The Black Crow Conspiracy (6 page)

IX

Penelope sniffed, a disdainful expression curling her lip. An unsavoury smell was emanating from the depths of the dustbins they were hiding behind, a strange brew of chemicals and decay. Beneath her feet she could feel a sticky residue clinging to the soles of her summer shoes and she tried not to think how much they had cost her from the Regent Street shop only weeks before. Peering past the stacks of wooden crates, she saw the door lay in darkness; still no sign of any shadowy comings or goings. She glanced down at her watch again. It was nearly ten.

Her thoughts turned to home. If Wigram had returned from the police station, he was sure to be worrying about her whereabouts now. Perhaps it was time to abandon this wild ghost chase and concentrate her energies on pursuing other ways of clearing Monty’s name. With a sigh, she leaned against the wall of the building, almost ready to admit defeat. But then, through the cool
brick, she felt a distant shudder, followed by an almost imperceptible whine at the very edge of her hearing.

Penny turned towards Alfie, her friend still skulking in the shadows.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

Alfie’s stomach rumbled in reply, the mutton pie he had consumed for lunch long forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the darkness hiding his blushes. “I’m starving.”

“I’m not talking about your stomach,” Penny replied, pressing her ear against the wall. “Listen.”

Alfie strained his ears, slowly nodding his head as he heard the same high-pitched whine.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Penny said, keeping her voice low. “But it’s coming from inside.”

The two of them stood silent in the gloom, listening intently to try and discern what on earth was making this sound, when suddenly it ceased.

Alfie glanced towards Penny, her face still hidden in the shadows.

“If there’s somebody working in there, perhaps we should knock on the door again.”

He took half a step forward, but then Penny grabbed hold of his arm.

“Wait,” she hissed, her eyes fixed on the door. “Look.”

Following her gaze, Alfie froze in fear. In the
darkness, the shadows were moving. The door was still closed, but Penelope watched spellbound as a figure dressed in a long dark coat slowly emerged from the gloom. His face was swathed in a muffling scarf, a broad black cap pulled low over his eyes. But between the brim of his cap and the dark material of his scarf, Penny could just see the thin strip of skin around his eyes. It glowed.

She shrank back into the shadows, her hand clinging to Alfie’s arm as her friend held his breath. With a swift glance around him, the radiant boy began to climb the steps that led to the street above, his footsteps silent against the stone.

“Shall we follow him?” Alfie whispered, his initial sense of alarm replaced with an eagerness to finally escape from their hiding space.

Penny was just about to agree to her friend’s suggestion, when another movement in the shadows stilled her lips. From the darkness of the closed door, yet more figures were emerging. They seemed more like shadows than men; black greatcoats trailing through the gloom as each figure climbed towards the darkness of the street. Every face was masked by the same swathes of dark material, the scarves covering their features almost completely. As her heart thumped in her chest, Penny prayed that none of these radiant boys would glance towards the place where
they were hiding. She felt Alfie’s hand steal into her own, although whether he was seeking reassurance or trying to give it, she wasn’t quite sure.

“How many of them are there?” he said, the murmur of his words almost too low to hear.

As the last of the black-coated figures began to climb the steps, Penelope shook her head in reply. She must have seen more than a dozen of these so-called radiant boys emerge from the darkness, but as she turned again to stare at the door, she saw that it was still firmly shut. Had they just walked straight through it? There was only one way to find out if these were men or ghosts.

“Come on,” she muttered, squeezing Alfie’s hand. “We have to follow them.”

The two of them scurried up the steps, Alfie casting a nervous glance back over his shoulder in case any more of these radiant boys emerged from the shadows. As she climbed, Penny’s mind ran through the impossibility of what she had just seen. She had thought that the newspaper reports she had read described the movements of a single man, but this army of ghosts gave a much better explanation for the sightings criss-crossing the city.

Reaching the pavement, Penny glanced left and then right, her gaze searching the gloom of the street for any sign of the black-coated figures. Along the grand terrace, most of the houses lay
in darkness, their shutters drawn against the evening chill, but beneath the shadow of the Duke of York’s statue Penny caught a glimpse of two scurrying figures, their dark coats flapping as they turned to descend the stone steps that led to the Mall.

“This way,” she whispered, tugging at Alfie’s arm as she followed them in swift pursuit. Reaching the top of the broad stone steps, Penny saw that the shadowy duo were already crossing the Mall, passing beneath the plane trees as they hurried towards the shadows of St James’s Park. The rest of the radiant boys seemed to have disappeared into the night, but Penelope was determined that she wouldn’t let these last two escape from her sight. She hastened down the steps, cursing the inconvenience of her heels as Alfie hurried to keep up.

