by S. E. Smith
Nodding, I turned to my valet, “Sampson what do you think?”
“Figg’s correct, Major.”
“Using a rumal makes it easier to ensure the landlord was rendered unconscious not dead. It ties in with the idea of torture.” I turned to McGregor. “You said the knot was on the side?”
“Yes.”
“What else did you discover?” Seamlessly, Emily took control from me before the discussion got bogged down in the minutia.
“The cuts to the arms were administered post-mortem to make us think the landlord, like Millie, didn’t struggle. The branding, I’m afraid to say, was inflicted while he was very much alive.” McGregor shivered as he said the last bit.
“Why?” It was out before I could stop myself.
“Fun.” Gold’s single word answer unleashed my scorpions.
“Which isn’t the same as Millie’s murder,” CC stated whilst I tried to lasso my scorpions into submission.
“True.” Emily tilted her head. “Millie underestimated her killer and he used that to his advantage. The landlord put up a fight. Doesn’t matter if he knew his killer or not; he had time to react; to try to survive.”
McGregor smiled. “Correct, Miss Emily.”
“Thank you.” She looked at Jethro. “Didn’t Millie say her landlord used to box?”
“Aye Miss Em’. Bare-knuckle. Not much cop by all accounts. More of a dive merchant than a true fighter. But if he landed a blow, it was solid.” The Irishman turned thoughtful and stroked his bruised chin.
Emily stared into the distance and spoke almost to herself. “So, he was a weasel, who put up a fight; was tortured to the point he lost consciousness; and was dead before he was strung up? Which implies a murderer and an accomplice ... would also explain how Millie wound up in that tunnel. She wasn’t a lightweight. It would take two people to manhandle her off the train.”
McGregor nodded: “Aye, that makes sense.”
“The diary, next, I think. But before we discuss its contents, Sampson tell us where you found it.”
“Very well, my lord.” As reports went my valet’s information was succinct and well delivered. Emily and her uncle exchanged glances, which I found difficult to interpret. However, I couldn’t spend much time considering their reactions because Sampson was delivering new information. “Having retrieved it from its hiding place inside the door, I took it to Jethro. Partly because he looked after Millie but mainly because he was one of the regiment’s best code-breakers.”
Jethro ignored Sampson’s damning praise and addressed his comments to the entire room. “William’s correct, the diary’s in code, which means – in this at least – Millie followed company policy.”
“I sense a but,” Gold said.
“The code’s not a good one.” Disgust laced every word.
Emily’s eyes rolled towards the ceiling “Let me guess ... Dancing men?”
Jethro’s cheeks flushed and his eyes closed. “Yes miss, little stick figures – like in the Sherlock Holmes story.”
Quite clearly revolted by the news Emily shut her eyes and her face became a moue of displeasure. “Any redeeming feature, Jethro?”
He shook his head in the negative; then stopped as if considering things more deeply. “They were backwards!”
Gold swore. “She was a ... liability.”
“She followed instructions, Uncle.”
The pawnbroker grumbled darkly.
“All our girls are encouraged to keep a client book,” Emily told us. “In code to protect all concerned.” She glanced at my cousin. “It also means a girl can sell her clients on when she retires, and – more importantly – Uncle and I know who to go after if anything untoward happens.”
CC tutted and was about to make a scathing comment when Emily forestalled him. “A sensible precaution, CC. Jack never goes away.”
“That wouldn’t have stopped him,” CC snapped.
“I agree, with you, Sir Charles. But we were adults during that dreadful time. My Emily was a child and she has different memories, different fears.” Gold’s teeth showed for a few moments before he continued. “Listen, it makes the girls feel safe and that’s good for morale. We even encourage the clerks to follow the business girls’ lead.”
CC pulled out his handkerchief and glared at it. “Business girls? That’s a word for them I suppose.”
McGregor flushed slightly.
