Watchers of the Dead

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘I don’t believe Humbage went with them,’ said Hulda, standing her ground. ‘Too much is at stake. I think he’s still in the city, seeing what might be salvaged from the pit he’s dug for himself.’

  ‘Then he’ll have gone to the Garraway,’ said Lonsdale. ‘The hub of everything.’

  ‘I’ll go to Woking,’ said Jack. ‘I don’t care about Humbage – just Emelia and Anne. You can stay here and corner him.’

  ‘Then be careful,’ warned Lonsdale worriedly. ‘Hulda might be wrong – Humbage might well have decided to stay with his womenfolk.’

  ‘This came for you,’ said Jack, shoving a letter at Lonsdale. ‘I opened it. It’s from Galton – a rambling discourse on grass.’

  Lonsdale scanned it quickly, then shoved it in his pocket. ‘Someone needs to stay here and tell Peters what’s happened. Hulda—’

  ‘I’m going with you,’ she stated, so determined that he knew he would never change her mind. ‘Perhaps Lady Gertrude—’

  ‘I’ll tell the police what’s happened,’ said Taylor with quiet dignity. ‘Sending me to Birmingham was unkind. It’ll be revenge of sorts.’

  ‘Then I’ll go with Jack to Woking,’ said Gertrude. ‘Georgie’s been waiting thirty years. He’ll manage without me for a little longer.’

  Although Lonsdale thought it would be quicker to walk than wait for a hansom on the crowded streets, Hulda disagreed. They flagged one down at the junction of Woburn Place and Russell Square, and made good time for a few minutes. Then an accident slowed them to a crawl. Lonsdale wanted to jump out and run, but Hulda argued that it would be quicker to stay.

  ‘What happens when we get there?’ asked Lonsdale, feeling his head ache with tension. ‘It won’t be as easy to watch the club as it was Humbage’s house – there are too many exits.’

  ‘He won’t stay there long,’ predicted Hulda. ‘His fancy friends won’t want anything to do with him once they realize what he’s been doing, so he’ll run – not to Woking, because he’s not stupid, but to somewhere he’ll never be found. I doubt even his helpmeet Burnside will know where to find him. We have to tackle him now.’

  ‘But Peters told us—’

  ‘Peters will be hot on our heels – Taylor will see to that. We’re here! Come on.’

  ‘We can’t—’ began Lonsdale, but she was already out of the hansom and hurrying through the club’s front door. He ran after her, sure the duty porter would give her short shrift.

  But the lobby was deserted, and the whole building was oddly silent. He recalled the notice that had been pinned on the dining-room door – that the place had been booked for a private function, and members were asked to stay away. Whose private function? Was it Humbage’s, and was the atrocity spinning into action as they stood there wondering what to do?

  ‘Heavens!’ Hulda breathed as she opened the dining-room door.

  It was an exact replica of the one in Buckingham Palace, complete with trees hanging from the ceiling, silver and gold streamers on every wall, and stacks of gaily wrapped presents. The tables were adorned with crisp white linen, and each place was set with silver cutlery and several glasses. It looked magnificent.

  ‘Hark!’ hissed Hulda, cocking her head to one side. ‘Can you hear that?’

  They inched towards the sound, which was coming from the room at the far end of the hall – a vestibule, where members left their hats, coats and umbrellas. There were also rows of lockable cupboards where more valuable items could be deposited. Lonsdale glanced behind him. Where was Peters?

  At the far end of the vestibule was Humbage, rummaging frantically through one of the lockers. His face was flushed, and his agitation showed in his trembling hands and the number of belongings that had dropped on the floor.

  ‘Humbage!’ shouted Hulda.

  Humbage barely gave her a glance before taking to his heels.

  There followed a rather bizarre chase through the club, with Humbage pounding along with all the elegance of a rhinoceros, and Hulda flying after him like a harpy. Lonsdale followed, yelling at them both to stop.

  Humbage shot through the door at the far end of the vestibule, and they heard a rattle as he tried to lock it behind him. Lonsdale reached it before he could succeed, and Humbage darted off down a dimly lit corridor. He raced into the smoking room, then realized his mistake – there was only one way in or out. Lonsdale followed cautiously, aware that their quarry might be even more dangerous when he was cornered.