Reaching the bottom, Penelope waited for the clattering wheels of a hansom cab to pass before darting across the street. All along the Mall, swathes of bunting festooned with flowers hung from every lamppost, the gaslight throwing into vivid relief the majesty of the decorations. To the south, through the trees, were the towers of Westminster Abbey where King Edward the Seventh would be crowned later that week, whilst looking west lay the stately façade of Buckingham Palace at the bottom of the Mall. But Penny didn’t pause to take in these sights, her
gaze fixed firmly on the dark figures now slipping inside the park.

“Where are they going now?” Alfie asked breathlessly, peering past Penny as the two of them reached the bounds of St James’s Park. The spiked railings almost reached up to Penelope’s shoulder as she searched in vain for the gap they must have slipped through. By day, St James’s Park was a pleasure garden, filled with trees, shrubberies and ornamental waters, but now it was a wretchedly dark place and Penny tried not to think of the stories her guardian had told her of the thieves and worse who lurked there after nightfall.

“We have to follow them,” she said, pointing towards the scurrying shadows of the men as they hurried through the park.

“How?” Alfie replied. “The gates are locked at dusk. I don’t even know how they got over the railings so quickly.”

Penny glanced over her shoulder, checking that the coast was clear. The Mall was still busy with pedestrians, even at this late hour, but in the shade of the overhanging trees, the two of them could hardly be seen.

“Quick,” she said, taking hold of the railings. “You’ll have to help me over.”

Alfie stared back at her in surprise, taking in her attire with a doubtful glance. With her ankle-length skirt and tailor-made jacket, Penny
was hardly dressed to start breaking into one of London’s Royal Parks. He was just about to protest when he saw the determined set of her features and realised how useless it would be.

“Here you are,” he said with a sigh, slipping his jacket from his shoulders to lay it across the spikes at the top. “If I give you a leg-up, you can be over there in a second. I’ll then try to scramble over myself.”

“Thank you,” Penny replied as Alfie bent down, cradling his hands together so that she could step into them. Taking her weight, Alfie tried not to blush at the sight of Penelope’s well-turned ankle, averting his eyes as she clambered up over the railings. With an unladylike groan of effort, Penny dropped down on the other side of the railings, the shrubbery cushioning her fall.

“Are you all right?” Alfie asked.

Penelope got to her feet, brushing stray leaves from her skirt as Alfie scrambled over the railings to join her.

“I’m fine,” she replied. She turned to look in the direction of the two men, their shadowy figures already skirting the lake as they hurried westwards. “Come on, we have to find out where they’re going.”

They followed the figures through the darkness of the park, Alfie wincing at the sound of every twig that crunched underfoot. He glanced down at the gold of his watch chain, trying to banish
his fearful imaginings of the thieves who might be lurking in the shadows of the shrubbery. The sudden screech of a waterfowl nesting beneath the dripping trees made him jump in alarm.

Keeping her composure, Penny peered into the gloom. The path the two figures were following was now taking them to the park’s westernmost boundary. Beyond the foliage of trees, the ornate gates of Buckingham Palace could be glimpsed, the grand columns of the royal residence rising up behind them. The night was dark, but the windows of the palace shone with a brilliant radiance. From the pinnacle of its flagpole, the Royal Standard fluttered, proclaiming to all that the King was in residence tonight.

Desperate not to lose the two figures as they flitted between the trees, Penelope picked her way through the undergrowth, Alfie following close behind. The men were less than twenty feet away now, the glow of the street lamps beyond the park illuminating the glowing-green tint of their skin, which could just be glimpsed between the dark folds of their scarves. As Penny stepped beneath the shade of a scarlet oak, the warning honk of a goose nesting in the undergrowth caused the two men to glance back in their direction.

Penelope froze. Behind her, she heard Alfie’s muttered curse as the first of the black-coated figures took a step towards the source of the sound. For a second his scarf slipped, causing
Penny to silently gasp in surprise. The newspapers had described these mysterious figures as radiant boys, but until this very moment she hadn’t truly realised why.

The face staring back at them was the face of a boy not much older than Alfie himself. The boy’s features were drawn in a haunted frown, but his skin glowed iridescently as if lit from within. From the darkness of the trees, Penelope prayed that he couldn’t see them.

