A Clockwork Heart (10 page)

CHAPTER 12

“Here is fine, Neville. I shan't be too long,” Elle said as they pulled up outside the red-brick buildings of New Scotland Yard.

“I will find somewhere to wait for you, my lady,” Neville said as he hopped out of the driver seat to open the door for her.

The police station was crammed with people of all shapes and sizes thronging just inside the main entrance.

The distinct miasma of unwashed bodies saturated with gin hit Elle square in the nose as she collided with a gaggle of women who were shouting at the hapless police officer was who was trying to round them up.

Elle sidestepped the women and walked straight into a wall of muscle that belonged to a very determined-looking man. He growled at her and stepped on the hem of her dress. Elle heard a most worrying sound of ripping fabric as he pushed past her, shoving her to one side. Elle was suddenly most grateful that she had decided not to wear one of her wide-brimmed hats this morning. Defiantly, she shoved the man aside and wrestled her way into the thronging queue of people waiting to be served at the counter.

Behind the counter a harassed constable was doing his best to help those in the queue. Judging by the redness of his nose, which at that moment he was wiping with a grubby handkerchief, the poor man looked like he needed to be in bed with a basin of soup and a hot water bottle rather than here, fighting the surging tide of humanity before him.

“Next!” he shouted hoarsely.

Elle fought her way forward and righted herself against the wooden edge of the counter. “Viscountess Greychester. I would like to see the police commissioner please,” she said in a low voice.

The clerk's eyebrows shot up as he took proper notice of her. She was dressed in a fine charcoal wool skirt and jacket, which she had paired up with a velvet-trimmed coat and lady's bowler hat. She lifted the little black net veil attached to the hat that covered the top half of her face. “It's extremely urgent, sir,” she said.

“Um. Perhaps you should come this way, my lady,” he stuttered as he opened the fly door to the side of the counter. A few of the people in the queue voiced their objection to the constable abandoning his post but the man ignored them steadfastly.

“Make way, please,” he croaked as he ushered Elle into a waiting room that was situated down one of the little corridors that led off from the main entrance. “Would your ladyship please wait here while I go find someone to assist?” he said. “I will send someone along to collect your ladyship in a moment.”

“Thank you,” Elle said.

“We are extraordinarily busy this morning, so please excuse the delay,” he said apologetically before he scooted off, closing the door behind him.

The waiting room consisted of two wooden chairs and a table. Grateful for the respite from the crowd, Elle breathed in the institutional smell of carbolic and floor wax, willing herself to remain composed.

Minutes ticked by and no one came to collect her, so she waited.

And waited … 

 … and waited.

As Elle was not a woman blessed with unending reserves of patience, after what seemed like a respectable amount of time, she opened the door and peered out.

Outside the door, chaos continued unabated. In fact, it looked like the crowd of complainants had grown thicker.

The cold-ridden constable was back behind the counter, trying desperately to direct people to various areas, but without much effect. Some of the people were waving portraits and photographs in the air. Others were shouting at the top of their lungs, demanding action.

And to add to the general mayhem, a gaslight troll was actively resisting arrest for fighting in the street. Not known for their intelligence, trolls could be relied on for brute strength and the ability to perform repetitive tasks without growing bored, no matter the weather. Because they were tall and had long arms and knobbly elbows, trolls were especially gifted at lighting lamps . The only problem with them was the fact that they had very short tempers and were extraordinarily strong. And from the look of the three officers it took to subdue the current troll in question, the charges were not unwarranted. The creature was braying at the top of his lungs and thrashing wildly as he was shackled and led away.

Elle frowned. She was not in the habit of waiting at police stations, but even she could see that something very strange was going on here. The question, though, was what.

She sat down on one of the chairs and glanced at her little silver pocket watch. She had been waiting for nearly two hours and midday was approaching. As if in answer, her stomach growled in protest. If the police commissioner were anything like most gentlemen she knew, he would be departing for lunch soon. And if lunch was followed by cigars and brandies, there was no way of knowing when he would be back, if at all.

Elle stowed her watch and straightened her jacket. It was time to take action. She was not going to allow herself to be treated like a problem that might go away if ignored for long enough. It was time to take matters into her own hands.

Carefully, she opened the door and slipped out of the little room into what looked like a long corridor. To the left was a flight of stairs that led to the upper floors. And if she knew anything about official buildings, the commissioner's offices would be upstairs and as far away from the hubbub as possible.

She lowered her head and strode purposefully along. One or two people stepped out of the way for her, but no one stopped to question her presence. It was a trick Patrice had taught her. Walk with purpose and look like you know where you are going and people will assume you belong somewhere.

You
must
forget
about
Patrice,
the voices interrupted her.
To
him, you were nothing but a means to an end. You should never have trusted him in the first place.

“Oh, do be quiet,” Elle hissed at them as she walked along. “You are never there when I need you and when I don't, you interfere. Your constant whispering is enough to drive anyone round the hat shop. I have no privacy. No room to think. Even when I'm with my husband, I feel like you are peering over my shoulder. I wish I could banish you away forever.”

If
you
ask
us, we will go … we had wanted to wait to tell you this, but the power to command us lies within you.

She suddenly felt the strangest surge of anger-fuelled energy rise up within her. She was sick and tired these voices intruding on even her most private of thoughts. They were always there, watching and whispering; judging her every thought and action. In fact, she had not known one moment of solitude since they appeared almost half a year ago. She had even heard them whispering on her wedding night. And Elle was tired and overwrought with worry. “Fine! Then please go away and leave me in peace. I am better off without you,” she said.

