Infernal Vices (Resurrectionist #3)

CHAPTER 4

THE INVITATION

The police photographer arrived with his heavy camera box and tripod. He was a small, studious looking man of German origin. It took a while for him to set up his camera and due to the low light in the parlour he was using what he called Blitzlichtpulver . The Detective Inspector and I were told to leave the room while the photographs were taken due to the dangerous nature of the powder. It was ignited at the moment the photograph was taken, providing a brilliant flash of white light to give greater clarity to the photograph of my damaged cabinet. However, sparks could fly, and the large plume of noxious foul smelling smoke it created lingered in my home for some time afterward much to Mrs. Twigg’s disgust.

Suffice to say, no one could sit in the parlour with that foul stench, and so I remained in my study with the door open, watchful as one by one, my servants entered the dining room for questioning by Detective Inspector Dancer, and minutes later, exited, a little shaken by their time with the man. And so, I understood that having suspicions cast their way made them all fearful for their positions. It was hard to find trustworthy servants and so it was in my best interest to ensure they remained in my household. I would need to find a way to reassure them.

“Did you find any clues?” I asked as Detective Inspector Dancer as I met him in the vestibule after he had concluded his investigations in my home. He permitted Wilkins to help him don his greatcoat, and then he took his bowler hat, “It would be imprudent to say at this juncture, sir.”

“We’ll, can you tell me, if this Dandy Rogue fellow was in my home?”

“As I suggested earlier to Constable Atkins, it would be presumptuous to ascertain the identity of the thief so early in my enquiries. I shall be in touch as soon as I have information to share. Please send on the book of photographs and if you think of any other information pertinent to the case please contact me at Scotland Yard. Good day to you Mr. Hannan.” Dancer offered his hand, and then thought better of it. He pressed his bowler onto his head, pulled his greatcoat closed against the icy wind running through Bedford Square, and when Mr. Wilkins opened the door Dancer hurried out to climb into a waiting growler.

Mr. Wilkins closed the door. “Damn it,” I grumbled. “We learned absolutely nothing.”

“That detective must play a mean game of poker, sir. He kept his cards close to his chest.”

“Indeed.” I worried my brow, “I noticed that Dancer was rather a brute with his questioning. Are the servants alright?”

“The girls are a little shaken, sir. They’ve never been questioned by the police before, and he was quite the bully,” Wilkins revealed.

“Yes. He put me through my paces too. Please ensure the ladies know I do not believe any of my staff to be guilty of wrong doing. Their jobs are quite safe.”

“Yes sir, Thank you sir.”

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There is a popular idiom ‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire’. Its etymology is widely discussed by scholars. Some say the origin was from Ancient Greek poetry, others say it was coined by Caesar, or by Sir Thomas Moore. But no matter the origin, the meaning remained the same: To escape one great evil and then to succumb to another. I understood the meaning of those words to my very bones for I was trapped between the cabal and the police to protect my criminal lover. I’d hoped that without the Staff of Asklepios and Leopold, Fratres Seminis would be forever halted in their plan for Blake to discover the secrets beyond the veil, and immortality. But, now I understood that I had underestimated the brotherhood and merely postponed inevitability.

My head was splitting by the time I took a seat in the dining room and was served breakfast at half-past-nine. I’d expected Sebastian to join me, and I know it was ill-mannered to begin without him, but our exertions the night before and the to-do this very morning made me ravenous. I tucked in, devouring a hearty plate of bacon, sausages, eggs, and kedgeree, followed by two rounds of thickly buttered toast and three cups of tea. After such a large meal I was ready for a nap, but I could not give into my desire for relaxation. The doorbell chimed and pulled me back to alertness. Mr. Wilkins attended to the caller and a knock on the dining room door followed.

“Yes,” Mr. Wilkins stepped in and relayed that, “Mr. Robins has arrived, sir.”

“Show him in will you Wilkins,” I requested “And can you tell Mrs. Twigg I require a fresh pot of coffee, please.” Wilkins nodded.

