The Midnight Peacock (The Sinclair’s Mysteries)

by Katherine Woodfine

  ‘You found this in that man’s house?’ repeated Mr Lim, after she had briefly related the tale of their strange visit to Colonel Fairley’s home.

  ‘That’s right. It’s the Colonel’s handwriting – so although it looks like the letter was never posted, he obviously intended to write to Grandfather Lim. Do you know anything about the Colonel – do you remember your father ever receiving letters from him?’

  Mr Lim shook his head slowly. ‘No – I don’t recall the name. But Father did receive a lot of letters – sometimes with foreign stamps on them. He was secretive about them. I’m afraid that my brother Huan and I used to tease him and say they must be love letters from ladies,’ he said with a grin. ‘But really we always supposed they were something to do with what had happened in China – the destruction of the monastery and the theft of the Moonbeam Diamond. I know that he kept in touch with others who had left the village, but talking about that time always made him very sad. We tried not to ask him too many questions.’

  ‘Do you still have any of the letters?’ Sophie asked eagerly.

  ‘He usually burned them,’ said Mr Lim. ‘But there may be one or two left in his box.’

  Song ran to fetch it. They’d opened Grandfather Lim’s box once before, when they’d found the notebooks in which he had been carefully tracking Lord Beaucastle. Of course, then they had assumed that was because he had discovered that Beaucastle was the Baron – the same man who had stolen the Moonbeam Diamond, and who cast a shadow over most of the East End. But now Sophie began to wonder whether there could be more to Grandfather Lim’s preoccupation with the Baron than they knew.

  Song set the box down carefully in the centre of the table: a small wooden trunk, bound in brass. Mr Lim lifted the lid, and then with careful fingers, began to take things out. Last time she had only had eyes for the notebook about Lord Beaucastle, but now Sophie found herself looking keenly at two or three exercise books with densely written pages. One seemed to have been a kind of address book. Sophie took it and began leafing through in search of a mention of Colonel Fairley, whilst Mei and Song examined a bundle of old picture postcards. They were mostly inscribed with short, innocuous messages like ‘All well’ or ‘Weather fine – writing’. There was nothing very unusual about them, but they were signed with initials rather than with names – JB and NS.

  Rummaging in the box, Mr Lim pulled out a little tobacco tin, buried amongst the papers. It contained a small stick of red sealing wax – and to their great surprise, a gold signet ring, stamped with the symbol of the lion.

  Mei stared at it in amazement. ‘Look – it’s the same seal that’s on Colonel Fairley’s envelope!’ she exclaimed. ‘The lion – like the lion on Grandfather’s old cane. But what can it possibly mean?’

  It was while the others were staring at the ring that Sophie caught a glimpse of something that made her heart stop. There was a letter nestling between the pages of an exercise book – a letter written in handwriting that she would recognise anywhere. It had been so long since she had seen it that a lump rose in her throat. Her voice faltered as she said: ‘Look – everyone. Look at this.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  On rainy Piccadilly, Sinclair’s was a hive of activity. There were only a few days left until the Midnight Peacock Ball, and so whilst shoppers came hurrying up the steps out of the rain, shaking off their umbrellas, in search of fashionable hats and delicious confectionery, tea and cakes in the Ladies’ Lounge, or luncheon in the Marble Court Restaurant, the Sinclair’s staff were very busy indeed with all the final preparations.

  As he hustled through the store with a stack of messages in the Captain’s special yellow envelopes, which Miss Atwood had given him to deliver, Billy could see Claudine hard at work behind the plate-glass windows, screened from the street by silk curtains. She was removing the last of the Christmas displays, replacing them instead with Maison Chevalier fashions – and of course, displays of Midnight Peacock perfume. The scent came in a little glass bottle with a gilt stopper, presented in a purple box covered in a pattern of peacocks and crescent moons: now Claudine was carefully building a pyramid of these boxes against a drapery of brightly coloured silks, accompanied by a large painted peacock, and strings of gold and silver stars.

  Out in the stable-yard, old George and a couple of the porters were hefting potted palms out of the back of a van, whilst a group of students from the Spencer rushed by carrying an assortment of paint tins and rolls of fabric. Billy spotted Leo’s friend Connie amongst them and gave her a quick wave – but this was definitely not the sort of day when anyone had time to stop for a chat.

