Chapter 9

At Odds in the Evening

The whole of London might not have been in an uproar, those living outside of the crowded parts of the city feeling less alarmed, but it could not be said that the city slept easily in the cold weeks following the four deaths in the East End. Though experimentation upon animals had been pronounced unlawful for nearly ten years, there were those within the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals who believed that the creature responsible for the deplorable slayings must have been some tormented beast escaped from a laboratory.

Quite naturally, once the press got ahold of this idea, the papers began to fill with every kind of absurd declaration about "demon hounds" and "the black beast of Bethnal Green". It was all such thoroughly farcical drivel, utterly unsuited to the pursuit of facts, that Lord Prime refused to let even one copy pass the threshold of his manor. Young Darby was heard to exclaim at least once that he, for one, was quite glad he was no longer obliged to sell the dreadful scandal sheets in order to pay rent.

Dr. Samuel Rach sat in Lord Prime's library, surrounded by great mounds of books and periodicals of every size and description, and found himself growing ever more agitated. This marked five suspicious deaths in as many weeks, and for the first time he could find no hallmarks of the House of Kaon's doing: a fact that greatly unsettled the man. He had been so discomfited by this mystery that he had shut himself away in the library, content to remain there in isolation until he had come across some notion or record that might indicate that events of this nature had taken place before.

"My dear doctor, hadn't you better rest a little?" asked Mrs. Darby, who had come to see that the servants had lit a lamp for him. "I'm certain you will strain your eyes if you stare any harder at those pages."

"Forgive me, Mrs. Darby, I'm sure I've been very tiresome this afternoon," the doctor sighed, "But I find myself so thoroughly wrapped up in the mystery of these five tragedies that I can think of little else. To find no logical explanation for the wolves in the East End, or the horrid implications of poor Miss Thaddeus's demise - it boggles the mind."

The tracks and pathways upon his usually well-tempered face bore witness to the man's weariness and his graying hair stuck up about the ears where too often his fingers had raked through in a fit of choler. With a sigh of resignation, the doctor shut the books and stood amid the sounds of creaking leather and creaking bones. He had in mind one last resource to consult on the deaths, but it would require Lord Prime's seal and consent, and for that he would wait for the man to return from Parliament.

To be sure, a Consolidated Fund Act was an important reason for Lord Prime to be away in Westminster, but Dr. Rach found himself growing unaccountably irate at the man. Couldn't he have at least left provisions for what emergencies might arise in his absence? For certainly there could be no excuse but an emergency to grant Rach access to the dark volumes kept under lock and key in the master's study. A thrill of disgust passed through the man at the notion of even having to look upon the cover of the Codex Quæ Occidis, thing of evil intent that it was.

"What a pity Lord Prime saw fit to take young Mo Li along with him to Westminster," Mrs. Darby sighed, "I'm sure she could have provided you with suggestions in plenty. She is a wonderfully well-read girl, you know. So are the Foiche daughters, of course, but they've been away at school nearly all year."

It was not to be, however, for Optimus had intended that his young ward become fully acquainted with both the grandiose nature of Victoria street and its surrounding areas, and the poverty of what was left of the Devil's Acre, while the Peabody Trust labored at constructing the Abbey Orchard Estate for those displaced. In making herself known and welcome in one circle, Mo Li's guardian meant her to gather influence so that she might better affect the lives of those within the other circle. Of course, it bore noting that men in the livery of the House of Kaon had been seen hanging about Pye Street, and those left to deal with their ilk were more likely to speak to a man and his ward on a mission of charity than they were to a policeman.

Yes, the doctor agreed that Mo Li, having been the primary witness to Philippa Thaddeus's death, had been very specific in her observations about the case of belladonna poisoning, but had Mrs. Darby noticed that she had been curiously tight-lipped regarding anything else? Indeed, it had seemed that the girl's last words had deeply affected the young member of the House of Prime, and there had been several incidents of nightmares, quite unusual for the staunch girl.

Dr. Rach was about to remark on this when it occurred to him that by this time of the evening, it was traditional for Mrs. Darby to take dinner either in the wing of the house set apart for herself and her son, or with the combined members of the House in the second-best dining room. Therefore, it was something rather out of her pattern to sit in the library with him and one of the maids at such an hour. The good doctor pondered this a moment before catching in her eye some misty quality of melancholy, nearly too quick to be seen, and he made an attempt at a smile, hoping to spread a little goodwill into the widow's evening.

