All That Glitters: A Maggie Power Adventure (Maggie Power #2) *Unedited version*

Chapter 13

Chapter 13


I slumped down upon the seat inside the large carriage, and soon Whitmore gave the signal to the driver to move off. I avoided his eyes, as he began to speak. Rather, I chose to look outside, through the gap in the velvet curtains, down to my muddied feet, out toward a small lamp on the outside of the carriage, or indeed anywhere else to keep myself from looking into the dead eyes of that cold-blooded murderer.
    "You are just what I've been looking for, Miss Power" he began. "An authentic gift from the Gods." I watched as he turned to another being, shrouded in shadows at the other side of the carriage. "And what do you think of this great turn of fortune?" he asked.
    Leaning forward, a young face appeared from the shadow, and was caught in the tiny flickering flames of the carriage lamps.
    It was Charlie Deptford.
    I almost laughed with fear. I turned and looked to Whitmore. He smiled; a sly, threatening smile.
    "We'll have to see, suppose. Ain't to be trusted though, sir, if you askin' me. Need to watch this one; she's game alright," Charlie said.     
    "What's your story, then, Maggie?" asked Whitmore, after a slight pause. "And how did you end up in such a place, I wonder?"
    I decided silence to be my only recourse. Although I refused to face him, I could feel Charlie's staring eyes on me all the while. And then I began to wonder where we might be heading, and, more urgently, what was to become of me? Despite trying to control my fears, I asked, "Are we going back to London?"
    "Perhaps," replied Whitmore. "That all depends."
    "Depends on what?" I asked.
    "On what you have for us," said Whitmore.
    "I have nothing for you. And I hope you realise, if something happens to me, Detective Blake will–"
    "Will presume your employer or somebody residing in that house knows a little more of your fate than I do. I expect that they will probably tell him a familiar tale of an untrustworthy servant who vanished during the middle of the night. That nobody quite knows the real reason why she left. They can but merely speculate, but alas have no real understanding as to what made her flee."
    I realised what he said was true.
    "How did you know I was there?" I asked.
    "I didn't. It was pure chance that I should come across you tonight," he said. "There I was, snooping around in the grounds of our mysterious gentleman's home – hoping to get an idea of what type of character I was dealing with, when all of a sudden, I hear a noise coming from above. From the roof of all places. Imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw a young maid jumping from the roof to a nearby tree! Quite the athlete, Miss Power."
    "I laughed to myself and thought over the reasons why a young maid should be escaping from a perfectly good household. Perhaps it was for a secret rendezvous with a sweetheart. All very Romeo and Juliet, I thought to myself. So I watched and I concluded this was no ordinary servant. Look how quickly she negotiates her way down the tree and low and behold when she hits the ground she runs in a fashion which suggests her very life depends upon it."
    I looked at him, his self-satisfaction growing the more he told his tale.
    "But wait, what's this? I thought, as I waited in the shadows. She comes closer towards me. Low and behold, this is no ordinary young maid, clambering down the side of a tree and over the wall. She's a young maid I recognise!"
    He laughed, as if he was the only person aware of something so exclusively funny.
     "And as you unknowingly stepped past me on your way out of the grounds, I caught sight of you. Maggie Power? I said to myself. Maggie Power? Here? This cannot be a coincidence, I told myself. No, no, this is divine intervention. This is the Lord's work, in all his strange and wondrous ways."
    He laughed loudly once more and turned to Charlie who, ever since emerging from the shadows, had kept the same snarl upon his face. "Well, Charlie boy," he said in voice which imitated his subordinate's own accent, "the plot certainly does seem to be thickening."
    I sat in silence once more, looking from one to the other. One seemingly better than the other at concealing his hatred of me.
    "So then, what is your story, Maggie?" Whitmore asked.
    I didn't answer.
    "Only way you will live beyond tonight, is if you talk," said Charlie. "Tell us all you know."
    "I have nothing to tell you," I replied.
    "I knows it was you who chirped to the peelers about my crew. You remember? I saw you that night, the night you took the traps and that detective to my boys' crib."
    "And now you'll get your revenge – helped by this man, I suppose. Is that it?" I asked.
