The cab made excellent pace, diving down side roads and pulling around slow-moving carts, and we reached Gordon Square in less than ten minutes. The curtains of Sir Reginald’s house were closed, and there was a wreath on the door.
‘Wait here,’ I told the driver. ‘We may need you again. There’s another half a crown if you do.’
I was feeling torn in half: delighted that Aiden almost certainly wasn’t guilty of murder, but terrified for him and Ciara.
Rosie pointed at the shapes moving behind the curtains.
‘There are people inside,’ she said.
It was true, but it meant nothing; in rich people’s houses, the servants were always at home.
The footman opened the door, as crisply dressed as before in his pale blue jacket and black, perfectly creased trousers. Instinctively, I felt the bruises on my face.
‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘You again?’
‘Is Lady Thackery at home?’ I asked. ‘It’s urgent that we speak to her.’
‘We’re not open to visitors today,’ he said. ‘There’s been a death in the family. And I was given instructions not to let you in.’ He tried to close the door, but I put my foot in the way. ‘Are you sure you want to do that?’ he asked, almost casually. ‘I’d’ve thought you’d learned your lesson.’
I took a deep breath and prepared myself, glancing back at Rosie for confidence. She nodded almost imperceptibly, and I edged myself in front of her, hearing her irritated ‘tut’.
The footman raised his eyebrows, and I’m sure it would have ended badly for me, but at that moment another cab drew up. We watched as the door was flung open and Peregrine Black clambered out, tossing a coin at the cabbie and leaping up the steps.
‘What do you want?’ sneered the footman.
Black shoved past Rosie and me without so much as an acknowledgement. ‘Where is that soiled arse? Never mind, I’ll find him for myself.’
The footman tried to block his path.
It was so swift, I barely saw it, like the piston on a railway engine; Black’s fist shot forwards into the footman’s stomach and he went down with a groan, falling to his knees and clutching at the doorframe for support. Black kicked him and stepped over his prone body, taking care to tread on his wrist, seeming pleased by the crack and the footman’s squeal of pain.
Black stormed down the hallway, sweeping pictures of birds and butterflies off the walls as he went, leaving a trail of broken wood and glass.
‘Sir Reginald!’ he yelled. ‘Are you at home? It’s time for a reckoning!’
I followed him into the parlour, where two pale-faced maids were gaping at us from behind a sofa. The room was no longer set out as a theatre, and now contained armchairs, lamps and a table laid for afternoon tea. Above the mantelpiece, two swords were displayed, one long, one short, both clean and shiny as if they’d been newly polished.
The murder weapon had been replaced.
Black turned angrily towards me and I took a step backwards. I didn’t believe he would attack me, but I couldn’t be certain. He was panting like a bull.
‘That fart of a man killed John! His own son!’ He pointed at the garden, sounding close to tears. ‘His body was discovered right behind the house.’
‘Who told you that?’
I had a fleeting fear he might know that I had been the first person to find John’s corpse. I dreaded to think how he might react.
‘Policemen!’ he exclaimed, as if it was obvious. ‘They get drunk and start gossiping worse than …’ He waved his hands around, trying to conjure up the right comparison. ‘Worse than actors!’
He grabbed the longer sword from above the fireplace and marched back down the hallway, ignoring Rosie, who had reversed against the wall. He threw open every door and peered inside until he reached the little library where Rosie and I had met with Sir Reginald. The handle wouldn’t turn. Someone on the other side was holding on to it.
Black rapped on the wood with the hilt of the sword. ‘Come out, you coward!’
There was no reply. He rocked back and heaved his considerable weight against the door, and it burst open.
‘Murderer!’ roared Black, pointing the sword.
Sir Reginald was on his knees on the floor, his face so ruddy it was almost purple.
‘Mr Black,’ said Rosie. She put her hand gently on the big man’s shoulder. ‘You can’t do this. Think of your wife and child. What will happen to them if you’re hanged?’
Black inhaled deeply and repositioned the sword in his hand as if he was about to drive it home, but then breathed out slowly and lowered the point to the floor.
