The Devil's Feast

by M. J. Carter

  “My friends, be of good cheer. I believe we will win through. We are hard-working, quick and clever. We will find the truth.”

  I looked about the table. Percy, calm, the picture of reliability. Morel, casting the odd pained look at Perrin. Perrin himself placid, his eyes on Soyer. Matty, barely eating, her head bowed over her plate, shrinking from attention; Mrs. Relph, watching her anxiously. Blake, uttering occasional ejaculations of appreciation, no doubt for some particular, unguessable reason, and watching constantly from behind his spectacles.

  “I am sorry. There is more, and I must tell it to you,” I said, pushing my plate away. “The committee has decided that the club cannot afford to pay the servants for the days when the club is shut. Again, I am sorry.”

  Soyer stepped back and raised his hand like some revolutionary on the barricades.

  “I shall pay their wages if the club will not.”

  “There is more.”

  “Speak it, my dear Capitaine, we are braced for anything!” said Soyer.

  “The committee learned that Miss Matty—Matilda—had been accused by some of the staff. It has insisted that the police take her for questioning as soon as they arrive.”

  I looked at Soyer, and I saw that he already knew. Matty turned away from the table and covered her face with her hands. Mrs. Relph gave me a furious look, as if it were my fault, and placed her hand on Matty’s shoulder. Young Perrin sprang up.

  “Mais c’est fou!” he said. “We all know this is impossible. Mathilde, do not despair. We will defend you!” He brought out a fresh handkerchief from his top pocket and offered it to her. She refused it, but nevertheless granted him a small, desolate smile.

  These were the words I should have said.

  I added hurriedly, “It should go without saying that I regard these accusations as largely malicious and entirely without truth. We will scotch them as soon as the police arrive. And Bl—Mr. Maguire and I will devote all our efforts to finding the real culprit.”

  I could not say that Soyer owed his very position to Mr. Scott’s offering up of Matty as a suspect. In their relief at having an apparently plausible culprit, the committee had voted overwhelmingly to retain him, while ordering that Matty be immediately handed over to the police.

  Mr. Scott arrived not long afterward to say that the police had arrived and that the committee had decided that Matty be—his word—detained until the police were ready to speak to her; a footman would watch her. Soyer, Perrin, Morel and Percy all protested, but Matty, looking at no one, rose and said she would like to be on her own and would go and sit in the butler’s room. Mrs. Relph insisted upon accompanying her. The footman was persuaded to stand outside the door. Scott’s good humor was thoroughly repugnant.

  • • •

  IN THE EMPTY SALOON, two constables and a pale, slight man in a gray worsted suit and low-crowned hat looked slightly cowed by their marbled surroundings. Scott began to make introductions. The man in the gray worsted turned. We recognized each other at once.

  “We know each other, Captain Avery and I,” he said. “The surroundings are more salubrious this time,” he added, and gazed up at the Reform’s great glass dome.

  I had no desire to be reacquainted with Sergeant Loin of the Westminster division of the Metropolitan New Police. He was a beady-eyed fellow who had made a good deal of trouble for Blake, though he had at the last behaved decently enough over the Holywell Street murders—and gained a good deal of unearned credit at Blake’s expense. I feared he would see through Blake’s disguise.

  “I hope you do not have any foolish notions about ‘solving’ this matter, Captain Avery. Mr. Blake has a license for such work; you do not.”

  “I have been helping the club in an unofficial capacity,” I said. “But you are out of uniform, and out of your district, too, I think.”

  “Indeed not, sir. The Metropolitan Police are setting up a new Detecting branch for the whole city, and I am one of eight policemen seconded to it. We go about in plain clothes. Such matters are very much my department now. It is you, Captain, who would seem to be in the wrong place. May I ask how it is that you come to be here?”

  “By chance, Monsieur Soyer asked me to dinner on the night that Mr. Rowlands, who later died, was taken ill. We assumed it was cholera, of which I had seen a deal in India, and so, in the absence of a doctor, I stayed to help.”

  “And you are still here.”

  “The club had some doubts about Rowlands’s demise and asked me to look into them. I do not believe there is a law against that.”

  “Then there was another death last night.”

  “And here you are, Sergeant Loin.”

  “And Blake?”

  “Is not here. I called Mr. Wakley, a respected surgeon and coroner, to make an examination of Mr. Addiscomb, the latest victim. He is looking at the body now. He performed a postmortem examination upon Mr. Rowlands two days ago and has the results.”

  Loin was taken aback. “I know about Mr. Wakley. It’s a good thing you called him in, Captain Avery.”

  “Glad to be of service.” I could not restrain a little sarcasm.

  “The body must be removed to the police deadhouse. The secretary—Mr. Scott, was it?—was vague about the whereabouts of Mr. Rowlands’s corpse.”

  “It was taken to his lodgings yesterday. I can furnish you with the address.”

  “Thank you,” said Loin awkwardly. “I believe there is a suspect? A girl?”

  “The girl is not the culprit, just the object of malicious gossip.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, Captain. She’s still here, though, and Mr. Soyer?”

