by P. N. Elrod
A tall masked form burst from the shadows of the bookcase door. Head to toe in black, topped by a hooded cloak, he was as alarming a sight as any Alex had beheld that evening, including the beast in the mirror room.
Hollifield gave a start and turned, raising the gun toward the intruder, but the man moved incredibly fast. His lordship’s pistol was plucked away in a blink.
The man swept toward Alex, who stumbled backward, bumping into something. His hand shot out, keeping her from falling. As he steadied her, she felt emotions not her own: anger, relief, and an odd, swift spark of amusement, then her barriers came up and halted the flood.
She glimpsed ice blue eyes behind the mask. One of them winked at her.
She began to speak, but he raised one finger for silence. Lord Richard was apparently not ready to return from the dead just yet.
He turned the pistol over to a startled Alex, strode to the bookcase, and gave a whistle. Two flying squad men clattered in, followed by James, Fingate, and Benedict. They were battered, covered in grime and dust, and smelled of black powder. There was no shortage of weapons among them.
Nonplussed and outraged, Hollifield began to bluster as any man might toward strangers invading his home. Lord Richard towered over him and again raised one finger.
Hollifield stuttered to a halt, then demanded, “Who are you?”
James put himself forward. “Doesn’t matter. You made the correct choice in the end. You owe your life to our Alex.”
“W-what?”
“That is to say, our friend here has had a bead on the back of your head at point-blank range for the last five minutes. We’re delighted he didn’t have to shoot you.”
Benedict was paper pale and with help from Fingate sought out the nearest chair, folding into it without a word and closing his eyes.
“Those stairs were a trial for him, Lady Drina,” explained Fingate. “We should have a doctor in.”
“I say there.” James was peeved. “I am a doctor.”
“Sorry, sir, I forgot.”
“I’m going to have to grow a great hooting moustache and carry a large black bag with ‘doctor’ printed on it in gold before anyone takes me seriously.”
At that point the policeman blew his whistle, catching everyone on the hop. It had the effect of making him the focus of attention.
“The lot of you settle in one spot and inform me wot is goin’ on ’ere,” he ordered. He pointed the whistle at the squad men. “You—put those pistols down this instant or I’ll ’ave you in irons.”
They looked at Lord Richard, who gave one nod, then obeyed, slotting the weapons into their shoulder harness holsters. He gestured and the men went to stand behind Hollifield.
“You! In the fancy togs! I wants that mask orf an’ an explanation—”
Lord Richard produced a heavy folded paper and extended it toward the policeman, who accepted and read it with suspicion. His eyes widened. “Is this…? Truth an’ all?”
The masked apparition pointed authoritatively at Alex. He took the paper, passed it to her, and then turned on his heel, departing the way he’d come, pulling the bookcase door shut with a snick.
“They should have him in Parliament,” said James. “They’d get more work done with less noise. What is that?”
Alex recognized the seals and her godmother’s signature under the brief and neatly written statement. The onus it placed on her inspired equal parts of satisfaction and exasperation.
“It means,” she said wearily, “that until and unless a senior agent arrives—and I think it unlikely—I’m in charge.”
James barked a single laugh. “You should love that, little cousin.”
To be entrusted with the responsibility for the state of affairs in Lord Hollifield’s study was the last thing Alex wanted, but it had its benefits. She immediately ordered tea.
Sebbings looked to his master for a cue. Hollifield nodded and gave a weary wave, then retired to the chair at his desk. His crisis of conscience over, he seemed uninterested in further participation.
While the squad men stood over the prisoners, Alex wrote a brief telegraph message for Mrs. Woodwake. Owing to the need for secrecy, it had to be vague, but she’d know Alex was returning with prisoners. The policeman was dispatched to the station with mysterious instructions to avoid contact with any closed coaches that might put themselves in his way.
