An Unkindness of Ravens

by S. E. Smith

  “I take it you want my men to find out if Kerzenende and Baker are the same person?” he asked briskly.

  We nodded. Not that CC noticed, he was too busy pursuing his own agenda.

  “Mind you, I have to warn you, it’s not going to be a simple task ... Still, Barker needs the exercise.” CC looked at us, “You do know you could have telephoned the Yard, Symington. You didn’t need to involve the prime minister.”

  Emily and I exchanged a worried smile. On seeing it, CC’s whole demeanour changed again. “Oh God Almighty!” He propelled himself to the edge of the sofa - avoiding the cushions as though they were daggers. “What the bloody hell have you done now? Don’t tell me... she’s....” Words failing him, CC’s anger and distrust resurfaced with all the speed of a salmon surging to its breeding ground.

  Emily stood as Sampson, wrong in his suppositions and determined to give us privacy, went to pick up my empty glass. “Please stay, Mr Sampson. I’ll take these out to Danny.”

  My sober-faced, stone-faced, long-faced valet raised a disapproving eyebrow. “Miss Davies ...?”

  “The earl needs your help now, not mine.”

  “It’s not proper, you should be together at a time like this.”

  Emily’s eyes lost their amusement and became mirrors of her soul. It was an unnerving thing to see, and one I decided I didn’t like. It was too candid. “What’s the point in being proper, Mr Sampson? Give me honesty any day. Besides what the earl needs to discuss with his cousin is not about us, it’s about the case.”

  My valet’s spine straightened at her words, and he subjected Emily to a hard, assessing stare. She met it unflinchingly. Did not turn away.

  Sampson blinked slowly, reminding me of an owl in the sunshine. “Very well, Miss Emily. Just this once.”

  I let CC direct the pace of the conversation. It was the least I could do, given all the chaos I caused.

  “Violet’s pregnant,” he said, confirming the suspicions I’d harboured back in my Mayfair days.

  Sampson’s hands clenched together in a prayer. The only sign of his discomfort.

  “When’s it due?”

  “June. Maybe July.” He blew his nose. “Which means there’s nothing I can do about the situation. The baby could be mine.”

  I sighed. CC sighed. Sampson’s hands opened. And as they did so, I fancied I saw escaping wishes. What my cousin wished for, I didn’t know. I hoped, like me, he wished for end to the farce that was his marriage. I think, for all his bells and smells, Sampson longed the same. But I’d never ask, and he’d never tell. I put my hand on CC’s knee. It was the only gesture of support he would accept.

  Talk ranged further afield for a while. The prime minister’s health; the King’s anxiety. Was I enjoying life now I’d escaped Gold’s ever brooding presence? I grinned on the inside and let my feet dance, knowing full well that this concern for my well-being, was the real reason CC complied with Salisbury’s request to darken my door.

  “My sojourn here is coming to an end, CC.” I said evenly.

  Red rag to the bull and he went on the attack. “That didn’t take long! But to wait until you’re in this place to dump her! Really Symington, the girl deserves better than you.”

  Sampson’s nose wrinkled in response to my cousin’s blunt turn of phrase though I could see he agreed with the sentiment.

  Needing to act quickly, I disabused him of his fear that I was more of a cad than ever by finally explaining why I moved in with Emily. That done, I returned to the second case ...

  “And while we don’t know who exactly killed the ravens in the photo, we suspect he’s Mary Bell’s brother.” I concluded.CC raised a quizzical eyebrow, so I handed him the picture and directed him to her location in the shot. “She’s the third girl. The one that doesn’t look happy.”

  He studied her carefully. “I see. Go on.”

  I took a deep breath, “I need you to do something for me.”

  My cousin grinned with happiness. “Ask away. Ask away! I’ll put Barker onto finding out who the brother is, as well as checking if there’s a link between this Kerzenende and Baker.” I was back in the fold, though I doubted it would last. My next words would end such camaraderie immediately.

  I took a deep breath and having swatted a scorpion into the long grass of memory, committed myself to speech. “It’s not Barker who needs to help us out: it’s Lamb.”

