The Midnight Peacock (The Sinclair’s Mysteries)

by Katherine Woodfine

  The big, lofty room had been especially designed with Mr Sinclair’s exhibitions and spectacles in mind, and Sophie had seen it in many different guises. She’d seen it used as a splendid picture gallery, as a ballroom for dances, and, of course, as the setting for an exhibition of priceless jewels. Tonight it was different again, transformed as if by the wave of a conjuror’s wand into a magnificent theatre, lit up with golden lights.

  A stage swathed in velvet curtains had been constructed at one end of the room, where ballet dancers were currently performing before a backcloth painted to look like the night sky. Sophie saw that above them, suspended from the ceiling was a large, silver crescent moon, and reclining upon it quite as comfortably as if she were lounging in her chair in the Taylor & Rose office, was Lil. In Monsieur Chevalier’s shimmering peacock costume, she looked more like a queen from an ancient legend than a young lady detective. She glittered from head to toe in blue and green sequins, a rich gold necklace was clasped about her neck, and long gold filigree earrings dangled from her ears. On her head was a diadem of gold, with a spray of peacock feathers in her hair.

  For a fleeting moment, Sophie wished she could simply stop and enjoy her friend’s star performance – but she knew that she must not delay. She had to find the King. Craning her neck to look around the audience, she saw a dozen different important-looking gentlemen – a tall man in a scarlet dress-uniform, a grey-bearded fellow with a string of medals pinned to his chest. But not one of them was His Majesty. The King was not here.

  Up on the stage, Lil had caught sight of Sophie moving through the crowd. She stared down at her meaningfully, and then dramatically threw up one arm into a statuesque pose. She kept smiling at the crowd, every inch the glamorous theatre star – and yet her eyes bored into Sophie, as though she was trying to communicate something. Her arm pointed outwards towards the door – but upwards. She was showing her the direction that the King and his party had gone!

  With a quick nod to show Lil that she had understood, she darted back through the spectators, and out of the Exhibition Hall, and ran up the stairs to the gallery. Here, little groups had gathered to lean on the balustrade and watch the new arrivals, whilst quite a crowd had gathered around a dark-haired beauty in a jewelled turban, who was laying out tarot cards. A gilded sign proclaimed that this was fortune teller Madame Anna Fortuna. Spotting Mr Betteredge standing amongst the spectators, she hurried up to him.

  ‘I’m looking for His Majesty,’ she said urgently. ‘Did you see which way the Royal party went?’

  Mr Betteredge smiled at her indulgently. ‘Hoping to catch a glimpse of the King and Queen? You’re not the only one, my dear. The Royal party went that way – I believe they were headed upstairs.’

  Sophie hurried onwards. There was no sign of them on the first floor. On the second floor, she put her head quickly into the gentlemen’s smoking room, where she glimpsed Hugo Devereaux amongst a circle of young gentlemen chortling to each other in a fug of cigar smoke. He caught her eye and gave her a quick shake of the head. Up she went quickly, through the third floor and on to the fourth, where space had been cleared for dancing. Here, she caught sight of Phyllis and Veronica, amongst a group of debutantes, and as Phyllis glimpsed Sophie, she casually twisted her closed fan and pointed it towards the stairs. That was clear enough – she had to go up.

  As she hurried on towards the staircase, the dancers twirled and whirled, and in spite of everything, Sophie stopped for a moment and stared in astonishment. Between the shifting figures, she thought that she had caught sight of a little old lady in a velvet hat watching her from across the dance floor – but when the dancers shifted once more, she had gone.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m so late,’ whispered Billy, running across the stable-yard. ‘I couldn’t get away from Miss Atwood! I swear she has eyes in the back of her head. Thank goodness she asked me to take Lucky out,’ he finished. The little dog, who was wearing a special emerald-green ribbon for the occasion, was tucked under his arm.

  ‘Come on,’ said Joe urgently. ‘We haven’t got much time.’ He handed Billy a coil of rope. ‘Take this. The girls are waiting for us.’

  Sure enough, Billy saw that two silhouetted figures were standing in the shadows, with Daisy beside them. Tilly’s height and mass of curly hair made her quite unmistakable, but Billy had to blink for a moment at what appeared to be the figure of a small, black-haired boy.

