“You think we can simply negotiate our way through this quagmire?”
“I have faced far worse. You are making much ado about nothing.”
She just did not understand—and why would she? It had been years since she’d served the House, so she couldn't be aware of the recent changes. “I have no doubt, Signorina del Morte, of your persuasive skills, but I assure you, Holmes is neither easily swayed nor manipulated.”
“Holmes?” Her lips twisted, and the skin around her eyes drew into tiny lines as if something was not to her liking. It was very different to her usual mask of calm.
“Our new chairman. Henry Howard Holmes.”
What happened next shocked Filippo to the core, and that was quite an accomplishment after tonight’s events. Clasping her hand to her chest and leapt up. It was almost as if she were about to succumb to the vapours. She quickly collected herself, but in that fleeting moment, Filippo saw another side to the deadly assassin. Fear. He saw fear overcome Sophia del Morte.
Smoothing her dress, she took a deep breath, and then with wide strides made her way to their humble kitchen. Sophia returned with a pair of glasses and a bottle of wine she’d brought to the apartment a few days before. Once she drove the spike into its cork, she yanked the cork free with a resounding pop.
“So, when did Holmes assume leadership of the House of Usher?”
“Just over a year ago," Filippo replied, as she poured two generous glasses. “Shortly after the events in London, Holmes led his own coup for the position of Lord of the Manor.”
“Let me guess. He made sure it went uncontested.”
A muscle twitched in Filippo's jaw. The mixture of savagery and calm determination with which Holmes had taken over was something he would never forget. “You know him?”
Sophia took a rather long, slow drink of her glass before replying. “Just before the Diamond Jubilee, I requested asylum with the House of Usher. They sent me an emissary. Holmes.” She stared out into nothing for a moment before taking another gulp of wine. At this rather reckless pace, she would be in need of another bottle soon. “I saw what he was when I first met him. If I had gone with him that night, we would not be having this conversation. The fact that he is in charge of Usher changes things.”
Holmes was the embodiment of a necessary evil. The previous Lord of the Manor had become a doddering fool. Holmes rightfully took his position, which he rechristened as Chairman. In the past year with him at the helm, Usher had returned with a vengeance. Once again it was a respected and feared organisation as it had been decades ago. They were back to working in the shadows, pulling strings unseen to general society. The cost of this aggressive rebirth for the House of Usher, though, had come with a high body count.
It was not just reserved for those outside the House. Everyone had to be accountable. The price to pay for failure was the same for him as it was for simple operative on the streets. Holmes did not tolerate botched operations. Filippo thought it was a worthwhile cost for Usher to return to what it had been, no longer the laughingstock it had become.
Except now it was his turn to be held accountable.
“You’re not the only one put off by Mudgett.” Filippo admitted. Sophia’s brow furrowed at that name, so she didn’t know quite everything. “His real name. Herman Webster Mudgett. I had my contacts in the Americas do a bit of digging.”
“Interesting.”
“By the time we unified against Mudgett, he had already ingratiated himself with the Lord of the Manor—which he took masterful advantage of.”
“He can be very charming when he wants,” she observed, staring into her glass.
Filippo laughed. “Indeed, and we had already invested a good amount in him. A body double. A prisoner swap. Manipulation of the press when the body double insisted he was innocent. We rescued him from the hangman’s noose and he in turn turned the House into his property.”
Sophia slid the second, untouched glass of wine closer to him. Filippo stared at the wine, enjoyed its bouquet at a distance, but did not reach for it.
“Really?” She rolled her eyes and took another sip.
He was in need of some decent wine, and he could tell from the label that it was a fine vintage. Still, he was no fool. This was Sophia del Morte, after all.
She proceeded to pour a portion of his wine into her glass. Handing him back his glass, now considerably less, Sophia drank. After a moment, she fixed a hard gaze on him. “I rescue you from the Ministry, from my own flesh and blood, and yet you still believe—even when we find ourselves in this grand disaster of misfortune—I am on some blood vendetta for a family that hunts me?”
