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- Herausgeber: Decent Fellows Press
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
London, January 1898 Benedict Hannan has veered off his celibate, godly path and onto one of erotic exploration with his beloved criminal Sebastian Cavell. He is also trying and failing to rid himself of the insidious bonds of the deviant cabal Fratres Seminis. The cabal drew Benedict into their blasphemous schemes at the behest of his ex-lover Lord Euan Ardmillan. However, now Ardmillan is out of favour with the leader, Lawrence Blake, and considered to be a betrayer. Benedict’s relationship with Sebastian grows ever closer, but it’s his friendship with fellow acolyte Charles Ashe that leads to a discovery that could end Lawrence Blake for good. They must tread carefully, for when the young, blond hedonist Leopold Von Liebenstein returns to London, Blake’s nefarious plan to dabble in ancient Greek magic and pass through the veil draws ever closer to completion. This book is a work of art created by human imagination. No AI was use for the writing or artwork in this book. Theft of the contents of this book or cover artwork for machine learning (AI) is strictly prohibited.
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Inhaltsverzeichnis
Contents
PROLOGUE
Thursday 17th January 1898
CHAPTER 1
PORK PIES!
CHAPTER 2
THE LAW
CHAPTER 3
INTERROGATION
CHAPTER 4
THE INVITATION
CHAPTER 5
PENANCE
CHAPTER 6
THE SCOOP
CHAPTER 7
STILL LIFE
CHAPTER 8
THE DINNER PARTY
CHAPTER 9
DESERT
CHAPTER 10
SEDUCTION
CHAPTER 11
STOLEN GOODS
Monday 31st January 1898
CHAPTER 12
A SOCIAL LIFE
CHAPTER 13
THE RED BOOK
Friday 18th February 1898
CHAPTER 14
TEMPLE OF THE MUSES
Friday 25th February 1898
CHAPTER 15
THE SECRETUM
CHAPTER 16
THE CLUB
CHAPTER 17
MR. MOUNTJOY
Sunday 27th February 1898
CHAPTER 18
FORGIVENESS
CHAPTER 19
OH DO TELL!
Monday 7th March 1898
CHAPTER 20
THE CAFÉ ROYAL
CHAPTER 21
THE MARVELLOUS IDEA
CHAPTER 22
CLARIDGES
CHAPTER 23
THE SOCIAL SEASON
CHAPTER 24
THE JOURNEY
Wednesday 6th April 1898
CHAPTER 25
SEABOURN ABBEY
CHAPTER 26
INTRODUCTIONS
CHAPTER 27
PLANS
Thursday 7th April 1898
CHAPTER 28
ST FABIANS
CHAPTER 29
GOOD FRIDAY
Friday 8th April 1898
CHAPTER 30
GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT
CHAPTER 31
THE CENTER OF ALL THINGS
CHAPTER 32
THE EASTER BALL
CHAPTER 33
THE BULL AND THE GOAT
CHAPTER 34
SAVIOUR
CHAPTER 35
SETTLE THE SCORE
EPILOGUE
Infernal
Vices
Resurrectionist #3
Isobel Starling
www.decentfellowspress.com
Copyright © 2024 Isobel Starling
ISBN: 9783759247971
First Edition:
All rights reserved worldwide. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except for the purposes of reviews. The reviewer may quote brief passages for the review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.
The characters and events described in this book are fictional. Any resemblance between characters and any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The use of real-life locations is for fictional purposes. The plot, actions, and characters in this work are fictional and in no way reflect real-life occurrences at these establishments.
This book is a work of art created by human imagination. No AI was use for the writing or artwork in this book. Theft of the contents of this book or cover artwork for machine learning (AI) is strictly prohibited.
Infernal Vices, Copyright © 2024 Isobel Starling
Cover Art by Noah Dao (@noahdeaart)
https://noahdea.portfoliobox.net/
Contents
Prologue : Thursday 17th January 1898
Chapter 1 Pork Pies
Chapter 2 The Law
Chapter 3 Interrogation
Chapter 4 The Invitation
Chapter 5 Penance
Chapter 6 The Scoop
Chapter 7 Still Life
Chapter 8 The Dinner Party
Chapter 9 Desert
Chapter 10 Seduction
Chapter 11 Stolen Goods
Chapter 12 A Social Life
Chapter 13 The Red Book
Chapter 14 Temple of the Muses
Chapter 15 The Secretum
Chapter 16 The Club
Chapter 17 Mr. Mountjoy
Chapter 18 Forgiveness
Chapter 19 Oh do tell!