  ‘Mei?’ he said. ‘Is that you? Are you wearing trousers?’

  Mei smiled in the dark. ‘I borrowed them off Song. Much better for tonight than a skirt,’ she explained. They’re too big for me of course, but I put a tuck in the waist.’

  ‘Look – there’s no time to chat about trousers,’ said Joe urgently. ‘We’re already behind schedule. We’ve got to get that box.’

  Together, they plunged out into the crowds on Piccadilly. The streets were busier than ever, and Billy saw that a group of policemen were cordoning off Piccadilly Circus to traffic. They fought their way through the throng, and after what seemed like hours, at last emerged beside the Piccadilly Restaurant, above which the big illuminated signs reading BOVRIL and SCHWEPPES LEMONADE and DRINK PERRIER WATER gleamed out of the dark.

  Billy stared up at this last sign with apprehension. It looked so high up that he felt dizzy – and yet it was exactly where they were headed.

  After their gathering in the Taylor & Rose office, he and Joe had slipped away to trail Fitzwilliam. It had been easy enough to find out where he was installing his control box – in fact, old George himself had pointed it out. The two boys had watched from the shadows as a long ladder was placed at the side of the Piccadilly Restaurant, and then Fitzwilliam went up it with his box, clambering on to the scaffolding behind the Perrier sign. Twenty minutes later, he was down again, the box connected and installed, and the ladder removed. Billy had stared after him in despair. How on earth were they supposed to get themselves – not to mention Tilly – all the way up behind that sign, on the front of the Piccadilly Restaurant, without a ladder and without being seen, to deactivate the box?

  To Billy it had seemed impossible, but he had forgotten that Joe had once been a member of the Baron’s Boys, and had more than a few tricks up his sleeve.

  ‘It won’t be easy, but I think we can do it,’ he had said earnestly. ‘We’ll have to wait until it’s properly dark and the crowds gather – that’ll give us some cover. I don’t fancy that fellow coming up there after us. We know he’s a nasty piece of work.’

  ‘But how are we going to get up there?’ asked Billy, still baffled.

  ‘See that alleyway down the side of the restaurant? There’s a fire escape there – and a drainpipe. We can use that to help us.’

  ‘No chance,’ Billy said, shaking his head. ‘We’ll never manage to make it up there – not without a ladder or a rope!’

  Joe grinned at him cheekily. ‘Well we aren’t going to get up there without a rope at all, as it happens. We’re going to use a little snakesman.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A snakesman. It’s like when you’re doing a housebreak, you see? You’ve got to find yourself a lad, someone small and thin who won’t blanch at the thought of climbing up a drainpipe and in through a skylight. They wriggle in like a snake and then let everyone else in – that’s why they’re called a little snakesman.’

  ‘But – but – we don’t have a little snakesman!’ said Billy.

  ‘Oh, I reckon we do,’ said Joe. ‘I reckon I know exactly the right man for the job.’

  Now, as they made their way down the alleyway, Billy turned to Mei anxiously:

  ‘Are you sure you can do this?’ he asked, for the dozenth time.

  Mei smiled at him. ‘Squeezing through that crowd was much worse than this is going to be,’ she said, surveying the drainpipe.

  Tilly was quickly checking over the tools in her pocket – the little set that Alf had given her – whilst Joe went over the plan one last time.

  ‘Righto �
� so Mei’s going to climb up first, and let down the rope. Tilly and I follow her up, we find the box and disconnect it as quickly as we can. We don’t have long until midnight – and we don’t want that fellow Fitzwilliam spotting what we’re up to. Billy will stay down here on watch with Daisy and Lucky. Do the owl call if you see anyone coming. Everyone know what they’re doing? Right. Now, Mei – you ready?’

  Mei was making a careful check of the rope that she had now wound several times around her waist. She settled it into position, nodded, and then without saying anything else, she turned and slipped lightly up the iron fire escape, not much more than a shadow in the dark.

  Billy’s heart was in his mouth as he watched the small, agile figure quickly swing herself from the fire escape and on to the drainpipe. She clung on to it for a moment like a spider, and then began to inch her way upwards.

