The Dark Enquiry

Agathe gave a snort of derision. “You will care very much when we cannot pay the butcher! Always it is the same. Always you with your head in the clouds, and me with my feet upon the ground.”

Madame massaged in the crème, paying close attention to her décolletage, lifting her chin this way and that as she stared at her own reflection. “Is that a wrinkle starting there, do you think? No, just a shadow. God, the trouble one takes to stay young!” She gave a sigh and regarded her sister in the looking-glass. “Oh, stop fretting! Sir Henry deserved it, Agathe. He is no friend to our kind. He has no romance in his soul, no understanding.”

“He has money,” Agathe pointed out sourly. She bundled the clothes into the wardrobe and tamped the papers into a neat stack and handed them to Madame.

The lady drew a slender chain from her bodice. At the end dangled a key, and she used it to unlock a coffer standing upon her dressing table. She placed the papers neatly inside, then relocked the box and replaced the key as Agathe continued to tidy the room. She opened a box and removed a length of cobweb-fine French muslin. It was the whitest muslin I had ever seen, and so light, a spider might have felt at home upon it.

“For the next session,” she said, handing the stuff to Madame. I suppressed a gasp as I realised I had just discovered the source of Madame’s ectoplasm.

“And mind you draw it out more slowly next time,” Agathe scolded. “You rushed the moment during the last session and it was not as dramatic as it ought to have been. Now, you have just enough time to eat something before the next séance. You must keep up your strength.”

There was a wistfulness in her voice then, a note of pleading, and I saw that they were bound by strong emotion. I wondered if the bickering between them was simply the result of being too much in one another’s pockets.

Madame smiled at her. “You take good care of me, Agathe, sometimes against your will, I think.”

Agathe pierced her with a look. “How can you say such a thing to me? Have I not been devoted to you?”

Madame sighed. “Of course you have. But you do not trust me. Always with the lectures and the harsh words, as if I were a child to be scolded when it is I who will be the making of us!”

Agathe tightened her mouth further still, but the disapproval was writ upon her face. Madame gave a harsh little laugh.

“I know you do not approve. But this time it will be different, Agathe.” Her dark eyes fixed again upon her own reflection and she touched her face, as if to trace lines that would soon be visible. “This may be my last chance to secure my future, our future,” she said, her eyes burning brilliantly. She spoke slowly, her voice pitched low, as if more to herself than her sister. “Security, Agathe. At last. For both of us. You must trust me.” Her eyes flew once more to her sister’s, but Agathe would not meet her gaze.

“And still you will not tell me anything? I must learn of your affairs by eavesdropping like a maid?”

Madame laughed again. “I know you too well to think you would approve, Agathe! Oh, do not look so stricken. Once my plans come to fruition, I can tell you everything and you will see that all shall be well. Soon we will live like queens! Now, run down and set us a table in the supper room. I will be down in a moment.”

Agathe did as she was ordered and a moment later, after scenting herself heavily from a flacon on the dressing table, Madame trailed along. I counted to one hundred as Brisbane eased himself out of the hidden passageway. He crossed the room in quick, silent strides, drawing his lockpicks from his pocket as he moved. The casket was open before I reached his side, and he rifled quickly through the papers before swearing almost inaudibly. He put them back as he had found them and then replaced the lid and locked it again, a skill that required extreme dexterity and experience. I kept watch whilst he searched the rest of the room, so neatly that even the eagle-eyed Agathe would not suspect it. He rapped softly for hidden panels, searched under carpets and the undersides of drawers. He felt along the back of the smaller looking-glass and inside the springs of the recamier sofa. He even stuck an arm up the chimney, but he turned up nothing, and since I did not know what we were searching for, I was of little help. The most I could do was keep a sharp ear cocked for a sound upon the stairs, and after perhaps half an hour, I heard it. I waved frantically at Brisbane, but he calmly replaced the carpet over the floorboard he had been testing and grabbed my hand, whirling me into the hidden passageway just as the door opened.

Madame entered, followed hard by a pleading Agathe. “What is it? You must let me call a doctor!”

Madame was doubled over in pain, scarcely able to walk. Her complexion was pale and her brow beaded with sweat. She fell upon the recamier sofa, drawing her knees to her chest and moaning softly. “Oh, what have I eaten? What has done this to me? I am so cold, Agathe!”

