James Blaylock - The Aylesford Skull

“The second part of the money is paid,” Helen said without preamble.

“And what of de Groot?” Narbondo asked her.

“De Groot has warned the Queen’s Guard very convincingly that there’s the threat of a Fenian atrocity at the Cathedral. She’ll remain in Buckingham Palace, today, although the crowd in the street doesn’t know that. The letter implicating Gladstone and the Home Rule plot has been delivered surreptitiously, again by de Groot, to the newspapers as well as to the Palace.”

“ Splendid ,” Narbondo said. “That should further Lord Moorgate’s political career enormously. A bold stroke indeed. I envy the man his foresight.”

“And this is Mr. Guido Fox, who has accepted the second sum. I’ve assured him that the third and final payment will be made whether the endeavor succeeds or fails.”

“Mr. Fox,” Narbondo said, bowing deeply, “I bid you welcome.” He looked at the man’s neat mustaches, his military bearing, the supercilious cast in his eye, and hated him immensely. He served a purpose, however, there was no gainsaying it, and would have to be humored, although he seemed to be in no mood to be humored.

“Who is this ?” Fox asked Helen angrily, jerking his thumb in Narbondo’s direction. “Where’s Lord Moorgate?”

“My name is Gobeline, Mr. Fox,” Narbondo told him. “Phestus Gobeline. I’m Lord Moorgate’s associate.”

“Be damned to you, then. My business is with Lord Moorgate.”

“As is mine, sir. Lord Moorgate is on holiday in York. He saw fit to remain at some distance from the… entertainment.”

Fox stared at him for a moment. “He’s gone off and we’re to be in the thick of it?”

“You were paid to be in the thick of it, sir, by Lord Moorgate.” He turned to Helen and said, “It’s time to fetch Mrs. St. Ives and the boy, Helen. Beaumont is preparing to take the lot of you across to the cathedral. Time is of the essence, my dear.”

Helen nodded and went out without a word.

“I suppose it’s all one to me that Moorgate’s cut and run,” Fox said. “I don’t care for the man, only for his money.” He drew a cheroot out of his pocket and lit it, drawing deeply on it and blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“In that we agree entirely,” said Narbondo, stepping back a pace.

“My men are pretending to search the interior of the cathedral for the device,” Fox said. “The opening is postponed. The cathedral doors are locked, of course, and will remain so. Six of my men, the four searching the cathedral and the guards at the doors, have been purchased.”

“ Purchased! How very well put. The word has a ring of permanence to it. Think of it. When we’re done with our morning’s work, you can set up your carriage and retire for good and all. Here’s the way of it: a short time after the arrival of the woman and her son, my man Beaumont will alert you to the fact that the undertaking has been so far successful by playing upon the cathedral organ. You’ll have five minutes then – more than enough time – to make your way into the passage with your men and descend to safety beneath the street. The woman Helen will no doubt be quite anxious to accompany you, although I would rather that she remain within the cathedral to stand guard over Mrs. St. Ives, a most tenacious and dangerous woman.”

“I’m to maroon her in the cathedral?”

“You’ll be doing both of us a service if you do, Mr. Fox. We must consider the possibility that she means to extort money out of either or both of us. It would be a simple matter to close the door behind you and leave her to her fate.”

“Done,” Fox said, shrugging.

“And one last thing, sir. If the attempt is for any reason unsuccessful, you will please to return the two women and the boy to me through the passage again? Helen, in that case, might suffer a fall down the very steep stairs, since we’ll have no more need of her services.”

“Certainly she might,” Fox said, looking steadily at Narbondo. “Now I’ll have my little say. I warn you that if for a moment I believe that I’m being deceived, I’ll walk out through the door into the street and name you as the anarchist. Moorgate won’t contradict me, and no one on Earth would believe the word of an ugly hunchback over Lord Moorgate’s, with my solemn testimony into the bargain. Keep that in mind, sir, and pay me the rightful balance when the deed is done. We’ll part square that way, and may we never meet again on Earth.”

Narbondo smiled and bowed in acquiescence. The man, certainly, would make an entertaining corpse.

Alice had prepared herself, knowing they would come for her and Eddie at nine o’clock, Narbondo having had no reason to lie about it last night, when he had shown them to their room. She had prepared Eddie, too, choosing her words carefully, only to discover that he was surprisingly game, although he was perfectly aware that he had been threatened with murder just yesterday by the very man in whose house they were now held prisoner. He told her about how Finn Conrad had stowed away on the coach, and how Finn had shattered the glass and come through the inn window to fetch him, and how he and Finn had escaped from the cellar and beaten the man named the Crumpet. “I hit him with a great branch,” he said.

“Good for you,” Alice told him, “although it was a dangerous thing to do when you had already run away.”

“I know ,” Eddie said, doubly happy, it seemed. He was perhaps a bit too anxious to engage the enemy again, and Alice explained to him about the virtues of prudence and living to fight again another day. But he wanted to know what the difference was between fighting today or tomorrow, which seemed much the same to him.

“Best not to fight at all, if there’s a way to avoid it honorably,” she said. That led to further questions and further answers, which couldn’t be resolved, but which passed the time agreeably – better than letting one’s mind run, certainly.

There was the sound of a key in the lock, but when the door swung open it wasn’t Narbondo holding the key; it was Helen, the familiar pistol in her hand. She ushered them through the house, in which direction Alice couldn’t say, until they crossed before a window that looked out onto the Cathedral of the Oxford Martyrs. In the street below was a milling crowd, and she wondered whether Helen would try to take her and Eddie in among them. That would be Alice’s opportunity, surely.

But no such opportunity came. Beaumont met them on the first floor, where he stood alongside the paneled wall of a vast staircase. He pushed on the edge of a panel in the wall, and it sprang inward and slid past the adjacent panel, opening a passageway beneath the stairs. Inside, on a shelf, sat an oil lamp and a tray of matches. Beaumont lit the wick of the lamp, adjusted it, and said, “Watch your step now, ma’am. Hold onto the boy. This here is a steep go.” He proceeded down a set of stairs with stone treads, followed by Alice and Eddie and then Helen. Alice counted the narrow steps – twenty-six before they arrived at a landing, where the stairs jogged to the left. Another dozen steps down, and they reached a level passage again, this time with a floor of packed dirt, the low roof shored up with oak boards and posts, the wood still fresh enough so that Alice could smell the cut ends. She wondered how far beneath the street they were – thirty feet, given the number of stairs? She heard the sound of what must be a steam engine nearby, working steadily, its sound muffled. Where it was located she couldn’t say.

“Do you hear it, ma’am?” Beaumont asked, holding his lantern aloft, and glancing back at Alice. “That’s the wind, you know.”