The House Of Smoke (25 page)

My heart belonged to Elizabeth.

The following morning, Sirius caught me en route to the library, where I was hopeful I would find Elizabeth and be able to steal a private minute or two with her. If indeed anything approaching privacy was possible in that damned house.

‘Simeon, the professor wishes us to accompany him to London for a business dinner. We must leave within the hour and take a locomotive from Derby to St Pancras. In the capital, a carriage will take us to his residence in Primrose Hill, where we will spend the night.’

London.

I had not been back since fleeing the capital with blood on my hands and fear in my heart.

‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

‘Not at all. It will be a pleasure to go there.’

‘There will be no
pleasure
in this venture. We are to dine with that creature Chan, along with members of his dreadful clan and their ghastly cohorts, so we will have to be on our mettle.’

‘Is Surrey joining us?’ I asked disingenuously, for I knew she had departed the night before.

‘No,’ he answered, ‘the professor has another assignment for her.’ He half-turned to leave, then added, ‘I meant to enquire, Simeon, do you not find her somewhat boyish between the sheets?’

‘I thought you were a gentleman, Sirius, and would not be inclined to ask such a thing.’

‘Touché. By the way, if I were you, I would beware her temper. Woe betide the man who finds himself out of favour with Miss Breed.’

I brushed off his jocularity and entered the library. Wide wooden boards gave way to seven rows of vast wooden shelves that stretched upwards to the carved bannisters of an upper gallery that encompassed the room. Much as I had expected, Lady Elizabeth was at a table that afforded her views of the gardens, should she wish to lift her divine head from the book she was engrossed in.

‘Good morning,’ I said as I approached.

‘Simeon?’ She sounded surprised as she looked up over the edge of her volume. ‘How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you.’ Without asking permission, I took the seat opposite her. ‘I have something important to ask you.’

She put down her book. ‘Then ask.’

‘Is your real name Lizzie MacIntosh?’

Her blue eyes widened with concern. Her lips pressed together to suppress a quick reaction. She closed her novel with a thud of pages and stood up. ‘I came to choose some reading matter for our journey. This will suffice. I will see you a little later.’

As she walked past me I caught her wrist.

Fury flared from brow to lips as she tried to pull away, ‘Let me go!’

I held on as I got to my feet. ‘Not until you tell me.’

‘There is nothing to tell.’ Elizabeth shook me off and rubbed her wrist.

‘Are you afraid the professor is watching us?’ I motioned to the gallery above. ‘Does he this very second gaze down upon us like some prying God?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ She hastened to the door.

I followed quickly and stopped her opening it.

‘Simeon! Let me pass.’

‘Not until you answer my question.’

Her face glowed red with anger. ‘No, the professor is not watching us.’

‘How can you be so sure? Surrey told me all about his world within the walls.’

‘
World within the walls?
’ Her expression turned to one of bitter mockery. ‘That is most surely
your
phrase, not hers; that poisonous slip of a girl is not so imaginative.’

Elizabeth stared me down but I could see her bosom rise and fall from the anger and nervousness she sought to conceal.

I don’t know what possessed me. Perhaps it was her defiance. Or the excitement of being so close to her and us both in such high dudgeon, but I felt emboldened enough to kiss her.

At first, it seemed as though she offered no resistance, then she pushed me back and slapped my face. Her blue eyes regarded me for a split second, then she grabbed the door handle. I let her open it and leave.

My face no doubt bore the imprint of her hand but all I could feel was the exhilarating touch of her lips. For close to a minute, I stood petrified and mesmerised, before reluctantly making my way to my room.

It did not take me long to pack. I needed only a few items. Casual garments to travel in. Smart ones for dinner. A gun for noisy despatches, a knife for quieter ones and Michael’s garrottes for absolutely silent ones.

Outside, in the courtyard, I smoked a rollup with Thackeray while we waited for the others. They finally appeared, with servants in tow, carrying their many bags. Alex and the professor remained in conversation but lifted their hats to me as they got into their own carriage, the lavishly furnished former mail coach. I thought about Moriarty surreptitiously watching me and felt resentful. There would come a time when I would confront him about it, and many other things.

