by JM Bannon
“Yes, catching the train up to Birmingham for some business then to Sweden. I plan to take the Swedish royal air cruise to New York next week after my business is concluded,” said Randall.
“I hear that ship is mad with amenities,” replied Lady Anne.
Randall was pleased to share what he knew about the ship. “Yes, it is the finest airship running. Prussian built, the absolute finest appointments, but I am taking it for the speed. It will berth in New Jersey in four days.”
“We must try travel by airship, darling,” Anne said to her husband.
Lady Margret changed the topic.” We were interrupted by the dinner bell, Detective. I think you were just about to tell us about our father’s case.” There was silence while Lady Margret waited for a response, and Dolly did the mental calculus on how he should answer.
Sir Chilton interrupted. “Margie, this really isn’t the place for that conversation.”
The detective had two doors to choose from now, the first to politely follow-on to Sir Chilton’s comment and stay on the civil and banal or take advantage of the situation and press the two men in mixed company. Dolly still had no idea why Chilton had invited him, but he was certain the likelihood of a second invite was low, so he had little to lose if the questions became too intense for the other guests. He slid off the napkin ring, placing the fancy linen on his lap. In front of him was a calotype menu listing eight courses. It would be a long night of fine food. He scanned the table setting with all the china and tableware. Why not add a few things to the menu? If his suspicions were right, one or both these men may have been involved. “If you’re comfortable with the subject, ladies, I do have some things to share on the case and your association with the Moya family that might shed some lightm” replied Dolly.
Lester gestured to the ladies, in particular his wife, knowing his sister would not let go until she felt that the detective was doing his utmost to find the murderer. “Ladies?”
“Oh yes, please do, sir,” Anne replied. Margret was being served the first course and turned from the footman to nod her agreement.
“Continue, Detective,” said Sir Lester.
“Let me begin by saying I have a main suspect that has been corroborated by two independent sources.”
“Someone saw the murder?” asked Lady Margret.
The detective continued. “Not an eyewitness, but reliable sources that have connected this person to the crime.” The footman filled Dolly’s soup bowl with a savory beef and vegetable broth. Dolly also started to serve up his dishes. “I had some questions for you, Sir Lester, about the night of Emilio’s murder. Why did he want to meet with you?”
“He was asking to invest with Babbage and his lot and wanted to draw on funds,” answered Lester.
“And you told him?” coaxed the detective, who was watching Randall.
He had his eyes down, more absorbed with the soup than the conversation. “That I needed to familiarize myself with the investment and the conditions of investment in the trust. The Moya estate is complex, and the source and method of the investment would need to be evaluated.”
“And how did he take your response?’ asked Dolly as he finished his soup. “He was not happy with my answer. He said that he would think about who would be the best trustee for the estate and his personal inheritance now that my father passed,” answered Lester signaling to have his bowl taken away.
Dolly followed with another question. “So he was going to hold the trustee position over your head?"
"I suppose, but it wasn't only his decision for the main trust. He would need his brother to agree," said Lester.
The footmen next brought out smoked eel, starting with the ladies then moving to the head of the table. “Mr. Strathmore, when you met with Señor Moya later that night, did he ask you to take on the role of trustee?”
“He did, and as we discussed earlier, we talked about other sources of overseas investment for Babbage,” answered Randall.
“Randall, why am I hearing about this now?” asked Sir Lester.
Dolly wondered if the revelation would sow some distrust between the two and he would see the true colors of one or both men.
“With the news of his death, I thought it best to let it go and follow along with him to his grave. Lester, it may have just been his drink talking I met with him afterward to find out more about this Babbage opportunity.”
Chilton stopped eating to give Randall his full attention. “Go on, Strathmore,” said Chilton.
“There really isn’t more, Lester. I have clients in the States with the funds and the desire to invest that don’t give a tinker’s damn about the mechanist guild and their quarrel with Babbage, and they have money to invest. I saw a chance for the firm to make a nice fee syndicating an investment,” finished Randall.
“Strathmore, if Moya weren’t dead, would you have entertained becoming trustee?” “Lester, I would not support Emilio’s ploy to leverage control over the steward. However,
there is a certain logic that a family with almost all of their holdings in the western hemisphere should have a trustee in the same.”
“The eel is delicious, Lady Anne,” said the detective.
“Our cook has been here for decades. I don’t know what I would ever do if she decided to leave us. Wait until you see what she has prepared for our dessert,” replied the Lady. “Mr. Strathmore, you’re not having any?”
“It does not agree with me, thank you,” replied the Yankee.
Dolly thought to himself that at least he doesn’t eat his own kind then he spoke. “When was the last time either of you talked with Hernando Moya?” The two men looked at each other, waiting for the other to answer.
Finally, Chilton committed. “I have not seen Hernando in over a year.”
When he finished Randall, continued. “I have had some wires and letter correspondence, but I have not seen him for at least a year. I would need to look at my diary, but it would have been a visit to Haiti because of business.”
“Well, I have what may be some startling news. French authorities have advised me that Señor Hernando Moya was murdered in April of this year.”
