The Cogspeare Conspiracy (The Cogspeare Chronicles Book 1) (24 page)

              He headed back out into the rain again, pulling his hat down low, and asked a few people directions as he muddled along. It was probably the low visibility, or perhaps his oversized hat, or his preoccupied, worried thoughts that kept him from noticing that he was being closely followed.

Chapter 53:

When an infinitely wearier Magnus, wrung out from a day of researching and running through the case in his mind, and ordering Addison about, he took the precaution of ringing the doorbell. Who knew what his brothers would be doing in the foyer this time? Probably racing turtles on rockets.

              But instead, Steamins opened the door almost immediately.

              “I’m so deeply sorry I was late opening the door, sir.” Magnus trudged in wearily.

              “That’s alright, Steamins. What were you up to?” Steamins was momentarily tight-lipped as he took the cloak and hat, but when Magnus quizzed him again, he relented.

              “It came to my attention through Mrs. Bunsen that one of the maids has been creeping out at night.” He sniffed a sure sign of momentous indignation.

              “What will you do with her?” This was the first time that a maid had behaved like this in the Cogspeare household. Many had quit after a day in the house, others had just run away crying and screaming, some were even carried away, but at least every girl had behaved with propriety - especially and ironically - those girls whom Erasmus and Edwina rescued.

              “I brought the matter to Mrs. Cosgpeare’s attention, as she instructed I should do in case such a thing should happen. I advised her to dismiss her immediately
without
a reference,” he said in a menacing tone, “but she said that she will give the matter some thought, and in the meantime the girl is to stay confined to the mews.”

              “Well, you know mother. Always gives one the benefit of the doubt.”

              “Indeed, sir,” Steamins replied with icy disapproval in his voice. “Mrs. Cogspeare and the others have congregated in the library and are waiting for dinner.”

              Magnus silently entered the room, too tired to think, too weary, even of the law, to speak. He merely took the only space available next to Minerva, and leaned back, closing his eyes. The others were blathering on about the opera, but then Minerva nudged him.

              “Have you made any progress?” He opened one eye.

              “Well, we should be relatively well-prepared after another hard day tomorrow. I just can’t help wondering…”

              “Yes?”

              “If we’re…going about this the right way. Perhaps Clinton should have just settled a sum on the miners’ families for compensation, set up a trust or a fund for them. I just don’t know,” he mumbled, scraping his hands through his hair.

              “But Steamins!” they heard Sebastian shout from the corridor, and moments later he was pushed in by the butler, followed by a rather sheepish Cornelius.

              “Madam, I found him trying to escape down the back stairs.”

              “Sebastian! I am very disappointed in you. This is a wonderful cultural opportunity for you. Isn’t it, Cornelius?” she added pointedly. Her husband scuffed his feet.

              “I was referring to Mr. Cogspeare, not Master Sebastian,”  Steamins added.

              “I just don’t know who is worse! Well, if you are quite finished with your escapades, we should be leaving,” she sniffed, gathering up her reticule. “The traffic might be quite bad, so don’t expect us home until much later. But possibly before Erasmus.” She absently kissed the remaining four, took Declan’s arm and swept out of the room, Sebastian and Cornelius trailing behind.

              “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your mother angry before.”

              “That wasn’t angry,” Amadeus explained, “that was merely miffed. Be afraid when she’s really angry. Be very afraid.”

“I thought you’d gone out to find Erasmus?” Magnus mumbled.

“I did, but haven’t felt anything ominous emanating from him, so I gave up in favour of a hot meal. Game of billiards, Quintus?”

              “Gladly. Magnus, would you like to join us?”

              But by then, Magnus was soundly asleep, his head resting on Minerva’s shoulder.

Chapter 54:

As the rest of London finished their evening meals or went out for an evening of refined entertainment, deep in the seedy heart of the East End, the depravity that began after every nightfall had just arisen. Harlots dressed themselves in their revealing finery and began to walk the cobblestone streets, drunks tried to cure their afternoon hangovers with a stiff drink, and pickpockets began to bleed out of the shadows.

              Among the ranks of disreputable pubs, one stood out as a flickering beacon of iniquity among its peers: the Brass Balls.

              The narrow alley where it was situated was already spewed with the noise and smells emanating from inside, ensuring passers-by knew just what kind of entertainment was to be had within. Every time the door opened, waves of blue, narcotic-laced smoke plumed out and carried patrons in on dreamy waves.

              That was precisely how the owner and bar-keep liked it.

              Mr. Mister was currently polishing grimly glasses with an even grimier rag, and smiled benevolently at his patrons spread across the various low couches around the room. The pierced brass spheres that hung about the room didn’t give off much light, but what there was glinted off his few metal teeth and the ominous bits and bobs woven into his black, waist-length dreadlocks.

              Though it was early yet, he was having a good night. After all, Erasmus Cogspeare was in town. 

              And here he was, the drunkest lout in the loudest group in the seediest bar in London. Mr. Mister was hoping that the epithet would soon be ‘the seediest bar in the world’, but he had only been open for a couple of years, and reputations like that took time to grow. 

              Erasmus was stretched out on his side, one young female giggling at his feet, while another had appropriated his stethoscope. He gulped down a swallow of gin and almost spit it out just as quickly.

              “Damn it, Violet, that’s not where you put that!”

              “Could have fooled me, it’s pulsing like your heart.”