    "I could've got to you a long while back, sugar. The night you went to the meeting with all those bleating women. Chartists, you called yourselfs, isn't it?" I looked to him surprised. "Yeh," he smiled, "I was there. And I watched you, missy. Smiling and laughing and surrounded by all those women who think your father is such a bloody hero. I watched you alright. And could have knabbed you afterwards, as you waited outside to be collected and taken home. While you waited for your dirty, rotten detective. And when he came, I followed you again. I saw where yous went."
    I thought back to the times when I would stroll about the streets, shopping for groceries, always accompanied by that nagging feeling of being watched. Perhaps it wasn't my imagination running wild, after all. Perhaps this was the reason he was now sat beside Whitmore
    "Yeh, Maggie, I knows where you live. And I could, if I so wished–"  
    "Enough! You need to learn when to hold your tongue, boy. And you need to learn quickly," said Whitmore, angered at Charlie's admissions. "Always remember who you are. You are my eyes and ears out on the street. You can get into places – meetings and other such places – places where people of your own class congregate. In short, the places I cannot access. But never try and overstep the mark. Never believe that you are anything other than a subordinate."
    Charlie's face was caught in a half-growl. His anger tempered, it appeared to me, by a barely repressed admiration for his new boss. This was certainly a new Charlie, partly tamed and near subservient, yet still bearing that old contempt, the old hatreds towards the world at large.
    He looked to me, smiled and said, "You best tell Mr Whitmore what's going on in that there house."
    "I demand to be taken to London. I demand to see Detective Blake. Then, and only then, will I speak."
    "And what if you were thrown from this carriage – when, say, we were crossing the river. Or, if perhaps, you were thrown from the vehicle at high speed with both your hands and legs tied. Could produce a number of nasty injuries," said Whitmore matter of factly.
    "I repeat, I will say nothing until I speak with Blake," I replied.
    "I don't think you realise what is at stake here?" Whitmore said. "One bank has gone out of business and there are others on the verge of collapse due to debts. A great deal of money is missing, alongside the bank's owner."
    I knew little of the current state of London banking – nor did I care a jot at that point. I had not spoken to Blake directly for well over a week. We were investigating a murder and the vanishing of a very important man. I needed to see Blake and tell of how Morelle had threatened me at his home. I needed to tell him that, after his performance this evening, he was a man who seemed more than capable of murder. He may indeed have murdered William Templeton-Wells.
    "I need to speak to Blake. I've important news I must tell him. It's about the William Templeton-Wells and about–"
    "What about William Templeton-Wells? What did you discover?" Whitmore asked.
    "I shall only speak to Blake. If you are present when I speak to him, then all good and well. But I only speak to Blake."
    "Let me tell you a thing, young lady: your detective is not as clean and pure as he may have led you to believe," began Whitmore. "You do not get to own such a home whilst earning a copper's salary, no matter how small or grubby it may be. Think on that next time you see him. Indeed, why not ask him where he got the money to pay for that house."
    "I shall this very night, if you take me to him now," I replied.
    "I don't think you understand how serious things are. My...The Countess Jouvente's fortune and many of her investments for the future were tied to the fate of that bank."
    "Your aunt? Or is she your mother? I forget now," I asked.
    "The countess–"
    "You can't even bring yourself to refer to her as your aunt or mother any longer, can you?" I said.
    "My inheritance may well have been stolen away from me. At present, I care little for the countess. I care about my money. And you may have information which allows me to find it," Whitmore replied.
    "You called me a 'reward' that night you visited the countess. What did you mean by that exactly?"
    "She's a lonely old woman, you were a companion for her, surely you knew that?"
    "Did you know of the others? What she and that monster did to the other poor children?"
    He was silent for a moment, pausing for thought, I presumed.
    "What occurred was that my...the countess' man-servant was convicted of committing a number of horrific crimes. The countess was cleared by an English court – the best and fairest there is, as you well know. Sexton murdered those children with the conniving of Beagle. They confessed to the court and now both have been hanged and are burning in hell for their crimes."
    "And the countess, where is she going?"
    "She is not well. This ordeal has pushed her closer to the grave, I fear," he replied.
    "Did you know what was going on at the countess' estate?" I asked.
    "I rarely visited." He paused and looked to me, for the first time I saw his self-belief shaken.
    "You're not sure are you, Mr Whitmore. Killing Turner or framing my father was nothing to you. But how does the murder of innocents play in your heart? Is that why she chose Sexton as her accomplice over the years? She saw you had brains and a different sort ruthlessness. But it was Sexton who had no conscience, no soul, no remorse to speak of."