I tried not to laugh because by reacting the way they did both men missed the obvious. Emily wanted them outraged and embarrassed because it stopped them noticing that with every passing, all too damning, second Gold became our prime suspect.
And call me a fool, but I had no intention of drawing their attention to that fact either. “Moralise later cousin. Moralise later.”
CC blew his nose angrily and I waited for him to finish before turning back to the Irishman. “Jethro, is there anything else?”
“Pages were torn out, Major. Not in a clump, which is what I would expect. But odd ones here and there.” Jethro appeared perplexed. “At first, I thought it was because they were complete client pages sold on so to speak. But when I read the diary, I realised they weren’t removed to hide something. They were taken out to draw the police’s attention to what followed.”
Yet again, Emily and her uncle exchanged glances. Sampson was poised, ready for battle. I closed my eyes and bowed to the inevitable.
Seeing the pair’s interaction, CC’s eyebrows narrowed further, his eyes flashed anger. “Give me the diary!” He all but snatched the tome as Jethro hesitated.
Flicking through the pages quickly, CC relinquished the policeman for the commanding officer. “Dancing man – backwards?”
“Sir.”
“All the way through, Jethro?”
Jethro shuffled uncomfortably. He threw a glance at Emily and her uncle and I saw their imperceptible nod before he answered his former CO. “No, Colonel. There’s one entry in a foreign language. That’s the bit they wanted attention drawn to.”
“This one?” CC turned the book around and pointed to one of the pages.
Another glance at Gold. Another nod. Another “sir” in confirmation.
“Yiddish, I believe.”
Emily’s shoulders dropped in defeat. Jethro eyed the floor and twisted his hands in prayer. Niall focussed his attention into the middle distance. Barker stared at Lamb who rubbed his upper arm. Figg concentrated all his attention on his employer.
And we waited for the hangman’s noose to descend.
“So, tell me, Mr Gold, what did Millicent Jones have on you? And was what she had on you enough to order her murder?” My cousin’s voice dropped still further, until all of us who served with him in India wished themselves anywhere but in this room.
Sampson took a few steps forward, his hand in the pocket where he kept his revolver. Figg mirrored the gesture.
For a few seconds, it was beyond tense.
Then, as one, Gold and CC put up their hands – standing their men down.
Eyes devoid of amusement, Gold’s voice had a supernatural edge to it. “Gentlemen, if we could have a few moments alone with Lord Byrd and his cousin.”
From Reports.
When McGregor returned from the bathroom he discovered, to his surprise, that an unhappy CC stood apart from Gold’s men, who examined Sampson’s Brownie box camera and posed for pictures, while Sampson dusted a glass for prints and explained his findings. “So, as you can see Mr Figg, the grease from your fingers leaves an impression on the item, the powder picks it up. And voila! Your print – preserved for posterity. Jethro, your turn.”
The policeman’s arms were folded, his eyes hooded, and mouth closed in a thin line. He surveyed the bedroom intently.
“You don’t look happy,” McGregor said as he joined him.
“I’m not,” CC admitted. “Once we established the diary was a forgery, they threw me out. Oh, ever so politely and not in so many words, but it was made clear. I was not to be a party to thei
r discussion.”
“How can you tell it’s a forgery?”
“Can’t be anything else, can it? How the hell can you blackmail a man who’s prepared to acknowledge every single crime he’s accused of? Miss Davies read the diary entry out loud and that bastard Gold laughed off every single accusation.”
“How can you be certain she read everything?”
CC tapped his pocket. “I have the diary,” he told McGregor. “I also have a contact who’s a rabbi. If that woman lied, I’ll soon know. A fact I made very clear to all of them.”
“And then they threw you out?”
CC nodded.
“Why?”
CC shrugged an angry little gesture. “You tell me.”
McGregor turned his attention to the bedroom just in time to see the pawnbroker take Emily’s hand and place it within the earl’s. “It seems very amicable. Everybody smiling.”
