The Midnight Peacock (The Sinclair’s Mysteries)

by Katherine Woodfine

  ‘We came to report it at once,’ said Lil.

  The detective’s face gave very little away. ‘Tell me everything you heard,’ he said at last, taking out pen, ink and paper.

  Sophie related every detail she could remember of what the Baron had said, whilst the Sergeant made careful notes. Several times he stopped her and made her go over something again, trying to get as close as possible to the exact words she had heard. After he was satisfied, he asked: ‘Do you know who he was talking to?’

  The two girls looked at each other again. It seemed so impossibly far-fetched, Sophie thought. They’d been over and over it in the Nursery last night and again on the train today. How could it possibly be Mr Sinclair who was the Baron’s accomplice? The Baron hated Mr Sinclair – he was his enemy. He had tried to blow up Sinclair’s department store! But she could not keep from coming back to the Baron’s words, as she had overheard them. I know we’ve had our differences in the past but that’s set aside now. I knew that you would be the one I could count on for this.

  It was Lil who spoke up at last: ‘We don’t know for certain – but it appears that his accomplice may be Mr Sinclair himself.’

  The detective did not look as shocked as Sophie had expected. He merely raised his eyebrows and made a few more notes, as Lil went on, talking more urgently now:

  ‘We have to stop the New Year’s Eve Ball – either that or the King mustn’t attend. The Baron plans to assassinate the King there. He wants to make it look like the work of German spies, with the aim of sparking off a war in Europe!’

  The detective said nothing for a few moments, scribbling on his sheet of paper. Then he paused and gave a small bow and said: ‘Thank you for coming to us so swiftly. We will deal with this at once.’

  Sophie stared at him anxiously, but he seemed to understand what she was thinking. ‘Please, do not worry. You may be assured we will treat this very seriously indeed. It is a matter of national security. You can leave it safely in our hands.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Now, what I would like you to do is to go about your usual business exactly as normal – go back to your office and return to your work. Stay out of Mr Sinclair’s way, if you can. We appreciate all you’ve done, but I must stress that there must be no further investigation on your part – this could be an extremely dangerous business. I would also ask that you please do not mention what you have told me to anyone. If we are to have the chance of apprehending the Baron, it is vital that he is not alerted to the fact that we know the truth. We will be in touch with you again if there is anything further we need.’

  It felt very strange indeed to be walking back along Piccadilly as though everything was quite ordinary. The snow was beginning to melt, and the crossing-sweepers were clearing the dirty grey slush into piles. The festive season was at an end, and things were going back to normal all around them – but Sophie felt anything but that. Her heart was thumping as they trudged back into the familiar surroundings of Sinclair’s stable-yard, where the porters and drivers were already at work. The Baron was back – and he could be here, at Sinclair’s, in just a few days’ time. What was more, now they knew that Mr Sinclair could be working with him. All at once, Sinclair’s felt different – no longer a safe haven. Her stomach twisted as she looked up at the high windows of Mr Sinclair’s top-floor apartments, wondering if he was there.

  Lil led the way across the stable-yard. Of course, Sergeant Thomas might have told them not to tell anyone anything, but they couldn’t possibly count Billy and Joe in that. They couldn’t wait to tell the boys about everything that had happened. But when they called into the stables, Joe was not there.

  Inside the store and up the stairs, they found the shop returning to life again after the Christmas break. But Billy was not to be found in Miss Atwood’s office, and the door of Taylor & Rose was locked exactly as they had left it. The curtains were closed, the flowers in the vase had wilted – and neither Billy nor Joe were anywhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ‘This must be it,’ said Billy, spotting a sign which read ALBERT WORKS. Beyond the iron gates, they could see a long, rectangular building. Smoke streamed from its tall chimneys and there was a burning smell in the air.

  ‘Look over there,’ said Joe in a low voice.

  From where the two boys stood, they could see that in the yard outside the factory building, a lorry was being loaded with wooden crates. As he stared, Billy saw that they were stamped with a distinctive black mark.

  ‘That’s it! Those are the same as the crates I saw in the office!’ he exclaimed. ‘See the dragon symbol?’

