The Hanged Man (32 page)

Mourne was nettled, but he kept his voice low and even. “Raise your voice to me again, soldier, and I'll have you transferred to the Hebrides. I know this is hard, but at least pretend a respect for what I've said.”

“We're getting answers,” Alex whispered. “Even if they are impossible. No more so than Miss Sybil, and you believe what she tells you.”

“That's different.”

“How?” demanded Mourne. “She pulls her prophecies out of thin air and you accept 'em over what you've seen firsthand? What you fought out there in the street? You laid fists on that creature. It was real enough to do injury.”

Brook seemed about to speak, then shook his head. He tipped his flask and finished it off.

“Hold strong, lad. You might get used to the impossible. Right, let's move on to what's in front of us. We've been lucky. Miss Sybil foiled one attack and Miss Pendlebury saved us here thanks to a well-placed shot, but be certain the enemy will regroup once they know they've failed.” He jerked his head toward the courtyard. “What do you make of that thing, missy?”

“It looks ape-ish,” she began, then considered that Mourne would be after a useful summation, not a statement of the obvious. “But its actions indicate that it must have possessed human intelligence. It murdered my father, invading his home and attempting to make murder look like suicide. It invaded my home, perhaps to serve me the same way, but for some reason abandoned that task. I believe it abducted Mrs. Veltre and God knows whether she's alive or not. After Mr. Brook and I left Lord Hollifield it turned up on a roof here, ably handling an air gun. Mr. Brook does not like the suggestion of a connection between this business and his lordship, but I cannot ignore that he sent us to this address. However, the creature shot prisoners along with your men. Considering its apparent intelligence, I would suggest its goal was to prevent them from being questioned, rather than an inability to tell one side from another.”

“Your two cousins were at Hollifield House,” said Brook. “One or the other could have asked about our destination. His lordship would have seen no harm in informing either of them.”

“I'll allow that James or Teddy could be involved, however unlikely that might be. But is it not more logical to consider that Lord Hollifield might be a member of the Ætheric Society?”

“The
Ætherics
?”

“Many members are of the upper classes. Whether they're there to hear lectures on metaphysical and theosophical topics or to enjoy a more prurient entertainment—”

“But he's your friend, Miss Pendlebury, and … and the queen's relation by marriage.”

“All the more reason to keep his membership a secret and to silence a spy in their midst. That could explain my father's removal. Mrs. Veltre had some association with him, so she also had to be removed.”

“Peace, missy,” said the colonel. “You're making guesses. It'll be easy enough to determine if Lord Danny's mixed up in this.”

“How?”

“We ask him. Our Dickie boy will do the honors. He has a way of getting the truth from people whether they like it or not. Try not to look too appalled, Lieutenant. Lord Richard may get his general orders from the Lord Consort, but he's bound by oath and honor to serve the queen. If her brother-in-law is up to no good it has to be sussed out for the safety of the realm. Wouldn't be the first time that royal relatives made a mess of things. Whatever you do, don't mention the Wars of the Roses—oh, there you are. About time. You look how I feel. Sit.”

Lord Richard, accurately described by the colonel, found a bench and surrendered to its limited comfort. He was paler than before and pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was … not pleasant,” he said.

“The lad has a stubborn eye.”

“I've had better cooperation from dead mules.”

“Was he drunk?”

“Not on spirits. He's a fanatic. It's typical for religion and politics and a few other vices. Their extreme views are without reason, like a fever sickness. Took an effort to get past that.”

“What did you learn?”

“Nothing good. He's heart and soul with the England for the English mob, but confirmed that there's a group behind them directing business.”

“The Ætherics?” asked Alex.

“They're also just a curtain covering deeper and darker things, a tool and a source of funding from fools who should know better.” Richard turned his tired gaze on Mourne. “It's as you thought: the Order of the Black Dawn.”

The colonel's chronic scowl deepened. “I wish I'd been in error.”

