The Black Crow Conspiracy (11 page)

“Let me fetch you your shawl, Penelope. We don’t want you to catch your death out here. I’ll only be a moment.”

Before Penny could protest, Monty had darted back inside the ballroom, his path to the cloakroom taking him past a passing tray of canapés. Through the window, Penny spied Professor Röntgen in conversation with the Kaiser, the two men standing apart from the throng. The German Emperor’s brow was furrowed with a frown, and beneath the ridiculous topiary of his spiked moustache, his mouth was set in a thin-lipped scowl. From the animation of the scientist’s
gesticulations, she suspected that her presence there was the subject of their conversation.

Following a path leading between the herbaceous borders, Penelope hurried out of sight of the ballroom, the ornamental shrubbery shielding her from view. She could hear the sound of a water feature hidden in the depths of the garden, the twisting path leading her beneath a canopy of trees as the birds nesting above sang out a song of warning.

Penelope froze. Sitting in the shadow of the furthest ash tree, she saw the figure of a boy dressed in a dark-blue naval uniform. As the last slanting rays of sunlight illuminated his face, she saw with a shiver that it was same face she had glimpsed in the shadows of St James’s Park. The radiant boy – now unmasked at last.

XVII

The boy was completely unaware of Penny’s presence, a small notebook perched on his knee as he sat watching the starlings and sparrows gambol in the last rays of sunshine. With a pen in his hand, his eyes followed the birds, tracing their movements with unhurried strokes.

Emboldened by his absorption in his task, Penelope crept forward silently. The noise of birdsong in the branches above grew more animated as she stepped from the path, the nesting birds aware of her presence even if the young sailor wasn’t. She took this opportunity to study him more closely, his pale features showing no hint of the eerie glow she had glimpsed in the park. The boy’s lips pursed in concentration as he sketched the scene in front of him.

From the place where she was standing, Penny could just peek over his shoulder. As his pen moved across the notebook page, she could see a sketch of a starling take shape, black lines
extending from the boy’s pen to capture its tail as it twitched; the bird’s pointed beak was illustrated with a finesse beyond even any of the artists that Penelope had commissioned. There could be no doubt about it. This was the author of the anonymous letter that had been sent to
The Penny Dreadful
. This was the Black Crow.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Tredwell!” Monty’s booming voice made her jump in alarm. The starlings and sparrows launched themselves into the air, flocking together to take sanctuary in the trees. “Now, here is your shawl – I don’t want Mr Wigram to accuse me of letting you catch a chill.”

Glancing up at them in surprise, the young sailor scrambled to his feet, his fearful gaze flicking from Monty to Penny in turn. Penelope stared back at the boy. He looked scarcely older than Alfie, his dark-blond hair trimmed short in the naval fashion, whilst his wiry frame was tensed as if awaiting an order as yet unspoken.

“No need to stand to attention on our account, my boy,” Monty said, stepping forward to drape Penny’s shawl across her shoulders. “There’s no harm in taking the weight off your feet for a while, especially on as fine an evening as this.” He tapped his nose conspiratorially. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Kaiser.”

The young sailor stared back at Monty, seemingly transfixed.

“It’s you,” he breathed. The boy’s voice was surprisingly gentle, a faint accent marking each of his words. “Montgomery Flinch – you’ve come to help me at last.”

For a brief moment, Monty’s face glowed with pride at being recognised. Then his brow clouded as the last of the boy’s words hit home.

“Help you?” he said, scratching his head in puzzlement. “I’m afraid I’ve just stepped outside for a moment to take the evening air with my niece here. If you are in need of assistance, I suggest that you call on your compatriots inside.”

The boy shook his head with an unexpected vehemence, the shadows of the fading light lending his features a haunted expression.

“I need no help from my countrymen. It is their acts of cruel folly that drove me to seek out your aid, Mr Flinch.” He stepped forward. “Do you really not know who I am?”

With an expression of mounting unease, Monty glanced across at Penelope, willing her to come to his assistance. She stared up into the young sailor’s face, seeing the gleam of defiance that shone in his eyes. His handsome features were a far cry from the ghostly spectre she had last glimpsed in the shadows of Buckingham Palace. She turned towards Monty.

“This is the author of the anonymous letter – the one that inspired
The Thief Who Wasn’t There
.” Monty’s eyes widened in surprise as she
spoke, staring at the boy in disbelief. “This is the Black Crow.”

For a second, the three of them stood there in silence. Faint peals of laughter from the ballroom and the birds chirruping in the trees were the only sounds that could be heard. Then, with a growl, Monty reached out to grab hold of the boy’s naval collar.

“You!” he spat, his face flushed with anger. “You are the reason that I languished in that blasted cell for days! The things that they said – that I was a traitor to my own country – when all the time it was your words that had put me in that place!”

Penny tugged at Monty’s sleeve to try and prise his hands free.

“Monty, please—”

The young sailor stood firm in the face of Monty’s rage.

“I am sorry if the letter I sent caused the finger of suspicion to fall on you, Mr Flinch. That was never my intention, but I could see no other way of warning you of the conspiracy that was afoot. I am Sea Cadet Alexander Amsel of the Imperial German Navy and the only traitor here is me.”

With an exasperated snarl, Monty released his grip on the boy’s collar, turning on his heel in the direction of the ballroom.

“And you will pay for your treachery,” he said. “When Balfour learns that I’ve caught the
Crown Jewels thief, the stain on my name will be removed at last, whilst you will have the chance to learn the meaning of British justice. If you are lucky, your youth might allow you to escape the gallows.”