I rode out front on a brougham with Thackeray, leaving Lady Elizabeth and Sirius to travel inside. I was in no mood to sit awkwardly among them and be exposed to any unpleasantness.

Thackeray and I passed time speaking of women and their strangeness. My northern friend, far more experienced with the fairer sex than I, shared many confidences on the difficulties he had encountered in understanding their ways and predicting their behaviour.

There was much bustle and business when we reached Derby, especially at the approach to what was one of the busiest train stations in the country. Carriages jostled for positions close to the entrance and Thackeray got into a verbal confrontation with another coachman who was intent on pulling to a halt in the same space as he did, at exactly the same time.

The inside of the station had quite an effect on me, as I had never even travelled on a train before. The collision of sights, sounds and smells was mesmerising. Oil, grease, coal. Hissing steam, shrill whistles, slamming doors, shouting conductors. Excited children, uniformed staff, parting couples. Everywhere there was vibrancy.

We boarded a Midlands Express and I hung out of the window of a first-class carriage and marvelled at the gigantic drive wheels grinding slowly on the rails, while plumes of smoke chugged from the front of the train and washed back over my face and windswept hair.

The professor secured the door and addressed Alexander. ‘Be so kind as to commence the briefing. Perhaps it is wise to begin with a little background on Mr Chan, so young Simeon understands the situation.’

Alex unbuckled the clasp of an old Gladstone bag that he was seldom parted from and produced a buff-coloured envelope. Inside were several photographs. He handed them to me. ‘The first is of Huiwi Chan. He is a Chinese immigrant who came to these shores with his brothers more than forty years ago. He is now in his eighties and apparently neither speaks nor understands any English. Fortunately, the professor
does
speak very passable Mandarin. Nonetheless, Chan insists all business communications include his grandson Lee, who is fluent in both tongues. His is the second photograph in your possession. Lee is an extremely dangerous man. We understand he has killed three, perhaps four people who were foolish enough to displease his grandfather.’

I looked at the portrait, as did Sirius and Elizabeth who were now either side of me. It showed the face of a fellow in his thirties with chiselled cheekbones and a strong jaw. What was most noticeable was the look in his eyes. He wasn’t posing for the photographer; he was staring challengingly at the lens, like a lion weighing up his prey.

‘You will be in the company of many violent criminals tonight,’ continued Alex, ‘but none are as ruthless and brutal as Lee, and none, including him, dare act without Huiwi’s instruction. Old he might be, but he still has absolute control of those who follow him.’

The professor added to the background. ‘Initially, the Chans settled in the East End and at first appeared to be solely concerned with their traditional businesses of tailoring, laundry and distribution of herbal medicines. But appearances are deceptive. In reality, the old man and his son Bai, Lee’s father, were secretly building a varied criminal enterprise. Bai was killed in a dockland battle – one the Chans subsequently won. They now control a great number of opportunities within the port of London, including the importation of undesirables from his homeland and the shipment and distribution of opium. Had they confined themselves to these activities then perhaps our paths could still have crossed as safely as country roads conjoin in remote corners of Cornwall or Cheshire. But sadly they did not.’

Alexander continued the account. ‘They have become increasingly meddlesome in matters of our interest, especially horse racing and the lucrative betting that accompanies it. One of their associates, an equestrian veterinarian, doped a horse we needed to win. Opium was put in its water. We lost a lot of money on that outing.’

‘And the meddler lost his head,’ added the professor. ‘You saw the acquisition in my laboratory gallery, Simeon. It is also partly the reason I did not wish to have Miss Breed attend the dinner with us. One never knows whose memory might be jogged by her presence, even if she does currently look very different.’

I understood now why Surrey had been so shaken that night I had discovered her soaked in blood and sitting alone in the darkened kitchen, with a hessian sack tightly bundled up. Decapitating the veterinarian must have been a gruesome and traumatic task.

‘So, now both sides must speak?’ surmised Sirius. ‘And I take it that our gathering is devised for us to deliver a final warning?’