Agathe fluttered around her sister, wringing her hands. “I am sending for the doctor,” she repeated. Madame gave no sign that she heard her. She shivered and shuddered with convulsions. Agathe snatched up a robe and covered her sister with it before fleeing from the room, calling out to Beekman the porter as she ran. She was gone a long time, or perhaps it just seemed so as we crouched there in the hidden passageway. Madame was sick, comprehensively so, and there was no basin at hand. She did not seem to know or care, and when she began to moan, great gasping moans, I rose as if to go to her. Brisbane’s hand held me fast, gripping mine so hard I thought surely the bones must crack. I looked up and he gave a sharp shake of the head, his black hair tumbling over his brow. I moved to push past him, for Madame was in deadly distress now, but Brisbane would have none of it.

Without a sound, he reached down, looping one strong arm around my chest to hold me fast against him. When he spoke, his lips against my ear, his voice was a harsh whisper. “We can do nothing but watch.” I made to resist, but he tightened his grasp. I watched then, his hand hard against my mouth, stifling my little cries of horror, as Madame’s life ebbed away. She was dying and there was nothing that could be done for her. It happened slowly, as if in a dream, and I knew that I should remember each of those terrible minutes for as long as I should live. I saw her writhe and cry out, and I watched her fall silent as she slipped into the coma, the sleep of death. And I witnessed Agathe, bursting in with the doctor to find her there, the light of life completely extinguished.

Madame was not beautiful in death. Her eyes were only half-closed and her mouth was slack and stained with sick, and I saw it all through the veil of unshed tears. I saw Agathe fall to the floor, sobbing into her sister’s skirts, and I saw the doctor searching fruitlessly for a pulse. I saw him close Madame’s eyes and drape a shawl over her face, and I saw him draw Agathe from the room, consoling the grief-stricken woman.

When they had gone, Brisbane hauled me roughly to my feet and shoved me along the passageway, back the way we had come. I stumbled down the stairs, and if he had not had hold of my collar, I would have fallen heavily. But he pulled me to my feet and when we reached the spirit cabinet, he paused. With his thumbs, he wiped at my cheeks.

“You must bear up, Julia,” he said. “This next bit is the most dangerous. I will do everything I can to get you out of here safely, but you must follow my orders instantly and without question.”

I nodded and he eased a finger through the velvet drape to peer through. He ducked back immediately, shaking his head to signify that someone was in the room. He motioned for us to go back the way we had come. We slipped into Madame’s room, and I kept my eyes studiously averted from the draped figure on the sofa. Brisbane tried the door, swearing softly.

“Locked. From the outside.”

“Pick it!” I ordered. I had no desire to spend the night trapped in a room with a fresh corpse.

He shook his head. “No time. They might return at any minute. There’s no help for it. We must take the window.”

He moved directly to the window, easing aside the heavy velvet drapes. There was a small bit of coping outside, surely not enough to support him, but he opened the window and flung a leg over the sill, testing the stone with the tip of his boot.

“Brisbane! You’re mad. You will be dashed to the stones below,” I warned him.

He fixed me with a quelling look. “Instantly and without question,” he reminded me. “Now, climb onto my back and hold tight. You might want to close your eyes.”

I did as he suggested, clinging to him with all of my might and never once daring to look down. To my astonishment, he did not descend when we quit Madame’s room. He went up, climbing the wall until he reached the mansard roof above. He ducked his head and gestured for me to climb over him. My limbs trembled, but I did as he commanded, finding myself atop the roof of the Spirit Club. Alone. I threw myself at the edge of the roof to see what Brisbane was about, and to my horror, realised that he was climbing back down to secure the window and remove all traces of our departure. I huddled on the roof, too numb even to pray, shivering in the cool night air as my head swam from the height. There was a sliver of a moon, and I kept my eyes fixed upon that as I waited. At last, he sprang onto the rooftop, dropping lightly to his feet.

“Oof,” was the noise he made as I flung myself at him.

“Brisbane, you are never to do such a thing again,” I commanded. “You frightened me half to death. It was far too dangerous and I forbid it. Do you hear me? I forbid it.”

