A Cowardice of Crows

by S. E. Smith

  “Prime Minister!” I exclaimed, unsure how I avoided the obligatory fish impersonation that seemed to dog my family when surprised.

  But it didn’t matter. Emerging from the curtain, Salisbury took charge. “Miss Davies took me into her confidence after I wrangled a small favour from her and she asked one of me. And voila here I am, doing what you and she could not.” As explanations went, it seemed plausible enough. And yet it wasn't.

  “But why enlist Sampson's help?”

  “Because of what I discovered this afternoon.”

  I wanted to demand why this was the first I'd heard about all of this. I couldn't. You don't throw a hissy fit in front of a prime minister. So, I went for a milder question. “What did you find here?”

  “Letters in the same hand as the ones found in the Westminster office.” Salisbury held up a couple of envelopes.

  “And you left them here?” I was appalled by the stupidity of the decision and cut across any further explanation. Only to find myself outplayed by the master of interruption.

  “Indeed. If we'd removed them your killer would have realised we were on to them.” Salisbury's tone brooked no further interruption. “Besides, when I told Miss Davies what I discovered over dinner, she insisted on Sampson taking prints with his fingermark kit. And so here we are at this witching hour; turning the tide against the forces that threaten to destroy the light.” Salisbury pulled at his beard and smiled, “And Sampson has – once again – come up trumps. Has he not my dear?”

  I turned in time to see Emily, enter the study from the French windows. Eyes dark and hard with discovery, she walked over to the desk and stared not at the envelope dusted as it was with Sampson’s homemade fingerprint powder but at the men dancing from right to left across the feint lined paper.

  “What he’s trying to say, Sym, is that we now know why the silly bint had to die.”

  I’d expected triumph. But as I observed her, all I saw was sadness. The kind that comes when, battle over, you view the rows of stretchers, and tally up the columns of the fallen.

  “How d’you want us to proceed, my lord?” Sampson’s cracked voice broke into the ensuing silence.

  Coughing, I went to answer. But the question was not for me.

  “Not here, not now,” Salisbury declared. “The house party breaks up tomorrow. Let that happen naturally; let the memory of my visit fade. A fortnight at the most should suffice. Then you may do the necessary; bring the killers to justice.”

  I wanted to disagree. Wanted to confront Millie’s killer in the here and now, and damn the consequences. But Emily nodded and I could see the resigned acceptance in my valet’s face.

  They were correct. CC brought me into this case to ensure discretion and I owed it to him, if no one else, to agree to the prime minister’s diktats.

  “In that case, I’ll conclude everything with a meeting on the 14th of December. Will that be sufficient time?”

  “Yes, but you will forgive my non-attendance. The Hague Convention is up for renewal. And given events in South Africa with the Boers, I may have to field interesting questions from the press.”

  Salisbury shook first mine then Sampson’s hand. “Well done, gentlemen. As ever, your service earns undying gratitude.”

  Seeming to ignore Emily, Salisbury walked towards French windows. But as he reached her, he stopped and took her hand. “It has been a pleasure to serve!” he said gruffly. Their eyes met and a whole wealth of unspoken conversation, pride, and to my shock, long-standing affection passed between them.

  I reeled and stole a glance at Sampson, whose narrowed eyes and pursed lips spoke eloquently of his disapproval.

  “It has been a most enjoyable evening, Mr Sampson, Byrd, Emily. If you ever need my help again, you need only ask.” He smiled benignly and headed out into the darkness.

  In the distance, the stable clock chimed four. The witching hour was over.

  From the Casebook of Symington, Earl Byrd.

  Friday, 14th December.

  Doctor McGregor timed his arrival to perfection. In a low confidential tone, he thanked us for inviting him and took his seat opposite the one I had assigned to Sampson; a seat that gave him an excellent view of the room. “You understand what you have to do?” I heard my valet ask discretely.

  The Scottish police surgeon nodded and, taking out his notebook, licked his HB in readiness. “Yes. Thank you for inviting me.” Being a polite man, he made small talk with Lady Agatha who looked around at the gathering with more than a little nervousness. Fairbrass and Cobarde, who had been talking with me about the news from The Hague, seemed unconcerned by her discomfort.

