by S. E. Smith
With a deliberate move, designed to make the greatest impact so far, Gold removed his ring. As one, the minders started. Gold’s ring was his power. By removing it, he stated this was no longer Impereye business but a deal between a man and a woman. “Lady Agatha, your husband made a mistake, not just in trusting Cobarde but in his choice of friends” the pawnbroker stated. “His reaction, however, shows he has no idea who I am, or the depth of that mistake. I’ll not make him, or you, suffer. It would not be ... just. His lover however ...”
“Where’s your proof that Cobarde wasn’t with me?” Fairbrass blustered.
“Enough Arthur. Do you have a death wish?” Agatha snapped, all patience with her husband gone in light of his continued stupidity.
“Death...?” Realisation dawned. Fairbrass collapsed into his chair. Bluster and bravado gone. A shadow of a man: perhaps even a dead man walking.
“Except My sister wasn’t just killed, was she, Cobarde?” Algernon hissed into the ensuing silence.
In our determination to unmask Millie’s killer, we’d forgotten about her brother and his reaction to our revelations.
“She was beaten to a pulp. By a man who hated her. A man known for his anger. You’re a clerk! A weasely little shopkeeper!”
To give Cobarde his credit, he held his ground as Algernon unleashed all his pent-up fury, in a spittle laden tirade.
Pointing at the clerk he continued. “Do you really see that pathetic excuse for a human being inflicting any kind of damage with his fists?” Algernon taunted. “They’re soft for heaven’s sake! You might have killed her. But you didn’t pulverise her face!”
And finally the reaction he sought.
Cobarde lept to his feet and launched himself at Millie’s brother. “Of course, I killed your sister! I hated her! I beat her to a pulp! I threw her from the train.”
Kato moved with surprising agility for one so large. Coming between the two, his lightening quick reflexes caught Algernon’s fist before it could deliver its blow. At the same time, Akio caught Cobarde to him and held him in a vicelike grip.
While Algernon and Cobarde attempted to escape their captors, I put up my hand. “Victor. Stop now!”
He ignored me. “And when that weasel of a landlord tried to follow in her footsteps, I did for him too.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I turned to Algernon, who realised far quicker than the other man the futility of pitting his strength against a sumo wrestler. “Let me do this. Gold’s not going to like this next bit becoming public knowledge. He’ll take it better from the chosen one than the brother-in-law of the former apprentice.”
Jethro blockaded the door before Algernon had time to register what I said. Niall’s gun was out and ready for use.
Gold slipped the crow's head ring back on his finger and rose like Poseidon mid-tempest. All remaining compassion gone from his usually humour filled eyes, he stopped inches from my face. “We’ve only known each other for a few short weeks, son,” he snarled. “Not enough time for you to presume to know what I will or will not like.”
Like that night in the flat, when Emily lay bleeding in my bedroom, this was a make or break moment. I didn’t flinch, not even when Gold jabbed my outstretched palm with the beak of his ring and drew a small spot of blood.
I maintained eye contact. Concentrated on keeping my voice steady. “You don’t like being made a fool of, Mr Gold and I think Cobarde’s accomplice, the man he’s trying to take the blame for, really made a fool of you.”
Eye’s flashing the coldest fire I have ever seen, the pawnbroker stepped back.
“Explain.” A word to cut the silence.
Kato, having let go of Algernon’s, probably broken hand, hovered at Emily’s side.
CC moved from the window to join me. Sampson stood to my left. Both making it clear by their action that Gold would have to go through them to get to me.
“I told you, we’ve had the answer all the time, Mr Gold.”
“Get to the point, son. My patience wears thin.”
He stared at me. I stared at him.
“Emily, do you remember my rhyme?”
“When we heard about the break-in, you mean?”
There was something about her response that stopped me in my tracks. It seemed too innocent an answer; like she’d rehearsed in case it was needed.
I nodded and she continued, seemingly unaware of my disquiet. “The butcher, the baker, the local wig maker. What of it, Sym?”
“Emily, darling, do you remember what colour wig was stolen?”
She shook her head. “No, we started talking about the gun.”
