Morning came early, and with it the delightful pounding of an irate fist upon my humble door.
I was not in any shape to entertain at the moment. My adventures of the previous day, and more particularly their culmination in the fight in Whitechapel, had so exhausted me that I had practically collapsed into bed at the first opportunity on my return. By the slivers of light filtering in from behind my shutters and doors, I had easily slept until late in the morning, and would have probably enjoyed the wondrous bounty of a tired soul into the afternoon as well, had I not been so rudely interrupted.
I groaned and turned over, hoping in vain desperation that my morning assailant would leave me in peace, but to my unhappiness, they merely redoubled their efforts. Either they were unaware that their assault had already forced my weary self into the world of wakefulness, or they were not yet content with the results and would remain unhappy until they had glimpsed my beautiful, scowling face. I gave a second groan, mentally reviewing a list of people I knew who could be so inconsiderate and rude so early in the day that I might prepare my vengeful response more appropriately. One name in particular, that of an uncivilized bounty hunter, topped my list, though the more charitable fragments of my soul refused to blame her for certain.
Reluctantly, I dragged myself from the comforting embrace of my narrow bed and belted on a tattered robe over my bedclothes. I took care to pick up my cane and to conceal on my person a small, specially modified set of brass knuckles Patricia had given me. Sleep-addled as my mind could be, I was still aware of the threats posed to me by those who would rather see my secrets—along with my inanimate body—buried. It would always pay to be cautious for that reason alone. Still composing a litany of punishments and threats for the disturber of my peace, I threw open my bedroom door and tottered downstairs, leaning upon my cane for balance when my legs were insufficient to the task.
I reached the front door in a much less composed state than most bastions of high society would have enjoyed. With a single, infuriated jerk, I tore open the cursed portal and faced the lout beyond it. "Ms. Anderson, I—"
My voice failed me as a totally unexpected sight confronted me. Mr. Muire, his fist still upraised to beat upon my door, blinked in surprise. Beyond him, waiting in the street, a gilded mechanized carriage waited with shutters drawn. The symbol of the house of Pevensley, an emblazoned lion with a gear upon the field behind it, clearly marked the door. Muire lowered his arm and coughed into his fist.
"Mr. Kingsley, Lady Pevensley awaits your earliest convenience to meet." He paused for a moment while I attempted to compose myself, obviously amused but determined to hide it under his stony professionalism. I nodded and tied the belt around my robe a bit tighter.
"Please inform the dear lady that I need a few moments to prepare myself, and then I will return." Muire smiled to himself and turned back toward the carriage. I narrowed my eyes and steeled myself. "Mr. Muire."
The guard stopped and turned back to me, surprised. I looked past him to the carriage, focusing on the shuttered windows where the lady was likely waiting impatiently. I made sure to speak loud enough that my voice would carry my message to her whether or not Muire chose to convey it correctly. "If you would inform your lady that I am not some serving boy to be dragged from my bed, and that I would appreciate the simple courtesy of an appointment prior to her arrival, I would be glad to be more adequately prepared to meet with her on the next occasion. I would be indebted to you, Mr. Muire, if you would inform her of that fact."
Muire stood and stared at me, obviously shocked, but I gave him no time to respond. I turned on my heel and closed the door roughly behind me before stalking up the stairs to my room. Rude or no, courteous or no, Lady Pevensley had come to meet. Though it was near certainty that she was involved in the plot against her husband, I would not ignore the chance to hear what she had to say.
Some time later, I emerged from my residence and proceeded to the carriage door escorted by Mr. Muire. Inside, Lady Pevensley was waiting with admirable patience for someone so adjusted to her social position. At the same time, I noticed a subtle tic develop under her left eye when I took my time settling into the seat. I leaned back into the cushion, and the carriage started forward with a grinding sound.
For a long moment, the carriage was silent. Lady Pevensley seemed disinclined to begin the discussion at hand, and I certainly was not going to press the issue prematurely. She had come to me, after all, and I was confident that she would come to the matter once she was ready. Until she did, I merely watched the streets of London pass the carriage windows by as the mechanical transport rumbled on.
Finally, Lady Pevensley cleared her throat with a slight cough. The noise drew my gaze back to her, and I found her regarding me frankly. When she spoke, her voice lacked much of the haughty contempt she had expressed during my visit to her home. “Mr. Kinsgley, I trust you are capable of treating the information I am about to share with you with sufficient discretion. I would not have my family exposed to the laughter and snickering of the commoners in the streets.”
