The Black Crow Conspiracy

by Christopher Edge

  Penny shook her head, reaching up to the black ceramic bell push, set high on the wall.

  “I think I’ll try the doorbell.”

  In reply, a faint tinkling sound came from within. They waited, Alfie shuffling uncomfortably in his shoes as the seconds ticked by into minutes. The front door remained resolutely shut.

  “Perhaps we should try the tradesmen’s entrance,” Alfie suggested.

  With a nod of agreement, Penny followed him as they retraced their steps. Behind a small gate in the railings, a narrow flight of steps led the way below stairs. Reaching the bottom, Penelope wrinkled her nose in the gloom. To her right, beneath a recessed porch, stood the tradesmen’s entrance, a sign fixed to the black-painted door proclaiming, “No hawkers or pedlars. All deliveries must be made between the hours of 8.00 a.m. and 6.00 p.m.” A strange smell of chemicals hung in the air, the most likely source the four tall dustbins standing in the shadows near the door. Next to these bins, stacks of empty bottles and beakers were arranged with geometrical precision in open wooden cases. Penny’s gaze ranged over the scene, taking this all in with a novelist’s eye. If the radiant boy had come from this place, then the initial evidence seemed to suggest that there might be a scientific explanation for this rather than any supernatural cause.

  As Alfie skulked in the shadows, Penny rang the bell next to the door. The clang of this sounded louder down here, but there still came no answering reply. It looked like the Society for the Advancement of Science had closed for the night.

  “We’ll have to come back during office hours,” Alfie suggested, glancing down at his watch. “There’s bound to be someone here then.”

  Disappointed, Penny looked down again at the map in her hand. Next to each of the ink crosses where she had recorded the sightings, she saw that every single one of these had occurred after dark. A slow smile of realisation crept across her lips. Of course, who had ever heard of a ghost who chose to walk in daylight?

  “I think we should stay.” She glanced around in the gloom, searching for a place where they could hide out of sight. “Let’s wait to see what darkness brings.”

  IX

  Penelope sniffed, a disdainful expression curling her lip. An unsavoury smell was emanating from the depths of the dustbins they were hiding behind, a strange brew of chemicals and decay. Beneath her feet she could feel a sticky residue clinging to the soles of her summer shoes and she tried not to think how much they had cost her from the Regent Street shop only weeks before. Peering past the stacks of wooden crates, she saw the door lay in darkness; still no sign of any shadowy comings or goings. She glanced down at her watch again. It was nearly ten.

  Her thoughts turned to home. If Wigram had returned from the police station, he was sure to be worrying about her whereabouts now. Perhaps it was time to abandon this wild ghost chase and concentrate her energies on pursuing other ways of clearing Monty’s name. With a sigh, she leaned against the wall of the building, almost ready to admit defeat. But then, through the cool brick, she felt a distant shudder, followed by an almost imperceptible whine at the very edge of her hearing.

  Penny turned towards Alfie, her friend still skulking in the shadows.

  “Did you hear that?” she asked.

  Alfie’s stomach rumbled in reply, the mutton pie he had consumed for lunch long forgotten.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, the darkness hiding his blushes. “I’m starving.”

  “I’m not talking about your stomach,” Penny replied, pressing her ear against the wall. “Listen.”

  Alfie strained his ears, slowly nodding his head as he heard the same high-pitched whine.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Penny said, keeping her voice low. “But it’s coming from inside.”

  The two of them stood silent in the gloom, listening intently to try and discern what on earth was making this sound, when suddenly it ceased.

  Alfie glanced towards Penny, her face still hidden in the shadows.

  “If there’s somebody working in there, perhaps we should knock on the door again.”

  He took half a step forward, but then Penny grabbed hold of his arm.

  “Wait,” she hissed, her eyes fixed on the door. “Look.”

  Following her gaze, Alfie froze in fear. In the darkness, the shadows were moving. The door was still closed, but Penelope watched spellbound as a figure dressed in a long dark coat slowly emerged from the gloom. His face was swathed in a muffling scarf, a broad black cap pulled low over his eyes. But between the brim of his cap and the dark material of his scarf, Penny could just see the thin strip of skin around his eyes. It glowed.