“Me neither. But when you sent me to collect your beautiful ring, I asked Waschsmann to check. It was red.”
All eyes bar Emily’s, mine and Gold’s turned on Jethro. “Oh no you don’t!” The Irishman declared hotly. “You’re not pinning any of this on me. My hair’s real.” He knelt down in front of CC. “Go on, Colonel. Pull it. Show them. Prove it. Prove this mullet of mine’s not a wig.”
Bemused, but always willing to add to the drama of an evening, my cousin tugged. But the hair – except for a few stray strands – stayed in place.
“Told you!”
“Indeed. I hadn’t finished.” I flashed one of my most boyish smiles.
Usually, people reacted well. Gold was not people; he met my frivolity with rigidity.
“It is true, a red wig was stolen but it wasn’t stolen for the colour. It was stolen because it was luxurious. A real big head of hair.” I paused and regarded everyone through narrowed eyes.
Niall seemed scared. Algernon intrigued. Figg drew closer to Jethro. Or was it the other way round?
I smiled grimly and continued. “The rifle is important because it shot Emily, the cufflink because it linked Gold to the case.”
“Then what about the wig? Was it used to incriminate Jethro?” CC asked.
Emily shook her head. “Jethro’s been with us years. Every one of Uncle’s men’s been with us years.”
“And some longer than others,” I muttered.
Gold’s eyes narrowed briefly then he relaxed. And when he relaxed Niall and the others relaxed. “You have rocks in your head, son. I’ve known these people since childhood.”
And in that instant, I knew he knew. The dancing scorpions were correct, he and Emily worked everything out sooner than my poor, poor self. At that moment, I realised Gold wanted me to end it here. Hand Cobarde to CC, and let him take care of his cuckoo away from the long arm and prying eye of the law.
But that was not my way. “Except for Niall and Figg.”
“I’ll give you Niall.” He agreed conversationally, still determined to steer me from my course. “But you can trace Niall to the NCO Club. His face is known. His record proved. And Figg’s one of my brother Joseph’s most trusted men. Been with the Impereye over eight years.”
“Indeed. Nearly a decade.” I waved regally as the two at the heart of our conversation relaxed. “A significance of time. Especially if you need to develop the plots of mice and men, and this is a plot years in the making.”
I turned to the now handcuffed Cobarde. “For you see, Victor – while you wanted a quiet life with your lovers and your past safely hidden from the world – your accomplice wanted revenge.”
I heard Gold sigh. Saw Emily touch his arm; whisper something in his ear; watch critically as once again, he removed the ring from his finger.
Determined to hand both murderers over to my cousin, I ploughed on. “Wigs hide a multitude of sins and they allow a man to swap identities quickly – don’t they Figg? Or should I say Oliver Pratt?”
Although I realised I wouldn't get a shocked reaction from Emily and her uncle, I did expect something more dramatic from the rest. Instead, CC regarded me as though I were a madman newly released from Bedlam. Doctor McGregor contented himself with a brisk nod. Whilst Sampson and Watkins returned my regard steadily, before resuming to their task of watching Gold's entourage.<
br />
Niall and Jethro wore expressions of what I realised were false bewilderment. Gold, back in his role as Old Testament God, glared silently at us all.
“I am correct, aren’t I, Emily? You've known about Figg since the night Jethro found Watkins in the infirmary.”
She looked at her uncle before answering. “Yes.”
“But he can’t be Oliver,” Algernon interjected. “He looks nothing like him. Remember, I told you back in Leeds I met up with him shortly after Amy gave birth.”
“You told us.”
Algernon interrupted before I could say anything else. “I didn’t lie!” he exclaimed. “The Oliver I met had a full head of brown hair and was three, if not four times the size – quite a lard of a man. His legs rubbed together when he walked. His breathing was heavy and loud. He didn't have that scar that Figg's got. Except for the ears and the nose - which face it are an occupational hazard when you work for Mr Gold - this man's nothing like my brother-in-law.”
“Which is why clothes were also taken from Wachsmann’s,” I explained. “Oliver here’s worn a fat suit for some time and with the wig, it gave him the perfect alibi. Let's face it, while we were scouring the streets for a fat Oliver, we weren’t looking for him in a skinny, bald Figg.”