  ‘My goodness!’ exclaimed Tilly. ‘She really can climb, can’t she?’

  ‘She’s a grand little snakesman,’ said Joe proudly.

  Billy couldn’t help gasping as Mei let go of the drainpipe with one arm, reaching out for the edge of the scaffolding. But a moment later, she was sitting quite happily on the edge of it behind the Perrier sign, unravelling the rope around her waist, and knotting it securely to one of the sturdy metal supports.

  Joe gave it a tug to test it and then nodded. ‘You first,’ he said to Tilly. For a moment, she hesitated, and Joe looked worried. ‘Here – you can climb a rope, can’t you? I mean, you’ve got to have strong arms and –’

  ‘Strong arms?’ repeated Tilly incredulously. ‘I’m a housemaid. I’ve probably carried half a dozen coal scuttles up two flights of stairs of a morning, before you’ve even woken up!’

  Joe grinned sheepishly and held out the rope to her, and Billy stood watching as they both made their way more slowly up the fire escape and the drainpipe. Tilly had barely reached the edge of the scaffolding when he heard the sound of pounding footsteps, and his stomach lurched.

  Spinning around, he saw that a tall powerful man was running along the alleyway towards them. It was Raymond Fitzwilliam, his face twisted with fury.

  ‘Here – what do you think you’re doing!’ he yelled. ‘Get down from there at once.’

  Sophie hurried through the Marble Court Restaurant, between exotic flower arrangements and magnificent heaps of delicacies, laid out on gold and silver platters. There were cakes topped with nuts and preserved fruits glistening like jewels, exquisite sweetmeats, piles of fragrant oranges, long-necked carafes of honey-sweet drinks, and bowls of figs and dates. For a moment her mouth watered, but this was no time to think of food – she was on the trail of the King.

  She had been certain she would find him here, but as she slipped first one way then the other, she saw no sign of him, and presently she found herself outside on the balcony, hung with flags and rigged up with electric lights, all ready for His Majesty’s appearance. For a moment, she leaned against the balcony rail, staring down at the people milling about on the street below.

  She sucked in some big lungfuls of freezing-cold air, thinking as she did so that somewhere over there, where the big illuminated signs on Piccadilly Circus glowed out of the dark, Billy, Joe, Tilly and Mei would be putting their part of the plan into action. She knew it would be difficult and dangerous – and crucially important if they were to protect the hundreds of people she could see below her.

  Across from her, the windows of the building opposite were in darkness. She realised she was positioned directly across from the office of Lindwurm Enterprises. Of course, they would be empty now, for the Baron would no longer need the office to store his explosives. They were already in position, scattered on the rooftops all around her, she thought with a powerful shiver. Just as somewhere down below her, or somewhere in the store itself was a gunman, planning to murder the King. And even as he smiled and laughed and kissed ladies’ hands, Mr Sinclair himself was watching and waiting for it all to happen.

  She stared again at the dark windows across the way, puzzled by something. She suddenly found herself wondering why the Baron had ever needed that office at all – simply to store the explosives? Why not have them sent directly from the factory in Silvertown? She thought of the large box marked LEE-ENFIELD, and she thought of the Baron saying make sure the King is in position . . . so we have him in our sights. And then she was back in the Dining Room at Winter Hall, and the old gentleman next to her was saying: My trusty old Lee-Enfield rifle would have done the job of course . . . but this fellow had only a feeble little Browning. And at those distances, you absolutely must have a long-range rifle if you want to achieve any degree of accuracy.

  She gasped. The pieces had come together. All at once, Sophie knew exactly where the gunman would be – and how he was planning to shoot the King.

  ‘Daisy!’ Billy cried out. The big dog leapt forward with a low growl – but Fitzwilliam was wielding a heavy stick. He swung it at Daisy, she dodged away, but then he swung the stick at her again.

  Billy took a step backwards towards the rope. There was no need to hoot like an owl: the others could all see what was happening. Above him, Tilly’s hands scrabbled on the edge of the scaffolding, and Mei hurried to help pull her up, as Joe scrambled up behind.

