Lawless and the Devil of Euston Square

by William Sutton

  I slammed my palms on the table so hard I upset the teapot. I had omitted to mention the notebook inscribed with meticulous cipher, and the secret writing that Madame Skelton spoke of.

  “I knew it.” She scrabbled around in her bag and passed me a book, marked with a bookmark. She drummed her fingers on the table. “I took out the Everyman Shakespeare just in case. See how he’s marked passages? That’s in Julius Caesar.”

  I stared at the margins filled with pencil lines. “That’s the same hand, no doubt about it. What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know. But I’ll have a stab at finding out.” She knitted her brows. “I’ll go back and copy across all I can find.”

  “Sounds a deal of work.”

  She shrugged. “No point in trying to crack a code without being thorough. All you need is one tell-tale passage. Translating a single sentence might be enough to match his code with the alphabet, although he may use encipherment beyond that.”

  “Is he still taking out books?”

  “He has one outstanding item: a translation of the Indian epic, the Ramayana, a tale of princes chasing fabulous maidens.” She made a face, perhaps in disdain of such tales, and of such maidens, or perhaps in envy of them. She put down her teacup with an air of finality and raised an eyebrow. “So. Are you pleased with the efforts of your industrious assistant?”

  “I am.” I bowed my head under her scrutiny. “Sorry I’ve been out of touch.”

  “You’re looking the worse for wear.”

  “Close brush with a different kind of fever.” I did not explain the severity of my illness. Instead I pooh-poohed her attentions, and related Hester’s comment that I needed looking after.

  “Applying for the job, was she?” Miss Villiers replied, rather sharply. We got up in a disjointed mood and took our leave of each other.

  * * *

  Hurrying back from meeting Miss Villiers, I heard Wardle’s voice raised from down the corridor. I hesitated at the door, but it swung open, and out sprang Scholes, his mouth set in a grim line. At least it was not I who had incurred the great man’s wrath.

  “Glad we’ve come to an understanding, Scholes,” said Wardle, following him out and holding out a hand in unusually spirited style. Scholes shook it with a certain reluctance and bustled past me.

  “Trouble at the printing works, sir?” I grinned.

  “Watchman!” He looked me up and down, decided I was no bringer of plague, and thrust his hands back in his pockets. “There was a difference of opinion. I believe the newsman has seen sense. Lunch?”

  * * *

  I had never seen him so pleased with himself as that day in the Dog and Duck.

  “Good morning’s work,” he said, tucking into a loin of pork. “Scandal silenced, culprits confessing. And all thanks to your good work, Watchman.”

  I kept silent. I had done no work for a month.

  “That Scholes, bloody vermin, must have seen you down the Evans while he was digging dirt. A stroke of luck for us. He connected you with me and came to check the rumours. Otherwise he might have gone ahead and printed his filth.”

  “Oh, yes, sir? What was it he wanted to print?”

  “Won’t print now. Not now I’ve had a quiet word.”

  “Won’t print what, sir?”

  He looked at me squarely. “Just one of my special concerns. Very important person in a tight spot. Rumours in the clubs.”

  I nodded, unable to muster an appetite. I was dismayed by the sudden feeling we hadn’t been working together at all. I huddled into the corner of the snug, struggling to restrain my annoyance. “So you persuaded Scholes to steer clear of libellous rumours?”

  “Libellous?” he replied, mouth full of potato. “Your innocence is touching, Watchman. When important persons are seen sneaking out of private boxes with young ladies they should have nothing to do with, the press may feel justified in pursuing certain rumours.”

  “You mean you’re hushing up stories that are true?”

  He snorted. “Don’t give me the small town innocence, son. You know very well this city is run by money.”

  “I don’t follow, sir.”

  “Paxton and his gang not only own the Bugle. They’re big fish in the Great Western Railway, who inexplicably chose not to invest in Pearson’s underground railway. I say inexplicable, but I happen to know the Monopolies Commission wouldn’t allow them. That’s why their pet newsrag, the Bugle, churns out doom and gloom about the underground trains.”

  “I just thought they didn’t like the idea.” I frowned. “What is this Monopolies Commission?”

