The Executioner's Heart

CHAPTER 26

“I’m not sure you quite grasp the gravity of what you’re saying, Archibald,” said Bainbridge, reaching for his cigar, which lay smouldering on the lip of the ashtray.

“Oh, I assure you I do, Sir Charles. That’s precisely my point. If Her Majesty the Queen continues to take us down this path-” He stopped short at the sound of a resounding thump on the front door, which set it rattling momentarily in its frame.

Bainbridge glanced at the clock. It was approaching midnight. Who could be calling at this hour? Clarkson was long retired for the evening. He rose slowly to his feet. There was another thump at the door, followed by a series of rapping thuds. “Open the door, Charles!” came the muffled shout from outside.

“Newbury?” said Bainbridge, hurrying into the hall. “Newbury, is that you?”

“It’s me, Charles,” confirmed Newbury. “Let me in, for goodness’ sake!”

Bainbridge unlocked the door and unthreaded the chain. He snatched the handle and pulled it open. “Whatever is the…” He trailed off when he saw the state of his friend. “Good Lord,” he said, shaken. “Get inside, now. Archibald’s in the sitting room.”

Newbury, gasping, nodded in acknowledgement and staggered into the hallway. He was smeared in blood and was clearly in pain. His suit was slashed open across his left arm and his right side, exposing the bloodstained flesh beneath. Bandages were expertly wrapped around his forearm, but blood continued to ooze out through the gauze.

“What the devil happened, man?” asked Bainbridge, urgently. “Who did this to you?”

“The Executioner,” said Newbury, between ragged breaths. “She came for me at Chelsea. With Scarbright’s help I managed to fend her off.”

“She got away?” prompted Bainbridge, as Newbury fell back against the wall, propping himself up. He’d evidently hurried across town directly from the scene of the attack.

He nodded. “Yes, she got away. But not before I worked out who’s behind all of this,” he said, wincing in pain. “That’s why I’m here.”

Bainbridge studied him for a moment, surprised. “Let’s get you a brandy and then you can explain,” he said, patting Newbury on the arm and urging him on into the sitting room.

For a moment he found himself considering what Isobel would think about the inevitable bloodstains on the carpet, then smiled sadly as he remembered she was no longer there to raise such concerns. It was about time he laid her ghost to rest.

Angelchrist was on his feet, pacing the room as he waited for them. “I overheard,” he said, hastily. “Are you sure you’re well enough, Sir Maurice? Perhaps we should get you to a hospital?”

“I’m fine,” said Newbury, resolute. “I’m fine.” Bainbridge thought it sounded as if Newbury were trying to convince himself as much as Angelchrist.

Newbury crossed the room and dropped heavily into a chair. He was still gasping for breath. Bainbridge went to the silver tray atop the sideboard and sloshed out a generous measure of brandy. He handed it to Newbury, who took a long, deep draw.

“You didn’t run all the way here, I take it?” said Bainbridge.

Newbury shook his head. “No. Although it was a struggle to get a cab to stop for me at this hour, in this condition,” he said. “So I set out, and managed to pick one up about halfway here.”

“I admire your determination,” said Angelchrist, sincerely.

“It’s my determination that almost got me killed,” replied Newbury, laughing.

“Go on,” prompted Bainbridge. “Tell us. What happened?”

“I’ll spare you the details,” said Newbury, “other than to say our murderess must have broken into my house after I’d fallen asleep in my chair. I woke to find her in the room. I’m lucky I did-a couple more minutes and I’d have been run through in my sleep.”

“Good Lord,” said Bainbridge, again. “And was she just as you described, half-mechanical, with all those dreadful tattoos?”

Newbury nodded. “Although ‘half-mechanical’ is something of an exaggeration. She has a mechanical heart, but it’s old and clumsy and she wears it on her shoulder, rather than carrying it inside her chest.”

“You said you’d determined who sent her?” said Angelchrist, leaning forward in his chair, his hands folded on his lap. He was wearing small reading spectacles that were perched neatly on the end of his nose. He peered over the top of them at Newbury.

“This is going to sound outlandish,” said Newbury, frowning in obvious discomfort at his wounds.

“More outlandish than a century-old killer with a clockwork heart?” said Bainbridge, with a grin.

