‘I am very worried, Jimmy,’ she said, her condition causing her to forget formality. ‘It’s Mr Payne and Mr Hawkins.’
‘Are they here?’
Mrs Norwood was so distressed he was tempted to take her hands and comfort her, but she wouldn’t have liked that, so he sat opposite instead, concerned, and displaying a willingness to listen.
‘No. They’re… Oh, Jimmy. What have you boys done?’
James’ plan was forgotten. His heart thumped, and his skin crawled, cold and suddenly damp. Briefly, he wondered if that was how Archer felt when he sensed bad news was on its way, but struggled against the thought and concentrated.
‘What’s happened?’ he prompted, doing his best to remain calm. ‘Tell me everything.’
Mrs Norwood reached for a glass and seeing it was empty, James filled it from a pitcher. She drank before explaining her story.
‘It was yesterday after you left,’ she began. ‘Mr Payne returned from next door, and he and Mr Hawkins spent some time in the study before announcing that they were going out and wouldn’t be back until today.’
‘Where were they going?’
‘They didn’t say. Later, I had your message that you would be away. It was addressed to Mr Payne, I know, but he told me to look out for it and to say, when you came back, that they would return this morning.’ She took another sip of water, her hand trembling.
‘And did they?’
She shook her head. ‘I was teaching. They weren’t back when I left, and when I came home just after lunch, Mr Andrej told me they’d not come back at all. Well, I wasn’t too worried. I mean, I don’t know what you are doing, but I know something is going on. It’s not my place to ask, but I do worry.’
‘I expect they’ve been delayed,’ James suggested, trying to think where they might be and for so long. Perhaps they had found The Invisible, and it was further than expected, or somewhere inaccessible. ‘Have there been any more messages?’
‘Nothing like that, no,’ Mrs Norwood said. ‘But Mr Payne was adamant they would be back, and then…’ She gasped and lifted the glass, this time spilling the water. Replacing it, she fixed James with frightened eyes. ‘They have been arrested.’
James’ mind immediately leapt to the National Gallery and the break-in.
‘Arrested? How do you know?’
‘A police inspector,’ the housekeeper stammered. ‘He came to the door a couple of hours ago asking for His Lordship. I didn’t know what to do, so I told him you would be back later. He’s coming again at five.’
James glanced at the clock. ‘What did this policeman say, exactly?’
‘He just asked for His Lordship.’ She shivered. ‘Horrible man, Jimmy. Big and wide like a Welsh coal miner, sounded West Country though. Permanent frown and big, old-fashioned moustache.’
‘Inspector Adelaide?’
‘That was it! You know him?’
‘He knows His Lordship,’ was all James was prepared to say. ‘You told him His Lordship was away?’
‘I did.’
‘And?’
‘He asked if there was anyone else in the house, and I asked him why. I don’t think he liked speaking to me, but I was insistent that the only man here was the coachman and he was even less impressed with that. Then he said, His Lordship’s secretary and butler had been arrested for trespass…’
‘Trespass?’
‘Yes. Adelaide said he was doing Lord Clearwater a personal favour by calling. I didn’t understand, and all I could think of was that you would be back later. I told him, he said you would have to do, and then said he would return at five.’
‘Did he say where they had been arrested? Or when?’
Mrs Norwood shook her head, her expression no less pained.
‘It is approaching five now.’ James was thinking on his feet. ‘I’ll change my clothes, smarten up and wait in the drawing room. Will you be alright to answer the door and show him in? Or would you rather I did it?’
The housekeeper’s attitude changed instantly, and she straightened her back.
‘No. I will meet him at the door,’ she said as if persuading herself. ‘I shall not let that policeman intimidate me.’
‘Good for you,’ James said, rising. ‘I’ll be down shortly.’
His mind teeming with endless possibilities, all of them fanciful and none of any use, James took a quick wash, and was changing into his Sunday suit when another idea crossed his mind.
The suit was old and ill-fitting, and he needed to make an impression. From what he remembered of Adelaide, he wouldn’t be willing to divulge information to a servant, and James had to play a different role if he was to discover details. Archer had said to use and do anything, so James had no qualms about borrowing the clothes the viscount had lent him the other day, finishing his dressing in Archer’s room. There, he examined himself in the standing mirror as he combed his hair back into place and oiled it. He had chosen one of Archer’s less flouncy collars and a plain cravat which he tucked into a cross-over waistcoat beneath the knee-length jacket. It was a similar costume to the one Silas wore to the gallery, and needed a cover story to go with it.
Back in the kitchen, he found Mrs Norwood calmer and more like her usual self. She was also open to instructions, and James told her to refer to him as His Lordship’s associate, keeping the title vague but suggesting he was another secretary or assistant. The housekeeper wasn’t keen on telling a lie, but when James explained that he had encountered Adelaide before and the man expected it of him, she agreed.
At ten past five, Mrs Norwood bustled her way to the front door and a moment later showed Adelaide into the drawing room where James was waiting to greet him, doing his best to swallow his apprehension.