Chapter 20 The Cafe Royal
Chapter 21 The Marvellous Idea
Chapter 22 Claridges
Chapter 23 The Social Season
Chapter 24 The Journey
Chapter 25 Seabourn Abbey
Chapter 26 Introductions
Chapter 27 Plans
Chapter 28 St Fabians
Chapter 29 Good Friday
Chapter 30 Good Friday Night
Chapter 31 The Center of all Things
Chapter 32 The Easter Ball
Chapter 33 The Bull and the Goat
Chapter 34 Saviour
Chapter 35 Settle the Score
Epilogue
About the Author
PROLOGUE
Thursday 17th January 1898
Mr. Troy, my valet, woke me at seven o’clock, furiously beating on my chamber door. He was unaware that I slept in my secret room behind the bookcase in the arms of my lover, the infamous thief, Sebastian Cavell. Sebastian and I had basked in our sinful desires for one solitary night after revealing our deepest love for one another. On extracting myself from his arms, donning my dressing gown, and answering the door, Troy informed that my silver collection had been pillaged, and by the suspicious absence of my house guest Lord Euan Ardmillan, I was sure of whom the blaggard thief was.
The stark reality of my situation was clear to me now. I was a pious man in my fifth decade and yet, I was far too benevolent, for had been taken for a fool once more by Lord Euan Ardmillan. And so, on receiving the news of the burglary I dressed hurriedly and retired to my study where I determined to discover what my manservant knew of the happenings in my house while I was a bed. I had not yet breakfasted and I would not be myself until I’d consumed at least one cup of tea, but that would have to wait.
Euan Ardmillan was an old friend from my university days and my first secret male lover, whose poor treatment of me in my youth had put me on the path to God, celibacy and the denial of my desires for near thirty years. Euan and I were reintroduced at his late father’s estate sale in Scotland where I’d planned to bid the for a particular artefact of Greek antiquity that the late Lord Ardmillan plundered from the Temple of Athena on the Greek Island of Aegina—the much-prized Staff of Asklepios. The ancient phallus was of carved obsidian, rumoured to be magical in nature and named after the Greek God of Medicine and Healing. Euan had sought to rekindle our affair and have me use the phallus on him during a sexual rite to return his flagging manhood to prodigious working order. It was a wicked manipulation. On discovering his true plan, I rejected him and avowed never to set eyes on the damnable fool again. However, there was an angel at my back in the form of Sebastian Cavell. He half-inched the casket containing the Greek phallus and had given it to me as a gift for my private collection. And with that act of kindness, I’d submitted to my attraction and opened myself to possibilities that I had never considered could happen to a godly man such as I. Sebastian wanted me, adored me, and had been looking out for me long before our fateful meeting on the Caledonian sleeper train to Scotland.
Since that frightful winter’s day when Euan’s true plan was revealed, the man himself had wandered so very far from God’s path. Presently, Lord Ardmillan was a hairs breadth from financial ruin, and a deluded, desperate acolyte of a secret society of sexual deviants, Fratres Seminis. Due to Euan’s influence, I have unwillingly been dragged into this brotherhood.
The leader of this cabal is an American theosophist using the pseudonym Lawrence Blake. He too wished to possess the Staff of Asklepios, and Euan was supposed to deliver the sculpted phallus to him. Blake promised his followers that a sexual rite enacted using phallus and a beloved young man known as the vessel, would enable him to pass into death and be resurrected, returning to life with secrets from beyond the veil. He’d convinced a handful of powerful, influential men who shared our unlawful proclivity, that they too could learn the secrets of the Staff and seek immortality. They aimed to be gods among men. The theft of the object by Sebastian put pay to that plan and now Blake believes Euan betrayed him.
Sebastian and I had become quite the covert thorn in Lawrence Blake’s side. The young man who was to play the part of the vessel is Baron Leopold Von Liebenstein, the twenty-two-year-old son of Baron Maximillian Von Liebenstein of Thüringia, Germany. The boy’s hedonism saw him throw himself into sexual sluttony with members of the cabal and then vanish from London society. Sebastian had been assigned by Von Liebenstein’s retainer to locate him and return Leo to his care. I assisted in the ruse and passed the drunken young pup to his manservant who boarded a ship bound for Hamburg, removing Leopold from Blake’s Svengali influence.
I’d thought we’d gotten away with our abduction; however, I was now in a bind. Blake did not know I assisted in the vanishing of the young man he called his vessel. He also did not know I possessed the sacred phallus or that Euan had found refuge in my home. And if he did discover my betrayal he would use the influence of the brotherhood to ensure my total ruination.
“If I tell the Police that Euan was my house guest and stole from me, Fratres Seminis will find out I was harbouring him, they’ll know I lied to them,” I’d complained to Sebastian. We were sitting on the chaise in my secret room, so our voices did not carry. Sebastian placed his arm around my shoulder, drawing me closer.
“I agree. You really cannot risk Lawrence Blake’s wrath at this juncture.” And Sebastian would know about his wrath more than I would. As a young man, Sebastian was lured from a Parisian seminary by the wiles of the silver-tongued American, seduced and abused in the most reprehensible way. Sebastian’s comforting embrace was most welcome, but his words chilled me. The wave of torment that overtook me at the thought of exposure made a near paralysis stop my thoughts. I leaned my head onto his bony shoulder for a moment, inhaling the scent of his hair pomade, sweat and our sex. Gods, it was a heady mixture of sensual alchemy and those familiar scents calmed my nerves. We both remained lost in our thoughts for several minutes, Sebastian’s comforting hold never wavering. He broke the silence first,
“Tell the police you believe the theft was carried out by the Dandy Rogue,” he suggested.