“Perhaps,” said Newbury, resisting Bainbridge’s attempt to make light of the situation. “It’s the Prince of Wales.”

Bainbridge, who was still standing in the centre of the room, nearly dropped his own brandy glass in astonishment. “The Prince of Wales!” he barked. “Are you listening to yourself, Newbury?”

Angelchrist motioned for Bainbridge to calm himself. “Let the man speak, Sir Charles.”

Bainbridge nodded, feeling slightly aggrieved to be dismissed in such a way.

“It all makes sense,” said Newbury. “We agreed earlier this evening that the person behind the Executioner had to be someone with access to the list of agents. The Prince had that access. He’s the one who provided me with the list. He’s had it all along.”

“That’s hardly enough to incriminate the man,” said Bainbridge.

“Except there’s more. That first time I called on him at Marlborough House, he wasn’t expecting me, and I saw something I shouldn’t have. He was in the library when I arrived, talking in hushed tones with a woman. I only saw the back of her head, but it was distinctive enough for me to know it was the Executioner, now that I’ve encountered her in the flesh,” said Newbury, encouraged now by Angelchrist’s attention.

“But why would he send her after you, Newbury?” asked Bainbridge. “You, to whom he recently granted privileges of an unparalleled nature. I mean, he even went to the effort of calling on you himself, at Chelsea!”

“That’s precisely the point, Charles! He was attempting to throw me off the trail, sending me after the Germans so that I’d be distracted and wouldn’t look to where the real problem might be. He wanted me close, in order to manipulate me. When Archibald proved to us that the Germans weren’t, after all, involved in the murders, I swore to the Prince that I would see the real perpetrator brought to justice. At that point I-how did you put it? — I made myself a more pressing target.”

“But why? What has he possibly got to gain? You’re talking about him undermining his own mother!” said Bainbridge, although he could clearly see the merit in what Newbury was saying. It did make a horrible sort of sense.

“The throne! That’s what he has to gain. He made his feelings towards the Queen quite clear to me when he came to Chelsea. He feels that she has lost her way, and that the Empire needs a firmer hand to guide it-his hand. He believes there’s a war brewing on the Continent and that, if we’re not careful, it will spill over onto our shores. Most of all, he’s grown tired of waiting for his mother to die, and now that she’s strapped into that diabolical machine, there’s no end in sight for the man. He sees his time slipping away, and it’s driven him mad.”

Bainbridge glanced at Angelchrist, who nodded slightly.

“I don’t doubt it for a minute,” said Angelchrist. “I believe the Prince is perfectly capable of such a political manoeuvre. He claims to care for the good of the people. While that may be true in part, in reality, he cares more for himself. He’s worried he’ll miss his opportunity to rule. Something must have tipped him over the edge, persuaded him to act.”

“I think it’s time we told you a little more of what’s been going on, Newbury,” said Bainbridge, with a dour expression. He dropped into a seat. “The Secret Service has had the Royal family under observation for some months.”

Newbury frowned. “To protect them?” he said.

“No,” said Angelchrist, levelly. “To judge their intentions. It is our belief that the Queen has lost her way.”

“You’re not trying to tell me that you are mixed up in this business with the Executioner, are you?” said Newbury, his face creasing in concern.

“Indeed not!” said Bainbridge. “Nothing like that. Nevertheless, the Parliament has begun to question the real motivations of the monarch, and whether she truly has the best interests of the nation at heart.” He looked Newbury straight in the eye. “To be honest, Newbury, I’ve begun to doubt her intentions, too. Archibald, of course, feels the same. That’s why he’s here tonight. He came to collect a dossier I’ve assembled, containing observations of the Queen and her immediate family.”

“All of this subterfuge!” said Newbury, hotly. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I didn’t want to put you at risk, Newbury!” said Bainbridge.

“Well, it hardly worked, did it?” replied Newbury, shaking his head. “Quite the opposite. And besides, have you never considered that I might feel the same way? I’m only too aware of the Queen’s dubious, self-absorbed nature.”

“And Miss Hobbes?” asked Angelchrist.

“I assure you, Veronica has more reason to doubt the monarch than most. The Queen has woefully wronged her in recent months. We are forced to maintain a charade of servitude, to avoid exacerbating the situation,” said Newbury, wincing. Bainbridge noticed that he was nursing the wound on his forearm.