  ‘So they really did come from here,’ mused Joe. ‘What d’you reckon is in them? Look – let’s slip round this corner out of sight. If there really is any funny business going on here, we’re best off not being seen.’

  They slipped into the shadows beside the wall, watching while the big gates swung open, and the lorry loaded with crates rumbled out on to the road and away. Just then, a bell clanged in the depths of the factory buildings.

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Billy, startled.

  ‘End of the shift, I reckon,’ said Joe, as the doors of the factory opened, and a stream of people emerged into the yard, heading for the gates. They were poor-looking folks, Billy thought, their shoulders stooped and their faces grey and tired. There were a few men, but most were women, and some were children – though surely they were far too young to be working? Some of them couldn’t have been more than six or seven years old, dressed in ragged old clothes, and shivering in the damp, chilly air. As he watched, Billy noticed that several of the women, and many of the children had hands stained a curious yellow colour.

  Joe was looking at them too. ‘See that? They must’ve been dyed – probably by some kind of chemical they’re using.’

  ‘We should try and find out what they’re making,’ said Billy eagerly.

  As the people began to filter through the gates, Joe took a step forward, and beckoned to one of the little girls. ‘Come here a jiffy,’ he said to her, speaking in the same gentle voice he used when he was calming down a nervous horse. ‘Don’t worry. We don’t bite. We’ve just got a question for you. Tell us what you’re making in there, and I’ll give you a silver sixpence to take home to Mum.’

  A bigger girl of ten or eleven stepped towards her and took the small girl’s hand. ‘No good asking her,’ she said in a hoarse voice. ‘She don’t have a clue what we’re doing.’ She looked at the sixpence Joe was holding out, and her eyes glittered. ‘You want to know what we’re making? Well I s’pose there’s no harm in saying that. It’s a chemical. New – and dangerous. Sets things on fire and makes ’em burn.’ She looked back at the big building with dislike. ‘Rotten place it is too. Worse ’n the sugar factory. Worse ’n the box maker’s. Worse ’n just about anywhere else you can think of. Wouldn’t stick it but we’ve got too many mouths to feed in our house. I’ll have my sixpence now, thank you kindly, gents,’ she said, reaching out a canary-yellow palm.

  But Joe held it away. ‘Wait,’ he said quickly. ‘Who d’you work for? Who’s in charge here?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘Already gave you answers, didn’t I? Give me my sixpence. Fair’s fair.’

  ‘We’ll make it a shilling if you tell us,’ said Billy boldly.

  For a moment the girl looked him up and down, then she shrugged again. ‘Couldn’t tell you if I wanted to,’ she said. ‘I dunno who the big boss is, do I? It’s the foreman who deals with us – ain’t never seen anyone else round here. Well, apart from her that is.’

  She jerked her head in the direction of the gates. While they had been standing there, a horse-drawn carriage had pulled up outside, and a smart lady was being helped out by the driver. She looked utterly out of place amongst the workers coming out of the factory gates. She could have been a customer at Sinclair’s in her elegant fur-trimmed coat and matching hat. As they stared, she glanced around her, and then strode towards the factory entrance in her high-heeled
boots. ‘She generally comes in once a week or something like that,’ said the girl, pausing to cough into a grubby rag that obviously served as a handkerchief. ‘Haven’t seen her for a while though. S’pose she must be the boss’s wife or something. But that’s all I know.’ She took advantage of Joe being distracted by the woman to seize the sixpence. ‘Come on,’ she said to the little girl, and dragged her roughly away.

  When Billy and Joe turned back towards the factory, they saw that the smart lady had disappeared inside – and the great gates were closed once more.

  The offices of Taylor & Rose felt small and cold. They opened the curtains and lit the fire and threw away the dead flowers, and then Lil asked: ‘What ought we to do now?’

  Sophie shook her head. For once, she had absolutely no idea. After all that had happened, it seemed incredibly peculiar to be just sitting here, without anything particular to do. She was relieved that the Sergeant had taken them seriously, and very pleased indeed to know that Scotland Yard would even now be setting out to stop the Baron’s plot. And yet, in spite of all that, she didn’t know how she was supposed to go back to ‘business as usual’ when she knew an assassination was being planned for here in the store in just a few days’ time – and that Mr Sinclair himself might be somehow mixed up in it. She felt on edge and every little sound of footsteps outside the office door made her jump.

