by Erin Lindsey
“I’m afraid I’ve just found the body of Mr. Crowe.”
“Oh,” I said, startled. “I didn’t realize it was missing.”
“You misunderstand, Rose. It isn’t Jacob Crowe I’ve just found. It’s Frederick.”
CHAPTER 17
A MURDER OF CROWES—THE CIPHER MANUSCRIPTS—GLASS HOUSES
News of this grim nature called for tea. I brought a tray up to Mr. Wiltshire’s study, where I found him seated at his desk, massaging his bruised knuckles with a faraway look. “Thank you, Rose,” he murmured absently.
I set the tray down as soundlessly as I could. “Are you all right?”
“Mmm? Oh, fine, thank you.”
“You don’t seem fine,” I said, flushing a little at my own impertinence. A night’s sleep had gone a long way to restoring the natural order of things, setting Thomas Wiltshire back up on his pedestal. That left me in a strange sort of limbo, unsure how to behave. Even so, the sight of him in distress was more than I could bear in silence. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Not unless you can turn back time, and even Napoleon didn’t have that kind of luck.”
I started to ask a question, but it didn’t seem like quite the right moment. Instead I said, “I’m sorry about Mr. Crowe.”
“So am I. This falls at my feet, and I’m not sure quite how I’ll account for myself.”
“Don’t say that. What could you have done, with everything you’ve been through this past week?”
“Nothing, and that’s just the point. I’ve lost so much time.” He closed his eyes, wilting a little in his chair. “And I’m simply exhausted. My mental faculties aren’t what they should be.” Then, abruptly, he gave himself a shake and sat up. “Nor is my judgment, apparently. I shouldn’t be discussing this.”
“You haven’t breached any confidences. Your feelings aren’t the property of the Pinkerton Agency, are they?”
That earned me a wisp of a smile. “I suppose not.”
“Shall I pour you some tea?”
He hesitated, as though I’d asked a very complicated question. “I’ll do it, thank you.” He reached for the teapot, then paused again, frowning at the tray.
Was there something missing? Just as I was about to start squirming, it dawned on me: He was looking for a second cup, which of course I hadn’t brought, since he was alone. He has no idea how to treat you, either. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one stuck in this strange limbo. To cover the awkwardness, I said, “Sergeant Chapman came to see me.”
“Who?”
“The police detective. I thought I mentioned him yesterday. He’s handling Jacob Crowe’s case now. He’s … Well, I quite like him. He seems genuinely competent.”
“A mixed blessing. Is he the one who believes Mr. Burrows is a suspect?”
“No, but he does believe in ghosts, and maybe other things besides.” I added that second part without thinking, and now I paused, wondering for the first time what the detective might know about luck.
Mr. Wiltshire arched an eyebrow. “How exactly did that come up?”
“He overheard me mention Peter Arbridge. He’d seen the story in the Times, and I gather he pays attention to that sort of thing. Anyway, he came by to tell me about Mr. Roberts and the Brotherhood of Seekers. He asked me to tell you that he’d like to speak with you, and—”
“I beg your pardon? Back up, please. Mr. Roberts and the what?”
“The Brotherhood of Seekers, I think? Is that not right?”
Mr. Wiltshire’s pale eyes hooked on mine, clear and intense. “Take a seat, Rose. I think perhaps you’d better start from the beginning.”
I did as he asked, trying my best to recall every detail of my conversation with Sergeant Chapman. “He said he thought the Crowe brothers must have been looking into Peter Arbridge’s ghost story on behalf of the Brotherhood. He figured that must have been why you went to see him up at Hell Gate.”
Mr. Wiltshire closed his eyes, propping his chin on knitted fingers. “That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s the connection. Rose, I could kiss you.”
Color flashed to my cheeks, but luckily his eyes were still closed. “What does it mean?”
“I’m not sure, but this Brotherhood of Seekers appears to be the hub of it all, the piece that links all the disparate bits together. The shade, the portal, the folios, the Crowe brothers, all of it. Until now, I had nothing more than a suspicion they were connected.”