The smell of smokey fish was overtaken with the buttery herb aroma of chicken fricassee presented with rice. Carrots and green beans served as a mixed vegetable dish. As the main courses were served Dolly, continued. “When we met before, Mr. Strathmore, you suggested that Hernando may have been behind his brother’s murder out of envy and greed. Now that we know that Hernando was killed prior to his brother, who could benefit?”
“Lester, have you reviewed the documents?” asked Randall.
“I have” he replied.
Dolly watched the two men interact. He was looking for tells on either of the men.
Lester scrunched his chin and brow, thinking, then spoke. “There will be details for sure, small disbursements here and there, but the bulk of the fortune remains in the trust of Don Ernesto and goes to the benefit of heredity. While the holdings are international, the trust was formed under English law and will be adjudicated in the United Kingdom.”
“This gets back to your question, Lady Margret, as to your father’s murder. Evidence points to a woman that had dealings with the Moya family in Haiti. The French colonial authority believes that she was a runaway slave from the Moya plantation. If their murders were revenge for their treatment of her, that does not answer why she would murder Sir Francis. And that begs the next question. Are other partners at the firm in danger of her revenge?” Dolly let that sit with the group and ate some more of his dinner. He called upon to the footman. “Could I get another roll? You know the butter here is so much better than the rancid stuff in the city.” The whole time he talked, his eyes moved about the table to measure reactions.
Lady Anne spoke. “Are my Lester and Randall in danger, sir?”
“I would say that depends on if the killer got what she really wanted out of that vault?” Dolly kept in mind the note the killer had left and her warn
ings to leave her to her escape, but he needed to know if she had help from within the partnership. Chilton’s death was still a nagging question to him.
Sir Lester placed his utensils on his plate and took his napkin off his lap but had barely eaten his main course. “Gentlemen, please join me in the study for a drink and a cigar?”
Was that it? “That sounds like a terrific idea,” said Dolly. But I won’t have that meeting unarmed. “If I may be excused, I am going to go up to my room for a moment. I have some tablets I need to take for the pain, or I will be visited by a throbbing headache.”
Lady Anne broke in. “Oh, Detective, you can’t leave yet. There is a pavlova with summer berries for dessert.”
Dolly sat back down and replaced his napkin. “I wouldn’t want to miss the pavlova.” Chilton’s confidences could wait until after dessert.
* * *
10:30 PM, Meadhurst Manor, Sir Lester’s Private Study
The gentlemen were in the study having cigars and brandy. Dolly did have tablets to take, but he also grabbed his two-barrel 0.47 caliber Lancaster and placed it in the small of his back in his waistband. He wanted to make sure if the meeting in the study revealed a co-conspirator he would be prepared. It was a horror to be sitting on the gun, but he had no other options to be safe and discrete. The pain of the pistol in his back was a constant reminder to pick up a smaller caliber gun he could also sport as a second.
Their talk turned away from the Moyas and focused on politics and who might be behind the explosion at Baden.
Randall Strathmore stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray then groaned and lifted himself out of the chair. “I smoked that fella way past where it lost its taste, but even bitter it was a fantastic smoke. I have an early day tomorrow to make my train to Birmingham. Good night, gentleman.”
“Good night, sir,” said Sir Lester, spinning his brandy in its snifter. This was his third, and the Scotch and wine over dinner had left Lester in his cups.
“Good evening, Mr. Strathmore, and safe travel on that airship of yours,” said the detective.
Strathmore took the last swig from his glass and made his way out.
Dolly sat and waited.
“Strathmore is a good egg, Detective,” said Sir Lester, slouched in his chair. He had taken off his dinner coat and was in shirt sleeves. “Mark my words, Detective. That man will become one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the United States. You would do well to make him a friend.”
Dolly decided he needed to press, given Lester would only get more drunk. "I’ll keep that in mind. I think I will make my way to bed.” He feigned getting up. That was all it took to stoke Chilton.
“One moment, Detective. Back at Chilton House, you asked if there were other documents missing. From what we could tell everything in the vault was in order other than my damn missing gold!” Lester came back to point after his rage. “Sims mentioned that my father did keep some files, not in the Chilton House but a strong box in a hunter's lodge on this property. I had never heard of the safe, and my father and I were very close.” Lester's eyes were watery.
“I went out to the lodge to find this strong box. My father must have wanted me to find it, given he told Sims of its location. It only took a few tries to find the combination. It was my birthdate. While I cannot ascertain if anything was missing from the safe, given that a week ago I had no idea the box or its contents existed, what was in there was interesting.”
“I will assume that you found something relevant to the case,” replied Dolly.
“I think it may be.” Sir Lester got up and stumbled over to a painting near his desk. The painting hung on hinges and swung to the side, revealing a wall safe. He fumbled at the combination, finally opening the strongbox after several attempts. Sir Lester removed a file and dropped the folder in the detective's lap.
Dolly began looking at the documents. They were the Last Will and Testament of Don Ernesto de Moya. Dolly looked up. “Can you tell me why you think these documents are relevant?”