Tea arrived, along with biscuits and other edibles from that day’s reception. Fingate helped distribute the refreshment. Benedict roused enough accept a cup, which he had to hold in both hands. After the first bracing gulp he looked around uneasily.
“Are there mirrors here?” he asked in a sharp tone.
“No, sir,” said Fingate. “It’s quite safe.”
“No place is safe. Besides, he’s here.” He glared at Lord Hollifield.
His lordship looked away. “I’m sorry, lad. Truly I am.”
Benedict scowled. “A bit late for that. What you’ve opened and unleashed—”
“You volunteered!”
“And when things went wrong you left me to rot in the dark with those damned nightmares!”
“I did no such—”
“Oi!” Alex’s loud interjection cut short the exchange. Instructive as it might be, she was certain it would lead to things the Hollifield servants did not need to hear. “Fingate, how did you two escape?”
“We didn’t. They locked us up. Not sure for how long, but things got noisy. Whistles blowing, people shouting, screaming, and thumping around…”
“That would be the forces of law and order making a vigorous inquiry about the odd goings-on at number twenty-five,” said James. “The guests lost all sense of proper deportment, in fact, most went into a bit of a blind panic, which was not in the least helpful. Then those masked johnnies tried to leg it out by way of the tunnels.”
Hollifield lifted his head. “What happened?”
“They were sorely disappointed to find the exits blocked. The tall fellow who left? He knew all about those. Most of the johnnies didn’t make it.”
“Dead?” he choked out, going gray.
James’s normally cheerful expression turned somber. “Some fools began shooting. Couldn’t hear their guns, but by God they heard ours. It was over in seconds. A narrow tunnel is a poor place to stage a battle. The men in front fall first, you can’t advance, more bodies pile up, and then you can’t breathe or see for the powder smoke choking the air.” He looked at Alex. “That’s where Hamish is, seeing to the wounded. I should be there, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t in a bad spot.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I take it you got the lady out.”
“We were met halfway by a rescue party led by that tall fellow. We presented our credentials, mentioned your name, and she was passed to safe and caring hands. Then Hamish and I led them to the secret doings. I won’t be shocked if my hair’s turned white from some of what I saw in the private rooms. We did have a jolly time breaking through doors and terrifying people. That’s how we found Fingate and that poor devil.” He cast a look at Benedict, who was now eagerly demolishing a plate of biscuits.
“Our large companion was looking for you. Determined fellow. He loped off into that infernal maze with a couple of men, and I loped after them with Fingate in tow. From some of what was muttered in passing I had the idea we were also tracking the general in charge of the works and had to be cautious. Didn’t know for sure it would lead to you, but I should have guessed you’d turn up. You have a talent for ticking off people at the top.”
“Really, James—”
“You’re right, let me correct that. You’ve a talent for ticking off people everywhere. I hope you won’t stop, as it’s no end entertaining for me. I’d be obliged if you’d explain those unfortunates on the rug. One of ’em seems familiar.”
“You met him at the swimming race today.”
“You’re joking.”
“Sadly, not.”
James bent for a close
r scrutiny of Teddy. “What the devil is—”
“Let’s keep names out of it for the present. We’re all going to Service headquarters and statements will be taken there.”
“How boring. Might I be excused? Oh, well. Nothing for it but to do my duty and all that, however inconvenient. Good heavens, is that a woman you’ve got tied up?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In Which Miss Pendlebury Deals with a Private Matter
“Little cousin,” said James, looking out the study window at the unusual quantity of traffic in the square, “you’ve inserted yourself into history. No mistake about it.”
“Bother that,” snapped Alex.
“It’s true. The Grosvenor Square raid promises to have greater repercussions than anything since Guy Fawkes was found strolling under Parliament with a pocketful of matches. Looks like hundreds are being arrested.”
Alex had no mind for her place in history, being distracted by the need to acquire immediate transportation to Service headquarters. Every conveyance from half the stations in the city were being used to transport prisoners. Omnibuses were commandeered, even open carts from tradesmen were sent in.
