‘I’m afraid so. Since my daughter Esme died, he’s been slowly spiralling down in a cycle of drinking and self-destructive behaviour. He was at rock bottom and I didn’t think he would be with us much longer. But now, since he’s met you … he’s a changed man.’
‘Well I don’t know about all that, I haven’t really known him that long but from what you say he’s cut down on his drinking. I mean … he still drinks, as you can see from tonight but then we’ve all had quite a bit. But at home, he never has more than a glass or two of wine and then only with a meal.’
‘He no longer needs it, that’s why. He has you now to fill that empty hole in his life.’
‘Was he really so unhappy?’ asked Adele.
‘Oh, terribly unhappy. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say he was dying of a broken heart. He blames himself for my daughter’s death, you see. I’ve never seen a man become so bitter and hate life so much. But somehow you’ve managed to put the pieces back together again.’
‘Stop it, you’re embarrassing me. But if what you say is true … you don’t object to me …?’
‘What?’
‘You know … taking your daughter’s place. Some fathers might resent that, might see it as betraying her memory.’
‘Nonsense, I know he’ll always have a place in his heart for Esme but even I’ve been telling him to move on and find a new woman for a long time. No one should have to live their life alone. Believe me, you have nothing but my best wishes … and my gratitude.’
Adele said nothing, unable to speak through the lump in her throat. She just leaned across the table and squeezed Thornton’s hand.
Thornton leaned back and lit a cigar while Adele discreetly dabbed her eyes. Amanda, who had been watching them from the dance floor took that as her cue and at the end of the dance, led Cobb back to the table.
‘So what are you two up to now then?’ Thornton asked Cobb and Adele.
‘I have a place in Swanwick that my mother left me,’ said Adele. ‘I plan to put it on the market, now that I’ll be … erm …’ she didn’t want to say ‘living with Cobb’. She looked at Cobb and then down at the table, ‘… Now that I’ll be living in Londum.’
‘Splendid, splendid. I’ll look forward to seeing you around more then,’ said Thornton. ‘And how’s your detective business, Cobb?’
‘I’ve had a few enquiries from prospective customers. When the police commissioner, Sir Arthur Wilberforce, announced to the press that Caledonia Yard had smashed Quist’s gang, he was kind enough to say that they couldn’t have done it without my help. So that’s prompted a few contacts.’
(Marcus Quist had been a villain. One of Londum’s worst. When Rufus Cobb had been an inspector in the Metropolitan Police he had spent years trying to bring Quist to justice but was never successful.
After Esme’s death, Cobb left the force and became a private detective. One day to his surprise, he had been approached by Quist who wanted to hire him to find his missing stepdaughter, who had turned out to be Adele!
This led to an amazing adventure which had ended in the death of Quist, Cobb and Adele falling in love with each other and Cobb managing to get his hands on Quist’s records. Cobb had given these to the police commissioner and the police were able to completely dismantle Quist’s criminal empire.)
‘So, persisted Thornton, ‘Any actual cases though?
‘No, not really,’ replied Cobb, seeming reluctant to be drawn.
‘Well, what about that case in Kent?’ Adele chipped in. ‘That was successful.’
‘Oh that. That wasn’t much,’ said Cobb. ‘Hardly worth mentioning.’
‘Go on Cobb, tell us all about it,’ urged Thornton.
‘Very well,’ sighed Cobb. ‘I was asked by the local police to take a look into the death of Colonel Dijon, a Gallic military attaché stationed here in Londum. He has a weekend place in Kent and he was found there, apparently drowned in the lake they have in the grounds. But a post mortem found that he had no water in his lungs, so he was dead before he went into the water.’
‘Sounds reasonable,’ said Thornton. ‘What happened then?’
‘Er … well … I was able to prove that he’d actually been killed with a blow to the head from a metal object.’
‘Metal object?’ asked Amanda. ‘What sort of metal object?’
