The Midnight Peacock

by Katherine Woodfine

  Leo pushed her way hurriedly through the crowds towards her godmother and reached out to touch her on the arm. Lady Tremayne jumped and span around at once.

  ‘Leo – I told you to go!’ she began in an irritated voice that did not sound in the least bit like her usual self.

  ‘Wait – I have to tell you something. There’s a gentleman looking for you – he says it’s urgent!’

  Lady Tremayne frowned. ‘What gentleman?’ she demanded sharply.

  ‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t give his name. He was a tall gentleman and well dressed. He was wearing a gold pin shaped like a dragon. I didn’t recognise him but he said he recognised me, and that he knew you very well indeed. He said I had to tell you that his plans had changed – and that you’re to meet him at once.’

  ‘To meet him?’ repeated Lady Tremayne, her eyes widening. ‘What? But where?’

  ‘I’ll show you,’ said Leo. ‘I know a quick way. Follow me.’

  Her heart was racing as she led Lady Tremayne through the crowds, and up the stairs to the third floor. She hadn’t been able to believe that her godmother could really be anything to do with the Baron’s plot, but now her anxious face made it all clear.

  ‘Why else would she have reacted in that peculiar way?’ Jack had said. ‘She was warning you. She wanted you as far away from here as possible – and there’s only one explanation for that. She knows exactly what’s going to happen on Piccadilly Circus tonight.’

  Now, as Leo hurried on through the Ladies’ Fashions Department, where a host of society ladies were admiring Maison Chevalier ensembles, and then into Millinery, she felt a dreadful sick feeling wash over her. Lady Tremayne had always been the one person she believed she could count on, the one person that she could trust. She had been hoping desperately that Jack was wrong, but the eagerness in her godmother’s eyes when she’d described the Baron had been only too obvious. The horrible sick feeling changed to a hot flash of anger. Lady Tremayne had duped her. She was in cahoots with the Baron. She deserved everything she was going to get.

  ‘Here he is,’ Leo said sweetly, pointing to the door of the Millinery storeroom. ‘The gentleman – he’s waiting for you in there. He said it would be best if he wasn’t seen by anyone.’

  Lady Tremayne hurried forward and stepped through the door – and at once Jack popped out from behind a display of hats, closed it behind her, and swiftly turned the key in the lock.

  ‘Lil and Sophie told me they got locked in here once,’ he explained, removing the key and pocketing it carefully. ‘Let’s see how Lady Tremayne likes it. And if she’s shut up in there for the night, she can’t possibly do anything to help the Baron with his scheme – now can she?’

  Minnie and Violet were peering out from behind the glass-topped counter, rather confused about what was happening.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ said Jack airily, waving his hand to them. ‘Little matter of an – er – uninvited guest. Mr Sinclair’s orders, you know.’

  Behind the door of the Millinery storeroom, a shocked Lady Tremayne contemplated not the Baron, but only a very annoyed-looking Edith holding a stack of hat-boxes.

  Sophie had thought the door to the building across the street would be locked, so she was relieved when the handle turned easily. Inside, she hurried up a dark staircase, counting the floors as she went. First Miss Beauville’s, all the lights turned out, then the publishing office, the doors closed, and finally, the fifth floor.

  The door in front of her was locked fast, and for a moment she panicked. But Sophie was not the girl that she had been a year ago, and a locked door was no longer the barrier it had once been. Remembering the hairpins Monsieur Pascal had used, she quickly pulled two of them out, and pushed the thin ends into the keyhole. Joe had taught her how to pick locks: after learning how to crack a safe, it had been surprisingly straightforward. Now it only took her a minute’s work before the lock clicked, and she was able to push the door open.

  She stepped through into a large, empty office. There was almost no furniture, and the crates that Billy had seen were gone. For a moment, she wondered if she had been mistaken and this was just an unused office, but then she caught her breath, as she saw something gleaming on a table under the window. Hurrying over to it, she realised it was a long, narrow rifle.