"Ah, never mind, my dear lady," he said kindly, apropos of nothing, "Eton is a very good school, and I have heard it said that the headmaster is of such a gentle and noble temperament that such boys who desire to learn flourish under his instruction. You mark my words, Jack will do very well for himself there."

At this, a tentative beginning of a smile was reflected back at him, and Dr. Rach knew he had got at the heart of Widow Darby's moment of trist. Yes, she supposed, a library-education could only go so far after all, when one needed to interact with one's peers to get the idea of what it would be like to work among them as adults.

"And yet this is the longest he's been away," the woman sighed, tidying the desk just a little out of habit, "How glad I shall be when the half term break arrives!"

The man made a thoughtful noise at the back of his throat and walked to one of the tall, narrow windows to peer out into the gloom. "Aye, with All Hallow's Eve approaching, I do not doubt some mischief will be afoot. We shall have need of all available hands, I expect."

There was some breath of misgiving, something nagging at the very back of the man's mind like a half-forgotten song, and overall the man could not rid himself of a gloomy and persistent idea that there was something he had overlooked about Mo Li and Miss d'Iacon's first reports. Something that stood out against Inspector Fowler's ongoing investigation. What could it have been? Some shade of knowing, or guessing who the dark mind behind it all may have been, perhaps, or a failure to behave naturally. Or perhaps, he thought with a sudden thrill of undefinable emotion in his heart, it was not so much a report of unnatural behavior at the scene, but of behavior too natural. Had there been anyone who protested too much, mourned too loudly, had all the right words of regret? Ah, he must think, remember what he had observed!

Ah.

It was only the barest of ideas, not yet fully formed in the doctor's mind, but he likened it to having found the corner of a puzzle piece: too many surrounding pieces fit for it to be useless information. The utterance of a shaky breath warned Mrs. Darby that her companion had struck upon some idea that both inspired and disturbed him.

"I wonder if you would send word to Miss d'Iacon for me," he said at last, "And ask her what she knows about Count Polidori?"

Miss d'Iacon was not far from the Prime manor house, as it happened. She had taken it upon herself to look into the occasional avenue of secondary employment so that she might have a little pocket money for Mo Li, who spent entirely too much of her allowance on ammunition that she shared liberally with the members of the Bull Horn Band. As such, she found herself in the unusual position of temporary governess to little Raphael Foiche. By rights, he ought to have been sent off to Eton or any other of the boys' schools the year he turned eleven, but his mother found she could not bear the thought of all five of her children out in the world of boarding schools all at once.

He was a student most wonderfully suited to learning, fortunately, and Arcee found in the lad a rapt listener who was just as willing to put his mind to problems of social justice as he was to problems of multiplication and division. And, when in the company of Hagen Shackleton, he was a lad only too willing to try his hand at mischief, particularly when the brunt of his actions might be borne by the House of Kaon. Mrs. Foiche found this to be a terribly distasteful occupation of her youngest son's time, and desired that he keep as little company as possible with the eldest Shackleton boy until the latter had settled somewhat. But Raphael and Hagen had sworn to each other to be as close as brothers, and would not hear of being separated save on days when Raphael was obliged to tend to his studies.

When Dr. Rach's missive reached the Foiche household, Raphael had grown bored with his sums, though they were at the level of a much older student, and was amusing himself by pulling apart his brother Peter's old monkey automaton to see how it worked. His hands were quick and eager, but the lad kept himself still as much as possible, for upon cold days the scars given to him by Megatron pained him, even causing his breath to catch. The observation of an expression of carefully concealed displeasure drew his eye from the coils and springs of Peter's pitiable automaton, however, and Raphael turned his gaze upon his teacher.

"Why Miss d'Iacon," he exclaimed, "Whatever is the matter? You look as though you've seen a rat."

"Go and get your coat, my lad," Miss d'Iacon said by way of answer, "For I've some visiting to do with the guests from the ill-fated Thaddeus party, and I can hardly leave you to your own devices when I was meant to tutor you today."

It was a pity the automaton would have to be discarded for the time being, but Raphael felt assured that he would have ample time to repair the ugly statuette long before Peter returned for half-term holidays. This was too great an opportunity for the lad to pass by, for he had been thus far excluded from any talk of the Philippa Thaddeus murder, though his elder brothers and sisters had whispered about it with Mo Li and the grown members of the House at length for weeks now. He had been quite certain that the observations of a quick-witted and keen-eyed young explorer into the fields of science might've proven at the very least enlightening, but for all that he was no stranger to strange and terrible things, Raphael had been saddled with that most terrible of appellations: too young.