I pulled away and faced him. “No…no, I couldn’t possibly—” I was flattered he would seek to protect me and also appalled that Sebastian would dare ask me to lie to the police and accuse him of a crime he did not commit.
“You’re innocent. I know exactly where you were all night and would vouch for you!” I said not considering the ramifications of such an announcement. Memories of delicious debauchery flooded into my mind and my prick twitched.
Sebastian’s brow hitched in amusement. “You would vouch to the police that I spent the night ravishing you until we were so spent neither of us could move?”
“Well…err, no, I suppose I wouldn’t go that far,” I conceded, heat rushing to burn my face. Sebastian let out a light laugh at seeing my discomfiture.
“The police know the name Sebastian Cavell, but they do not know what I look like. I ensured many years ago that the few photographs of me we’re destroyed.”
“Indeed, I recall that Charles Ashe is having a damnable time pinning down a likeness for the Illustrated Police News!”
“Exactly, here I am Foxford Robins and that name isn’t connected with any crime. I do appreciate the sentiment though, dear heart.”
I gazed into his whisky eyes. My innards wriggled, my mouth was desert dry, and my throat tight with all of the emotion that passed wordlessly between us.
“Why do you want me to give Euan a free pass for such a betrayal? Should he not face the consequences of his crime?”
“—because letting him go protects your reputation, and protecting you my priority. I am sure Euan will eventually meet his fate. He’s tempting it enough!” he said sagely. “It’s fine. This crime would just be another theft to be added to a long, long list for the Dandy Rogue!”
“Even so, if, God forbid, the authorities ever did catch up with you, I would be horrified to have you tried for a theft you were not guilty of.”
“I assure you, it would not be the first or the last. I have carried out a total of fifteen assignments relating to high society in England, and seven in Europe, yet, the police have fifty-six crimes listed.”
“No!” I was appalled.
“The Dandy Rogue has been a very useful scapegoat for many an opportunist criminal,” Sebastian informed. “I’m going to have to leave a calling card in future so they know it was truly me!” he grinned morosely.
“You are not taking this seriously at all,” I harrumphed as I elbowed him in the rib.
“I am,” he laughed and edged away from my elbow. “Ardmillan has stolen from his oldest friend and he is desperate. He knows full-well that you are a good man, a kind man, and you wouldn’t blacken his name and doom his wife and children to banishment from society.”
Honestly, I had quite forgotten about his wife and children, and it appeared Euan had forgotten about them too! The remembrance that Euan had a family made this situation so much worse.
“For a man as lost and needy as Euan, Fratres Seminis is narcotic. I’ve seen it before,” Sebastian explained. “I know the hold that Lawrence Blake wields over the boys and men in his thrall. They are mere pawns seduced by Blake’s words, and Euan will debase himself further to be welcomed back into the fold.”
Adding another crime to the list made me feel deeply uncomfortable, but I was out of options.
“Look, get dressed and take the details from your valet,” Sebastian instructed. “Tell him that the thief could not have been Euan as he left early to catch a train,” he said decisively.
My mind was still sleep dazed but I could not think of a better way to deal with this situation.
“Yes, yes, you are correct,” I agreed resignedly.
****
CHAPTER 1
PORK PIES!
Monday 17th January 1898
I set Mr. Wilkins about for his morning duties, and instructed that he not set foot in the parlour. I took a breath to calm myself and said a quick Hail Mary before I called, “Come in Mr. Troy.” My valet entered the study, closed the door and when I nodded permission, he took the seat opposite me at my desk. He was not as well put-together this morning as usual. His black uniform suit had not seen an iron and he’d missed fastening a button on his shirt. The valet’s white kid skin gloved hands were in his lap, fingers fidgeting like a nervous schoolboy attending the headmaster’s office.
I sat back in my captain’s chair, observed his twitchy countenance, and steepled my fingers.
“Now, Mr. Troy, I need to know every single detail, do you understand, from the top, tell me exactly what happened.”
“Yes sir. I understand sir.” Mr. Troy was silent for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, then, with his soft northern accented voice, he said.
“It was my turn, sir…we all take turns, see…to arise first, light the fires and start the range—it takes a while to the range warm up enough for baking bread. Mrs. Twigg’s on earlies for a week, then me, then Mr. Wilkins. Anne-Marie and Maud take their turn too. We start the range and put on a brew.”
Much to my chagrin, the goings-on below stairs had never really factored in my thoughts, I was a content employer as long as the house was warm and clean and my meals were served on time. I rise at eight o’clock each morning and my tea tray is delivered at five past the hour on the dot! I’d never realized the servants shared the duty of starting up the kitchen range each morning at such an ungodly hour.
