Will Thomas - Fatal Enquiry

Dr. Hilliard, a tall, elderly man with pince-nez spectacles, nodded gravely. “The tests have been inconclusive. However, he’s suffered no setback and looks better today. There’s full hope of recovery. I was telling Mrs. Ashleigh that all we can do now is wait for him to awaken.”

“I’m pleased to hear it, sir.”

The doctor nodded and left, and Mrs. Ashleigh turned and looked me square in the eye. I could see the mettle in her that morning. She was someone to reckon with, despite her fashionable dress and delicate features.

“Thomas, you look a fright. Sit down and tell me everything that happened.”

I pulled up a stool next to her, and unburdened myself of most of what had happened since I had seen her last. It felt good to be able to say the words and know that someone actually cared. At one point, she put her hand on my arm and smiled as if she wished she could take away my pain.

“I prescribe a good long rest for you.” Then, looking at Barker, she said more wistfully, “For both of you.”

She stayed at his side for more than an hour, saying nothing, but holding his thick, meaty hand between her own. I thought it the best medicine he could possibly have.

After she left, a steady trickle of people came throughout the day to sit by Barker’s bed: Etienne, Mac, and even Jenkins. Around five o’clock, Pollock Forbes came to the bedside and asked for another retelling of the story. It was the first time I’d ever seen him outside the confines of the Café Royal.

“He looks well,” Forbes noted. “Any sign of movement?’

“None so far.”

“Are we taking good care of him?”

“We?” I asked. “I always read the Knights Templar and the Knights Hospitaller were enemies after the Crusades.” While nominally a Freemason, Forbes helmed a group comprised of the remnants of the Knights Templar.

“We were, for a century or two. But that was a very long time ago.”

“I see.”

“This year we shall inaugurate an ambulance service in London,” Forbes said.

“And what, pray, is an ambulance?”

“It is a vehicle for transporting sick or injured people to hospitals. The service will be offered by subscription, something your employer should take advantage of.”

“Excellent!” I said. “I’m glad to hear it. I shall agitate the Guv to subscribe. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to transport a man his size in a hansom cab. I was thinking of trading it permanently for a dog cart.”

“I’ve got some other news for you,” Forbes said. “The murder charge against your employer has been dropped. Before he died, Gerald Clayton made a statement to Scotland Yard, exonerating Barker. The warrant for his arrest has been withdrawn, though don’t expect it to be heralded in the newspapers.”

“What about the assault charges?”

“I thought it best to not interfere on that score. It’s no more than a slap on the wrist and a fine. It will soothe the ruffled feathers of Warren and the Police Commission, particularly since the charges against you were dropped.”

“Did you do that?” I asked.

“I put in a good word for you. I thought you might not want another blot on your record.”

“It’s blotty enough as it is, thank you.”

“I must say, your police record made for some interesting reading.”

“You saw it? Is there any document in London you cannot lay hands on?”

“I don’t know,” he said, smiling. “I haven’t tried. It’s best not to press one’s luck.”

“Thank you for everything you have done for us, Pollock,” I said. “I know you must have gone to a great deal of trouble.”

“Only as far as Commissioner Warren was concerned. He was hoping the arrest of the dangerous criminal Cyrus Barker would secure his position for a year or two.”

“Why should he have what the prime minister cannot even claim?”

“Mind you, the duel is still hush-hush. The fact that it took place in Hampstead Heath is known to less than a dozen people. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“So you can trade on the information later?” I asked.

“You catch on. About now, the Foreign Office must be wondering what became of their Colonel Nightwine. His bank draft was not cashed and his room at the Army Navy Club is not occupied. I believe I’ll let them wonder about it for a few days more.”

“Poor chaps,” I said. “They nearly had a new empire in their grasp. I feel sorry for them.”

“Don’t,” he counseled. “They’re rats to the core.”

“Anderson’s all right.”

“He’s not really one of them. He merely shares space in their building. Between you and me, he’s too good for his situation. I’d like to see him moved up someday soon.”

“Is that what you do, go from soirée to meeting to late-night supper, trading favors and making suggestions?”

“Your employer can save the world in his way. I’ll do it in mine. How many people have you told about Miss Ilyanova and her murderous parasol?”

“Three, perhaps four. Only those in Barker’s closest circle.”

“No more, please,” he said, as if he were speaking to a child or a simpleton. I’d like to think I was neither.

“Why not?” I challenged. “It’s the truth.”

“You’re an adult now, Thomas. One cannot go about indiscriminately telling the truth. It must be doled out in bits and pieces or no one shall ever believe it. If what you say is true, this girl Sofia has killed more people than almost any soldier presently in England. Don’t get me wrong; I believe you, but think about it for a moment. What does that bode for the future? A woman who can kill better than a man? You do realize she was here for over two weeks, strode about in broad daylight, killing close to a dozen people, and yet no one recalls her or so much as suspected her. Scotland Yard and the Foreign Office hadn’t a clue.”

“Of course they hadn’t. Nightwine gave them a quarry to hunt, and there he is,” I said, pointing to the bed where Barker slept.

“It’s also not good to go about showing everyone the Yard is incompetent. For one thing, it isn’t true, and for another, it is dangerous. We don’t need the public afraid that their police force isn’t up to scratch, you see.”

“Don’t worry, Pollock, I’m not going to start another Turf Scandal at Scotland Yard. If Inspector Abberline is any indication, they have become too competent, in my opinion. Besides, who would believe me? A beautiful young girl, not over seven stone, forced by her father to become a professional killer? It’s preposterous.”

“Was she? Beautiful, I mean?”

“Oh, you have no idea. Skin the color of a moonbeam, with eyes like a golden sunrise. But she had no conscience whatsoever. It’s as though she was a clock put together in the factory with one of the cogs missing. Perhaps it is an anomaly peculiar to the Nightwines.”

“You’ll keep this quiet, then,” Forbes said.

“So you may trade upon it?”

“No, not this, Thomas. Some things are best never spoken of.”

“I’ll keep it silent unless my employer tells me otherwise.”

“Fair enough,” he said, rising. I watched him change from the serious social manipulator to the idle dandy instantaneously.

“Do keep me informed,” he said, shaking my hand.

“You’ll know when I do.”

About a half hour after he left, there was a sharp intake of breath from the bed, followed by a cough. Barker’s head moved slowly from side to side, taking in his surroundings.

“Don’t try to speak, sir,” I said. “You’re in St. John’s Priory. Nightwine is dead, but you’re alive, thank the Lord.”

He nodded, and after a moment I heard his low, steady breathing again. He’d fallen asleep as fast as he’d awakened. I stood and went to inform the monk who acted as a nurse there.