That was it, I had waited long enough, it was time to see Sir Magnus.
23. Flesh and blood
When I arrived at Sir Magnus’s home I instantly knew something was wrong. It was another dark and gloomy day, but despite the weather and lack of light, I could see no glow of a cheery lamp and no puff of warming fire smoke coming from the chimneys. As I approached the front door I was shocked to find it ajar. My heart was beating furiously. What if the Raja had forced his way in here too? What if he was inside that very moment? There was nothing for it. I had the element of surprise on my side, if I was to defeat any attackers I would have to burst in right away. I steadied myself before diving through the doorway.
It was dark inside. Dark and quiet. The only sound was that of a ticking clock. Where were the domestic servants? This was most strange.
I was just about to move further inside when I heard the creak of a floorboard behind me. Before I could spin round I felt something cold and hard jab in my back.
“I wouldn’t move any further if I were you, old love,” said a leering voice from over my shoulder. “Not unless you want me to bust a hole in your back with my pistol.” It was that fiend, Vaughan Grey. I knew he had something to do with the criminals.
“You blackguard,” I spat. “How much are they paying you, you wretched traitor.” I was seething with anger. I went to turn, but he jabbed his pistol further into my spine.
“Me, the blackguard?” he chuckled, quite pleasantly. “I think we all know who the real traitor is, Harker. Don’t we, old boy? Now, come, come, you’ve some explaining to do, to Sir Magnus. He said you would be paying us a visit this morning, well he‘s waiting for you in the study.”
There seemed no use in resisting. I had very few options for escape, and more to the point I was keen to find out just what the blast was going on.
Walking into the study I saw Sir Magnus sitting behind his desk just as when we’d first met, but this time his face was far more sombre. There was no friendly offer of coffee. His eyes were like ice, and I felt them piercing my very soul. I went to sit down in the chair opposite, but as I did Grey kicked it away. I fell to my knees and the devil grabbed me by my hair and dragged my face up to look at Sir Magnus. At the same time he shoved the gun viciously into the small of my back. I was a fag paper away from striking him down, but Clayton spoke.
“Where is she?” he said quite calmly.
“What the blast is this all about, Sir Magnus? What the blast has this scoundrel Grey told you?” I barked back at him.
“I will ask you one more time nicely, Mr Harker,” he said ignoring my question. “Where is she?”
“I really don’t know what you are talking about, sir,” I said calmly. But I should have taken more care, because within seconds Sir Magnus rushed around the desk, eyes ablaze and fire in his heart. I felt the back of his hand strike me across the face. He bent down to my level, his eyes staring wildly, his face flushed crimson, veins pumping in his temples, a completely changed man.
“My daughter, Mr Harker. My daughter, Louisa, of whom you are so very fond. My daughter who was with you yesterday evening. She has been taken!”
“But, I don’t understand,” I mumbled feebly, my mind racing and trying to take in what he had just told me. Louisa had been taken. “Sir Magnus, surely you do not think it was me? You know I would never do a thing to hurt a hair on Louisa’s head. Please tell me you don’t really believe I had a hand in it?”
I could see his eyes searching my face for anger, and as he did I saw the fire slowly ebb out of them. He put both of his hands on my shoulders and bowed his head. I heard a brief, quiet sob and a sniffle before he drew himself up and reached out a hand to me. He nodded to Grey to let me go. I stood up, dusting off my lapels. I flashed Grey a wicked look and picked up the chair to take a seat. Sir Magnus returned to his side of the desk and sat with his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry, Peregrine,” he said falteringly. “I’m sorry, honestly I didn’t think you had anything to do with it but I had to be sure. You see, I love her so, and she’s my only flesh and blood.”
Sir Magnus composed himself a little before sitting up in his chair. His business face returned.
“The facts are these, Harker. This morning I was awoken in the early hours by a banging and clattering. Fearing it was one of the Black Death trying to break in I rushed to the window of my bedroom, where I spied you in the street. I have to say that terrified me more than the thought of an intruder. I knew something must have been terribly wrong for you to be lurking near my house. Rushing downstairs I was baffled to find my daughter sneaking through the front door. She seemed rather startled to see me, and when I began quizzing her we fell into an argument. The only sense I could get from the girl was that she had been with you all evening engaged in some risky situation. No matter how hard I tried to shake the truth from my daughter, she would not yield. And so I did what all good fathers would do and sent her to her room. I decided to forget about the matter until the morning and went back to sleep. But things were about to take a cruel turn for the worst.
“As you know, Mr Harker, my housekeeper Mrs Herrick sounds the gong for breakfast at 7 a.m. each morning. Well, when the gong was sounded this morning there was no sign of Louisa. Thinking the girl was still angry and perhaps had confined herself to her bed I climbed to her room and tapped on the door, but there was no reply. I tapped again, nothing. I waited a little and decided I would enter anyway. I tried the door and luckily it was unlocked, but what met me on the other side was not lucky at all. The room had been turned upside down, Louisa’s belongings were strewn all over the place and she was nowhere to be seen. What’s more her bedroom window had been smashed. I cannot think how I did not hear it,” he said, becoming emotional again. “Now here comes the most tragic part. Among all the debris in Louisa’s room we found this note, a ransom note.” At this he fished a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it across the table.