I drew myself up and met her gaze. “My lady, you may certainly rely on me to protect the interests of your husband. After all, he is my client.” I left unsaid the implication that what was in Lord Pevensley’s interests was not necessarily in hers, and she narrowed her eyes in response.
“I think you shall find that my efforts to help my husband are very much in his interest, Mr. Kingsley.” Her nostrils flared and her eyes flashed with indignation. “Though my spouse and I suffer many disagreements, his wellbeing remains one of my chief concerns, and I will not abide any intimations from some catch-thief with a grudge!” She visibly restrained herself and leaned back against the couch of the carriage. Unwilling to engage her in further debate on the subject, I merely nodded.
Lady Pevensley clenched her hands in her lap and glanced out the carriage window. When her eyes returned to study me, I found her cool demeanor restored. “The purpose in my meeting with you, Mr. Kingsley, is to inform you of an arrangement that has not come to your awareness. My husband would not be likely to divulge the matter, and so I must take it upon myself to do so.”
I frowned and nodded again, this time more slowly than before. It was entirely possible that she was merely attempting to divert attention from her own role, but if so, it would be a foolish and amateurish maneuver. At the same time, the lady could very well be in earnest about her motivations and information. In any case, it would be entirely foolhardy to discount her words without considering them carefully. “Please continue, Lady Pevensley.”
She let out a breath in a short, frustrated hiss. “Very well. As you are investigating—” by the tone of her voice, I could just as easily have been rooting through the garbage for food “—I would have you keep in mind my husband’s recent conflicts with his brother, Howard Pevensley.”
“Conflicts? Of what nature, may I ask?” I felt a stir of suspicion. Planting the blame on Pevensley’s brother would be remarkably convenient for her if she was the true culprit, but I could not dismiss the possibility completely until Benjamin provided me with more information. After all, Howard Pevensley was included in the guests who had access to the site of the bombing, and his position as an educated heir to the house would place him squarely in the mold I had fitted for the would-be assassin. My thoughts stilled as Lady Pevensley answered me.
“It is of a political and personal nature. In addition to disagreements over my husband’s involvement in various legislative matters, Danforth has repeatedly argued with Howard over various aspects of his personal conduct which are entirely unbecoming a member of the peerage.” She fell silent, and I waited expectantly for further clarification. My patience was soon spent in vain.
“My lady, I must unfortunately ask for a more detailed explanation of the matter. Without specific facts related to the case, I would not be sure how these arguments could contribute to the danger your husband now finds himself in.” She stiffened and started to protest, but I spoke before she could voice her complaint. “I only ask this favor in hopes to better serve both you and your husband adequately, my lady. Otherwise I would have no desire to intrude upon your personal affairs.”
Mollified by my reassurance, Lady Pevensley inclined her head slightly. “You have made your point, Mr. Kingsley.” Her lips formed a resigned line, and she once again looked out the window as if to reassure herself that there were no hidden listeners waiting to spy out her secrets. “The separation between my husband and Howard Pevensley has much to do with Lord Pevensley’s position in the House of Lords. I am sure you are aware of my husband’s efforts to build a coalition there to support some of his more charitable projects through the influence of Parliament.” Having heard little of the specific political battles of late, I merely nodded. She continued. “My husband’s brother has normally supported such measures, though his own authority is far more curtailed.”
At this juncture, I felt another question was needed. “Am I to understand that Howard’s support has since been withdrawn?” To my surprise, Lady Pevensley shook her head.
“On the contrary, Howard remains as devoted to those principles and causes as ever. In fact, that devotion is the very root of our problems.” Lowering her gaze, she plucked at a portion of the carriage cushion. “The unfortunate nature of politics has meant that my husband has had to compromise in order to build influence with his fellow peers. His efforts required him to vote against his own conscience on several bills that my brother-in-law vociferously opposed.”
I grimaced as understanding dawned. “Thus the political disagreements you previously mentioned.” Lady Pevensley once again inclined her head, this time in confirmation. For a long moment, silence descended on our carriage while I attempted to envision a young nobleman so incensed by political fervor that he would strive to kill his own brother. I failed. “Surely this squabble is not the first time the two have fallen out?”