  “Bad business. Still, I’m sure we’ll weather the criticism,” Fairbrass decreed pompously.

  I made some non-committal reply and went to answer the door, returning with the dead woman's brother Algernon in tow. To my surprise, he acknowledged Cobarde with a slight nod before greeting Nanny with a fondness I found surprising given her usual stand-offishness. Nanny returned his hug before taking a seat next to Sampson. Yet, despite their obvious affection, it was interesting to note that when her wools scattered, it was Cobarde rather than Algernon who retrieved them.

  Coffee in hand, CC emerged from the kitchen. His mouth was set in a harsh line and, after curtly acknowledging those already present, he took up his position at the window; a hard, uncompromising figure.

  When the doorbell rang again, this time followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock, the room went silent and all eyes turned as Gold and Emily made their entrance.

  And it was stunning. Designed to impress upon the gathered ensemble that while Emily and her uncle may be from the rookery of Whitechapel, they outranked everyone single one of us. The old man, dressed traditionally – as though for synagogue – led the way.

  Behind him, Emily, wearing a black silk dress designed to mimic her uncle’s kapote followed.

  I heard both Cobarde and Algernon’s gasp as they realised that the buttons, which adorned the front of her gown, were silver crow’s skulls. At her neck the crow necklace, she had worn the first time I had met her, completed the ensemble.

  “Emily, my love, you are ravishing.” I took her hand and turning it over, kissed her tattoo before kissing her. Then as she went to sit next to Lady Agatha, I paid homage to the pawnbroker, bowing low over the crow’s head ring that dominated his left hand.

  As I looked up, I had the feeling Niall and Figg – as well as my own entourage – disapproved of my gesture. But as Gold, very much the God of the Old Testament sitting in judgement upon us all, settled himself in the wing back chair with his sumo wrestlers behind him, I decided I must be mistaken. Jethro steered Niall to the position by the window, leaving Figg in the shadows a little to the left of the old man. The ensemble complete, Sampson – having seen to everyone’s refreshments – closed the door with a quiet snap.

  “As you are aware, I was asked by Sir Charles to investigate the death of a young lady, whose badly mangled body was found in the South Downs Tunnel on Thursday 4th October.” I said by way of an opening gambit.

  “Get to the point Symington,” CC growled. He was a cut to the chase kind of man and this bit of the unmasking always turned him bearish.

  I waved a regal hand to calm him and continued.

  “Were it not for Emily and her suspicions, the police would never have become involved in the case. Girls commit suicide every day, just as old men die in their sleep and children break their necks falling down the stairs. No one bats an eyelid. And yet, you wouldn’t accept the simple truth.” I turned to Gold’s niece. “Why was that Emily? Why did you ask Doctor McGregor to dig further?”

  Ignoring the look that passed between my cousin and Gold, as just one of those things, I stared at Emily.

  Taking her time to smooth her skirts, Emily increased the already palpable tension still further, ensuring when she spoke it was to rapt attention. “My friend wasn’t the kind of girl to end her life because she had been thrown o
ver by a lover. That wasn’t her way.”

  I nodded. “Accepting that to be true, let us examine the evidence. We know she worked as a courier for you, Mr Gold.”

  The pawnbroker inclined his head.

  “And we know she continued to transport uncut gems until the day she died.” I paused to let that sink in before continuing. “However, Millie discovered a far more lucrative way of earning her living.”

  “On her back. Working for him!” Algernon spat the words into the room and stared belligerently Gold.

  I put up my hand to stay him. “And there we come to our first problem. Algernon has always maintained his sister became one of your business girls because of the size of his father’s debt to your organisation.”

  Algernon crowed his agreement. Gold said nothing.

  “Your niece maintains that the Impereye would not allow a debt to grow so high.” Emily nodded. Algernon swore. I ignored them both. “Which one is lying Mr Gold?”

  “Not me!” Algernon spat. “Why’d I need to lie?” Just look at the old bastard. Look at his face. He’s the one who’s lied!”