The sound of the second man’s voice turned the boy’s gaze back to the palace. Penelope couldn’t make out the words, but the meaning was clear. Pulling the scarf back over his face, the boy followed his companion as they slipped through the park railings without a pause, their shadows scurrying towards the palace.

“That was close,” Alfie muttered in relief. “But surely they can’t be heading for the palace gates.”

Shaking her head, Penny hurried to the railings. There was no time now to try and climb over. All she could do was watch as the black-coated figures closed in on the grand edifice. Outside the palace gates, a soldier stood guard outside his sentry box, his scarlet tunic and black bearskin cap illuminated by the light falling from a nearby lamppost. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, unaware of the two shadowy figures now slipping like ghosts through the high, spiked gates.

Alfie appeared at her shoulder, peering through
the park railings to see the figures disappear into the shadows of the palace.

“What are they doing?”

Penelope shook her head again. She had no idea. Was this yet another daring theft to add to the haul of the Crown Jewels? Thinking quickly, she glanced again at the guard standing sentry at the gates. If she tried to raise the alarm now, she knew that she wouldn’t be believed. There was no way the soldier would think that thieves could have walked through the gates of the palace without his having seen them. He was more likely to call the police and have her and Alfie arrested for trespassing in the Royal Park. There was only one person who might possibly believe that they had watched the shadowy figures walk through solid iron.

“We have to tell Inspector Drake what we’ve seen tonight,” she said, staring into the darkness where the radiant boys had disappeared. There was no sign now of any movement in the shadows, but the palace windows still shone brightly. If by any miracle they had found their way inside, then they would soon be discovered. “Surely this will clear Monty’s name.”

X

Drake leaned across the table, fixing Monty with an intimidating stare.

“I am losing my patience, Mr Flinch. It has been a long night and your lack of cooperation is proving to be an irritation.” He glanced at the burly figure of the police constable hovering over his shoulder in the cramped interrogation room. “I hope it won’t be necessary for me to ask Constable Taylor here to loosen your tongue.”

Monty shrank back in his chair. The actor’s face was drawn, dark circles inked beneath his eyes whilst his features bristled with the beginnings of a beard. Next to him, Mr Wigram blinked hard and then frowned.

“And I do hope you are not threatening my client, Inspector Drake. It is enough of a scandal that you have held him here for so long without a single shred of evidence.”

Drake eyed the figure of the elderly lawyer with disdain.

“The gravity of the situation demands that I take every appropriate action to find out the truth. May I remind you that the charge of treason is a capital crime. As for evidence, I have Montgomery Flinch’s own confession printed in the pages of
The Penny Dreadful
, whereas your client has been unable to even provide me with an alibi for the night of the tenth of May.”

“I told you,” Monty protested, his eyes wild with a look of injured innocence. “I spent the evening at a tavern in Soho.”

Drake sneered at his reply.

“But you appear to have indulged too heavily to remember exactly which one. My men have visited every public house in the area, but not one of the landlords and barmaids we have questioned recollect seeing Montgomery Flinch on the night in question.”

Beside Monty, Wigram let out an exasperated sigh. His prediction that Monty’s drinking would end in
The Penny Dreadful
’s ruin seemed to be coming true in a most unexpected fashion.

“And that’s not all,” Drake continued. “As a matter of fact, our investigations are finding the identity of Montgomery Flinch to be as much of a mystery as his whereabouts on the night of the tenth of May. No birth certificate, no mention of his name in parish records or census returns – in fact, the first time the name of Montgomery Flinch appears in print is in the pages of
The
Penny Dreadful
in 1899. A mere three years ago.”

As Monty shrank further into his seat, Wigram began to stutter out an explanation, the lawyer’s own face now pale.

“Records can be lost,” he began. “Last winter, at the offices of
The Penny Dreadful
, we had the misfortune of losing many of Mr Flinch’s personal documents when our printer’s assistant mistook them for kindling for the fire.”

“A likely story,” Drake snapped in reply. “Until I hear a cast-iron alibi and see proof of Montgomery Flinch’s identity, then I am keeping your client here, Mr Wigram, on the authority of the Crown no less. Must I remind you that these are dangerous times – there are whispers of war from overseas and rumours of foreign agents on the prowl. For all I know, Montgomery Flinch might be a spy whose plot is to disrupt the coronation itself.”

He turned his accusatory stare back towards Monty, the dishevelled actor blanching under its glare.