“Well, this week it’s my turn to rise early,” Troy continued. “My alarm woke me at half-past-six. It was brass monkeys cold and the house was silent. I put on my dressing gown and slippers and I stepped onto the landing with my lamp in hand. I don’t like to waste the gas light, see, as it’s just me about the place. I noticed the door was ajar—the door for the room your unfortunate friend, Mr. Euan was staying in. I became concerned because the man had not been in his right mind when you brought him home, sir. I was worried that he was unwell, and so I knocked lightly. There was no reply. I looked around the door and saw the room was empty. I had no idea where he’d gone. I went downstairs with just my lamp for light, and half way down I heard a strange scraping sound. At the foot of the stairs I saw a low light flickering under the door of the parlour. It gave me the shivers, cos no one else was supposed to be downstairs. I was sure it was my turn for earlies. I don’t know if I was still sleep-sodden, sir, but I gritted my teeth and opened the door. At once the room was like an ice house. I saw a lamp on the mantle and I heard the scraping sound again. I looked around the door to see the drapes for the back window were open, billowing in the wind and a man in an opera cloak—Mr. Euan sir, he was climbing out of the window! Whatever are you doing, sir? I hollered, but he didn’t look back or acknowledge me. I placed my lamp on the floor and rushed to the window as he tumbled the rest of the way out. I leaned out and grasped at the cloak to drag him back inside but he escaped my clutches and ran off through the garden. I was confused as to why Mr. Euan hadn’t just called at my room and asked me to open the front door if he needed to leave so urgently. It was then that I turned and saw your mahogany silver cabinet was open, sir.” Mr. Troy paused and stared at his feet, before looking up and continuing in a pleading voice.
“It’s a terrible sight sir, just terrible. Your lovely collection,” he whimpered. “The girls polished all of the silver yesterday and I was with Mr. Wilkins when he inspected their work. The smallest trinkets are all gone, sir.”
I tightened my jaw, unwilling to allow my servant to see the grief I felt at this loss. I could not even allow myself to envision the mess of my treasured collection for it would distract me from what I required to achieve here. I leaned forward and clasped my hands upon the desk and I asked calmly, “What did you do then?”
“Raised the alarm, of course! Oh sir, I just don’t understand it!” Troy exclaimed frantically. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but Mr. Euan is your friend. You are a kind and godly man, sir; you opened your home to him when he was at his darkest hour,” he sobbed, wringing his hands and shaking his head anxiously.
“Mr. Troy,” I said raising my voice to pull him from his vexatious spiral. “I do think you’re rather getting ahead of yourself and jumping to conclusions.”
He looked up and met my eyes, squinting in confusion.
“How sure are you that it was Mr. Euan you saw?” I asked, sewing the first seed of doubt.
“I…um, admit, I never saw the fellows face, but who else could it have been climbing out of the back window with pockets full of your silver? Mr. Euan’s room is empty. The servants are all accounted for and all were abed. Who else could it have been?”
“You read the broadsheets, man! You know as well as I that there has been quite a speight of burglaries about town of late—“I said suggestively. I hated deceiving my valet, but I was in rather a tight spot. For this ruse to work, Mr. Troy needed to doubt his very eyes and come to his own conclusion.
“No sir!” he exclaimed with horror. “It cannot be, it cannot…I could not have witnessed a theft by the Dandy Rogue!” he gasped theatrically. His gloved hand shot to cover his mouth and his eyes widened. All levels of society were awash with rumour as to his true identity. It was believed that Cavell was one among the aristocracy, and in turn, the elite began to distrust their friends and acquaintances. The broadsheets had made Cavell into a sort of hero in the eyes of the common folk. He was believed to be a radical anti-imperialist—one who did not believe in the God-given right of Her Majesty to ‘civilize’ any foreign territory she desired. Cavell would steal from the rich—especially those who had made their money from slavery and plundering British Colonies. And, my god, I loved him desperately.
“Indeed, I do believe you might have seen the Gentleman Thief the papers speak of. It was my first thought. You see, Mr. Euan knocked on my bedroom door late last night to thank me for my hospitality. He told me that he would leave early to catch the first train from Euston. You had already retired for the night so I did not want to wake you. I rose and let him out through the front door. The man you saw climbing out of the window could not have been my troubled friend for he had already vacated the house.”
“Oh gods, oh gods,” Troy exclaimed in a panic, wringing his hands anxiously. “Please forgive me for casting aspersions as to the honesty of your friend, sir. I’m so deeply…deeply ashamed. I didn’t know he’d left us. I didn’t for one second consider that it wasn’t him.”
I held my hands up placatingly, “Calm yourself, my good man. It was an easy mistake to make. I can see that the discovery of the theft has left you in quite a state of discombobulation.”