“But ... what about the scar?” my cousin asked.
“Prosthetic. Like the fat suit a work of legerdemain. Created with latex, doncha know?”
“But he’s worked for Wachsmann for years, beggin’ your pardon, Major.” Sampson said.
“Oh yes, I agree.” I nodded quickly. “He had to,” I told the room. “This plot was a long time in the making. You see, for it to work, Gold had to trust him.”
“But why?” Gold snapped and for a moment I thought he talked to me. “Why Oliver? I let you live.”
“Live? You call this living!? That bitch lost me everything!” Oliver snarled. “You didn’t listen to reason. Just took her word about what happened that night. Beat me black and blue, and expected me to take it!”
Gold raised his hand. I don’t know whether he intended to strike Oliver, or silence his men. I don’t even think in that moment, he knew.
Either way, CC refused to countenance any more violence. Entering the fray, he was back in the army. Issuing orders. Expecting to be obeyed.
“Forgive me, Mr Gold. But that was your mistake,” my cousin told him. “From what I’m hearing and thinking, this Figg-Oliver of yours hatched his plan after you gave him the beating of his life. If you’d let him vanish, kept paying the bills ...”
Gold returned to his chair and sat down. His habitual amusement returned but there was a wariness around the edges. This was not going the way the pawnbroker planned and it disconcerted him.
“Once he recovered from that beating, Oliver soon realised if he didn’t do something he would rely on Emily’s charity for the rest of time, and that wouldn't do. Not given their history.” I said taking over from my erudite cousin. “So: he shaved his head, learned how to apply theatrical make-up – to wit one scar - and confident you’d not recognise him beneath the damage you’d caused, started running errands for a man who ran errands for Wachsmann.”
“I see.” Gold’s tone was grim, “And that man, impressed with how quickly he picked up Impereye ways, introduced him to Marcus LeFevre.”
“But why wasn’t LeFevre suspicious?” Jethro asked. “Marcus is one hell of a judge of character. Can see through any disguise.”
I shrugged. “Why should he be? Maybe he only met Oliver once or twice, certainly our Figg, especially with that scar, isn’t the handsome devil Oliver was … besides, when you find a genius, you don’t question it.”
I waited for the babble of understanding to subside. “Don't forget, Figg made himself indispensable … so much so that when Wacshmann sent LeFevre to America on Impereye business, LeFevre knew the best man to take his place at Wachsmann's side.”
“Figg.” Watkins and Sampson said in unison.
“Exactly. As I discovered more about you Mr Gold, I kept asking myself why a man who surrounded himself with ex-soldiers, would employ a civilian. And then I realised: for you, family is everything. You’ll move heaven and earth to protect them. You trusted Figg because your brother Joseph vouched for him. Am I right?”
“God, you’re all so simple!” Oliver spat before Gold could answer. “Don’t look further than the ends of their bleedin’ noses, ‘specially you!” He rounded on the pawnbroker. “You just saw an efficient worker and a man who minded his P’s and Q’s; loved cake and kept to a single woman in Camden. No blokes. No booze. Those simple things meant I couldn’t possibly be Oliver. Could I? Coz Oliver was a lush in the making; shagging anything and everything that moved …”
There was a feverish quality to him. A sense that now the dam burst, he would tell everything to everyone. “Why’d ya think I never wanted to go anywhere with her?” He snarled gesturing towards Emily. “Or spend time alone with her? Why I stayed close to the boss? Stayed in the shadows, out of the way … coz I knew she’d suss it. Bitch is far too intelligent. Doesn't know a woman's place is on her back!”
Gold’s hands clenched into tight and menacing fists.
“Didn’t care how long it took to get my revenge. Just wanted the opportunity to do for ‘er what she did for me. Wanted to do such a good job of it this time round, it would be me having the last laugh, when I revealed who I really was. Didn’t care how long it took. Ten years. Twenty. I knew all it would take is a bit of patience. Gold would let down his guard and I’d have free reign. Kill her. Kill him. Take back what's mine!”
“How did Millie find out?” I asked when he finally paused for breath.
