Infernal Vices (Resurrectionist #3)

CHAPTER 30

GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT

As was usual, we went our separate ways after dinner. The ladies retired to the parlour to converse and play cards. The gentlemen went for a smoke, and then to the games room for billiards, dice, and card games. Leo, Nissa and the Cavendish twins returned to the music room to entertain one another with songs and dancing.

Mr. Fairfax did not join us for gaming. A bad hand of cards gave an excellent reason for a tantrum and an out for Charles, so he left the games room first! Ten minutes later I feigned exhaustion and followed, and as arranged, Jack Dancer sidled away next.

We all met up in the Gentleman’s Parlour. When I arrived Sebastian was already there. He had set the fire, and arranged the chairs in a circle. Ashe locked the door when Dancer entered. We each took a comfortable leather chair and shared pensive gazes. Neither Ashe, I, nor Cavell knew how Dancer would react to the troubling news we were about to share.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why we’ve invited you for a tête-à-tête at this late hour,” Ashe began cordially, easing his way into Dancer’s confidence.

“I must say I am intrigued by the secrecy and mystery,” the detective said, his expression unreadable. “We have not yet had a chance to converse, Mr. Fairfax, and so I wonder what your involvement is in all of this.”

“That will become clear quite soon, Milord. I must say first and foremost, there is no need for lies and obsvucation. I am aware of the…appetites you share with your select friends. We are all friends here, are we not?”

Jack Dancer sent his vulpine gaze to fix on Charles and then on me, and seeing that neither of us was alarmed, he nodded.

“I’ll begin by asking, how long have you known Lawrence Blake?”

Dancer sat back, relaxing into his seat and he answered with a casual air, “Ah, so this is about Blake. Very well. Benjamin introduced us around nine months ago, I’d say. At the Garrick if I’m not mistaken. Benjamin is an old friend from prep school and because of that we were aware of one another’s…appetites, as you say.”

“What of you? How long have you known Mr. Blake?” He directed the question to Charles.

“I met him at the Athenaeum with Benjamin.”

I jumped in then, “As did I, if I recall correctly, he was holding court, discussing theosophy with a group of erudite men. I must admit I was intrigued.” Then Dancer looked at Fairfax for an answer. “And you, Mr. Fairfax, where did you meet our mesmeric American friend?”

“Oh, we go way back, at least seventeen years,” Fairfax said his elderly character voice, rich and cultured. “You could say were old friends.”

Dancer did not appear convinced. “Really? I didn’t think Blake had been to London before? Have you travelled to America? ”

“Is that true?” Charles said with surprise aiming the question at me. “You’ve known him for seventeen years?”

I raised my hands, palms out to calm my alarmed friend. “Can we tell you a story, Jack, Charles?” I asked. The two men sent their gazed back and forth between Fairfax and I.

“Look. What is this all about?” Dancer said sounding frustrated and confused.

“I have important information to impart to you about the man known as Lawrence Blake,” Fairfax said.

“What do you mean, the man known as Blake? Who the devil are you?” Dancer exclaimed unable to cage his anger.

“Now that, Detective Inspector is the wrong question. Ask the right question and you’ll get your answer,” Fairfax said smoothly.

Dancer’s vulpine gaze flitted between us again, “A game is afoot, aye!” he paused for a moment of consideration before saying, “Very well, very well. Who is Lawrence Blake to you ?”

Fairfax smiled and nodded. “Before I answer I must add a caveat as we have all reached a place of, what could be called mutually assured destruction. I know of the work of Fratres Seminis , of favours for favours, and of your…predilection. And soon you will learn something about me. The situation now stands that none of us in this room can act on the information we know, or are about to learn of one another.”

The silence that fell was fragile, each of us eying the other, making measure of who could be trusted. Dancer spoke first, “Very well, proceed.”

“First, I would like to answer the question you asked moments earlier. Who is Lawrence Blake to me ?“ Fairfax rose from his chair began pacing in a circle around us. “Lawrence Blake is a fiction, a charlatan, a fraudster.”

Dancer gasped “Sir!” and sat up straighter. He was not expecting this turn of events. His accent became more northern as he blustered. “What the devil are you talking about? You cannot make accusations about a gentleman without proof!”

“Blake is no gentleman,” I interceded fiercely. Sebastian raised a hand to quieten me, and a look passed between us. Sebastian needed to do this, to take control and share his truth. I nodded and he continued with his sordid tale.

