Chapter Ten
Meg: More songs for YouTube videos: "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns 'n Roses, "Stand My Ground" by Within Temptation, "The Escapist" by Nightwish, and "Labyrinth" by OOMPH! Bonus points if anyone can make a good GMD video to an MCR song from their CD The Black Parade. Hint hint: Meg wants YouTube videos to these songs!
My days working for Sir Jenners were a mix of interesting and monotonous. It was sometimes boring copying printing information. The antiquity of the manuscripts in Jenners' library, however, astounded me, and I found myself reading accounts of shipwrecks and the subsequent behavior of English sailors on Juan Fernandes Island or Sir William Temples' Of Popular Discontents during lunch breaks. I was fast and efficient, and fully rewarded with an appreciative smile from Jenners or a few words of praise whenever he saw how quickly I was progressing. It made me feel proud of myself, as if I had accomplished something noteworthy that would be so useful later on.
I did not see Jenners often. He was a busy man, constantly running in and out of the mansion. But he always made sure to see me at least for a few minutes each day, just to check up on my work and chat. On several days when he was less occupied with business he even invited me to have lunch with him. Sometimes he asked about Lyon, other times he asked about details of my life. He seemed particularly interested in hearing about Basil of Baker Street and his methods of observation and deduction.
I asked him about his life as well. He was an accomplished man, having been involved with politics for 15 years before retiring at the early age of 45. When I asked him what he did now, though, he said that he was looking into business. He had his eye on some industrial ventures and media outlets.
One day, however, he stepped into the library and, after the usually exchange of pleasantries, said, "Megana, may I ask you about a personal matter?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I wanted to ask you about your history with Professor Ratigan."
"Really?" I asked, confused. "Why?"
He cleared his throat. "I do apologize for being so forward about this topic," he began. "I am sort of on a dead end with my investigation of Miss Lyon. Perhaps I am just grasping at a wisp of wind here, but I would like to know more about the professor."
I felt a strong emotion well up in my throat, which took all of my efforts to choke back. "It's not an easy topic to discuss," I said softly. "He murdered my husband."
Jenners nodded understandingly. "Then we will leave it alone. I do apologize for asking."
Later that evening I sat in front of the fire with a cup of tea, watching Basil and Dawson pour over a map of the East End docks on the wall for the hundredth time since the discovery of the first love letter. Another one had been found on yet another Seven Plagues ship one week earlier, and had only been given to Basil yesterday evening. Having spent the past day examining the letter, Basil planned on leaving it at the docks tomorrow with the other mail to see who would pick it up.
For now they had all of the Edward Brandts they knew of marked out on the East End map with darts.
"Him and him," Basil said, pointing to two dots. "They're already suspicious, and have some petty criminal activity on their records. If it goes to them then we better stake out the place."
"It looks like rain," I said.
Basil waved his hand at me to indicate that he did not want to hear it. "When the man leaves I'll follow him and you'll search the house for the letter. But do knock on the door first. They live alone, so there shouldn't be anyone there, but we can't take chances."
"Are we using the same disguises?" Dawson asked.
"No. I have new ones set aside specifically because of the two troublemakers. Unless we ascertain that Lydia does, indeed, exist at the destination written on the letter, then we should request to speak to her as ourselves. It may persuade her to tell us what we wish to know if she's aware that some form of authority is interested in her letter."
"Won't we frighten her that way?"
"I don't think so," Basil said. "If she is innocent then she should have nothing to hide."
"I'd be afraid, even if I was innocent," I said.
Basil shook his head and went back to the map. "If the letter goes where we have already been then we should wait until the occupants are gone, or asleep, and then search for the letter and see if we can find any evidence of Lydia or the Seven Plagues."
"You mean we should break in?" Dawson asked, aghast at the idea.
"Basil!" I said.
"We've done it before," he said, nonplussed.
"But that was when you knew something was definitely tied to Ratigan or some other criminal," Dawson said. "This is a breach of privacy beyond reading someone's private letters!"
"My good doctor, Shaun probably doesn't even exist, which means that Lydia doesn't either."
"How can you be so sure?" he demanded.
"I have strong reason to believe two different people wrote the current letter and the first ones that were found," Basil said. "The first ones are written with charcoal sticks, while the current one is written with a charcoal pencil. The 't's are crossed with a slight upward slant, while the other letters are more straight. The paper is different, but that is not significant because all of the other letters were written on different paper- scrap paper, clean paper, the backs of advertisements. This one, however, was not as saturated with sodium chloride."
"But Basil, you only took a small sample from the letter to do that test," Dawson said. "You destroyed the other letters to do that test. You yourself said the experiment for sodium chloride might not work with such a small sample."
