Robin Paige - Death in Hyde Park

Bradford glanced at Charles, his eyebrows raised, and then made for the door, glass in hand. “I’ll just tell the ladies that you’ll join them in a few moments,” he said, and went out.

Charles felt his heart sink. “What is it?” he asked.

Ponsonby regarded him thoughtfully. In a quiet voice, he said, “His Majesty regrets having to ask your assistance again, but he would like you to look into the matter. The Hyde Park affair, that is.”

Charles frowned. “But the bomber is dead. Isn’t that an end to it?”

“The incident might have been the work of one insane mind,” Ponsonby agreed. “But without some investigation, we cannot be sure. The bomber’s fellow Anarchists attempted to make a show of his funeral. What if one of them hopes to succeed where Messenko failed?” He paused and added, rather more delicately, “His Majesty is also interested in the… shall we say, underlying causes of the matter.”

This assertion took Charles by surprise. He had long known that, while military matters held the Royal interest and foreign affairs were of great importance, social issues scarcely merited a passing thought. The King was quite aware, of course, that there were poor people in London and elsewhere, but he found discussion of the topic rather boring. How the poor lived and died, what they ate or wore, what illnesses afflicted them, what they hoped and feared-these matters were of as little interest to Edward as they had been to his mother Victoria, during the years of her long reign.

Charles’s skepticism must have shown in his face for Ponsonby added, in an apologetic tone, “I did not make myself clear, I’m afraid. I mean that there may be a foreign angle in all this.”

“A foreign angle?”

Ponsonby gave a little shrug. “Our English Anarchists have been a relatively peaceable lot, as I’m sure you know. Marches, demonstrations, speeches, newspapers.” He dropped his glance to the Clarion and raised it again, with just the barest hint of a smile. “French Anarchists, of course, are rather more excitable, as are the Spanish and Russians. They prefer deeds-bombs, arson, assassination-to words. Owing to our leniency in the matter of immigration, a great many of these foreign Anarchists have taken refuge here, and some of their governments would like very much to get them back. We must walk a very fine line between protecting the rights and liberties of the people we have allowed to settle here, and alienating certain foreign powers.” He cleared his throat. “At the same time, we must make certain that these radicals are not infecting our own people with their militant ideas.”

Charles got up and began to pace. All of this was true. The East End was full of Russians, Poles, Italians, and Jewish immigrants, each group with its own political and social agenda, and all covertly watched by agents of foreign governments. The Foreign Office and the Home Office had the devil of a time dealing with the complex situation, and he had no desire to become entangled in it. What was more, he had conducted one or two personal investigations for the King and he preferred not to conduct any others, if he could help it. But he couldn’t tell Ponsonby this, of course. He had to think of something else.

He put down his glass and turned back to Ponsonby. “But surely now that Edward is King, he has the unlimited resources of the government to pursue such inquiries. What could I possibly offer?”

Ponsonby sighed. “Ah, yes, therein lies the problem. Now that he is King, His Majesty knows that a great many persons will tell him only what they think he wishes to hear.” He pursed his lips and regarded Charles thoughtfully. “He is sure that this is not the case with you. And of course, there are many in his government with reasons to conceal important matters from him, particularly when it comes to foreign affairs. I speak confidentially, of course, but you may be aware that there is a great deal of strain at the moment. His Majesty is not anxious to involve Lord Landsdowne in this matter, for instance, or Mr. Balfour. And as far as the Home Office goes-” He paused. “I’m sure you take my meaning.”

Charles did. Arthur Balfour, the new Prime Minister, was not an admirer of the King, while Lansdowne, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, was, according to all reports, ready to resign over the King’s refusal to grant the Order of the Garter to the Shah of Persia. Clearly, some of Edward’s ministers held the same low opinion that Queen Victoria had held of her oldest son’s ability to be trusted with matters of state.

“The King does not expect you to handle this matter entirely on your own,” Ponsonby continued. “Rather, he has asked me to arrange for your introduction wherever you think it might be useful, particularly in the Intelligence departments.” He lowered his voice. “I am sorry to have to ask you to do this, Sheridan. But I am also aware that you have a… certain sympathy with the cause of the people and a knowledge of some of the parties who may be involved.” His glance fell once again to the Clarion. “You’re simply the best man for the job. In fact,” he added ruefully, “I’m afraid that you may be the only man for the job.”

Charles stopped pacing. “And what does he wish me to accomplish?” he asked testily.

“Merely to look into the incident and the circumstances and conditions surrounding it and report back to him what you find. No more, no less than that.” Ponsonby smiled. “It is not all that difficult, really. He is not asking you to crack the case, as our friend Sherlock Holmes might put it.”

Charles sighed. “Well, then, I suppose I shall do my best. Lady Sheridan and I had arranged to go down to Bishop’s Keep at the weekend, however. I’m seeing Marconi on Saturday, and I hadn’t planned to come back to London before the beginning of next week.”

“Splendid.” Ponsonby put down his empty glass. “The beginning of the week will do very well; I don’t think there is a great hurry.” He stood, his tone lightening. “Do give my regards to your wife, Sheridan, and tell her that I very much enjoyed Beryl Bardwell’s novel about Dartmoor, which I read while I was in hospital. I must say, I felt it to be more realistic than Doyle’s Hound of the Baskervilles, which was rather more Gothic than I would have liked. Lady Sheridan exactly caught the spirit of the moors and the people there.”

Charles smiled. “She’ll enjoy hearing that. Funnily enough, Doyle was at the Princetown hotel, writing, while I was carrying out a project at the prison and Kate was doing the research for her book.” ^2

“Is that right? Odd how these things happen.” Ponsonby took Charles’s hand and shook it. “Well, good night, then, Sheridan. Let me know how I can aid your inquiry.”

“I shall,” Charles said. “Good night.” He watched Ponsonby leave the room and then, with a long sigh, went to join Kate and their guests.

The Metropolitan Police, founded by Sir Robert Peel in 1829, was headquartered in an area of Whitehall known as Scotland Yard, a term that (owing to the English habit of naming buildings and agencies after their location) became synonymous with the force itself. Scotland Yard grew rapidly, from 1,000 in 1829 to 10,000 in 1870, to 15,763 on the eve of the new century. But new technologies and new kinds of crime required a new kind of thinking and a different sort of training. For instance, when the streets and roads began to fill up with motorcars, the work of the Public Carriage Office changed from monitoring horse-drawn lorries and brewers’ drays to dealing with speeders (motorized vehicles traveling faster than twenty miles an hour) and issuing licenses to drivers; and a new “Fraud Squad” had to be formed to investigate the escalating numbers of embezzlements, swindles, and con games, some of which involved some rather important personages who had lost (or had made) significant amounts of money.