Filippo examined his glass. The nose on this vintage was apparent, and he could appreciate its complexity, its fruity, earthy scent. This woman was certainly dangerous, but she needed him. She needed Usher. There would be nothing to gain in killing him at this point.
“And might I add,” Sophia said, leaning into him, “we are about to face Henry Howard Holmes together with, perhaps, not the best of circumstances behind us. I, for one, intend to savour a good bottle of Italian wine, or two, if we are to be speeding towards our demise.”
The woman had a good point.
When the wine touched Filippo’s tongue, everything it had promised in its nose was met and surpassed. Along with misfortune, he and Sophia apparently shared this in common: a taste for fine wine.
He held the glass of ruby liquid to the light. "Tell me you have another bottle in the kitchen.”
“Since when does any Italian buy good wine one bottle at a time?” Her smile was quite sincere. As she poured a bit more into his glass, she said, “I would have been extremely put out if you had not joined in. I do hate to drink alone.”
“Not tonight. So, I take it you have a notion of how we are to win over the House in light of what happened at the Farm tonight?”
“I have an idea or two.”
Filippo nodded. It wasn’t surprising she had suggestions. It wasn't the style of the del Morte family to act upon a whim. A plan was always in motion.
“Well then,” he began, clinking his glass with hers, “a toast to our ingenuity. Let us enjoy this evening of good wine and ways of winning Henry Howard Holmes to our favour.”
“Yes, let us do that,” Sophia replied, drinking deep to his toast, her eyes sparkling in the half-light.
Chapter Twenty-Four
In Which a Snap Decision Carries Consequences
"That rotter gives me the bloody creeps," Eliza seethed.
It had been nearly three days since they’d brought Jekyll out of unconsciousness. He was rather battered about in their apprehension of him on the rooftop—not that Wellington thought that was a bad thing—so this was their first time to attempt to get any information out of him. In fact, it was lucky that Wellington had not been the one to bring him to this interrogation room from his cell. Jekyll might have developed some more bumps and bruises on the way.
Henrietta inhaled smoke from her cigarillo before blowing a long stream out her mouth. The sweet smell covered the dark business before them. “I am in total agreement with Eliza.”
Falcon, Sound, Eliza, and he observed the mad scientist in the interrogation room through tempered glass. On their side it was a window, on his, a mirror.
Even getting him through the æthergate had felt like a long time to Wellington; and now having him locked up, he was still on edge.
In his youth, Interrogation Room One had served as a wine cellar. Jekyll might have even come down here with Arthur Books to choose a bottle while discussing their project: Wellington himself. Over the past year they converted it into a reinforced cell to question the most dangerous ne'er-do-wells. A monster like Jekyll could test the design to its utmost, yet at the moment he was his diminutive self, seated, his hands resting on the surface of the small table.
"Yet he has remained this way since regaining consciousness," Sound said, his eyes never leaving Jekyll.
Henrietta lean
ed forward a little. “He does appear calm. This madness is a very peculiar sort that triggers his physical transformation. I have never seen its like.”
Eliza’s lips twisted. “Hopefully you will never again. His madness is of his own making. ‘Twas a little scientific formula to unleash the potential within—except his was as a murderer.”
"Still, he hasn’t tried to escape," Wellington said, his gaze raking over the still form of the architect of all his pain.
"Actually, Agent Books, he has been most polite," Sound replied. "No attempt at charging the door. No screaming. No foul language."
"He hasn’t asked for anything? Hasn’t demanded a right to counsel, the presence of a solicitor?" Eliza asked.
The director ran his finger along the length of his moustache as if the gesture soothed him. "He has remained as stoic and as resolute as a soldier, and I, for one, find it unsettling."
"Considering how verbose he has been before—" Eliza began, but she stopped as Jekyll rose from his place at the small table.