    "Is you going to let her speak to you like that?" asked Charlie, clearly agitated, and his barely disguised hatred for me growing with every hollow ring of the horses' hooves on the road outside.
    "Take me to Blake," I said again, "and I will tell you all I know of what is going on inside that house." 

When the carriage eventually reached Hunter Street Police Station, Whitmore leapt from the carriage to rouse Blake.
    I was left alone in the vehicle with Charlie, who played with a small knife, twirling it between his fingers, it's ornate, sculptured silver handle, a wild horse of some shape, shining in the light of carriage's small lamps. I was reminded of the sculptured eagle, atop a globe, on the hand of the cane belonging to William Templeton-Wells; the one found by the labouring man, who bought it to the pawn shop, which, in turn, led us to the lodging house and the body of Isaac Penny.
    "Have you seen the snake about much of late," Charlie asked breaking the silence.
    "The snake?" I asked.
    "Jack, as you call him."
    "No. Not of late."
    "Is he in the clink? Has your filthy peeler nicked him, yet?"
    "He left a while back. Simply disappeared one day. He may have gone in search of his mother," I replied.
    "Oh, it's his mother again. Always was a sickly, whinging simkin."
    "And how did you find your way to him...Whitmore?"
    "I was at the court on the day he was released, looking out for a few of my boys, as it goes. Boys you and your copper had landed in the dock," he replied. 
    "Anyways, I was at the court and then there erupts a most mighty to do when the wig read out the verdict. So I asked a gentleman in the gallery what the case amounted to and why there was such an uproar. He told me the story and mentioned the name Power. Not you, your father. Then it all came together: the story of that countess, the one the rags had been shouting the odds about; the cove called Whitmore; and of course, the Power family had to be bleedin mentioned. You're family was famous back then. And nobody talks of your father now, except Mr Whitmore, that is."
    "And what does he say?" I asked.
    "Best you remain ignorant of such matters."
    "How did you come to work for him?" I asked.
    "As he left the court on that particular day, I followed him and his crew outside. Then I saw him with the frail old lady, the Bloody Countess they'd been calling her. So, as they was getting into a carriage, I ran to him and told him who I was and what I knew of the Power family. He studied me, looked me up and down, got the measure of me. He asked my age, and then slipped his card into my hand. He says to me that he needed somebody of my class. Somebody who'd be fearless when necessary, and who could use his head properly. I told him I was his man. And next day, he set me to work."
    "Did he send you to spy on me at Old Bailey that night?"
    "He suggested I take a little walk down there and see who was hanging about. He was overjoyed when I had spotted you there."   
    "I'll bet."
    He laughed loudly. I hoped and prayed inwardly that Blake would soon arrive.
    "Just like me, you is a sharper, ain't you, Maggie," he said smiling broadly.
    "I don't know what you mean."
    "Oh, course you do. I mean I've known you less than half a year and you has ran with my crew and nows you running with the filth. You pick your sides as you sees fit to your particular circumstances. Just like I do."
    "I only ran with your gang because I had very little option. Now, Blake has been kind enough to see that I'm properly looked after. I feel most sorry for you, that you see everything in such a cynical way."
    He laughed again. "He's put you out to work, though, ain't he? Nothing's free is there, Maggie? Not for the likes of us. We've always known that for a fact, ain't we?"
    I turned away from him and was relieved as the carriage doors opened and Blake stepped within, unaware, it appeared, of Charlie's presence. He came and embraced me. Seeing that I was shivering and bare foot, he took off his great coat, then placed it over me, covering me from chin to toes.
    "Maggie, I'm so glad to see you!" he proclaimed. "I apologise for putting you in harm's way. Now tell me, what happened that you are without shoes and are so thoroughly exhausted?"
    I began to sob and felt grateful to have Blake alongside me once more.
    Whitmore settled down inside the carriage, and told his coachman to head for home. I began to tell Blake what had happened during my short time working within the Morelle household.
    "William Templeton-Wells is dead!" I cried. "Morelle said as much tonight. And he tried to kill me, I'm sure of it. He–"
    But Whitmore interrupted me. "If it is not too much to ask, young lady, could we save all this for when we arrive at my home. I, too, need to hear all of what you have experienced. Every single piece of information. Don't forget a single thing."
    I looked to Blake for guidance.
