by Will Thomas
The officer led us through a tall door. Inside was a large, spacious room dominated by an enormous telescope. A sturdy-looking man was bent over the eyepiece. He stood when we entered.
“Have a seat, gentlemen,” he said, as he returned to his observations. “Take off those handcuffs, Captain Yeager.”
“Yes, sir,” the officer answered.
We sat in front of the desk. Caleb suddenly sucked in air. I looked at him. He was glaring at a brass plaque before us with the owner’s name on it: Robert Todd Lincoln. The late president’s son.
Lincoln pulled himself away from the telescope with a sigh, and went to his desk, reviewing several papers on the blotter.
“This is not Abilene or Dodge City, Mr. Barker,” Lincoln said. “You cannot shoot people with impunity. There are laws here. It reflects badly on our nation.”
“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir.”
For the first time since I had met him, Caleb was flustered. I suspected that to many of his countrymen, Lincoln was the closest thing to a king as they would ever know. However, the man looked nothing like his father. He was stout where his father had been lean. He had a gray, spade-like beard, and wore a pair of pince-nez spectacles. Only something about the eyes reminded me of the illustrations I had seen of the famous president.
“The report here says you shot at least two American citizens in Sussex.”
“No, sir,” Caleb said. “I was not in the building at the time.”
“Mr. Barker,” Lincoln said, removing the spectacles from where they were perched on his nose, and wiping them on a piece of silk from his desk. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“No, sir!” he replied. “Not at all!”
“You shot another man in Hampshire.”
“A multiple murderer sir,” I interjected. “He’d have escaped to kill again if it weren’t for Mr. Barker here.”
“And you are, sir?”
I set my card in front of him. “Thomas Llewelyn of the Barker Agency. We’ve been working with the Pinkerton Agency on a couple of enquiries.”
“Barker?” Lincoln said, looking slightly confused.
“Cyrus Barker, sir. Caleb Barker’s brother.”
“English?”
“Yes, sir. Well, Scottish, but working in London.”
“And they’re both detectives.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“I see. Now tell me, Mr. Barker, have you killed any other person in England that we don’t know about?”
I tried to stop him, but did not succeed.
“Yes, sir. A fellow in an alleyway was beating Mr. Llewelyn here, and I jabbed him with my pigsticker!”
“Was the man English?”
“No, sir. French.”
Lincoln closed his eyes and sighed. Then opened them again.
“Do you have any opinions about the Italians? Need I have any concerns for the Germans or the Dutch?”
“No, sir.”
“Mr. Barker, it is obvious that you work in the far West, where law is subject to interpretation. However, I know for a fact that the Pinkerton Agency does not condone the use of extreme violence in the performance of your duties.”
The corners of Caleb’s lips went up, as if to say, “You, sir, have been misinformed.”
Lincoln picked up a paperweight and thumped it on his blotter, like a judge with his gavel. “You are to be deported tonight. There is a ship leaving port within the hour. Do you possess anything you have not brought along with you?”
“No, sir, but my horse is outside. Can he be deported, too?”
Now it was Lincoln’s turn to smile. “I’ve never deported a horse before, but there is a first time for everything.”
“Will I stand trial in the States?”
The American minister shuffled the papers and looked at them closely. “Scotland Yard claims the shooting occurred between two groups. One of your side was killed, and both on the other side. The walls were studded with bullets. It sounds like a standoff to me.”
“Yes, sir, it was.”
“This so-called murderer you shot. He was killed from a far distance, is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” I confirmed.
“You,” he said, pointing at me. “Explain what happened.”
“The man who was killed, Dr. Henry Thayer Pritchard, had just escaped from a lunatic asylum, having killed both of his accomplices. He was a dangerous madman and was considered extremely dangerous. Mr. Barker saw him from far off, escaping across the moor, and he fired his rifle. He did not miss.”
“Mr. Barker, where did you procure a rifle?”
“I brought it from America, sir.”
Lincoln crossed his arms and regarded him as if he were a species with which he was not acquainted. “How were you able to do such a thing? You had to have gone through customs.”
“Sir, the day a Pinkerton cannot get by a customs inspector is the day he hangs up his spurs.”
“And your pistols. Did you smuggle those through as well?”
“No, sir. I acquired those here.”
“From where?”
“From the Colt dealer in Glass House Street, Your Honor.”
“He would not sell pistols to an American only briefly in the United Kingdom. They are heavily regulated.”
“They are, sir, but I did not buy them. I have done a favor for Mr. Colt himself. After a telegram was exchanged, they were given to me gratis.”
“Now this French business. You stabbed one of them. What happened to the other?”
“The girl, who was Pritchard’s accomplice, cut his throat, presumably at Pritchard’s request.”
“I see.”
Lincoln cleared his throat. “I have no control over the French government; they are liable to make suit against you. They are an excitable people. But I doubt the Court of King James is going to make a fuss over the death of a multiple murderer. As to the Wealden murders, I believe the Pinkerton Agency will have to answer for that. Say your good-byes to Mr. Llewelyn. You’ve got a boat to catch.”
