Against the Brotherhood (7 page)

“You most certainly will,” said Mycroft Holmes, his manner at once approving and measuring. “To begin with, you will send a telegram to these chambers, to your solicitor, asking if he has had time to review the will yet. That will inform me that you have arrived in Europe. If your port of entry has been changed—and it would be like Vickers to do such a thing—add that you expect James to contact your stepbrother as soon as possible. You will telegraph your solicitor daily, asking for reports on his progress. If you have significant information to pass on to us, add your concern that the matter ought to be settled before the end of the year. If you perceive a greater risk than we have discussed, inform James that you are not satisfied with his efforts. If you are convinced you are in danger of being discovered, appeal to James on behalf of your wife and children. There will be telegrams sent to you as well, from James. If he says that press of work delays him, it will mean that we have more information for you. If he tells you that he is not pleased with the terms of the trust, you will have a packet waiting at the next stop along whatever line you travel. If he apologizes for failing to have your brief prepared, it will be a signal that you are in danger of exposure.” He studied the map.
“As
soon as you make contact with the Scotsman, send a telegram assuring James of payment.”

“I hope I will be able to remember all of this,” I said.

“You will be astonished the number of things you can remember during missions of this sort.” He took out his watch and studied it. “You will have to be away shortly. James will provide you with the key for the code we will use. It is a fairly simple one, but that can’t be helped with so little time.” He held out his hand. “Vickers is not the only one who has helpers in Europe. I will do what I can to provide you with trustworthy assistants. The recognition signal will be my brother’s address, but C instead of B. The countersign will be the Cap and Balls. Anyone offering you that address is someone you may rely upon, no matter how unlikely a person it may be.”

“All right,” I said, starting to feel a trifle giddy at the prospect of the undertaking before me.

“You will find the Scotsman a challenge to your ingenuity, I think,” added Mycroft Holmes with a wry smile.

“Why? Is he an ogre? Or is he part of the Brotherhood?” This last gave me a pang of anxiety.

Mycroft Holmes was quick to banish my apprehensions on that head. “Nothing like that, no. But he is a good friend to those in high office; he is important in his own right. Cameron McMillian, while not The McMillian, is a most influential man. His position in his clan is unassailable and his wealth is immense. His father, who is still alive, controls most of the manufacture of engines for our country’s warships. He is the pride of the Scottish engineers, and his influence extends beyond the Admiralty to Number Ten.”

I sighed once, thinking how position and worth did not often walk hand in hand.

“As your expression reveals,” said Mycroft Holmes drily, “you understand how it comes about that this man was chosen as the messenger for the treaty. But you do not know what a reckless decision it was.”

“Surely such a man is loyal beyond question,” I blurted out. There was a slight line between Holmes’ strong brows; it deepened to a furrow as he continued. “He is certainly loyal to his clan and King. His record as a Hussar officer is beyond question. It is not his loyalty but his judgment that concerns me.”

“His judgment?” I echoed.

“Yes. Some years ago Cameron McMillian married a lovely young woman—an American, as I recall—who died tragically while pregnant with their first child. McMillian did not behave well. He began to assuage his grief, which, in fairness, I know to have been considerable, with strong drink and the company of women of a certain station. He was careful at first, but grew careless with time, sometimes arriving in the company of obvious ladybirds and not in full control of his faculties. None of this embarrassed him in the slightest, for he was protected by his family name and his tremendous wealth. When intoxicated, he is not above baiting those he is certain will not strike back at a man of his position. Of course, in time he became unwelcome in polite society. He was not invited to court after one truly appalling breach of conduct. Bereft of the company of those of his own station, he plunged into debauch. Finally, when his father would permit no more, he was dispatched to the Continent to... em... manage certain family holdings there. It was hoped he might marry again for the family. That was three years ago. I gather there was some bitterness upon his departure, and he has, by all accounts, neither reformed nor voiced a desire to return.”

I was more at sea than before. “If that is so, why should he be the one chosen for so delicate a task?”