  Breathlessly, she picked it up. The barrel glinted in the dim light. It felt large and cold and mysterious in her hands. She didn’t have the first idea about how guns worked – Papa had never allowed her near his. For a moment, she thought resentfully of what he had said in the letter about giving her an ‘ordinary girlhood’. ‘I’d swap that for a lesson on firearms right now,’ she murmured, examining the barrel of the gun. How did it open? Could she damage it – or remove the ammunition? Or ought she just to run for it now, taking the gun with her?

  She was so intent that she barely even heard the softest creak as the office door opened behind her. There was only just time to spin around, still clutching the rifle, as a familiar voice spoke:

  ‘Good evening, Miss Taylor.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Down on Piccadilly Circus, the atmosphere had become wilder. A group of children were setting off firecrackers, people had gathered round the barrel organ and were loudly chanting popular music-hall songs, and two lads were climbing up the Eros fountain whilst two angry policemen shook their fists at them. Meanwhile, a tall man with black hair streaked with white, and a blood-drenched handkerchief held to his nose, could be seen trying to escape into the crowd, hotly pursued by some very angry-looking suffragettes.

  A young lady found a policeman in the crowd and pulled on his sleeve. ‘Excuse me, constable,’ she said, rather out of breath. ‘I wish to report that man over there.’

  ‘That gentleman, miss?’ said Police Constable Potts in surprise. ‘Been bothering you, has he?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Connie briskly. ‘I should say he’s been bothering us, all right.’

  On the scaffolding above Piccadilly Circus, Tilly had prised away the cover of the control box and was gazing at its intricate workings.

  ‘Quickly!’ came Joe’s voice beside her. ‘We’re running out of time! There’s only fifteen minutes left until midnight!’

  Far below them in the alleyway, Billy’s anxious face stared up at them. A wave of panic swept over Tilly. ‘I don’t know how to do it,’ she gasped, staring at the complex mechanism of cogs and wires and dials. ‘I can’t stop the timer. It’s too complicated!’ A chill wind blew over the rooftops, rattling the scaffolding, and Tilly felt tears coming into her eyes. She blinked them back frantically. Everyone was relying on her – but she didn’t know what to do.

  ‘All right – don’t worry,’ came Joe’s voice. ‘Forget about the timer. What about the cables – do we disconnect them?’

  Tilly stared desperately at the tangle of thick red and black cables erupting from the machine. ‘I don’t know!’ she said. ‘There are so many! We’ll never have time to cut through them all! And if we cut the wrong one, we might trip the mechanism somehow – and set the machine off!’

  Her heart pounded. It was so easy to understand how things worked when you were reading a book, or looking at a motor-car engine with Alf in the garage, but it was quite another thing when you were high above Piccadilly Circus in the cold and the dark. For a moment she cursed herself, and her wild dream of coming to London. What was she doing here? She could have been safe in the kitchens with Ma.

  ‘You can do this,’ said Joe gently. He sounded amazingly calm, Tilly thought, as though they were doing something quite ordinary, not perched up here, knowing that bombs might be about to go off all around them. ‘Just take it one step at a time. Red cables and black ones. There must be some difference between them.’

  Tilly took a deep breath and tried to collect herself. She had to be rational, she told herself. It was just like the ghost in the passage at Winter Hall. She could not scream and run away; she had to look calmly at what lay be
fore her, however frightening it might be. ‘I suppose they could be like the marks on the plan,’ she said slowly. ‘Red for explosives – and black for the ordinary fireworks.’

  Joe nodded. ‘That’s right!’ he said. ‘So do the red cables first – that way we’ve got the best chance of disconnecting the explosives. Where’s that wire-cutter? We’ll have to hurry.’

  The buzz of noise in the Marble Court Restaurant fell silent. The Royal party were here, and in their midst, the familiar figures of the King and Queen Alexandra. Veronica and Phyllis swept into curtseys as they saw the King approach them: large and slow and stately in his black coat, the Star of the Order of the Garter gleaming on his chest. Here and there he paused to nod to an acquaintance, to ask the polite young retainer at his side to make an introduction, or to cough into an enormous silk handkerchief – for as everyone knew, the King suffered from bronchial troubles. Presently, he stopped before the two young ladies and Mr Pendleton.