  She shrank back into the shadows, her hand clinging to Alfie’s arm as her friend held his breath. With a swift glance around him, the radiant boy began to climb the steps that led to the street above, his footsteps silent against the stone.

  “Shall we follow him?” Alfie whispered, his initial sense of alarm replaced with an eagerness to finally escape from their hiding space.

  Penny was just about to agree to her friend’s suggestion, when another movement in the shadows stilled her lips. From the darkness of the closed door, yet more figures were emerging. They seemed more like shadows than men; black greatcoats trailing through the gloom as each figure climbed towards the darkness of the street. Every face was masked by the same swathes of dark material, the scarves covering their features almost completely. As her heart thumped in her chest, Penny prayed that none of these radiant boys would glance towards the place where they were hiding. She felt Alfie’s hand steal into her own, although whether he was seeking reassurance or trying to give it, she wasn’t quite sure.

  “How many of them are there?” he said, the murmur of his words almost too low to hear.

  As the last of the black-coated figures began to climb the steps, Penelope shook her head in reply. She must have seen more than a dozen of these so-called radiant boys emerge from the darkness, but as she turned again to stare at the door, she saw that it was still firmly shut. Had they just walked straight through it? There was only one way to find out if these were men or ghosts.

  “Come on,” she muttered, squeezing Alfie’s hand. “We have to follow them.”

  The two of them scurried up the steps, Alfie casting a nervous glance back over his shoulder in case any more of these radiant boys emerged from the shadows. As she climbed, Penny’s mind ran through the impossibility of what she had just seen. She had thought that the newspaper reports she had read described the movements of a single man, but this army of ghosts gave a much better explanation for the sightings criss-crossing the city.

  Reaching the pavement, Penny glanced left and then right, her gaze searching the gloom of the street for any sign of the black-coated figures. Along the grand terrace, most of the houses lay in darkness, their shutters drawn against the evening chill, but beneath the shadow of the Duke of York’s statue Penny caught a glimpse of two scurrying figures, their dark coats flapping as they turned to descend the stone steps that led to the Mall.

  “This way,” she whispered, tugging at Alfie’s arm as she followed them in swift pursuit. Reaching the top of the broad stone steps, Penny saw that the shadowy duo were already crossing the Mall, passing beneath the plane trees as they hurried towards the shadows of St James’s Park. The rest of the radiant boys seemed to have disappeared into the night, but Penelope was determined that she wouldn’t let these last two escape from her sight. She hastened down the steps, cursing the inconvenience of her heels as Alfie hurried to keep up.

  Reaching the bottom, Penelope waited for the clattering wheels of a hansom cab to pass before darting across the street. All along the Mall, swathes of bunting festooned with flowers hung from every lamppost, the gaslight throwing into vivid relief the majesty of the decorations. To the south, through the trees, were the towers of Westminster Abbey where King Edward the Seventh would be crowned later that week, whilst looking west lay the stately façade of Buckingham
Palace at the bottom of the Mall. But Penny didn’t pause to take in these sights, her gaze fixed firmly on the dark figures now slipping inside the park.

  “Where are they going now?” Alfie asked breathlessly, peering past Penny as the two of them reached the bounds of St James’s Park. The spiked railings almost reached up to Penelope’s shoulder as she searched in vain for the gap they must have slipped through. By day, St James’s Park was a pleasure garden, filled with trees, shrubberies and ornamental waters, but now it was a wretchedly dark place and Penny tried not to think of the stories her guardian had told her of the thieves and worse who lurked there after nightfall.

  “We have to follow them,” she said, pointing towards the scurrying shadows of the men as they hurried through the park.

  “How?” Alfie replied. “The gates are locked at dusk. I don’t even know how they got over the railings so quickly.”