  “The government thinks it’s a danger to have industries run by single corporations. In fact, it’s Prince Albert who did it. He set up the Commission to watch companies like the Great Western. Stop them getting too powerful for their own good. Monoliths, he calls them, great hulking monoliths. As a consequence, the Bugle takes a jaundiced view of all things royal. Sticks the knife in whenever it can. Unfortunately, the young Prince of Wales is hell-bent on making himself an easy target.”

  “What’s he done?”

  “Oh, no different from any other youth celebrating his twentieth birthday. Hard to blame him for that. But if he doesn’t learn to cover his back, he’ll find himself a laughing stock.” He picked up the pork gristle and turned it over in his hands. “We’ve managed to save him today, no thanks to his fool antics.”

  “Have we?”

  “See, now the underground train looks a certain money-spinner, the Great Western wants in. Of course they do! Link their Paddington terminus to the City, big business, a killing to be made. It’s no surprise they want to muscle in on the shares.” He threw the gristle to the floor, and watched with evident pleasure as the landlord’s mongrel fell upon it. “Which puts me in a pickle, as I told Scholes. As a police officer, I’m obliged, morally obliged, to point out these manoevrings to the Monopolies Commission.”

  “You threatened him?”

  “You know how it is, Watchman. If I dine with friends on the Commission, something may slip out.” He pushed his plate aside. “And yet, morally speaking, I’m not sure the underground trains will be safe without the GWR’s expertise. Pearson’s having problems with his engines. A word from me to the Railway Board of Safety could make all the difference, Might persuade the Monopolies Commission to turn a blind eye. Do you get my drift?”

  I blinked at this pragmatism. “And Scholes was persuaded?”

  “He wouldn’t want an indiscretion in the Bugle to cause problems for his masters. Besides, I manufactured a little scoop as a trade-in-kind.”

  “Sir?”

  He took a sip of ale. “Confessions for the skeleton thefts.”

  That made me sit up.

  “Your cellar notion was good. Little birdy informed me that a couple of old sewer rats were living in splendour beneath a Mayfair mansion. Had them up for small jobs before. They confessed to the lot.”

  “And the things? The furniture—did they have it all?”

  “No.”

  “What did they say about the bones?”

  “Didn’t go into it.”

  “But there must have been a reason.”

  He drank down the last of his ale. “Watchman, I don’t think for a second that they did the crimes.”

  I stared.

  “But they’ve done enough over the years. Bit of pressure and they put up their hands. That’ll keep the press off our back.”

  “Sir,” I said, restraining my indignation, “it seems less than wise, if the real culprits may strike again at any moment.”

  “How long since the last job? Six weeks? More. I reckon they’re scared off. Or they will be when they see what we do to the scapegoats. I’ll make sure Worm spreads the news round his more unsavoury friends.”

  We lapsed into silence. I felt insulted to think how much further into his confidence he had admitted the loathsome Jackman. How much did I still know nothing of? I had been planning to discuss Groggins’ story
with Wardle, to tell of Madame Skelton, and ask why he had told Hester to hold her tongue. Yet I had hidden my investigations from him, and it was too late to come clean. So much concealment, so much equivocation.

  And this new perversion of justice, how could he coldly engineer it? Surely Jackman’s insinuations could not be close to the mark? If we lie and threaten and blackmail, are we not as guilty as those we are pursuing?

  * * *

  The next day, there was no sign of Wardle. I was summoned to see the Yard cashier.

  “Should be a nice day for you,” he said, handing me the fare for a cab to Paddington and a return ticket to Windsor. “The inspector will be waiting.”

  When I stepped off the half nine train, Wardle simply grabbed my newspaper and headed up the hill toward the castle. We walked in silence as he glanced at through the pages until he snorted.

  “Very nice.” He thrust the page under my nose.

  SKELETONS LAID TO REST

  Scotland Yard today announced the apprehension of suspects, including the probable ringleader of the Skeleton Thieves. The Yard is hopeful that this puts an end to these mysterious break-ins.

  Inspector Wardle will today be received at Windsor Castle to receive another royal commendation.

  “Sir?” I looked at him. “I have to ask you about the spout.”

  He did not meet my gaze. “Why’s that?”

  “I was speaking to someone who seemed to think—”

  “Who?”