We rose and quit the room. Lincoln was already returning to his telescope. We had interrupted his contemplation of the celestial orbs. In the corridor, Yeager clapped Caleb in irons again. It didn’t stop him from shaking my hand.
“That was Lincoln!” he said. “Robert Todd Lincoln. Can you believe it?”
“I know,” I replied.
“If you’re ever in the United States, come look me up.”
“General delivery, The Open Plains?” I asked.
“Something like that.”
“I wish you could have stayed for the wedding tomorrow.”
He settled his wide-brimmed hat on his head. “I’m not much for ceremonies, Thomas, and even less for weddings. It’s too much like a steer going to the slaughterhouse.”
“Good-bye, Caleb,” I said.
“Good-bye. Tell Etienne he can’t cook a tin of beans without directions.”
“Thank you. He’ll probably quit for another week.”
He turned and followed after Yeager, singing as he went. I’d set down the lyrics, but my ears burnt just hearing them.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
And so the fated day arrived. I spent the morning feeling stunned, not very different from the moment after the explosion had taken place. I stood there holding one shoe, lost in thought, until Mac coerced me to put it on. It isn’t every day a man gets married. Well, that I get married, anyway.
After bathing, shaving, dressing, eating, and sucking down a pot of coffee, I was ready to go. Mac inspected me for a full minute, removing bits of fluff too small to be seen by the naked eye until he was satisfied.
“That’s the best I can do with what I’ve been given,” he said. “Off with you. I’ve still got the Guv to dress. Not to mention my humble self.”
“Thank you, Mac. But, before I go, there is something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Yes?” he asked, looking a bit testy. I was interfering wi
th his times table.
“The thing is, Jacob, things are liable to change when I get back. When we get back, I mean. It’s all quite up in the air. We’ll be deciding where to live, and if we stay here, I wouldn’t want it to strain your relationship with Rebecca.”
“Surely that couldn’t happen.”
“I hope not, because I have no wish to make sweeping changes in the way things are run here. That being said, I’m about to suggest a vast change in the way things are run.”
“Mr. Llewelyn, I fear the day has unhinged your reason.”
“Oh, come, that’s no way to treat a man about to offer you a situation.”
Mac had been looking at invisible dust falling on my shoulder, but his eyes suddenly linked with mine. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t want you and Rebecca to be constantly trodding on each other’s toes. You’ve been invaluable during some of our investigations. I thought I might suggest to the Guv that we call you in on a consulting basis.”
“As an agent?” he asked.
“From time to time, if you are interested.”
“Have you approached the Guv about this?” he asked.
“Not yet, but I believe I can convince him. This will be the perfect time, I think, when everything is in flux.”
“Why would you do this?” he asked.
“Gift horses, Mac! Were I to convince the Guv to agree, would you be willing to join the agency on, shall we say, elastic terms?”
He crossed his thin, elegant arms, trying to decide if I was having him on. I knew he had wanted my position before I had been hired. Yet another applicant who had applied for my position.
“If anything,” I went on, “this has shown me that when one of us is injured, the investigation slows, and we cannot afford that. We’ll need another agent soon. Perhaps not full time, but you have your duties here and—”
“I accept.”
We blinked at each other as if the word had shocked us both.
“Good. I’ll bring up the matter with Mr. Barker when we return from the honeymoon, then. I’m not promising, of course.”
“You’ll be late,” he said. “We all will.”
“Thanks. I’ll be off, then.”
I opened the door and stepped out.
“Thomas!”
Mac stepped out onto the step. It was showing signs of being a beautiful day.
“Good luck today,” he said, putting out a gloved white hand.
I tipped him a wink. “Don’t go easy on me, now, Mac.”
Cabs were easy to be found for once, and I chose one in which I would not mind arriving at the ceremony. When I reached my destination, Rabbi Mordecai of the First Messianic Church came out into the street and shook my hand. Then he crushed me in a hug and slapped me on the back.
“You grooms always make me nervous,” he told me.
We had hoped to marry in Bevis Marks Synagogue, but they would not allow it until I became a convert, a decision I was not yet ready to make. Likewise, churches such as the Metropolitan Tabernacle would not accept a Jewess without a conversion of her own. We were stymied until I recalled a small congregation of “Christian-Jews” in Poplar who felt no need to compel people to change in order to get married. Mordecai, a Father Christmas of a fellow with a twinkling eye and a long white beard, was just the sort of man to lead the ceremony.
I entered and was immediately assaulted by Israel Zangwill, my closest friend. He was a columnist at The Jewish Chronicle. I’d known him since he was a teacher at the Jews’ Free School. He was a spare fellow with a dry sense of humor.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Israel assured me. “Do you want to have a dragon for a mother-in-law?”
“She’s worth the price,” I told him.
“Yes, she is,” Ira said. “Although Rebecca is bound to come to her senses before the vows and call the whole thing off!”
I turned and scanned the room. Philippa stood by the entrance to the chapel, regal and elegant in a light gray frock, speaking with one of the guests, with her eyes fixed on the doors.
