The Black Crow Conspiracy (7 page)

XI

The stucco-white façade of Carlton House Terrace shone with an opulent splendour in the late morning sunshine, the grand houses looking even more imposing than they had yesterday evening. Dressed in a serge-blue suit, her jacket and skirt cut in the latest continental style, Penelope climbed the steps to No. 8 Carlton House Terrace, the shade of the porch sheltering her from the full glare of the sun.

With her hair swept high atop her head, Penny looked much older than her fifteen years. The admiring glances she had drawn from passing gentlemen on her journey here had been a telling rebuke to Inspector Drake’s dismissal of her as a mere child. She glanced down at the nameplate fixed beside the door:
The Society for the Advancement of Science
. It was time to find out what discoveries she could make here.

She pressed the bell push, an answering ring sounding from within. Penelope waited, her
patience stretching as the seconds passed. She pressed the doorbell again, then, when no answer was forthcoming, she reached down to try the handle. With a gentle push, the door opened and, glancing back over her shoulder, Penny stepped inside.

She stifled a gasp as she took in her surroundings. The grandeur of the entrance hall was beyond even the expectations that had been raised by the building’s exterior. A three-flight black marble staircase swept up in front of Penelope, flanked by two grand torchères, whilst ornate chandeliers hung from the cream-and-gold corniced ceiling. The portraits of distinguished scientists filled the walls: Isaac Newton, Johannes Kepler, William Hershel and Charles Darwin, their erudite gazes eyeing her with interest. Penny stepped forward in awe, her heels clicking across the black-and-white tiled floor.

The sound of a cough stopped her in her tracks. Penelope turned to see the figure of an elderly man with a prodigious beard, his shock of white hair tipping forward as he peered at her over his spectacles, the lenses thicker than bottle tops.

“Ah bonjour, madame,” he exclaimed, seizing hold of Penelope’s hand in a dusty handshake. “The conference has already started, but Professor Röntgen will be delighted to discover that you have arrived here at last.”

Speechless with surprise, Penelope felt the
elderly scientist take hold of her arm.

“It’s this way, madame,” he said, gesturing past the staircase towards a long corridor. “Let me escort you to the lecture room before I return to my own studies.”

Without a chance to protest, Penelope was hurried along the corridor, passing on her left a bronzed bust of Copernicus. A sense of unease crept into her mind. It was almost as if she was expected. A tiny frisson of fear slithered down her spine as she remembered the sight of the black-clad figures taking flight from the basement of the Society last night. Surely she hadn’t been spotted?

Unaware of her concern, Penelope’s escort led her along the white-panelled corridor. Through the open doors they passed, Penny caught glimpses of laboratories filled with scientific equipment: monocular microscopes, vacuum pumps, spectroscopes and electrostatic generators. Noting her interest, the white-bearded scientist paused at one of the open doors.

“You must forgive me, madame. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Dr John Hughlings Jackson and this is my domain.” He gestured inside the laboratory to where a half-dissected cadaver was laid out on a table, the stench of formaldehyde creeping out into the corridor. With an inquisitive eye, Penny saw that the skin on the corpse’s head was peeled back, the top of
the skull sawn away to reveal the brain beneath. “The realm of flesh and blood is where my interest lies, not that invisible world that you and Professor Röntgen meddle in. What a magnificent creature man is,” Dr Jackson exclaimed, his little eyes blinking behind his spectacles. “And there is still so much for us to discover. Do you know that we have begun to create a map of the human brain?”

Penelope shook her head, trying to disguise her confusion. What could be the connection here with the mystery of the radiant boys? She listened intently as Dr Jackson explained his theory of how electrical discharges from the brain controlled a person’s movements.

“Ach, listen to me,” he said finally, pushing his spectacles back up his nose. “Here I am, boring you with my endeavours, when you have your own work to attend to.” The elderly scientist took hold of Penelope’s arm again, hurrying her through a set of double doors to a broad gallery. Ahead of them, a second set of double doors were closed and the muffled sound of a man’s voice could just be heard through them. “The conference is being held in the Cavendish Suite,” Dr Jackson said, stepping forward to silently open the left-hand door. Peering inside, he lowered his voice as he gestured for Penelope to enter. “Professor Röntgen is still making his opening remarks, madame. When he heard that
your train from Dover had been delayed, he was concerned that you would miss his opening address but do not fear, a place has been set for you at the table.”