The name was not familiar to Alex, but something about it instantly nagged her.

Brook shifted and muttered, “Those pamphlets we found.”

“Ah,” she said, catching the meaning.

“What do you know of the Black Dawn?” Mourne demanded sharply.

Brook continued, “Mrs. Veltre had Ætheric Society literature with the motif of a black sun on it. They're connected, are they not?”

He made a noise of disgust. “There's brass for you. Hiding in plain sight.”

“What is this order, sir?”

“The nobs directing things, so far as can be told. The Black Dawn's worse than the Ætherics or the E. for E. louts playing at politics. Some hint of 'em started up about the same time young Drina took the throne. There were those who didn't want her marrying any German prince, must have been a dozen plots afoot to assassinate any man with royal blood daring to cross the Channel. Busy times. But she showed them all. Can't get more English than the Godalming tribe.”

“The next time they surfaced,” said Lord Richard, “was during the furor prior to the passage of the Equal Franchise Bill. Some thought it bad enough the queen wanted to give a vote to every man in her realm, propertied or not, but she insisted women have a vote as well. Predictions of chaos, revolution, God punishing us all for disrupting the natural order of things—it was a mad time. The Service had a different Seer then, a bit more focused, and he kept having a vision of a black dawn. Took us a while to sort out the meaning.”

“Did some good,” said Mourne. “Because of that we were able to foil another gunpowder plot.”

“
Another
one?” said Alex.

“Along with assassination attempts on the queen and any number of politicians supporting the bill. The vote went through fair and square as it should and passed by a cat's whisker. Let's hope you appreciate the effort that went into it, missy.”

“Indeed I do,” she said, “but what
is
the Black Dawn?”

“From the little we know they're a pack of johnnies who don't want change of any kind. It can be bad for business unless it's a change that suits them. If you're a fella who makes his pile selling guns, then a war every few years is just the thing to keep you in country estates. But the queen's a great one for using diplomacy over force to defend her interests in the wide world. There's some as think women having the vote has to do with that. Pure nonsense. Females are just as bloodthirsty as men, given the right circumstances. The obvious answer is that our queen's brilliant at picking ambassadors.”

“And consulting Miss Sybil?”

“There's that. Keep her name to yourselves from now on. There's a war on and the less said about our assets the better.”

“The Black Dawn knows about her, since they appear to have a means of blocking her Sight,” said Richard.

“Mirrors,” said Alex.

“What about them?”

“She spoke of them to me.”

“When did
you
get in to see her?” he demanded.

“Put your bull pup away, Dickie,” said Mourne. “Miss Sybil slipped her keepers. Woodwake found her in the dining hall frightening everyone out of their appetites. Sexton had the wit to write down everything she babbled, but I didn't get a chance to read it. Tell his lordship the rest, missy, before he bursts a blood vessel.”

Lord Richard snorted, but pulled himself back, looking a bit less terrifying.

“She…” Alex cleared her throat; it had gone tight. “She mentioned red curtains, mirrors, a blackness behind them, and that I should break them and damn the bad luck.”

“That's all?”

She nodded.

“Well,” he said, after a long moment. “It would seem that you do have orders. Good of you to share them with us.”

“There's more, Dickie. These two have been…” Mourne then rapidly conveyed what he'd learned from Alex during the trip from Hollifield House.

To her chagrin, a now stone-faced Lord Richard ordered—but so politely that it sounded like an invitation that might be declined—Alex and Brook out of earshot.

“Whether one wears a uniform or not, a soldier's lot is not a happy one,” said Brook.

“That depends on the trust one has in one's senior officers.”

“Do you trust them?”

“I am conflicted on that point, Mr. Brook.”

Alex could not determine which man had the higher ranking in the chain of command. Probably Richard, but the colonel argued with him like an equal, and his lordship listened. They kept their voices down but it was a forceful and rapid exchange.