I was babbling, but to his credit, he merely enfolded me in his arms and held me close to him for a moment. “I had no choice,” he murmured. I burrowed closer, borrowing his warmth, until he patted me gently upon my posterior. “We must go.”

He took my hand and led me to the edge of the roof. A narrow gap divided this house from the next, and Brisbane leapt lightly, holding out his hand for me to follow after.

“Madness,” I muttered. “I do not have a head for heights.”

Brisbane gestured impatiently. “I have seen you stare down murderers. If you think I will permit you to turn missish now, you are quite mistaken. Now, jump!” There was no mistaking the authority in his tone, but still I hesitated.

“Julia, if you do not jump by the time I count to five, I will come back and throw you across. One. Two.”

I jumped. Being dashed to death on the street below was preferable to any punishment Brisbane might think to apply, I decided. And at the next house, he only had to count to one before I leapt. By the third, I was crossing side by side with him, although I still felt a trifle giddy at the height. Thus we proceeded down the street, walking softly over rooftops. It was too early for the servants to be settled into their attic beds for the night, but we took no chances. To my astonishment, I began to rather enjoy myself. I would not let myself think on the horror of Madame’s death, but in this moment, I was a real part of Brisbane’s investigation, a true partner in detection, and I almost laughed aloud as a sharp river breeze caught at my wig and snatched it off, loosening my hair from the pins.

Just then we came to the end of the last house, and I realised what I ought to have seen before—there was no easy way down. I peered over the edge of the roof far down to the cobbles of the darkened street.

“Brisbane? What now?”

He motioned for me to climb onto his back again and I did so, squeezing my eyes shut once more and cursing myself for a fool for ever thinking this might be enjoyable.

He proceeded slowly, but as we descended, it became clear that it was a much more difficult thing for him to make his way down with me attached to him like a monkey than it had been to climb up. The momentum alone should have torn him from the wall, and I saw the effort it cost him to keep us safe as the muscles of his shoulders and arms corded tightly.

At last, we reached a small bit of coping and I was able to slide from his back as he held on to a piece of ironwork. I gulped in great draughts of fresh air—or what passed for fresh air in London—and pondered our next move.

Suddenly, Brisbane reached out and grasped me high up on the arm and swung me free of the wall. My boot tips brushed the stone, and I stifled a scream as I looked up into his eyes.

“Trust me?” he challenged. There was a grim purpose there, but something more, some animal vitality that the evening’s adventure had roused in him. He was a man thoroughly within his element.

“I trust you,” I vowed.

And then he dropped me.

The FIFTH CHAPTER

You tread upon my patience.

—Henry IV, Part One

Before I had a chance to scream out in surprise, I landed upon a soft pile of wool, newly shorn and smelling warmly of lanolin and bound for the mill in a wagon. A second later, Brisbane landed almost directly on top of me, crushing me down into the soft wool beneath.

“Brisbane, that is the second time in our acquaintance that you have done such a foul thing. And you are crushing the breath out of me. Remove yourself,” I remarked coolly, attempting to recover my sangfroid. I knew his little trick was to get back a bit of his own after I had bungled my way into his investigation, and I took it with good grace. I deserved far worse, if I was honest.

He slanted me a smile. “Oh, I think the situation offers up some very interesting possibilities.”

I shoved hard against his shoulder and he heaved a sigh before levering himself off of me. “Pity,” he murmured, and I felt my own lips twitching in response. He rolled away and we spent the next quarter of an hour lying very quietly and collecting our breath. I longed to ask him a thousand questions, but just when I opened my mouth his eyes sharpened and he rose, pulling me hastily to my knees.

“Quickly. The cart is preparing to slow down for an omnibus. Wait, now, just until it stops. Here we are then, over the side,” he ordered, pushing my backside until I obeyed, landing solidly on the cobbles with Brisbane hard after.

“Where are we?” I demanded. We were on a street wholly unfamiliar to me and rather unsavoury in appearance. A gin palace stood upon the corner, the doors thrown open to night air. Raucous laughter and the tinny music of an elderly piano filled the air along with the stench of raw sewage in the gutters. I wrinkled my nose as Brisbane rose and dusted himself, taking in the surroundings. I realised what a sight we must present, for Brisbane was clearly a gentleman dressed in the forefront of fashion in an unfashionable part of town, and I, without my hat and moustaches, was undeniably a woman pretending to be something she was not.