The director went to a small control panel built into the stone frame around the glass window. Though his hand hovered over a large red button, he thought better of it, and threw a small switch which pulsed red.
A little surge of worry rushed through Wellington. "Exactly what is that?"
"Safety measure," he said in a low tone.
"What kind are we talking about?" Wellington was not completely certain if he wanted to know the answer.
"If the cell becomes compromised, it will release pressurised containers of concentrated chlorine and mustard gas."
Henrietta exhaled suddenly. Wellington could not conclude if said gasp was one of shock, revulsion, or excitement.
"Chlorine and mustard gas?" Eliza asked. "That will..."
"I am well aware of the consequences, Agent Braun," Sound replied curtly. "If you look behind you, there are gas masks available for any personnel in this room in case the safety measure are used. Let us hope it—"
He stopped as Jekyll walked towards the window, his gaze roaming from end to end. Wellington watched as Sound’s hand inched closer and closer to the pulsing button.
"Hello?" Jekyll’s voice through the observation room’s speakers sounded so very civilised. Everyone on the other side of the window held their breath. Jekyll spoke as if they were an assembled class of medical students and he, a lecturer. "First of all, thank you so much for the kind treatment and delightful service of... wherever in God’s Earth we presently are. I am, however, growing a bit anxious. Cagey, if you will," he offered with a wry grin.
"Sir, request permission to gag our guest before he makes another god-awful pun like that?" Eliza asked.
"Agent Braun, please..." he whispered.
Jekyll tilted his head. "I gather I am within the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences. I have a very simple request. I wish to have an audience with Wellington Thornhill Books. Provided his schedule allows, of course."
All eyes turned to Wellington, and he felt the full weight of their judgement. Taking a deep breath, he took a few steps closer to the window. If the hand hovering over that switch had been his own, there would be no hesitation.
Sound's voice shattered the tension. "Agent Books..."
"Sir, do not ask of him this," Eliza implored. "Jekyll knows the inside of the human mind. He’s a master manipulator."
Henrietta broke in. “Let me offer my services. I have a number of doctorates that are your disposal, and might help with…”
"I am well aware of what sort of monster Henry Jekyll is." Sound’s eyes narrowed. "However, he seems to have his heart set on speaking with Wellington. It is a vulnerability we should exploit."
"With all due respect, sir," Wellington said through clenched teeth, "have you lost your bloody mind?"
Sound stiffened, and even he wondered at it. Perhaps it was Eliza’s influence creeping to the surface, or maybe it was resentment from the Water Palace incident. They called it justice, carried out in the name of the Empire, but both he and Eliza agreed it was anything but. It had been revenge, and a bold display of power. Such displays built empires, and perhaps even helped keep them held together. Sound believed he was showing his power, but since he only knew Jekyll from reports and agents’ accounts, he didn’t have the whole story. Wellington and Eliza had experienced his transformation into the monster, and they had witnessed what he’d done to the Duke of Sussex. Jekyll had manipulated both Lawson and even Her Majesty.
Above all he was the cause of Wellington’s own demons. Even his own father had been in league with him. He was, in short, darkness incarnate.
Wellington's gaze darted to the safety measure. Sound would not be able to stop him. He could end it all, here and now.
"Books, you need to understand the grander scope of things," Sound spoke gently as he crossed to the control panel. "Jekyll should get put down, I do agree on that. However, he is too valuable of an asset to discard. He is key to the events which created you, events that I hypothesise relate to this Ragnarök venture the House of Usher is planning."
Henrietta pursed her lips at those words. “If I may. Director, I have observed this man, and what he enjoys doing. Jekyll is not an asset, he is a monster. By all means interrogate him, but afterwards burn him to ash, and find a deep hole to bury those embers in.”
“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Eliza said, leaning over to squeeze her arm.
The director stared at her for a moment, but did not offer any commentary on Professor Falcon's suggestion. “Then let us begin. You have your sidearms at the ready, Agent Braun?”