"It is just one more thing that doesn't fit," Basil said. "The differences are slight, but I am convinced there are two different letter writers. Two different writing implements, two different hands, perhaps two different men, lackeys of Ratigan no doubt. Lydia and Ratigan may be one and the same."
"You can't be sure of that, Basil," I said.
"The only way to know for sure is the find the destination of the letters."
For Renée Lyon, the past few weeks had been gradually more fruitful than her first week of investigating the mysterious Geoffrey Dagnar.
In between writing a few shorter stories for The Daily Press to make up for her lack of articles in November's Aline Monthly, she had found the destination of the missing shipments: Maidenhead. It had taken several weeks interviewing men at the docks, but most had eagerly helped the blonde-haired woman find the information, especially Captain Porter. He had taken on one of the shipments, and several other small-time riverboat captains had also been found who had been secretly paid under the table to make the shipments, with the names of Customs House officers who had looked the other way. All of this, however, she learned after many conversations where she gained his trust and slowly dragged the information out of him, and received access to his captain's log.
Porter even took her up to Maidenhead, indicating where he had dropped off the shipments on the days that 'Cathy Baum' had thought her uncle had left London. The goods had been taken to a private dock by the river at the base of an estate. Lyon had gotten off at Maidenhead as Porter went further up river, taking a shipment to Reading.
She searched for House and Co. there. No headquarters. No one there had even heard of the company. So she tried to find the owner of the estate, but it appears that the place once belonged to the Locklears, a blueblood family who had died out years ago. The building had been abandoned since the last of the descendents passed. But no one could seem to tell her who currently owned the building.
Lyon caught a ride back to London on Captain Porter's boat. It had been nearly four weeks since she had received her information from Gerard. She had to meet with her editor to convince him that it was worth keeping her on the story for an extended period of time. Now that she had found where the missing shipments had gone as well as the underhand dealings by the Customs House, she had enough to write a story, even if not on Dagnar. She also planned on going back to Maidenhead with some of Ratigan's lackeys if he would allow it. It would be unsafe for her to investigate the abandoned estate by herself.
She knew she would have to wait, however, until the criminal mastermind came to her. She had not noticed anyone following her in the three weeks since Ratigan had warned her of the threat, not even the watchman that he claimed he would set over her. She had no idea if it was safe to see him yet, if Jenners had given up on tracking her activities.
Once back in London she headed straight for the offices of The Daily Press. She saw Eddie at his desk in front of Gault's office, chewing on a hunk of cheese as he read the classified ads of the paper.
"Hello Eddie," she said, smiling at him.
"Renée!" He swallowed the food in his mouth in one large gulp and then grinned back. "It's been so long!"
She nodded. "I know. How are you?"
"Eh, okay," he said, pointing to the classifieds. "Looking for possible job openings."
"Oh? Don't like it here?" she asked, surprised. Eddie seemed like an essential part of the paper, even if he did not write any of the stories or edit the publications.
"Nah. I like it here. I just like to see what my options are. You know, in case the paper ever decides to downsize or something. Aline would probably be the first to go."
She raised an eyebrow. "Well. On that cheery note, is Larry in?"
"Yes, but you can't see him. He said not to be disturbed." Eddie motioned for Lyon to come closer, as if he was about to share a secret. When her ear was nearly at his nose he murmured. "He's meeting with a cousin of the king!"
Lyon gave a start. "Who?" she asked, fearing she already knew the answer.
"Sir Algernon Jenners!"
"What?" She stood up straight, suddenly beginning to perspire. "Why is he here?"
"You know him?" Eddie asked, surprised at her reaction.
She shook her head. "No."
"You seem upset."
"I am not!" she exclaimed.
Eddie cocked his head and stared at her, baffled.
Lyon shook her head. "When is this meeting going to be done?"
The secretary shrugged. "Dunno. They've been in there for two hours now."
"I'll just come back later," Lyon said quickly, turning on her heel.
Just then the doors of Gault's office opened, and she turned around, surprised, as four men came out. The first was William Campbell, the lawyer for The Daily Press and all its associated publications such as the Aline Monthly. Lyon knew the white-furred mouse with the thick glasses well from the various legal implications her interviews with Ratigan had caused for Aline. The second was the current owner of the paper, Randolph Brenkus, a gray-colored mouse of 60 who had inherited the paper from his childless brother several years ago. The third was a tall rat with grayish-black fur and a thin black goatee on his chin. When Lyon recognized the last to leave the office as the bulky, tan-colored, middle aged Lawrence Gault, she surmised that the third individual was Jenners.