“I met the man you call Lawrence Blake in Paris in 1879. He went by the name of Nathaniel Everett back then.”

“I beg your pardon!” Dancer exclaimed.

Sebastian held a hand up to stop Dancer from saying another word. “Please, sir. This is difficult enough without the interruptions.”

Dancer sheepishly gestured for him to proceed.

“I initially believed the man who introduced himself to me as Nathaniel Everett to be a portrait photographer. However, I was a fool and soon realized I had become embroiled with a scoundrel. Everett was in fact a pornographer who kept a brothel where he sold boys and men into prostitution. Everett proclaimed himself to be a prophet. He devised a scheme to gather rich, powerful men to his cause—men who shared his belief that having sex with boys gave them back their youth and virility. I lived with him for a time. He was fond of illicit drugs and used all kinds of druggist concoctions to ensure his boys remained…passive and amiable for their abuse. The man you and your influential friends have given your trust and money to is indeed a fraudster. His great work is a fiction and he means to ruin you all by way of blackmail.”

“But Lawrence came to us with Benjamin’s blessing. Benjamin is a powerful Member of Parliament. He would not endanger us all for a charlatan. He told us that Blake is a dear friend, a gentleman,” Dancer sounded a little befuddled and I thought him quite na?ve then. I wondered where the relentless shrewd hound persona had gone; maybe that was a fiction too? It was then that Charles angrily stood up.

“It is as Benedict said. He is no gentleman. He is a thief, a liar, and a mountebank. I’ve been doing my own investigations and am in communication with La S?reté in Paris as well as the Pinkerton Agency in New York. Lawrence Blake is a wanted criminal on the run from justice in America. Blake, Everett, whatever you want to call him, was born as Darius Clements. He’s wanted in many US states for organizing a spiritualism scam that led to the theft of huge sums of money from wealthy benefactors seeking to contact their dead relatives. He took their money and fled to Paris some eighteen years ago. I have a dossier here with the proof you require.” Charles collected the thick manila folder from the table beside his chair and thrust it at him.

“How anyone could prey on families in their worst hour? That is the vilest and most egregious abuse of the grief stricken I’ve ever heard,” I said feeling sick to my stomach.

“Agreed. He is also wanted by police in Paris for gross indecency and pornography. All the proof you need is in the dossier. The Pinkerton Agency are so desperate to get their hands on him that they even put two agents on a passenger liner from New York as soon as Clements identity was verified. If all is going to plan, they docked in Southampton yesterday! They’re on their way here.”

Clearly that was the straw that broke Detective Inspector Dancer. He was a competitive beast and did not like the thought of the Pinkerton’s apprehending Blake. His eyes were wide, his face beetroot red, and his hands shook. He grabbed the dossier and stalked to a table at the far end of the room where he tossed the file down, seated himself and then began to leaf through the contents.

I sent a concerned gaze to Sebastian and then Charles as we listened to each angry turning of a page. I suppose that in Jack Dancer’s position, as a married man, an officer of the law and an aristocrat, he would feel incandescent if there was proof that he’d been taken for a fool. If Jack Dancer believed us I hoped he would help us apprehend Blake. But if he thought our dossier of information was counterfeit, we were in the damndest of trouble.

After ten minutes Jack closed the dossier and sat back in his chair. He ran his hands over mutton chop sideburns, let out a despondent sigh, and in a rough northern accent said, “Bah-eck. I need a bloody drink.”

I was of the same mind. I hurried to the drinks cabinet and poured a tumbler of whisky for each of us, and then Fairfax helped pass the drinks around. We reseated and Dancer’s foxy eyes glared at each of us as he stood and stalked across the room. He tossed the dossier back onto the side table, slumped into a chair, and picked up the tumbler Fairfax had left for him.

“So, the bloody Pinkerton’s are on their way?”

“Yes,” Ashe said.

“Gods, this is a damnable mess. We’ve been hoodwinked by a criminal mastermind.” Dancer loosened his cravat and collar, and then tossed back the tumbler of whiskey. He then he rose to refill his glass.

“One thing I know for sure, we can’t let this bastard escape. If he gets away, you mark my words he’ll try again with men like us in some other city, or country. Do you have a plan of attack? I suppose this ritual nonsense can’t continue?”