The first thing I noticed was that it was written on similar paper, and in a similar style, to the notes found on the bodies of Khan and Melk. The handwriting also bore more than a passing resemblance to the note found in my pocket after I had been attacked outside the Oriental Club. And, as I had suspected, there was that ever familiar mark. A triangle set inside a circle, set inside a square. So it was linked with this mystery smuggling gang. I read the text, it said:
“£50,000 or the girl gets it. You have one week. RC of the Black Death.”
“We have no idea who or what this mystery RC is,” said Sir Magnus, interrupting my study of the ransom note. “I have no employees with those initials, or any family members or friends.”
I pondered the initials. For some reason they seemed familiar. There was something at the back of my mind I could not quite grasp. Why were those initials important? Then it hit me. The Raja Ranjan Charan. The man who had been most likely responsible for my beating outside the Oriental Club, the man who had overturned my room the evening before, his initials were RC. I told Sir Magnus and informed him of seeing the blighter the previous evening and my ordeal with the snake. The news riled him greatly.
“I thought that dastardly Raja had something to do with this sorry tale. No doubt he is involved with the smuggling at the Indian end of affairs. But it is not India that should concern you, Mr Harker, rather France. Read the address below the message.”
Underneath the initials was indeed a French address.
“Mr Grey here has checked the details. It is an address for a residence in Paris. I intend to pay the money in full.”
“Surely not, sir,” I replied. “Surely now is the time to contact the authorities or to hunt down this Raja fellow. There must be a way to save Louisa without giving these villains a penny. Has Mr Woolfe no suggestions? I thought he was your trouble fixer?”
“Ah,” replied Clayton, “there you touch upon another matter. Mr Woolfe has disappeared.”
The words hung in the air like a dead weight.
If only I had heeded Archie’s misgivings about Mr Woolfe and warned Sir Magnus.
“It seems I misplaced my trust in that old brigand,” Sir Magnus continued. “I suspect he has been against me for some time, a traitor in the very midst of my family home. It is my belief that when you reach Paris you will find he has something to do with this horrible matter.”
“When I reach Paris, sir?” I replied, a little shocked.
“Yes, Mr Harker, when you reach Paris. You see, Mr Woolfe is missing. I plan to set Mr Grey here on his trail and I cannot very well go traipsing off to the continent. So you will have to go. I have made the necessary reservations. You sail from Dover on the evening tide.”
24. A sense of dread
A few days later I was sipping an extremely bitter coffee in a small Parisian café near the Jardin des Tuileries. I had taken rooms at the Hotel Regal on the Place des Pyramides, very near to the Rue de Rivoli. It was a fairly new hotel, and with five stories of rooms. I could remain fairly anonymous. It suited my needs perfectly. Sir Magnus had arranged my accommodation and my travel, as well as handing me a rather sizeable wedge of bank notes to pay for Louisa’s release.
The address supplied by the dastardly Raja was fairly close to my new residence, in a town house between the hotel and the entrance to the Louvre. I’d been keeping a watch on the house from the café where I was enjoying my bitter coffee, but I’d not seen a sign of anyone for days. The curtains had been drawn, and no lights had been lit. I had hoped to have discovered some clue to assist me in avoiding paying the money in any way possible. Perhaps I had been reading too many Penny Dreadfuls again but, sitting there in Paris, with some of Clayton’s considerable wealth in my possession, the idea of rescuing Louisa, solving the mystery and getting away scot free, seemed entirely possible. To say I was frustrated at the lack of action was most certainly an understatement. I finished my coffee and slapped a handful of centimes on the table. The cheerful café attendant, with his starched white apron and rolled up cotton sleeves, smiled his thanks as I left. There was nothing for it. I would have to take a closer look at the house where the ransom was to be paid.
I crossed the street and loitered a little outside the house, pretending to tie a shoelace. A violet seller wandered past hawking his wares, the fragrant smell of his produce drifted across the pavement and lingered in my nostrils. Across the street a group of children were surrounding an Italian hurdy-gurdy man, his organ wheezing away while a small brown monkey with a tasselled red pill-box hat jumped from shoulder to shoulder with a begging bowl.
Looking up briefly I took a quick peek through the lower windows in front of me. Behind the glass there were bars. There would be no chance of breaking and entering the premises from the street. The front door seemed pretty solid as well. I took a glance around as I stood up. An old crone with unkempt grey locks and her bare feet rammed into a pair of clogs ambled past muttering to herself and eyeing me suspiciously.
I realised that even if there was access from the street I would more than likely be in full view of the villains holding Louisa. A look at the rear of the property was required. I eventually found an alleyway that took me to the back of the house, and there I found what I was looking for. Nearly all of the main windows on the back wall were barred, apart from one small one, just above head height. I would surely fit through at a squeeze. I quickly tested the window frame, what a spot of luck, it had started to rot and would come away quite easily.