  The grin became a grimace of confusion. His eyes parroted the incredulity of his mouth. Have I heard you right... Lamb?”

  I hesitated. CC trusted his men so completely that to ask him to do this; to cast aspersions upon his oldest and most trusted aide was tantamount to committing treason. I pulled my knuckles across my lips as I chose my words with care. “Lamb’s not telling us something,” I admitted.

  The absence of noise sucked at my eardrum, paining me beyond reason and silencing the scorpions that circled the periphery of my thoughts.

  “Is this one of her fancies?” He jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen.

  Lids still closed, I shook my head. “No. It’s one of mine.”

  His eyes closed in on themselves as his face and fists scrunched with anger. I could tell my cousin was failing to hold on to his temper, but even I was taken aback by the ferocity of his next words. “I’ll retire the old bugger permanently if he’s compromised this investigation. I’ll twist the knife through his lying stomach myself.”

  “Come, come CC! That’s more my kind of theatrics than yours!” Attempting to lighten the mood, I held up my hand to stay him. “And Lamb’s not compromised the investigation. He’s just not told us everything he knows. Either because he’s scared or because he doesn’t realise he holds the solution to the conundrum. Or because he hasn’t found the right moment.”

  Gradually, as he contemplated my words, CC’s face righted itself and a hand went for his handkerchief. He held it for a while, twisting it between his hands; and for a fanciful moment, I believed the scrap of linen to be a metaphor for Lamb’s head. However, following a determined shake of his head, my cousin smoothed out handkerchief; raised it to his nose and blew loudly. “Go on.”

  I smiled my relief. “We know Lamb worked the Bravo case. We know in his younger day he had a roving eye. What if he got friendly with a girl he met during his investigations? What if they died a similar death to Langley and the rest? I might have been on the other side of the door and unable to see his face, but Lamb reacted very badly to Langley’s crime scene if you recall?”

  My cousin considered my words carefully before saying: “Yes. But not at first. To start with he was stoic. Calmer than the rest of us. Lamb only lost it after you mentioned the possibility of the poison being in the heartburn medicine.” He lost himself in further memories. “Though... if I’m being honest, Symington, Lamb’s been acting strange ever since Gold mentioned Kerzenende.”

  “Has he? That’s interesting. I wonder why?”

  We were finalising plans to beard the lion that was Lamb in his den at Scotland Yard, when Emily returned and, out of courtesy, CC extended an invitation to join us.

  To my dying day I’ll never forget her reaction. The sharp intake of breath; the horrified, half comical air that followed in its wake. But she composed herself quickly and her reply was priceless.

  “Oh la! Sir! I’m a goo’ girl I is. An’ if you fine gents want to play wiv your cuffs and your chains. If you want to put your sticks about; then I is sorry. But whips and chains ain’t my fing!”

  I laughed and expected the world to laugh with me, but to my surprise, CC coloured brighter than a beetroot. Starting somewhere below his collar his blush engulfed a face already sporting bulging eyes and flapping gills, and he gave a garbled, half strangled protest of innocence before gathering she joshed him.

  But the point was made. Emily would never enter CC’s world. The risk to her and her uncle’s organisation was far, far too great.

  Wednesday 5th June.

  They greeted me like a
conquering hero returning from the Peloponnesian War. Libations of coffee were offered, tributes of cake proffered. I was glad-handed by Barker, and slapped on the back by an unsuspecting Lamb, before being led to CC’s inner sanctum where my bubble was burst by a brusque: “So she was right! You’re alone.”

  Unwilling to relinquish my godhead status, I placed myself in the most-comfy chair and waved regally as my cousin called for and sat, his staff, each to their degree.

  Barker – as was his wont – wore an expression of bemusement. But it was not his face that interested me. It was Lamb’s. And my cousin was correct, Lamb wasn’t as calm as he attempted to be.

  “Lamb, would you say you have a good marriage?” I asked, once my coffee cup was empty.

  The worthy sergeant started and turned to CC for guidance.

  “Answer the question, Sergeant.”

  Still nervous, Lamb prevaricated. “Yes. I suppose so, my lord. Why?”