Cavell’s dark auburn hair was combed back with pomade. He was dressed in yet another of my older suits, loaned from my wardrobe. I was sure that both Wilkins and Troy must recognize the garments, for the men had been in my employ for many years. Wilkins accompanied me to my tailor a time or two when Troy was under the weather, and as my valet Troy personally handled all of my garments and accessories.

Sebastian left my house this morning in the same way he’d entered it the previous night, by clambering through my bathroom window, and as dexterously as a cat, shimmying down the drainpipe, and tip-toeing to the back gate, which he’d hopped over to be scot-free in the back alleyway—all before I made my way downstairs to face my anxious valet and the vexatious police inquiries. The preceding hours had been quite the trial and the inspection of the scene of the crime took longer than I’d envisaged.

“Ah, Birdie, glad you could make it. I’ve had the most frightful morning. Did you see the policemen outside?” I enquired on seeing my friend.

“Oh? I did. They’re doing door—to–door inquiries. What the devils going on, dear heart? Do tell!” Birdie said excitedly for Wilkins ears only. Mr. Wilkins knew better than to linger. He closed the door and left us in peace. Cavell hurried to the credenza where covered silver serving platters were filled with an array of foods.

“I thought the Old Bill would never blooming leave. I’m famished,” he said as he prepared a plate. Mrs. Twigg always laid out far too much food, but I did not scold her for it because I knew that nothing would go to waste as the servants would eat whatever I did not. Sebastian heaped a plate full of eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast. He sat to my left at the place setting I’d ensured was laid for him.

“Well?” he enquired with a raised brow.

“Eat. I shall talk.” Sebastian nodded and dug into his mound of food.

“The little shit took one of my opera cloaks,” I began tartly. I was vexed by the thought that, for the three days Euan remained a guest in my home and while I’d been out during the day at work, he was scurrying around, searching my private quarters, fingering through my wardrobes, and pilfering garments in preparation for his early morning escapade.

Sebastian paused and swallowed a bite of sausage. “It had better not be the cloak with the red silk lining, I had my eye on that!” he offered wanly.

I harrumphed. Suffice to say, I adored Sebastian and I’d give him the shirt off my back. But at this stage I’d be lucky if I didn’t have to replace my whole wardrobe.

“Have you heard of a Detective Inspector Dancer?”

“The hound?” he said, his voice a little muffled as he chewed.

“I beg your pardon?”

Cavell swallowed.

“The hound, that’s the moniker the demimonde gave him. He has quite the fierce reputation. Once he gets stuck into a tricky case he’s like a dog with a bone. I’ve seen several good, honest criminals jailed because of his…unflinching passion for the hunt.”

“Ah, well. We have a problem then! The Police Commissioner recently gave Dancer the Gentleman Thief case?”

Sebastian’s cutlery clattered onto his plate.

“I did not know that.” His brows knitted with worry and he wiped his mouth with a napkin and then sat back in his chair. “But that is interesting, dear heart,” he said ponderously. “I’ve gained a lot of pleasure from outfoxing the police over the past year or so. It appears they’ve become rather desperate. I’ve not yet had the displeasure of meeting Detective Inspector Dancer face to face, but I have seen his…work.”

“His work?”

“He’s a brute…cares little for how he gets information as long as he gets it, and he’s not averse to hitting a woman!”

“Goodness!” I gulped. “One of the constables, a young, impressionable officer by the name of Atkins spoke in reverent tones about how inspirational Dancer is. I thought it strange, for I when I met him could not see goodness in the man. He humiliated the very same constable in front of me, and one of his colleagues. I do not see that kind of behaviour as anything worth hero-worship! ”

“Does he believe that the Gentleman Thief carried out this burglary?” Cavell asked.

“I don’t know. I suggested to Troy that he puzzle the pieces together and he came to the conclusion all by himself that the rogue was the culprit. However, I am unsure if Dancer believed the story. He remained circumspect and questioned as to how the thief entered the house. There was no proof of violence on any of my locks; therefore he suspects one of my servants of being in cahoots with the thief.”