A creature of the night crept from a doorway, offering some unspeakable service and Brisbane grabbed my wrist. “Let us go, and quickly,” he muttered under his breath.

We hurried into the nearest alley, a narrow street thick with shadows. Against my will, I thought of the vicious murderer who had terrorised the East End during the previous year. He had never been apprehended, and just because the murders had ceased was no guarantee they would not be resumed.

I clung to Brisbane’s hand as we moved silently through the shadows. His head swung left and then right, carefully assessing the situation at all times. Suddenly, he lifted his head like a pointer and thrust me behind him. An instant later, a villainous fellow materialised in front of us. His accent was so thick I could scarcely understand him, but it was quite apparent that he was demanding our money, and when he brandished his cudgel, he grinned broadly at the pair of us.

Brisbane swore fluently, and I made no attempt to remonstrate with him. I had long since given up on civilising his choice of oaths when he was in a temper.

He gave a deep sigh and slid out of his coat, handing it to me. “Keep it out of the fray, would you? I just this week had it from my tailor.”

He unpinned his cuffs and turned back his sleeves with the same casual grace I saw him use every night when he disrobed. He loosened his neckcloth and folded it tidily into his pocket, and only then did he turn back to the fellow and gave a little gesture of impatience. “Come on then.”

“I do wish you had not done that,” I muttered, for as the fellow came forward I could see he was far larger than I had first anticipated. He was unkempt and had misplaced a few of his teeth. When he smiled, there were noticeable gaps where the teeth ought to have been, and he smiled rather too often for my comfort. The effect was one of a leering jack-o’-lantern, and I shuddered. But I knew better than to say a word, and I simply held Brisbane’s coat, creasing the fabric irreparably in my clammy fingers.

The ruffian came at him quickly, anticipating a hard left to the jaw would take Brisbane by surprise and drop him instantly. But he had seen Brisbane’s clothes and taken him for a creature of the city, a soft, useless gentleman who had never raised his fists except in the boxing ring against another of his own kind.

He did not know Brisbane. Elegant as a matador, Brisbane stepped neatly aside, avoiding the blow, and at the last moment, pivoted and swung his right elbow up sharply into the fellow’s jaw, using the villain’s own momentum to throw him to the ground.

The ruffian rose quickly and threw himself forward, head down like a bull’s, barrelling directly for Brisbane’s torso. He flung his arms out wide, as if to forestall any thought that Brisbane might have of stepping aside again. This time, Brisbane grabbed each of the fellow’s shoulders as he came in and flung himself backwards, hitting the villain squarely upon the chin with the hardest part of his knee. The fellow dropped to his knees, and Brisbane turned hard upon his heel to deliver a nasty right directly behind the ruffian’s ear. He dropped like a stone, instantly unconscious, and bleeding freely from his ear.

Just then another miscreant slithered from the shadows.

“’Ere now, what did you do, Little Ned?”

This fellow was somewhat smaller, but his weapon was significantly more impressive, an Italian stiletto, long of blade and polished to a wicked gleam that shone in the dim light of the alley.

Brisbane sighed. “How considerate of you all to take it in turns.” Before the other fellow had quite got himself prepared, Brisbane moved, slapping the blade of the stiletto between his palms and twisting sharply upwards sending it clattering out of sight. The fellow’s eyes rolled in fright, and I almost felt sorry for him.

He lunged forward and Brisbane countered, clasping him about the neck even as the miscreant’s hands reached for his throat. They remained locked for a short moment, nose to nose, until Brisbane closed one hand about the fellow’s wrist and gave another sharp twist. I heard the bone snap and the scream that came after. I daresay if the fellow had been clever, he would have left it there and the matter would have ended. But he lunged for Brisbane instead, and at that close a distance, he had little chance. He lashed out with his uninjured hand, and Brisbane neatly dodged the blow. Quick as a serpent, he put out his hand and closed it about the fellow’s windpipe. The villain clawed at the air with his free hand, his eyes rolling even more wildly than before, and just as they went completely white, Brisbane dropped him.