‘You know, one of those things they put candles in,’ he said vaguely and then hurried on. ‘And then I proved that he had actually been killed in the house and dragged to the lake, in an attempt to cover up the details of the crime.’
‘Whereabouts in the house was he killed,’ asked Thornton, suspiciously.
‘That room, you know, the place where they keep all the books.’
‘And did you find out who the murderer was?’ asked Amanda.
‘Oh, one of the staff, the head one, the one that ran the house. He’d been stealing money for some time and finally got found out.’
‘Why, that’s the butler isn’t it?’ she asked.
Cobb nodded, ‘I guess you could call him that, yes.’
‘You said his name was Dijon, is that right?’ asked Thornton. ‘That’s the Gallic name for a type of mustard isn’t it?’
Cobb shrugged but Adele confirmed it was.
‘So let me see …’ said Thornton, ‘… you figured out that Colonel “Mustard” was killed in the library … with a candlestick … and the butler did it??’
Cobb grinned and looked shamefacedly down at the table, ‘Yes, that’s all true and why I was trying to avoid telling the story.’
They all burst out laughing at the sheer idiocy of the coincidence.
The four of them sat there chatting and laughing amiably when there was a sudden noisy influx of people into the restaurant. Thornton and the others all looked at the doorway. There was a very strange assortment of people in the group that had just entered; young handsome men, women dressed as men, accompanied by high society ladies who wished to make a name for themselves by being seen in racy company, all led by a tall, wavy haired, charismatic young man instantly recognisable to everyone in the restaurant … Oscar Milde.
Oscar Fingers O’Flattery Walls Milde, the famous wit, novelist and playwright from Eire. His witty books and plays and notoriously acid tongue allied with his scandalous lifestyle made him extremely popular throughout the high living set of Londum.
‘Thornton,’ he yelled and waved across to Thornton, as his party settled themselves at a large table across the room.
‘Oh no,’ said Thornton.
‘You know Oscar Milde?’ exclaimed Adele, eyes wide in amazement.
‘Yes, I did the chap a favour once. He was in some kind of trouble, nearly went to jail for it and … well … I got him out of trouble. For which he has been pathetically grateful ever since and insists on making a fuss every time he sees me,’ replied Thornton in a resigned tone. ‘He won’t leave me alone … ah hello Oscar, good to see you.’ He broke off as Milde arrived at the table.
‘Thornton my good friend, wonderful to see you again. I see you have some friends with you tonight.’ He looked Cobb up and down, ‘Judging by your suit, I would say you’re up from the country.’
‘No,’ replied Cobb, ‘actually I was born and brought up in Londum. Unlike you, I belong here.’
‘Been to the theatre have we Thornton?’ asked Milde.
‘No, we’ve been to the Music Hall, took in a show,’ replied Thornton.
‘Have you ever seen a play?’ Milde asked Cobb, talking as you would to a small child.
‘I’ve seen some of yours actually. “The Importance of Being Famous”, “The Photograph of Julian Grey” and “Lady Windermere’s Fat!” Pretentious tosh! I prefer George Bernard Short’s work myself.’
‘There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ said Cobb looking pointedly across the room at Milde’s odd companions.
Milde was beginning to get annoyed; he was the leading wit of Lo
ndum, no one was supposed to answer him back. ‘I guess some people just can’t appreciate genius,’ he declared pompously.
‘They say that most geniuses are not truly appreciated until after their death,’ replied Cobb. ‘I can’t wait to see you get the recognition you deserve.’
Milde, frowning slightly, as he wasn’t quite certain if he had just been insulted or not, said to Thornton, ‘I’ll bid you a pleasant evening … must return to my guests now. Cheerio!’
Milde looked at Cobb and as he turned and walked away, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard by Cobb, ‘Peasant!’
Cobb muttered under his breath, just loud enough to be heard by Milde, ‘Poof!’
After he had gone, everyone at the table collapsed into a fit of giggles. ‘I’m sorry Thornton, I know he’s a friend of yours but he was asking for it,’ said Cobb.