“Hmmm,” Sebastian said ponderously. “Did you know they’ve stationed a copper outside watching this house? He’s out of uniform, grey coat, bowler hat, carrying a folded up newspaper.”

“What the devil for? Are you sure?”

“Oh yes, I’m sure! He’ll be noting the comings and goings from the house. They may have street urchins watching your servants too when they leave the house to run errands.”

“This…this is most vexatious! I don’t know what to do to remove suspicion from my household.”

“You carry a door key with you at all times?”

“I do as a matter of habit. But I cannot say I’ve ever had to use it. There is always a servant at home to open the door.”

“You’ve lost the key,” Cavell said decisively .

“No I haven’t, it’s here, in my waistcoat pocket,” I relayed in confusion, patting the pocket and feeling the bulky outline of the iron key.

“Give it to me. Your pocket was picked while attending a church service at St Giles. You didn’t realize or think to check for the key until after the police had left. Send Inspector Dancer a note and tell him this.”

“I suppose it could work,” I said, but privately I doubted this would appease the hound. He was looking for more in this event than just a theft, and it troubled me.

A knock on the door silenced us. Mrs. Twigg entered the dining room with the fresh pot of coffee I’d requested, as it was Sebastian’s preferred beverage in the morning. Her grey hair was usually in tight curls, coiffured and pinned in a way that always dazzled me with its intricacy. But today she wore the same cotton and lace cap that the maids wore. She looked tired and drawn, but brightened when she saw my guest. Flora adored Birdie and I’d a feeling she’d chosen to bring the coffee herself instead of instructing a maid to do so.

“Here you go sir. Freshly brewed,” she said moving the empty teapot and replacing it with the coffee pot.

“I say, my dear Flora. Are you all right? You must be shaken after the to-do this morning. Terrible business, just terrible,” Birdie said offering his hand to my cook. She laid her pudgy pink hand in his and as he gave her a gentle pat.

“Oh Birdie, sir. So very kind of you to ask,” Mrs. Twigg preened. “We’ve all had a dreadful shock. The girls are in a bit of a two an’ eight. The Police were here. Did the master tell you? The young constable was a dote, but that detective fellow, oh, he was the very devil, accusing me and my girls of all sorts.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry Mrs. Twigg. I’d like to reassure you that I do not believe any of my household to be responsible for the theft. I’ll make sure Detective Inspector Dancer knows that you are innocent of wrongdoing.”

“Much obliged sir."

“I don’t mean to alarm you further Flora, but Birdie here tells me he spotted a policeman out of uniform across the square watching the house. And soon enough there may also be members of the gutter press about seeking a story. Please remain alert when you or the maids go out on errands. Don’t tell the guttersnipes anything.”

“Don’t you worry Mr. Benedict. My broom is at the ready should any of them buggers come to the door!”

After Mrs. Twigg left us to finish our breakfast Sebastian asked, “Did the photographs from your insurance agent arrive?”

“Yes, I received the book minutes after the police were gone. When you’re done we shall retire to my study. I’ll show you what was stolen. The absence of one pertinent item worries me in particular. Euan took the silver fish spice box I purchased from Lawrence Blake. If Fratres Seminis catches up with him and the spice box is still on Euan’s person it will lead them straight back to me.”

“Fear not, dear heart. I have a few associates at pawn shops and silversmiths, I’ll put the word out to look for it.”

“Thank you. I’d wager Euan wants cold hard cash to buy his escape to the continent,” I suggested.

“Oh no. I don’t believe he’ll go to the continent at all. He craves a union with the cabal as desperately as any opium eater craves the smoke. I believe his goal is to find a way to be welcomed back into the brotherhood so he can avail of his drug.”

“Hmm. You could be right. He seeks to retrieve the Staff of Asklepios to appease Blake. He is adamant the Gentleman Thief stole the staff after the auction, and so maybe he will use whatever proceeds he gets from the sale of my silver to pay for information on its whereabouts! Be alert, my love, for every man has his price, and I expect at least one of your associates in the demimonde is willing to bargain with your identity!”

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