Adelaide stepped into the room, immediately dominating it and oozing authority. As soon as he saw James, his eyes narrowed as if he knew he had entered a scam, and mistrust washed over his face.
‘You’re not Lord Clearwater,’ he said.
‘James Wright.’ James approached with his hand outstretched, hoping his palm wasn’t sweaty as Adelaide took it dubiously. ‘We’ve met before.’
‘Have we?’
James showed him to one of the settees and took a place opposite. ‘I’m not sure when His Lordship is due to return,’ he said. ‘The viscount has been called abroad on family business. I, however, have the authority to speak for him and am happy to pass on any message. Apparently, two of his staff are in trouble?’
It was as if his mouth was detached from his mind. James imagined all manner of horrors being suffered by Thomas and Silas while maintaining a level voice and a calm outward appearance as if this was a business meeting. It was unreal, and he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain the pretence.
‘Who are you, exactly?’ Adelaide asked suspiciously.
‘His Lordship’s associate. I was of assistance to you last year, if I might boast.’
Adelaide’s doubt became thought which finally turned to recognition.
‘Cleaver Street?’
‘That was the case.’ James forced a professional smile. ‘I was working for his Lordship alongside the eminent barrister, Sir Easterby Creswell. We were instrumental in providing you with the names of the guilty. Now, Sir, I understand there has been another arrest?’
Some of what James had said was true, and he had no idea how he was making this up, but it seemed to be coming out well enough to put the inspector at his ease.
‘Very well,’ Adelaide said. ‘This isn’t an official visit in any case, and it’s because you and His Lordship helped get the Cleaver Street convictions that I thought it fair I returned the favour.’ He took a breath and undid the button on his jacket before sitting back. ‘This morning, I received a communication from an ex-colleague at the Chatham division.
The man was with me when Mr Hawkins was arrested last year, and he remembered the case and Hawkins’ association with Lord Clearwater. Following our successful convictions in the Cleaver Street case, my colleague was promoted to his own division down there and recognised Hawkins when he was brought in. He thought it best, and I agree, that the charge isn’t brought to the magistrate until tomorrow, giving Clearwater enough time to arrange a defence. So as not to shame His Lordship, you understand.’
James nodded, anxiety piling up behind his questions. Words such as arrest and magistrate sent shards of ice shivering through his body, and a flashback to Silas in Newgate Gaol sickened his stomach as he imagined Thomas in the same sate.
‘Cutting the story short,’ Adelaide continued. ‘Hawkins and this other man, Payne, were caught exiting a dockyard at Chatham in the early hours. They had clearly been trespassing and were run in by a local officer after he was given anonymous information. Now then, this is a minor offence really, and it’s possible some local scroll-jockey… Beg your pardon, some local solicitor might get them off with just a fine. It should only make the local newspapers, but if the magistrate refers the case to a higher court…’ Leaving the implications hanging like a convicted felon, he sat forward. ‘You need to get someone there to represent them, else they could be put away for a fair few weeks, not to mention any scandal it might lead to.’
James was sure the inspector could see his hands shaking, and he clamped them between his knees.
‘A fair few weeks?’ he asked as if he was curious rather than horrified.
‘Yes. Depends on the magistrate of course, but as this was a naval dockyard…’
‘A naval dockyard? I didn’t know there were any at Chatham.’
James had no idea why he said that. It was as if he had another brain working inside his own and it thought the statement would coax more information from the inspector.
It did.
‘Yes, Sir.’ Adelaide was seemingly impressed by the interruption. ‘Dock eight is set aside for running repairs, and dock seven, where they were found leaving, is for decommissioning. The tubs in there may only be scrap, but it’s scrap that belongs to Her Majesty’s Navy until it is legally sold elsewhere. What His Lordship’s secretary and butler were doing scrounging for scrap in the middle of the night is a matter for the court, but if they were looking to sell it on, I’d have a word with Clearwater about the wages he pays.’
‘What should I do?’
Again, the previously hidden inner mind was driving, and it had decided to cut straight to the chase.
‘Find someone who can get them acquitted,’ the inspector replied, taking out his watch. ‘The lists are called for ten tomorrow, so you’d best cut along. And so must I. Will you pass the information to His Lordship? My man’s name is Turner. He’ll help if he can.’
‘I will make sure the viscount is made aware, Inspector.’
James stood on weak legs, aware that only two days previously, he had been committing a criminal act himself by impersonating one of Adelaide’s men.
‘Make sure you do, Mr Wright. Turner tells me the magistrate is ex-navy, and won’t take kindly to the case.’
James showed the inspector to the door while running through the information in case there was anything else he needed to know. Years of reading the Police Gazette had finally come in useful.
‘I assume the gentlemen are out on bail?’
‘They are not,’ Adelaide said, fixing his hat. ‘No-one to post it. They’re in the town gaol, but if they’re found guilty, they’ll likely be sent to some hellish prison ship. Good evening to you, Mr Wright.’
As soon as the front door was closed, James ran to the study, pulling up short in the doorway and glancing left to right.
‘Stop, take stock…’ he said, spying his notebook. ‘Think it through.’
