Will Thomas: The Hellfire Conspiracy

Miss Levy stood. “I should be going. I must apologize to you, Mr. Llewelyn, for misjudging you. You aren’t the opportunist I thought you were.”

I gave her a grim smile. She knew me better than she realized, but it would do no good to tell her that. I walked her to the front door and dared shake her hand, which was dry and warm.

“When next you speak with Miss Potter, tell her I inquired after her, and that I am sorry I caused her any distress. It was not my intent to upset her life.”

“I shall tell her, Mr. Llewelyn. Might I say that you are a true gentleman, one of the few I’ve met in London.”

“I thank you, Miss Levy. That is high praise, indeed. Good day.”

I found her a cab and saw her on her way, then went up to my room, feeling the irony of her last statement. A gentleman, me? I threw myself on the bed again and looked up at the beams overhead, all sixteen of them. Barker was one of the few men I knew who deserved the name.

I thought of the other meaning of “gentleman,” the landed aristocracy. No doubt they considered themselves our betters. By rights, Palmister Clay was a gentleman, but not by my definition. A gentleman does not cheat on his wife or ruin a young girl. How can a man hold his head up knowing what he was doing to these women? I wanted to go back to the German Gymnasium and punch his face all over again.

I thought a lot about it over the next few hours and the conclusion I came to was this: Man is capable of doing great harm, either in a single desperate act, or over a protracted period of time, out of neglect or selfishness or even laziness. But man can be more than a brute, and he should be. I shall even be optimistic enough to say he was designed to be more. Mind you, it is not easy, but it can be done.

I assumed that Barker would take a day or two to recover after his injury, but the next day, there we sat in our offices as if it were any other day. His short hair stood up on his head and with the red blotches on his face along his jawline and his bristling mustache half growing in again, he looked like nothing save a convict.

The Guv slid into his leather swivel chair, contemplated the stack of letters that had accumulated like snow on the side of the desk, and made a pronouncement, much as God himself did after creation.

“It is good to be back.”

“Indeed.”

Barker picked up the post and began looking through it. “There seems to have been an uncommonly large group of people in need of my services while I was recuperating,” he noted.

“With your permission, sir, I’d like to recommend a client who might take top priority.”

Barker turned his face toward me. I’d gotten his full attention.

“And who is this client?”

“It is I, sir.”

“You?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You wish to hire me?”

“I do not think I can make myself any plainer, sir. Yes, I wish to avail myself of your services. My bank account is now such that I can afford you, in a limited capacity, at least.”

He turned his head to the side in a way I’ve seen Harm do when I’d done something that puzzled him. I suppose he was wondering about the ethics of taking on his assistant as a client. Finally he shrugged. “Very well.”

“I need-”

Barker raised a hand, then gestured in front of him. “The client’s chair,” he said.

I got up from my desk and moved to the chair. It was the first time I had ever sat in it. From there, I had to say that Barker looked most imposing, even with his spiky hair.

The Guv lifted up the cigar box and opened it, offering it to me. I shook my head. He was enjoying this little masquerade.

“Very well, Mr. Llewelyn,” he said, putting down the box and resting his thick fingers on the blotter. “What can I do for you today?”

“I wish you to locate the remains of my late wife, which are probably in Oxford, though I cannot be sure. I want to give her the burial she deserves.” I reached into my pocket and took out a check, drawn of course on my private account. “This is to retain your services.”

Barker looked at the check in his hand, read it over, and looked at me. Then he put it on the far edge of the desk, nearest my own, and sat back in his chair.

“I accept.”

There was no other man in London I would trust with such a task. For that matter, there was no one else in the world.