She finally ordered Lord Hollifield’s coach made ready, her authority backed up by the queen’s carte blanche letter. Alex liked this level of command, but understood a disproportionate amount of responsibility came with it. She gladly anticipated turning the paper and her charges over to Mrs. Woodwake as soon as humanly possible.
As a grudging concession to James, who was more of a gentleman than Alex was a lady, she allowed him to place Andrina on a settee and remove her blindfold. She’d returned to her full senses and chewed at her gag, attempting to talk. It would have been comical, but Alex was certain those bursts of frustrated sounds were not fit to hear. The gag remained in place.
“Andrina, you’ll be given the chance to speak as much as you’d like soon enough. Until then, you may want to consider what sort of apologies to write to our godmother and in particular to Princess Charlotte. After tonight you won’t be allowed within miles of the palace ever again.”
Fingate, poor fellow, looked moderately appalled, not at Andrina’s fate, but at Alex’s obvious satisfaction over it.
Alex realized that she was not the ingenuous fledgling he’d known ten years ago, but she refused to feel badly about that. Where Andrina was concerned, it was impossible to conceal the pleasure of finally having the last word.
Lord Hollifield remained quiet. He’d made use of pen, ink, and paper, composing a letter to his wife. Alex read it to make sure it wasn’t a coded message to another member of the Order of the Black Sun. She apologized for intruding and gave it to Sebbings to hand deliver. Though a traitor, his lordship was royally connected and would require delicate handling for the time being.
Brook, with an abstracted expression, strode across to the desk, opened the top right drawer, took something from under a sheaf of papers there, and returned to where he’d been standing by the bookcase door.
With a dreadful face, Hollifield gave a short groan of misery and slumped.
“Mr. Brook?”
“Yes, Miss Pendlebury?”
“Were you aware of what you’ve just done?”
It took him a moment to work out how he’d acquired the derringer in his hand. “Oh. Well.”
“You could not have known that was in the desk.”
“I’ve never been in this room before,” he admitted.
“Your talent is certainly manifesting itself in useful ways today. Bravo.” She turned to Hollifield. “You are not taking the gentleman’s way out to avoid accountability, sir. Remember your family. Causing harm to yourself harms them.”
“What of your family, Alex? What untold harm have you done to them this night?” He shot a pointed look at Teddy and Andrina.
“They brought it on themselves, but I dread giving the news to their parents. My uncle and aunt won’t thank me for it, but better from me than a stranger. I’ll have no friends on the Pendlebury side, and the crimes committed will taint my name as well. Uncle will resign in disgrace, Aunt will—well, never mind. What comes will come.”
The coach arrived, much to Alex’s relief. She wanted to leave before Lady Lindsey returned from her royal dinner.
Lord Hollifield now seemed stoically resigned to accept the consequences of his actions in the best public school manner.
Seemed. Alex sensed he had a small gem of bright hope deeply hidden. What it might be she could not say, but it had to be removed. There was a moment of scandalized distress from others when she ordered his hands restrained behind him by police darbies. They were to be left on indefinitely.
“Really, Alex, must you?” asked James.
She shot him a bleak look. “I don’t … I don’t want the man hanging himself later.”
That took James aback. He looked ill, but nodded and said nothing more on the subject.
Alex briefly touched Hollifield’s arm as he was helped into the coach. The bright little gem was gone, replaced by bleak darkness.
The ride to headquarters was silent. She was tired to the bone and welcomed the respite, however short. Duty called again when they were stopped at Whitehall by armed men from the Horse Guards. Barricades were up, blocking the street. The queen’s letter got them through.
Lights burned in every window of the Service building, and just across Richmond Terrace, New Scotland Yard was active as a knocked-over anthill. Horse Guards and soldiers on foot were everywhere. Some were even posted on roofs overlooking Downing Street. She’d never seen such a thing before.