  “Never a bad word, a sad sigh, a desire to play away? A dinner found in the dog?”

  Lamb rubbed his upper arm. “Wouldn’t say no. Been married too long.”

  “When was the last time?”

  He squirmed and scraped his upper arm furiously. “Not for a long time.”

  “How long, Sergeant?” CC demanded with increasing belligerence. “Five years? Ten? Twenty?”

  But Lamb didn’t answer him because at exactly the same moment I asked a more important question. “Tell me about Mary Bell. She was the young lady you went to visit at the cemetery, wasn’t she?”

  Lamb tried evasion. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Told Sir Charles everything about Miss Bell the moment I remembered.”

  “No, you didn’t. You gave him the bare-bones when Barker caught you out in a lie.” I paused to acknowledge Barker’s furious nodding. “And you didn’t tell him it was Mary Bell’s grave you visited that day you and my cousin questioned Langley. You told him the person you visited died before you joined the force.” I smiled as Lamb shrank into himself. “Implied she died of natural causes. But she didn’t, did she Sergeant?”

  “Tell the truth and shame the devil,” CC played good cop, while I went for the jugular.

  “Mrs L didn’t know about her, did she, Lamb?”

  Gone was the prevarication and evasion. In its place was a strange mix of pleading pugnaciousness. A sharp tone coming out of a suddenly weary mouth. “No. And I’d rather it stayed that way.”

  CC looked as mutinous as a man’s whose natural sympathies lay with the injured party would. “How could you Aubrey Lamb?” he snarled. “Your wife’s a lovely lady, she doesn’t deserve it.”

  Lamb’s face begged to differ, and I decided to change the subject before the two men came to blows.

  “How did you meet?” A simple question which was answered readily enough.

  “I had to question her during the Bravo case. Pretty little thing; slight and fey on the surface. As strong as an ox in reality. Or so I thought.” Lamb smiled tremulously and paused to collate memories. “It didn’t get serious. Oh, I wanted it to. But Mary kept me dangling.”

  “Why? Because she found out you were married?”

  “No, my lord. That didn’t bother her. She was more worried what her brother would do to me if he found out. Possessive sort. Used his fists on more than one occasion when previous beaus got too friendly for his liking.”

  I whistled as he confirmed my suspicions that the killer of the ravens was a man seeking revenge.

  “Mary’s brother worked for the captain of the Oceanic after she transferred to the San Francisco route, so we knew we only had to wait a few months for everything to be fine. With the cat gone the mice could play. If you get my drift.”

  “But that didn’t happen?” I queried.

  “No. When Mrs L. told me she was pregnant, with our youngest, I didn’t think it was right to continue my pursuit. I wish I had done. Or that Mrs Bravo would’ve let her go without working her notice.” To my absolute horror, a single tear traced its way down Lamb’s weathered cheek.

  “You’re going to need to explain that in a bit more detail, Lamb.” CC said with a gentleness that surprised me given the storm clouds massing in his eyes.

  Lamb nodded and took a deep, calming breath. “Her brother managed to get Mary a position on the Oceanic, sir. Trouble was, Mrs Bravo was most insistent that Mary work the full thirty days and, as the ship set sail earlier than that, her brother had to leave her behind.”

  Lamb stopped, took out a grubby linen cloth from one of his pockets and scrubbed his face. “I’d given her my number at the station and told her she could call me whenever she wanted. She didn’t, of course. As I said she was a pretty thing and I just assumed she caught someone-else’s eye. Someone without... baggage.”

  I nodded to show I understood. CC’s appearance remained thunderous, but he kept quiet.

  “Couple of months passed,” Lamb continued, “and I got this call.” He wiped his face again. “Mary was crying; she was desperate. Hysterical even. Kept going on about Robert Langley being a bastard.” Lamb smiled grimly. “They’d gone out; one of Lil’s little parties, she said... and Langley took things further than Mary wanted. When the inevitable happened, he refused to stand by her.”

  “What did she do?”

  Lamb took another steadying breath. “Petrified her brother would find out, she got hold of some antimony, somehow, and made up a tonic. I don’t know if she intended to kill herself or thought to purge the baby. Who knows? By the time I got to her rented room she was dead.”