  ‘You’re a murderer!’ declared Hulda, shoving past Lonsdale to stand with her hands on her hips. ‘You killed seven good men – all members of this club – and persuaded the police to look the other way. You’re despicable! You pretend to be upright and honourable, but you’re just a common felon! The lowest of the low.’

  Humbage gaped at her. ‘What nonsense is this? And what are you doing in here anyway? It’s a gentlemen’s club – women aren’t allowed.’

  Hulda laughed harshly. ‘You kill, lie and deceive, but all you can do is bristle because I enter a male-only domain?’

  ‘Why did you do it?’ asked Lonsdale, before Humbage could respond. ‘Why kill Tait, Dickerson and the others?’

  ‘I haven’t killed anyone,’ stated Humbage indignantly.

  ‘Prove it,’ challenged Hulda.

  ‘Why should I?’ snapped Humbage. ‘You’re not the police. However, as I don’t want my name printed in your nasty rag, I shall oblige you. I was with Jack when Haldane was killed – ask him. Tell me when the others died, and I no doubt have alibis for their deaths, too.’

  ‘You were with Jack?’ asked Lonsdale uncertainly.

  Humbage regarded him smugly. ‘You should’ve checked your facts before storming in and making unfounded allegations. Now get out!’

  ‘Jack would have told us if that were true,’ argued Hulda.

  ‘Did you tell him exactly when Haldane died?’ demanded Humbage arrogantly. ‘And ask where he was at the time? No? Then go and do it now. Then come back and apologize to me.’

  Lonsdale was beginning to wonder if they had made a serious mistake – Humbage would not use Jack as an alibi unless it was true, which meant he was not the killer. Yet Humbage, like Henderson and Wells, was not entirely innocent either.

  ‘Then why did you keep telling me not to look into the murders?’ he demanded.

  ‘Because people who matter reminded me that no respectable man wants members of his family – even ones only related by prospective marriage – dabbling in that sort of thing.’

  ‘What “people who matter”?’ asked Hulda.

  ‘The Palace,’ replied Humbage shortly. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, madam. But they’re right – murder is for the police to explore, not reporters.’

  ‘But the police weren’t doing their job,’ argued Hulda. ‘“People who matter” told the commissioner to appoint an inept investigator, so the murders would never be solved. What you did, sir, is pervert the course of justice.’

  ‘Rubbish! The police know the murders – if indeed they are murders, not natural deaths – are the work of rampaging cannibals. Your sanctimonious Pall Mall Gazette denies it, but The Echo prints the truth.’

  ‘The cannibals are innocent,’ stated Lonsdale. ‘Although the killer certainly wanted them blamed. You denounce me for dabbling in murky waters, but you’ve done the bidding of a madman with a panga!’

  ‘You and Burnside,’ put in Hulda. ‘We know he’s involved, too.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing of the kind,’ snapped Humbage. ‘I know nothing of any madmen, and if by Burnside you mean that scruffy commoner, then you’re insane yourselves – a man like me doesn’t associate with mere photographers.’

  ‘Then why have you sent your wife and daughters to Woking and dismissed all the servants?’ pounced Lonsdale, pointing at the bags in Humbage’s hands, which he imagined would contain his valuables.

  ‘Birmingham,’ corrected Humbage, although the flash of unease in his eyes betrayed him. ‘But wh
at did you expect? We can hardly join you in Cleveland Square now that Anne and Emelia have broken off their engagements. I like Birmingham, so I decided to take Agatha and the girls there until the new year.’

  ‘You called it a blot on England’s green and pleasant land,’ countered Lonsdale. ‘You sent them to Woking.’

  Humbage glared at him. ‘Very well, I did. However, I lied to prevent you from following them and begging Anne to reconsider. She wants nothing more to do with you.’

  ‘And how do you explain the nameplate you stole?’ persisted Lonsdale. ‘Carlingford was livid when he realized someone had unscrewed it.’

  ‘Lord!’ gulped Humbage. ‘Was he? I aimed to have it mended and put back before anyone noticed, but with all that’s happened …’

  ‘Mended?’ asked Hulda suspiciously.

  ‘The title was The Watcher, but some degenerate came along and added of the Dead. I didn’t like it, so I took it home to put it right.’

  He had an answer for everything, but Lonsdale was beginning to accept that he was more fool than criminal – one who cared more about his reputation than justice and truth.