  After handing his message to the Gaffer in the stables, Billy hurried back inside, along the passage, and out into the Entrance Hall which as usual was thronged with customers. As he passed by the door that led through to the great Exhibition Hall, he could hear a noise of sawing and hammering within, contrasting oddly with the thumping of piano keys and someone shouting ‘one-two-one-two-one-two!’ and then ‘again, from the top, if you please!’ indicating that Mr Lloyd and Mr Mountville were rehearsing the dancers. Up the stairs, through the Stationery Department, and past the door to the Library, he almost collided with Madame Lucille, who was hustling out of the mannequins’ dressing room, a swathe of Maison Chevalier evening frocks draped over her arm.

  There seemed to be a very large number of messages that day: one for Mrs Milton in Millinery; one for Jim in Sporting Goods; one for Miss Jenkins in the Toy Department; one for Mr White in the Book Department. After delivering this last message, Billy hurried across the first-floor landing, but then hesitated for a moment by the door to the Taylor & Rose office, before pressing on.

  He had to admit he was still feeling sore about what Lil had said. It was true that she had apologised very handsomely for losing her temper, and yet he couldn’t help feeling that sometimes she did think of him as a silly little boy. But just because he didn’t agree with her – just because he quite reasonably called into question this wild theory about Mr Sinclair teaming up with the Baron – that didn’t make him a mutton head, he thought crossly.

  As a matter of fact, he was just as smart as she was – and quite as good as a detective, even if he didn’t get his name up in gold writing on the office door. He was even working on a mystery of his own, not that the girls had shown the slightest bit of interest in that. For a moment, he simmered with resentment, but then he reminded himself that all thoughts of the peculiar Lindwurm Enterprises had slipped immediately from his own mind when he had heard that they had once again stumbled across the path of the Baron. But whilst it was true that a mysterious factory that might, or might not, have some connection to the Fraternitas Draconum was not quite as exciting as discovering the Baron hidden in a secret room plotting an assassination, he felt certain that it was important just the same.

  Now, he began mulling over it again. From what he and Joe had seen in Silvertown, the crates with the dragon symbol might well be full of the powerful new chemical the girl had told them about. What he couldn’t understand is why on earth anyone would want to keep a whole lot of explosives in an office building. Surely that would be dangerous, wouldn’t it? He remembered the girl’s words: it sets things on fire and makes ’em burn.

  As he strode through the door that led from the shop floor out on to the back stairs that the Sinclair’s staff used, it came to him in a sudden flash. Of course! Explosives. Weapons. Incendiary weapons! When they had been investigating the disappearance of Veronica Whiteley’s jewelled moth, they had discovered that the Baron had been working with a scientist, a fellow named Henry Snow. The Baron had plotted to marry Veronica, so that he could get his control of a rare mineral Snow had discovered in her father’s mines, which they planned to use to create a new incendiary weapon.

  Snow had been arrested of course and the plan had been foiled, but now Billy began to wonder whether the Baron – perhaps with the help of the Fraternitas Draconum – could have continued trying to make those
new weapons? He might not have had access to the mines, but perhaps they had found another way to make the explosives – and that was what was happening at that factory! It would certainly explain why the crates had the dragon symbol stamped upon them. But what it still did not explain was why all those crates of explosives had been moved to that office opposite Sinclair’s. Was it just a storeroom – a halfway house of some kind? Or was there some purpose for bringing incendiary weapons to Piccadilly?

  Even as he asked himself the question, it all clicked together in his mind – like the final piece of a jigsaw. He spun around suddenly to return to the Taylor & Rose office, his feeling of being offended quite forgotten now, as he leapt down the stairs two at a time.

  As he slammed open the office door, he saw that Joe, Lil and Sophie were already there, gathered around Sophie’s desk. They all seemed to be staring at a piece of paper Sophie was holding in her hand.

  ‘Billy – come quick – you have to see this!’ Lil exclaimed, but he stood his ground and shook his head.