  In the end, she decided to try and read over the notes from the Abermarle case, whilst Lil made a half-hearted effort at tidying her desk. But they were both very glad when at last, the door opened and Billy and Joe came rushing in. ‘We heard you were back!’ exclaimed Billy. ‘We’ve got something rather strange to tell you.’

  Sophie and Lil exchanged glances. ‘Rather strange doesn’t even come close,’ said Lil. ‘Just wait until you hear what we have to tell you.’

  The two boys listened in stunned silence to their story, Joe’s face turning ashen when Sophie related how she had discovered the Baron hiding in the East Wing. But when Lil explained how Leo and Tilly had glimpsed Mr Sinclair sneaking furtively away, Billy could remain quiet no longer:

  ‘They must’ve been mistaken! Whatever you saw or heard – it’s completely mad! The Captain can’t possibly be working with the Baron! You don’t really believe that – do you?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know what to believe any longer,’ said Sophie, shaking her head.

  ‘But the Baron hates the Captain!’ Billy exploded. ‘Have you forgotten how he stole the Captain’s jewels – and the painting from the store – and oh yes, also the small matter of him trying to blow up Sinclair’s – with the Captain and all his friends in it?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Lil. ‘But –’

  ‘The Captain has helped us every single time we’ve come up against the Baron! He’s on our side!’

  ‘That’s what I thought too, at first,’ said Sophie. She was wearing her mother’s necklace again, and she fiddled with it as she tried to explain. ‘But then I thought about it, and he didn’t actually help us at all, did he? Not really.’

  ‘What do you mean? Of course he helped us!’

  ‘Think about it,’ said Lil, growing impatient now. ‘Remember when the Baron and his men followed us to the East End – and you and Song went to Mr Sinclair for help? Well it wasn’t Mr Sinclair who helped you in the end – was it? It was Mr McDermott.’

  ‘Mr Sinclair wasn’t at home, McDermott was the one who got the police. And it was McDermott who helped us with the stolen paintings – and Detective Worth too.’

  ‘In fact, even when I told Mr Sinclair about the bomb in the clock, it was Mr McDermott who actually stopped it going off,’ Lil added.

  ‘Now you’re just being ridiculous!’ Billy protested. ‘You can’t really think that Mr Sinclair wanted his store to be blown up?’

  ‘No – of course not – but now I think about it there was something rather strange about the way he reacted. He didn’t seem shocked, somehow. He just stood there. Surely that isn’t how someone behaves when they discover there’s a bomb about to go off, just a few yards away from them?’

  Billy was gaping at her, but then Joe snapped his fingers. ‘And remember when we were investigating the stolen dragon painting?’ he said. ‘We wondered about Mr Sinclair then too. He was supposed to be away in the country, but Leo and Jack saw him in that café, and we started to suspect that he might be somehow involved in the theft of the painting. That it could be – I dunno – a publicity stunt of some kind.’

  Billy had turned to stare at him as though he had committed an act of treachery, but Lil’s face had lit up. ‘Yes! That’s exactly it! Every single thing that’s happened has made the store front-page news. They’ve made Sinclair’s a place that jolly well everyone knows about. Somewhere that everyone wants to visit – out of sheer curiosity, if nothing else!’

  Joe spoke up quietly: ‘And if there’s one thing that would be certain to grab the headlines – well, it’d be an attempt on the King’s life, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘But no one would stoop to murdering the King just for a few newspaper headlines!’ Billy almost shouted. ‘You can’t any of you seriously believe that!’

  ‘I know it seems a bit far-fetched. But we’ve got to at least consider the possibility, haven’t we?’ said Joe in the same quiet voice. ‘That’s our job.’

  Lil was nodding vigorously, and Billy looked from her to Joe in disgust. ‘Oh, of course you agree with her,’ he muttered angrily. ‘You’ll go along with anything she says!’

