Watchers of the Dead

by Simon Beaufort

  Lonsdale realized he had dug himself into a terrible hole – now he would have to buy something from Garrard because Emelia would know if his gift to Anne came from elsewhere. It would cost a fortune – money he would far rather spend on something more practical.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘And I’ll be late unless I leave now.’

  ‘Then go,’ said Anne with a fond smile that made him feel guilty. ‘I can’t wait for Christmas now! A gift from Garrard. I wonder what Jack has bought for you, Em.’

  Jack’s panicky expression revealed it was nothing so exotic, so that Lonsdale experienced another twinge of guilt as he took his leave.

  It was only a short way to Selwood Terrace, and the house the professor had bought for its proximity to the Natural History Museum. Even so, Lonsdale was half an hour late. He stopped outside, breathing hard from running the whole way, and saw a pretty, two-storey terraced house built of earth-coloured brick. The door was black, and so was Hulda’s mood. She glared at him as she rose from where she had been sitting on the garden wall.

  ‘I could’ve been shooting,’ she said icily, ‘but instead I’ve been here, twiddling my thumbs. Being late for an appointment is rude!’

  ‘Yes,’ acknowledged Lonsdale. ‘It is, and I apologize without reservation. Unfortunately, escaping from Anne and Emelia is easier said than done, and it took longer than I anticipated. In the end, I left them with Voules, who just happened to be there.’

  ‘With Voules?’ echoed Hulda, and her face broke into a grin of delight. ‘I can’t imagine that’ll please them. No one wants to spend Sunday with a slug.’

  Lonsdale laughed, and turned to the front door. The key slipped into the lock easily, and then he and Hulda were in a hallway in which hung a collection of African shields, weapons, masks and beaded clothing. The main room contained more of the same, along with a bookcase stuffed full of academic tomes on ethnography. Hulda quickly moved to a desk, through which she began to rifle. Lonsdale began to search through a bureau.

  ‘Here’s a letter from Medical Superintendent Orange at Broadmoor,’ she announced after a moment. ‘He thanks Dickerson for his helpful remarks and promises to look into them. It’s dated two days after Dickerson and Roth signed the visitors’ book that Milner saw. Roth was lying.’

  Lonsdale took it. ‘I’m not sure—’

  ‘Roth said he and Dickerson went to speak to Chaplain Ashe about donating Ashanti spears to the museum, but instead, they met this Orange and made some sort of commentary that Orange has promised to review. We’d better have another word with your friend.’

  Lonsdale wanted to argue, but she was right: the letter from Orange did indeed suggest that more business had been conducted at Broadmoor that day than speaking to the chaplain. He made no reply, and for a while they worked in silence.

  ‘There are lots of receipts and ticket stubs,’ he said eventually. ‘For tea rooms, restaurants, operas and concerts.’

  Hulda indicated the desk. ‘And here’s evidence that they enjoyed a few cricket matches shortly after they arrived. Of course, we already knew that the Kumu like those things.’

  ‘But we didn’t appreciate quite how much time the professor spent with them,’ mused Lonsdale, ‘or how much money – probably his own – he spent. Moreover, nearly all these tickets are in blocks of six: Dickerson, the three Kumu, Roth and … who else?’

  Hulda held up a letter. ‘Perhaps William Ingram, owner of The Illustrated London News – the paper his father founded.’

  Lonsdale took it from her. It was a brief note thanking the professor for his hospitality and the opportunity to meet the Kumu at Iolanthe the previous evening and expressing the hope that there would be many more such occasions in the future.

  ‘Roth didn’t mention him,’ said Lonsdale.

  ‘No, said Hulda pointedly. ‘He didn’t. How very interesting. But we’ve done all we can here, so I suggest we visit Mr Ingram immediately.’

  ‘No,’ said Lonsdale firmly. ‘First, Ingram lives in Boston, his parliamentary constituency. And second, I can’t abandon my fiancée to race to Lincolnshire with you.’

  Hulda smiled superiorly. ‘But Ingram is in London, which I know as I read The Illustrated London News to remind myself why our paper is such a superior vehicle. He’s retired from politics and is in the city because his sister Ada is married to a monkey.’

