The Hanged Man (20 page)

“Is learning additional information about the Ætherics likely to be a danger to me?”

“Girl, you should have read law.”

“I might have, if not for this damnable ‘gift' of mine.”

“And if not for mine, I should have … Well, I'd be anywhere in the world but here, and glad of it.”

There were far worse places than a dim office by the Thames, but Alex knew better than to gainsay her.

Mrs. Woodwake shot her a look, as though picking up the thought, then shook her head. “All right, reports in the general press about the Ætherics may mention scholarly papers on esoteric topics. Members don robes and enact commemorative rituals celebrating ‘High Masters' passing down great wisdom from some location in the Æther, wherever that might be. They enact elaborate magical rituals as well, which is enough to dismiss them as silly eccentrics. They don't hide any of that.”

“So I've read in the library.”

“At first and even second glance, they are ridiculous. The only danger they present is embarrassment to themselves. Some members boast their association and thrive on the notoriety, while others are secretive, lest they suffer socially or financially from it, though the latter is unlikely. Ætherics tend to give preference to the wealthy when it comes to invitations to their meetings.”

“That would describe my father's impersonation of ‘Dr. Kemp,' posing as a physician made wealthy by a patent nostrum.”

“So it would seem. Now, we move to things that are not in the files. Miss Pendlebury, just how worldly are you? Notwithstanding your travels about the globe, what do you know about the nature of men?”

“I don't understand the question.”

“Men have appetites and desires, and even beloved fathers are not immune to the demands of the flesh.”

Alex gaped at her, too shocked to draw breath.

“The hidden side of the Ætheric Society are the special meetings that take place in private houses. Those gatherings are open to a select few who have the means and mind to pay for certain services that are there rendered.”

“Services? Like a brothel?”

Woodwake grimaced, her ears going pink. “Exactly like a brothel, but dressed up in robes and with chanting. I am inclined to think that your father made a visit to the Ætheric Society for a baser purpose than to act as an agent for the Home Office.”

Understanding came in a flash. “I won't believe that!”

“It is a more logical conclusion than them being a threat to queen and country. To save face in front of his manservant your father gave him to think he was investigating something important. It sounds better than to admit attending a Christmas Eve debauchery held by a bizarre remnant of the old Hellfire Club. As for this woman he mentioned, one could consider that she was hired for the occasion, though I've heard that some female members of the Ætherics are known to voluntarily fill such roles as required by their … rituals.”

Seething, Alex had to fight to keep from leaping up to strike the woman. She'd not been this angry in years. “How dare you?” she finally whispered.

Mrs. Woodwake remained silent, watching with a calm eye.

Alex pulled into herself, slamming the rage down and thinking, thinking. There was more going on here than this woman casting aspersions on the character of Lord Gerard Pendlebury. Woodwake was Reading her, of course, and the process often involved provoking the one under scrutiny.

“This is a diversion,” she pronounced, strangely reassured. “You know what's true and what is not about Fingate's story.”

“I know that you believed him and if you Read him accurately, then he believed his master, but that doesn't mean Lord Gerard was being truthful with him or that there's anything more sinister afoot.”

“Begging pardon, ma'am, but there
must
be or my father would never have been murdered. You made mention yourself of blackmail. That could well be the ‘delicate matter.' Why else would Father adopt such an elaborate disguise?”

“The answer to that will doubtless be discovered in due course. Be confident that our best people are looking into everything concerning this case. The house servants, the neighbors, anyone your father had the least association with as Dr. Kemp, are under full scrutiny. We
will
find who is responsible.”

Alex picked up on the truth of that statement. While it was heartening, she was still annoyed over Woodwake's attempt at provocation.
I should have seen it coming, but then I'm used to delivering, not receiving
. There was nothing more to be gained on that subject, though. Time to try another direction. “What about Lord Richard? Are the cases connected?”

“I cannot talk to you about it. You are removed from the first because of your relation to the victim and from the second because you are a witness. It would be a conflict of interest for you to participate in that investigation.”

“But you're also a witness.”

“I am, and therefore I am also off the second case.”

That was unexpected. Considering her temperament, Woodwake would have insisted on being in the thick of things or knowing the reason why. Alex tried to come up with any name in the Service's limited hierarchy who would be senior enough for the job. “Who's taken charge of it, then?”

“Not your concern or mine.”

“It is being seen to, is it not?”

“Of course it is.”

Woodwake again spoke truthfully and with impatience, but Alex sensed something hidden. If she'd been the one conducting the Reading, she'd have pounced on it. A less direct approach was required.

“With regard to my father, Sybil called him ‘the traveler,' and if she is a Seer, then that's important. Of all the people in this building,
I
am the one she sought out and spoke to.”

“That's not your—”

“If it's not my concern, then it certainly must be yours. Allow me to help. That's why I'm here.”

Woodwake's lips parted as though to reply. Alex's barriers were down and she felt an unpleasant emotional twinge from the woman, like an instrument out of tune. Woodwake was not merely uneasy, she was deeply frightened. That was unexpected, and at odds with her outwardly cool manner. It lasted but an instant, then she regained control. “I am aware of that. But for now, other business must be sorted out first. There's the matter of your delay in reporting that message from Fingate.”

Alex couldn't believe she was still considering such a minor issue.
It's another diversion.

“You will face disciplinary action on that, but not today. For the present, I require that you make your written report—in detail—and do what Sybil told you in regard to keeping your head down and mouth shut.”

“And eyes open.”

“Don't press me, girl.
Think
. The unknown person who killed your father was waiting in your home for your return. He is a real threat to your life. You must impress upon yourself that you are in danger and like to remain so until he is caught.”