“Indeed, sir, indeed. I just keep thinking what could have happened if one of the ladies was on earlies. The thief could have ravaged a poor defenceless girl!” Troy cradled his head in his hands, and I felt rather sorry for him.
“Too early for a nip of brandy?” I suggested. He looked up, removing his shaking hands from his face. “I’ll be okay sir. I just can’t believe that I’ve seen the Dandy Rogue. Gods, the blaggard! Oh, Mr. Hannan, whatever shall we do? What will the neighbour’s say? I fear you’ll become a society talking-point and I know how you value your privacy.”
He wasn’t wrong there! I would have to do all I could to control the information on the burglary. “Tell me, has a constable been sent for?”
“Yes, yes. I called over young Jasper, our paperboy, and told him to find a bobby, quick smart and send him here.”
“Listen to me Mr. Troy,” I said calmly. I needed to be delicate in broaching this subject so as not to make the man even more anxious than he already was.
“Could I possibly ask a favour?”
Troy nodded. “Anything sir,”
“I must be frank. This is not a pleasant thing I ask, but…our lives could be in danger.”
“I will do what I can, sir,” Troy replied keenly.
“Very well. I ask that you do not tell the police that Mr. Euan was at this house.” A stretched out moment of silence passed before I continued.
“I took a terrible risk in bringing him back to my home. I mentioned to you before that he had made some…shall we say, errors of judgment. Well, it appears that was quite the understatement and before he left he informed that he has acquired some fearsome enemies,” I explained, “It would be the worse for all if his enemies discovered that I had offered him protection. Do you understand?” Our eyes met and Troy’s widened on meeting mine.
“You…you want me to lie…to the police?” he gasped.
“Not lie as such,” I assured “but omit that Mr. Euan was ever here.”
“But…but, sir? Lyin’s a sin.”
“I know, I know. I do feel terrible asking you to do this. If this theft had not taken place there would not be an issue, but, as you said, a theft by this Dandy Rogue will draw attention to our home and could lead to unwanted interest, so I must consider the safety of my entire household.” I paused for a moment’s thought.
“I have a swift solution. We shall attend the midday service at St Giles and remain behind for confession. That way neither of us need carry the burden of this small sin carried out for the protection of our household. In the long run we are doing a good thing, are we not? We are protecting Mrs. Twigg, Maud, and Anne-Marie from unsavoury interest. With my intervention Mr. Euan is back on a righteous path, and with your omission my household will remain safe.” To my mind it sounded like a grand plan, but would Mr. Troy agree? For several tense moments we eyed one another like cardsharps before Troy conceded,
“Very good, sir.”
****
CHAPTER 2
THE LAW
The chime of the doorbell made both Troy and I jump in our seats. Mr. Troy rose, bowed to me, and rushed out of the study to answer the door, but by the sound of it Wilkins got there before him. Troy returned a minute later with a uniformed police constable in tow. The officer of the law was tall, lanky, and baby-faced, with a smattering of the fluffy stubble that I associated with a late developer covering his jaw line. I supposed he was trying to grow a beard to appear older and more masculine. His dark blue Melton wool uniform looked new and the warrant number on his collar was 7074. He was regimentally smart and the Brunswick Star on his distinctive domed helmet glinted. A silver whistle hung from a button hole, and the buttons themselves were polished to a dazzling shine.
“Constable Atkins, this is my master, Mr. Benedict Hannan,” Troy introduced.
“Good morning sir, I h-understand that a crime ‘as been committed at this here h-establishment, is that correct?” Atkins asked. His accent was inner city cockney, yet he was attempting the correct diction and over doing it a little.
“Indeed, indeed,” I sighed resignedly slumping back into my captain’s chair. “My silver has been stolen by that…that blaggard—” I pontificated,
“—that Dandy Rogue fellow!”
The constable’s eyes widened at hearing that particular moniker. “A…are you sure, sir?” he demanded.
“Of course, I’m sure,” I blustered haughtily. “Mr. Troy here saw him escaping.” I turned to Troy and gave him a look.
“Yes…Yes, I saw him escaping out the back window into the garden. I tried to pull him back in, but ohh, he was a slippery fish!” Troy added. I was quite relieved that we were firmly on the same page!
I observed how light suddenly sparked in the bobby’s eyes. “I…I need to get a message to Scotland Yard!” he said excitedly. It was as if I could see the cogs turning in his mind at the thrill of being the first officer on the scene for the Gentleman Thief’s latest dastardly escapade. He took out his notebook, swiftly thumbing through it for a blank page and then scribbled on the notepaper.
“Shall I find a runner?” Mr. Troy queried. Constable Atkins folded the paper and passed it to Troy.
“Yes, and tell the boy to give this to Detective Inspector Dancer, no one else, it has to be Dancer!” he said urgently.
Troy nodded and left the study.
The constable continued to jot in his notebook, the scritch-scratch of his pencil sounding amplified in my silent study. I broke that silence with a question.
“Tell me constable, who is this Detective Inspector Dancer?”
