He got off at Aldgate Station and made his way to the synagogue. He had to speak to the rabbi again. The one who’d read his mind. The one who’d suggested him as a candidate for the Sons of Cain (it had to be him; it couldn’t have been anyone else). How did he know about Billings’ past? Why did he invite him to be part of the Sons of Cain? How was he connected to Doucet and the murder of Rachel Bunton?
He ran up the steps of the synagogue, stopped in the doorway and looked in. A man was sitting in one of the pews, wearing a black homburg hat and jacket. His long grey hair was tied back into a ponytail.
“Excuse me,” Billings called.
The man turned his head. Kind blue eyes and a chubby pink face looked back at him. This wasn’t the same rabbi.
“Oh,” Billings said, disappointed. “I’m sorry. I was looking for the other rabbi.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “Other rabbi?”
“With the black bushy eyebrows. I spoke to him a few days ago.”
The man looked confused. “Our rabbi is Dr Adler,” he said with a German accent. “But he does not have black bushy eyebrows.”
“I spoke to a man a few days ago. He was sitting outside on the steps of the synagogue. Said he was a rabbi. He looked a lot like you.”
“Like me? I am not a rabbi, sir.”
“Well, he had the same black hat. And the same long hair.”
The man shook his head. “Well, then it wasn’t Dr Adler. His hair is short. There is a rabbi in training. A tall, lanky young man with curly hair and eyeglasses. Could it have been him?”
Billings shook his head. “Are there others who dress like you?”
“Like me? You mean the hat and the beard?”
“Yes.”
“Well... was he Lithuanian? Lithuanian Jews dress like this. There are a few of us in Aldgate. But black bushy eyebrows, you say?” He thought about this. “No. Nobody springs to mind.”
Billings knew he wasn’t getting anywhere. “Well, thank you very much. I suppose I’d better look elsewhere.” He walked away.
As he walked back home, Billings thought about how he’d ended up like this. How had he managed to mess up his career again? It had only just started! He’d been sleepwalking through these last few months. Blundering through, taking on mysterious clients with questionable assignments, attending dodgy meetings, ignoring all the warning signs, giving his hard-earned money to people who were obviously scamming him. What had happened to him? He used to be sensible and careful. How had he descended to this?
He stopped. He clenched his fists and bit his bottom lip. It was time to pull himself together and end this madness. He took an about turn and headed southwards to the Victoria Embankment.
BILLINGS HADN’T BEEN back to the Scotland Yard building since he got kicked out. He didn’t even want to look at it now. He kept his eyes on the ground as he approached it. He could see the orange brick wall in his periphery, but that was all he was prepared to tolerate. He stopped on the corner of Tallis Street and Temple Avenue. With his back towards the building, he turned up his collar, tilted his hat to hide his face, leaned against a lamp post and waited. He heard the clerks and officers leave the building at the end of their shifts. Clarkson was amongst them. Billings recognised his laughter (Clarkson was always laughing). He waited for Clarkson to walk past him before rushing towards him and slapping him on his back.
Clarkson jumped. “Billings, me old mate, you startled me! What are you doing here?”
“Come for a drink with me.” He grabbed his arm and pulled him into a pub before anyone else saw him. Clarkson tagged along reluctantly.
They headed for the bar. “What are you having?” Billings asked.
Clarkson took his watch out of his pocket and checked the time. “Well, I’m supposed to go home. The rib’s waiting for me with the tea.”
“Go on, have a quick one. Your wife can wait.”
Clarkson hesitated. “Very well, then.”
Billings smiled.
After ordering their drinks, they sat down at a table.
“It really is great to see you again, Billings, me old mate.” Clarkson had that familiar sparkle in his eyes, which Billings so loved. “I’ve missed you,”
“It’s great seeing you too, Detective Sergeant Clarkson.”
Clarkson laughed.
“You’re doing quite well for yourself, aren’t you?”
“Ain’t I just! And what a case I’ve been handed.”
“It’s a big one.”
“But a lot of hard work. I’ve been at the office more than I’ve been at home. The rib ain’t very happy with that.”
“How’s the case going?”
“It’s a bugger, Billings. And I’m carrying it all on me own. They haven’t given me a new partner yet.”
“Well, if you need someone to sound off on...”
Clarkson smiled. “I wish I could, mate. But you’re a civilian now.”
There was short pause.
“Actually, Clarkson, there is something that I wanted to tell you.”
“What?”
“The night Miss Bunton got killed. I told you that I was at home, but... um...”
Clarkson raised his eyebrows. “You weren’t?”
“I was at a meeting.”
“Go on.” Clarkson picked up his tankard and took a sip.
“I was invited to join a society called the Sons of Cain and Daughters of Lilith.”
Clarkson spat out his drink and nearly choked on his ale. “Bloomin’ ’eck, Billings! That’s the name of the sect!”
“The sect?”
“That’s why Doucet hired you to follow his maid. He’s convinced that she’s involved in this sect. Doucet thinks it’s evil. He wanted to protect Miss Bunton from it.” Clarkson wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then picked up his tankard and took another sip. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this, Billings. This is strictly between you and me. But how the devil did you get to be involved in that sect?”