“My cousin and the pawnbroker are showing their teeth,” CC hissed. “I learned early on in life, never trust a con artist when he smiles. Like crocodiles, the teeth are dangerous.”
“Perhaps they are settling the young lady’s future.” McGregor’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I mean it’s obvious from the way the earl’s looking at her that he’s very taken with Miss Emily.”
CC snorted. “He’s that alright! Like a bull in heat. Never seen him like it to be honest. Not even in the first year of his marriage, when you expect a man to be mad for his wife.”
McGregor, a confirmed bachelor, hid his embarrassment behind a nod; watching as the earl took up residence on the side of the bed nearest the door, effectively closing off the view of the girl and her uncle.
As if remembering he chatted to a virtual stranger CC stopped. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t wash my family’s dirty laundry in public.”
“Treat me like a priest, Sir Charles. After all, the dead tell many tales I don’t repeat ... unless they're pertinent.”
“Thank you.”
A comfortable silence fell, and the two men surveyed the room, watching the interplay between Gold’s henchman and the valet. Niall held himself stiffly, Jethro seemed sheepish. Figg went to stare out of the window and rubbed his well-beaten ears and badly scarred face, as if they pained him in some way.
Sampson appeared engrossed in their conversation, though every so often his eyes would wander over to the bedroom, and he viewed those events through narrowed eyes.
“Forgive my plain speaking, you and Mr Sampson seem very concerned about the earl. Why? He’s a playboy. Surely you should be worried if he didn’t try to secure her company.”
“He’s being manipulated.”
“Surely not.”
CC’s tone was bitter. “Gold’s one of the most devious men in London. He rarely leaves his East End empire. Doesn’t need to ... spies everywhere.”
“A real-life Moriarty?”
CC didn’t laugh at the attempt at levity. “Don’t joke, McGregor. That man’s poison.”
“And not above getting personally involved.”
CC stared at the doctor. “What do you mean?”
McGregor lowered his voice. “If you get the chance, take a shufti at Gold’s knuckles. Grazed and healing nicely.”
“Oh yes, you're correct. Wonder who bore the brunt of his wrath?”
“Look around the room. There could be any number of candidates ...” McGregor seemed about to say more, but laughter drew their attention back to the bedroom. The earl nodded. Emily spoke, but it was so low that neither the doctor nor CC could hear what was said. Gold laughed again and removed himself from the bed.
“If you’re sure you’re well enough to join us for supper?” Gold’s voice carried across the room, causing his employees to cease their activities and listen intently.
“Of course, Uncle, give me ten minutes.”
From the Casebook of Symington, Earl Byrd.
Ostensibly lost in thought, Gold left me and went to stand at the window staring out into the darkness, his eyes hooded, his face closed. CC approached and I could tell he wanted to ask what occurred after he left. But having been sworn to secrecy, I fell back on the foolishness of Lewis Carroll.
“We spoke of why the sea is boiling hot. And whether pigs have wings.”
“Balderdash! You are in danger of being his oyster, cousin.”
“Later, I promise. Now back off cousin and let the game play out.” Unwilling to meet his eye, I turned my back on CC and went to talk to Sampson.
“Very well, my lord, I’ll let Imran know.” Noiselessly, the valet left the room and having acknowledged McGregor, I joined the lower ranks, listening with amusement to their shared memories of life in India.
Figg – who by his own admission never served in the army – was stone-faced. While Niall, although joining in the laughter and badinage, kept quiet. Whatever he did in the service of Queen and country, he did not intend to share. And I found that ... intriguing. However, before I could pursue it, the bedroom opened, effectively stopping any further conversation.
Dressed simply in a black lace evening gown with white lace half sleeves that covered the bandage but didn’t smother it, Emily surveyed the room. Her uncle held out his hand and I could see that she was tempted to join him. But then she shook her head and walked over to the good doctor and my cousin. “May I add my belated thanks to Uncle’s. You did a very thorough job, Doctor McGregor and I’m grateful.”