Holmes held up one long finger signaling me to hold my question. “The gentleman who headed the team that negotiated the Treaty of Reassurance was Sir John Drummond. You may recall the name?”

“Yes,” I said, having seen it on a number of courier packets and telegrams.

“Those communications came, as you may be aware, from St. Petersburg,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Fellow Scots Drummond and McMillian were at Balliol together, and you know what the Oxonian ties are. I was unable to dissuade Sir John of the lack of wisdom McMillian represented. Perhaps he thought he was doing McMillian a favor, providing him with a way to redeem himself. Sir John himself is still in the East, continuing his mission.”

“Sir John chose McMillian as his personal messenger.” I said it as if hearing it aloud I might convince myself of it.

“Yes. And though it may be that Cameron McMillian’s motives are of the highest order, it is difficult to conceive of a less appropriate courier for secret and sensitive papers.” He made a gesture to show the matter was beyond him.

“I see what you mean; very high in the instep, and without cause,” I told him, and decided that I would need to keep a very civil tongue in my head if I were to be admitted to his staff.

“At the least,” agreed Mycroft Holmes. “Now, I must be about my own arrangements.” He moved briskly, with more energy than one would suppose he possessed from his air of general, scholarly indolence.

“What are your plans, sir? May I know if they impinge on mine?” I did not like the notion of not knowing where my employer was now that I was being sent on such duty at his behest.

“I must spend a short while with Edmund Sutton this morning; I trust I shall find him awake, though the hour is early for him.” He snapped his fingers restlessly. “He will have to prepare for his standard assignment.” By which he meant the actor would impersonate him, keeping to Mycroft Holmes’ strict schedule and providing the illusion that Holmes was, in fact, in London. It was a device that had served him well in the past, and doubtless would serve him in the future. “I am also expecting word from my brother in regard to that fellow with the Devonshire accent. He knows such a catalogue of rogues, criminals, and ruffians that I do not doubt he will assist in identifying this individual.”

“How will you get word of it to me, if I am expected to depart so soon?” I did not relish going into the hands of these men without knowing as much as possible about them, for though I realized they were indeed desperate, I was also aware that my only hope against them was information.

“You will be delivered two new shirts at the Cap and Balls. They will come from a shop two blocks from here. Folded in the sleeves will be a report, as well as any necessary changes in our system of codes.” He indicated the door. “You must be off. For if you linger, the man assigned to watch you may become suspicious. James will tell you where to find the haberdashery I mentioned. You should stop in there on your return to the inn so that it will be understood that you have reason to accept the shirts.”

“Of course,” I agreed, impressed at the quickness of Mycroft Holmes’ mind.

“I will also alert you to any changes in our arrangements with the Scotsman, so that you will be prepared to deal with him when you meet him.” He looked at his watch again. “Well, off you go, Guthrie. Godspeed.” He made a gesture to dismiss me and then stopped as one more thought occurred to him. “Take no gift from Vickers or any of his men. They will probably offer you some minor token. Find a good excuse to refuse it. And avoid a high-born churl called von Metz.”

“All right,” I said, curious as to why, and who was von Metz.

Mycroft Holmes sensed my unspoken question. “You have read of some of the rituals of this Brotherhood. They will seek many ways to control you.”

“And superstitious fools let themselves be persuaded by chicken-claws and rattles. You will find I have a sterner mind than that, sir,” I assured him. “I am a rational man, educated and well informed. Those—”

“It is not only ignorant savages in Africa and India who resort to such devices. Vickers and his cohorts have skills enough to use these techniques with deadly purpose. Your doubts will not help you if they decide to turn their efforts against you.” Again he motioned me to the door. “Keep your wits about you, Guthrie, and do not relax your guard, for that way lays worse things than death.”

My time in Mycroft Holmes’ employ had taught me that he was not one to engage in rodomontade, or similar hyperbole, and for that reason alone, his warning struck me to the heart. I bowed slightly and left him.