“I was invited.”
“By who?”
“I don’t know. An invitation was slipped under my door. I didn’t see who delivered it. But I think it was the rabbi in Aldgate Synagogue.”
“A rabbi? What did the rabbi look like?”
“Long hair. Grey beard. Black bushy eyebrows.”
“Must’ve been Doucet senior.”
“Doucet’s father?”
“Yes. He calls himself Frater Sapienti. He’s the one who set up the sect. Do you know where to get hold of him?”
Billings shook his head.
“What about your alibi? Was there anyone else at that meeting?”
“There were, but I don’t know who they are. We all wore masks.”
“Masks?” Clarkson shook his head. “Bloomin’ ’eck, Billings. Why did you want to get involved with that lot?”
“I was curious.”
“What do you do at these meetings?”
“We learn magic.”
“Magic?”
“Mind reading. Levitating.”
Clarkson frowned. “And you believe all that?”
“Well...” Billings shrugged.
“When is the next meeting?”
“I don’t know. I’m expecting an invitation any time.”
“Will you let me know when you receive it?”
“Of course. I want to help you with this case. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”
Clarkson smiled. He reached out across the table and grabbed Billings’ hand. “Thanks. You’re a great friend.”
Billings felt chills run down his spine. He quickly pulled back his hand and looked away to hide his blushing.
“Why did you have to leave the Yard?” Clarkson asked.
“You know why I left.”
“Your back.”
“Yes.”
“And how is your back now?”
“Better.”
“So, you can come back now?”
Billings frowned. Damn it. He�
��d walked into that one.
“You know, the chaps in the office are all talking about you.”
Billings was still looking away. “What are they saying?”
“They’re speculating about why you left. They say that it had something to do with the Hirsch brothers case. They say you did something inappropriate. Something illegal.”
“And do you believe them?”
“Of course I don’t believe them. You’re the most honest man I know. I just thought you should know, that’s all.”
Billings shrugged. “I don’t care what people think of me.”
“Nor should you. They’re a bunch of gossiping old maids, that’s what they are.” Clarkson took his pocket watch out again. “I really should be going now, Billings. The rib will kill me if she finds out I went for a drink after work.” He downed the rest of his ale, slammed the tankard on the table and got up. “You’ll let me know when you receive that invitation, then?”
“I will.”
“Good man.” Clarkson nudged Billings’ shoulder, put on his coat and made his way out of the pub.
AS HE TRUDGED BACK home, Billings thought about what Clarkson had told him. So Doucet knew about the society. But why didn’t he want to tell Billings why he wanted his maid followed? Perhaps he was scared of the society. Like Wolf Augustus at the library. And Mrs Grenfell.
Billings shook his head. Something wasn’t right here. Doucet seemed shifty and uncomfortable when he came to Billings’ office. And one crucial question still remained unanswered. Why did Doucet come to Billings – a new and completely unknown private detective? And why did he lie about reading his advertisement in The Times?
He entered his building and climbed the stairs. There was a parcel at his door. A brown envelope, too big to slip under the door. Another invitation, he thought. He picked it up and opened it. There was an object inside. A small, round pocket mirror. Billings took it out and turned it in his hand. There were engravings on the back, similar to the one received by Mrs Grenfell, but not the same. He flipped open the mirror. A large crack ran straight through the middle of it, distorting his reflection and giving him a freakish appearance.
His heart pounded in his chest. He remembered the frantic look in the old lady’s eyes. When it’s cracked, it means they want you dead.
8. The New Adam
Extract from Alick Lourie’s diary, May 10th, 1895
I detest travelling on omnibuses. They are damp, crowded and filled with the malodorous scent of the middle classes. But it was a rainy day, there were no hansom cabs to be seen anywhere, and I’d once again lost my umbrella (those blessed things keep disappearing on me. This is the fourth one I’ve lost so far this year!). So, I hopped onto the bus and took my seat. And it was lucky that I did, otherwise I would never have met Theodore Goodfellow.
Now, I’m not normally the kind that looks at pretty boys (I’m the pretty boy, and all those old dandies and mandrakes normally look at me). But amongst all the grumpy old men with bushy whiskers, who reeked of tobacco and hid their red, swollen noses inside a newspaper, he was the only other young man in the carriage.
He sat on the bench opposite me, looking down at a book on his lap. It was the book, in fact, which first drew my attention. I saw some familiar illustrations on it, which intrigued me. He lifted the book up to his face, allowing me to read the faded golden letters on the spine, and I was astonished. He was reading The Magus, Barrett’s book of celestial intelligence and ceremonial magic. This young man was sitting on the omnibus, shamelessly devouring the secrets of Zoroaster, Hermes and Apollonius!
My eyes moved from the book to the man’s face. It was a handsome face. Brow furrowed over clear blue eyes. He looked like a studious young man, the kind who barely goes outside, which accounted for the paleness of his demeanour. He was a homosexual; of that I was sure. It was the prim way in which he sat, with his back upright and his knees touching, which confirmed this to me. And the delicate way in which he turned the pages. And the softness in his blue eyes as he took in the words.
