Old Scores--A Barker & Llewelyn Novel

by Will Thomas

  “Is the admiral here?” he asked.

  “Not here,” a guard said.

  “And the minister of arts?”

  “Not here.”

  I wasn’t certain how much English the man knew, but we took his words at face value.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When we returned, Jenkins looked at us pointedly, his eyebrows raised, then looked into our chambers. We had a visitor, obviously, an important one. One cannot leave this place for a second, I thought.

  Barker entered, with me behind him. A man sat in the visitor’s chair facing Barker’s desk, an elegant man in an expensive suit, carrying a thin black walking stick which he held along with a pair of kid gloves. His hair was slicked back, his face aquiline in that way that only an aristocrat has. He looked like an advertisement for suits. I wondered if he had come to hire our services.

  The gentleman stood and handed Barker his card, which the Guv examined before handing it to me. This was Lord Diosy, I realized, the embassy’s host.

  “Good day, Your Lordship,” he said, shaking his hand.

  I nodded deferentially, but the man came forward and shook my hand with a dry, firm grip.

  “Mr. Llewelyn,” he said, as he took his seat again.

  “I came to discuss the ambassador’s death,” he began.

  My employer sat back in his deep green leather chair and regarded the aristocrat. “Events have been slowed by activity in the East End and the inability of several key members of the delegation to tell the truth.”

  “The Japanese are like that, you know,” Diosy said. “They’d rather tell you the lie one expects rather than tell the truth, which they consider ill-mannered.”

  “Pray, sir, what caused you to become so interested in the Japanese?”

  “My father went there at the behest of the English government after Perry’s conquest, to inform them that Britain did not want to be left out of the arrangements and would support the Japanese monarchy if necessary. He stayed for years and I was raised there. I spoke Japanese from a young age.”

  “I see,” I said, scribbling shorthand as fast as I could.

  “I fear this delegation had been doomed from the start. General Mononobe and Minister Akita represent key figures in two parties, the National and the Progressive. The nationalistic party is traditional, and the other is pro-Western. There has been a good deal of argument in the newspapers in Tokyo and ill feelings on both sides. The news of Toda’s death has only recently reached Japan and I understand there is nationwide mourning. Both sides proclaim his death a catastrophe in order to curry favor with the crowd.”

  “If the election were today, who would win?” Barker asked.

  “Probably the Progressives, but not by a wide margin. Their party represents the ‘common man,’ calling for an end to the feudal system and new occupations for everyone. The traditional party is funded by several wealthy Japanese families and manufacturers and does a lot of saber rattling. They are for kicking out the Americans and either returning to the old ways or beginning a new chapter.”

  Barker sat back until he was in the shadow of his green wing chair.

  “What kind of chapter?” he asked.

  “A military one. Any country that has ever insulted them in the past, any politician who offers another choice, any region which shows itself unenthusiastic, is held up for punishment or ridicule. Without going into detail, they have suggested that perhaps a small conquest or two would make Japan an empire.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “You may not believe me, gentlemen, but the Japanese are a very sensitive people. They are polite and diffident. A man might begin a long friendship with a woman which never progresses into marriage because he fears rejection. However, there is a historic tradition which represents the ideal of the warrior, so that this diffident chap I was speaking of may spend six hours a day practicing with a sword. Of course, the sword has been officially outlawed to stop any attempt at insurrection, but most former samurai, or sons of samurai, still own them in secret. The police know of this but do not arrest them unless someone is injured.”

  “Mononobe represents this party,” Barker said.

  “Yes,” Diosy replied. “Frankly, I would prefer he had not come, especially since the heads of both parties are here in one building, but no one could keep them out.”

  “What of the admiral?”

  “That is a good question. Edami began as a traditional samurai, fighting for the shogunate. Since then, he has become a member of the emperor’s council. His purpose in Mononobe’s plans is to draw members from the Progressive Party to their ranks, out of respect for him. There is a large part of the population that respects the military.”

  Cyrus Barker nodded. “I suspected as much. Has it destabilized the country?”

  “More than that, it has destabilized Asia. China is quaking in their boots. The military could attack north into Korea or south into Hong Kong or Formosa. The Chinese army is large but poorly armed and trained, a mere paper tiger. After the nation’s lightning defeat by the Americans, they want to bolster their own pride with a quick victory. It doesn’t matter who or how.”

  The Guv nodded, contemplating what the aristocrat had said.

  “I understand you speak Japanese, sir,” Diosy continued. “Have you ever been there?”

  “I have.”

  That’s Barker, I thought. Loquacious to a fault.

  “Where?”

  “Hokkaido. Near Hakodate. During the Boshin War.”

  “Good Lord! On what side?”

  “The losing one.”

  “My father took us to England until Japan and China both stabilized. I recall how strange this new country seemed. No cherry blossoms or temples. Strange food and stranger people.”

  “It is just as the delegation must feel now, alone in a strange land, cut off from the familiar,” I remarked.

  “No doubt.”

  Diosy paused for a moment. We were getting down to the reason His Lordship had come.