The rat himself stopped when he saw her. His eyes traveled down past her dark blue hat to her loose blonde hair tied at the nape of her neck, down past her blue jacket, white blouse and blue skirt to her brown boots and back up again. He then allowed himself a small smile, as if satisfied with finally answering a mystery.
The look gave her chills. She turned to the first two men and shook their hands, exchanging formalities.
"Renée!" Gault boomed, coming up and roughly shaking her hand. "Where've you been for the last week?"
"Out looking up leads on that long-term assignment I'm doing," Lyon said.
"What is the assignment?" the rat asked her.
"I beg your pardon, I don't believe we've met," she responded with a smile, holding out her hand. "I am Renée Lyon."
"Sir Algernon Jenners." His voice was flat, and he did not extend his hand to meet her handshake.
She left her hand in the air long enough to make it awkward. She slowly put her hand down. "What brings you here, Sir Jenners?" she asked.
"What is the assignment?" he repeated.
"A piece on a businessman," she replied.
"Renée here is one of the best reporters here when it comes to high profile pieces," Gault jumped in, putting an arm around her waist. "She's hunting down a man who might be behind some shady business deals. What's his name again, Renée?"
Lyon's jaw almost dropped open. She was surprised Gault chose her current story with which to praise her journalism efforts, since he seemed to abhor the idea all together.
"Geoffrey Dagnar," she said.
Jenners raised an eyebrow. "Never heard of him. What business is he in?"
"Coal mining."
"Renée here is the one who managed to get an interview with Professor Ratigan not once but three times!" Gault continued.
Campbell let out a little laugh. "That reminds me, Miss Lyon. You're in trouble again for your last article. The Yard is suing."
She noticed Brenkus jab the lawyer in the ribs, and then shot an uneasy glance at Jenners.
"I wouldn't be surprised," the rat said, narrowing his eyes at Lyon. "Allowing a reporter to associate with a public enemy is bad form indeed. Did you have a say in whether she did those stories, Mr. Brenkus?"
The older mouse twisted his hat nervously in his hands. "Well… a newspaper is a business Sir Jenners, and we've got to keep the public interested. The devil appears to take a liking to Miss Lyon, so it's an opportunity that comes once in a lifetime-"
"Not once, Mr. Brenkus," Jenners interrupted, still looking at Lyon. "Thrice in a lifetime thus far, am I right?"
"Well, yes. But-"
"And you allowed this illegal activity to occur?"
"It's public interest, Sir Jenners-"
"Cheap thrills for a paper, Mr. Brenkus? Just like this coal-mining fellow she is reporting on now?"
"Oh, I don't know of every story that our staff works on," Brenkus said, pulling at his collar. "That's Larry's affair; she's under his jurisdiction."
"We're hoping it will be a good story," Gault cut in. "You know, corruption and… and… what else, Renée?"
"And illegal shipping," Lyon said. "I have found a recent lead on that. I-"
"Mr. Brenkus, I am surprised you don't know what is being put into your own publications," Jenners cut in, turning to Brenkus. "Are all newspapers run like that?"
Brenkus shrugged. "I was never much of a media man myself," he said. "It was sort of left on my hands."
The rat smiled. "Perfectly understandable," he said. "It was a pleasure working with you gentlemen," he said, shaking their hands. "You are more than welcome to come by my house any time. And Mr. Gault," he said, holding firmly to the editor's hand. "I will see you tomorrow morning."
He left with Campbell and Brenkus.
Lyon looked wildly at Gault. "What was he doing here?" she exclaimed.
Gault cocked his head and studied her face, as if trying to decipher the meaning behind her expression. "Discussing business."
"What sort of business?"
"Private. About the paper."
"What was it?"
"I can't tell you," he shrugged. "Patience, Renée. You'll find out soon enough."
"Did he say anything about me?" she asked.
The editor raised an eyebrow. "No. Why would he? I didn't even think he knew you."
"He's having me followed!"
Eddie's head shot up at her words. Gault burst out laughing. "Now why would he do that?"
"Because the government thinks I am a public enemy for interviewing Professor Ratigan!" she exclaimed. "He wants to see if I am fraternizing with public enemy number one!"
"And how did you find that out?" he asked.
"I have my sources, and they're reliable too!" she retorted.
Gault chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about Jenners. His visit was purely business."
"What sort of business?"
"I can't tell you now, as it hasn't been finalized yet. You'll find out soon."
She sighed. "All right. Now I have some updates on my story that I need to tell you about."