"Those were the wishes of Don Ernesto when he was alive. That is how he expected his fortune and holdings would be distributed to his heirs. I was the trustee for Señor Emilio Moya. Therefore, I was quite familiar with holdings, inheritances and allowances. Those were not the documents I worked from for the past sixteen years since he passed. Look at the declarations and the disbursements in the appendix. If I were Hernando or Emilio, I would have taken issue with these documents,” said Lester as he got up and grabbed the brandy bottle to refill his and Dolly’s snifter.
"Why would your father have these documents?"
"I don’t know, Detective," answered Lester. Then he continued, "I don't know why my father would have been party to this. Ernesto was his friend, and his wishes would not have cost the firm a pence in fees. It only served to help the brothers and their reputation. Why? Why would he hide this?"
"Would anyone else in the firm have benefited from the changes?" asked Williamson.
"No, no, no. The firm only collects fees for the management of the assets," Lester exclaimed.
"Mr. Strathmore told me at the club when I interviewed him that the Moyas, and specifically Hernando, had made your firm and other investors very wealthy. Would any of those investments be affected detrimentally by the revelations in this document?"
Lester sat back in his chair. His eyes went up to the ceiling, and his head rocked side to side. "Some, maybe all. Who am I to say? Character and reputation are important in the world of finance."
Dolly looked again at the declarations section of the will. “I think you have your answer, Sir Lester. This wasn't about the trust, but about Hernando and Emilio's other enterprises, and your father may have been complicit to protect all the firm’s co-investments with the Moyas,” said Dolly. Your father’s decision to hide these documents may have cost him his life.
There was a knock at the door. “What is it?” Lester snapped.
“Sir, I have a wire-type for the detective,” said the voice outside the door.
“Bring it in, Helmsley,” said Sir Lester.
Helmsley entered the room and stood at Dolly’s side with a silver tray extended. The wire-ype tape was coiled loosely on the platter.
Dolly uncoiled the tape and read the small type.
TRANSMITTAL 24061858 21:42
TO: MEADHURST T01
Williamson, Fredrick
FROM: Royal Teletype, Bethnal Station Ca
Caldwell Rose -Cash Acct
412 PILTON ROAD ALIAS BERTHA HELSTROM LEAVING LONDON BY SHIP SUNDAY
CHECK YOUR POCKET WATCH I WILL BE THERE AT 10 PM SATURDAY
Dolly looked up at Helmsley and motioned his eyes toward the baronet making a face. “Sir Lester, I think it is time you retire,” said the butler.
“No, no. Helmsley. Williamson and I are just going to have another drink.”
Dolly stood up to excuse himself. “As much as I would love to take you up on your invitation, I think I will catch the car with Mr. Strathmore and get to the station early. I have pressing business in London.”
Saturday the 26th of June
7:00 PM, The Lodge
The Lodge was a nondescript somewhat run-down building in Surry Hill. The steam carriage idled to a stop, delivering Guild Master Gerrard and two Silver Seers in front of the townhouse. The necronists stepped out and walked up to the steps with energetic strides.
Poised on the stoop, Gerard took in a deep breath. Reaching into his left sleeve, he pulled out his malla beads to help him focus his energy and to center his formidable power. So formidable that all he needed was to think about the incantation, and the works began. He scryed the building and with his mind’s eye saw the defenses the Lodge had erected to protect against forces from the outside and to contain spirits within.
Before he had a chance to knock, the door opened. Not a word was spoken as the three men entered. It was dark inside the flat, not yet fitted for gas light. Only candles were used for illumination, giving a
hazy yellow-orange glow where light was cast. In the foyer, they were greeted by Madame Helen Blatavsky, an Eastern European psychic. She had settled in London after traveling the world to augment her powers, now a trusted advisor to society ladies who dabbled in metaphysics, not looking to understand the true nature of the multiverse but to divine who their daughter might marry or if they might live to a certain age. Saint-Yves detested this use of the warp and woof of the universe and considered it a perversion.
“Welcome to the Lodge, Guild Master Saint-Yves,” purred the woman with a Russian accent. She was dressed in a modest black gown as if mourning the loss of a loved one. “Follow me,” she continued.
The gentlemen followed Madame Helen down a rickety wooden stairwell into the cellar. It was poorly lit, making it difficult to see the full size of the cellar. The dampness and mildew overpowered the senses. At the foot of the steps, they discovered an ornate candelabra set on top of a round table and chairs, set inside a sunken pool roughly dug into the cellar floor and lined with a tarp to hold water. It was an unsavory arrangement. The table was submerged in six inches of water, and as their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, another object was present, a large circle of silver chain laying on the table. Two men waited in the basement, appearing out of the shadows when the necronists came into the candle light. Gerard grimaced. How pathetic the accommodations were. He would have to work with what he was given.
Blatavsky introduced her compatriots. “Guild Master Saint Yves, this is Lord Oswald the Grand Mason of the Lodge.”
“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Saint-Yves.
“Likewise,” said Oswald.
Lord Oswald was thought of as a crackpot in high society, but Gerard knew he was a man of talent and natural ability. He had been invited to join the guild, but Oswald was not prepared to give up his title and property as part of his fealty and devotion to the art and science of metaphysics.