Lady Pevensley spitted me with a glare. “There is also the personal matter to which I referred. The arguments are even more harsh than those over policies of Parliament, and must be a far greater source of shame and discontent, for my husband refuses to confide in me the details. Every day for the past month, they have quarreled until Lord Pevensley nearly threw his brother out of the house. He was considering banning Howard from the estate unless he had modified his behavior.”
Her hands gripped the cloth of her skirt, and she looked away. Her eyes grew unfocused and distant. “Two days later, my husband was nearly killed in that awful explosion.” To my surprise, her voice seemed to be filled with a genuine hint of shock and concern. My suspicions toward her began to soften then, but I ignored my impulse. It was still possible that she was simply skilled in the use of her voice, after all.
Even as I hesitated between suspicion and compassion, Lady Pevensley brought her gaze back to mine. Our eyes locked, and her stern expression held nothing compromising or merciful in its features. “You will find the persons responsible for this, Mr. Kingsley. I do not claim to know how my brother-in-law did it, but I know he was the root cause. Find them, and bring them to me, or no payment you get from my husband will be worth the cost I wring from your hide.”
After such a delightful interview, I could only have bright expectations for the rest of my day. I half expected her to force a long walk upon me, and was slightly surprised when the wife of my client deigned to release me from her care somewhat close to my lodgings. Given her demeanor, I would not have been surprised at all to have been left somewhere on the edge of Upminster to return to my business on foot, or to pay for the journey by pneumatic rail. Luckily for both my shoes and my pocketbook, I was able to get by with a short morning stroll that only consumed the lesser part of an hour.
As I walked, I considered the information Lady Pevensley had provided to me. Her tone and behavior had been quite believable. In fact, I regretted that my experience as an investigator made me reluctant to regard her emotion as genuine. There was some portion of innocence that such good faith would require, but the repeated disappointments and battering my own naïve views had sustained now rendered me a far less pure—and far more cynical—observer.
Determined as I was to view her with suspicion, I had been given the chance to investigate the matter a bit more thoroughly. The brother could just as easily turn out to be the real threat, and Lady Pevensley was just an overly combative spouse. Even if the information turned out to be a distraction, I could still accomplish much simply by finding out why Lady Pevensley wanted Howard under suspicion instead of herself. Perhaps such a discovery would win me the gratitude of both brothers in the end.
When I reached my house, I found a pair of parcels waiting for me on my doorstep. The first was large, and the address was written in the short, halting script I recognized as Benjamin’s hand. My friend had obviously responded quite quickly to my requests. I took that fact as a good sign that he held no special grudge against me for the damage to his possessions, something that cheered my dismal spirits considerably. My smile lasted just until I picked up the second package.
It was somewhat smaller than the first, and had obviously been wrapped in a hurry. From the appearance of the cheap, stained paper, the sender had used whatever material was right at hand to wrap the small box inside; I could see figures and numbers written along one side that were obviously the leavings of some calculation or other. The address had been penned hurriedly, but with a refined hand, something that bespoke a man of education and privilege, which in turn might have indicated a banker or nobleman. No name was provided for the sender, and no return address, but I had a sneaking suspicion as to both when I hefted the parcel and unlocked my door.
I entered the apartment and set Benjamin’s package aside while I removed the wrapping from the second parcel. I found a plain, nondescript box that said little about the circumstances of its owner or what its contents might be. There was, however, a letter attached with some kind of wax to the upper lid, which I quickly pried away.
The envelope was unevenly sealed. A moment’s work opened it to reveal that same scrawl, still hasty, yet genteel. It read:
To Mr. Hector Kingsley, Investigator,
I have learned through various sources that you are the man who has been contracted by my brother, Lord Pevensley, to resolve the mystery of the attempt on his life. I write to you with some urgency of this subject, for the murderess who was behind that bomb lies within our own house. Though it brings me great shame and regret to say it, I must tell you that the criminal who you search for is none other than Lady Pevensley herself.
I leaned back and let my head softly thump against my doorframe in frustration. It was apparently going to be a long day yet.
When I heard pounding on my door at midday, I almost viewed the interruption of my work with profound relief. I had spent the better part of my time since the interview with Lady Pevensley pouring over the rest of the letter Mr. Howard Pevensley had sent to me, studying the words over and over in the confines of my office. The more I studied them, however, the more frustrating a puzzle the matter had become. I was more than glad to set it aside for a time.