  ‘The Honourable Miss Phyllis Woodhouse, Your Majesty, Miss Veronica Whiteley, and Mr Reginald Pendleton,’ announced the retainer.

  ‘Good evening, young ladies,’ said His Majesty, smiling upon them graciously. ‘Good evening, Mr Pendleton.’

  ‘Say something!’ squeaked Phyllis – and rather to her astonishment, Veronica did.

  ‘Good evening, Your Highness,’ she began. ‘Er – we have to tell you something. We fear that it would be dangerous for you to go out on the balcony to greet your public. We believe that someone is – well – that someone is trying to assassinate you tonight,’ she managed to finish. She grimaced, uncertain what the King’s response would be.

  For a moment, the King looked at her in astonishment. Then he looked around at his retinue, and began to laugh good-naturedly.

  ‘It’s true, Your Highness,’ blustered Mr Pendleton. ‘You must listen to Miss Whiteley!’

  The King smiled at them both. ‘My dear young people. I appreciate your concern, but I have been the King of England for nearly ten years – and I was the Prince of Wales for a very great deal longer than that! I daresay there are plenty of people who would love to see me in the grave – but I wouldn’t get on at all well if I spent my time looking over my shoulder for assassins.’ He bowed to Miss Whiteley, patted Mr Pendleton on the shoulder and then turned to his retainer and smiled jovially. ‘Come on – let us go out and greet the public. And then I believe it will be time for a little more of Monsieur Bernard’s delicious dinner.’

  Veronica and Mr Pendleton stared helplessly after him as the King made his slow progress over towards the balcony door.

  Across the street, Sophie turned to face the Baron.

  There he was – tall, distinguished-looking, with the same greying hair, the same unremarkable face. But whilst before he had always been elegantly dressed, now he was no longer so polished – his collar askew and his face unshaven. Yet Sophie barely noticed any of that. She was staring in horror at the struggling figure he had dragged into the room with him. It was Lil, white and shaking, and Sophie saw in horror that the Baron had his silver knife pressed close up against her neck.

  ‘Let go of her!’ she cried out at once, but the Baron only laughed.

  ‘No, I really don’t think I’m going to do that,’ he said. ‘You have my rifle – and you’re in my way. Unless you’re planning to hand it over and let me get on with my business, which somehow I very much doubt, I think I’ll keep hold of your companion for now. I rather think she was running over here in such a hurry to try and help you – or perhaps even to try and save you? Rather a shame that she ran into me instead.’

  ‘You’re the gunman!’ Sophie whispered. ‘You’re doing it yourself this time. You’re here to kill the King.’

  ‘Quite right. Unfortunately, thanks to your meddling, there are very few people left that I can really trust – well, apart from Fitz, of course. I believe you made his acquaintance once before? And Viola too, although I could hardly trust her with a rifle. She’d probably be about as capable of using it as you are. But women are of use for some things – and thankfully blood is thicker than water. Not that you’d know very much about that, since all your family are dead.’ He gave a short laugh, and dragged Lil forwards. ‘Do you know, it really was remarkably easy for me to get rid of your parents, when they got in my way. Just like I’m going to get rid of your friend here, unless you do exactly as I say.’

  The Baron pressed the knife harder against Lil’s neck and for a moment, she whimpered. But then she gathered herself. ‘Don’t listen to him, Sophie! You can’t let him win!’

  The Baron gave a delighted laugh. ‘Let me win? My dear, I’ve already won. The rooftops of the buildings all around Piccadilly Circus are laced with a new and powerful explosive. In ten minutes time they’ll be ignited, and London will be in chaos.’

  ‘You’re despicable,’ muttered Lil. ‘There are hundreds of people down there. Don’t you even care that they’ll be hurt – or killed?’

  The Baron laughed dismissively. ‘That rabble? They’re of no importance. We are talking about making history.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘And in history, my people always win the war.’ He paused, looking at Sophie thoughtfully for a moment. ‘I’ll admit, you may have won a battle or two along the way, Miss Taylor – and I must say, that impressed me. Perhaps there’s more of your mother in you than I ever gave you credit for. But ultimately, of course, we will win. We always do.’