“Your payment was sufficient, Miss Emily.” I saw him pat the Albert chain. “Thanks to it, I can wear my father’s watch again. And that gives me much pleasure.”
“I thought it would.” She smiled, put her arm on McGregor’s sleeve and indicated he should walk with her. Embarrassed, if the colour of his neck was anything to go by, he complied, promenading around the room until, stopping just within earshot of my group, Emily spoke again. “You’re wondering how I knew?”
The doctor nodded.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t reflect very well on me.” Her expression was one of contrition. “I was the char, who only turned up once.”
For a few moments, he stared at her blankly, then: “Oh dear lord! You were ...” He floundered in shock before hooting his laughter to the skies. Emily joined in, a joyous sound at odds with the stance – one hand on hip, the other mimicking sucking on a cigarette and exhaling deeply.
“Yes, Doctor. I am the dumpy, frumpy, fag wielding firebrand your outraged landlady sacked!” She laughed then sobered. “I’m sorry, it was the only way I could think of to discover whether you’d be the kind of man who could do Millie justice.” She tilted her head and continued. “What I saw from your room; the neatness and order of thought, the way every item had its place told me you were the correct man to approach. Before I left, I saw the hunter, sitting in the drawer, polished and clearly loved. A watch needs to be worn.” Emily held out her hand, tattoo upwards, turning it after a moment. “I really am very sorry.”
McGregor stared at her for a few seconds – his face closed and unreadable. Then he smiled and shook her hand. “I understand. I can’t say I would do the same. But she was your friend. And friendship makes us do strange things.”
“Thank you ...” Anything else she nearly said was lost under the clang of the dinner gong. Gold approached and claimed his niece.
Neatly upstaged, I collected Doctor McGregor and my cousin and then led the way through to the breakfast room, where my staff worked wonders, creating a very informal area indeed.
The chafing dishes – normally home to bacon, eggs and other breakfast staples – steamed with the smells of the Orient. The table, which usually dominated the middle of the room had been pushed up against the wall and now housed plates, bowls, cutlery and the like. Jugs of beer mingled with bottles of wine and a samovar, borrowed from one of my neighbours. The chairs were in a circle and between the chairs nestled small side tables.
I clapped my hands in delight and turned to my valet. “Thank you. Sampson, Watkins, you’ve excelled yourselves. Pleas
e pass on my thanks to Imran for rustling all this all up at such short notice.”
“With pleasure, Major.” Sampson disappeared through a small door, returning a few minutes later with Imran whose fearsome beard was wrapped in a mesh-like device. His chef’s whites were stained with the evidence of his exertions, and he appeared embarrassed to be out of his kitchen.
But all that changed on seeing the company. With a cry of surprise, the little man rushed forward and enveloped Jethro in a hug worthy of a man twice his size.
Gold, who was by now standing next to me, lowered his head to be heard over the exclamations of delight and surprise, and the conversations in broken English that ensued.
“An intriguing way of reminding me that Jethro was your man before mine.”
I nodded and Gold continued. “It’s a good thing we are allies in this venture. I’d not like to make an enemy of you. Like me, you are ruthless.”
“I am glad we understand each other,” I said. “But come, we’re bad employers. None of our staff’ll eat till we do.”
When Sampson, last to fill his plate, took his seat, I brought the meeting back to order. “So, to recap: we have established that there are two murderers, and they are trying very hard to link their actions to Mr Gold.”
There were nods of agreement.
“But what about the Commons?” McGregor asked before he could stop himself. “The marks on Morris’ right foot are exactly the same as the marks on the rear side of cufflink, retrieved from Millie's throat and the one found at Morris' place.”
CC’s eyebrow went up. “You managed to identify the marks? Alsopp’s report said it was a scratch. Little more than a series of squiggles.”
“Yes.” McGregor nodded. “But that's what they look like. Only they're not. But it wasn’t until tonight, they made any sense.” He started to blush but I could tell he was determined to carry on.