I don’t normally care for boys, but something about this young man just had my blood stirring. Perhaps it was those lips, those thick, gorgeous lips. Or the nobility of his face. The chiselled cheekbones, the square jaw. There was aristocratic blood in that slim, tight body of his. There had to be.
He got off on Shaftesbury Avenue. So engrossed was he in his book that he didn’t stop reading as he rose from the bench and stepped out of the carriage. So engrossed, in fact, that he left his hat on the bench beside him.
I took this God-given opportunity and quickly snatched the hat before anyone else did. With the hat in my hands, I jumped off the omnibus and ran after him, waving the hat in the air.
“Your hat, sir! Your hat!”
He stopped and looked around. He smiled. Such a soft and beautiful smile. Dimples appeared on his cheeks.
“Oh, thank you,” he said, taking the hat off me. “I’m such a scatterbrain.”
“You were engrossed by your book, no doubt.”
“Yes.”
“Magic, is it?”
“What?”
I pointed at his book.
“Oh. Yes. Well, I found it at my club. Somebody left it on one of the chairs. I picked it up, paged through it, and before I knew it, I was completely enthralled. I decided to borrow it for a few days. But I’m returning it to the club now. That’s where I’m heading.” He looked at the omnibus behind me, which was setting off again. “I say, did you mean to get off here?”
“No, I’m Chelsea-bound. I just got off to give you your hat.”
“Well, you’ve missed your bus now.”
I shrugged.
A look of horror came over his face. “Oh, I feel just awful! You missed your bus because of me. And in this weather.”
“It’s no matter. I’ll wait for the next one.”
“But that could take hours!” Suddenly he grabbed my arm. “You’re coming with me.”
“Where to?”
“To my club. I’ll buy you a drink. I won’t take no for an answer. Come on.” With his hand still clasped around my forearm, he pulled me down the road towards his club.
I WAS DISAPPOINTED when he led me to the Bohemian. It’s a club popular with artists and actors. It caters to the poorer end of London’s gentry. Not the sort of place I’d normally care to set foot in. But Theo’s lovely smile as he led me through the entrance compensated for the ordeal.
We sat on a plush red velvet sofa and were promptly approached by a waiter. He ordered a ginsling. A rather infantile and pedestrian choice, I thought, but I didn’t want to show him up, so I forwent my usually port and joined in.
“What is your interest in magic?” I asked.
He was taken aback by my abrupt question. Well, I have not time for the usual getting-to-know-you chit chat. I wanted to get straight to the point.
“Well, I... I don’t know if I am interested in magic,” he said. “I told you, I just found the book lying around.”
“But it engrossed you.”
“Well, it’s very interesting. However, I’m not sure I believe in it.”
I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “Well, let me try to change your mind.”
“How will you do that?”
“By performing a little trick on you which I learned at this esoteric society I go to.” I peered into his eyes. “Now, I don’t know you at all. We’ve only just met. I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s...”
I held up my hand. “No, don’t tell me! I will find it out. I can tell things about you simply by looking into your eyes.”
I concentrated. His eyes were so blue! Like the refreshing pools in the oases of Algeria. I could drown in them. “Your name...” I said, furrowing my brow. “Means God, love and goodness.”
He raised his eyebrows in admiration. “My name is Theodore Goodfellow.”
“And you are from... hats.”
“Hats?”
“Or perhaps you see hat-making.”
“Hat-making?”
“I am from Luton. The hat-making capital of Britain.”
I smiled. “And the love of your life...well, it’s a dog.”
He laughed. “Bessie! My dear bitch, Bessie! I say, that is very impressive. You have an extraordinary talent.”
“It’s not a talent. Anyone can learn it. It’s the first thing the society taught me. I can put you forward as a new member, if you want. They’ll be accepting new members in a couple of weeks.”
“I should like that.”
“Don’t expect too much of them, though. They’re not very adventurous. They’re afraid of practicing real magic. I haven’t attended a meeting in ages. I’m largely self-taught now.”
“What sorts of things can you do?”
“Well...” I looked around me. I leaned further into him, put my hand on his knee and whispered, “I’m not supposed to speak about it in the open. But I can show you, if you like?”
“Show me?”
“Come back to my place.”
“Now?”
“If you can.”
He took his watch out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Well, I...” He checked the time. “Very well, then.” He closed the watch and replaced it in his pocket. He smiled flirtatiously. “Let’s finish our drinks and go.”
THEO LOOKED IMPRESSED as I led him around my apartment. Two bedrooms, a large living room and a private bathroom with indoor plumbing. It came fully furnished, and to a very high standard. It costs much more than I can afford, but I will not live like a pauper.
I enjoyed watching Theo’s reaction as he took in the opulent surroundings. This did mean, however, that he clearly wasn’t as rich as I thought he was, otherwise why would he be impressed. (Although the fact that he travelled on omnibuses and had a membership to the Bohemian Club could’ve taught me that.) But I didn’t mind. It wasn’t his money which appealed to me. It was his aristocratic bearing. That certain je ne sais quoi which elevated him from the common man.
A Glimpse of Heaven Page 7