When they rolled through the gates into the courtyard Alex picked up the excitement in the air. Her telegram to Woodwake had prepared the way for the prisoners. Hollifield, Teddy, Andrina, and the hapless guard (still groggy from his fight with Brook) were swept off to hidden regions to eventually be questioned by Readers. Alex wondered if the rules might be set aside to include her in the process, since she could offer insight to her cousins’ reactions. Time would tell.
Mrs. Woodwake was busy elsewhere, though. Interviews would have to wait. Instead of a meeting room or even the dining hall, their party was escorted up to a large parlor on the fourth floor. It looked less like a ministry office and more like a private home.
A cheery fire burned, the rugs were thick and mellow in color and some exceedingly fine landscape paintings drew the eye beyond the limits of the walls. Windows looked out over Whitehall and the length of Downing Street. During the day a slice of St. James’s Park would be visible beyond.
Bullet holes marred the glass from the attack that afternoon. Rags had been stuffed in to halt draughts. Corresponding holes in the ceiling attested to the velocity and force of the air gun bullets. The great black rectangles of night made Alex uncomfortable, as though invisible things were staring in on them. She pulled the heavy brocade curtains together.
Benedict, blown again from having to climb stairs, balked at the door, pointing in alarm at what hung over the fireplace.
“Mirror! Get me away! Get me away!”
He blundered backward into the hall. Brook and James caught him and Alex promised to remove the offending décor. That calmed him, but he remained rigid as a corpse until two of their staff escorts lifted the framed glass from its hooks and took it elsewhere.
Fingate had apparently appointed himself the poor man’s unofficial keeper, and with soothing words got him settled close to the fire. Benedict shut his eyes and hummed to himself, his fingers tapping the chair arms. Alex thought she recognized Bach.
Her exhausted little company spread themselves among the furnishings. Even the indefatigable Brook sprawled in a chair, his long legs stretched out. She knew if she shut her eyes she’d never get them open again. Besides, the damned corset pinched too much. She went to the hall, looking for and finding a necessary room.
Tiled from floor to ceiling in greens and blues with winking highlights of topaz-colored glass, it was the most remarkable and beautiful o
ne she’d ever seen. The walls gave the impression of being in a fairy forest of vines and flowers, dazzling even by gaslight.
Alex quit the water closet to find Sybil waiting on a settee by the bathing tub, a bright smile on her mad face. She wore a purple dressing gown and brilliant red carpet slippers.
“Hallo, traveler’s daughter! I’m glad you broke the mirrors. My head’s cooler now.”
Alex had to smile back. “Pleased to have been of help.”
“Dreadful things in those mirrors.”
“Yes. There were.”
“Are. Still there. Can’t let more get through.”
“Do you know how many are here?”
“No, how many?” She tucked her lips, waiting for an answer.
“I’d hoped you might say.”
Sybil tapped her head. “Doesn’t work like that. What comes, comes, and others decide what’s important. I gave that up ages ago, too distracting. You look terrible.”
“I’m sure I do. Would you mind helping me loosen this corset?”
“I won’t know until I try. What a pretty dress!”
“It was some hours ago. Who else is else about? That companion of yours?”
“She’s having a nap. I exhaust people. I don’t mean to, but there it is. Here—this came, or maybe I had it brought up. Sometimes I forget what I ask for, but these wanted to be in here and they aren’t my size. They should trim you up.” She gestured at a blouse and a walking skirt neatly laid out on a chair. “Are the colors all right?”
The blouse had blue and brown stripes and the skirt was a slightly darker brown with sky-blue braiding for trim.
Normally Alex would have avoided such a garish and unlikely combination, but anything was better than the rags of Andrina’s vanity. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”
Sybil gave a breathy giggle, rocking back and forth. “I love color-color-colors. They don’t always go together and then suddenly they do. Such a surprise, like rainbows in a mud puddle.”
She assisted with the corset and Alex took what seemed to be her first deep breath in days. “Do you live here?”