“What has the Queen done to so affront Miss Hobbes?” asked Bainbridge, concerned. He wondered why Newbury, in turn, had not spoken of the matter, but decided not to press him on that for the time being. He was still reeling from the shock of realising that Newbury shared his concerns regarding the monarch.

“It can wait,” countered Newbury. “Right now, my concern is to put a stop to the Prince’s plans. We can worry about the Queen later. We need to prevent any more people from dying.”

“You’re right,” said Bainbridge. He grabbed the brandy bottle off the sideboard and sloshed another measure into Newbury’s glass, which Newbury drank thirstily. Bainbridge hoped it would help to numb the pain. “Where might the Prince be harbouring her, this ‘Executioner’? We can hardly go storming up to Marlborough House and ask him.”

Newbury looked thoughtful. “He won’t be keeping her at Marlborough House. He wouldn’t want her under his roof any longer than is necessary, to avoid associations such as the one I made after my unexpected visit. He clearly doesn’t realise that I saw her in the library, or, if he does, he believes I won’t make the connection, at least until it’s too late.” He raised his hand, suddenly, as if an urgent idea had just come into his head. “Yes! That’s it!”

“What is?” asked Bainbridge, perplexed by Newbury’s sudden outburst.

“The Prince told me he was involving himself in the property market, purchasing an old, abandoned hotel with a view to restoring it to its former glory. I thought it odd at the time, but now I can see that there must have been an ulterior motive. I’ll wager that’s where we’ll find her,” replied Newbury, animated now.

“Where is this hotel?” asked Angelchrist.

Newbury shrugged. “I don’t know. It has to be fairly central. The murder scenes appear to have been spread evenly throughout the city.”

“We can find out,” said Bainbridge. “We have files on the Prince, observations gathered over the course of the last few months. Surely there must be something in there? If he’s purchased a property, it must be a case of public record.”

Angelchrist nodded enthusiastically. “The files are held in my safe, back at Grosvenor Square.”

Bainbridge stood. “Then we should go there immediately. We must strike while the iron is hot. If we’re correct and she’s hiding at this abandoned hotel, we may be in a position to catch her before the night is out. Once we have the Executioner, we’ll also have the Prince.”

Newbury stood, too. “Veronica didn’t return, Charles. She’s not at Chelsea. I need to go to her, to ensure she is safe. What if the Executioner goes after her while we’re busy looking for an address?”

Bainbridge nodded. “Yes, of course. Go to her. Get her back to Chelsea. We’ll send for you there once we have the address.”

Newbury nodded. “Excellent. We’ll await word, then meet you at the hotel before the night is out.”

“Shall I send for reinforcements from the Yard?” asked Bainbridge.

“No,” replied Newbury. “If there’re too many of us, we’ll frighten her off. But for all of that, remember: There’s strength in numbers. Do not attempt to tackle this woman without us. I’ve seen what she’s capable of. If it wasn’t for Scarbright, I’d be dead now, and she’d have walked away with my heart.”

Bainbridge nodded. “I knew I’d let a good one go in Scarbright, Newbury. Not only is he the best chef I’ve ever known, it seems he’s pretty handy in a fistfight, too.” He grinned, trying to make light of the situation. In truth, he was deeply concerned for Newbury. He didn’t look at all well, and his clothes were stained with blood. “Get some rest, if you can. You’re going to need your strength.”

Newbury nodded. “Until later, then,” he said, clasping Bainbridge on the shoulder and shaking Angelchrist’s hand. “Good hunting, gentlemen.”

“Until later,” said Bainbridge. He watched Newbury go, a little unsteady on his feet, then turned to Angelchrist. “Come on,” he said. “You heard the man. There’s a murderer to catch.”

Angelchrist grinned. “Two, in fact,” he said, rising to his feet. “Don’t forget the Prince of Wales.”

Bainbridge sighed. “Not likely,” he said, with feeling. He downed the last dregs of his brandy. “That’s one conversation with the Queen I’m truly dreading.”

Angelchrist laughed. “Makes me glad I only have to answer to the Home Secretary,” he said.

“Come on, you damn republican,” said Bainbridge, gruffly. “There’s work to be done.” He opened the door to the hall and ushered Angelchrist out.