  ‘Whatever it is, it will have to wait,’ he said breathlessly. ‘I think I’ve worked out how he’s going to do it. I think I know what the Baron is planning on New Year’s Eve.’

  The cold air rushed against Tilly’s cheeks, and her scarf streamed out into the wind, as Mr Pendleton accelerated along the empty road.

  ‘Dashed fine machine, isn’t she?’ he shrieked, turning for a moment to beam at them both.

  ‘Do keep your eyes on the road, Mr Pendleton!’ Miss Leo shrieked back. She looked rather as though she might be sick, but Tilly had never felt half so thrilled in her life. Her insides fizzed with excitement like a sherbet fountain, and she found herself grinning back at Mr Pendleton. Mrs Dawes would have been horrified – ladies’ maids were not supposed to grin at anyone, especially young gentlemen – but for once she was much too excited to care. It was hard to believe she was really here, riding in the passenger seat of Mr Pendleton’s fine new automobile, on the road towards London, staring in fascination at the various intriguing buttons and levers and dials on the dashboard.

  It had only been a few days since Miss Leo had first suggested that Tilly could accompany her back to town, but they had passed at what felt like break-neck speed. There were a great deal of people who had to agree to the idea: Miss Leo had talked to Mrs Dawes; Mrs Dawes had talked to Ma; Ma had talked to Tilly; and then Miss Leo and Mrs Dawes had spoken to Lady Fitzgerald. She was the only one who seemed dissatisfied.

  ‘When I suggested you take a maid with you, Leonora, I really meant someone older,’ Lady Fitzgerald had said, eyeing Tilly with disfavour. ‘Someone who could act as a chaperone – and who could be trusted to be responsible.’

  ‘But Tilly is the one that I want,’ said Miss Leo in a small but definite voice, lifting her chin in the air.

  ‘If you please, ma’am, I can vouch for the fact that Tilly is a very trustworthy girl,’ Mrs Dawes ventured to add. ‘She’s been properly trained and I know that we can count on her to make sure that Miss Leonora is well looked after in London.’

  After what seemed like hours, Lady Fitzgerald had shrugged and sighed and said she supposed she would give her permission if she must and Tilly and Miss Leo had exchanged delighted glances. Tilly had been plunged at once into a mad whirl of packing Miss Leo’s things as well as her own, and making ready for the journey. Of course, they also had to find time to creep away and examine the secret passage and the secret room for clues. They had boldly ventured all the way along the passageway, and had looked carefully all around the hidden room – but there was not a single sign to suggest that anyone had been living there. It had been Tilly’s idea to examine Mr Sinclair’s room too – she’d checked the wastepaper basket and even explored the ashes in the grate, looking for the remnants of any papers he might have burned – but to her disappointment, she had found nothing unusual at all.

  That hardly seemed to matter now that she was here, squashed into Mr Pendleton’s motor with Miss Leo beside her. At first, they had planned to take the train back to London, but then Mr Pendleton had announced his intention to return to town the same day. Originally he had invited Miss Whiteley to drive with him; Tilly had overheard the invitation as she had carefully checked Miss Leo’s things were all ready in the hall.

  ‘I say, Miss Whiteley – why don’t you drive back to Town with me in the motor?’

  Mr Pendleton’s voice was hopeful, but Miss Whiteley replied rather stiffly: ‘Thank you, Mr Pendleton, but I don’t think Isabel would allow that – not without a chaperone. Besides, I don’t think we’re leaving until tomorrow. Father says he has some important business to discuss with Lord Fitzgerald.’

  ‘I see.’ Mr Pendleton’s voice was low and anxious. Then he blurted out: ‘You – you aren’t really going to marry Vincent, are you?’

  There was an awkward pause and then Miss Whiteley said haughtily: ‘I don’t really see why that should be any of your business.’

  ‘But the fellow’s a frightful cad! And he’s dreadfully rude to you! You can’t let them make you do this,’ Mr Pendleton said.

  ‘I don’t let anyone make me do anything,’ said Veronica, and she turned and walked away from him along the hall.