Within the next four hours, they had stopped to call upon four houses in Mayfair, studiously avoiding the Thaddeus house. Miss d'Iacon had a suspicion that was not entirely unfounded that Mr. Thaddeus blamed her in some way for Philippa's untimely death. In each of the grand homes, they operated on a standard procedure. Upon the pretense of having been passing and thinking to say good day, the two would enter and Arcee would feign a need for advice on some aspect of life and go off to speak in private with the women her age. This left Raphael to beam angelically and play the piano if asked and to most certainly not flinch when his round cheeks were pinched repeatedly by bustling matrons who found him to be "such a dear little duck", once followed by a clandestine "even if he is Irish".

And of course Raphael had to make believe he hadn't heard a word of it and that he didn't have a burning desire to kick the lady of the house in the shins, for that would be a terribly ungentlemanly thing to do.

It was fortunate that only one household encountered in their travels housed people ill-mannered enough to air their prejudices aloud. It was the visit directly following this one that proved to be the most fruitful. Thus far, they had only discovered that Count Polidori had evidently been morose and disconsolate for every day following the death of Philippa Thaddeus, and that he wore a bit of black ribbon 'round his arm everywhere he went. As he had only been a guest of the Thaddeus family, Miss d'Iacon thought this was rather excessive. Here in the de Cobray household, however, one of the daughters of the house was only too eager to add more pertinent details to what had already been imagined as a ridiculous public figure.

Arcee caught a glance of Raphael in the ornate parlor mirror. The lad smiled with a pretended indulgence as their hostess's excitable son prattled on about going to Eton just as soon as he was old enough. Miss d'Iacon found her attention returned to the conversation at hand as the infant daughter reached over from her mother's arms in a determined attempt to snatch Arcee's brooch, likely with the intent of putting it into her mouth.

"Now now, Ana," Madame de Cobray remonstrated in a fashion that suggested she was only partly aware of it, "That is not for eating."

Ah weren't children such dears? said she, and oh of course the servants looked after them on most occasions, but it was their day free, after all. And did Miss d'Iacon plan to have any of her own one day?

No no, she was afraid not, for heartbreak had rather put the idea out of her mind.

"If I may be frank, Miss d'Iacon," answered Anastacia, "I think you'll find that life goes on rather in spite of us. Why, just look at poor Iudas Polidori! Only five weeks after that dreadful tragedy at the tea-party and already he begins to court anew."

"Oh indeed, has he?" asked Miss d'Iacon, who began to feel that this was leading to something rather important.

"Oh yes he has!" and here the lady of the house dropped her voice into the sort of whisper shared between conspirators and confidants. "Now, I shall say nothing of propriety and the practices of grief, to be sure, but it seems very certain that he intends to marry Isabelle Gathorne-Hardy*!"

"Not Lord Cranbrook's eldest daughter?" Miss d'Iacon was much astonished by this. "I was given to believe that he had not been long in the country, nor indeed in society. However did he obtain such influence as to be courting Miss Gathorne-Hardy so soon?"

Madame de Cobray was very clearly pleased to have so captured the attention of her guest, and with a smile that was not quite as beatific as one might hope, she leaned forward to impart one more piece of whispered information.

"What a fine thing it shall be if he marries Miss Gathorne-Hardy! Do you know, I've heard she shall be his seventh wife?"

This trumped all.

"His seventh?! Why my dear Madame de Cobray, I do believe you're having me on," Miss d'Iacon protested, "He cannot be old enough to have been married so many times!"

Voice low, so as to disguise the indelicacy of their chosen conversation, Anastacia de Cobray confirmed that she spoke the truth, and Arcee caught in the woman's eye a glint of knowledge she would not likely divulge without some form of compensation.

"He hardly looks the part of a Bluebeard, I must say," the lady mused, and pretended to busy herself with little Ana, who had leaned far enough out of her arms to catch the cat by the tail.

Miss d'Iacon was well aware that the de Cobray family had on occasion had dealings with the House of Kaon and other unpleasant entities on business, just as Madame de Cobray could not possibly be ignorant of the identity of her guest's employer and the lengths she had gone on business of her own. Though their pleasantries and quiet chatter never diverged from the guise of lighthearted gossip, it was understood between them that they had now entered into an arrangement of client and purveyor of information.

"I hope you won't find this indelicate of me," said the hostess with a smile that put Miss d'Iacon in mind of the cat, "But may I ask you a question? I'm afraid it's terribly direct."