As I opened the door and relieved the poor, battered portal from the relentless blows, I found Patricia on the other side, carbine, overcoat, and all. Upon seeing my obviously weary expression, she gave me a lopsided smile and a mock curtsey to match. “May I come in, good sir?”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
I hesitated, wondering if propriety would demand that I make an attempt to dissuade her, but repeated experience had taught me that such efforts were completely futile. With a heavy sigh, I stepped back and nodded. “Of course, Ms. Anderson, of course. Have you come to check on my unfortunately debatable progress?” Patricia raised an eyebrow and stepped past the threshold. She took a quick glance around as I closed the door behind her.
“A little bit of that, yeah. Why, have you had a hard time digging something up?” I shrugged and turned to lead the way into my office.
“The opposite problem seems to be the case, actually. I have a surfeit of clues, all leading to cross purposes.” I rounded my desk and settled into the chair behind it. Patricia followed at a much more leisurely pace, her steps unhurried and frustratingly casual. By all rights, she should not have been in my home unchaperoned at all, but she seemed completely oblivious to the situation, as usual. “I had an interesting interview with Lady Pevensley today in which she implicated her brother-in-law as the attempted murderer. She pointed out several incidents and disagreements between the brothers which my informant’s research later confirmed.”
Patricia nodded enthusiastically and grinned. “Sounds like an easy case then, Hector. So do you just need help finding him?”
“Yes, but not necessarily for the purpose of arresting him.” I gestured to the letter which still lay on my desk. “You see, the instant I returned home, I found a letter from Mr. Howard Pevensley which insists that Lady Pevensley is the true culprit. He relates that his sister-in-law has grown frustrated with her husband’s lack of attention to her personal interests, and that his repeated disregard of her advice in matters of finance and politics has driven her to make the attempt on his life. Mr. Pevensley also gave several accounts of Lady Pevensley purchasing lamp oil and alcohol in unreasonable amounts, along with small amounts of Distillation and a rather unusual mechanism.” Patricia frowned and opened her mouth, but I shook my head again. “All of which was confirmed by the same informant. It makes for quite a conundrum, I’m afraid.”
Patricia nodded. She crossed the short distance to the other chair and sat down. “So it’s really more a question of which person is telling the truth and which isn’t. Who do you trust more?”
I hesitated. “I spoke with Lady Pevensley directly, and I was fairly well convinced that she was genuinely upset over the issue. However, I would like to extend Howard Pevensley the same courtesy before I level any definite accusations against him. Unfortunately, the last part of the letter makes it clear that he intends to remain in hiding until his sister-in-law is brought to justice. He apparently fears for his own life in addition to that of his brother.”
“If he’s telling the truth.” Patricia grinned, and I found myself smiling in spite of myself. She stretched both arms above her head, her carbine still in hand. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to hunt the little lordling down then, won’t we? Any hints as to where I should start looking?”
I gave Patricia a curious glance. “A handful. Are you implying that I couldn’t find the man on my own?” She smirked and settled the carbine across her shoulders, draping her hands over the ends as if it were some sort of makeshift yoke.
“What can I say? I do have a bit of talent in that area, you might recall. No offense intended, but you seem like you could use a bit of help.”
“Is that so?” I let my face settle into a stern frown. “Well, I suppose you might be able to find your own hints as to Howard Pevensley’s whereabouts then, without my humble help.”
“Humble is never a word I’d use to describe you, Hector.” Patricia smiled and slid the carbine from her shoulders. “So, what have you got?”
I sighed. “The letter, and the box of recorded conversations it came with, both reveal far too exact a knowledge of the situation at the Pevensley estate than Howard should have been able to know. If Lady Pevensley was not lying completely, then he has been nearly an exile in that house for the past month or so. Whoever recorded the conversations was a first-hand witness to the arguments and suspicious movements of Lady Pevensley, however.”
Understanding dawned on Patricia’s face. “So our little nobleman has a guy on the inside who is feeding him information. If we can figure out who…”
“Then we can find the man himself.” I smiled. “Surely even a humble investigator like myself could follow up on such a lead, wouldn’t you agree?”