  Gold turned his head to face his accuser. His eyes were open, lacking their usual guile. “Millie came to see me just after her sixteenth birthday; said she wanted a better life than her mother, who did piecework in the sweatshops on Commercial Road. Asked me to introduce her to some toffs who could set her up with a nest egg. And because of what you and your family did for Emily when she first came to me, I agreed.”

  “Liar!” Algernon retorted but the word lacked energy and trailed into nothing as he realised the truth in the old man’s statement.

  “Then where did the idea the family owed that amount of money come from?” Dr McGregor asked when the silence became unbearable.

  “A good question,” Emily replied quietly. “And one that’s been worrying me for a very long time.” She stared at her uncle. “Why didn’t you tell me turning tricks was Millie’s idea and not yours?”

  “I couldn’t,” Gold replied. “I made a promise.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me?” Algernon found his voice once more. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me when I came to see you, Mr Gold? And don’t give me that rubbish about promises. You’d sell Emily if it made a profit. Promise or not.” Algernon seemed to say more, but Gold raised his hand and the diamonds in the crow’s head ring sparkled ominously.

  As if realising he may have gone too far, Algernon fell silent, contenting himself with a belligerent glare at every single one of the old man’s entourage.

  “She demanded a blood oath.”

  Algernon’s shoulders sagged and his eyes were suddenly weary. He looked over at Gold, noticed the unusual level of concern in the pawnbroker’s eyes and bowed his head as the fight and anger left him a broken shell of a man. It was the nearest to an apology Millie’s brother would ever make. But it was enough. Gold smiled, drawing a line under the business.

  “This whole abominable affair boils down to one thing: secrets,” I stated carefully. “Their preservation and unravelling.”

  CC nodded.

  Emily stared at her uncle.

  The pawnbroker’s men exchanged uneasy glances.

  “We knew early on, from the discovery of her client book that Millie traded on those secrets. That she was more than a little adept at blackmail.” I hesitated, “But the strangest thing, in hindsight, is that we’ve had the key to the problem all along.”

  “We have? I don’t …” Emily’s eyebrows folded in on themselves.

  “When you gave me the list of her clients, old girl, you told me then that nearly everyone in the Impereye and the shop had enjoyed her company.”

  Emily tilted her head. “I did. Didn’t I?”

  I beamed before continuing. “Of course, I didn’t connect your information with what Jethro told me. That before Millie went professional – for want of a better bally expression – she did a favour or two for her future brother-in-law. Because to be honest, I couldn’t work out what she could possibly do for the apprentice that he couldn’t do for himself. But there was one thing only Millie could do, couldn’t she, Cobarde? She went out with you.”

  “She did. What of it? She went out with everyone. Jethro. Niall. Even Figgy.” He pointed at each of the minders as he spoke. “Going out with me was nothing spectacular.”

  “Perhaps you’re correct. But the reason she went out with you was different, wasn’t it?”

  “You have stars in your head, my lord, if you think I have anything to do with this. I left the Impereye years ago. I didn’t know she’d died until you told me.” Cobarde’s expression was semi-triumphant. “Yes, she threatened to blackmail me. Yes, I paid to keep her quiet. But that was years ago. A pawnbroker’s clerk doesn’t earn enough to keep a woman like her in luxury. Millie soon turned her attention to bigger and better fry.”

  Emily laughed bitterly. But apart from staring at Cobarde in a manner that suggested he’d revealed something terribly important, said nothing.

  I took a sip of my drink, using the time it gave me to choose my words carefully. I put the glass back on the sideboard and returned to the matter. “Of all her former lovers, you were the only one, to describe her as a ‘flighty piece’ – always given to ‘emotional outbursts’.” I smiled grimly. “Oh yes, Cobarde, the exact phrase stuck in my mind; wouldn’t go away however much I tried to lose it. You see, Algernon called her an ‘evil little bitch’. Her sister referred to her as a ‘scheming little cow’. Am I correct Sampson?”

  My valet nodded.