The voices did not answer.

The large bubble of frustration and resentment that had been building up in her chest for the longest time finally burst. Before she could stop herself a stream of words formed in her head. “Voices of the Oracle. You are hereby and forever more banished from my presence. Turn your eyes away from me and do not trouble me ever again,” It was the strangest sensation, because it was as if she was speaking to them inside her own head.

Two officers looked at Elle as she had stopped in the middle of the hallway and when she found herself again, she realized that she was staring into space as if she were simple. She ignored their puzzled glances and walked on.

You
have
ordered
us
and
so
we
must
be
away. Are you sure? For when we are commanded to go, we may not return.

“Yes, I am sure. I am sick and tired of you haunting me. I want you to leave me alone!”

But
you
need
us … 

“No I do not. All I want is for you to leave my head. Immediately. Enough is enough.”

If
that
is
your
wish, we will obey. Farewell, our dearest one. You are forever in our hearts … 

Elle didn't answer the voices as they faded from her. Annoying useless things. They were always too melodramatic anyway. But fear not, they would be back soon enough. The interfering busybodies would not be able to resist for long.

Elle shook herself out of her reverie. Right now she needed to concentrate on where she was going, because the inside of New Scotland Yard was a maze of corridors and offices and there was no more time to waste. After a few false turns she eventually found a door with a brass plaque that read
COMMISSIONER
on it.

She was wearing a pair of black kid leather winter gloves and she rapped on the door sharply with her knuckles.

“Come!” a voice said from within.

Oh good. He was in, she thought with small measure of relief and opened the door.

Police Commissioner Willoughby was a man with highly impressive whiskers. They sat on the side of his head like a pair of stately caterpillars, all combed and trimmed in their lush and silver glory. He looked slightly surprised as she entered, but good manners won out and he rose from behind his desk.

“Madam,” he said.

Without giving him a chance to inquire, Elle held out her hand to greet him. “Lady Greychester. How do you do, sir,” she said.

“How do you do, my lady. Please do sit down. And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he said smoothly.

The hair in the back of her neck rose as she noticed his gaze narrow ever so slightly when she sat. She would have to play her part carefully if she was going to get anything out of this man, she realized.

“It's my husband. The viscount,” Elle said.

Willoughby shifted in his chair. He looked like the kind of man who was not entirely at ease when it came to dealing with women. Perhaps that was the way to approach him.

Elle fished out a small lace handkerchief from her reticule. “You see, he's been missing for almost two days now. And I really don't know who to turn to,” she said, keeping the pitch of her voice slightly higher than normal.

“Well, we are here to assist, my lady. But perhaps it might be better if I called for one of our inspectors to take down a statement.” He gestured toward the brass speaking apparatus on his desk. It was the latest aetherographic voice transmission set. The system constituted a private telephony system that connected to other handsets in the building via its own spark-powered telephony exchange. It involved a series of high-frequency wires inside ribbed rubber tubing, which made it a frightfully expensive system. She wondered how the police might afford such things.

“My inspectors are much better equipped than I for this kind of situation,” he said.

Elle grabbed his hand, suddenly grateful that she had not taken off her gloves. “No. Please, Commissioner, this matter must be dealt with in the utmost discretion. You see, my husband and I are often the subject of gossip in the society pages. People might start rumors that my husband has deserted me. And I would not be able to bear the shame of it,” she said. Somehow Elle managed to muster just enough emotion to make her bottom lip tremble.

“But of course, my dear. You may rest assured that the matter will be dealt with most discreetly.” He rose and made a gesture at the door, which looked suspiciously like he was trying to herd her out of his office.

“And there is also the other matter,” Elle said, this time more firmly.

Willoughby's eyebrows drew together in a frown. “And what other matter would that be?”

“As you might know from the papers, my husband and I are both very busy with our respective duties. And so we keep a diary at home that shows exactly where we are and where we are going so neither of us will worry about the other.”

“That is most considerate of you and your husband,” Willoughby said, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Elle's clenched her hands in her lap. Did this man honestly think she was that stupid?

“The last note my husband left was to say that he was meeting with you. To discuss an important matter. You, my dear Commissioner Willoughby, were one of the last persons outside of our household to see my husband before his disappearance.”

Willoughby gave a short bark of laughter. “My dear lady. Surely you can't be serious? While it may be so that I met with your husband on Tuesday at my club, I can assure you that he was quite well when we parted company. Hugh Marsh is an old acquaintance of mine and there was nothing untoward in us meeting.”

Elle sat back in her seat as she regarded the commissioner for a few long moments. “Mr. Willoughby. I think we are at the end of this dance, so I will be blunt. I know my husband was working for you. I know that after your meeting, he set out on the following evening on what I can only assume was the business you discussed.” She folded her hands in her lap. “But what I don't know is why. Or what he was sent to do. And I can't start looking for him until I know these two things. So could we please dispense with the niceties so you can tell me what I need to know?” She was bluffing, but the gamble seemed to pay off because in response, Willoughby turned very red.

“Your allegations, madam, are quite preposterous. The viscount was not working for this police department. And even if he were, I would not be at liberty to disclose such information. Especially not to a … a lady.”

He stepped out from behind his desk and took Elle by the upper arm, lifting her out of her seat. “Now if you'll excuse me, there is a rather urgent crisis developing downstairs.” He hauled Elle to the door. “I regret that we simply do not have the resources at the moment to deal with recalcitrant husbands. I'm sure he will be home soon. So I shall bid you good day, madam.” With that, he shoved her out of his office and closed the door firmly in her face.