Patricia snorted, an appalling sound, and she leaned back in her chair with the carbine resting across her lap. “Point made, Hector, point made. No need to be offended.” She paused and tilted her head to the side. “By the way, before I forget completely, I have a message for you from the academy.”
I blinked at the sudden change of subject. “The academy?”
A simple nod was all the response I received. I bent forward. “May I ask what message the governor has decided to send to me? I trust Mr. Benton has not lost faith in my abilities.”
She laughed. “So bold one minute, so insecure the next. You really are a puzzle to me, Hector.” When her mirth had subsided, she shook her head. “No, they just had another incident of vandalism last night. They thought it would be wise to send for you so you could take a look at the scene before they washed it off. You interested?”
“Very.” I stood. Folding the letter from Howard, I placed it into a pocket on the interior of my coat and picked up my cane. “Will you be joining me this fine afternoon, or have you business elsewhere?”
“I’m not busy until later. The Dafferty job won’t need my attention until later on tonight, so you have me until then.” I raised my eyebrows at such forward talk. Either oblivious or uncaring, Patricia looped her arm through one of mine and dragged me toward the door. “Come on now, Hector. We don’t have time to stand here gawking. Mysteries are waiting, after all.”
Afternoon found me once again approaching the academy. I was somewhat fortunate that Patricia had allowed me to disengage my arm from hers; the number of people who had already seen us strolling along together would be more than enough to set the rumor mills ablaze. It was already a lost cause to avoid hearing about it from Benjamin, but I could very well avoid having my clients at the academy see the two of us proceeding like a pair of dickering youth up to their gates.
Of course, such a problem had not particularly occurred to Patricia, and apparently my insistence on a modicum of respectability had offended her. She now walked beside me with all the predatory grace and bristling posture of an outraged cat. Such were the sacrifices of a gentleman in our day and age. At the very least, her glowering expression and brandished carbine compelled the workmen we passed to direct their attention elsewhere, fast. Aside from her belligerent grumblings, the walk was a fairly pleasant one.
The weather had turned very fair, and the sun seemed to beam down on everything. A slight breeze carried the fumes and smoke of the factories away, allowing a hint of fresh air to penetrate the warren of industry that surrounded the academy walls. Clouds, white and guileless, drifted by overhead, and the bright blue sea of the sky showed no hint of foul weather. It seemed a perfect spring day, full of life and hope, the kind of day that always filled me with a yearning for my more provincial home.
All thoughts of the peaceful countryside and my father’s farm vanished as the academy came into view. The markings left by the vandal in the nighttime were clear even from a distance. Their dark, jagged forms stood out clearly against the dull gray stone, and the extent of the damage went far beyond what I had seen in the photographs. A full twelve yards of the wall, starting from the edge of the gate and extending along the stone, was covered in the vilest threats and blasphemies. My blood began to simmer as I deciphered some of the crude taunts. Then I saw Ms. Audrey’s name included among those so reviled, and my fingers gripped my cane so hard I thought the mechanisms inside would warp with the pressure.
The offensiveness of the scene seemed to reach even through Patricia’s dour mood. Her posture became more alert, and her stride grew still more predatory. She stalked along the cobblestones as if she hunted a tiger, and the carbine was no longer swinging loosely in her grip. Patricia carried it ready now, cradled in her hands as if she was ready to bring it up and fire at any moment. A single glance at her face told me that such conjecture would be perilously close to the truth.
For all our preparation for battle, the only people awaiting us were Daniel and a patrolman from the local constabulary. In truth, only the young professor seemed to anticipate our arrival; the constable was lounging against the wall several yards away. It was clear from his slouched posture and ugly expression that he—and by extension, the whole of the local officers of the law—did not think much of their duty to defend the academy and its students. I had not thought much of their inaction when I first visited, but my opinion sank even lower when I saw such horrible neglect in the open sunlight.
Daniel caught sight of us immediately and hurried over to us. His quick gait was filled with a kind of disquiet, entirely understandable considering the personal nature of the threats inscribed behind him. “Thank goodness you’re here at last! I confess I have been a nervous wreck ever since we discovered it this morning.”
“Completely understandable, Mr. Summervale.” I extended my hand and he shook it warmly. He stopped in confusion as Patricia extended her own hand, and he glanced back at me for guidance. Without the chance to pull him aside and educate him about the dangers of the woman before him, I merely gave a slight nod. Wisely, Daniel took her hand and shook it before he turned on his heel and led us to the wall.