  ‘None of this explains why you ran away from us,’ said Hulda, persisting anyway. ‘The innocent don’t do that.’

  Humbage regarded her with dislike. ‘I had a feeling something peculiar was unfolding, and I didn’t want to be associated with it, even though any role I played was unwitting. It seemed sensible to disappear for a few weeks until the dust had settled.’

  Hulda was unimpressed. ‘Who are “the people who matter”, who told you to stop us from investigating?’

  ‘It was a friend,’ replied Humbage stiffly. ‘One who deserves my loyalty, so ask me no more, because I shan’t tell you.’

  ‘You protect a killer?’ demanded Hulda. ‘What a twisted morality you have! This person murdered the Archbishop of Canterbury, not to mention poor Professor Dickerson and the others. They were good men, who wanted to make the world a better place.’

  ‘My friend didn’t kill them, any more than I did,’ stated Humbage firmly. ‘But this discussion is over. If you have any sense, you’ll walk out and forget any of this ever happened. I’ll persuade my friend that you meant no harm.’

  ‘He won’t believe you, and then there will be yet more victims on his tally,’ said Hulda. ‘He’s already ordered his minions to dispatch us twice.’

  Humbage looked as though he rather wished the minions had succeeded. ‘I repeat: let the matter drop. You can go back to dabbling in the gutters, and I can get on with securing a royal appointment.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve aided and abetted a killer?’ breathed Hulda, shaking her head. ‘For a position at court? My God! I knew you were ambitious, but—’

  ‘Lord Carlingford,’ interrupted Lonsdale heavily. ‘The man you call your friend, even though he barely knows you exist. He’s the killer and you’re protecting him.’

  ‘How dare you impugn him!’ cried Humbage. ‘He’s a man of the utmost integrity.’

  ‘What’s going on here?’ came an angry voice from the door. ‘Who’s talking about me? And you, Humphrey, why have you brought a woman into our domain?’

  It was Carlingford, and he held his gun.

  FIFTEEN

  Lonsdale slumped, wishing he had waited for Peters, rather than charging in to confront a killer they knew was ruthless, powerful and determined. Now he and Hulda were at his mercy, and who knew when Peters would arrive? It was no small matter to assemble a squad of men – and that was assuming all went according to plan with Henderson and Wells. There was a lot that could go wrong – Henderson seizing back control, for a start. Why had he let Hulda charge into the Garraway like a bull at a fence?

  ‘So it is you,’ said Hulda softly. ‘It all makes sense now.’

  ‘What’s me?’ demanded Carlingford, and Lonsdale saw his face redden as his temper began to erupt – the same temper that had seen him take potshots at ‘burglars’. It did not bode well for a peaceful resolution to the confrontation.

  ‘I didn’t bring them here, Carlingford,’ gushed Humbage.

  ‘Who did then?’ demanded Carlingford hotly.

  ‘They must have sneaked in while you and the others were in the kitchen. I did suggest it was unwise to leave the front door unattended—’

  ‘Then you should have used your common sense and minded it yourself, Humber,’ snarled Carlingford. ‘Although you have no business being here either. I told everyone to stay away today except Watchers. You all agreed.’

  ‘To do what?’ asked Lonsdale, forcing himself not to cringe when the gun swung towards him. ‘What atrocity has your nasty sect planned?’

  ‘Atrocity?’ echoed Carlingford indignantly. ‘Nasty sect? For your information, we’ve reserved the club to feed the poor – a sumptuous Christmas feast in luxurious surroundings that will bring joy into their miserable lives.’

  ‘Patronizing devil!’ muttered Hulda. ‘And a liar, too.’

  ‘My daughter is no longer engaged to this man, Lord Carlingford,’ said Humbage with an ingratiating smile. ‘His presence here has nothing to do with me. Now, perhaps you and I—’

  ‘Quit your sycophantic babbling, you ridiculous fool,’ snapped Carlingford, ‘and tell me what they think I’ve done.’

  ‘Murdered Tait, Dickerson and the others,’ explained Humbage, manfully overlooking the insult. ‘They’re fools, not worthy of our time. Shall we toss them out and—’

  ‘What?’ cried Carlingford. ‘What asinine logic led them to that conclusion?’

  Lonsdale would have admitted to making a mistake in the hope of wriggling out of their predicament, but Hulda was too straightforward for her own good.

