The Count of Samerand and the Ghost of Belgravia

by Bryan Porter

the fact that he was a chain smoker?” I asked.

  “My dear inspector Wright, did you not observe the cigarettes outside? As we have ascertained, the constable, neither valet nor Mr Melbourne has smoked this night, but there are four small cigarette butts. Based on the fact that the ends were still warm, they were created this night. I know you did not make them based on your index and middle finger being clean of cigarette stains, so the only one left who could make such recent trash was our killer. This is not the type of place that one can linger long without attracting attention, so what little time he had, he still managed to smoke four cigarettes.”

  “Why it is so clear when you put it like that.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “But surely we must be on our way quickly, this man even now could be fleeing the city.”

  My friend held up his hand to keep me seated. “No, I think not. If I am correct we will have no trouble laying our hands upon him.”

  “How can we do..?” I was interrupted mid sentence as constable MacDonald escorted a young boy from the telegram office into the room where we sat.

  “The Count of Samerand?” The boy asked addressing my companion.

  “You were quicker than I could have hoped.” The Count said, retrieving two responses to his message and slipping a shilling into the boy’s hand.

  My friend didn't speak for a long moment, gazing at the papers, his finger tapping against the thin sheets. “Ah ha.” He exclaimed. “It seems your trust in my abilities will be justified this time my friend. If you would be so kind to indulge me once again you will have your man.”

  “What must I do?” Asked I

  “It is a very simple matter, have everyone leave this house.”

  That same night after the house had remained silent for five hours, the great bulk of the middle bookcase slid out as if it was on a hinge, and a large man holding a bit of steel walked out. He padded across the study floor silently, and upon reaching the study door unlocked it and pulled the door open.

  “Now!” A voice yelled, and the large man was pushed to the floor and irons were slapped over his wrist before he realized

  “Gentleman, I give you the honour of meeting John Melbourne.”

  The large man struggled for a bit, but once we had him sitting upright he seemed to deflate.

  “You said his name was Melbourne, Count.” I asked. “Is he a relation to Mr Melbourne.?”

  “No, I think not. Unless I miss my guess, our Mr Melbourne is unrelated to this young man.”

  “You are right about that sir.” The young man spoke with a strong American accent. “Though I know not how you have guessed it.”

  “Quite simply, before arriving I sent a telegram on to the States to question if Mr Melbourne had any family remaining. If it had been early in the day, I wouldn't have received an answer so promptly but because it is early day there I was in luck, and only one name was returned to me. It regarded one John Melbourne along with a brief description. Though there are a good number of points we still have to clear up, so if you would be as kind as to fill in these details.”

  The man considered for a moment before he agreed.

  “I suppose it won’t hurt now that you have clapped irons on me, besides its time that someone finally heard the story.

  With help he was placed into one of the sitting chairs.

  "I was born John Melbourne to Robert and Matilda Melbourne of Fredrick, Oklahoma. My father was in the tobacco trade before the war. We had about a dozen slaves to tend the field, and life was good. That was until the war came and the emancipation. Almost overnight we lost our workers and had to fend for ourselves. We kept on people like Randy Mitchell who had tended the slaves, as farm hands to help us stay afloat. Even so, my Pa had to sell land until we were left with a patch of land barely able to feed us. We thought we might starve when winter came, but as fate would have it one of my father's relative, an uncle by the name of Thomas Melbourne, had recently passed away and my Pa being the only member of the family left was to inherit his entire estate. We would have lived like kings if not for Douglas Russell.

  "Douglas Russell was the town sheriff, a greedy man who wasn't above taking from folks what he wanted. We used to think we would be better if bandits did come, as he was just as bad, but he couldn't be touched. Well I don't know how, but he learned about my father's good fortune, and then he starts eyeing us, real dangerous like. My Pa had started taking to sleeping with his shotgun just in case.