“It is obviously much more extensive than the other incidents so far. The number of students mentioned has also increased considerably.” He turned with some anxiety to regard me. “I worry that this incident shows so many signs of escalation. The fact that it is so explicit and so close to the gate itself could mean the vandals are close to attempting something far worse than a few scorched words on a wall.”
“I agree, Mr. Summervale.” I reached out and touched one of the letters. My fingers came away dark with soot of an oily texture. “Strange.”
“Is something bothering you, Hector?” Patricia had followed me to the wall, and her interest was now fixed on me.
I rubbed the soot between my fingers, assuring myself that the initial impression had not misled me. “The marks appear to have been the result of burnt material rather than charcoal marks or dust. Possibly the miscreant used some style of accelerant to paint the letters first, and then set them alight.”
Patricia snorted. “That would’ve been quite a lot of work for nobody to notice. Are your guards really that bad, Daniel?”
The young professor shook his head slowly. “While they have their limitations, I doubt they would be that lax in their duties. At the very least, they would have reported the incident. Is that the only possible way the marks could have been made?”
I shook my head. “It would be the simplest method, but you are quite right. Even the worst guard would have made some kind of effort to document a blaze such as this one.” I paused. With my stained hand, I reached out to touch the letters again. “It is possible that some sort of flamethrower was employed. A welding torch of some kind, perhaps.” I turned to examine my surroundings again. “The issue would be whether one would be able to carry such equipment all the way to the wall without creating enough noise to alert the guards, and then to make a speedy escape once the business again.”
At my side, Patricia grunted. “Doesn’t seem possible, really. What about Changelings? Could an ogre or something else carry it?”
“Again, perhaps. The situation seems unlikely, though it may warrant investigation.” I felt myself grow frustrated at the puzzle. It was enough to have one case present me with such a tangle. To have the academy threatened with yet another enigma seemed to be a product of exceptionally bad luck. Still, I determined to soldier on in spite of the conditions. With one hand I drew out a small container I had brought with me. At the same time, I brought out a penknife that I used to scrape a portion of the soot into the container. I hoped that a further analysis of the chemicals would reward me with a better understanding of the culprit, though given the puzzles already involved I doubted my luck would furnish me with such clues.
Once I had collected my sample, I then endeavored to catalog the marks. In recording the words which had been so brutally placed upon the wall, there was a chance that I could find a connection or personal relationship that would reveal the criminals. Given the situation, I would hope that it was merely a former employee attempting a kind of revenge against the school, but I knew the possibility to be remote.
While I was at my work, Patricia apparently lost interest and began a study of the ground around me. No footprints or other telltale marks were obvious; that much was clear even to me. Such lack did not discourage her in the least, however, and she began to prowl about the wall like a hunting tiger seeking her prey. Daniel, in the meanwhile, merely observed the two of us, likely musing on the oddities of the people hired to sort out the matter.
My own thoughts were interrupted quite suddenly by a loud exclamation. I turned, along with Patricia, to find a well-dressed man about my own height and age approaching. His stride was confident and unwavering, and his manner of dress revealed that he was well abreast of the most recent fashion. A suit of beige cloth, along with a matching coat and a bright white shirt, gave no hint of grime or dust. He had a dark top hat, though he carried it in his hand rather than wearing it upon his head. Striking green eyes, a pale complexion, and fine brown hair would have rendered him interesting to even the most indifferent female gaze, and the grin he directed at us as he approached hinted at an amiable nature.
It quickly became apparent that the man knew Daniel, for he stretched out a hand the instant he was within a stride or two of the young professor. “Mr. Summervale! You were just the man I was hoping to find.” He shook Daniel’s hand firmly before turning to where Patricia and I were watching. “And who might these delightful visitors be?”
Daniel seemed remarkably intimidated by the newcomer, to the point where his usual enthusiastic manner seemed subdued. “Lord Devonshire, may I introduce Ms. Patricia Anderson and Mr. Hector Kingsley. They are the investigators hired to deal with our vandalism problem. Mr. Kingsley, Ms. Anderson, this is Lord Devonshire, our patron and sponsor.”
I nodded to Lord Devonshire and extended my hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Devonshire.” He met my eyes and gave me a somber smile, really only a bare curve of the lips.