    "I think it would be best if you waited until we get you inside a warm house, Maggie. And get some food and perhaps a hot drink inside of you. What do you say?" asked Blake.
    I nodded my agreement, but still I felt wary of being in the company of two people who, I was sure, would not hesitate for a single second to harm me.
    It was as if Whitmore had tamed Blake in some strange unknowable way. Blake was indeed his own man and, in the short time I had known him, nobody had bent him to do things which went against his will. The nagging thought I held, however, that Whitmore had some hold over him, generated a fury over which I felt I had little control.
    "How did you persuade Beagle and Sexton to carry the can for the crimes you and the countess committed?" I asked breaking the uneasy silence which had settled within the carriage. I felt more secure with Blake's presence, although my anger and tiredness seemed to have coalesced as the evening wore on. 
    "I thought you were there? You witnessed what happened to Turner, didn't you?" asked Whitmore.
    "I'm not talking about Turner. I know what you and Beagle did to–"
    "My, you do have such a great deal to say for one so young and ignorant. I wonder, did your father express sympathy for the man who betrayed his cause?" he replied.
    "I'm curious as to how you could have persuaded Beagle to accept guilt for his part in the countess' crimes?" I asked.
    "Sexton's crimes, you surely mean."
    "Sexton's then," I asked.
    "Beagle told me that Mr Whitmore would get him out within a week of his own release," began Blake. "He had been assured, that once Mr Whitmore was once more free, he could pull a few levers in government and see to it that his old accomplice was also freed."
    "And how would you know such things, detective?" snapped Whitmore.
     "I spoke to Beagle a day or so before his execution," said Blake. "Even then, when he still hadn't heard a single word from you in weeks, he was living his last days under the mistaken belief that somehow you were going to arrive – papers waving, demanding his release."
    "And what is it to you, Blake?" Whitmore replied.
    "To die with that candle of hope burning right until death is as cruel as the death he inflicted upon poor Mr Turner," said Blake. "To let a friend dangle and then perish shows how little store you put in human life."
    "You shouldn't take that for a copper," muttered Charlie, his face quite exasperated, his half-confused look wondering why it was that his paymaster was under attack from a lowly officer of the law and, in his eyes, such a silly girl.
    "Keep out of it, boy," snapped Whitmore. "Let this jumped-up copper believe what he wants to believe. There are more important things at present than these things which no longer have any bearing upon my life."
    "And who may you be?" asked Blake turning his attention to Charlie for the first time. "A touch young to be Beagle's replacement, isn't he?" he asked turning to Whitmore.
    "Charlie's an interesting character, detective," I said. "Although it always puzzled me where it was he went at night time, while the rest of us slept in that wretched hideout."
    Blake looked to me, an understanding slowly dawning upon his face.
    "You see if you had bedded down with the rest of the gang, you too would be imprisoned now," I said. After a short pause, I asked, "I'm curious still, where did you go at night?"
    "I've people, things to look out for," he replied, his teeth clamped together, the words barely escaping from his mouth.
    "Besides, if Charlie did not look after his old granny, who would?" said Whitmore.
    "Why d'you tell that for!" moaned Charlie, turning from us, toward the window, to look outside at nothing in particular.
    "And after all this is over, if you know what is best for you, then stay away from Maggie," Blake said to both men. "I shall be unforgiving if she is disturbed in any way."
    "We've known of Maggie's whereabouts for weeks," said Charlie. "If I wanted to hurt her, she would've have been dealt with by now!"
    Blake looked at Charlie as if he had it in mind to arrest him there and then for such impertinence. The only obstruction to such an action was Whitmore.
    "All very well, but I'm a superstitious man. Indeed, I'm strangely taken with the belief that Maggie shall live a long and healthy life." Blake warned. "Be careful not to shake my beliefs, for I will shake back ten times as hard."
    Afterwards, our journey continued on in silence. Having done my best to sour the atmosphere within the vehicle, I wondered how it was we were supposed to work together, and finally find a solution to the case of Mr William Templeton-Wells, whose disappearance still lay at the heart of this mystery. And what of  the strange goings on at Hill House? Indeed, why had Morelle suspected me and reacted so violently to my presence in his home? And how did all this relate back to the murders he spoke of?
    There was still much to find out, and with Whitmore now in tow, I imagined things were about to get much more difficult.

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Thank you for reading.

Sean.