  "Well it was a month after my seventeenth birthday, when after tending to the cows, I hear this shot. I tell you it felt like the devil himself had stepped on my grave. I ran to the house, but when I arrived Ma and Pa were already dead. Randy Mitchell was laying face down in a pool of his own blood, and I can only guess he was the one who told Russell the news, and whether by my father's hand or Russell’s had gotten what he deserved. Well I go in there, guns blazing only to have Russell clap me on the back of the head with his revolver, knocking me senseless. When I woke I was told that I was to be hung for my parents murders. Maybe Russell didn't have the guts or maybe someone took pity on me as, instead of the noose, I was sent to a work house, and spent my days breaking stones.

  "I won't bore you with the details but you can be assured that from the day I was put up, my only thought was of escape. It took me years to do it but I finally managed it, and with a small nest egg I had stolen from the Warden, I bought passage back to Fredrick, only to learn that Russell had skipped out to London. As you can guess, I followed him. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth. I had been in London for six months without much luck, when I chanced upon a gentleman's club that catered to Americans away from home. I couldn't believe my luck when I saw Russell, but when I asked a club member he said the man was Robert Melbourne. He had stolen my father's identity, falsifying the reports. It was easy enough for him to pass as my father, as he had no contact with the British side of the family, and he roughly fit my father’s description. I would have done it there, if he hadn't been so drunk that he didn't even realize who I was. I needed him to understand who I was you see. So getting the valet, I helped him, but not before taking the valet's key. I made a copy and returned the key. I was all set but simply needing to choose a time to act.

  "My mind was made for me when Russell spotted me this night and recognized my face. Making my move, I waited for the maids to head to their rooms, before making my way up to his study. He had the hidden door open, and I could see the stacks of bank notes. I swear that I saw red, and if the maid had not interrupted us I would have killed him. As she spoke, I had time to compose myself, and after she left I told him to confess his crime. He tried to bribe me and when that didn't work, he came at me with his old hunting knife. We wrestled for a moment, and the next thing I knew the knife was buried in his chest. I could hear footsteps on the door, and knew that way was blocked, so picking Russell up I deposited him in the chair and cleaning as best I could, took the weapon and hid in the secret space until it was safe. That is when you found me.”

  “It is, quite the story.” Said I

  “Yes, but it corresponds with the fact so indeed it must be the truth.”

  “What will happen to me now?” The young man asked.

  “English courts are fair, if not always with such clear judgements. You should find yourself right again.” I said though my friend's brow furrowed.

  “You have got yourself into quite the jam, and I am not without sympathy.” My friend said, clasping the younger man's hand. “If the world was truly just you would not have to spend a moment in jail.” Though I could not see it, it seemed to me that my friend said something more to him that I couldn't hear.

  After that, John Melbourne was carted off to Scotland Yard.

  “You knew that man wasn't Robert Melbourne.” I said.

  “I did.”

  “How?”

  “If you had observed his knuckles you would have seen that they were criss-crossed with scars and raised a good
half an inch, not fitting for a farmer.  Also I knew the late Lord Melbourne when I was a child. Russell bore no family resemblance.”

  “Well you have done me a service. I only wish you would take more cases for us.”

  “My friend, I help you as a favour and because I like you. I find the idea of people I am unfamiliar with using my thoughts to endear themselves quite repulsive.”

  “It is almost time to breakfast, will you dine with me?” Asked I

  “No, not this time I think. I think today I will find Miss Pendleton.”

  Knowing my friend well and his habits I frowned. “You best find yourself a wife soon; perhaps she could keep you out of trouble.”

  My friend held a hand to his chest. “Inspector you wound me, why would you want to hang me upon that crux.” And with a wave farewell he set out.

  April 13, 1864 the London Journal:

  Early this evening a daring escape was made from Scotland Yard when one John Melbourne, through an ingenious ruse, managed to escape the attentions of the Scotland Yard after being brought to their attention one week ago. Melbourne was to be tried for murder in the case of Douglas Russell. He is at large and is said to be extremely dangerous.