“It’s a pleasure for me as well.” Devonshire’s handclasp was firm, direct, and strong. His wiry frame belied the strength his clothes must have concealed. “I am honored that such a distinguished pair would concern themselves with this matter. I hope you find these perpetrators quickly so these fine educators and children might continue their work in peace.”
“That is my hope as well, Lord Devonshire.” I found myself impressed with the man, despite myself. I had learned from Benjamin’s information that the young lordling had been able to amass quite a bit of personal influence in Parliament, as well as gather a sort of following among all tiers of society. Now that I had met him, I could well understand why.
Devonshire inclined his head toward me, and then turned his attention to Patricia, who had hung back from the initial gathering. “Ms. Anderson! I find myself unprepared to meet someone so highly recommended. You will be taking an interest in the case, then?”
Patricia gave him a broad smile and shifted the carbine to lay it across her shoulders. “I’m going to let Hector handle most of the work, but I’ll make sure he doesn’t let you down.”
The lordling laughed. “Well, with such encouragement, I do not doubt that he will make progress.” He turned back to me, and his expression grew serious. “Mr. Kingsley, I’m afraid the situation here weighs heavy on my mind. These children have already suffered enough misfortune in their exposure to the Distillation; they hardly need persecution and hatred as well. Wouldn’t you agree?” I nodded, and he continued. “While I trust the matter entirely to your efforts, I would help in my own way. Perhaps the scum behind this assault will retreat in shame once their actions are brought to the public eye. To that end, I plan on an editorial which will run tomorrow in The Times, The Victorian, The Trumpet and The Herald. Do you believe that will help?”
I struggled to avoid gaping. Devonshire had casually named the four largest news scripts in all of London, if not Britain as a whole. Surely a fortune had been spent to secure space in all four, and it would hardly fail to catch the attention of the perpetrators. When I spoke, I chose my words carefully. “Perhaps, Lord Devonshire. We must be careful, however, as it might also inflame their resentment further.”
Devonshire smiled. “Then in their rage, they may make a mistake that you will catch, Mr. Kingsley. I do not intend to show myself a coward in such things as this, though your counsel is indeed appreciated.” He turned back to Daniel, who still stood meekly at his side.
“Mr. Summervale, I would very much like to speak with you later about the particulars of your research. I can see you are occupied at the moment with a more important matter, but if you would inform me of your next available opportunity?” Daniel nodded, and Devonshire clapped him on the shoulder. “Splendid! I will not keep you then. Carry on.” With a single sweeping bow, Lord Devonshire strode away. He joined a small group of well-dressed gentlemen who had been waiting for him at the gate. These I took to be either a group of his fellow peers, or a sampling of the contributors to the academy’s funds, or both.
The open admiration on the faces of many in that knot of men offered a further witness to Devonshire’s character, as if I needed one. Every piece of information I had about Lord Devonshire told me he was a rising star among the nobility. The heir of a vast wealth left by a house older than the Distillation, he had become an active member within the government and society in general, to the point where even his fellow peers, such as Lord Pevensley, seemed positively lethargic. Numerous economic interests owed their start to his investments, and they remained varied and widely distributed among all walks of life. The academy was far from alone among his wide-reaching interests.
Unfortunately, the academy was alone in suffering the troubles I had been called to investigate. There had been no similar harassment of any of his other businesses, nor were there any of his charities attacked in like manner. It seemed that even though Devonshire’s rising star was associated with the school, the academy must have gained enemies of their own to continue to suffer such attacks. Unfortunately, the lordling’s bold stance, while welcome and admirable, could quickly prove difficult if I did not gain a better grasp of the truth behind the entire issue.
Devonshire and his companions spent a moment chatting in front of the gate before they stepped inside. As they were lost to view, I turned back to the wall and stared at the letters inscribed there. There had to be some answer, some solution that would allow me to resolve the situation. I knew it must simply lie beyond my limited mortal sight, but I had no doubt that I would reach it.
I turned to Daniel and found him looking after his sponsor with a kind of worried air, as if wondering what manner of rebuke or reward he would receive. It occurred to me that the only thing of particular interest which might set the academy apart might be the scholarly research taking place here. I nodded absently to myself and asked Daniel the last question he would have wanted to hear. “Mr. Summervale, would it be a problem if we went and visited your laboratory?”