“
Wosind die Kronjuwelen, Herr Flinch?
”

Monty stared back blankly at the detective before bursting into tears.

“I don’t know what you mean!” he wailed. “Why do you insist on torturing me like this?”

Inspector Drake held his gaze, his face intent as he inspected Monty’s anguished expression.

“Oh, you’re good, Mr Flinch,” he said finally. “I have to give you that. Keeping up this pretence of cowardice and ignorance even though all of London knows that your intricate tales of terror make lesser minds quail.”

Before Drake could press Monty further, there came a rap on the door of the interrogation room. The face of a police constable peered around the frame.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but I’ve got a visitor for Mr Flinch at the front desk. It’s a young lady who says that she’s his niece: one Miss Penelope Tredwell.”

At this announcement, a flicker of irritation flashed across the detective’s face, but then Inspector Drake rearranged his features into a thin smile.

“You had better take him back to his cell then, Constable Richards. I am sure Mr Flinch and his niece will have plenty to discuss.” He turned towards Monty again, his dark eyes narrowing as he spoke.“Perhaps she can convince you to reveal the truth behind your treasonous scheme. It might be the last chance you have.”

“You have to get me out of this accursed place, Penelope,” Monty wailed. “I cannot survive for another second here. I have been fingerprinted, threatened, poked and prodded to the brink of my tolerance. The scant meals that I have been
served are not even fit for a dog, and I haven’t had a drink for days. They won’t even allow me a razor to shave with.”

Beneath the barred window of his cell, Monty sat on the edge of a rough wooden bench. A grubby blanket was draped across his lap and he stared up at Penny with a woebegone look.

“You have to tell Inspector Drake the truth,” he pleaded, reaching out towards her with a trembling hand. “It is the only chance we have of convincing him that I didn’t steal the Crown Jewels. The man is deluded – he’s even claiming that Montgomery Flinch could be a foreign spy.”

The rattle of a truncheon against the bars of the cell caused Monty to jump in fright. Stationed by the cell door, the watching police constable fixed him with a warning glare, brandishing his nightstick with a swagger.

“Remember what I told you, Flinch,” he rasped. “No funny business, else you’ll be feeling the edge of my temper again.”

Monty shrank back on the bench, drawing the blanket up around him defensively.

With an impatient sniff, the police constable nodded his satisfaction.

“One more minute – that’s all the both of you are getting with him.”

Penelope glanced across at her guardian. Standing facing Monty, the elderly lawyer’s features looked almost as worn as the actor’s, a
testimony to the long night he had spent sitting by his side as they fielded Inspector Drake’s endless questions.

“Perhaps Monty is right,” Wigram said softly. “I seem unable to persuade the police of Montgomery Flinch’s innocence in regard to these ridiculous charges. And the questions that Inspector Drake has started to ask about Flinch’s real identity are rather too close to the bone. It might be the time to reveal the true origin of his tale of
The Thief Who Wasn’t There
.”

Penelope shook her head. The sunlight slanting through the window of the cell revealed the shadows beneath her own eyes, but there was a gleam of illumination in her gaze.

“I have seen him,” she replied simply. “
The Thief Who Wasn’t There
isn’t fiction – the Black Crow is real. And as soon as I tell Inspector Drake what I witnessed last night, he will have no choice but to let you go, Monty. You just need to stay strong for a little while longer.”

As Monty flushed, fresh hope shining in his eyes, the constable swung open the cell door with a clang.

“Time’s up,” he barked.

Pulling her gloves on, Penny gave Monty a reassuring nod.

“I will see you again soon.”

As Wigram escorted her out of the cell, the police constable locked the door again, triple-bolting
it as Monty stared back at them through the bars. Turning to lead them out of the cells, the policeman glanced down at Penelope in surprise as she stood barring his path.

“I would like to see Inspector Drake,” Penny informed him. “I have information about the theft of the Crown Jewels – information that exonerates my uncle.”

The walls of the inspector’s office were tapestried with police notices: photographs of suspects, wanted posters and crime-scene sketches. A height-gauge leaned against the furthest wall, whilst arranged on the shelves above this were records, registers and photographic albums – the modern detective’s tools of identification.

With Wigram by her side, Penelope stood in front of Inspector Drake’s desk, the detective staring at them both with a look of weary disdain. He drummed his fingers on the lid of a snuff box sitting on his desk, the pile of papers next to it threatening to topple with every vibration. With a sigh, Drake glanced down at the notebook where he had recorded Penelope’s statement, the lines of text trailing away as his growing sense of disbelief won the day.

“I do not quite know what to say, Miss Tredwell,” he began. “You expect me to believe that instead of Montgomery Flinch being behind this treasonous crime, it was instead instigated by
a troop of black-coated thieves whose skin glows green? A legion of ghostly figures who stalk the streets of the city at night and who you claim to have seen walk through the walls of Buckingham Palace last night?”

Penelope felt a blush reddening her cheeks as Inspector Drake recounted to her exactly what she had said. Suddenly she realised how ridiculous the whole thing sounded.

“And what’s more,” Drake continued, “you report that these unlikely thieves do not dwell in the expected places where unquiet spirits are known to cluster: cemeteries, graveyards and suchlike, but are instead resident at the distinguished Society for the Advancement of Science. A society that is located on one of the most exclusive streets in the city – Carlton House Terrace – allowing these light-fingered spectres to count earls and ambassadors, dukes and countesses amongst their neighbours.”

Penny tried to interrupt, but the inspector held up a warning hand as he looked up from his notebook.

“Your loyalty to your uncle is admirable, Miss Tredwell, and I can see that you have inherited his talent for inventing such astounding stories, although I have heard that Montgomery Flinch’s tales are said to have a modicum more believability than this preposterous tale you have spun me.”

“It’s not a story,” Penny replied, her complexion almost scarlet now.

Inspector Drake waved her words away with a dismissive flick of his wrist. He turned his gaze instead to Mr Wigram, the lawyer resting his hands protectively on his young charge’s shoulders.

“And are you behind this charade too?” the detective spat, finding a suitable target at last for his anger. “The desperation of your client is plain to see if he thinks such ludicrous inventions can clear his name.” He turned his glare back towards Penelope. “And if you weren’t a mere child, I’d have a mind to charge you with conspiracy to boot.”

“But the palace,” Penelope protested. “If you would just investigate what I saw last night—”

“I am investigating the theft of the Crown Jewels,” Drake replied with a barely concealed contempt in his words. “Do you not think I would have heard if the grounds of Buckingham Palace had been breached by intruders?” His face twisted in fury as he jabbed his finger towards the door. “Now, get out before I have you both arrested as well!”

Penelope felt the weight of her guardian’s hand on her shoulder as he steered her to the door. As it closed behind them, they heard a sudden fluttering sound as Drake flung his notebook against the wall with a curse. Greeting
them with a mocking grin, the waiting police constable escorted them down the long corridor that led past the cells, the anguished shouts of the prisoners there reminding Penny of Monty’s plight.

Her cheeks burned as Inspector Drake’s words rang in her ears.
If you weren’t a mere child, I’d have a mind to charge you…
How could she possibly convince his closed mind that she was telling the truth? No matter what she said now, there was no way the detective would believe her.

As the police constable ushered them unceremoniously through the front doors of New Scotland Yard, Wigram and Penelope emerged blinking into the sunshine. The Thames lay directly in front of them and, from the Palace of Westminster on their right, Penelope could hear the chimes of Big Ben telling her how much of the morning she had already wasted. As they walked along the Embankment, Wigram turned towards her, his expression grave.

“There are dark forces at work here, Penny. The police dismiss all my legal arguments and won’t even countenance the prospect of releasing Mr Maples on bail. If I am to procure his release, I must consult now with a fellow from Gray’s Inn: one of the finest criminal barristers in the land. I am sure he will see a way to get these ridiculous charges dismissed.”

He flagged down a passing hansom cab,
instructing the driver to take him to no. 8 South Square. As he climbed up into the carriage, Wigram turned back to Penelope, still standing on the pavement.

“You must return home, Penny,” he told her. “I do not wish you to place yourself in any further danger after your misadventures of last night.”

With a reluctant nod, Penny agreed to her guardian’s request and, thus satisfied, Wigram settled back into his seat, instructing the driver to depart with a rap on the roof of the cab. With a tug of the reins, the cab driver set off down the Embankment, and Penelope slowly uncrossed her fingers as she watched the vehicle join the stream of traffic heading along the bank of the Thames.

Straightening her jacket, she turned right, heading down Derby Gate towards St James’s Park. Carlton House Terrace and the Society for the Advancement of Science was less than a quarter of an hour’s walk away. Penny’s eyes seemed to flash fire as the sunlight caught them, and a look of determination framed her softly chiselled chin. If the police wouldn’t investigate what she had seen, then it would be down to her to solve this mystery.