“You didn’t know about them? The Seekers, I mean?”
He shook his head. “Not so remarkable in itself—these fraternal organizations do love their intrigue—but the fact that Roberts never mentioned it…”
“He knows more than he’s saying.” I’d worked that much out already. “I’d be willing to bet Mr. Burrows thinks so, too.”
“Burrows.” His eyes snapped open. “I need to speak with him at once.”
“Shall I telephone for him?”
“Mrs. Sellers can do it. I need you here.” He swept out of the room, leaving me to gape at his back. Mrs. Sellers never did the telephoning; I wasn’t sure she even knew how to operate the thing properly.
Mr. Wiltshire returned shortly, but before he could start peppering me with questions again, I had a few of my own. “You mentioned a cipher yesterday. And a moment ago, something about folios. The papers you took from the gasworks, the ones those men said their boss wanted you to finish…”
Mr. Wiltshire smiled ruefully. “You really do pay attention. It makes it frightfully hard to keep things from you.”
“Sorry,” I said, but of course I wasn’t.
“We’d better wait for Burrows. Here, I’ve brought more teacups. Would you care to join me?” He poured out two steaming cups and handed me one. “How did you sleep last night?” A seemingly casual question, but there was a sharpness to his gaze that made me uneasy.
“All right, considering.”
“Good, good.”
There was a stretch of silence, broken only by the clink of cup on saucer.
“And your mother? How is she?”
“She was still asleep when I left this morning, but she’s agreed to ask…” I faltered, not sure what to call the ghost. Granny didn’t feel quite right. “She’s agreed to ask the spirit to visit less often, and only in dreams. I guess we’ll have to see how it goes. I’d like to stop in later today, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course. Please give her my regards.”
More silence. Just when I thought I would tear my hair out with impatience, a knock sounded and Jonathan Burrows glided into the room.
“That was quick,” Mr. Wiltshire said.
“Your housekeeper says she telephoned, but I was already on my way over here. I’ve just heard about Freddie.”
Mr. Wiltshire winced. “Word travels quickly.”
“Half the Avenue has heard by now. What the deuce happened?” Mr. Burrows sank into a chair, looking uncharacteristically grave.
“I wish I could tell you.”
“The shade?”
“Someone is trying to make it look that way, but no.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Among other things, because we’ve met the shade in question. She was here with us last night.”
“What, in the house? Good Lord! Did she attack you?”
“She touched Rose, I’m afraid.”
Mr. Burrows swore softly, cutting me a sharp look. “Fragments?”
“No sign of that, thank God.”
“Thank God,” Mr. Burrows echoed feelingly.
They traded a glance, and for some reason my pulse skipped a few beats.
“You banished it, I hope?”
Mr. Wiltshire shook his head. “I don’t think she hurt Rose intentionally. She was just trying to communicate, as I believe she was with the Crowes. We’ll know more once we get a medium involved, but I’m quite convinced that whoever killed the Crowe brothers is perfectly human.”
“So someone had it in for both of th
e Crowe brothers?” Mr. Burrows hummed thoughtfully. “Something to do with the family business, perhaps, or…”
“That’s why I asked you here,” Mr. Wiltshire said. “Tell me, did you see Roberts yesterday?”
“At the club. I filled him in, as we discussed.”
“How did he react?”
“He seemed relieved, I suppose. Why?”
“Have you ever heard of the Brotherhood of Seekers?”
There was a beat of silence. Mr. Burrows’s expression didn’t change, but I sensed a subtle shift in his bearing—the same one I’d noticed that day in his parlor, when I’d gone to see him about Mr. Wiltshire. Something about him seemed suddenly distant, just as it had in the moments before he’d looked me in the eye and lied.
This time, I didn’t give him the chance. “You have, obviously. Please don’t deny it.”
“Steady on, Rose,” Mr. Wiltshire said, frowning. “This isn’t an interrogation.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I’ve been down this road with Mr. Burrows before.”