Atkins continued note taking as he absently said, “Oh, he’s a toff.” The constable looked up from his notebook as if suddenly aware of whom he was talking to. “Begging your pardon, sir, no offence meant,” he simpered. “The Chief Commissioner himself just put Dancer on the Gentleman Thief case. Detective Inspector Dancer’s father is a Duke or some-such…up Northumberland way. He could ‘ave had the life of Riley, but he chose to be an honest working copper cos he believes in truth and justice. He’s a credit to our dear Queen, and an inspiration to us all, sir,” the officer said spiritedly, then unsolicited, he informed,
“The Chief Commissioner believes the Gentleman Thief’s a t—is well-to-do an’ all. Word is he’s been thieving from society gents for the thrill of it. Dancer knows all there is to know about this rogue,” he said with a grin, his chest expanding with pride.
I sat up straighter in my chair, and reached for a sheaf of writing paper and my pen. I could see that the young officer hero-worshipped this Detective Inspector Dancer.
“He knows all about him aye,” I grumbled as I began to write my first note, ”—apart from what the devil looks like or how to catch him,” I barked cuttingly, “The lack of progress on that ghastly Jack the Ripper case has tested my trust in the efficacy of the police force,” I sneered, “If Detective Inspector Abberline cannot bring a serial murderer to justice, I have little faith that this Detective Inspector Dancer can reprimand a mere cracksman!”
I glanced up and saw how Atkins pursed his lips sulkily and was silent for a moment before, fiercer he said, “Dancer will get his man; you mark my words, sir. He’s like a bloodhound and won’t stop until the thief is dangling from the gallows!”
Was my lie about to place Sebastian in the cross-hairs of a detective seeking a path to glory? A wave of fear ran through me. What had I done? I gulped and bit my lip, holding in a wince, and then I instinctively made the sign of the cross.
“Mr. Wilkins!” I called out as I heard the front door close. My houseman entered the study.
“I require another runner. These letters need to be delivered. One to my office, the other to my insurer’s office at 41 Lothbury,” I said as hastily penned the missives, pushed them into envelopes, addressed, and sealed them. I passed the envelopes to my houseman who left me alone with the wet-behind-the-ears constable.
“My insuring agent retains a book of photographs with valuations of all of my items. Every article in my silver cabinet can be matched to its photograph,” I informed.
“That will be very useful in helping us see what the toe-rag pilfered,” Atkins said excitedly. I knew it would be useful for Sebastian too. Euan stole from me because he needed money, fast. Sebastian had offered to use his contacts in the demimonde to discover where Euan sold my silver. He’d made himself scarce and would call at the house again after the police had left.
“I think a cup of tea would be in order while we wait for your hound. Would you mind telling Mrs. Twig to send a pot? You may sit with the servants in the kitchen.”
“Much obliged, sir,” the constable said before leaving the study and wandering down the hall towards the scent of baking scones.
****
Twenty minutes later by my mantle clock, I’d taken tea with a nip of brandy for my nerves, but I’d told Wilkins to delay breakfast until this nonsense was dealt with. I heard the loping tread of Constable Atkins approaching in the hall. He paused outside the study door and knocked.
“Come.” The door opened and Atkins popped his head around. He still had his helmet on and the sight amused me a little. “I’ll need to take down the full particulars and inspect the scene of the crime before Detective Inspector Dancer arrives, sir.”
My moment of amusement melted away. I rose from my chair. “Of course. My silver cabinet is in the parlour,” I said as I strode past the officer and continued across the hall. I had not yet viewed the mess because I did not want the damage of my cabinet to distract me from the tangle of untruths I’d put in motion.
As I entered the parlour I saw that the heavy plum silk damask drapes for the window facing Bedford Square were still closed, yet the drapes for the rear window that gave a view of the garden were open, as was the sash window. An icy January breeze rushed in with the rays of morning sunlight, making me shiver to my bones. I immediately walked toward the window with the intention of closing it.
“Please don’t touch nuffin’ sir. Detective Inspector Dancer’s very strict about ensuring all remains as found.” I was not happy about being told what to do in my own home. I pivoted and scanned the room. My eyes affixed on the right corner of the room where my silver cabinet was in disarray. Fury boiled my blood. The elegant dark mahogany cabinet stood on exquisite turned and reeded legs. The bow fronted doors were arch topped with astragal glazing, either side of which stood carved columns with capitals. The interior back was lined in red raw silk and the shelves themselves were plate glass. This cabinet was the first large item of furniture I had purchased for myself when I began as an auctioneer and so it held great sentimental value. Both doors of the bow fronted cabinet were now open and I could see immediately that the lock had undergone considerable violence to enable access. A small sharp pointed kitchen knife lay on the floor beside the cabinet. The glass windows were, to my relief, unbroken. But the damage to the lock and rosewood marquetry inlay surrounding it infuriated me. I would need to employ a master locksmith and an artisan carpenter to restore the cabinet to its former glory.