  “They suggested,” I went on, “that you know more about it than you’ve told me.”

  He looked at me steadily. “Doubtless I do, son, just as you’ve been poking your nose where it ill belongs.” Seeing me startled, he broke into what was nearly a smile. “Son, sometimes you remind me of my younger self. You’ve good instincts. Good heart, too, not that that’s so useful in our profession.”

  Struggling to keep up as we climbed toward the castle gates, I held my peace.

  “Look, son. I’m soon for retirement. Keep on the straight and narrow, and there’s no reason why the Prince shouldn’t take you on in the same capacity as me.”

  “What capacity is that exactly, sir?”

  “Not much to it mostly. The occasional big call. The odd moment of glory. I was there, up on stage in the Crystal Palace when he gave the closing speech of the ’51 Exhibition. Do you know how many people were there? Two hundred and fifty thousand! Had them in the palm of his hand, he did.”

  It was overwhelming to think that Wardle had assignments of which I knew nothing. I felt like a clerk, running around in the dark after my own little mysteries, in which he indulged me, just to keep me quiet.

  “Distasteful duty we have today, though. Still, good and early,” he nodded, as we entered the shadow of the castle. “He likes that, does the Prince. Have you any idea what an extraordinary man you are about to meet? He single-handedly conceived the most important event in history. Do you know what effect the Exhibition has had on our country? Showed us as the leading force in every area of development. Garnered laurels round the globe, and the goodwill and flattery of countries we’d barely heard of. No need for conquering the buggers. Messy and expensive, all that. Now dagos and darkies from Peru to Peking have seen how our country works, they invite us in open-armed. We build their railways and their roads and their palaces, and they pay us in diamonds and gold. They give us islands and fishing rights and free ports for our navy. They shower us with land and with slaves—cheap labour we’re to call it now, I suppose. I tell you, we had a raw deal with our kings when I was your age. But this German prince is the best ruler we ever had. All these elections and parliamentary reforms, it’s all hogwash. We should make this Albert king and no more bones about it.”

  * * *

  “Welcome, Inspector. Thank you again for dealing so tactfully with my son’s boorish indelicacies. Welcome, Sergeant… Jackman, was it?”

  “This is my new sergeant, Your Royal Highness. Lawless.”

  I was so surprised to hear Wardle use my real name, I nearly forgot to shake hands with Prince Albert. In the enormous room we were shown into he sat, utterly at home, at an immense desk in a sunlit bow window. I had known, of course, that he was German, but I was still surprised by his whiskers, and how marked his accent was.

  “Of course. Delighted to meet you at last, Sergeant. I hear great reports of your diligence. I will make no secret of it, this has been a difficult year. It is no small comfort to feel oneself supported by able and dedicated men.”

  Thoroughly disarmed, I murmured, “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” Wardle corrected me.

  The Prince brushed the formality aside and poured himself a glass of some kind of aquavit. “My congratulations on solving those bally thefts. A satisfying riposte to the haranguing of the popular press.”

  Wardle coughed as if to say it was nothing special. “Once we identified the links between incidents, Sir, it was just a matter of time. Still, always pleased to strengthen the Yard’s reputation.” I flexed my injured knee, but kept my peace. “However,” Wardle continued with a pained look, “I have more to tell about your son. Watchman, stand by the door, will you? I want no interruptions.”

  As I retreated to stand like a guard dog on duty, I heard urgent whispers across the desk. Albert gave a small cry, as if of pain, then spoke with controlled vehemence.

  “The disgusting creature! Such vileness. With a tart!”

  “Sir,” Wardle replied, “it is at least an improvement on the violent behaviour he displayed as a child.”

  “Is it?” the Prince gasped. “Forgive my prudery, but I find it repulsive. A prince. Such things. With an actress. What is to be done?” He put his hand to his brow.

  “I’ll pass over the grosser details, Sir,” said Wardle quietly. “I have told him off. Had stern words with him over and over. But he’s overstepped the mark now. I can see no alternative. You must speak to him yourself.”

  Albert wrung his hands. “Filthy boy. What if she’s pox-ridden? We can’t have the Prince of Wales going around crazed with the clap.”

