Page 8 of Infernal Vices

CHAPTER 4

THE INVITATION

The police photographer arrived with his heavy camera box and tripod. He was a small, studious looking man of German origin. It took a while for him to set up his camera and due to the low light in the parlour he was using what he called Blitzlichtpulver. The Detective Inspector and I were told to leave the room while the photographs were taken due to the dangerous nature of the powder. It was ignited at the moment the photograph was taken, providing a brilliant flash of white light to give greater clarity to the photograph of my damaged cabinet. However, sparks could fly, and the large plume of noxious foul smelling smoke it created lingered in my home for some time afterward much to Mrs. Twigg’s disgust.

Suffice to say, no one could sit in the parlour with that foul stench, and so I remained in my study with the door open, watchful as one by one, my servants entered the dining room for questioning by Detective Inspector Dancer, and minutes later, exited, a little shaken by their time with the man. And so, I understood that having suspicions cast their way made them all fearful for their positions. It was hard to find trustworthy servants and so it was in my best interest to ensure they remained in my household. I would need to find a way to reassure them.

“Did you find any clues?” I asked as Detective Inspector Dancer as I met him in the vestibule after he had concluded his investigations in my home. He permitted Wilkins to help him don his greatcoat, and then he took his bowler hat, “It would be imprudent to say at this juncture, sir.”

“We’ll, can you tell me, if this Dandy Rogue fellow was in my home?”

“As I suggested earlier to Constable Atkins, it would be presumptuous to ascertain the identity of the thief so early in my enquiries. I shall be in touch as soon as I have information to share. Please send on the book of photographs and if you think of any other information pertinent to the case please contact me at Scotland Yard. Good day to you Mr. Hannan.” Dancer offered his hand, and then thought better of it. He pressed his bowler onto his head, pulled his greatcoat closed against the icy wind running through Bedford Square, and when Mr. Wilkins opened the door Dancer hurried out to climb into a waiting growler.

Mr. Wilkins closed the door. “Damn it,” I grumbled. “We learned absolutely nothing.”

“That detective must play a mean game of poker, sir. He kept his cards close to his chest.”

“Indeed.” I worried my brow, “I noticed that Dancer was rather a brute with his questioning. Are the servants alright?”

“The girls are a little shaken, sir. They’ve never been questioned by the police before, and he was quite the bully,” Wilkins revealed.

“Yes. He put me through my paces too. Please ensure the ladies know I do not believe any of my staff to be guilty of wrong doing. Their jobs are quite safe.”

“Yes sir, Thank you sir.”

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There is a popular idiom ‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire’. Its etymology is widely discussed by scholars. Some say the origin was from Ancient Greek poetry, others say it was coined by Caesar, or by Sir Thomas Moore. But no matter the origin, the meaning remained the same: To escape one great evil and then to succumb to another. I understood the meaning of those words to my very bones for I was trapped between the cabal and the police to protect my criminal lover. I’d hoped that without the Staff of Asklepios and Leopold, Fratres Seminis wouldbe forever halted in their plan for Blake to discover the secrets beyond the veil, and immortality. But, now I understood that I had underestimated the brotherhood and merely postponed inevitability.

My head was splitting by the time I took a seat in the dining room and was served breakfast at half-past-nine. I’d expected Sebastian to join me, and I know it was ill-mannered to begin without him, but our exertions the night before and the to-do this very morning made me ravenous. I tucked in, devouring a hearty plate of bacon, sausages, eggs, and kedgeree, followed by two rounds of thickly buttered toast and three cups of tea. After such a large meal I was ready for a nap, but I could not give into my desire for relaxation. The doorbell chimed and pulled me back to alertness. Mr. Wilkins attended to the caller and a knock on the dining room door followed.

“Yes,” Mr. Wilkins stepped in and relayed that, “Mr. Robins has arrived, sir.”

“Show him in will you Wilkins,” I requested “And can you tell Mrs. Twigg I require a fresh pot of coffee, please.” Wilkins nodded.

Cavell’s dark auburn hair was combed back with pomade. He was dressed in yet another of my older suits, loaned from my wardrobe. I was sure that both Wilkins and Troy must recognize the garments, for the men had been in my employ for many years. Wilkins accompanied me to my tailor a time or two when Troy was under the weather, and as my valet Troy personally handled all of my garments and accessories.

Sebastian left my house this morning in the same way he’d entered it the previous night, by clambering through my bathroom window, and as dexterously as a cat, shimmying down the drainpipe, and tip-toeing to the back gate, which he’d hopped over to be scot-free in the back alleyway—all before I made my way downstairs to face my anxious valet and the vexatious police inquiries. The preceding hours had been quite the trial and the inspection of the scene of the crime took longer than I’d envisaged.

“Ah, Birdie, glad you could make it. I’ve had the most frightful morning. Did you see the policemen outside?” I enquired on seeing my friend.

“Oh? I did. They’re doing door—to–door inquiries. What the devils going on, dear heart? Do tell!” Birdie said excitedly for Wilkins ears only. Mr. Wilkins knew better than to linger. He closed the door and left us in peace. Cavell hurried to the credenza where covered silver serving platters were filled with an array of foods.

“I thought the Old Bill would never blooming leave. I’m famished,” he said as he prepared a plate. Mrs. Twigg always laid out far too much food, but I did not scold her for it because I knew that nothing would go to waste as the servants would eat whatever I did not. Sebastian heaped a plate full of eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast. He sat to my left at the place setting I’d ensured was laid for him.

“Well?” he enquired with a raised brow.

“Eat. I shall talk.” Sebastian nodded and dug into his mound of food.

“The little shit took one of my opera cloaks,” I began tartly. I was vexed by the thought that, for the three days Euan remained a guest in my home and while I’d been out during the day at work, he was scurrying around, searching my private quarters, fingering through my wardrobes, and pilfering garments in preparation for his early morning escapade.

Sebastian paused and swallowed a bite of sausage. “It had better not be the cloak with the red silk lining, I had my eye on that!” he offered wanly.

I harrumphed. Suffice to say, I adored Sebastian and I’d give him the shirt off my back. But at this stage I’d be lucky if I didn’t have to replace my whole wardrobe.

“Have you heard of a Detective Inspector Dancer?”

“The hound?” he said, his voice a little muffled as he chewed.