Oliver, now he’d started explaining everything saw no reason to lie. “It was bad luck,” he admitted. “She saw me in Camden, where me tart is. Followed me back to my rooms and caught me dressing in the suit coz I was about to return to Leeds. Took a photograph. Bloody little whore thought she’d hit the mother lode, when she showed it to me months later.”
“But what I don’t get is how you and Cobarde teamed up?” Agatha interrupted. “The girl came to the house. You never did.”
Oliver’s laugh wasn’t pleasant. “Didn’t need to. We bumped into each other by chance during the election, and renewing our ... acquaintance ... was going well until that bitch upset the apple cart by threatening Victor with his past; especially as his new lover knew Mattherson.”
“You couldn’t risk Uncle coming up to Leeds.” Emily spoke slowly, like she was putting the pieces together, even though I knew it wasn't the case. “He’d want you to come with him and that would have done for you proper like, so you encouraged his reclusive nature.”
Oliver grinned. “Too right. I couldn’t risk him and Wacshmann comparing notes about me. So, when Millie threatened to go to Gold, we had to get rid of her quickly. Arranged to meet on the Brighton line.”
“And you garrotted her.” I stated grimly. “You told us you knew how to use one the night of the case conference. But I didn’t make the connection.”
“Neither did I, because he was right,” Emily agreed. “Jethro did teach Figg how to use a rumal.”
“Tell me, Mr Detective, as you're so clever; how’d you work it out?” Oliver asked. “The disguise was foolproof.”
“Ahh that would be my fault,” Jethro said. “I showed Marcus LeFevre a photograph. The one Mr Sampson took of us all the night of the first case conference.” Gold hissed but Jethro was – for that moment - my man not his. “I said you’d put on weight since coming to London and one thing led to another.”
“But the real proof came thanks to Sampson and his love of fingerprints,” I said, before Gold could chastise my former comrade for adding to the show he didn't want.
“We found some on the top of Millie’s door frame. They were yours, Oliver. Innocuous enough. You worked for Gold, it made sense you would visit his girls. But we also found them on the pages of her diary, which we found in Sir Arthur’s study. Yo
u'd never been there. Which meant you had to have held the diary. And forgive me my naivety; Millie wouldn't let anyone near that diary. You'd have to go over her dead body!”
“But how?” Oliver's eyes raked each and every one of us. “How did you know they were mine?” Still looking for a way out. Still using his intelligence.
“That would be my fault.” Sampson held up a glass. “Remember the last time you were in this flat? I took everyone’s dabs, a bit of showing off on my part; or at least that's what the colonel wanted you to think. But really, because you were all suspects, he asked me to keep the cards.”
“Bastard!” Oliver lunged for my valet. But as he did so, Cobarde acted, sticking out his foot and sending his partner in crime sprawling on the floor.
“What you do that for?” Oliver screamed as my cousin pinned him down. “It won’t save you from the noose.”
Cobarde rounded on the fallen man. “You bloody fool! You could have used anything with the pawnbroker’s mark on it to make your point and get the rozzers sniffing around. But you had to use the cufflink! You put Arthur in danger. And you know my views on hurting Arthur!” Cobarde paused and as CC clamped the handcuffs on the still struggling Oliver; the secretary turned his attention to Emily and her uncle. “That day outside Parliament, he pulled the trigger, Mr Gold.”
Twisting and wrestling; Oliver freed himself briefly from CC's stranglehold. “No, I didn’t! You did! You took the gun from the laundrette. Said it would be useful. You got the bullets made up. You. Not me.”
Even with Barker and CC successfully subduing the two, the argument would have continued, long after they were carted out of my apartment. But Gold held up his hand. “Enough!”
It wasn't said loudly. But it carried and had the desired effect. Both men not only fell silent; they became statues.
“Sir Charles, get them out of my sight,” the pawnbroker hissed, “before I forget my promise.”
Pushing Oliver in front of him, CC and Barker happily complied. On reaching the door, Gold spoke again. “Just remember, gentlemen,” he warned, “when I discover which of you pulled the trigger to kill my Emily ... there will be no mercy.”