  Tilly thought Mr Pendleton seemed downcast after that, but he seemed quite his cheerful self again when Miss Leo said that she and Tilly would gladly accept his kind invitation to drive back to London. Tilly had hardly been able to wait to set off. She had packed her bag as quickly as she could with a mixture of frocks and petticoats and aprons, mixed up together with some books and the set of tools that had been Alf’s Christmas present – some small screwdrivers and spanners, some pliers and a wire-cutter. ‘Never know when you might need a good screwdriver to hand,’ Alf had said, with a grave nod.

  It had felt very odd to say goodbye to Alf – and Mrs Dawes and Emma, and Lizzie and Charlie, and Mr Stokes, and all the rest. Sarah had looked as though she might cry as Tilly had hugged her and promised to write.

  Last of all she’d said goodbye to Ma, breathing in her familiar smell of starch and soap and newly baked bread, and that had been strangest of all.

  ‘Now, you be good, Tilly my girl. And be careful in that London. You get all sorts there. You’ll take care of her now won’t you, miss?’ Ma said anxiously, turning to Miss Leo.

  Miss Leo laughed. She looked very happy now that they were leaving Winter Hall. ‘Don’t worry, Cook – we’ll take care of each other,’ she said.

  Then they were getting in the car, and Mr Pendleton was putting on his motoring goggles. Miss Whiteley came out to wave them off.

  ‘I suppose I’ll see you at Mr Sinclair’s ball then,’ she said vaguely, and Mr Pendleton nodded eagerly. ‘Oh yes – jolly good!’

  Then: ‘Farewell, all!’ he called out in a cheerful voice – and a moment later they were off, through the gates, and Winter Hall was growing smaller and smaller behind them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘Wait,’ Sophie begged. ‘So – what you’re saying is that you think the Baron is behind the manufacture of these explosives? And that he’s planning to use them on the night of the New Year’s Eve Ball?’

  She felt overwhelmed. She was still reeling from the discovery of the extraordinary letter in Grandfather Lim’s box – even now, her eyes kept straying towards it. But now there were new revelations to contend with.

  ‘That’s right!’ Billy was explaining, all in a rush. ‘That’s why all those crates are over there in that office! Lindwurm Enterprises is just a front. Really it’s the Baron who has taken the office – and he’s keeping the boxes there all ready for New Year’s Eve. Do you see what this means? He’s planning to blow up the store. We know he’s tried to do that before and we stopped him. This time he’s going to use these explosives to assassinate the King.’

  ‘But how can you be so sure that this factory place is connected to the Baron?’ asked Lil.

  ‘Because of the dragon symbol, of course. But that wasn’t
all. The factory itself – well there was something sinister about it, wasn’t there?’ Billy asked, turning to Joe to back him up.

  ‘It wasn’t a place you’d want to work, not if you had any choice,’ Joe agreed. ‘I’ve seen places like that before – run by the sort of folks that are so busy trying to make a profit that they don’t think twice about the people who work for them.’

  ‘Well, if this place does have something to do with the Baron then that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest,’ said Lil bluntly. ‘After all, we know he doesn’t care a fig for anyone just as long as he’s making pots of money, and getting exactly what he wants.’

  ‘Well that’s exactly what he will get, if he succeeds in starting a war,’ said Joe soberly. ‘He’ll be able to make a mint I s’pose, selling a lot of powerful new weapons to the government – or to any other country in Europe, come to that.’

  Sophie frowned, trying to fix her attention on what Billy had said. She could see that his explanation made sense – and yet there was something about it that didn’t seem quite right.

  While she was trying to think it through, Lil spoke up: ‘But if Mr Sinclair really is working with the Baron on this – why would he agree to a plan like that? He might want the store to be on the front pages of the newspapers – but surely he couldn’t possibly want it to be blown up – and destroyed altogether! That would defeat the point!’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Billy, puffing out his chest. ‘Isn’t that what I’ve been saying all along? But now we know about the explosives, we know that Mr Sinclair can’t possibly be part of the Baron’s plan. Whoever the Baron is working with, it must be someone else – maybe even that lady that we saw at the factory.’

  ‘You saw a lady?’ repeated Sophie in surprise. ‘Er – I don’t suppose it was a small old lady with white hair, and a velvet hat?’