  ‘Monkey Hornby!’ exclaimed Lonsdale. ‘Of course! Earlier this year Hornby became the only man ever to captain both our national rugby and cricket teams. Even you should be aware of this, Friederichs – he’s the best-known sportsman in the country. The Illustrated London News has pushed the connection strongly because everyone loves sport.’

  ‘Not everyone,’ said Hulda pointedly. ‘Other than archery, shooting and cycling, of course. Regardless, Ingram’s in London, so we’ll visit him and ask how often he was the sixth member of this social party. He may even know where the Kumu are hiding.’

  ‘We can go this evening, after I’ve taken Anne and Emelia home. We can go to see Roth as well – ask why he didn’t mention meeting Orange at Broadmoor.’

  ‘And here’s something else,’ said Hulda, holding out another letter. ‘This reminds Dickerson about a meeting he was to attend back in November – a meeting of a group styling itself “the Watchers”.’

  Lonsdale took it. ‘It’s signed “Grim Death”. It must be a joke.’

  ‘I don’t believe it is,’ said Hulda. ‘Read the message, Lonsdale – there’s nothing amusing or light-hearted in its tone. I would say it was deadly serious.’

  Lonsdale scanned it quickly and was inclined to agree.

  My dear Dickerson,

  All proceeds apace for our meeting of this month. All London will see what the Watchers are capable of on Christmas Eve. It will be an event to catch the city’s entire attention but will be nothing compared to the unspeakable Happening for the following day. Then, we shall give our minds, bodies and souls to our Great Lord, and he will reward us with the blood of life. We shall make a sacrifice and gain untold riches in return. We are the chosen, to do his bidding, and London will never be the same once we have made His will known.

  Your faithful servant,

  Grim Death

  ‘Have you heard of the Watchers?’ he asked Hulda.

  ‘No, but it sounds sinister, and I think we should see what we can find out about it. Here’s another letter from “Grim Death”, this one calling a meeting on the fourth of December, to discuss “the demise of our much-loved brother”.’

  ‘That’s the day after Archbishop Tait died,’ said Lonsdale. ‘Do you think it refers to him? That he was also a member of these Watchers?’

  ‘It would make sense, given the other connections between Dickerson and Tait,’ said Hulda. ‘But look at the end of the second letter, Lonsdale. It again mentions the great event planned for Christmas Eve, when all Watchers will stand united for one “supreme sacrifice”.’

  Lonsdale regarded the letter uneasily. ‘We need to find out more about this sect and its intentions.’

  ‘A “happening to change the world” is mentioned in this letter, too,’ said Hulda, handing him a third missive, although the handwriting was different and it was unsigned. ‘It also says that on Christmas Eve some two hundred people will learn exactly what the Watchers are capable of, and London will never forget it.’

  ‘This letter definitely makes it sound as if the “happening” entails something very sinister,’ said Lonsdale, taking it from her and reading it quickly. ‘Listen: “And all Watchers will make a sacrifice of their very souls to the Great Lord in return for drinking their fill of the sacred blood of ultimate sacrifice.”’ He looked up at Hulda. ‘What Great Lord do they mean … God?’

  ‘That does not sound like a holy “Great Lord” to me,’ averred Hulda worriedly. ‘Not if it involves blood and sacrifices. It sounds more … frightening, Satanic even.’

  ‘Could it be the “higher aut
hority” that prevented Superintendent Henderson from exploring the murder of Tait?’

  ‘That makes sense,’ nodded Hulda. ‘After all, the language and imagery of these letters make it clear that the Watchers aim to do something terrible. Why else would they talk about “what the Watchers are capable of”? You can tell from the tone that Londoners won’t like whatever they intend to do. Not on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.’

  Lonsdale agreed. ‘Which means we have to stop them.’

  Hulda regarded him with eyes that were huge in her pale face. ‘Then there’s not a moment to lose!’

  In an agitated, anxious frame of mind, Lonsdale returned to the South Kensington Museum to discover that Emelia and Anne had tired of Voules’s company and were impatient to go home. Lonsdale had taken longer than the promised hour, which Emelia made sure no one forgot for the rest of the day. Worse, Anne begged to look at the parcel he had collected, and he was obliged to tell another lie about it not being ready. Thankfully, she believed him; Jack did not.