"Good! Let's step into my office then," he said, motioning for her to go before him. "Oh, and before I forget, there's a staff meeting tomorrow morning at 8:30. Everyone from the Press and the magazines have to be there."
"All right," Lyon said once again, walking into the editor's office to plan her next moves on Dagnar.
The staffs of The Daily Press and its two auxiliary publications, The Aline Monthly and Billings' Gentlemen Weekly sat around and chatted with each other, a low murmur spreading throughout the room. Randolph Brenkus, William Campbell, and the editors sat at chairs by the windows on the west side of the floor, some talking, some sitting there tensely. It was 8:38, and Brenkus looked agitated. He rocked back and forth on his chair, causing the floorboards beneath him to creak with the motions.
"Everyone important seems to be here," Lyon said to Eddie and John Priestly, a Daily Press reporter and a close acquaintance, as they leaned against Priestly's desk. "Why isn't the meeting starting?"
"Miles and Carter are missing," John pointed out
"Are they important?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Miles is still recovering from that cat attack. Carter is always late."
"Anyone know what the meeting is about?" Eddie asked.
"Maybe it's to yell at us because of Monday's headline," John offered.
"What about Monday's headline?" Lyon asked. "I was in Maidenhead then."
John sniggered. "You should've seen it, Renée. It was supposed to say: 'Work Riots in Liverpool Cause Civil Unrest.' Some moron in copyediting replaced the word 'riot' for 'idiot!'"
Lyon giggled. "That is pretty bad."
"It was pretty embarrassing. Baldwin chewed us all out for that one that day, and we got a string of angry letters from workers across the city."
"Why would they reprimand the entire staff, though?" Eddie asked. "This is a big meeting for a mistake that one man made?"
"Aw, Baldwin's probably still wound up about it," John said.
The door to the stairwell opened, and in strode a tall, well-dressed figure with a worm-like tail and a smart, pressed suit.
Lyon gasped. "What is Jenners doing here, now?"
Eddie peered at the man as he shook the hands of all the editors. Jenners then took an empty chair next to Brenkus. "No idea," he said.
"Settle down everyone!" Josiah Baldwin, the senior editor of The Daily Press, hollered to the crowd in the newsroom. "Let's get started."
The reporters and staff shuffled away from each other, sitting on desks, leaning against the walls or sitting on the floors. The murmur eventually died down as the bodies settled into place.
"All yours," Baldwin said to Brenkus.
The man stood up from his chair. "Good morning. I am glad to see that you all made it this morning, especially those not on the clock. I have called you all here to talk to you about the status of The Daily Press."
The murmur rose again. It was common knowledge that The Daily Press was losing money, which led to talks about the paper shutting down for good in the face of competition from The London Free-Press and other city papers.
"I know there have been some rumours about us shutting down due to lack of funds," Brenkus said. "When I inherited this paper from my brother John, now deceased, six years ago, I did not have a lot of experience in the newspaper business. I had been involved in the lace industry."
"And he had failed miserably because he's an incompetent businessman," John muttered to Lyon and Eddie. The two stifled their laughter as Baldwin shot them a glare.
"It was not an easy transition for me," Brenkus continued. "There were many difficulties. However, we have grown much in six years, and are now, as we were in my brother's day, London's number one quality news source."
"Suuuure," John said sarcastically under his breath. "Brenkus is just trying to patronize us."
"I am getting up in years, as I'm sure you've all noticed," said the owner, chuckling. No one laughed. He turned the laugh into a cough in a vain attempt to hide the failure of his joke. "Due to my health, I have decided to retire."
The murmur increased. Lyon heard some reporters whisper "Yes!" while others said, "Is the paper doing that poorly?"
"This was a necessary step for my health and for the healthy continuation of the Brenkus family legacy," Brenkus said.
"So what's going to happen to us?" one reporter called out.
"Let me finish, let me finish!" Brenkus said. "I have made sure that The Daily Press and her sister publications are in the best of hands. Just last night Mr. Campbell and I signed off ownership of the paper and granted it to former politician and benefactor, Sir Algernon Jenners!"
Lyon felt the blood drain from her face as Jenners stood up and nodded. The room began to clap, not out of gladness, but out of an attempt to be polite.
Eddie nudged her. She glanced at him. He looked as frightened for her as she felt.
Meg: In case anyone is interested, I have been reediting my previous stories, which has forced me to look at some of my writing from four years ago. A humbling, yet necessary lesson. "Riddle Me This" is not as bad a story as I thought. Although it can be pretty melodramatic, it was kind of funny at parts. I also have decided that I don't dislike Meg Sarentis anymore, so I will try to write more parts with her in them in the upcoming chapters.