by Mark Latham
The fire was blazing soon in the hearth, and Jim called down to Mrs. Whitinger, telling her that I was up and about, and asking for a pot of coffee, before taking a seat opposite me.
‘So, are you going to tell me who it is you’ve been working for?’ he asked me directly.
‘I am not sure if I can, and that is the honest truth. Nothing has been asked of me except that I serve my country; until I am sure of what is expected of me, I must assume that my work is not to be public knowledge, and that my employers wish it to remain so.’
‘I see. I suppose that is understandable, although you have not exactly been acting covertly. As I said before, the army has eyes and ears too.’
‘How much do you know?’ I was on edge. Although I still trusted Jim and had feelings of loyalty towards the service, I knew I had been careless and naïve in conducting my duties for the Apollonian.
‘Don’t look so worried. I know what you got up to at Commercial Road. I know that before that you had a meeting at the Apollonian Club, and I also know that your compatriot is named Hanlocke. By all accounts he is a shady character, who lives inexplicably beyond his means and acts like a shameless cad at all times, even when dealing with sensitive old ladies.’
Almost on cue, there was a quiet knock at the door, and Mrs. Whitinger entered carrying a silver tray with a pot of coffee and accoutrements. We exchanged pleasantries, although I could see that I was living under her roof on sufferance. I asked if I had received any other visitors in the past two days, at which I received a cold stare.
‘Other than that young doctor and Master James, only one,’ she said. ‘That rude gentleman, Mr. Hanlocke. He said he’d call back when you were feeling better.’ Her tone suggested that she’d rather Ambrose didn’t call back ever again. All I could do was thank her graciously; Jim took the coffee things from her and bade Mrs. Whitinger good day.
‘Jim, regardless of my association with Mr. Hanlocke, I must stress to you that I believe my work is of utmost importance. I am investigating the most heinous string of anarchist attacks that London has ever seen, and I know I’m getting close.’ Jim handed me a cup of coffee, and I paused to sip at it. ‘I must return to my employers as soon as I am able. No doubt they will need my report. I am surprised they have not been to see me already.’
Jim glanced towards the mantelpiece, and I instinctively followed his gaze and saw, for the first time, a sealed envelope sitting next to the carriage clock.
‘It looks as if they have already summoned you,’ said Jim, gravely. I reached for the letter, but stopped as the pain proved too much. Jim stood and made to pass it to me, then paused. ‘John, you’re a strange sort, I’ll admit; I know you’ve been through a lot, and it’s just that…’ He tailed off. He was still holding the letter, and I reached out for it.
‘What is it, Jim?’ I asked, taking the envelope from him. ‘Please, speak plainly.’
‘I fear you are in no fit state for such exploits.’ He was clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say. ‘You have been under great strain; Mrs. Whitinger says that you were incoherent after you were attacked on the street last week, as though you believed you were back in Burma. And last night, I came to call on you and you were raving about I-don’t-know-what; it was madness and fantasy, really. That’s why I stayed the night here, to make sure you were alright. Now you’re already talking about going back to work, which sounds to me just as perilous as being back in the army.’ He took a gulp of his coffee and set it down on the mantelpiece, looking relieved that he had said his piece.
I stared at the envelope in my hands, somewhat vacantly I suppose, and considered Jim’s words. I knew that my actions, my words and even my appearance were not those of a rational, sane man. Perhaps Jim was right; perhaps I was not ready for Apollo Lycea, dynamite attacks, or any of it. I felt Jim’s hand on my shoulder, and snapped back to lucidity.
‘Look, old fellow,’ said Jim, in a kindlier tone. ‘I can help you. I can see you aren’t going to take doctor’s orders and get more rest, so talk to me. Let me share the burden. I don’t trust this Hanlocke fellow one bit, so let me look after you. We’re comrades, you and I, and as I was sent to look out for you when you returned home, I would consider it neglect of my duties to let you go out of your mind or come to harm.’
‘And are they your only orders, Jim?’ I asked. ‘Or have your superiors told you to question me?’