  Joe looked a little embarrassed, and Sophie stepped in, trying to smooth things over. ‘Joe’s right,’ she said. ‘We have to at least consider all the options. After all, there have been plenty of occasions when we’ve thought something was absolutely impossible before – and we’ve been proved wrong.’

  ‘Yes – we never would have guessed that Mr Cooper was really the one who stole the clockwork sparrow, nor that Lord Beaucastle was really the Baron, nor that respectable Mr Lyle was scheming to steal a priceless painting! But we can’t afford to think like that any more,’ said Lil sharply. ‘And whichever way you look at it, you have to admit that jolly extraordinary things have been happening at Sinclair’s ever since the day it opened.’

  Billy looked angry. ‘Well if you’re so very clever, explain this,’ he said in a cold voice. ‘If all that’s true, if Mr Sinclair has really been cooking up schemes to get publicity ever since the beginning – then why on earth would he want to set the two of you up as private detectives here in his store – where everything he’s doing would be right under your noses?’

  Lil opened her mouth to retort – and then closed it again. Billy looked triumphant.

  But it was only too easy for Sophie to see the answer to his question. When she spoke, she found that her voice was wobbling slightly: ‘Because he doesn’t really think of us as proper detectives, of course. We’re just part of his plan. The dear little girl detectives, on hand to save the day at exactly the right moment – and get even more attention for Sinclair’s.’ Suddenly she felt very sad, and more weary than ever. ‘We’re nothing but one of his publicity stunts.’

  ‘No we aren’t!’ exclaimed Billy. ‘I know the Captain better than any of you – and he just isn’t like that. After everything he’s done for us, you can’t really believe that –’

  ‘Look, this isn’t one of your Montgomery Baxter stories,’ Lil interrupted him. ‘Mr Sinclair isn’t some sort of hero. He’s a businessman. You’re being a . . . a . . . mutton head.’

  ‘I’m being a mutton head?’ Billy snorted incredulously. ‘You don’t know the first thing about it! You don’t care two straws for the Captain – or Sinclair’s! You never have. You’re just passing time here – you can’t wait to flit off to the theatre at the first chance you get, or to go off hobnobbing at country houses.’

  ‘Oh, I say – that isn’t fair!’ Lil snapped back, but Billy wasn’t listening. He was so offended that he stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard
that the glass panel rattled. Joe stared after him, and then back at Lil, who had flung herself down on the sofa with her arms crossed.

  ‘He’s being stupid,’ she said angrily.

  ‘It’s just hard for him to get his head round the idea,’ said Joe gently. ‘He’s loyal – that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, and I suppose I’m not? I suppose you think I’d just fly off to the theatre at the first opportunity too?’

  Joe looked wounded. ‘I’d better get back down to the stables,’ he muttered. ‘The Gaffer’ll be looking for me.’

  He sidled away, leaving Sophie raising her eyebrows at her friend.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, stop looking at me like that,’ said Lil crossly. Then her face softened. ‘Oh dear – I really oughtn’t to have called him a mutton head, should I? Oh – bother!’

  Sophie was woken the next morning to the sound of rain against the window. Outside, the snow had been washed away and a bitter wind was blowing. She thought briefly of the comforts of Winter Hall: the warm fire, the lavender-scented sheets, the tray of tea brought by a maid – and then made herself hop out of bed into the sharp cold of her boarding-house room. She dressed quickly in a warm frock, thick woollen stockings and her buttoned boots, and put her mother’s necklace around her neck. Her visit to Winter Hall was over now, she was back in London where she belonged – and it was back to business. Today, she had something very important to do.

  She took out the Montgomery Baxter book that she had taken with her to Winter Hall and retrieved Colonel Fairley’s envelope from where she had tucked it safely between the pages, and headed out into the rain to hail a cab to the East End.

  The familiar windows of L.LIM & SONS looked very reassuring, lit up on the dark Limehouse street. Sophie hurried through the shop door, making the bell jangle loudly. Inside, she found not only Mr Lim, but all of the family at home: even Song was not due to start work at the Marble Court Restaurant until the following day. They gathered round the table in the back room to examine the envelope – quite as puzzled by it as Sophie was herself.