  “And Jethro told me she was a ‘hard-nosed cow’.” I fixed the politician’s handsome aide with a hard stare. “A hard-nosed, evil, scheming woman doesn’t commit suicide. She collects enemies.” I smiled grimly. “Which begs the question. What did she do – or threaten to do – in June that forced your hand?”

  Cobarde stared unseeingly over my shoulder, forcing me to continue.

  “Was it because she threatened to tell Mr Gold all about you and Oliver? Or was it because she knew something about Arthur that should Gold find out...? I let the question hang there, knowing Emily would continue.

  And I was correct. “When Sym first asked about you, I told him you had a bright future in the organisation, because you had a knack of attracting the older clients.”

  She smiled at me and I nodded, remembering that conversation clearly.

  “I knew he took that to mean women and I didn’t disabuse him because he was only interested in your relationship with Millie.”

  “I don’t....” Cobarde interrupted.

  But Emily was in no mood to humour him. “When we were at the Commons, I saw something that got me thinking about what Millie’s hold over you was. What might make you want to kill her.”

  “You’ve got ants in your head Emily Davies.”

  “Victor. Be quiet.” It was not said loudly. But it carried, and its underlying meaning was clear. Either Cobarde did as he was told, or Emily would see to his silence permanently.

  Wisely he subsided.

  “I saw Cardew coming out of an office,” Emily continued. “I didn’t make the connection then. And when I got shot it went completely out of my head. He was in the wrong part of the House – being a member of the Lords. And he was coming out of your employer’s office.”

  Fairbrass’ confusion was obvious and real. Cobarde’s was studied. Too studied.

  “But, it wasn’t until I read the letter found in Fairbrass' study that I finally understood why my friend had to die and who killed her.” Seeming to flounder she turned to the Agatha … “I’m sorry,” she told the woman, “This is going to ruin all your plans for your charities, I’m afraid. Once word of Cobarde’s actions reach the ear of the prime minister, there’s no way your husband’ll be able to keep his seat, and not because of his affair, or because of his friendship with Mattherson.”

  “I don’t understand.” The bluster that characterised Sir Arthur vanished. The man was perplexed. Confused. “What’s
all this Cobarde? What’s all this about Mattherson?”

  I couldn’t tell him.

  None of Gold’s men would admit to knowing anything about the chair of the Leytonstone Workhouse. Doing so would lead to immediate execution.

  “Somebody, please, tell me. What is going on? Cobarde was with me in Rochford the night Millicent Jones died.”

  Emily took centre stage again. Holding her hand up, so the tattoo drew all eyes, she spoke simply “And that, Lady Agatha, is why he’s not going to be able to keep his seat.”

  “What is?” Agatha’s tone indicated she required confirmation of her suspicions.

  “The fact that he’s lying to cover up murder. The fact he knew what Cobarde intended to do that night and did nothing about it.”

  Agatha crumbled slightly then, as Emily turned to Fairbrass, she regrouped. “Stop giving him an alibi. Cobarde wasn’t with you in Rochford. He was on the Brighton train killing Millie Jones, wasn’t he Arthur?”

  Unable to believe his wife refused to stand by him, Fairbrass' mouth opened and closed. His fists flayed at his sides. “Utter nonsense.”

  “Let it be, Sir Arthur!” I advised as the MP yet again attempted to protest his lover’s innocence. “Be content with the knowledge that just as Cobarde and Gold are Crows, you and Emily are their Cowardice.”

  “Victor’s not a coward.”

  I ignored Fairbrass. “This whole case has been about cowardice. Not fear in battle. Real cowardice. The thing that blinds people to all reason or rational reaction.” A scorpion wondered who or what my cowardice was, but I knocked it away and forced myself to focus.

  “You think you're doing the correct thing by giving Cobarde an alibi... But I'm telling you: walk away. You’ll lose more than your seat if you don’t.”

  Fairbrass shook his head; opened his mouth to continue but was stopped by his wife.

  “Do as the earl says, Arthur. And let’s see what we can salvage.”

  Agatha turned to the pawnbroker, her eyes sorrowful, her voice conciliatory. “I’m sorry, Mr Gold. I really am. I’ll keep a better eye on him in future.”