‘Question you?’ Jim raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I think all this cloak-and-dagger stuff has made you paranoid. We serve the same Crown, just through different means. If you’re planning to get yourself knifed or blown up at any time in the future, you might do well to remember your friend at Horse Guards.’
Although I did not believe my suspicions entirely misplaced, I saw the sense of Jim’s words. And his manner was so candid that I could not believe he wished me any harm, nor would he try to deceive me. He sat down again and refilled his cup, and I turned my attention from him and opened the letter. It was a terse missive, and was as I had expected. Sir Toby wished me a rapid recovery, and requested my presence at the club as soon as I was well enough. He wrote that, given my ‘present circumstances’, he would understand if ‘I chose to renege upon the terms of my membership’. However, he noted that there would be a special meeting on Friday evening after dinner, and if I wished to continue my affiliation with the Apollonian, they would expect to see me in attendance. There was no mention of the dynamite attack, of my arrest, or of Ambrose, and Sir Toby advised discretion regarding the contents of the letter and the timing of the meeting. I slapped the letter down in my lap, somewhat annoyed that I had made the transition from celebrated agent to disposable asset in the space of a few short days.
‘Something the matter?’ asked Jim.
‘It appears that I have been excused duties by my new employers. They make no mention of my findings, nor even if Ambrose passed on what little intelligence we collected.’
‘Ah, yes. You said were close to a breakthrough in the case.’
‘Jim, I believe that I can trust you. Is that so?’
Captain Denny seemed surprised by the question. ‘Of course you can.’
‘Then, if you will indulge me, I would like to run some hypotheses by you; some deductions I have made about the case. The things we discuss must not leave this room. I have sworn no oaths, but I firmly believe the fewer people who know of my findings the better—that includes your commanding officer at Horse Guards.’
‘You have my word, John. I will help you… as a friend, not as an officer.’
‘Good. But is there any chance of breakfast first? I am sick with hunger.’
Jim smiled and got to his feet. ‘Capital! That’s the first sign of recovery—I shall go and organise a tray.’
Over breakfast I told Jim what I had discovered so far, albeit with a few small details omitted—the identity of my employer, the connection with spiritualists in particular, and the bizarre events that I had experienced in Commercial Road prior to the explosion. With hindsight I have no idea why I spoke so freely at all—perhaps months of isolation had made me more garrulous, or perhaps I was under too much strain and really did need to share the burden. In any case, having someone to discuss the case with was a welcome help; Jim was more attentive than Ambrose, and his contributions refined my theories until I was sure I was in touching distance of the truth. Yet the epiphany that would crack the case remained tantalisingly out of reach.
Jim was fascinated by my ‘triangle theory’ as he called it, and the precision of the map coordinates. I had no sooner finished my breakfast than he leapt from his seat in excitement and dashed for his coat.
‘Where on earth are you going in such a hurry?’ I asked him.
‘I’m going to get a map!’ he declared. ‘And a daily paper—I shall be five minutes, and then we will see what these anarchists are up to.’
* * *
We spent the afternoon discussing the case, moving in turn, moment by moment, from thou
ghtful debate to excited theorising, the hours flying by. The map was laid out on the floor, weighted at the corners by our coffee cups and sugar bowl, and Jim crawled around marking important locations on it with a pencil as I sat like an invalid in my relocated armchair, pointing directions with my cane in the manner of a great military campaigner.
Eventually, we collected our thoughts and several pages of scrawled notes and drew our conclusions over afternoon tea.
‘We have to investigate the central points in each instance before we can come to any firm conclusions,’ said Jim. ‘Obviously you have already visited Marble Arch, and the strange marks you found are fascinating, but confounding. If we find similar signs at the other two coordinates, then we will be on to something.’
‘We?’ I asked, with a thin smile.
‘Well, I hate to be presumptuous, but you’re in no fit state to go investigating alone. And I dare say I’ll get you into less trouble than that rake you’ve been knocking about with.’
‘I’m sorry Jim,’ I said, with a heavy heart, ‘but I cannot take you along. This agency that I serve… I have the distinct impression that I’ve already said too much. As soon as I’m well I ought to report to Sir Toby.’