  “I’ve seen the girl. She’s fair, at least.”

  “I care not whether she be diabolical or divine,” he exploded. “She is unsatisfactory for a prince.”

  “Yes, but you have no need for alarm.” Something about the way Wardle defended her told me: not only had he met Nellie, he rather liked her. If it weren’t for Albert’s prudishness, I suspected he might have been reporting Bertie’s first triumph over a gamesome wench. “Regarding the pox, I mean.”

  “You think my reaction extreme, Inspector? Perhaps. It’s this damnable curse. Makes one jittery, you can imagine. So many deaths in the family. Pedro of Portugal gone, and only twenty-five. I feel like I have lost my own son.” He paused, in genuine grief. It was one thing for a wretch like Jackman to speak of curses, but another to hear it from this remarkable man, the epitome of rationality. It made me wonder if the rumours about Victoria’s sanity were also not so wild after all.

  Wardle coughed. “Cholera, Sir?”

  “Typhoid,” he replied bitterly. “Prince Ferdinand to the same, and the heir to the throne still sick. We seem terribly prone to it. And my sister, Victoire, in childbirth.” No sooner had he marshalled his emotion than he fell into a coughing fit. “Excuse me. I feel quite febrile. This news puts me in the state of nervous energy.” He stood up to pace around the room, and noticed me lurking in the shadows. “Your young sergeant is quite bemused, Inspector. Sergeant, there are things the country does not need to know about the Prince of Wales. Just as there are things the Prince of Wales does not need to know about the country. Bertie’s propensity to laziness has been a tremendous disappointment to his mother. I never met such a cunning lazybones. I planned every hour of his studies. I ensured his society only with adults. Now he encounters his peers in Oxford and the military, and what a merry dance they lead him. Stupid soi-disant friends, putting all sorts of ideas into his hea
d. I call them fatiguing bores, don’t you?”

  These idiomatic declarations sounded bemusing in the Prince’s clipped Germanic tones. I had to recover my senses in order to murmur agreement.

  “He lolls about with a cigarillo in his mouth, sinking into debauchery with an habituée of the most vulgar dance halls in London. I will not have it said that I have raised within these walls a second George III to heap shame upon this great Empire.” He stopped pacing and frowned at Wardle. “Of course, this must go no further than these tapestries.”

  “The sergeant can be trusted,” said Wardle. I looked at him, surprised and pleased.

  “There is little I value more highly than discretion,” the Prince smiled tightly.

  “Will you speak to him?” Wardle said softly.

  “I will write him a letter,” he declared, “in the sternest of terms. That will stop this behaviour.”

  “If I could avoid troubling you, Sir, I would. But it has gone beyond letters. The parties and the gambling are one thing. But this actress… You must speak to him personally.”

  “Perhaps. On his eighteenth birthday, I wrote him a memorandum, you know, telling him that life is composed not of indulgence and pleasure but of duties, in the punctual and cheerful performance of which the true Christian, soldier, and gentleman is recognised.”

  “With what effect?”

  “The boy burst out crying.” The Prince put his hand to his forehead. “I am told he is bright. Good-natured and charming. Perhaps. His aversion to exertion is regrettable.”

  “There is no need for his mother to know.”

  A look of repugnance passed across the Prince’s face. “You are right, Inspector. What a loyal servant you are.” He gestured vaguely towards Wardle. “She mustn’t hear of this disgusting incident, nothing beyond the merest outline. What an indescribable burden that youth is upon his poor Mama. What headaches she suffers from the anxiety. I will speak to him. I will try to exhort the boy to be an example to the nation. He will reach his majority one year hence. Let us send him to the continent to gain the German influence. I only hope that he may some day meet with a lesson severe enough to shame him out of frivolity. An early marriage is the best hope. This Danish poodle is the very thing. Alexandra is a pearl not to be let slip through our fingers. She is no fool, though. She deserves better than Bertie, truth be told. But the royal line must be served.” He looked suddenly drawn. He drew a sheet from a drawer, and I watched in fascination as he signed it floridly, slipped it into an envelope and passed it to Wardle. “Your latest commendation, Inspector.” He turned to me. “Remember, dear sergeant, your labours are not in vain, for this boy must one day soon be your king.”