              “My heart is considerably further north than that. Come here and let me show you.” He grabbed her and was making inroads into her bodice when he suddenly sat straight up, looking serious and wide-eyed.

              The girls instantly quieted, knowing the look of a man with fear in his eyes, and they instinctively shied away. Mr. Mister looked up from his bar-keeping, and seeing Erasmus’s face, automatically reached for the spear he kept under the bar.

              He needn’t have bothered. Just as suddenly, Erasmus stood up and took off at a sprint.

              “But wher yer going, luv?” one of the girls called out.

              Though she couldn’t hear his reply, Mr. Mister could have sworn it had been something like, “Home. Something’s not right.”

Chapter 55:

              “It’s ten o’clock and do you know where your twin is?” Quintus, Amadeus, Magnus, and Minerva were seated around the end of the dining room table. Magnus had woken up, but was still too tired to bother rolling his eyes. Amadeus was too well fed on the Oysters Surprise, Rivets of Veal with a Shocking Sauce, Shattered Quail, and Chocolate Florets to answer, almost.

              “He’s still out frolicking in the East End, probably at the Brass Balls.”

              “And that’s not your favourite place?” Minerva asked. He shook his head.

              “No,” Quintus interjected, “He’s more comfortable behind a pew.”

              “Quintus!” Magnus exclaimed, trying to shut him up. But his younger sibling, staring into a large snifter of cognac, blithely continued,

              “You see, all the Gaelic that we all might have inherited was concentrated in the twins; Erasmus has the booziness and conviviality, and Amadeus the Popish piety.” He reached over and flicked the ascot around Amadeus’s neck, revealing the white collar of a student-priest.

              “Quintus, shut up,” Magnus growled.

              “That’s alright,” Amadeus held up his hand, trying to hold onto the rapidly dying vestiges of well-satiated hunger. No, he realized as he tossed down his scarf, the full feeling was gone, replaced by a leaden weight. “Over the past few days Minerva’s been exposed to Cogspeare family life and hasn’t run screaming from the house. I doubt my religious affiliation will do it.

              “You see, none of us knows exactly why, but mother, though we assume she was raised a Catholic, is dead set against religion in general, and the Roman Church in particular.”

              “Then how...?”

              “How did I come to be studying for the priesthood?” he shrugged and said simply, “I felt the calling about three or four years ago.”

              “And everyone but your mother knows?”

              “No, father doesn’t either- they couldn’t keep anything from each other if they tried. But all of the boys, yes. Erasmus always knew, of course, and then Declan bumped into me last year when I was wearing the togs, and he blabbed it to the rest.”

              “I don’t ‘blab’, Amadeus!”

              “But why keep it from them?” interjected Minerva. “They’re so understanding!”

              “Yes…but not when it comes to this. Mother once protested the consecration of a new church in the West End by putting up effigies of the pope and saints outside the doorway. Then she set them on fire. On Easter.”

              “Oh…”

              Quintus took out one of his cigarillos, and just as he brought it to his lips to light Magnus shouted,

              “Damn it Quintus, do you have to do that here? You know how filthy I find it!”

              “Well alright,” he huffed back, blowing a plume of smoke into Magnus’s face, “I shall just go take myself off to the front stoop to indulge in front of the entire square if you prefer.”

              Magnus didn’t bother replying through his coughing fit.

              Outside, the evening was cool and damp, the luminescence tubes flickering along the pavement in the moist air. In the distance, Quintus heard a carriage coming slowly in his direction, and absently wondered if his parents and brothers were coming home from the opera so soon. But instead, out of the mist a scruffy man walked unsurely towards him, as if he didn’t know where he was going.

              “Mr. Cogspeare?” he asked with a perceptibly South-Western accent. “Mr. Magnus Cogspeare?”

              “Sorry, that would be my brother.”

              “That would explain it. You two don’t look half alike.”

              “Curse of the Cogspeares. Can I help you?”

              “No, but I can help your brother. I’m John Craggs, and he tried to speak with me. I was a bit rude-”

              “Don’t worry; he’s used to that, Mr. Craggs. I’m sure he deserved it,” he grinned.

              “No, as my Annie used to say, there’s no cause for rudeness. But my,” his voice cracked but he continued, “my son passed yesterday, and now I can speak freely, if you catch my meaning.”

              “No, what’s the issue, my good man?”

              “It’s about the damn mining company, how they knew we was sickening…”

              The sound of the horse and carriage was closer than ever.

              “Of course, please come inside,” Quintus turned and began to lead the miner inside. He bent down and crushed his cigarillos in the rhododendrons, just as the still night air was rent with shockingly loud sound of two gunshots.

              Quintus instinctively dove for cover in the bushes, but turned his head quickly enough to see a massively large man duck back into the carriage as the horses were throttled into a gallop by the driver.

              The front door flew open.

              “Quintus!” Magnus shouted, running down the front steps. “Quintus, where the hell are you?” Amadeus followed him out even as Steamins held Minerva back.

              “I’m over here,” he groaned, and the three of them pulled him out of the flowers.

              “Are you alright?” Magnus asked, but just as Quintus was trying to find a reassuring quip, he felt pain lance through his chest, and only managed to groan.

              “Get him inside, I can’t see a damn thing!” Magnus ordered, even as the other two picked him up and dragged him in. He was about to follow when he heard footsteps running toward him. Thinking it was the perpetrators coming back for a second attempt, he braced himself to face them, only to see a familiar, dishevelled red head emerge from the mist.