‘I see,’ Jim replied, and took a sip of tea whilst trying to mask his disappointment. He did not put up a fight, which surprised me. Rather than appearing disheartened he seemed sorry for me; as though I had got myself into a mess from which he had hoped to help me escape. ‘Well, John, if your mind is set on it, you should certainly visit the hospital,’ he continued, ‘but if I might make a suggestion, the attacks in that area were carried out late last year, and it is probable that the trail has gone cold by now. I believe the freshest clues will be found at the most recent site, which according to all of our information is here.’ He leaned forward and jabbed a finger at the thick pencil mark he had made on the map but ten minutes prior. ‘The centre of the triangle is Commercial Street, Spitalfields. And if our suspects are following a pattern of using significant structures to make their getaway, then there are only two possibilities: Christ Church, or the Ten Bells. But you’d best get yourself in rude health before venturing back to the East End.’
‘I imagine the Ten Bells is the best place to start,’ Jim stated. ‘Although you’d best be on your guard in that pit. A few words in the right ears and some persuasion of the monetary kind and you’ll surely find out if anyone saw anything.’
I was not so sure about that, as my fruitless conversation with the estimable Madam Walpole had proven. The thought of her made me shudder, and I pulled the woollen blanket that Mrs. Whitinger had left in my rooms up around my legs; the warning the old medium had given me still haunted my thoughts.
‘The sins of the father shall be visited upon the son.’
What would my father have done? He had been torn between the army and Apollo Lycea, had he not? Where did his loyalties lie? I wondered, perhaps still half-feverish, who had done more to earn mine.
‘Jim… there is more that I ought to tell you.’ I did not want to disclose any information about the stranger aspects of the investigation, but I felt that if Jim was set on helping me, I must be honest with him.
I let the information pour out of me, knowing as the words left my lips that it sounded insane. The list of psychics and spiritualists; the medium who had seemed to have a message for me; and, finally, the weird, shifting room at 143c Commercial Road, and the woman in black who I was certain was behind the explosion. Through it all, Jim listened intently, head inclined, interjecting only to clarify certain facts, and seeming not to judge anything that I said. I still was not sure that my state of mind was sufficient for my duties, and it was entirely reasonable that my recent injuries coupled with the morphine administered by McGrath had induced some temporary madness or hysteria that even now affected me. I craved assurance to the contrary.
‘So then,’ I said when my account was complete, ‘do you think me mad?’
‘Mad?’ Jim looked thoughtful once more. ‘No. However, I cannot rule out the possibility that a series of trying events may have taken their toll on you. But, regardless, yours is the only first-hand account that anyone has of an anarchist attack, and so it would be negligent of me not to take your word in earnest, your word as a gentleman.’
‘Oh, you have that, most certainly!’ I exclaimed, grateful and relieved that he intended to help me still.
‘Now, assuming that every detail was as you said,’ Jim continued, ‘there must be a rational explanation. My first thought is that the use of spiritualists is merely a convenient cover for these criminals. The number of mediums and such like in London grows with each passing week it seems, and from what I read in the dailies most of them are little more than petty swindlers—just the type of people who would aid and abet our culprits. As to one of them knowing something personal about you—it is a well-known fact that these ‘mediums’ employ confidence tricksters to elicit private information from their victims. It may seem unlikely, but these folk make a career out of knowing all they can about their next target. Do you follow?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘but why on earth would I be targeted at all? How could Madam Walpole have known I would be visiting her?’
Jim seemed to ponder this for a moment, and then nodded with some surety. ‘These people you are working for—they do not seem terribly careful in concealing their movements. For a secret organisation, they are a mite clumsy. You and Ambrose were openly investigating this case, using your own names rather than nom de plumes. You could have been followed with no small amount of interest from the moment you left your first meeting with whoever-they-are. Why, for all we know, those thugs who assailed you in the alleyway that night could even have been sent by some foreign agency to deal with you!’
I tried to hide my feelings at this great leap of logic from Jim, for it mirrored my own thinking on the matter, but I did not want to confirm it. ‘All the more reason to leave these lodgings,’ I said instead. ‘I would not like to think I was inviting danger to poor Mrs. Whitinger’s door.’
‘Nor shall you be, I am certain, but we shall take things one step at a time. I shall have a word with some friends of mine when I leave here today, and make sure that someone keeps an eye on the house until you’re ready to move on. If I can’t secure an extra bobby on the beat, I’ll see if I can’t pull a few strings at Horse Guards.’ Jim stopped and looked at me with concern. ‘You seem tired, and perhaps overly worried—I have taken up too much of your time when you should be resting.’
‘No, no—it has been good to talk of work to take my mind off my injuries.’ Yet even as I protested, I realised that I was very tired, and my joints seemed to ache.
‘Never mind. You have a plan of action, and there is nothing more to do except for you to get better. I would like to help you with the investigation, John, but I fear that my involvement will only get you into trouble. I urge you not to rush back to activity. You have taken several nasty turns, and you need to be right as rain if you’re to crack this case.’
I felt guilty that I had rebuffed Jim’s offer of assistance; after all, the army was all I’d known for so long. Deep down I felt more loyalty to the army than to the club, and my father had worked for both… hadn’t he? ‘Jim… I might not be able to investigate the case with you, but that does not mean we cannot work together, for the mutual benefit of the Crown.’ I found myself saying it almost without thinking.
‘What do you suggest?’ Jim asked, looking less put out all of a sudden.
‘I’m suggesting that I keep you informed of any major developments, especially such intelligence as might require military intervention. In return, you let me know if you find out any more information at your end… and put a good word in for me at Horse Guards when all of this goes belly up.’ We both laughed at that, partly because we both suspected it might come true.
‘Send me a message as soon as you think you’re able. If the army makes any discoveries, I’ll keep you appraised
unless I’m expressly ordered otherwise. And remember, I was ordered to look after you; that still stands, John. Whatever mischief you and that Hanlocke fellow get into… whatever you need, you know?’
Jim took up his hat and coat and prepared to leave.
‘I’ll smooth things over with Mrs. Whitinger for you on the way out,’ he reassured me. ‘She pretends to be a tough old thing, but she’s a sensitive soul beneath it all. I know how to talk her round. I’ll have her bring some broth for you later, too; you must try to eat, to stave off a relapse.’ I nodded cheerfully and bade him good day. He turned just before stepping out onto the landing, saying, ‘Oh, I almost forgot—I brought you some reading material to stop you stagnating. Cheerio!’ He nodded towards the side-table, then with a smile and a wave he was off.
Jim’s positive nature was infectious, and as he left and his footfall on the stairs faded away, I managed to get out of my chair and walked over to the table, leaning heavily on my cane, to find a pile of Punch magazines bundled together with twine. The topmost issue was the latest edition, and the caricature on the front cover was of a policeman, a judge and a politician fumbling around in the dark whilst leering Fenians and foreign-looking dynamiters looked on, and the fuse of a comedic blackpowder bomb burned down. I turned around and stared down at the map and the scattered papers on the floor with a grim determination. Dark forces were at work—of that I was certain—and they had got the better of me twice already. It was time to turn the tables.
* * *
I felt rested the next day, and though I wasn’t sure I could face adventuring around London, I knew I could not remain cloistered away for ever. I sent a brief missive to Sir Toby, informing him that I was on the mend, and was planning to continue my association with the order, and by extension with the investigation. I penned a second note to Ambrose, informing him that we should resume our duties at his convenience. Afterwards I breakfasted with Mrs. Whitinger, who acted as though nothing was amiss—I could only presume that Jim had had words with her, for she did not seem in the least bit cool towards me, and I was grateful for it. After breakfast I felt fit enough for a morning stroll, but even that proved tiring. I had hoped perhaps to use this unexpected recreational time to visit the British Museum, but just the thought of climbing all of those marble stairs and traversing the great exhibition halls defeated me. So, downhearted, I returned to my rooms and tried to make industrious use of my time.