The professor smiled. ‘Mr Chan does not take notice of warnings. Tonight is about me making him, his grandson and his business partners, a proposition that hopefully they will see as impossible not to accept.’

Alex took his cue to elaborate. ‘They will be asked to withdraw, forthwith, from all racecourse and gambling activities. In return, we will grant them a share of revenues from the courses that they are currently trying to exploit. In short, they get paid for doing nothing.’

‘And if they don’t agree?’

‘Then there will be bloodshed,’ Moriarty replied. ‘If they force our hand then we will embark upon a spree of beheading that would shock Vlad the Impaler.’

I handed the photographs back and asked with some trepidation, ‘What part am I expected to play?’

Alex returned the pictures to his envelope. ‘After dinner, the professor and I will retire with Chan and his grandson. The Chinaman has also demanded a ‘virtuous exchange’, to ensure no foul play takes place. This means Lady Elizabeth will sit in one room with a member of his family, while Lee’s wife Wu will sit in another with Simeon. Sirius will stand on guard with one of the Chan men in the corridor that separates the two rooms.’

We progressed into St Pancras and disembarked at what was a breathtaking cathedral of a station. Porters moved our luggage, and Moriarty and Elizabeth walked off together.

As we ventured into the London fog and busy streets, I realised I had quite forgotten how the smoke and dirt clung to the clouds and leached away all colour from the day. We hailed two hackneys and made excellent progress to the professor’s house. It held a good position on Albert Road, close to Primrose Hill and the Zoological Gardens. Strong gates and high walls kept out prying eyes and uninvited visitors. The grounds were patrolled front and back by armed men, many of them ex-militia.

Once settled, I was introduced to the house servants and then shown around, so that I might familiarise myself with the building. It was a third of the size of Moriarty’s mansion in Derbyshire but still generous in dimension and lavish in furnishings.

I was admiring the dining room, resplendent with cherry wood panelling, a matching long table and chairs sited under crystal chandeliers, when Sirius came to the door. His face was lit up with excitement. ‘They are here,’ he announced. ‘Let the games begin.’

The professor had described old man Chan as ‘a reptile’ and once he walked into the house in Albert Road I understood why. Small, thin and wheezing, he shuffled in a slow, hunched manner that gave the impression of a prowling lizard. His face was saggy and spotted with dark brown age patches that looked from a distance like scales. Flesh hung in folds from his neck like turkey wattle.

He took a seat at the middle of the table, next to his grandson. On his other side sat the professor and then Elizabeth. I was positioned directly opposite him, near Sirius. The rest of the party consisted of half a dozen men from Moriarty’s London contingent and a corresponding number from Chan’s organisation, out of which only half appeared to be Chinese.

Dinner was deliberately an excellent and refined affair, designed to lower the tensions on both sides and eliminate any chance of violence breaking out. A rich julienne soup followed by broiled salmon, then a trio of roasted beef, lamb and chicken. Finally, vast plates of cakes and éclairs were laid out, along with mountains of strawberries and cherries. Along with this feast came a plentiful supply of white, red and dessert wines but both Lee Chan and I abstained. Our eyes locked several times during the courses. The stare that had scorched the lens of the portrait camera burned a path across the table to me.

I returned it with icy disdain. We both recognised each other for what we were. Killers know other killers. It is a haunted look that no one else has. One that says a line has been crossed and will if occasion demands be crossed again.

The moment came for us all to leave the table and fulfil our respective duties. The younger Chan rose and half-smiled at me. That old familiar tingle, that exciting chemical precursor to violence, rushed through my blood. It would give me great pleasure to test myself against him and I am sure he felt exactly the same.

The room emptied and I went to sit with Lee’s wife. Wu Chan was more mouse than woman. Slight of size and weight, small black eyes, tiny hands and quieter than any human I have ever met. She moved silently in a long red and gold one-piece dress and did not speak a word. Indeed, such was her silence, I wondered whether she understood any English.

Three silent hours and the chimes of midnight passed before the tense and awkward wait was terminated. Doors opened down corridors, feet clattered on wood and marble floors, servants’ bells rang and voices chattered. A sharp knock on the door startled me. Wu looked up and I saw fear in her eyes.