“Monty, wait!” Penelope’s cry caused the actor to pause in his step. “We have to listen to what he has to say. Remember, it is not the theft of the Crown Jewels that has brought us here this evening, it is the fate of the King.”

As Monty stood glowering behind her, Penny turned back to face the young sailor. Straightening his collar, Amsel’s gaze flicked to her, the blaze of his blue eyes filled with some hidden torment.

“Thank you, Miss Tredwell,” he said, his English impeccable. “I can see from your actions that it is true what they say about the British sense of fair play.”

Penelope fixed him with a calculating look as if weighing the evidence in her mind.

“There’s something I don’t understand,” she said finally.“If you stole the Crown Jewels, then why send a letter to my uncle confessing your crime?”

“Shame,” Amsel replied, his head hung low. “I joined the Imperial Navy to serve my country, not sneak about like a thief in the night. My father served the first Kaiser and he taught me that the only glory that could be found in war was amidst the heat of battle when you faced an enemy who
was worthy of your hate.” He glanced up again to meet Penny’s gaze. “I thought Great Britain was that enemy.

“You must understand, Miss Tredwell,” he continued, “the poison that had been poured into my mind. Every day I had been told that the British were a parasite feasting on the riches of the globe. A country grown fat and complacent from the proceeds of Empire; a decadent nation now led by a fool of a king. Your ministers corrupt, your policemen incompetent – how could I trust my secrets to your authorities?”

In her mind, Penelope could see the pages of the British newspapers, their stories all feeding the same hatred of Germany. The young sailor turned towards Monty again, his blue eyes shining with a new passion.

“But when I read your stories, Mr Flinch, I saw for myself the lies I had been told. In the pages of
The Penny Dreadful
, I discovered a land filled with heroes: men of valour who dare to face the darkness that lurks beyond this mortal realm, and where scoundrels pay the price for their villainy. I have also heard tell of your own exploits, sir – how you solved the inexplicable Bedlam mystery, and even captured the phantom of the Theatre Royal.” Amsel’s gaze darkened again, a shadow passing across his face. “And I knew that only Montgomery Flinch would be able to save me from this nightmare that I found
myself trapped in.”

“But why write anonymously?” Penelope pressed him. “The only clue as to your identity is a sketch of a black crow?”

The young sailor’s gaze darted nervously in the direction of the embassy, the clink of glasses and the chatter of conversation carrying through the trees.

“I was afraid,” he replied simply. “If my letter had been intercepted and it was discovered that I was giving aid to the enemy, then my life would have been forfeit. I sketched the raven in the shadow of the Tower of London on the very night that we were all sent to steal the Crown Jewels. In German, my name
Amsel
means blackbird, so with this sketch I thought that the genius of Montgomery Flinch would be able to find me.” He glanced up at Monty again. “And I was right.”

Penelope frowned. She was growing weary now of how the fictional Flinch took the credit for her own endeavours.

“But why did you send only one letter?” She sighed in exasperation. “What did you possibly think that Montgomery Flinch could achieve with this?”

The German sea cadet furrowed his brow in reply.

“I thought that by exposing their plot in the pages of
The Penny Dreadful
I would put an end
to it at last, but if anything it has only accelerated their scheme. I tried to write more letters – to warn you that their plans proceeded apace, but since the revelations in the paper they have been watching us all like hawks. As I have faltered, their suspicions have grown and now I have been excluded from any further missions until my loyalty to the Fatherland can be proved.”

“I don’t understand,” Monty butted in. “You talk of plots and schemes and claim you stole the Crown Jewels from the Tower of London itself, but how on earth did you achieve such a feat?” He glared at Amsel’s sallow complexion with a doubtful eye. “You’re no galloping ghost, but flesh and blood just like Penelope and me.”

Turning away from the embassy, Amsel’s blue eyes gleamed in the gathering gloom.

“Let me show you,” he said.

XVIII

Penelope trailed her fingers along the blackboard, the dusty lines that she left marking her path as she followed Amsel along the corridor. In his hand, the young sailor gripped his new-fangled torch, its flickering light casting strange shadows across the equations that had been chalked there. As they crept quietly across the tiled floor, Penny could feel a distant tremor beneath her fingers, a low buzzing sound growing slowly louder as they neared the end of the corridor.

“What is that infernal noise?” Monty muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple. “It sounds as if they have a storeroom full of wasps down here.”

Penelope frowned. This was the same sound that she had heard throbbing through the brick walls of the Society only two nights before. Now, as the three of them skulked through the bowels of the building, she was about to uncover its source.

It had been easy enough to reach this point.
Sea Cadet Amsel’s uniform and bearing had brought no questions as he escorted Monty and Penelope through the German Embassy. Giving the glittering ballroom a wide berth, he had led them to the same side room that Penelope had discovered by chance. Opening the wardrobe, she had seen the clothes of the radiant boys still hanging on their rails, but Amsel just brushed these to one side as he ushered them into the wardrobe, ignoring Monty’s protests as he led them down into the darkness.

Now in answer to Monty’s muttered question, Amsel glanced back over his shoulder. “That is the sound of the generator,” he replied. “The spark that Professor Röntgen needs for his inhuman experiments.”

Shining his torch, he illuminated a door at the corridor’s end. Unlike the others that they had passed, this door was made from solid steel, the sign screwed into it written in a German script: