The Immorality Engine

CHAPTER
8

Packworth House, the building frequented by the members of the Bastion Society, was perhaps the most grandiose clubhouse that Veronica had ever seen. Not, she admitted to herself, that she’d seen the insides of many gentlemen’s clubs in her time.

Nevertheless, this one in particular had an air of the spectacular about it, unlike most of the more austere establishments that she’d had the misfortune to frequent. Even Newbury’s club, the White Friar’s, with all its writers and artists and bohemian types, had nothing on this place. She looked around in barely disguised wonder. The money that must have been spent…

They were standing in a huge saloon, a hall that could have seated three to four hundred people. Tables were placed with unusual precision, according to some prosaic pattern that she supposed would really be discernible only from the wide baroque balcony that ran around the entire perimeter of the space, high above her head. A large marble surround, depicting characters from classical myth, enclosed a roaring fire, even this early in the day. Tall vases stood to either side of it and were filled with plumes of bright emu and peacock feathers, their multifaceted eyes watching her with unblinking interest.

Servants bustled amongst the tables, still clearing away debris from the prior evening’s festivities, which-from the look of the place-had evidently been a riotous banquet of some kind. And before the little group of Crown investigators, greeting them in a haughty but polite manner, was Sir Enoch Graves, the club’s premier.

The man was clearly an eccentric. She’d already been able to discern, from just the few words he had spoken, that he was possessed of both an enormous intellect and the requisite ego to accompany it. He was thin-painfully so-and in his early forties, with a pencil-thin moustache on his top lip and a shock of silvery grey hair that was parted and fell in a comma across his forehead. He was dressed in a black evening suit with a rapier strapped to his side-a dress sword-and spoke with an upper-class lisp that belied-to Veronica at least-the affected nature of his persona.

“Welcome to the Bastion Society,” he said, gesturing with open arms to the room around them. He smiled, but Veronica thought it looked more like a threat. “I do apologise for the state of the place. The poor servants have their work cut out for them this morning. I think we somewhat overdid it last night.”

“A special occasion?” Newbury ventured, his voice low.

Graves cocked his head to one side, as if wondering how to respond. “A new member. We were celebrating his induction into our little club.”

Bainbridge raised his eyebrow at the understatement. “Not so little,” he mumbled beneath his breath.

Graves laughed. “Quite so, Sir Charles.”

Newbury scratched his chin unconsciously. He was processing something, some piece of information he had gleaned from the room, or something Graves had already given away. “A new member?” he ventured. “Do you actively encourage applications?”

Graves smiled. “Are you interested in joining us, Sir Maurice? I’m sure we’d be delighted to welcome someone of your stature into our fold.” He paused as if waiting for a response from Newbury, but went on when he realised none was forthcoming. “But to answer your question: No, we do not. We have a strict vetting and admissions policy, and we adhere to it with the utmost devotion.” Veronica noted his hand was now resting on the hilt of his sword. “We believe in chivalry and order, in upholding the standards which have made this country great. We believe in protecting the land of our birth and setting an example for how a refined Englishman should behave. We are knights of the realm, Sir Maurice, and we act in her best interests.”

His voice had gradually grown in volume and timbre as he’d delivered his carefully practised speech. Now he was grinning wolfishly at Veronica. “It is not often that we have a lady on the premises, Miss Hobbes. Please forgive me if I seem a trifle overzealous. I believe wholeheartedly in our cause.”

“I can see that you do,” she said, mindful to keep any judgement out of her tone. She’d already decided that she heartily disliked the man, but it clearly wouldn’t do to broadcast the fact.

Bainbridge, however, was less tactful. “All laudable stuff, I’m sure-” He broke off to cough into his handkerchief, and Veronica couldn’t help thinking he was disguising a laugh. “-but tell me, if all of that’s true, all that stuff about chivalry and order, why would you associate yourselves with a criminal such as Edwin Sykes?”

Graves tried but failed to repress a scowl. “Direct and to the point, Sir Charles. Let me tell you something about Mr. Edwin Sykes. He’s one of those newly made men, not born of good breeding stock. I’m sure you understand what I mean-” He looked pointedly at Bainbridge. “-but he’s a gentleman all the same, and I understand he has been convicted of no crime. He supports and champions our cause. I have no hesitation in recommending the fellow, and whilst he may not be my first choice for a dinner companion, he is a fine and upstanding member of our society.”

Bainbridge nodded. “When did you last see him here at Packwood, Sir Enoch?”

