Jonathan Broughton: The Russian White: A Victorian Thriller

“The law states that each foreign national be listed as they come into this country,” The Chief emphasised. “But not arrested.”

“Well that’s all right then.” The floorboards creaked as the back of Hood’s head paced into view. “You know who they are. It shouldn’t be that difficult to find them.”

“That’s just the problem,” The Chief replied with a weary sigh. “We don’t know who they are.”

“What?” retorted Buffrey, and he spluttered with eye-popping outrage. “Are you saying—do you mean—?”

“That they are being smuggled in?” William finished the question for him.

“I think that might be a logical possibility,” The Chief conceded.

“Who by?” Buffrey’s red face deepened in colour.

“Well if he knew that he would tell us,” snapped Hood.

“I have absolutely no idea,” The Chief answered.

“But—” Buffrey’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think they know where the diamond is?”

“Well I think we can presume that, yes, don’t you?” The Chief’s sarcasm made her smile.

“Good lord. But how?” Buffrey’s red face looked as if it might ignite.

“The danger lies in our discovery gentlemen.” William’s anger shifted to a tone of complacent righteousness, a trait he had inherited from their father.

“And not just The Brotherhoods.” The Chief paced in a circle. “The British and Russian governments have never disclosed their information concerning the whereabouts of The Russian White. It is such ancient history that an admittance of proof from either side would throw up the deceit and treachery of centuries. Not to mention the countless numbers of people who have died in its name. If the diamond was to be discovered, the ramifications would be momentous. It might even, I dare to suggest, signal the outbreak of hostilities.”

Isobel leant against the closet wall. Its solidity reaffirmed that she was awake. No dream could be as real, this was happening. Her shoulders ached with tension.

“Well Chief, what do you suggest I do?” asked William.

The Chief stopped pacing, cleared his throat and stared into the empty fireplace. A floorboard squeaked. Isobel’s relief that it was in the room and not in the closet made her face burn. The Chief spun round.

“I suggest that, as a precaution, and until the Russians have been apprehended and the culprits responsible for helping them discovered, that we consider moving the diamond out of London.”

“That’s against the rules of the Constitution.” Hood’s loud objection made her jump.

“Listen—”

“No Chief. The Constitution states that the diamond must always remain in London and that The Brotherhood must have access to it at all times. Impossible if it is in the country.”

“It would only be a temporary measure. Think about it Doctor.”

“I oppose it. Buffrey, back me up on this.”

“Yes—well, I suppose—”

“You’re being foolish Hood,” The Chief retorted.

“I dislike your tone sir.”

“The Constitution that sealed the formation of The Brotherhood was written nearly two centuries ago. It was relevant for its time. There have been a lot of changes since then. For one thing we have the railways now.”

“Not to William’s country house in deepest Sussex,” sneered Hood.

“The diamond will only be out of London for a short time.” The Chief pressed home his argument. “The Russians are cunning. The last ones we picked up refused to talk and were prepared to die to keep their silence. I am sure that they have some new information about the diamond. Keeping it in London is a risk that we do not need to take.”

“If they know that the diamond is in London, then they will know when we move it away. So it makes no difference.” Isobel winced at Hood’s grating sarcasm.

“It might catch them out,” The Chief retorted.

“They’ve side stepped the authorities very successfully so far.”

“Quicker to spot outside London,” suggested Buffrey. “Speaking Russian and accents—and that.”

“Pass the diamond amongst ourselves.” Hood stamped the floor. “Throw them off the scent.”

The Chief shook his head. “And face the possibility of exposing us all, not to mention the implications that might have on the Government. No, Doctor, that is not an option.”

“Well, I oppose your suggestion,” Hood answered with a deep and angry sigh. Then he said; “William? You’re being very quiet. I suppose you agree with him?”

“You can see the sense in what I’m saying can’t you?” argued The Chief.

“Oh do what you want,” snapped Hood. “But I want my displeasure at this suggestion noted. It makes a mockery of the Constitution.”

The Chief bowed, accepting his demand. “William, how soon can you leave London?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Excellent.”

“I’ll take it to Parklands.”

“Good. Just until we have this situation under control you understand.”

“Of course.”

“Well gentlemen,” The Chief’s tone lightened. “An unsettling state of affairs I grant you. But The Brotherhood has faced such trials before and prevailed, and I believe that we shall do so again.”

“Even if it means bending the rules,” grumbled Hood.

“It may be time for the Constitution to be rewritten,” suggested William.

“Amended, rather than rewritten I think.” The Chief blew out one of the candles. “William, keep us informed of your movements. Do not compromise the diamond’s safety. Its security is in your hands. If you need help, The Brotherhood will assist you.”

“Thank you.”

“Right, any other business gentlemen?”

“Yes,” piped up Hood. “I wish to remind The Brotherhood that St. Bethlehem’s Hospital can be used as a safe house for any-difficult individuals, at any time.”

“If you end up in there you’ll never come out,” snorted Buffrey.

“My good Judge, that is the point. It is a safe house both for the unhappy individual who is placed there for his or her own good, and for society as a whole who need to be protected from such unfortunates.”

“Do you ever release them?” asked Buffrey. “Do any of them ever get better?”

Hood flicked a hand to silence him. “And we have perfected certain techniques to stimulate their co-operation and recovery.”

“You stick red hot needles in their heads.”

“We have done that, yes Buffrey. Illness dulls their sense of pain. They are immune to the everyday sensations of normal people. They are, in many respects, little more than animals.”

“You’re right there. I’ve seen them. Jumping about and making the most obscene noises. And the smell—it was disgusting, and—”

“I say this,” Hood interrupted him. “Should you need somewhere private and secure for questioning Chief.”

“Thank you Doctor Hood. I will remember that. Anything else?”

There was a general muttering and shaking of heads.

“Very well. Until the meeting next month.” The Chief blew out the second candle.

“I fancy a drink.” Buffrey’s voice echoed down the winding staircase. “Anyone care to join me?”

“Oh yes?” sniggered Hood. “You want to ogle the dancing girls don’t you?”

“What? No I don’t. I’d forgotten all about them as a matter of fact.”

Isobel shivered. The fear of discovery and the freezing cold almost overwhelmed her. Every muscle in her body ached with the effort of maintaining complete stillness and silence. She waited, staring into the near-dark room through the gap between the door and the frame, and told herself not to move until the four men were well out of earshot.

She let out a deep gasp of breath; no time to think. She had to get out of the Club, and fast. She grabbed her clothes, and dressed with speed, ignoring the considered delicacy of care and thought that befitted a lady of society concerning her appearance; just concentrating on the basics necessary for common decency in public places. She pulled open the closet door, ran across the room, and took the stairs two at a time.