I took a step closer to the sullied cabinet and saw how my once regimentally displayed collection was in a shambles. I wished that on this one occasion, my servants had not been so efficient with their task of dusting. Dust patterns on the glass shelves would have given me an idea as to which items were absent. Of course, I knew at first glance that Euan had stolen the smaller items of the collection—the Vesta cases, stamp boxes, snuff boxes, card cases. These could be pocketed and not weigh him down. With a gasp of disgust I realized that the exquisite silver fish shaped spice box that I’d purchased from Lawrence Blake was missing. My innards coiled at seeing the decimation of a collection that had taken me over twenty years to create. Nerves gnawed at my stomach and with the anger bubbling under my skin I could feel a headache coming on. My fingers rose to massage my temples.
“Are there many items missing Mr. Hannan?” the constable enquired.
“Yes,” I said testily. “It appears the thief stole the smaller items. But do not make the mistake of equating size with worth, constable,” I said tartly. “Several of the items were made by famous artisan silversmiths and they are priceless,” I explained a sharp, morose tone to my voice.
“I understand, sir.” The constable scribbled in his notebook as he spoke. “What, may I ask, is the source of your income, sir?”
“I beg your pardon!” I exclaimed disgusted by the impertinent question. Atkins flinched at my tone.
“I meant no h-offence sir, just taking down the particulars.”
“I am a man of business, an auctioneer of fine art and furniture. I own Hannan’s, an auction house in Fitzrovia,” I spat but before I could continue the sound of the doorbell gave me pause.
Mr. Wilkins entered the parlour a minute later with a suited gentleman, and a uniformed officer.
“Ah! Detective Inspector Dancer!” Constable Atkins announced excitedly.
Detective Inspector Dancer removed his bowler hat and greatcoat and as if he were master of the house passed them to Wilkins without even sharing eye contact. “Atkins is it?” The tall, brawny newcomer had well-groomed mutton chops and a pomaded head of dark brown hair. His accent was peculiar, cultured with a hint of Yorkshire to it. It sounded a tad familiar but I could not place the fellow. Didn’t Atkins say Dancer’s father was a Duke in the North of England? Did this lordly member of the Metropolitan Police attend my club?
“Yes sir,” Atkins said standing tall and puffing out his chest. He spoke on with a stilted faux official tone. “Sir, Detective Inspector Dancer sir…This is Mr. Benedict Hannan, Sir. Mr. Hannan is the victim of a heinous robbery by the Dandy Rogue, sir.”
Dancer pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head, and let out a sigh, “Constable Atkins,” Dancer said resignedly, “How long have you been on the job?
“Six weeks, sir,”
“Then you should bloody well know by now that it isn’t your place to come to conclusions about a crime or the perpetrator. I am the DI on this case and I will deduce who this cracksman is! Do you understand?” he roared.
“Yes, sir, sorry sir,” Atkins fumbled. The lad’s cheeks were beetroot red and I felt rather sorry for him. The second constable who had entered with Dancer stood behind him, regimentally straight backed, and he smirked while the young recruit got a humiliating dressing-down.
“You’d do well to remember your place. Now, do your job to and help assemble the facts of this case.”
“Yes sir, sorry sir,” Atkins simpered as he stared at his polished boots.
“Facts…tell me the facts that you have ascertained about what occurred here?” Constable Atkins flinched and looked deeply embarrassed. He flicked through his notebook and said,
“Um. Detective Inspector Dancer, sir…I have h-ascertained that Mr. Hannan’s valet, a Mr. Troy, discovered the thief at approximately ten minutes to seven this morning. He interrupted the thief while the blaggard made his escape through the rear window of the parlour, here—” Atkins gestured stiffly to the window “—it leads directly to the back garden through which he made his h-escape.” Dancer held his hand up to halt the stilted telling. He took a tour of the parlour and then nodded, permitting the officer to continue. The other constable remained by the door, ever watchful.
“Mr. Troy discovered that the silver cabinet had been stripped of a considerable number of items. Mr. Hannan informed me that his business is as an auctioneer in Fitzrovia. He said that his insurance agent keeps a book of photographs of the contents of the cabinet.” Atkins gestured to the damaged cabinet.
Throughout the interrogation of his constable, Detective Inspector Dancer didn’t send his gaze my way. It was as if I wasn’t in the room at all.
“Has this book of photographs been sent for?” Dancer asked.
“Yes, yes, sir. A note was sent with a runner to the insurance agent some twenty minutes ago.”
It was then that Dancer turned from perusing the cabinet and set his vulpine amber eyes on me. My blood turned to ice, and unconsciously, I took a step back.
“Hannan, is it?” Dancer strode across the room towards me with his hand outstretched. “Detective Inspector Jack Dancer,” he introduced. I stood rigidly with my hands behind my back. I shuddered at the thought of his clammy meaty paw touching my skin and so I did not offer my hand. He stood before me with a suspicious scowl upon his face and seemed to find my rejection of his hand offensive.