  ‘Because the killer is influential, persuasive and powerful,’ she replied promptly. ‘Someone who can sway a Commissioner of Police and the Broadmoor staff.’ She sneered at Humbage, who curled his lip back at her. ‘And pathetic creatures like him – he’s been scrabbling to do your bidding for weeks.’

  Carlingford blinked. ‘Has he? How?’

  ‘By ordering Lonsdale not to investigate the murders,’ stated Hulda with such bristling defiance that Lonsdale was sure it would see them shot there and then. ‘The fool worships you and will do anything to win your favour – and the benefits it will bring.’

  ‘I don’t!’ objected Humbage, then grimaced. ‘I mean I admire you, of course, Lord Carlingford, but wanting your friendship has nothing to do with hoping you’ll recommend me for a post at court.’

  ‘Good – because I’d rather endorse an ape.’ Carlingford swivelled back to Hulda. ‘I assure you, madam, if I’d known Lonsdale was investigating these terrible murders, I’d have encouraged him to continue, not ordered him to stop. That bastard has slaughtered seven fellow Watchers, which is why I’ve taken to carrying a gun – to protect myself.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were a Watcher,’ gushed Humbage. ‘I’d have applied to join myself had I—’

  ‘You would’ve been rejected,’ said Carlingford bluntly. ‘Shaw, Tait, Haldane, Dickerson, Bowyer, Gurney and Hayes were fine, generous, noble-minded men. Indeed, it was their idea to feed the poor today. Two hundred of them. We’ve been planning it for months, to show what the Watchers are capable of. London will never forget it and others will be inspired to follow our example.’

  Lonsdale frowned at the choice of words, recalling the letter he had found in Dickerson’s house – the one in different writing from those penned by Grim Death. ‘Did you write all this in a letter to Dickerson?’

  ‘I wrote it to all the Watchers – encouraged them to make a sacrifice of their very souls to our Great Lord.’

  ‘What Great Lord?’ asked Lonsdale uneasily.

  ‘Why, Jesus Christ, of course,’ replied Carlingford irritably. ‘There is no other. He made the ultimate sacrifice to redeem the world, and we must emulate His example – not with blood, obviously, but with our money and time.’

  ‘Do the other Watchers share your convict
ions?’

  ‘Yes – all are devout men. Of course, not everyone thought the feast was the best idea. Gurney, for example, wanted to build a refuge for retired horses instead.’

  Which was why he had expressed his anger about it to his secretary Olive, thought Lonsdale. And he and Hulda had misinterpreted everything – the ‘great event’ was not something terrible, but something Gurney considered less important than the rescue of animals.

  ‘This is hardly an “unspeakable happening”,’ said Hulda sceptically, ‘which is how Grimaldi d’Atte described the Watchers’ Christmas celebrations in a letter to Professor Dickerson.’

  ‘The “unspeakable happening” is tomorrow,’ said Carlingford shortly. ‘And refers to the birth of Jesus Christ. Perhaps “unspeakable” was the wrong word to use, but d’Atte is Italian, and his English can be eccentric.’

  ‘It was all about Christmas?’ asked Lonsdale, running through what he could recall of the letters in his mind and supposing they could be interpreted in the light of Christian symbolism. But he and Hulda had assumed the worst and it had misled them badly.

  ‘We Watchers may be a disparate, ill-matched rabble, but we all have a deep religious faith. Why do you think we had an archbishop as our head?’

  ‘We didn’t know Tait led you,’ said Lonsdale lamely.

  ‘Well, he did, and when he was torn from us, we voted unanimously to continue his work. Of course, then we lost Bowyer, Haldane, Dickerson, Gurney and Hayes, which has left us seriously short-handed. Thank God for Burnside – he’s been a marvel.’

  ‘I’m sure Sir Algernon has been a boon, too,’ gushed Humbage. ‘A more worthy gentleman doesn’t exist – other than yourself, of course.’

  ‘Fleetwood-Pelham isn’t a Watcher,’ said Carlingford curtly. ‘He wanted to join, but he didn’t meet our requirements.’

  ‘He was rejected?’ blurted Lonsdale, and reached into his pocket, where he had stuffed the letter Galton had sent about the watcher-grass. In it, the great man had identified the sub-species and the region where it grew.