“You have,” Mr. Burrows said coolly, his ice-blue eyes meeting mine, “and there were good reasons for my hesitation then, just as there are now.” Addressing Mr. Wiltshire, he went on, “Freemasons are not in the habit of telling tales out of school, Thomas. Still less those who happen to be endowed with luck. Where did you hear that name, anyway?”
“From Rose, as it happens.”
For the first time, I had the great satisfaction of seeing Mr. Jonathan Burrows thoroughly stunned.
“She had it from the police,” Mr. Wiltshire went on, “so it’s safe to say school is out.”
Mr. Burrows gave me an exasperated look. “I must say, Rose, I’m having decidedly mixed feelings about you at the moment.”
It’s mutual, Mr. Burrows. I kept that to myself, figuring I’d pushed it enough already.
“I don’t know much about them,” Mr. Burrows said grudgingly, “except that they’re few in number, highly secretive, and thoroughly obsessed with all things paranormal. Most of their members are scientists of one sort or another. They’ve spent a small fortune on research, I’m told.”
“How interesting. Is Tesla a member?”
“Ask him yourself.”
“I shall. It sounds as if they’re fellows after my own heart, at any rate.”
Mr. Burrows hummed a skeptical note but otherwise let that pass. “What’s their involvement in this?”
“I’ve no idea, but I find it curious that Roberts didn’t see fit to mention them, given that he and the Crowe brothers are members. That would seem to be pertinent information, wouldn’t you agree? What with a shade being blamed for the killing?”
“There’s a fair few things Roberts doesn’t see fit to mention.”
“So it would appear.” Mr. Wiltshire crossed one perfectly tailored trouser leg over the other, his expression thoughtful. “The question is, why would he withhold something like that if it could help lead us to Jacob’s killer?”
Mr. Burrows shrugged. “There are so many overlapping circles—the Madison Club, the Freemasons, the Seekers, any number of others. I daresay I’m the only Mason in our chapter who isn’t involved in at least one other fraternal organization. Maybe Roberts simply didn’t think it relevant to list them all.”
“Except the Crowes weren’t Freemasons,” Mr. Wiltshire pointed out, “and only one of those organizations is dedicated to paranormal research. No, I don’t think it’s merely an oversight. Nor do I think this is a coincidence.” Opening a drawer, he produced a stack of papers and slid them across the desk.
I leaned forward with interest. “Are these the papers you took from the gasworks?”
“Select pages from a much larger manuscript, from what I can tell. The men who took me captive demanded that I decipher them.”
“What are they, Latin?” Mr. Burrows took up a page and peered at it. “Oh, you mean literally.”
“Quite literally, yes. A substitution cryptogram, to be precise.”
“You cracked it, then?”
Mr. Wiltshire looked a little offended. “Of course. Within the first few hours.”
“But you told them you hadn’t,” I said, remembering the exchange at the gasworks.
“Well, certainly. The moment I translated those pages, I’d have made myself redundant.”
It took me a moment to work out what he meant; when I did, my blood ran cold. “They’d have killed you.”
“Presumably. So I withheld my findings.”
“Which were?” Mr. Burrows prodded.
“As far as I can tell, it’s a manual of instruction in the magical arts. Hermetic, mainly, though all the major traditions are covered. Nothing terribly earth-shattering, but the portions I deciphered make reference to an appendix containing a series of more advanced rituals.”
“Magical arts,” I echoed, glancing between the two men. “Are we talking about luck?”
“Not at all, though the two are sometimes confused.” Mr. Wiltshire’s expression lit up, just as it had yesterday when he’d explained luck. “Magic is learned, whereas luck is innate. Rather like the difference between study and raw talent, you could say.”
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Burrows interrupted, “but could we stick to the subject, please? What does this instruction manual have to do with the Crowe brothers?”
“That’s what we need to find out. Rose, did your detective friend say anything about these papers, or anything else the Brotherhood of Seekers might be working on?”