One half of his mind was on the inspector’s story while the other half was arranging a list of what he needed, and while his body went one way, his thoughts went another.
It could only have been Quill giving an anonymous tip-off, him or someone working for him, and if that was the case, then Quill had been waiting for Archer on the ship.
They had been caught leaving the dockyard, suggesting they had been successful in planting Archer’s instructions, and he imagined the scene as he knelt to open the safe.
Quill had been watching and seen Thomas and Silas approach. After waiting to see what they were doing there, and knowing who they were, he would have realised Archer was showing his hand. Then, finding the note, and realising that Archer had played a distraction against him, he caused the viscount another by having the men arrested. That would be two of Archer’s crew out of the picture.
James counted a wad of money. He had no idea what bail might cost, but if he could at least get Thomas and Silas temporarily freed, Archer could deal with the matter when this chase was over. In the meantime, he needed advice, and he needed it quickly.
Collecting his notes, he scrambled among the books scattered across the desk until he found Bradshaw’s Rail Times and flicked through it to find the departures from Blackfriars to Kent.
The safe locked, and his notebook in hand, he dashed to the basement to find Mrs Norwood once again pacing.
‘Well?’ she asked, spinning to him as he hurried in.
‘I have to go,’ James said, packing his books in his knapsack. ‘Can you get Andrej to drive me.’
‘And Mr Payne?’
‘It’ll be okay.’ James scouted the room for anything which might be of use. ‘I’m going to see someone who can tell me what to do. I won’t be back tonight, but Andrej will be here…’ A ring at the front door interrupted him. ‘Damn. Who’s that?’
‘Shall I go?’
‘No,’ James said, heading for the stairs. ‘I’ll do it while you ready the trap.’
Arriving at the front door, James took a second to check his appearance before answering, and when he did, found himself looking at himself in the porch. At least, it was him ten years ago; a spritely young messenger in a blue uniform, touching his cap with one hand and offering an envelope with the other.
‘Telegram for Mr Wright.’
‘Thanks.’ James took it. ‘Hold on.’
Taking out the message, he held it away from the lad to read before telling him there was no reply and sending him on his way.
As expected, the message was made up of numbers but for one word, in this case, “Index”, and once he had located his Baedeker’s, he had the message translated into his book.
Ukraine to Charing Cross, 11.30 a.m. 16th. Send Norwood also.
The message was easy to understand, and when he found Mrs Norwood in the yard assisting Fecker with the tack, he passed the information on to both before taking Fecker aside to tell him about Thomas and Silas.
‘You want me come?’ Fecker asked as he put on his coachman’s cloak.
‘No, Fecks. After you drop me, come back here.’ The housekeeper was on the other side of the trap, so James whispered. ‘Keep an eye on Mrs Norwood. I don’t expect trouble, but Quill’s had his hive poked, and I wouldn’t put it past him to sting.’
Fecker stared at him as if he was mad. ‘What?’
‘Just keep an eye on the housekeeper. Oh, and when you see Archer tomorrow, don’t tell him what’s happened. He’s got enough to think about without worrying about those two being in gaol.’
‘Da. Banyak is hurt?’
‘It doesn’t sound like it. Don’t worry, Fecks, they’ll be fine.’
‘Where I tell Geroy you are?’
‘Just say we’re investigating something, and we should be back tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Da.’
Fecker climbed into the trap and took up the reins.
‘Inns of Court first,�
� James said, clambering aboard. ‘Then, Blackfriars. That’s the one where you take Tom when he goes to see his family.’
‘Da. I know.’
There was no point calling on Marks for assistance. He was a civil lawyer, not criminal, and he had said he was leaving for Southampton that afternoon. The only other person James could think of to turn to was Creswell. It had been six months since they had last met, but the barrister had contacted him to let him know the fate of Tripp and the other men caught up in the Cleaver Street affair, so James was hopeful he would still be willing to offer advice. Uncertain where to find the man, he directed Fecker to Gray’s Inn and told him to wait while he made enquiries. The clerk at the first office he entered was less than helpful, but the second directed him to Lincoln’s Inn, and by the time Fecker pulled the trap to a stop at the gate, it was nearing six o’clock.
Undeterred by the red brick grandeur of the place, James marched into the reception hall and asked the nearest person where he might find Sir Easterby Creswell.
‘The Wig and Pen, I shouldn’t wonder,’ the man replied, hurrying past.
A more sympathetic barrister overheard the exchange and informed James Sir Easterby was in his chambers, but would soon be leaving, and directed him through a maze of pillared corridors, to an arched, oak door.
James settled his breathing and was about to knock when the door flew open, and Creswell appeared.
Wearing his silks and his wig, his thin black moustache curling like a theatrical villain, and a silver-topped cane in his hand, he cut an impressive, if surprised, figure.
‘Bloody hell!’ he exclaimed on seeing James. ‘Wright?’
‘Correct, Sir.’
Creswell looked him up and down, felt the material of his jacket, announced it to be, ‘Cavendish and Sons of the Row, very nice,’ before asking what the blazes James was doing stalking his corridors.
Artful Deception (The Clearwater Mysteries Book 6) Page 22