Graves looked thoughtful. “I’m not really sure, to be honest, Sir Charles. A few weeks ago, perhaps? I’m terribly sorry I can’t be more specific. I’ve had so much on my mind. I’m running for government, you see. And what with the party last night… I suppose I haven’t really been paying attention. Sykes moves in different circles.”

“If I may, sir?” All four of them turned to see one of the butlers, an older man dressed in a smart black suit and white gloves, who had been clearing a table just to the left of their small circle. He looked incredibly nervous.

“Go on,” said Bainbridge, leaning on his cane.

“I believe I saw Mr. Sykes here last night, at the party. He arrived late, after dinner had already been served. He joined some others by the fire for drinks.” The man’s voice wavered as he realised Graves was glaring at him. “Um, although it was only the most fleeting of glimpses. I could, of course, be wrong.”

There was a warning in the delivery of Graves’s response that was impossible to miss. “Thank you, Edwards, but I fear you are mistaken. Please carry on.” He watched the butler scuttle away with an armful of napkin rings clutched tightly to his chest, then turned back to the others. “Edwards is getting on a bit. Not the most reliable memory, but a stalwart all the same. One of the fixtures and fittings around here, really.” A moment’s pause. “I can absolutely assure you that Edwin Sykes was not here at the clubhouse last night. We haven’t seen him for some time.”

Newbury seemed to take this in. “That would be entirely consistent with our findings, Sir Enoch. We’re currently holding Edwin Sykes’s body in the police morgue.”

The colour seemed to drain suddenly out of Graves’s face. He appeared to momentarily lose his composure. “Oh… oh dear…,” he stammered, as if unable to order his thoughts. “What… what happened?”

“As yet we’re not entirely sure. But we suspect foul play,” Newbury answered, clearly choosing to omit any details. Veronica had the impression he might be attempting to lead Graves into a trap, or at least find out if the premier knew something pertinent that he was trying to hide.

“Foul play?” Graves sounded deeply concerned by this eventuality.

“Yes. Murder.” Newbury kept his voice level, calm.

“When?”

“Three days ago, or thereabouts.”

“Good God.” Graves looked genuinely appalled. “Good God.” He glanced at Bainbridge. “Have you any notion who’s responsible?”

“We’re following up a number of leads.” Bainbridge lied in response, and again Veronica realised her two companions were playing a clever game with Graves, trying to get him to trip himself up, circling him like hunters closing in on prey. It was fascinating to watch. “Perhaps you could help us. Do you know of anyone who might have had a quarrel with Sykes, or a reason to want him dead?”

Graves shook his head. His voice hardened. “The only quarrel I’m aware of was with you, Sir Charles. Is there any reason Scotland Yard would want him dead?”

Veronica winced. That wouldn’t sit well with Bainbridge, and clearly Graves was not beyond playing his own game, trying to rile the chief inspector and lead the conversation in a different direction.

To his credit, Bainbridge allowed the comment to wash over him and continued with his questions. “Did he ever keep a room here at Packworth House?”

Graves shrugged. “We all do, on occasion. But certainly not in recent months. As I say, he moved in different circles. We hadn’t seen a lot of him about. But I’m sure he was working to further our cause, whatever he was up to.”

The conversation lapsed into a strained silence. The only sound was the clinking of the empty wineglasses that the waiting staff were clearing away at the other end of the room.

“Have you ever used your sword in anger, Sir Enoch?” Newbury indicated the rapier hanging from the other man’s belt.

Graves seemed flustered by this sudden turn in the conversation. “I’m not sure I like the implication behind that question, Sir Maurice.”

“It’s a simple enough question. I’d be obliged if you’d answer it.”

“Then the answer is no, I have not.” Graves was clearly fuming now. His top lip quivered in anger. “Are you saying Sykes was murdered with a rapier?”

“No.”

Graves looked close to exploding. “Then I fail to see the relevance…” He trailed off, leaving his sentence hanging.

Veronica took this as her cue to intercede. She moved a step closer to Graves, adopting a conspiratorial tone. “Sir Enoch, we do appreciate your help in this matter. We’re keen not to see a scandal develop, or to cause the members of your society any concern or inconvenience. It would be particularly disheartening if the Bastion Society were to become associated with the matter, especially as you’re running for government. It wouldn’t look at all good in the press.” She smiled sweetly. Graves shifted uneasily but didn’t respond. “We’re keen to bring the whole affair to a swift conclusion. You mentioned earlier that Sykes moved in ‘other circles.’ Perhaps you could point us at some of his associates so we could continue our investigations elsewhere?”