  ‘You do realize you’ll have to provide something really special now,’ he murmured as they waited to hire a brougham. ‘It’s that or be exposed as a dissembler. Let me know how much money you want to borrow, because Garrard is expensive.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’d get me something, would you?’ Lonsdale muttered back. ‘I won’t have time, not now this group – the Watchers – is planning something we must stop. I need to spend every waking moment on it.’

  ‘If I do, Emelia is sure to find out, and then you’ll really be in trouble. You must buy it yourself, no matter how busy you are. Anne’s going to be your wife, Alec. If you can’t find time to do something that’ll please her, then perhaps you shouldn’t get married at all.’

  Lonsdale was not sure how to respond, although he found himself more concerned with his enquiries than a future that seemed distant and somewhat unreal. He was engrossed in his thoughts all the way home. Fortunately, Anne and Emelia were more interested in denigrating Voules, so did not notice.

  They arrived at the Humbage home in Gordon Square, where Lonsdale broke the news that he would be unable to linger.

  ‘But I expected you to stay for dinner,’ cried Anne, disappointed, ‘after which we’ll have music around the piano.’

  Lonsdale was grateful to be spared the ordeal, as none of the Humbages were in the slightest bit musical, and their efforts tended to be painful. Moreover, he had no desire to spend time with Humbage. He could hear the man from the hallway, braying to Jack about something else his ‘good friends’ at the Palace had confided.

  ‘Is he bragging about his association with Lord Curly-Tail and Fleetwood-Lighthouse again?’ muttered Lady Gertrude, who held a very large glass of sherry. ‘Fool! They’ll never give him a job at the Palace – they have real friends they’d rather promote.’

  ‘His obsession with winning a court appointment is partly your fault, Grandmama,’ said Anne quietly. ‘You talk about your old connections, and it makes him feel inferior because he doesn’t have any. So he aims to acquire some of his own.’

  Lady Gertrude cackled. ‘You don’t just go out and “acquire” them, girl! They have to be earned, and poor Gervais doesn’t have the knack. If he has any sense, he’ll desist before he makes a total ass of himself.’

  She hobbled away to top up her glass, leaving Lonsdale and Anne to spend a few minutes on their own, free from chaperones and escorts. By the time he left, Lonsdale remembered why he had fallen in love with Anne and was more at peace with his decision to marry.

  It was a filthy evening, not only bitterly cold, but sleeting as well, and there was an unpleasant wind scything in from the north. Lonsdale was aware of Voules trailing after him as he left Gordon Square, but by the time he reached Tottenham Court Road and hailed a hansom, The Echo reporter had disappeared. Lonsdale was not surprised – it was no night to be out.

  He arrived at Roth’s lodgings, then had a chilly half-hour while he waited for Hulda. He considered going in without her, but she had made it clear earlier that she would be vexed if he did, and Hulda vexed was not something he wanted. Moreover, he was sure her tardiness was revenge for him keeping her waiting at Dickerson’s home that afternoon.

  He stamped his feet and blew on his fingers, trying to stay warm. He wished he was at home and had a sudden image of himself lounging in front of a fire with the papers and a bag of toffee. There was a woman opposite, and Lonsdale was somewhat surprised when it transpired to be Hulda rather than Anne.

  She appeared eventually, looking warm and toasty inside a greatcoat with a fur collar. He glanced down at her legs, and thought she might be wearing trousers, although it was difficult to tell in the dark. Anne would never don male attire, and Lonsdale found it rather refreshing that Hulda was willing to buck convention – Anne talked about independence of spirit but would rather admire it in others than express it herself. He thought she might, when they had first met, but since becoming engaged she had fallen happily into the role of the traditional Victorian lady and all that entailed.

  ‘Are you ready for this?’ Hulda asked. ‘It occurs to me that your friend might be the killer – that he murdered his mentor and arranged for the Kumu to be blamed by making them disappear. The Kumu may not even still be alive.’

  Lonsdale blinked. ‘That’s a wild conclusion to draw from virtually no evidence! Besides, we’ve agreed that whoever killed Dickerson also dispatched Tait, Haldane and Bowyer. Tim Roth has no reason to harm any of those.’