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS:

I have at last completed the restoration of M.H.’s
flat. Whoever undertook to search the place must have done it with speed his most important concern, for everything he touched was in disarray. Papers and books flung everywhere, cushions pulled out and ripped open, drawers overturned and their contents strewn about. At M.H.’s
instruction, I have completed a thorough search of all the rooms that were disturbed—though the kitchen and the pantry were left without any disruption, and the sitting room was only half searched. It is my belief that the miscreant was interrupted by my return, and was forced to flee with his purpose unfulfilled, as we can determine that nothing is missing. Were it not for the reason for my absence, I would chastise myself for failing in my duty to M.H.

Mother continues to fade. I have asked that the minister give her what comforts he can, as it is not likely that she will be truly conscious again before the end. M.H. was kind enough to permit me to visit her again this evening, for he became aware of my lack of concentration on my work here. I cannot express the depth of gratitude I feel toward him for his kindness in these dark hours.

“SO YOU PURCHASED
new shirts,” approved the other man sharing my compartment on the train for Dover. He was thin and professorial, about forty, a gray-faced academic sort in old tweeds, with a short beard and spectacles clipped to the bridge of his nose.

“Two,” I said, glaring at him with a suspicion that was only partly feigned.

“Good. If your collars and cuffs are freshly laundered and starched, it should be satisfactory. You will present a less unfortunate appearance.” He settled back against the squabs and regarded me speculatively. “Not that you are very prepossessing, as it is.”

I was pleased I had not taken the two small notes I had found concealed in the sleeves of the second shirt out to read in this train compartment, for surely that would have caused suspicions in the mind of this fellow, suspicions I could not afford. “I do the best I can; and I will thank you not to question me too closely. I have said I will undertake this work, and you may be sure I will.” My umbrage was more genuine than I liked to admit.

“What pride and delusion,” said the man, as if remarking on the clouds overhead. “You will have to curb those impulses when you reach Germany or there will be hell to pay.” He chuckled, his face as unchanged in expression as if it had been carved in stone.

“I’ll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself, sir,” I grumbled, and hitched my shoulders higher to do what I could to cut myself off from him. I moved my aged carpetbag—another of the inestimable Edmund Sutton’s contributions—nearer to me on the seat, as if I feared my traveling companion might attempt to snatch it or rifle its contents.

“To be sure,” said the man, ignoring my rudeness with such determination that I realized his manner was deliberate. “But you may have need of them before we reach France.”

“You’re mistaken, sir,” I grumbled, hoping that my dismay was concealed. “I am bound for Amsterdam.”

“No, Mister Jeffries, you are not. Your travel itinerary has been changed. You will make the crossing to Calais, and there go to Paris, and then east into Germany, by way of Luxembourg. From Luxembourg you will go to Mannheim, to Wurzburg, from there to Ulm—that is a bit indirect; it can’t be helped. At Augsburg you will be met by a Herr Dortmunder. You need not know anything about him, for he will have a description of you to guide him. He will identify himself by asking if you have any English coins you would like to exchange for German ones. He will give you further instructions.” All goodwill had vanished from my traveling companion, and I could not help but be aware of the intensity of his purpose.

I regarded him with an expression I hoped was sullen; my eyes fixed on the top of his tie and I muttered, “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I have authorization, and a note from Mister Vickers. I also have the tickets you need, and I will take those you already possess. Do not think to deny you have them: I know very well that you do. You have them in your inner coat pocket, or so I am told.” He achieved a grimace of satisfaction. “Oh, yes. I am under instructions, too, to make your journey for you so that if there is anyone supposed to watch you, they will have a target for their efforts. We do not want them casting about for you.” He pulled an eyepatch from his pocket, removed his spectacles, and set it in place. “Doubtless they will be searching for this.” He fumbled with his spectacles, trying to keep them in place on his nose without success.

“Mister Vickers is a knowing cove,” I said, and took the large envelope he held out to me. Inside was another packet of flimsies, not all of them British, and a purse of coins, everything from French to Austrian. There were also a number of train tickets and timetables. I took one out and started to read it.