  CC put his pen down and stared into the middle distance. Something in Lamb’s tale bothered my cousin. It bothered me too. “Why didn’t you tell me all this earlier?” he said.

  Lamb stared at him for a moment, considering both the question and the ramifications of his answer. “I didn’t make the connection. Not to Mary. Not until we found who we thought was Gordon Langley.”

  “And I came along like a bad penny and told you to search for a bottle of heartburn medicine?”

  Lamb nodded.

  I paused, but before I had time to formulate my next question, CC was in with one of his own. “You put your resignation in the next day, Lamb,” he said quietly, “why was that?”

  “I got home to find a letter waiting for me.” Lamb’s voice cracked. His eyes widened in alarm.

  I felt my face become a mirror of CC’s dumbfounded features. Lamb was never frightened. He’d walked the streets during Jack’s time and never baulked. Never showed fear... until now. He was no longer nervous. He was terrified.

  “Well?”

  Instead of answering, Lamb pulled at the top pocket of his uniform and pulled out his notebook. Opening it, he retrieved a manila envelope. “Kept it with me. Didn’t want the wife finding out.”

  He handed it to CC, who read quickly and handed it to Barker - who whistled his shock. I did much the same when it came to me.

  You’re next. You know too much.

  “Not much use,” Barker said as I turned the paper over and over in my hands.

  “You would think so, Constable, you would think so. But thinking is for fools. Observation is everything. Notice this is handwritten, a precise ... perhaps too precise script.” I looked at the redoubtable Lamb. “Two questions. Did you ever take advantage ... force Mary to do anything she didn’t want to do?”

  His reply was in his abhorrent expression, but he trebled the truth with a vigorous shaking of his head and a vehement: “No!”

  “Did you ever meet her brother?”

  He shook his head. “We wrote to each other a couple of times. Polite stuff, like you do when someone’s lost family.”

  “Handwritten?”

  “No, my lord. We both used typewriters. I used the work one. Didn’t want the wife finding out. You see, I promised her after the birth of our Heather that those days were behind me ...” Lamb rubbed at his upper arm and looked hunted. “It’s the brother, I know it, and now he’s blaming me for n
ot doing anything.” The older man became thoughtful. “I might still have the letters. Want me to see?”

  I shook my head before CC could say anything. “Thank you, Lamb. But no.”

  “If that’ll be all, sir? my lord?” Lamb stood. He looked shaky around the edges, but somehow more at peace than he’d done for some considerable time. And I was about to shatter that harmony.

  “Lamb? There’s just one little problem to this neat little scenario you have going here ... Why would her brother stop using a typewriter?”

  He paused, hand outstretched towards the door handle and the safety of his desk. “I don’t ...” Lamb’s eyebrows crossed in confusion, his arm shook slightly as the enormity of my question sunk in.

  And in that moment CC pounced. “Lamb as we’re confessing things, you never did tell me about the employer of Billy Pearce. The lad Gold said was used as a punching bag. The lad who had his throat cut in 88.”

  The transformation was remarkable. Life draining fear robbed Lamb of all colour, leaving him a pale imitation of himself. He grabbed onto the nearest solid object for support. It didn’t help. If anything, the chair became an extension of his disquiet.

  “But ... his name wasn’t Kerzenende, was it, Lamb?”

  He shook his head. “No... It was Baker...”

  Lamb Remembers. Thorpe-le-Soken, November 1888.

  Lifting my hand to the doctor’s knocker, I gave it a sharp knock before surveying my surroundings. Pleasantly rural, a mix of shops and houses stretching off from a single road that lead directly to the church. Sunlight kissed the rooftops and birds fought for dominance as they sang their way through the day. Not quite chocolate box beautiful, but somewhere I could bring the missus when I had leave.

  The Whitechapel murders brought me, otherwise I wouldn’t have found myself in the little Essex town. A few loose ends needed clearing up and it was muggins here who drew the short straw to interview Doctor Gull. I’d asked why the task had fallen to me, only to be reminded – quite brutally – that I was the only one who knew what the quack looked like.