  Penny glanced over her shoulder, checking that the coast was clear. The Mall was still busy with pedestrians, even at this late hour, but in the shade of the overhanging trees, the two of them could hardly be seen.

  “Quick,” she said, taking hold of the railings. “You’ll have to help me over.”

  Alfie stared back at her in surprise, taking in her attire with a doubtful glance. With her ankle-length skirt and tailor-made jacket, Penny was hardly dressed to start breaking into one of London’s Royal Parks. He was just about to protest when he saw the determined set of her features and realised how useless it would be.

  “Here you are,” he said with a sigh, slipping his jacket from his shoulders to lay it across the spikes at the top. “If I give you a leg-up, you can be over there in a second. I’ll then try to scramble over myself.”

  “Thank you,” Penny replied as Alfie bent down, cradling his hands together so that she could step into them. Taking her weight, Alfie tried not to blush at the sight of Penelope’s well-turned ankle, averting his eyes as she clambered up over the railings. With an unladylike groan of effort, Penny dropped down on the other side of the railings, the shrubbery cushioning her fall.

  “Are you all right?” Alfie asked.

  Penelope got to her feet, brushing stray leaves from her skirt as Alfie scrambled over the railings to join her.

  “I’m fine,” she replied. She turned to look in the direction of the two men, their shadowy figures already skirting the lake as they hurried westwards. “Come on, we have to find out where they’re going.”

  They followed the figures through the darkness of the park, Alfie wincing at the sound of every twig that crunched underfoot. He glanced down at the gold of his watch chain, trying to banish his fearful imaginings of the thieves who might be lurking in the shadows of the shrubbery. The sudden screech of a waterfowl nesting beneath the dripping trees made him jump in alarm.

  Keeping her composure, Penny peered into the gloom. The path the two figures were following was now taking them to the park’s westernmost boundary. Beyond the foliage of trees, the ornate gates of Buckingham Palace could be glimpsed, the grand columns of the royal residence rising up behind them. The night was dark, but the windows of the palace shone with a brilliant radiance. From the pinnacle of its flagpole, the Royal Standard fluttered, proclaiming to all that the King was in residence tonight.

  Desperate not to lose the two figures as they flitted between the trees, Penelope picked her way through the undergrowth, Alfie following close behind. The men were less than twenty feet away now, the glow of the street lamps beyond the park illuminating the glowing-green tint of their skin, which could just be glimpsed between the dark folds of their scarves. As Penny stepped beneath the shade of a scarlet oak, the warning honk of a goose nesting in the undergrowth caused the two men to glance back in their direction.

  Penelope froze. Behind her, she heard Alfie’s muttered curse as the first of the black-coated figures took a step towards the source of the sound. For a second his scarf slipped, causing Penny to silently gasp in surprise. The newspapers had described these mysterious figures as radiant boys, but until this very moment she hadn’t truly realised why.

  The face staring back at them was the face of a boy not much older than Alfie himself. The boy’s features were drawn in a haunted frown, but his skin glowed iridescently as if lit from within. From the darkness of the trees, Penelope prayed that he couldn’t see them.

  The sound of the second man’s voice turned the boy’s gaze back to the palace. Penelope couldn’t make out the words, but the meaning was clear. Pulling the scarf back over his face, the boy followed his companion as they slipped through the park railings without a pause, their shadows scurrying towards the palace.

  “That was close,” Alfie muttered in relief. “But surely they can’t be heading for the palace gates.”

  Shaking her head, Penny hurried to the railings. There was no time now to try and climb over. All she could do was watch as the black-coated figures closed in on the grand edifice. Outside the palace gates, a soldier stood guard outside his sentry box, his scarlet tunic and black bearskin cap illuminated by the light falling from a nearby lamppost. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, unaware of the two shadowy figures now slipping like ghosts through the high, spiked gates.

  Alfie appeared at her shoulder, peering through the park railings to see the figures disappear into the shadows of the palace.

  “What are they doing?”