  “She is,” said Scott, “and secured. The captain has a soft spot for her, but we must take precautions.”

  “Secured? She is quite harmless, and certainly not guilty of what you suggest.”

  Loin looked from Scott to me and back. “We will, naturally, be inspecting the club,” he said, “and, in due course, I shall interview the staff and the relevant members.”

  “I believe most of the staff have departed,” said Scott smoothly, “as the club is now closed. But Captain Avery has spoken to everyone in the kitchen. I am sure he will be only too pleased to share his findings with you.”

  “I am sure he will,” said Loin.

  “Now, Sergeant.” Scott’s manner managed to be both grand and obsequious, as if he could not decide whether to placate the policeman or condescend to him. “I do hope we may rely on your discretion? We are very keen that these unpleasant matters do not become common currency beyond the club. As you see, we are doing all we can to remedy the situation, and the club will be closed until we are certain we have scotched the problem.”

  “I’ll do my duty, sir,” Loin said. “I’ve no reason to gossip. But I think you’ll find it hard to keep a lid on this.” Then he said, “Have we met before, Mr. Scott?”

  Scott licked his lips and smiled. “No, indeed. I am sure I should remember.”

  “I shall take a moment with the captain, Mr. Scott,” said Loin. “Then I should appreciate it if you would take me to our victim.”

  He walked over to one of the colonnades and beckoned me to follow.

  “You’ll oblige me by staying put, Captain,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll want to speak to you later.”

  “I have certain errands,” I said coolly, “but I can make myself available.”

  Loin ran his fingers around the brim of his hat. “I heard about Blake,” he said, even more quietly. “Absconding from the Marshalsea is not a common event.”

  “Is that why you asked me if he was here?”

  “I’m sorry for it. My first thought was why would a man as clever as he do such a thing?”

  “Mine, too.”

  “You’ve heard nothing, then?”

  “No. I imagine he has taken a boat some
where. He does not feel bound to England.”

  “No doubt,” he said, nodding vigorously. “Did I mention that the club has asked us to place constables outside the front and back of the club, night and day? It occurred to me you might wish to know.” He coughed.

  • • •

  “LOIN IS HERE.” I told Blake.

  “Of course he is.”

  “I do not joke,” I said. “He is investigating the deaths. If anyone sees through this”—I gestured at his spectacles and mustache—“it will be him. We will have to keep you out of his way.”

  “If I hide, I learn nothing.” He took off the spectacles, rubbed his eyes and yawned. He looked pale and tired.

  “You are not well. You should rest.”

  “Too much smiling, that’s all.”

  I should have liked to have let him sleep, but there was too much to get on with. “What are we to do about Matty?”

  “Not much we can do. Loin’ll question her; the evidence is circumstantial. He’s not a fool.”

  “Surely there is something—Scott is so energetically touting her.”

  “If she’s arrested, the matter is resolved and the club reopens. It suits them all.”

  “Therefore, we must find the true culprit as soon as possible. And then we can recover your name and Collinson will have to relent. Have you drawn any conclusions? I confess I saw no one among the staff of whom I thought, It truly might be you. But there were so many of them, I worry that I did not ask the right questions. Or that they might have lied and I could not have told. But you—you see into people, you know the questions to ask.” I was gabbling.

  “I’m no mind reader, William.”

  “You must have some thoughts? We have questioned over sixty people.”

  “There’s no virtue in rushing if there’s no clear conclusion.”

  “But—”

  “I do not have an answer, William.”

  “No thoughts?”

  Blake rubbed the bridge of his nose then touched the ragged edge of his ear. “Some. No conclusions.” He sighed. “I need to see the kitchen at work. And there’s little prospect of that unless Matty’s arrested. And, William, I’m tired.”

  “We must spread our net wider,” I said excitedly. “Let us look beyond the kitchen. Wakley talked of contamination and adulteration. I myself witnessed two suppliers with good reason to be very angry with Soyer. He sent back their goods and insulted them; both claim he owes them money. There may be others. Mr. Scott mentioned that the kitchen is pressed for money. And there is the matter of whether it is quite honest; I do not think Matty told me everything.”

  “All right.” Blake yawned. “Wakley can take samples of the dried goods. And we’ll visit the kitchen’s chief suppliers.”

  “Then there is the chef Francobaldi. Ude said that envy is the chief sin of the kitchen. Francobaldi has a temper that is quite out of control, and he is consumed with jealousy of Soyer.”

  “So we’ll see Francobaldi.” He suppressed another yawn.

  “He drinks late at the Provence Hotel.”

  “I know the place.”

  “And there are the Russians.”

  “Ah, the Russians.”

  “And the club members. There are those like Beare who seem determined to rid themselves of Soyer. I do not know if it means anything, but the other matter of note is that all the victims were Whigs. Collinson says the relations between the radicals and the Whigs are personal and bitter. I have seen it, too. What if the radicals are determined to bring the place down and split from the Whigs? These deaths certainly threaten a momentous collapse.”

  “Who would do it? From what you say, Molesworth might exploit such a situation, but would he cause it?” He let his eyes shut.