Through the open door, Penelope could see a long dark walnut table, a dozen chairs set on either side. The faces of their occupants were all turned towards the figure holding forth at the head of the table. There stood a tall, loose-limbed man dressed in a dark-blue sack suit, his hands gesticulating like an animated gust of wind. He must have been approaching his sixtieth year, but his black hair stood straight up from his forehead as if electrified by his own enthusiasm, whilst his beard was even more prodigious than Dr Jackson’s, although its hue was of a somewhat darker shade. This was Professor Röntgen. As the Wedgwood-blue carpet swallowed the sound of her heels, Penny slipped into the empty seat at the table, Dr Jackson softly closing the door behind her.

“So I would like to thank you, gentlemen, for attending this inaugural conference of the Society for the Advancement of Science.” Professor Röntgen’s deep voice was marked with a Germanic accent. “Around this table here today we have some of the finest minds in physics – from Great Britain, France, New Zealand and my own native Germany to name but a few.”

Unnoticed by the others, Penelope’s heart
began to race. She wasn’t meant to be here, that much was clear. On the table in front of her a place card had been set and, reaching forward, she turned this towards her so that she could read the name.

The name snagged in Penelope’s mind, somehow familiar to her from the scientific journals that she read when searching for inspiration for Montgomery Flinch’s latest tale. She recalled an article she had read about the researches of this remarkable scientist, Polish-born but now living in France with her husband, Pierre, and how they had discovered a strange new phenomenon called radioactivity. At the time, Penelope had been heartened to see a woman making her mark in the scientific community, taking inspiration for her own ambition, but now she realised that she could be its beneficiary as well. This was who Dr Jackson had mistaken her for – Madame Marie Curie.

Penny glanced up at the gentlemen arranged around the table, all moustaches, beards and spectacles. Could she dare to hope that they would all make the same mistake?

“I have a proposal for you all,” Professor Röntgen continued, his penetrating gaze darting round the table. “That we should set aside all
thoughts of national interest, and instead work together for the advancement of science.”

He reached down towards the apparatus set out at the head of the table: the glass bulb of a vacuum tube mounted on a stand, and two copper wires connecting this to a large induction coil. With a flick of a switch, the device crackled into life, blue sparks shimmering across the tightly wound copper coils as the vacuum tube began to glow with a yellow-green light. Penelope watched spellbound, the eerie glow instantly reminding her of the luminescent features of the radiant boys who she had seen leaving this very place last night. Professor Röntgen passed his hand between the vacuum tube and the buzzing electrical coil, the yellowish-green light playing across the surface of his skin.

“Six years ago, when I discovered the existence of X-rays,” he said, “I did not realise the remarkable advances that this extraordinary phenomena would bring. These invisible rays with the power to peel back the layers of reality; stripping flesh from bone to reveal shadow pictures of what lies beneath our very skin. How they could penetrate most forms of solid matter, seemingly without harm, the thickness of the material no bar to their great power.” His gleaming eyes reflected the iridescent glow of the vacuum tube, slowly fading to grey as he switched the electrical current off. “Since then the further
discoveries we have all made have thrown a new light on this invisible world: electromagnetic radiation, the identification of the electron, and discovering the particles of which atoms are made. The last century was an age of steam, but working together at the dawn of this new century, we can lead the way into a new atomic age.”

Professor Röntgen’s audience greeted his remarks with an appreciative murmur.

“There are more discoveries to be made,” he told them, his eyes still shining with a missionary zeal. “I am certain of this. These rays are a phenomenon of the ether, and perhaps soon we will be able to harness their power to transcend the physical laws that bind us.”

From Penelope’s side of the table, a man with a drooping moustache and receding hairline raised his voice in protest.

“Surely the laws of nature are fixed?” he scoffed. “These invisible rays of yours are all very well, Röntgen, but even they have to obey the fundamental rules of the universe.”