  “Look here, Barker. Is there anything you need? Can I help in some way? The delegation, well, damn it; it is hemorrhaging. A few days ago, I thought the embassy might get a firm footing. Now I fear it has brought its own problems with it.”

  “I need nothing, sir, and I appreciate your concerns. Should I require anything I shall ask.”

  “Very well,” Lord Diosy said, looking dissatisfied. “I hope you know what you are about.”

  “Understand, sir, that I can find the ambassador’s killer,” my employer said, tapping the desk. “But I cannot guarantee they won’t attempt more mischief. They will be as they are, and I cannot watch every one of them all day long.”

  “That’s fine. We’ve got Inspector Dunn for that. The man has practically taken up residence. I trust him to keep order in my house, but finding the murderer is another matter.”

  Barker stood. “Thank you for coming, Your Lordship. I’ll keep you informed.”

  Diosy rose in that way one does if one has a perfect tailor. He brushed his leg with his gloves as if removing a speck of dust, and gave the chamber one more look before leaving.

  “Very nice,” he said. “Is that a real Ming vase?”

  He indicated a vase that stood on a pedestal near the window.

  “Yes,” my employer replied.

  “If you ever wish to sell it, pray let me know.”

  “I shall.”

  Lord Diosy showed himself out. Some people are too well bred to say good-bye.

  We closed shop at six and made our way home. During dinner, both of us were preoccupied. Finally, I spoke.

  “Sir, I must confess I am lost. I know nothing about Japanese history or culture. I’ve never been so out of my depth. It’s like a closed book to me.”

  “Then you had better open it.”

  “I could speak to Liam Grant, at the Reading Room.”

  I consulted my watch. Grant wouldn’t be leaving for a few hours, and I knew precisely how to while away
those hours.

  “Sir, I have an errand to run. Then I’ll go see Mr. Grant.”

  Barker nodded. He was trying to put together the pieces of a complex puzzle. Behind him, Mac was fuming. Neither of us had done justice to the meal, although Harm didn’t mind the scraps I fed him under the table.

  * * *

  Later that evening, I visited Mrs. Cowan, my intended. Normally a man calls within certain daylight hours, but I worked during that time. Our compromise was to sit in her garden in full view of the neighbors, her maid, and the Bevis Marks Synagogue. Still, I would take what I could get in order to see her.

  Rebecca had a narrow, solemn face, dark eyes, and a quiet manner. She could be lively at times, but she had a gentle soul that was balm to me.

  “What is Mr. Barker investigating this week?” she asked, as we settled ourselves on two comfortable chairs with a tea table in between us.

  “The murder of the Japanese ambassador.”

  “Oh! I read about it in the Chronicle. Poor man, to come all this way around the globe only to die in Bermondsey.”

  “It is a terrible place to die,” I said.

  She swatted my wrist. “You’re incorrigible. I don’t know why your employer suffers you.”

  “Should I ever find out, you’ll be the first to know.” I leaned back in my seat. “How are your parents?”

  “Well enough,” she said. “They are visiting Edinburgh at the moment. My father is something of an itinerant rabbi, you know.”

  “Do they have synagogues in Edinburgh?”

  “Of course. Jews are everywhere since the Diaspora. There have even been Jews in China for thousands of years.”

  “Imagine that! But not in Scotland.”

  “No, we’re still considered a novelty in Scotland. Certainly no more than a couple of centuries.”

  “I see.”

  “Your Mr. Barker is Scottish and has lived in China. I should like to meet him sometime.”

  I hoped to delay such a meeting, to be honest. I wanted her all to myself.

  The garden was warm, and birds were settling in for the night. Unfortunately, the garden wasn’t mine, having been given to her and her late husband by her parents. I wasn’t certain I could live in Asher Cowan’s house after we were wed. As it was, I had little to offer her save a heart, and possibly some heartache. We sat in companionable silence for a minute or two.

  “It’s peaceful here,” I remarked.

  “It is,” she agreed.

  “No one shoots anyone here, or tries to attack them.”

  “Practically never.”

  “I could use a little bit of that in my life.”

  “And perhaps I could use a little excitement. I have been cloistered here. Nothing I do has any import.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Now you’re just flattering me.”

  “Is it working?”

  “We shall have to see, Mr. Llewelyn.”

  She rose, with a rustle of fabric. “You must go.”

  “Already? I have only just arrived.”

  “We are being watched by scandalized eyes.”

  I stood, as well.

  “Very well,” I said. “I’m going. But I’m coming back.”

  She gave a hint of a smile. “I’m counting on it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Technically, Liam Grant was not a librarian, but he could be found in the Reading Room all day every day, feeding on knowledge like a pilot fish feeds upon a shark. Being a gentleman, he had a private income, and this was how he preferred to spend his days. I seemed to recall that he had a particular interest in Asian studies. He sounded just the man.

  My very first “watcher,” Grant lived a very circumscribed life, according to a timetable. He “worked” at the museum until nine o’clock when it closed, walked across to the Alpha Inn on the other side of Montague Street for dinner, and then went home, which happened to be a flat on the same street. He rarely left that street from one week to the next. Oxford Street next door might as well be Borneo as far as the likelihood that he would visit it someday. But then, it was the knowledge he had ingested from those books he read that interested me. His eccentricities were his own concern.