  I hesitated. “I cannot help but feel that Molesworth knows more than he says. I would not put it past him to be part of a plot. And what of Duncombe, who is so pleased that the Chartists are to present a new petition in a month? Such a friend of Rowlands, and sat next to him that night at dinner. He was in the Coffee Room last night, too.

  “And I have,” I said, “a list of those who purchased supper at the club on the night when Cunningham died. Duncombe was there.” And, as I spoke, a vision suddenly appeared in my head of Duncombe chatting with two dull-looking middle-aged men.

  “Good lord! I believe that Duncombe drank a toast with Addiscomb and Rickards at their table last night.”

  “We will visit both Duncombe and Molesworth. When I’ve had a kip.”

  • • •

  IN THE KITCHEN I found Wakley had returned from his examination of Addiscomb and Rickards.

  “Well, this is all most unusual, Captain Avery!” he said, almost enthusiastically. “I have just been informing Mr. Percy that I am all but certain that, just as you suggested, Addiscomb and Rickards were poisoned with strychnine. I think Rickards will live. But two types of poison. Most unusual!”

  Percy, correct as ever, was laboring not to look too put out by Wakley’s keenness, but I could not help noticing he could not stop fussing with his cuffs.

  “Mr. Wakley,” I said, “is it possible that some of the kitchen’s goods might have been contaminated before they arrived here?”

  “Of course it is possible!” he said. “Though, if that were the case, one might have expected more diners to fall ill.”

  “Mr. Percy, may I ask you in confidence whether you have ever discovered adulterated goods here?”

  “Never,” Percy said, a touch overbrightly, “our suppliers’ reputations would not stand it.”

  “I have seen Monsieur Soyer send deliveries back,” I said.

  “Oh, we argue with all the suppliers on occasion—it is understood. It is the way Chef reminds them that he will only take the best. And, in fact, I do recall Cadbury and Pratt of Bond Street once tried to foist bad milk upon us. We never used them again. They were adding far too much boric acid, to make it last longer.”

  “It is an old trick,” said Wakley, sighing. “In my opinion, all boracized milk and cream is dangerous. But thousands disagree. In large quantities, it is, without question, poisonous.”

  “I should like Mr. Wakley to make tests on some of the kitchen’s dried goods and wines. If that is agreeable, Mr. Percy,” I said.

  Wakley said, “I am prepared to do it, but I must make it plain I shall have to make my results available to the police.”

  “I would expect nothing else.”

  “As it happens, in my case I have a number of small receptacles for collecting such things. There will not be enough, but let me give them to you, Captain Avery. You grow into your task.”

  He produced four small, pristine medicine bottles and four new corks tied together to stopper them with. They were pretty little things. I slipped one into my pocket and gave Percy the rest.

  “I cannot imagine it will yield much, gentlemen,” said Percy, “but I’ll happily see to it straightaway.” He disappeared into the butler’s pantry to make up the samples.

  After perhaps half an hour, Mr. Scott and Loin appeared in the kitchens. Introductions were made. Blake had slipped into the butler’s pantry to help Percy fill up jars. I should not have concerned myself about Loin recognizing him. Soyer, emerging from his office with Perrin and Morel, wearing his lavender velvet frock coat, with his cap askew and his dozen rings, provided such a spectacle that Loin barely looked at anyone else.

  “Mr. Wakley has reported his findings to me,” said Loin. “We appear to have two deaths from poison and one man recovering.”

  “I hope he will be reporting them to us, since the club commissioned him,” I said.

  “Is it to you, Sergeant Loin, that we owe poor Mathilde’s current confinement?” Soyer said coldly.

  “I’ve ordered nothing so far, Mr. Soyer,” said Loin, “and I know nothing of the girl, but I sho
uld like to talk to her.”

  “Whatever Mr. Scott has told you,” Soyer said, deliberately ignoring the secretary, “it is quite impossible that Mathilde is the culprit. We, the senior members of the kitchen”—he gestured to Morel, Perrin and Percy—“are all quite persuaded of the fact.”

  “I will have to be the judge of that, sir,” Loin said, “as I told Captain Avery.”

  “The girl has been a great favorite of Monsieur Soyer’s,” Scott said to Loin in a “confidential” voice that we could all hear. “She’s a clever little thing. Too clever, I’d say. Ambitious. Personally, I’ve always found her rather sly.”

  “If she is so clever, Mr. Scott, why would she endanger her position with such an act?” I said.

  Scott pretended to consider. “The lower orders are always hard to fathom. She is a street girl. What do you expect?”

  I believe every man in the room save Loin would happily have knocked him down.

  “Is this some form of revenge, Mr. Scott? She spurned your advances, so now you go after her?” I said.

  “Captain Avery, you go too far,” said Scott, more calmly than I would have expected. “I should watch that mouth of yours. You cannot be unaware of the rumors surrounding yourself and the girl.”

  “How dare you!” I said, my fists twitching.

  “I have some questions for Mr. Soyer,” said Loin hurriedly. “Perhaps we might speak privately?”