“I’m sorry, no. I’ve already told you everything I can remember. But you think these papers belong to the Seekers?”
“Perhaps, but there’s only one way to find out. Burrows, I need the name of every member of that organization you’re aware of.”
Mr. Burrows scowled. “You know better than to ask that of me.”
“I do, and I’m loath to put you in this position, but where else am I to get it if not from you?”
“Maybe if you confronted Mr. Roberts?” I offered.
“He won’t tell you anything,” said Mr. Burrows. “And if he is involved somehow, asking about the Seekers will only tip your hand.” Sighing, he glanced away. “Damn it, Thomas.”
“I am sorry. If there were any other way…”
Mr. Burrows regarded his friend gravely. “Whose house is of glass, must not throw stones. This just isn’t done among my set.” His mouth twisted somewhere between a grimace and a smile. “Terribly bad form. You’ll have me blacklisted from the club if this gets out.”
“So you’ll help, then?”
“Feldt, Emmerson, and Drake.”
“Edmund Drake?” Mr. Wiltshire’s eyebrows flew up.
“The same. That’s all I know, aside from Roberts and the Crowe brothers.”
“Thank you. I promise you this information won’t go to waste.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Mr. Burrows said tartly, reaching for his hat.
Mr. Wiltshire shook his friend’s hand in farewell. “I’ll begin tracking them down immediately. And thanks to you as well, Rose. You’ve been a tremendous help. Would you mind showing Mr. Burrows out?”
“But I thought … Is that all, then?” My cheeks stung in humiliation, a sensation made all the worse by the fact that Mr. Burrows was there to witness it.
“All?” Mr. Wiltshire echoed, puzzled. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Mr. Burrows paused in the doorway. “I think what she’s asking, Thomas, is why she’s just been tossed on her ear.”
Mr. Wiltshire frowned. “Please, Burrows, that’s hardly helpful. Rose, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression, but my position on the matter hasn’t changed. If I’ve spoken freely just now, it’s because I wanted to be sure there weren’t any more hidden gems to turn up. You’ve already provided more than I could have hoped for, and I’m grateful, but—”
“But you don’t need the help?” Mr. Burrows put in. “The girl’s obviously got a knack for it.
Why wouldn’t you bring her along?”
Mr. Wiltshire’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Perhaps we might have a word in private, Mr. Burrows?”
I didn’t wait to be told; I fled the study, closing the door behind me—and promptly fixing my ear against it.
“Really, Jonathan, this is difficult enough without you making a game of it.”
“I’m not making a game of anything. Is it because she’s your maid?”
“Among other things.”
“Such as? Aside from the obvious fact that she’s sharp as a needle and terribly keen besides? She’s been chasing this thing for a week, at considerable risk to herself. Don’t you think you owe her the chance to see it through? Or are you worried the laundry will pile up?”
“Tell me again this isn’t a game to you.”
“Amusing, I grant you, but not a game. Look, it’s none of my affair, and I’m sorry to have barged in. But if she’s been as helpful as you say, I don’t see what you have to lose.”
“Don’t you? I have a professional obligation to my client. On top of which, if the situation is half as grave as I think it is, her life could be at risk.”
Mr. Burrows’s voice grew serious. “If the situation is half as grave as you think it is, all our lives are at risk. As to the first part, your client was Freddie Crowe, and he’s dead. Who’s your client now? Roberts? For all you know, he’s behind it.”
“Technically, my services have been engaged by the Freemasons.”
“In that case, on behalf of the Freemasons, you have my leave to involve whomever you choose, so long as it brings you closer to Freddie and Jacob’s killer.”
“So long as I can keep an eye on Rose, you mean.”
“I won’t deny that’s a useful side benefit. She knows a fair few things that could prove very inconvenient, and I’d like to be sure we can trust her.”
There was a long pause. “If anything were to happen to her on my account…”
“Anything more, you mean.”
“Yes, that’s just what I mean! You know perfectly well how bad it could get.”
“She’s a grown woman, Thomas. Don’t be so old-fashioned.”