Sir Reginald fell forward on to all fours and retched so excessively I thought his lungs and guts would come up as well. He spat a couple of times and wiped a stream of viscous liquid from his chin.
‘I didn’t kill John,’ he rasped. ‘Why would I?’
‘You despised him,’ I replied. ‘He’s not of your blood.’
He pulled himself into his chair, groping on the table for his laudanum and dislodging the monkey’s paw. He took a swig from the bottle and closed his eyes.
‘John was weak,’ he said eventually. ‘He was my shame, but I never wanted him dead.’
‘What about Miss Hannigan?’ I demanded. ‘I know what she did for you. Did she ask for more money, was that it? Was she blackmailing you?’
His hands were shaking. ‘No, not money. She would hardly spend what I’d given her before. She wanted to meet Peter and talk to him. It was a ridiculous notion. He’s my blood. Dora was just a … container for nine months, that’s all. But I would never have hurt her. For all her foolish beliefs, I was quite fond of her.’
‘What about Lady Thackery? She was upset, wasn’t she? Jealous. Where is she now?’
He shook his head. ‘I won’t tell you. But it’s not what you’re thinking. It’ll be better for everyone if you stop this nonsense right now.’
Black rested the point of the sword against the old man’s sternum. It would have taken the slightest of pressures to pierce his skin. ‘Answer the question.’
I heard a voice behind me. ‘Stop that! Move away immediately!’ It was Peter Thackery, sounding remarkably commanding for a lad of fifteen. ‘Mr Stanhope, what’s happening here?’
‘We need to know where Lady Thackery is.’
‘Why?’
‘She kidnapped the two children I’m searching for.’
He stared at me as if I was mad. ‘You think my mother is guilty of kidnapping? My mother?’
Black pressed a little on the sword, forcing Sir Reginald backwards in his chair.
I felt a hand on my arm, one of the maids. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen, and was still holding a feather duster.
‘Mister,’ she said, so quietly I could barely hear her. ‘I know where Her Ladyship is.’
‘No,’ said Sir Reginald, his voice constricted and hoarse. ‘Don’t tell them anything.’
I could see the tussle going on in her mind, whether to disobey her employer or save his life. Common sense won the day. ‘Bernie told me …’ She stopped, her eyes flicking from side to side. ‘He’s the coachman, or he was. Mr Picken, I should call him.’
‘Please get on with it.’ I was trying to be gentle but couldn’t keep the impatience out of my voice.
She nodded and swallowed. ‘He told me Her Ladyship made him drive the carriage and snatch two urchins off the street. She had a gun and she shot it at someone, though he was sure she missed. He didn’t know what to think. I told him not to worry and it wasn’t his fault, but he was scared. He left his position and went back to his brother’s without so much as a goodbye. No references neither.’
I almost begged her. ‘Where are the children now?’
She looked up at me, straight in the eyes. ‘He took ’em to the mill, so he said. That’s where they’ll be.’
‘Thank you.’ I turned to Black. ‘Peregrine, please don’t hurt Sir Reginald. I don’t think he did this, and we may need to talk to him again. But stay with him and don’t let him send anyone after us.’
He seemed disappointed. ‘If I must.’
Rosie pulled on my sleeve. ‘Come on, Leo. We may not have much time.’
The footman was sitting at the bottom of the stairs taking short, sharp breaths. His jacket was at his feet, smeared with blood, and he had rolled up one of his shirtsleeves, exposing his wrist, which was hanging at a strange angle. He didn’t look up as we passed.
We were out of the door and hurrying down the steps to the pavement when Peter shouted after us. ‘Wait for me, Mr Stanhope. I want to make sure you don’t hurt my mother.’
‘No.’
The cab was waiting. Rosie climbed in and I was about to follow when I heard another shout from the doorway. Peter was standing on the steps. He held up a set of keys and jangled them.
‘There’s a strike on,’ he called. ‘The mill will be empty. How will you get in without these?’
He put the keys into his jacket pocket and folded his arms.
I didn’t have time to argue any further. ‘Very well, come on then. But you must be quick.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Why?’
It was Rosie who answered. ‘Because there’s a man with a grudge who wants to set light to the place.’