  Sophie’s heart was pounding in her chest and her grip tightened on the rifle. If only she knew how to use it! But even if she did she wasn’t sure she would dare, when the Baron was holding Lil before him in such a fierce grip – she could not risk hurting her friend. Just the same, she knew she could not give up. She had not given up when the Baron had kidnapped her and locked her in his study, nor when he had chased them to the docks of the East End, nor when he’d cornered her in that Chelsea alleyway. She would certainly not give up now. And so she did the only thing she could think of – she opened her mouth and spoke:

  ‘We? Do you mean you and the rest of the Fraternitas Draconum?’

  The Baron chuckled, and smiled at her as if she were a puppy that had just learned to sit. ‘Well well! So you’ve worked that out, have you? Clever girl. The Brotherhood of Dragons is one of Europe’s most ancient, mighty – and secret – institutions.’

  ‘But they’re unhappy with you, aren’t they?’ Sophie hardly knew what she was saying. ‘They were angry – after we exposed you, and your plan to get back those paintings went wrong.’

  A shadow passed across the Baron’s face. ‘I’ll admit that losing the paintings was an inconvenience. But I’ll get them back in time. My mistake was relying on that fool Lyle. That’s why I’m taking care of business myself this time. Well, that and the fact that I just so happen to be a crack shot. That was one of the things I was known for in my Army days. Your poor papa on the other hand was never much of a marksman. But he was a fine scout – perhaps one of the best. We made a formidable team – rather like you and dear Miss Rose here. Of course, I killed him just the same.’

  ‘You killed him – and you killed my mother – and you killed Colonel Fairley – and for all we know, you killed Grandfather Lim too,’ Sophie went on. Her heart was thumping, but she knew that for every second that ticked away, the less time the Baron would have to carry out his plan. ‘You made the Colonel’s death look like an accident. You stole his dragon painting – and I suppose you also stole my father’s will and the letter he left for me too.’

  ‘Yes, that amused me,’ said the Baron. ‘I rather liked the idea of leaving Robert’s child a penniless orphan. It seemed to me like justice. Though I must say I forgot about you after that – it took me quite by surprise when you popped up in the box in the theatre that day. I couldn’t possibly mistake you for anyone but Robert’s daughter.’

  He lowered his voice and took another step towards her. ‘I still have it, you know. The letter for you that your father left with the Colonel. Oh, he set it ou
t for you all so carefully – such heroic explanations, such fond farewells, such tender plans for your future! It’s really quite touching. I can still give it to you, if you like. Put that rifle down – and you and your friend can walk away. I’ll tell you exactly where you can find the letter and everything else he left for you. It’s not too late.’

  The room was very silent. Sophie could hear Lil’s ragged breaths and see the rise and fall of her chest. Then: ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said through gritted teeth.

  The Baron shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I give you my word,’ he said. He looked straight into her eyes. ‘I am a man of my word, Sophie, whatever else you might think of me.’ For a moment, he gave her a strange smile. ‘I do rather admire you, you know. I sometimes think that if things had been different, you could have been my daughter. But Alice chose him.’ He shook his head. ‘I forgave them, in spite of that. I forgave him – and treated him like a friend and a gentleman. I told him my secrets. He could still have joined me. He could have been rich. He would have sat at my right hand at the table of the Fraternitas Draconum. Together I daresay we could have reached the top. But he threw all that away. He was a coward.’

  Sophie looked at him steadily. ‘He didn’t want to have anything to do with the Fraternitas Draconum. He joined the Loyal Order of Lions instead – and so did my mother.’

  ‘The Loyal Order of Lions, indeed! That feeble endeavour! I should have known that was exactly the kind of weedy sentimental stuff that would appeal to Robert – all that tiresome nonsense about loyalty and honour and friendship and doing the right thing. But I must say I thought Alice was made of sterner stuff. They thought they could stop us but they were hopelessly deluded. Of course, I dealt with that tedious little problem and now the Loyal Order of Lions is no more. Every member of it has been crossed out. Well – except, I suppose, for you.’