The doors opened wide, then, and a bath chair holding my employer was wheeled in by an usher. Cyrus Barker was resplendent in his morning coat and striped trousers. His boots were polished to a high gloss and there was a diamond stud in his red tie. The wooden-slatted contraption was cinched around his trouser leg. He had a face like thunder. I murmured my apologies and moved through the crowd to his side.
“Sir, is something wrong?” I asked. “Are you sure you should be here?”
“Thomas, did you think that I would allow an assistant to wed without my participation and support? Would I stay at home while everyone I know is celebrating his nuptials?”
“We’re glad you’re here, sir. We wouldn’t have it any other way. In a manner of speaking, you introduced us to each other. It wouldn’t be the same without you. The question is, are you well enough to be here? That is what I want to know.”
“I believe I am, and I have this cast and two stout sticks to help me.”
It took a minute to work out what he had just said. “Sir, you didn’t mention trying to stand. You know your doctors would not allow it. Mrs. Ashleigh would not allow it. Even Rebecca wouldn’t!”
“I can manage.”
“There is no need for you to stand. No one expects that.”
Barker frowned and I saw a rare glimmer of light from the depths of his quartz spectacles. “I did not come here today to be an object of pity for our friends and acquaintances. I came to stand at your side on this momentous occasion.”
“But, sir—”
“Save your breath to cool your porridge, lad.”
A hand touched my wrist, gloved, scented, and fully in control.
“Thomas, mingle,” Philippa said. “Leave Cyrus to me.”
I nodded and watched as she moved around behind him and took control of the chair, wheeling him through the crowd while murmuring in his ear. I believe I heard the word “incorrigible” used.
“Thomas,” a voice spoke in my ear.
It was Rebecca’s aunt Lydia. I was deeply grateful that she had forgiven me after the shooting that had taken place in front of her and Rebecca.
“Yes, Aunt Lydia?”
“Rebecca wishes to speak with you.”
She led me down a hall to a door at the far end and opened it for me. I stepped inside, my heart thumping in my chest. My bride-to-be was standing there looking like an angel, a vision in pale cream and lace. Her veil was cut and folded back in the Spanish style to represent her Sephardic heritage. I had never seen anyone more beautiful. And what do you suppose was tucked among the lace and fabric in her hair? Baby’s breath.
“Thomas,” she said in a low voice. “Are you ready for this? I’m frightened.”
“I suppose it is normal to be afraid,” I said, taking her hand. “What in particular frightens you?”
“What if I’m a bad wife?”
“Rebecca, you could never be a bad wife.”
“But what if I am?” she asked. “What if I asked you to quit? What if I couldn’t accept the work you do?”
I thought that a very good question. I considered it a moment and then posited one of my own.
“Would you ask that of me?”
“I don’t think so, but neither do I want to receive a note or call someday saying you’ve been injured, as Mrs. Ashleigh has. I wish your situation was not so dangerous.”
“I don’t go out searching for it, but neither do I shrink from it. There was a time when you might have convinced me, five or six years ago, perhaps, but now I’m an enquiry agent. It’s not just what I do, it’s who I am.”
“I know that. Don’t mind me. I worry too much. Do you love me?”
“Of course I do,” I said. It wasn’t possible to tell her how much. “I don’t go about marrying just anyone.”
“Kiss me, then, and go.”
I did as she asked. Then I straightened my coat and went into the lobby
, where I was stopped every few feet by someone, a friend of Rebecca’s or someone connected with our work. Jenkins was there, in a nicer suit that I had assumed he owned. Bok Fu Ying was present and so was Hewitt with Miss Fletcher. Sergeant Kirkwood shook my hand vigorously, reminding me of a dog off his lead. I found it all amazing that so many people had come for our benefit.
Rabbi Mordecai came up beside me and took my elbow, wheeling me about like a railway handcart and leading me toward the sanctuary.
I saw the chuppah there and the gallery above, which, though it now held guests of both sexes, was first built to keep them separate. For the first time, I felt butterflies in my stomach. Then I heard the squeal of a wheel behind me and the protest of leather and wicker.
Barker came up beside me, a stick in each hand, concentrating. One foot came forward, then the other dragged behind. I could almost hear his teeth grinding. Stubborn as a mule, I thought; hard on everyone but mostly on himself. I waited as he stood beside me.
“Thomas,” he said.
“Sir. Thank you for being here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Then it came to me, a final revelation. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?”
“Be more specific,” he said.
I looked down the aisle, wondering if Rebecca was about to enter, whether or not I could say what needed to be said.
“You could have solved this case yourself. You gave it to me, perhaps as some sort of test, or to show me that I could do it on my own. You let me work it out, giving me little or no advice, save to not trust your brother.”
He leaned his head to the side as if considering the matter, then grimaced at a reciprocal jolt of pain in his limb.
“Then, when I shot those two men in Rebecca’s home, I suspect you dispatched Mac and Philippa to calm her and her aunt.”
“Not strictly true,” he said. “I dispatched Philippa alone. Mac was already there.”