  Penelope shook her head again. She had no idea. Was this yet another daring theft to add to the haul of the Crown Jewels? Thinking quickly, she glanced again at the guard standing sentry at the gates. If she tried to raise the alarm now, she knew that she wouldn’t be believed. There was no way the soldier would think that thieves could have walked through the gates of the palace without his having seen them. He was more likely to call the police and have her and Alfie arrested for trespassing in the Royal Park. There was only one person who might possibly believe that they had watched the shadowy figures walk through solid iron.

  “We have to tell Inspector Drake what we’ve seen tonight,” she said, staring into the darkness where the radiant boys had disappeared. There was no sign now of any movement in the shadows, but the palace windows still shone brightly. If by any miracle they had found their way inside, then they would soon be discovered. “Surely this will clear Monty’s name.”

  X

  Drake leaned across the table, fixing Monty with an intimidating stare.

  “I am losing my patience, Mr Flinch. It has been a long night and your lack of cooperation is proving to be an irritation.” He glanced at the burly figure of the police constable hovering over his shoulder in the cramped interrogation room. “I hope it won’t be necessary for me to ask Constable Taylor here to loosen your tongue.”

  Monty shrank back in his chair. The actor’s face was drawn, dark circles inked beneath his eyes whilst his features bristled with the beginnings of a beard. Next to him, Mr Wigram blinked hard and then frowned.

  “And I do hope you are not threatening my client, Inspector Drake. It is enough of a scandal that you have held him here for so long without a single shred of evidence.”

  Drake eyed the figure of the elderly lawyer with disdain.

  “The gravity of the situation demands that I take every appropriate action to find out the truth. May I remind you that the charge of treason is a capital crime. As for evidence, I have Montgomery Flinch’s own confession printed in the pages of The Penny Dreadful, whereas your client has been unable to even provide me with an alibi for the night of the tenth of May.”

  “I told you,” Monty protested, his eyes wild with a look of injured innocence. “I spent the evening at a tavern in Soho.”

  Drake sneered at his reply.

  “But you appear to have indulged too heavily to remember exactly which one. My men have visited every public house in the area, but not one of the landlords and barmaids we have questioned recollect seeing Montgomery Flinch on the night in question.”

  Beside Monty, Wigram let out an exasp
erated sigh. His prediction that Monty’s drinking would end in The Penny Dreadful’s ruin seemed to be coming true in a most unexpected fashion.

  “And that’s not all,” Drake continued. “As a matter of fact, our investigations are finding the identity of Montgomery Flinch to be as much of a mystery as his whereabouts on the night of the tenth of May. No birth certificate, no mention of his name in parish records or census returns – in fact, the first time the name of Montgomery Flinch appears in print is in the pages of The Penny Dreadful in 1899. A mere three years ago.”

  As Monty shrank further into his seat, Wigram began to stutter out an explanation, the lawyer’s own face now pale.

  “Records can be lost,” he began. “Last winter, at the offices of The Penny Dreadful, we had the misfortune of losing many of Mr Flinch’s personal documents when our printer’s assistant mistook them for kindling for the fire.”

  “A likely story,” Drake snapped in reply. “Until I hear a cast-iron alibi and see proof of Montgomery Flinch’s identity, then I am keeping your client here, Mr Wigram, on the authority of the Crown no less. Must I remind you that these are dangerous times – there are whispers of war from overseas and rumours of foreign agents on the prowl. For all I know, Montgomery Flinch might be a spy whose plot is to disrupt the coronation itself.”

  He turned his accusatory stare back towards Monty, the dishevelled actor blanching under its glare.

  “Wosind die Kronjuwelen, Herr Flinch?”

  Monty stared back blankly at the detective before bursting into tears.

  “I don’t know what you mean!” he wailed. “Why do you insist on torturing me like this?”

  Inspector Drake held his gaze, his face intent as he inspected Monty’s anguished expression.

  “Oh, you’re good, Mr Flinch,” he said finally. “I have to give you that. Keeping up this pretence of cowardice and ignorance even though all of London knows that your intricate tales of terror make lesser minds quail.”