“You’ll notice that there are a number of departures marked. Those are the ones you are expected to try to take; there is plenty of leeway in the departure time so that it should not be impossible, even for you. If you cannot reach the latest on the list, you are to send a telegram to the station where you are to transfer, to a Father del Franco, advising him of your late arrival.” He leaned forward to emphasize his next words. “Should you fail to make a connection and not send word ahead; the Brotherhood will assume that you have played them false. They will then be forced to hunt you down and exact vengeance for your betrayal.”

At another time I might have found such pronouncements a trifle overblown and melodramatic, but in this place, and for the purposes involved, I could not make myself regard the threat as anything but of deadly sincerity. “I’d be a fool to hop the drum, with such a hugger-mugger lot as you are,” I said, and noted that my traveling companion understood that bit of street and army jargon.
“
I’ll
do what’s necessary for you—I said I wouldn’t rat, and I won’t.”

“You had better not. We dispose of those who have no use to us, and those who defy us we destroy,” he said with as chill a tone as any I have ever encountered before.

“Indeed,” I said, and continued to examine the items in the envelope.

“You will tell me if you have any questions before we reach the coast.” He sounded bored now, and he leaned back against the squabs, holding his spectacles with one hand to keep them from falling.

“It says here that I’m to stay at the Red Lion in Calais,” I remarked as I went over the instructions. “I could probably get a good way to Paris if I slept on the train.”

“You probably could,” said the other man, his attitude one of casual contempt. “But Mister Vickers has deputies in many places, and he requires that you be in a site that is useful to him, should he have any reason to change your plans again. And he may change them if he feels it wise to; you must be prepared. So it will be the Red Lion. You will find a room has been engaged for you.” He showed no inclination to say more, and I went back to my perusal of the contents of the envelope, all the while wondering how I would get word to Mycroft Holmes without endangering myself and this mission. I recalled my instructions in regard to telegrams, and suddenly I thought we could not arrive in France too soon.

My traveling companion noticed some shift in my manner, and said, “Well? What is it?”

I frowned. “I left with matters unsettled with the solicitor. I suppose you know about that?” I did not wait for his answer, but went on, “And I notice there is not much time to reach the boat once this train arrives. So I suppose I will have to wire him from France.” I did my best to look disgruntled. “That will be another expense.”

The man sighed. “I will attend to that for you,” he said, his demeanor condescending and sour. “Write your message and I will see it sent from Amsterdam, upon my arrival.”

I shrugged, although I was becoming steadily more apprehensive. “All right,” I told him, and drew out a small notebook from my pocket, and found a pencil. I licked the point as I thought of the best way to phrase the message so that this mall and Vickers himself would not be alerted.

Pierson James, Solicitor

Steyne Chambers

London, England

James:

Contact Edward Montjoy. Imperative you act immediately or estate will not be settled until year’s end. Will wire again tomorrow.

A. Jeffries.

The man read it, his brows drawing together. “Why should you contact him again?”

“Because he’s a bloody lawyer, that’s why,” I said truculently, hoping that the sullen manner would not betray the fear that went through me. “If I don’t keep goading him, the estate will never be settled, and my stepbrother might well be off to Australia before James can reach him.” I scowled at him. “You send it.”

“I said I would.” He pursed his lips as he continued to think. “I suppose once you are in Europe there would be no harm in sending telegrams. If the solicitor is expecting to hear from you...”

“Well, he is, see,” I insisted. “And if he don’t hear from me, he’ll probably have questions about it. Then you’ll have trouble throwing him off the track, if you can, lawyers being the natterers they are. Best send the telegram and save us both trouble.” The last was more improvisation than certainty, but I trusted it would convince the man.

He folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Very well. Unless Mister Vickers gives me orders to the contrary, I will go along with your plan.” He shook his head. “Solicitors are the very devil; you have the right of it there.”

“That they are,” I agreed with as much of good fellowship as the two of us would be able to share.

The train reached Dover ten minutes late, and so the rush to get aboard the boat was greater than I had anticipated. My traveling companion took his case from the rack above his seat and said, “Your message will be sent from Amsterdam. Have a pleasant crossing, Mister Jeffries. And remember, as long as you are on a mission for Mister Vickers, you are not alone.” As I studied the tickets he had given me I recalled too late the warning Mycroft Holmes had given me about accepting anything from these men.