Both women knew that it was not a question at all, but rather the price for more information about the increasingly unsettling Count Polidori. Arcee feared she had little choice but to listen and discover what bargain she might have to strike. She was, of course, prepared to give false movements and tactics if she had to, in order to protect the House, but she hoped it didn't come to that.

"Of course, madam, you may ask me anything!" answered she in a tone of false gaiety. "I'm sure it will not shock me."

Anastacia the Younger was set down on the carpet to play with the cat, and Madame de Cobray folded her hands demurely, though her smile became something more akin to a smirk.

"Well it is an impertinence, but I have to ask: who is this Mrs. Darby character who has been living in Prime manor for the last two years, and where has she come from?" The woman leaned back slightly in her seat and watched Miss d'Iacon with calculating eyes. "Have she and her son any connection to Lord Optimus, I wonder?" she hinted coyly.

So that is the angle you wish to take, is it? Miss d'Iacon thought, relieved in secret, though never allowing any such sentiment to cross her features nor the language of her body. You believe you've stumbled upon a scandal and think to have some indiscretion to hold over the House's head? Well I'm afraid I must disappoint you, my dear.

"I believe she is a relation of Lord Prime's mother," Arcee replied, taking care to use the story concocted by Mrs. Darby, Lord Prime, and Doctor Rach. "Her husband died at the Shimonoseki Straights, in Japan, when their son was only just born, the poor woman! They lived in poverty for years until Lord Prime discovered them quite by accident and was taken by surprise by Mrs. Darby's resemblance to Lady Cicely Barton-Prime. I understand that the late Lady Cicely had had a falling out with her sister, Lady Beatrice Eleanor Barton, over her sister's choice of husband. A man of several stations lower, I believe."

This was hardly what Madame de Cobray had hoped to hear, but it was in and of itself story enough to satisfy her curiosity. That Miss d'Iacon glanced furtively in the direction of little Eugene and Raphael as she spoke, projecting the air of one who hopes sincerely that she will not be overheard, aided in persuading her that she had got hold of some gossip that never found the ears of the public or their scandal sheets. Unscrupulous partners in business aside, Madame de Cobray was not one to renege on a bargain once struck, and so she prepared to divulge a little information of her own.

"By the by," she said sweetly, as though just remembering something, "I've recalled why I brought up Count Polidori when I counseled you not to give up on love so soon!"

"Have you?" asked Miss d'Iacon.

"Why, yes! It was because all his previous wives died - and some very soon after the wedding, too. Such a tragic, tragic man, our Count. And yet he has managed to find love again not once, but seven times! Do keep your chin up, my dear. One never knows when love may bite."

"Bite? Whatever do you mean, Madame de Cobray? Surely you mean when love may strike?" Arcee prompted, watching the other's eyes.

Anastacia smiled a predatory smile. "Of course, how stupid of me. Strike, indeed."

Miss d'Iacon understood that she'd received the answer she sought and made as if she had only just caught sight of the clock. My gracious, said she, was that the time? Why they really must be off before Mrs. Foiche began to worry. It would not do to have the lad out at eventide in this chill, after all.

What a pity they could not stay for the evening meal, her hostess answered by way of polite formality, but they must feel free to call again. "My Eugene has certainly taken a liking to your young scholar, it seems. And little Ana does so like your shiny brooch! She really is incorrigible you know, she'll put any shiny bauble in her mouth if you let her."

At that moment, as scarves and coats were carefully wrapped, and the woman and boy exited the de Cobray house, Raphael was conscious of a touch of anxiety in the demeanor and manner of Miss d'Iacon that brought to mind that chill that may assail the mind of any who walks down a darkened street in the hours before dawn. Yet the sun had not set, and the chill of the air was no greater than it had been in previous hours, and so the lad could not fathom this moment of uncharacteristic nerves in the character of his tutor.

"Miss d'Iacon, shall I tell you what I learned today?" he asked as they walked, hoping he might then draw from her some of the information that so clearly troubled her. When she answered that he might tell her so long as he took care to be discreet, he continued.

"I have learned from the first three houses that two more high teas are to be given in the neighborhood within the month, and that my eldest sister shall certainly be invited. I have also learned that Madam Haines hates the Irish and also is woefully ignorant of the works of Shakespeare. That is merely a side note, of course."

The lad hopped over a puddle so as to avoid the splash and climbed into a cab beside Miss d'Iacon, who did not wish to walk in the open for the remainder of the journey.

"Indeed, my young scholar? And what have you learned about the Count?" asked she.