“I have a medical condition,” I revealed unwillingly “I do not shake hands.” He studied me for a moment as if I was the criminal and not, in fact, the victim. His eyes were that of a fox—sly and watchful of its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. I could tell from his bone structure, the haughty looks, and the superior way he held himself that he was most definitely of aristocratic stock. Fear flooded through me with the power and command of that look—a look that screamed ‘I am your better, and you’ll damn well tell me what I want to know’.
I got the idea that Detective Inspector Dancer was the kind of detective who did not care about whom he trod on in his search for the truth. He was a results man, that was for sure. He was for the thrill of the chase and glory in the capture. In a way, I admired men like him, men who vowed to carry out the letter of the law and not stop until they’d found their culprit, but deep in my heart I understood that I was walking on a knife’s edge. One step to the left or right and I’d find myself in a perilous situation. I’d need to be very careful in my dealings with this man. A fellow like Dancer could probably spot a liar a mile away! And in this instance, God save me, I was that liar! I would need to ensure dominance in my home.
“I say, detective. This is a beastly business. I take it that you and your men will reserve the utmost discretion about this hullabaloo. I’d rather not have every hack in London beating on my door,” I grumbled exactly as a man from my class would in such a predicament.
“We all follow Sir Howard Vincent's Police Code to the letter. Any officer who discusses this case with the press will be severely reprimanded.”
“Good, good.”
“Now, Mr. Hannan. Who was the first to notice the theft?” Dancer addressed me as if he hadn’t listened to a word of information the constable had previously told him.
“Mr. Troy, my valet. He roused me at around seven o’clock, I believe. He’d caught the thief red handed, making his escape out of the window here.” I gestured to the window.
Dancer strode to the window again, and dragged the sash higher. The damask drapes billowed and a gale of icy January air rushed into the room and stabbed my skin like pins. He poked his head out of the window, looked up, then looked down eyeing the flowerbed beneath the window. Then to my horror he climbed out.
I exchanged confused eye contact with the two police constables and then hurried to the window to see it was a bright morning with a milky blue winter sky, yet clouds approached swiftly on the breeze. Dancer was perusing the outside of my house, his gaze raking up and down the walls, fixing on each window, and guttering down pipe. Dancer then called,
“Constable Barnabus!” I moved away as the second constable rushed over to the window, “There’s a ruddy great footprint in the flower bed, here. Measure it, we’ll see how big the villain’s feet are!” Dancer ordered, “But first help me back in.”
Constable Atkins rushed over to help Barnabus pull Inspector Dancer back into the room.
“It was a swift, unhindered escape Mr. Hannan. I’m surprised that you haven’t made measures to secure your home correctly, especially as you house such treasures. You could do with a more substantial lock on that window, and maybe plant some holly bushes in the flowerbed,” he advised.
I was surprised by the gardening advice, but I did see how I’d been lax when it came to the security of my collections. A new lock and a holly bush could act as a deterrent for any future thief.
“Atkins, I’d like a private word, and then I want you to hurry back to headquarters and ask for a photographer to attend. Bring the plaster of Paris kit back with you too. Take a cast of the footprint. Barnabus, it’s about to rain, cover up that footprint to preserve it and take a look in the back alley and around the square to see if any items were dropped, then go door-to-door to make enquiries. Question the domestic staff, for they are always the first to be about in the morning. This is a busy square, someone must have seen his escape,“ Dancer instructed.
I knew full-well that this supposed clue of a footprint was not going to help in identifying the culprit. We extracted Euan from the clutches of the cabal without a stitch of clothing on and certainly no footwear. Everything Euan wore belonged to me. So this line of enquiry would most certainly be a dead end.
****
CHAPTER 3
INTERROGATION
While the two constables went about their duties, Detective Inspector Dancer said he wanted to ask Troy some initial questions. He was about in my house, alone, for several minutes and then returned the parlour. He sat heavily in an armchair and let out a sigh, then gestured for me to take the settee opposite. My collar seemed too tight and I felt warm even though the parlour was frigidly cold.
“Very well,” I said and sat where directed. I needed to steel myself, to focus on my highest good, and protect my past and present lovers from suspicion.
“Mr. Hannan. I have questions for you regarding this inquiry and I’d be grateful if you would be as frank as possible. Your answers may well reveal the identity of this villain.”
“Are you not taking notes?” I queried, confused at seeing Dancer remain with his hands clasped across his stomach, those vulpine eyes affixed on me.
“Oh no. I’ve a mind like a steel trap.” He clapped his hands together for effect and made me twitch in my seat, and then he grinned at having startled me. “I enjoy puzzles,” Dancer continued, “and I remember everything. You never do know how the smallest details might just be the key to solving a case. I am most determined to finger this particular cracksman!”
Dancer appeared to be a worthy opponent for my brilliant Sebastian.