His wish for a pleasant crossing was not to be fulfilled. The Channel was choppy and we lurched from Dover to Calais, and by the time I set foot on the shore of France I felt as if I had been racked. Much the worse for wear I went in search of the Red Lion, and stumbled into it after ten minutes of casting about, my head ringing and my gut sore.

It was one of the old coaching inns which had had its heyday in the sixteenth century, with private parlors and a plenty of rooms that once were used for servants; now the parlors had been divided in half, and the servants’ rooms were let out to guests. It wore its age and fall in station with a kind of resigned gentility, like a bankrupt duchess living in dignified but reduced circumstances.

The landlord scowled at me and was about to refuse me a room—and I had to admit I was a very unappealing prospect—when I mentioned that Mister Vickers had reserved a room for me, and that I was traveling on his instructions. As I said Vickers’ name, the landlord’s expression brightened so desperately and dramatically that I supposed Vickers must have some terrible hold over the poor devil, for there was no other reason for such a startling change of demeanor.

“Ah, yes, Mister Jeffries. I have been expecting you.” His English was excellent for a Frenchman. “The room on your left at the top of the first flight of stairs is ready for you. I will have the chambermaid go and warm the bed if you wish to retire at once.”

I must truly be a sight, I thought. “No,” I said, doing my best to sound as rude as possible. “I think I had better have a bath first. And if there is someone who can have my clothes brushed and sponged for me?”

“Certainly,” said the landlord with a nod as he indicated his registry and the place I was to sign.

I scrawled
August Jeffries, Norfolk and London, England
and listed my occupation as
personal representative,
which seemed vague enough for a fellow like Jeffries.

“Very good, Mister Jeffries,” said the landlord, and with a disapproving stare at my luggage, he snapped his fingers for one of the servants to come and carry it up for me.

“Never mind,” I said, picking up the carpetbag myself and nodding in the direction he had indicated, “I’ll see to stowing it. You get that bath heated up, and see that the boots gets my coat presentable again.” With that I accepted the key and made my
way up the steep stairs.

The room was nicer than I had expected, far better than my place at the Cap and Balls, a good-sized chamber with a formidable armoire of considerable age against one wall, a commode under the two high windows, and a bed large enough for a pair of opera singers standing out at right angles to the armoire. There was also a writing table and chair, as well as a shaving stand with a filled ewer of water against the third wall. I tossed my bag onto the bed and removed my limp collar and cuffs, deciding as I did that these should be ironed and starched while my jacket was sponged.

I had just finished setting out my brushes and shaving kit when there was a timid knock at the door, and a small voice said in French, “Your bath is ready, sir.”

Ordinarily I would have given the youngster tu’pence for his trouble, but Jeffries was made of coarser stuff, so I only shouted through the door that I would be in to bathe in a moment. I realized I was being hurried, and I supposed it was the landlord’s desire to please Mister Vickers’ deputy. I dragged my robe from the carpetbag, thrust my pistol under the pillow at the head of the bed, tucked my knife into one of my robe’s capacious pockets, and made my way along the hall to the end of the hall where the door was prominently marked BAIN.

The room was steamy and growing dark as the day sank down to dusk. If there were lamps in the room they had not yet been lit. I considered going back to my room for a book of matches, then decided against it, as I would not be so long bathing that I would have to worry about nightfall. Besides, it was pleasant to have the fading, gentle light of gloaming around me, or so I thought. There was a tin of bath salts standing next to the tub, and I added them to the hot water without hesitation. Satisfied that my soap was near to hand, I tossed my coat over the brass valet-stand, and then peeled myself out of the rest of my clothes, and glad to be rid of them, then, without further ado, I sank down into the high, old-fashioned tub, my feet resting near the taps. At any other time I would have removed my eyepatch, but I remembered my mission and left it in place, disliking the sensation of something on my face. I was aware of an odd scent in the room, which I attributed to salts or soap, and not long after, I began to doze.