"Well," Raphael thought very hard before answering, "I have learned that he is a very dramatic man, but that no one seems to recall where he has come from or for how long he intends to stay. They cannot give many details of his past or the things he says to them when present, but they remember his eyes all too clearly. Even Eugene de Cobray has met the man, and says he has got dog eyes."

"Dog eyes? Now whatever can that mean?"

"I'm sure I don't know. I thought it was a rude thing to say, but Eugene is a very little lad still," said Raphael, just as if he was not a child himself.

Miss d'Iacon frowned, and would hear no more about it until they were safely indoors at the Foiche house. Her mind misgave her as they entered through the door, for she thought she had caught sight of the flapping of dark wings out of the corner of her eye, yet when she turned she saw nothing.

Bajāna crawled from the chimney where he had been perched to the rooftop below, and with catlike grace he sprang across the great gap between houses to the neighboring roof as his falcon wheeled overhead. He had much to report. Lord Megatron would, of course, be interested in the news that Baron de Cobray had succeeded in securing the final components required for the Count's machines, but he suspected that his master might indeed have more to say upon the matter of secrets being sold from within the Baron's own household.

Seeming almost to fly as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop, the robed assassin made his way to the great dark house where the men of Kaon lived. With no more effort than a man slipping into a favored smoking jacket, Bajāna eased into the third best chimney and climbed down, headfirst.

Lord Megatron was wholly used to Bajāna sliding out of holes and crevices he had no business fitting into, and so did not remark upon the man's sudden appearance from the fireplace as he sat at his desk, drawing up practical plans to build another of the devices from the Codex.

Count Polidori, for all his unnatural proclivities, was far less used to such a startling sight, and it did Megatron's heart good to see the menacing figure start up with the most alarmed expression upon his pale face.

"Ah, assassin, 'tis only you," the count returned to his seat, some of the livid glow of his eyes fading. "To come forth from the ashes in such a manner - ah! You put me in mind of a demon, crawled from Hell to drag our souls away."

"But you haven't got a soul to lose, have you, Count," said Lord Megatron, very pointedly. "What have you to be afraid of?"

Then, just as pointedly, he ignored the flicker of offended pride that flashed through his guest's eyes as he turned to hear Bajāna's report. Whether it was spoken aloud or somehow silently communicated entirely by the expression of his eyes and hands, no witness could say, and yet somehow Megatron retained the message in its entirety.

"Well well," said he, "It would appear that Baron de Cobray has not kept a careful watch upon his household. Or perhaps you have been careless at a party and spoken of your past, Count."
And just what was meant by that, the Count wanted to know, and his voice was nothing like the smooth veneer that he had used in every interaction before this.

"I believe," Megatron answered in arrogant insolence, "it means that Madame de Cobray is prone to the lure of gossip."

"Ah, what a pity," said the Count, and the ugly croak of his voice was masked by velvety hypocrisy once more. "I had rather liked Madame de Cobray. She would have made an interesting ally."

His teeth shone very white in the gloom as he stood and wrapped a long cloak around himself.

"Do what you will with Baron de Cobray, he has outlived his usefulness to the House, but do not touch his wife," Lord Megatron uttered in a tone of frank warning.

At once, a hand as cold as death closed around his throat and he found himself lifted bodily from his seat and held dangling over the floor as the air left his lungs.

"Never presume to give me commands, fool," the Count cried out in a great flame of anger, "You are but a worm to me! You are to finish the machines, as I have commanded, and that is the extent of it!"

Seeming to realize that it would be a terrible inconvenience to kill Lord Megatron at that moment, Count Polidori released the larger man and let him drop to the floor. He curled his lip at Lord Megatron and Bajāna, then retreated into the night with the intention of paying a call on the de Cobray house.

Bajāna watched him vanish with undisguised hatred in his uncanny eyes as he knelt beside his master. Megatron placed a hand on his shoulder both in comfort and restraint.

"Not yet, my friend. We must not act in haste. Recall that it was we who invited him in."

The assassin turned a questioning look upon the nobleman, who nodded.

"You are right, the de Cobrays may still be of use to us. Go then, and if you can do nothing else, then take their young children and hide them wherever you see fit. The house of Cobray shall owe us a debt, should this night end in blood."

Bajāna bowed and exited through the chimney without a sound, leaving Megatron to touch his fingers to the angry marks upon his throat and frown. Things had gotten terribly out of hand.

*Gathorne Gathorne-Hardy, Lord Cranbrook, was a real person. He served as Secretary for the State of War for a time, and had four sons and five daughters, but I can only find the names of two of his sons, so I've invented an extra daughter for story purposes.