Professor Röntgen stared back at the man, a mischievous smile playing around his lips.

“Perhaps, Professor Rutherford, perhaps, but don’t your own experiments suggest that even the atom can be broken through the application of radiation? I read your paper on
The Theory of Atomic Disintegration
with interest, but a few years ago this suggestion would have been seen
as heresy by most scientists.”

As Professor Rutherford blustered in reply, Röntgen’s gaze fell on Penelope. He paused for a moment, his smile broadening as he took in the presence of her feminine charms.

“I am delighted to say, gentlemen, that another distinguished mind has joined us here today,” he announced. “Unfortunately her husband could not make the journey from France, but Madame Curie should be able to share with us some of the momentous discoveries that they have made.”

XII

Around the table every gaze turned towards Penelope, the men’s eyebrows raised at the sight of the exotic bloom of her serge-blue suit amidst their sea of grey. With a nervous smile, she greeted their attention, silently praying she could get away with this masquerade.

“I must say, Madame Curie,” Röntgen continued, a puzzled frown slowly spreading across his forehead as he peered more closely at Penelope. “The smudged portrait that accompanied your paper in the recent
Quarterly Journal of Microscopical Science
did not do justice to your charms.”

A murmur of agreement rippled around the table, the scientists gathered there more accustomed to the company of test tubes and electrometers than a young woman of some considerable beauty.

“And may I ask you, madame, what you think of this challenge I have set? Do you agree that
with the application of science we will be able to find a way to overcome the limits of the physical realm?”

Penelope blinked, her heart racing beneath her jacket as the room awaited her reply. With a timorous cough, she tried to compose herself.

“It is an admirable aim,” she replied, disguising her English accent with a tremulous continental quaver. “But one thing that you said intrigued me, Professor Röntgen, and I wondered if I could press you on it.”

“Of course,” Röntgen replied magnanimously. “That is the purpose of this conference – to bring new insights to the discoveries we have made.”

Penelope tried to shape the myriad questions spiralling around her mind. She couldn’t shake the image of the curious yellow-green glow that had clung to the vacuum tube; this strange luminescence emanating from the faces of the radiant boys.

“When you say that we might one day control the powers of these invisible rays, what exactly do you think might be possible? Could we perhaps harness their penetrative power to enable a man to walk through walls?”

A ripple of amusement greeted her remarks, the assembled scientists sniggering into their moustaches at the ridiculous nature of the question. But Professor Röntgen stood there stony-faced, his expression frozen as a look
of alarm flashed in his eyes. Then, suddenly realising that every gaze in the room had turned back to him to await his reply, the professor regained his composure.

“Anything is possible, madame,” he said, his quick and penetrating eyes peering more closely at Penelope. “Your own remarkable discoveries have surely shown you this. But such a feat, for the moment, lies beyond our grasp. A parlour trick for the stage magician, perhaps, rather than the pursuit of any serious scientist.”

“Hear! Hear!” The others murmured their approval, relieved to see this impertinent woman put in her place.

The chime of a gong echoed outside the lecture room and, glancing at his watch, Röntgen gestured towards the doors behind him.

“Lunch will be served in the dining room, gentlemen,” he announced as these double doors swung open to reveal a second large room. This space was filled with another long table, almost a mirror of the first, but this time covered with a great expanse of tablecloth upon which was set a veritable feast. Professor Röntgen paused to correct himself. “Gentlemen and lady, I should say. We shall have the opportunity to recommence our discussion after our repast.”

The scientists eagerly rose from their chairs, the fragrance of roast beef and the steam of soup beckoning them towards the dining room.
Professor Röntgen, though, remained where he was standing, watching Penelope with a hard-eyed stare. From the glower on his face, Penny could tell that her question had been an unwelcome one. As she followed the rest of the bewhiskered scientists out of the lecture room, the professor was waiting for her by the door.

“I am delighted that you could join us here today, Madame Curie,” he began, his manner superficially solicitous as he peered intently at Penelope, taking in her unlined countenance and the youthful style of her attire. “And I must admit I was rather intrigued by your question just now. The mysteries of the atomic world are yet to be fully revealed, but the power that we could harness might well be beyond compare. Perhaps over lunch we could discuss your own experiments and the discoveries that you have made. It may be the case that we are working at a common purpose.”

