, and her clothing, including her torn and tattered trousers, was burned.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Alex Grecian is the nationally bestselling author of The Yard, The Black Country, The Devil’s Workshop, and The Harvest Man, as well as the long-running and critically acclaimed graphic novel series Proof and recent series Rasputin. The Yard was nominated for the Barry Award and the Strand Magazine Critics’ Award, and was named one of 2012’s best ten crime novels by Kirkus Reviews. The Black Country was nominated for several awards, including the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association Dilys Award and the Killer Nashville Silver Falchion. The Devil’s Workshop was named to Suspense Magazine’s best-of-year list. Grecian lives in the Midwest with his wife and son, and is working on the next novel of Scotland Yard’s Murder Squad.

  alexgrecian.com

  facebook.com/AlexGrecian

  twitter.com/AlexGrecian

  Looking for more?

  Visit Penguin.com for more about this author and a complete list of their books.

  Discover your next great read!