“Is he dead?” I demanded.

Brisbane snorted. “Not by half. Merely a touch of asphyxia and a broken wrist. And I will remind you, my dear, he did attempt to stab me.”

Brisbane stepped back over the fallen men to retrieve his coat. He shrugged into it and took a five-pound note from his case, dropped it on the smaller of the pair, and before I could speak, he took my arm and we began to walk, very fast indeed.

“That was not terribly sporting,” I remarked when we had gone a safe distance and were certain we were not being followed.

He stared at me in frank astonishment. “Sporting? Julia, there is nothing sporting about a street fight. The rule is to drop the other fellow as fast as possible and by any means possible.”

“I meant the money. You know he will be robbed before he wakes,” I chided him.

He frowned. “It was strategic. Five pounds was a fair price for getting any lingering villains to quarrel amongst themselves for the money rather than chase us. Now, be quiet. I am trying to deduce precisely where we are.”

I did as he instructed, attempting to bring some order to my hair as he simply stood and closed his eyes. I knew he would not attempt to determine our position by landmarks, but was retracing our journey in his mind, calling forth his excellent sense of direction and his intimate knowledge of the city to establish our whereabouts.

“I have it,” he said after a moment. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice, and I thought again that this was a man deeply content with his lot in life.

He took my hand and set off at a rapid pace, almost too rapid, and I had cause then to be grateful that I was wearing a comfortable pair of boots as I scurried in his wake. To my surprise, we plunged even deeper into the shadowy stews of London, nipping in and out of dirty alleys and narrow streets, dodging both the occasional patrolling bobby and importunate prostitute. At last, we emerged into a more respectable street, where I suddenly remembered my hansom.

“Brisbane! We must go back. I haven’t dismissed my driver. He will still be waiting for me,” I said, tugging at his hand. It remained clamped hard upon my wrist.

“I will dismiss him. You are going home, directly home,” he said through clenched teeth, and I knew the easy camaraderie we had shared during our adventure was finished. Now the danger was past, Brisbane was giving way to his temper, and I suspected the ensuing scene would not be a pleasant one.

I sighed and continued to trot along behind until we reached our own garden. We entered through the back gate, cutting through the darkness until we came to the back door. Brisbane rapped sharply, and I was not surprised to find Aquinas standing at the ready, lamp in hand.

He opened the door, bowing low. “Sir, my lady.”

To his credit, he did not so much as blink at my attire.

Brisbane did not turn loose of me yet. “Have Lady Julia’s things arrived?”

“Yes, sir. Morag arrived back less than an hour past, and Lady Bettiscombe has sent along Lady Julia’s carpetbag with her compliments.”

I smothered a sigh. Apparently none of my conspirators could stand against Brisbane.

“Excellent,” Brisbane said. “I will see Lady Julia to her room and then I am going out again. You need not wait up, Aquinas. And I should mention that Lady Julia will not be accompanying me,” he added coldly.

Aquinas bowed again. “Yes, sir. And if she should attempt to?”

I crossed my arms. “Brisbane, really! You’ve no need to talk about me as if I were not here.”

Aquinas kept an enquiring look fixed upon Brisbane, who flicked me a quelling glance.

“If my lady so much as opens the door to her bedchamber, you have my permission to use force to restrain her.”

“Brisbane! Aquinas, ignore him. He does not mean it,” I assured him.

Brisbane rounded on me, and I saw the rage, barely restrained within him. “Do. Not. Try. Me,” he managed through gritted teeth.

Before I could reply, he stalked past Aquinas, dragging me along and up the stairs until we reached the bedchamber. Morag was there, laying out my nightdress.

“Out,” Brisbane ordered. It was a mark of his bad temper that he should speak to her so. He was usually gentle as a lamb with Morag, treating her with better courtesy than he did most society ladies. She started, dropping my nightdress onto the floor.

“Judas,” I muttered as she bent to retrieve it. She put her tongue out at me as she fled, banging the door sharply behind her.

Brisbane towed me as far as the bed, where he dropped me as if I weighed no more than a feather. I blinked up at him and he braced his hands upon the bedposts, clenching so hard his knuckles turned white and I heard the bones cracking.