Graves took a sharp intake of breath. “As much as I would like to assist you further in this matter, Miss Hobbes, my hands are, alas, tied. When I spoke of other circles, I meant just that: Sykes has friends and associates outside of the Bastion Society. If you wish to know who they are, you’ll have to find some other means of obtaining the information. I’m afraid I don’t know the man well enough to be privy to his life outside the clubhouse.”

“Had,” Newbury said firmly. “You said he ‘has’ friends and associates outside of the society.”

“Ah, yes. A slip of the tongue. Hasn’t quite sunk in yet, I’m afraid.” Graves reached up and brushed his hair back from his forehead in a nervous gesture. He was clearly growing uncomfortable with the conversation. He turned to look at the waiting staff, who were still buzzing around behind him, clearing the tables in preparation for afternoon visitors. “Look, I really must be getting on. I’m dreadfully sorry to hear the news about poor Sykes. But duty calls.”

Bainbridge gave a curt nod and extended his hand, which Graves accepted. “You’ve been most helpful, Sir Enoch. Thank you very much for your time.”

Graves nodded. “Smith will show you out.” He called across the saloon. “Smith!”

The young man came dashing over. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old, and was clearly a member of the waiting staff. “These people were just leaving, Smith.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” He beckoned for them to follow as he led them down the hallway to the exit. Veronica glanced back at Graves as she passed through the lobby doors and saw him staring after her, his jaw set firm; his eyes hard, cold, and full of menace.

“Pompous, lying idiot!” Bainbridge announced brassily, almost as soon as they were out of earshot of the front door. “It’s clear he knows far more about what’s going on than he’s prepared to reveal.”

Newbury nodded his assent. “Agreed. What with the testimony of the butler and Graves’s obvious shock at our news, I’d almost be prepared to wager that Edwin Sykes was in attendance at the party last night. Or at least someone who looked very much like him.”

“But Sykes is dead, Newbury. We’ve all seen his corpse laid out on a slab across town. There’s no mistaking it. So how could he be both in the morgue and at the party? And, if we’re to believe our own eyes, he was at Flitcroft and Sons, too, emptying the jewellery cases!” Bainbridge looked utterly flummoxed. “At least two places at once!”

Newbury leaned against a nearby lamppost. He looked tired. “It’s clear to me, old man, that our eyes are somehow deceiving us. Someone is playing a very clever game, and we’ve found ourselves right in the middle of it. And after that performance from the premier, I have no doubt whatsoever that it’s somehow tied up with Enoch Graves and the strange, chivalrous world of the Bastion Society.”

Bainbridge gave a hearty sigh. “The thing is, Newbury, what the devil are we going to do about it? It’s not as if we can just go barging in there and start causing a scene. We don’t have any grounds to search the place, even though we have reason to believe that Graves is lying to us.”

Newbury grinned, a wicked, knowing grin. “There are ways and means, my dear Charles. Ways and means.”

Bainbridge shook his head, but he was smiling. “Just remember, Newbury, I’m a police inspector. I work within the law.”

“And I, Charles, am an academic and a philosopher. What harm could I possibly do?”

Veronica gave him a wry look. “I think, Sir Charles, we’d be best advised to treat that as a rhetorical question.”

Newbury laughed, but she saw he caught her meaning.

“Well, Newbury,” Bainbridge said, “I fear I have some business to attend to. Would you mind escorting Miss Hobbes back to Kensington?”

Newbury caught her eye. He was expecting her to protest. When she didn’t, he smiled graciously. “I’d be only too pleased.”

“Excellent. In that case, I’ll call for you tomorrow after breakfast. Let’s see if we can’t devise a means to shake these Bastion fellows up a little. You, too, Miss Hobbes.” Bainbridge gave her a knowing look.

“Until tomorrow, then, Sir Charles,” she said to his retreating back.

Veronica waited until Bainbridge was a way up the road before she crossed to Newbury and took his arm in her own. He didn’t look at all well. “I suspect,” she said brightly, “that Mrs. Grant will be delighted to see you. It’s been a while, and she’s been sitting on that stock of Earl Grey you had her buy. I think it would be best if you allowed her to make you a pot.”

Newbury gave a tired chuckle. “Miss Hobbes, you do have a particular way with words.”