  ‘No reason that we know of,’ corrected Hulda. ‘Yet he lied about his visit to Broadmoor – it wasn’t to collect artefacts, but to discuss something with the medical superintendent. He also failed to disclose that he, Dickerson and the Kumu were joined by a sixth person on their little outings.’

  ‘But we never asked him about the outings,’ objected Lonsdale, ‘so it’s hardly fair to expect him to have volunteered information about it.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s a Watcher, too, like his mentor Dickerson,’ persisted Hulda. ‘And he is also involved in this “unspeakable” event that is planned for Christmas.’

  Lonsdale was sure she was wrong, and there followed an intense argument, after which he found himself thinking that Hulda was the last person he would want sitting opposite him at the hearth, to read and share his toffee.

  They were still annoyed with each other when Lonsdale knocked on Roth’s door. Roth answered wearing a baggy jacket and felt slippers and started to say he was too tired for visitors, but Hulda ignored him and stalked inside. In the sitting room, the central table was covered in old books and African gold jewellery; again, Lonsdale was aware of the odour he had noticed the last time he had been there.

  ‘We have some questions,’ began Hulda without preamble. ‘Starting with Broadmoor, where we know you went to talk to Medical Superintendent Orange, not Chaplain Ashe.’

  Roth stared at her. ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Never you mind. Just tell us the truth this time.’

  ‘I told you the truth last time,’ objected Roth. ‘We went to speak to Ashe about spears. I hated the place, and had to leave when the noise of the doors slamming—’

  ‘Did the professor leave with you?’ asked Lonsdale.

  Roth shook his head. ‘He stayed to finish his business with Ashe.’

  ‘So he might have gone to talk to Orange when you weren’t there to see?’ pressed Hulda.

  ‘He might, I suppose, although I can’t imagine what the head of a lunatic asylum and the professor had to say to each other.’

  ‘When we searched Dickerson’s house – on your recommendation – we discovered a letter indicating that Dickerson gave Orange some suggestions.’

  Roth looked blank. ‘Suggestions about what?’

  ‘We don’t know – yet.’

  Roth shrugged. ‘I know nothing about any suggestions. However, if you aim to visit Broadmoor to find out, be warned that it houses a lot of very dangerous criminals. If I were you, I
’d have nothing to do with it. Now, is there anything else, or may I go to bed? I’m very tired.’

  ‘We also found evidence that Dickerson spent a lot of money fêting the Kumu,’ Hulda forged on. ‘And that you were a member of his party.’

  The second part was pure conjecture, but Roth nodded. ‘I was, and he did spend a fortune. I offered to pay my own way, but he refused, on the grounds that I was his employee.’

  ‘He hired you?’ asked Lonsdale, surprised. ‘I thought the museum paid your wages.’

  He shot Hulda a triumphant glance: Roth would not kill the source of his income.

  Roth nodded. ‘I thought I might have to find another job when he died, but the solicitor came again today. Not only did the professor leave me his collections, but also a large sum of money. He asked that I use it to catalogue his artefacts, but it isn’t binding – the choice of whether to do it is mine.’

  It was Hulda’s turn for the victorious look. ‘He wanted you to give the best bits to the museum, but if you never curate the collection … well, you can keep it all, and no one will be any the wiser. And you have a handsome legacy into the bargain.’

  ‘Yes,’ acknowledged Roth. ‘But he trusted me to carry out his wishes, and I shall.’

  ‘Were you aware of this bequest before today?’ asked Lonsdale, more for Hulda’s benefit than his own.

  Roth shook his head. ‘It was a pleasant shock.’

  ‘The tickets in Dickerson’s house reveal that he paid for six people to go out and about,’ said Hulda. ‘Him, you, the three Kumu and who else?’

  ‘William Ingram, owner of The Illustrated London News,’ replied Roth. ‘He didn’t come all the time, though. He was writing a piece about the Kumu, although I can’t imagine he’ll publish it now they’re accused of murder.’

  ‘I imagine he will,’ countered Hulda. ‘Pictures of cannibals at play will sell like hot cakes.’

  ‘He’s not that kind of man,’ said Roth earnestly. ‘He believes they’re innocent, just like I do. But why not ask him? I expect he’ll be at his club tonight.’