  My hansom pulled into Montague Street promptly at nine, and I was just getting out of the cab when I saw Grant step out of the museum entrance and raise his umbrella. I hailed him.

  “Mr. Llewelyn, is it not?” he asked, after placing me.

  There was nothing remarkable about his appearance, a gray-haired man approaching sixty with a pair of pince-nez spectacles and a mild manner. He looked a typical Englishman. However, his mind was first-rate, and he used it on a number of esoteric subjects. I hoped Japanese history was one of them.

  “May I join you at the Alpha?” I asked. “I had something I wanted to ask you about.”

  “One of Mr. Barker’s cases?” he asked.

  “Indeed.”

  Liam Grant considered Cyrus Barker an interesting specimen. I wasn’t certain where he got his information, but there was a file in his brain with the Guv’s name on it, and it was far from empty. I hazarded a guess that a brain like Grant’s was always looking for stimulation, and I could safely say that Barker would provide it.

  Ten minutes later we were snug in a corner of the inn with a pint of stout and a bacon sandwich in front of each of us while the rain buffeted the window nearby. A fog had set to in earnest, as well. There were worse places to be on an August evening.

  “What subject are we discussing this time?” Grant asked. “As I recall, we talked about Tibet and Shambhala the last time we met.”

  “Japan,” I informed him, as I took that first wonderful sip of stout after a long day and licked the foam from my lip. “And its recent history.”

  “Ah!” he said, in approval, as if the subject had merit. “I suppose it has to do with the death of the current ambassador.”

  “It does,” I admitted. “We are investigating the case. Frankly, I am at a loss. I need insight. I hardly know where to start.”

  We bit into our sandwiches, hot, toasted, and full of bacon. I appreciate recipes full of spices and exotic ingredients, but sometimes the body cries out for a plain bit of bread and bacon, even when one has already dined earlier on turbot prepared by a great chef. Needless to say, I wouldn’t inform Mac of this little indiscretion.

  “Japan,” he said, warming to the subject. “A fascinating little country!”

  “I keep hearing how its society is a mirror image to our own, and that we have much in common.”

  “You would think that, wouldn’t you? But nothing could be further from the truth. No, if you think that way, you’re going to put your foot wrong every time.”

  “Excellent,” I said, leaning forward. “That is what I’ve come to hear. So, how do I put my foot right?”

  “Up until fifty years ago, the country was isolated. I mean completely isolated, as if it were located on the moon or the planet Mars. For all they knew, people in other countries had faces in their bellies and flew like storks.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “In 1853, Commodore Perry of the United States arrived with his navy and demanded a trade agreement at gunpoint. It totally demoralized the country. They suddenly realized they weren’t the center of the universe, but rather, a small backwater of little use to anyone.”

  I nodded, considering as well as I could the implications.

  “Of particular concern were American firearms. Japan had brought the usage of swords to a high art form. Now they were rendered nearly useless, and with them the aristocracy that used them, the samurai. It precipitated a war between the samurai and the Imperial Army, the Boshin War, which the government army won. Since then the country has been on a self-improvement regimen, essentially inflicting the Industrial Age upon a feudal society.”

  “That sounds impossible,” I said.

  “It is. And yet they will do it. You have to understand the Japanese character. Th
ey can be fierce. But they’ll just as easily destroy themselves at the slightest whim of the emperor as punishment over the most minor infraction.”

  I swallowed the strong, bitter stout again and set it down on the homely wooden table.

  “I feel you are about to say: ‘And, yet…’”

  “I was. And yet … they are most often a gentle people. They love gardening, revere flower arranging and painting on screens. They write the most beautiful poetry. They are glorious in battle, but will cry before or afterward. They are an emotional people, while making a great show of stoicism in front of you. They are endlessly fascinating.”

  Grant put down his empty pint glass next to his empty plate.

  “Let us repair to my flat, Mr. Llewelyn,” he said. “I’ve got a few things to show you.”

  He stood, threw a couple of sovereigns on the table, enough to pay for both meals twice over. Then he took his stout umbrella, a product of James Smith & Sons nearby, just a street over, and led me outside into the rain.

  The Alpha Inn is opposite the left end of the British Museum. Grant’s flat was opposite the right end. In just a couple of minutes we crossed the pavement and came to his door. I held the brolly while he turned the key in the lock. Then we went up a flight of stairs to his flat on the first floor.

  I’d never been there before. His rooms were densely packed with bookcases. Not merely did they line the walls, but they stood out perpendicularly into the room like their more professional brethren at the British Museum. Every shelf was full of books, quite old ones, bound in leather. Every space above was crammed with still more books, even down to the teetering stacks on top, which looked like they might fall on our heads. In front of the books, in the scant few inches between the spine and the lip of the shelves, were curios from foreign lands: Egyptian figures carved of stone, small Arab daggers, shrunken heads from some unknown tribe of cannibals, a small Chinese village carved of cork and pressed between glass.

  I started when I saw an owl staring at me from atop a bookcase, but it was stuffed and dusty.

  “The man fancies himself an alchemist,” I told myself.