  Fitzwilliam hit out at Daisy and she whined in pain. ‘Take that, you brute!’ the man yelled. ‘There’s plenty more for you where that came from. I’ll finish you off – and just wait until I get my hands on the rest of you!’

  But before he could make another move, there came the sound of more footsteps running down the alley. To his astonishment, Billy saw that Connie was running towards them. Two tall girls, with purple and green ribbons on their hats, were running behind her.

  ‘Sorry we’re a bit late!’ shrieked Connie. ‘This is Dora – and this is Bunty. They’re from the Sewing Society too. We’re here to help!’ She turned on Fitzwilliam. ‘What do you think you’re doing? How dare you attack a poor, defenceless dog? How dare you threaten this boy?’

  Fitzwilliam stared at her, an evil smile on his face, and then gave a short laugh. But the ‘defenceless dog’ had taken the opportunity to leap at him again, whilst Lucky wriggled out of Billy’s arms and darted forward to bite a large section out of the bottom of his trouser leg.

  ‘Get away,’ said Fitzwilliam, trying to hit out at the dogs again. But Connie and the other girls were moving forward towards him. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ he yelled. ‘Get out of here – scram!’

  Connie gave him a very pointed look. ‘Oh, I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere,’ she said.

  Sophie ran helter-skelter through the shop and down the back stairs. She could see it now in her mind’s eye: the bright lights would go on, the King would appear on the balcony just before midnight, the crowds would clap, and the King would wave. And across the street, the Baron’s sniper would be waiting in the darkened office of Lindwurm Enterprises with a long-range Lee-Enfield rifle. If it could hit elephants and tigers from a distance, Sophie did not doubt it could shoot the King of England from across Piccadilly. Even as the King fell in full view of the crowd, midnight would strike, and the firework machine would be activated, and the explosives would go off all around Piccadilly Circus.

  Except that wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t let it. Halfway down the stairs, she came across Song who was hurrying up with a box of supplies for the kitchens.

  ‘Sophie – what’s wrong?’ he demanded at once.

  Sophie paused, gasping for breath. ‘You have to tell Lil and Jack that I’ve worked it out,’ she gabbled. ‘The sniper is going to shoot the King from that office across the street. I’m going there now – but you have to go back up to the fifth floor. Warn the others – they have to stop His Majesty stepping out on to the balcony!’

  She could not wait to see whether Song had understood. She ran on, down the steps and out into the crowd, her gold shoes skittering across the cobbles.

  The Midnight Extravaganza was ov
er. Lil had struggled out of the peacock costume and back into her purple Maison Chevalier gown with Maurice’s help, and with great difficulty had extricated herself from a crowd waiting to congratulate her on her performance. She raced out and up the stairs, looking for Sophie and the others. At last she discovered Veronica, Mr Pendleton and Phyllis standing in a little huddle in the Marble Court Restaurant. Song was there too, looking quite out of place in his white apron.

  ‘Where’s Sophie?’ she demanded breathlessly.

  Song looked anxious. ‘She ran off in a tremendous hurry. She said she’d worked out that the King was going to be shot on the balcony, and she said something about going across the street to stop it. She says we have to make sure the King doesn’t go out there.’

  Lil’s heart began to thump. ‘Where’s the King now?’ she demanded, staring around at the crowds.

  ‘We aren’t sure – but it’s almost midnight! He’ll be here at any moment!’ exclaimed Phyllis.

  ‘Lil – I’m really worried about Sophie,’ said Song urgently. ‘If she comes face to face with a sniper by herself . . .’ His words trailed away, and Lil knew what he was thinking. Taking on Connie or Bunty at Sewing Society was one thing – facing an armed gunman was quite another.

  ‘Do you know what she meant about going across the street?’ Song asked.

  Lil cast a look out at the empty balcony. Her thoughts leapt wildly. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I think I can guess,’ she said. ‘I’m going after her. You stay here and come up with some way to stop the King going out on to that balcony.’

  Across the room, unnoticed by any of them, the elegant figure of Mr Edward Sinclair watched her go, a thoughtful expression on his face. After a moment, he made his apologies to the guests he had been talking with, put down his glass of champagne, and slipped quickly out of the room.