‘Please … don’t apologise, dear boy,’ said Thornton, ‘he deserved everything you gave him. Pompous oaf.’
‘You held your own against Oscar Milde!’ declared Adele.
‘Well, I wasn’t going to let him hold it, was I?’ replied Cobb.
‘I’m impressed,’ she said.
‘Oh, I have my moments,’ said Cobb, modestly.
‘Mind you, he was right about the suit,’ said Adele. ‘I’m taking you shopping tomorrow!’
***
Meanwhile, in another part of Albion …
In the city of Brimidgham in the heart of the industrial Midlands, an old man hobbled along the street in the upper class section of the city. This was where all the wealthy occupants of Brimidgham lived, away from the smoky factories and the squalor of the slums of the industrial workers.
He limped along the empty street leaning heavily on his stick, his cap pulled low over his face which was covered in grime, nobody would have spared him a second glance. He limped along until he reached one particular house, the home of William Talbot, despised factory owner. Talbot was repeatedly reviled in the press for the ruthless treatment of his workers. Forcing them to live in the slums that he built, while charging them excessive rents that they could barely afford to pay from the meagre wages he paid them.
Talbot’s house and its garden were surrounded by a high wall. The old man leaned against the wall as if resting, while he looked up and down the empty street. Satisfied that he was alone, he took the handle of his cane, twisted it and pulled. The handle slid out followed by a telescopic stock. He extended it until it reached the height of the wall and then twisted it in several places so it locked into place. He hooked the handle over the top of the wall.
Checking that the street was still empty, he shinned up the cane until he was sitting on the top of the wall. He pulled the cane up after him, collapsing it as he did so. Then he slid the cane down the back of his coat, leaving his hands free.
As he perched on the top of the wall the moonlight caught his face. Beneath the crude disguise was the handsome, clean-shaven face of a man in his thirties. He was a stranger in Brimidgham but he would have been easily recognised in the East End of Londum as “Gentleman Jim” Darby, so called because of his fine clothes and manners even though he often frequented the less savoury areas of Londum. To the rough East Enders he looked and acted like a “toff”, hence the nickname.
In the garden stood a tree with outspread branches, the nearest of which was some ten feet away from the wall. Jim stood up carefully until he was balanced on the wall and launched himself through the air towards the nearest branch. He grabbed it and pulled himself into the tree. Quickly, he made his way to the branches on the other side, facing the house.
Jim could see the balcony that he wanted to get to on the side of the house. He climbed up a few branches until he was looking down onto it. Unbuttoning his jacket he took out the cane and extended it telescopically out to its full length again. Then he unwound a thin rope from around his waist and tied it to end of the cane. He fed the rope through a hole in the end of the cane and tied it in a knot, so that it couldn’t slip off.
Then he threw the cane at the balcony, it took several attempts before it caught but he would patiently coil up the rope, recover the cane and try again until eventually the handle caught on the balcony railings. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the rope taut and tied it off on a sturdy branch. Then, hand over hand, he climbed down the rope and quickly made his way to the balcony.
Reaching into his pocket he took out a silver pen-like object and unscrewing the top slightly, shook out some metal picks. Selecting one, he slid the others back into the pen and tightened the top, fixing the selected pick in place. He quickly opened the lock on the balcony door and entered the room.
Jim knew he was unlikely to be disturbed, the society press said that Talbot and his wife were attending a ball that evening but as long as he was quiet, he shouldn’t attract the attention of the servants.
He put the pick back in his pocket and searched the room for the safe. It didn’t take him long to find it, it was disguised as the set of drawers in the lady’s dressing table. He felt around until he found the hidden catch and pressed it. The false front of the dressing table drawers swung open.