Later that evening I found myself leaving my hotel discreetly by a back door dressed in dark clothes, wearing soft-soled shoes, a black beret and carrying a carpet bag with all the necessary tools for the night’s work. I slipped through the darkened streets, occasionally taking shelter in a doorway, or behind a tree to check I was not being followed. At one point I thought the game was up, as I sloped past two baton-wielding policemen, but they were busy with a group of drunken navvies across the street. It didn’t take me long to reach the house. As soon as I did I dashed into the alleyway and found the window I’d discovered earlier. I noticed there didn’t appear to be any lights inside the residence, perfect.
I had taken it on myself to bring a few toys with me to Paris that might assist with entering a property discreetly. Setting my carpet bag on the floor and opening it I rummaged around for a chisel, and then proceeded to loosen the pane of glass in the rotting window frame. When it had become quite loose, I took some putty from my bag and moulded it into a ball, before fixing it to the glass to obtain some purchase on the window pane. A little extra work and it was free.
I paused, listening to see if I’d been discovered. Apart from the odd cry of a street seller, or drunken song, there was silence. I removed the glass and set it down gently by my feet. With a quick bit of gymnastic agility I was up and inside, my bag at hand. I landed on what felt like a thick carpet, and crouched as I took in my surroundings. I was in a dark corridor, I waited, half expecting to be caught, but the house was still and I could hear no movement. Perhaps the mysterious captors were asleep? It would certainly be easier for me if they were.
I crept forwards towards a large staircase. I tested the first step gingerly to check for creaks. It was solid. I climbed to the first landing. I checked each of the four rooms in front of me, but each was empty. By empty, I mean it was completely empty, absolutely no furniture, and absolutely no furnishings. Something felt very wrong. Suddenly, in that dark lonely house, a sense of dread rushed over me. What if they had gone? What if they had left, and taken all trace of Louisa with them? How the devil would I find her then?
I suddenly panicked and ran back to the landing and up the next flight of stairs. The top floor of the property was just the same. Four empty rooms, all without decoration. Did Clayton have his facts wrong? Or had the Black Death caught wind of me in Paris and decided to flee to save their own skins? It was as I was pondering this I heard a loud crash, and the smash of glass from downstairs. I rushed to the landing and could see the faint flicker of candle light moving two floors below. I ran towards one of the front windows and saw quite a sight in the street. The house was surrounded by police constables, each one carrying a lit torch. I ran out of the room and into one overlooking the back of the house. That too was covered by the long arm of the French law. What did the Parisian police want with me? What were they doing on my trail? I decided I’d rather answer those questions in my own time, and not at the choosing of a crowd of policemen.
There must be another way out. I looked round each of the rooms, desperately trying to find an escape route. Meanwhile I could hear the police had made it to the floor below, and were searching there. With the empty rooms it would not take them long.
I’m not a religious person but at that moment I looked up to God in despair, and it was lucky I did, for instead of seeing a sign of divine intervention I saw a hatch leading to an attic space. Within moments I was up and through, my carpet bag under my arm. I just had time to pull the hatch shut before I heard the constables blunder into the room below.
I let slip a wry smile, for I’d been presented with a second stroke of luck. I realised the attics of all the town houses in the street were joined together as one shared space. The attic ran like a long hall. With a hop, skip, and jump, I was across the beams that held the plaster ceilings of these solid houses together. I must have crossed at least four homes before I found another hatch. Very carefully I lifted the wooden flap and peered downwards. Damn, I could see an old man asleep in his bed below me. I closed the hatch gently and pondered my options for a second, but there was nothing for it, I would simply have to make good my escape without waking up the old duffer.
I lifted the hatch again and slowly lowered myself into the room. There was a drop of a foot or so to the floor, but with my soft-soled pumps I landed quite silently. I paused to check I’d not woken the slumbering old fool. He was still sleeping, as soundly as a baby. I tip-toed from his room and out on to the landing. Thankfully the layout of the house was much the same as the one
I’d just escaped from. I went down the first flight of stairs without incident. But it was as I was going down the second flight of stairs I came across a creaky step. I brought my foot down gently on the next step, but the same happened again. Damn, it was sure to wake the very dead, let alone the nearly dead in the room above.
I decided speed was the best course of action and vaulted down the remaining stairs before heading towards the back of the house to find a rear exit. After going through a breakfast room I found my way to a kitchen. There were no windows at head height, but there was a row of small openings towards the ceiling, to let in some natural light. There was no chance I would be able to slip through them, they were far too small. There must be another way. And then I remembered, earlier in the day when I had been inspecting the rear entrance to the house I had noticed a series of grills on the street floor at the front of the building. They must have been ventilation for an underground level, perhaps a cellar? Yes there must be an entrance somewhere. It was then I noticed there was a smaller door in the corner of the kitchen, could that be it?
I went to open it, but it was locked. I needed to see inside, it could lead to my salvation. There was nothing for it, I would have to barge it down. I took a few steps backwards and threw my shoulder at the door. Luckily I grabbed hold of the handle as I did, for the force of the shunt could easily have thrown me down the stone stairway on the other side. Even as I was making my way down the steps I could hear movement from above. The crash must have woken the old man. There was no time to lose.
Peregrine Harker & the Black Death Page 9