“Always.”
Sound cleared his throat. "I intend to be as accommodating with our guest..."
"You mean, your prisoner," Henrietta interjected.
"... our guest, as we finally have a lead on why Usher is after Agent Books here." Sound slipped his pudgy thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat. "I trust you to follow orders, yes?"
"Yes, sir," Eliza and Wellington muttered.
"Very good. Braun, I want you and your firearms at the ready. If Jekyll attempts to overpower Wellington, or even hints at transformation, I want you in there. Am I clear?"
She nodded, though looked none too happy about it.
Henrietta let out a little snort. “Eliza is a force of nature, Director, but if Jekyll does transform, will she be enough?”
“If Braun is incapacitated, and Wellington fails to prevent Jekyll from transforming, we deploy the gas," Sound replied.
Wellington’s heart seized in his chest for a moment. "Sir? Are you wanting me to tap into my... talent?"
"Only if necessary," he said. "I have confidence in you, m’boy."
There it was: the full authority of the Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences against him. If he rebelled, his only option would be to resign. In that moment, a chilling epiphany struck him’ this wasn’t just for the Ministry, it was for him too. It wasn’t about the House, or Ragnarök. It was about Arthur Books and his original plans.
Jekyll tapped on the glass for attention. "I will just wait here then, shall I?"
Eliza squeezed his hand and gave him a faint smile. Picking up a modest wooden chair from the corner so that he would have somewhere to sit inside, Wellington looked deep into her sapphire eyes. "Do not hesitate."
"It won’t come to that," she assured him. "Even if this goes pear-shaped, Henrietta and I are with you."
Henrietta slipped from a holster secured in the small of her back the experimental she had called upon while on the OHX. “Just make sure to duck.”
Sound flicked the button to open the door to the outside corridor. With a final glance to Eliza and Henrietta, Wellington walked to the cell door, chair in hand. The guard took a defensive posture as he unlocked the hatch and opened it for Wellington.
Doctor Henry Jekyll sat on the other side of the table, his fingers laced together, the smile on his face warm and inviting. Wellington’s legs grew heavy, and a queer thought flashed across his mi
nd. Was this what the lion tamer felt before going into a cage with the King of the Jungle? Armed only with a chair, what chances would he have if the beast were to not stay within the confines of the performance? No, it would be intellect versus intellect here. The real test would be how deep Jekyll would go into their shared past.
The door shut behind them with a dull thud.
"Little Wellington," Jekyll cooed. "At last. We have some time to catch up."
Wellington was aware Eliza was close, watching from the other side of the glass. He was not alone. She was there. It was a game of psychological chess. He had to say ahead of this one.
Jekyll motioned for him to place the chair across from him. "Please, as this is an interrogation room of some description, let’s make use of it." He looked around and his eyes stopped on an exposed beam overhead. “You know, I think I recognise those beams.” He craned his neck to look behind him. “And the curvature of that wall there. Are we in your family’s wine cellar?” He chuckled. “I do love what you’ve done with the estate.”
"Thank you, Doctor."
"Really?" Jekyll clicked his tongue. "Well, I suppose I outgrew the title of ‘uncle’ after you ascended into manhood." He traced a small knot in the table with his fingernail, his eyes studying the wood, but he didn’t fool Wellington. "I miss those times. We accomplished so much together."
Wellington put down the chair, and sat in it as comfortably as possible, "I admit, I am flattered to have made such an impact on your life."
"Oh, Wellington, you were more than just an impact. You were my life. The apple of my eye."
"And my father’s?"
That took the man’s knight. There was a flicker of darkness across the good doctor’s face, but it was merely that—a flicker. "Arthur Books. Your father was quite the rogue. So respected, so revered in his social circles, and yet..."
"And yet, an utter bastard."
Jekyll locked his gaze with Wellington’s. "Indeed, to kill your mother so callously, and with nary a concern for how it would affect you? So cold. So heartless."
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