Jim knelt before the safe. It was a Turnbull and Chadwick, Mark III, shouldn’t take too long, he thought. Taking out his lock pick he quickly opened the deadbolt-key operated lock. Then, reaching into his inside pocket he brought out a doctor’s stethoscope and fitted the hearing pieces into his ears. He held the bell shaped end of the stethoscope to the door of the safe and turned his attention to the combination lock. He turned the dials slowly backwards and forwards until he heard the tumblers drop into place. There were five tumblers on a Mark III, five different numbers to be discovered and one by one they gave a distinctive click as each found their rightful place.
After the last one had fallen, Jim pocketed his stethoscope and turned the handle on the safe. The door swung open easily and he dragged out the contents of the safe onto the floor where he could sort through them more easily. First he opened the jewel boxes and pocketed the contents, gold necklaces and bracelets covered with fine jewels. Next he stuffed the bundles of cash into his pockets. He sorted through the remaining papers, they were just business documents so he put them back into the safe and closed and locked it carefully. Then he swung the false front back into place. No sense in advertising the robbery, the longer it was before the break-in was discovered, the better for him.
He checked his pockets to make sure he had everything that he came with (plus a bit more) and then crossed to the balcony. He pulled himself up the rope until he was standing in the tree again. He untied the rope from the branch and then shook it until the extended walking stick dislodged itself and fell free from the balcony. He pulled up the rope, untied it from the walking stick, tied it around his body and then buttoned up his coat. Then he collapsed the walking stick down to normal size and slid it down the back of his coat.
He worked his way through the branches until he was standing on the street side of the tree. He stood there for a moment, listening for any sounds coming from the road outside or the house behind him. When he was sure there was no one around, he ran along the branch and threw himself at the wall surrounding the garden. He grabbed the top of the wall with both hands and pulled himself up until he was in a sitting position on top. Taking out the walking stick from the back of his coat, he extended it to full length and hooked the handle over the top of the wall. He slid down the cane to the pavement and then collapsed it again. He bent over the stick like an old man and hobbled away down the street, into the night.
The Werewolf of Olde
Londum Towne
The Royal train was drawn up alongside platform number one, at the railway station of the channel port of Dubris. The station was gaily decorated with flags and bunting. On the platform a guard of honour and a military band waited patiently in the chill autumn morning.
Aboard the Royal train King Victor, ruler of the British Empire, stood before the mirror, resplendent in fu
ll dress uniform, buttoning his jacket as his manservant straightened his epaulettes.
‘Remind me again why we’re playing host to these provincial oiks,’ he said to the prime minister, Lord Parmesan, who waited silently across the carriage.
‘Your Majesty is well aware of the political necessity for this state visit,’ replied the prime minister.
King Victor met the prime minister’s eyes in the mirror, ‘Humour me,’ he ordered curtly.
The prime minister sighed, the king was obviously in one of his moods and it was going to be a long day. ‘As Your Majesty is aware, it is time to renew our treaty with the Grand Duchy of Pils-Holstein giving us unrestricted military access through the Alpen Mountains. This access is important as it allows us to send troops directly across the mountains to deal with any crisis in Eastern Europe more or less as it occurs. Should we have to go around the Alpen Mountains, that would take a further two or three weeks by which time we would have lost the military advantage.
‘Currently the Ostro-Ungarian Empire is looking to expand its sphere of influence throughout Europe, by military means if necessary. No other country besides Albion is capable of standing up to them, so if it comes to war we need to be able to get troops across the Alpen Mountains and into Osterreich as fast as possible. That means through Pils-Holstein.
‘Osterreich is presently trying to curry favour with Grand Duke Luga, the ruler of Pils-Holstein, to deny us access, which will give them free reign in Eastern Europe. Our current treaty is still in force but it is due for renewal soon, so we have invited the Grand Duke and his entourage here to Albion for a state visit to boost our relations with him in the hope he will favour us over Osterreich when it comes time to renegotiate the treaty.
‘Your Majesty, we need that treaty so we need to make a good impression with these people. You do understand that, don’t you?’
‘I understand that if my cousin Henried, the old duke, was still alive we wouldn’t be having this problem,’ replied the king.
The Londum Omnibus Volume One (The Londum Series Book 4) Page 26