“Discretion and circumspection is required in all we do. The ritual must go ahead. If Blake finds out he’s been betrayed he’ll be gone before the Pinkerton’s arrive. Lawrence and Benjamin need to believe all is going according to their plans,” I stated.

“Indeed. Blake, Morehead, and Faulkner ensured Lord Ardmillan was disposed of in a mental asylum because he was a liability. You can be sure their actions were illegal. We should all be worried about what they would do to us if they discovered our betrayal. We have to protect one another while ensuring Blake’s destruction,” Charles said decisively.

I spoke up again, “If you can ensure your men are en-route from London and ready to step in to arrest him you would do us a great service.”

Fairfax’s eyes sparkled and I knew in my gut that Sebastian was up to something. Then he said, “And you would do yourself a great service too. This could be very good for your career, Detective Inspector Dancer.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Dancer sneered.

“Think about it. Blake has travelled all over Europe. He is a relative newcomer to English society. He’s been permitted access to men of influence via his friendship with a Member of Parliament, and according to both Mr. Ashe and Mr. Hannan here, Blake is habitually light fingered, having pilfered silver from friends to finance his time in London. Do you not find the timing, peculiar…or suspicious?” Fairfax paused for a beat before saying. “I understand you are the lead detective on the Dandy Rogue case, and have no idea what the blaggard looks like. Could it be that the thief was right under your nose all this time?”

“Noh!” Charles gasped and his hand flew to cover his mouth. Jack Dancer’s eyes grew as wide as saucers and his cheeks pinkened with rage. He stood and strode to the window overlooking the terrace, appearing lost to his thoughts. I sent my gaze to my beloved, astounded by this bold, and quite frankly, genius move. Blake was, after all, an abuser, compulsive liar, and a criminal. Who would believe him if he denied taking on the moniker Sebastian Cavell to carry out thefts among the English gentry?

“I suppose it would be easy for you to say you’ve had your suspicions and befriended Blake for an undercover mission,” Charles suggested a sly twinkle in his eyes. “It would most certainly kill two birds with one stone. You could thwart the Gentleman Thief and close fraud cases in England, the United States, and France. I expect the Chief Commissioner would be very impressed.” Charles paused for a moment and then grinned, full of boyish mischief. “And what a scoop it would be for me! For I too have secretly been in on this covert investigation and can write a dramatic, fictional, somewhat redacted account of what occurred,” he preened .

“Well, as long as I’m left out of this fanciful fiction, I don’t care what you write. I just want to go back to having a quiet, unassuming life,” I grumbled.

The room grew silent. Fairfax finished his whiskey and returned the tumbler to the drinks cabinet. Charles sat with his eyes glazed, deep in thought, while Jack turned from the window and glared at the burning embers of the fire as if they’d done him a disservice.

“Gentlemen. There is one more matter to discuss.” I paused for a moment before determinedly I stated, “Leopold. I will not have the boy walking into the arms of death for the love of a scoundrel.”

“The boy wouldn’t know love if it bit him on his peachy bottom! He’s a na?ve, pleasure seeker. He’s been mesmerized by Blake and the excitement that he offers,” Dancer observed.

“I really don’t think he understands what the ritual comprises of. We need to step in to protect him from himself,” Charles grimaced.

Fairfax spoke then, “I can arrange for the Rajkumari to take him for a walk. We shall meet you by the pond at eleven a.m tomorrow, Benedict. We can speak with him alone there.”

“Very well,” Dancer straightened his suit and said, “It looks like I have urgent arrangements to make and telegrams to send. Thank you all for alerting me to this danger. I will, of course ensure that the villain meets the full force of the law! I’ll need that dossier when the job is done, but for now keep it and hide it.”

And with that we parted ways, Jack and Charles leaving first. Sebastian remained with me and banked the fire.

“Was this your plan all along, to frame Blake?” I asked.

“It sounds like you disapprove dear heart!”

“No, not at all. From having read the documents that Charles was sent by the Pinkerton Agency, Blake left a trail of destruction and ensured financial ruin for his victims before he left America. He stole a huge amount of money, enough to buy and run a Parisian brothel. His abuse of you alone makes me want to wring the bastard’s neck. I just want him to be stopped, and to never hurt another soul.”

“As do I. If Detective Inspector Dancer plays his part we can make it happen, and I’ll be off the hook. Then we can begin our life together away from the threats of the brotherhood…and the law.”

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