While this went on, new people came in. A glance through the open door showed two coaches in the courtyard, each overflowing with Service members. Some were obviously there to augment the flying squad men, others she recognized as clerks and record keepers. Doubtless they would take the place apart down to the nails and sort through every scrap of paper looking for names. Alex opened the carpetbag and gave the senior clerk the now mince-smeared invoices collected from Veltre's home, explaining their code. He nodded and swept away to the office, calling orders to his staff.

“That was quick,” Brook murmured. “The rider who shot past us must have found another telegraph station. A direct line to Service headquarters in this part of town?”

Just how many of those had Lord Richard set up? Alex recalled a story in
The Times
where a financier boasted of the extraordinary amount he'd spent on a single line running from his West End home to the Royal Exchange. He disliked venturing out in inclement weather and had paid dearly to avoid it. Richard's expenditure must have been a hundred times that. The outlay indicated tremendous personal resources. An intense curiosity about the man belatedly seized her. Who—and what—the devil was he?

As though sensing her regard, he looked her way just then and indicated that she and Brook should return.

“If the Veltre baggage kept the accounts for the Black Dawn,” Mourne was saying, “no wonder they've been on the move. She'd know as much of their plans as any of 'em. If they thought she'd been spilling to Gerard—someone might have panicked, sent that beastie to deal with him. That doesn't explain why it was after the missy here unless there's another Pendlebury involved who didn't want to be rumbled by a Reader.”

“Absolutely not,” said Alex, before Lord Richard could reply. It was speaking out of turn, but she was already struggling to keep her annoyance in check. “We've been over this and I gave good reasons to exclude them. However, it has been years since I lived at Pendlebury House. Perhaps a belowstairs spy is within the household and feared discovery. Servants come and go. My aunt can be difficult. I should like a chance to Read any staff that—”

“
Now
she wants to go home,” Richard put in.

“That place is not my
home,
but I'll do whatever is necessary to find who's behind this.”

“I expect you will do what you please—we've had ample demonstration of that—but will you follow orders?”

She felt herself flushing red. They were never going to let her forget her lapse.

Mourne snorted. “Oh, turn her loose, Dickie. She'll do more damage.”

“And possibly get damaged herself in the proceedings. If you hadn't stopped them, these two would have walked right into this place or been shot dead at the gates by that monstrosity in the courtyard. I think it was sent to kill her and Brook and instead began eliminating witnesses to the goings-on.”

“That puts Lord Danny in the thick of things, y'know.”

“I am inclined to think he's nothing more than a cat's-paw. I'll determine that later. For now, we must take action before the Order learns of this setback and either decamps or mounts a fresh attack.”

“I'm all for it, what do you suggest?”

His lordship favored Alex with a wintry smile. “Ask Miss Pendlebury.”

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

In Which Miss Pendlebury Acquires a Dashing Disguise

“They don't
look
like madmen,” observed Brook. “You don't look like a madwoman. I've not gone mad quite yet, therefore we should not be doing this.”

“They were easily persuaded,” Alex conceded, “but it is expediency, not madness that brought them to their decision. They want information as quickly as possible. It would consume time to acquaint others for such an infiltration. I can think of none who could take our places. Perhaps Mrs. Woodwake, but she may not possess the necessary attire. Neither do I, but I know where to acquire it.”

At that prospect, Alex allowed herself to enjoy a short but satisfying moment of pure malice. Within the darkness of their coach, Mr. Brook was spared from seeing any negative change overtake her features. He'd had enough alarming shocks in the last few hours and should have a respite.

Their Service driver held his horses at a smart clip through the nearly deserted streets, taking the most direct route possible to Pendlebury House. Four riders accompanied them as front and rear guards. All were squad men, armed and armored.

Lord Richard was keen to discover who was responsible for what he called “this bloody mischief,” which explained his ready agreement to Alex's plan to attend the Ætheric Society event taking place at 25 Grosvenor Square at half past eight.