“I am cogent of the danger, ma'am, but I want to find him.”

“Of course you do, but my duty is to keep you safe. Reason things out. If his purpose was to kill you as well—then why? So far as he knew, he murdered a man named Kemp. You've no connection to
him
. Therefore, he knew Kemp to be Pendlebury.”

“But why kill Father? He'd been away from England for years.”

“So far as you know.”

“Indeed. But if so, then why kill me? Ma'am, is there
any
information from the Home Office yet on what he was doing? I don't ask for details, only to know if there's been progress.”

“It's too soon to say.”

Which did not answer the question. “Will you let me know when there is progress?”

“I will consider it, providing you do as instructed. Do not disappoint me. Finish your report, then take a coach home to Pendlebury House and stay there. We'll have at least two men on watch at all times.”

“If it's a question of my safety, then is this not a far better place for me? I've no wish to put my uncle's family at risk by my presence, and I expect those men can be used elsewhere. The apprentices' dormitory will have a spare bed.”

Woodwake pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I can be of use here, especially when you break the news about Lord Richard. I'll be one of the few who won't be in shock.”

“W-what?” She looked up.

Alex felt a wash of … panic? She wasn't sure, the emotion was too fleeting and instantly smothered. “Has the queen been informed yet?”

When the woman's face flushed a deep, dangerous red, Alex knew that she'd pressed too far and had been caught out. The Reading in this session was to be one-sided. Woodwake stood and pointed to the door, apparently too angry to speak.

Alex left and hoped it didn't look too much like a flying rout. It felt like one. She made it downstairs before realizing she'd been holding her breath and had to hang onto the stair rail to recover. Her head felt squeezed, turned inside out. An ordinary interview wouldn't have that kind of effect on her; Woodwake was just bloody intimidating. But for all that, what had her so afraid?

Anything to do with Lord Richard.

Why?

Cold logic led Alex to wonder if the woman had aught to do with his death. Such fear … of what? Being discovered? Alex had dealt with that on more than one murder case. The guilty were always terrified of being found out.

However, it was highly improbable. Woodwake had been in the coach with the first attack and equally vulnerable to being shot along with Lord Richard and Alex. The second attack at James's house was more questionable. The hooded men had focused their fire on Richard, but aimed more or less over the heads of everyone else in the room, at least until others in the house began firing back. Woodwake had done so. Had she hit any? Yes, certainly one, perhaps more. Alex had been busy ducking.

Absurd. Mrs. Woodwake's loyalty to the Service was above question. Some other reason lay behind this oddness.

Might she have had a personal attachment to Lord Richard? Something stronger than the friendship of colleagues? If so, then she was more likely to be engulfed by grief, not fear. She'd want that kept private, but was it enough to account for that level of fear?

And I dared to Read her, spoke in that manner to her.
Alex would be lucky if she still had a place here come Boxing Day.

If I am dismissed, then what?

She couldn't and would not think that far ahead. First the report, then—

Not
to Pendlebury House. At least not directly. There was a special line of inquiry she wanted to make about those air guns, and getting there wouldn't be too great a detour. It was direct disobedience to orders, but bother that. No one would blame her for trying to turn up useful information.

A deep and distant clarion sounded, carrying through the walls. Tolling from Westminster, Big Ben gave the hour to anyone within hearing: two o'clock. The short winter daylight would be gone altogether by the time she finished writing that report. She did not care for the idea of a coach trip after dark, either. Best to postpone one and expedite the other.

Alex had her plans sorted by the time she returned to her office.

*   *   *

Sexton was gone, along with Mr. Brook, which was disappointing, but Heather Fagan remained, still playing with her new toy. She'd removed a flat spool that trailed a black ribbon halfway across the office to the window. Alex knew the ribbon held some import in the printing operation.

“Problem?” she asked.

“Just seeing how it works,” Heather replied. “I should have ordered extra ribbons. It will be a bother when this one wears out of ink.” Much of that substance had transferred to Heather's fingers, so it wouldn't be long. “I might be able to roll another ribbon in if I can find similar-size ones made here.”

Alex's desk was as she'd left it, but now her father's walking stick lay on it. She'd not left it there. The carpetbag with her damp clothes was in the corner out of the way. “Where did Mr. Brook get to?”

“Off to the bog, I expect. Not that he said it in so many words, but I got a bit of anxiousness from him.”

Alex had attended to that necessity on her way back.

“And Mr. Sexton?”

“Who knows? He was unsettled, but not showing it much—rather the way you are now. Peeled your skin, did our Mrs. Woodwake?”

“It wasn't so bad, just a report.”

“That you can't talk about.”

“That I can't talk about.”

“Well—rot on it. There's too many secrets in this place. Everyone wants to know why we're here and those at the top aren't sharing. Much more of this waiting and there will be a mutiny.”

Alex debated ordering a pot of tea. The interview with Woodwake, the day's harrowing events, and lack of sleep were catching her up. She was about to ring for one of the pages when her attention caught on the walking stick's sliver trim: a detail that should not have been there.

An extra band had been added; indistinguishable in style from the original work, it stood out to her eye. There had to be a reason for her father to make such a change.

She found her gloves and pulled them on, not wanting another emotional jar, and picked it up. A swift and firm twist caused the stick to separate into two parts. The additional band hid the seam. The upper portion was hollowed out, and within the cavity was a scrap of paper rolled tight to fit. She coaxed it free with a letter opener.

“What's that? A calling card?” Heather asked.

“Apparently.” Alex fitted the two cane parts together again.

“Clever place to hide things. I've an uncle with a stick that serves as a sort of elongated brandy flask. He likes to think no one knows about it.”