Penelope could see a gleam of suspicion in the scientist’s eyes, the hardness of his gaze belying the warmth of his words.

“Of course, I would be delighted to,” she replied, her continental accent faltering as she frantically tried to think of a way to escape such a fate. She couldn’t keep up this façade for much longer. Penelope’s command of French was rudimentary at best whilst her Polish was non-existent – if Professor Röntgen began to quiz her
about her scientific experimentation she would be discovered at once. Besides, if the train from Dover had only been delayed, then Madame Curie herself might arrive at any moment. In desperation, Penny resorted to euphemism. “But first I must attend to my
toilette.
Could you pray tell me where I could wash my hands before lunch?”

Professor Röntgen blushed, Penelope’s question momentarily throwing him off his guard.

“Of course, of course,” he harrumphed, tugging at his beard with a flustered gesture. “The
waschraum
is just along the corridor on the right.” He gestured towards a narrow passageway that lay between the two rooms, branching off to the left and to the right. “I will save you a seat next to me at the dining table and I look forward to continuing our discussion then.”

With a nod of gratitude, Penny turned right down the corridor, her heels clicking on the polished tiles. As she walked, she could feel Röntgen’s eyes on her back, his suspicious gaze trying to penetrate her disguise like one of his X-rays.

Reaching the door he had indicated, Penelope pushed it open and stepped inside. Beneath a miniature chandelier, a marble sink was set in front of a mirror and along from this, behind a half-open door, she could glimpse the water closet. Penny rested her hands on the marble,
staring into the mirror to gather her thoughts.

Professor Röntgen knew something of these radiant boys, she was sure of it. The strange green glow that had played across his skin as he passed his hand across the scientific apparatus had been an eerie reflection of their complexion. He had spoken of how his discovery had peeled back the layers of reality – of invisible rays that could pass through solid matter without the slightest of harm, and how one day he would harness their power to bend the very laws of nature to his will. And when she had asked if he thought this might allow a living man to walk through walls, Röntgen’s agitated reaction told her that she was on the trail of the truth.

Her mind returned to the anonymous letter with its illustration of a black crow. Its author had mentioned experiments. Had Professor Röntgen conducted these? If she could find his laboratory, then perhaps she would find the answers she was searching for.

From the corridor outside, she heard a commotion: the shrill tone of a woman’s voice raised in protest, the accent distinctly continental. Peering around the edge of the washroom door, Penelope saw Professor Röntgen in agitated conversation with Dr Jackson, the elderly scientist who had first escorted her to the lecture room. Standing in front of the two men was a woman dressed in a high-collared black dress and
coat, her stern features arranged into an expression of outrage.

“I have never been so insulted in my life!” the woman exclaimed with a stamp of her foot. “How dare you say that I am not Madame Marie Curie!”

The scientist’s gestures were animated, the frown lining Röntgen’s brow deepening as he listened to her protests. Penny couldn’t catch every word but the message was clear. The arrival of the real Madame Curie had put an untimely end to her deception.

Slipping out of the cloakroom, Penelope trod lightly as she tiptoed down the corridor, almost holding her breath until she turned the corner. Thinking fast, she tried to work out her next move. A gentlemanly sense of decorum might give her a few minutes until Röntgen and Jackson discovered her disappearance from the lavatory. From the white-panelled walls, portraits of famous scientists watched her as she crept forward, their inquisitive stares reflecting her own as she peered into the mysterious rooms that lined the corridor. She could see storage cabinets filled with scientific equipment, blackboards covered in equations, jars of chemicals and Tesla coils, even cadavers preserved in various states of dissection, but nothing that seemed to reveal the secrets of the radiant boys.

At the end of the corridor stood a stairwell and
Penelope’s gaze followed this down. Last night she had watched a flock of ghostly figures emerge from the depths of this building. This was her chance to find out exactly where they had come from.

As she hurried down the narrow flight of stairs, Penny’s mind ran over what she had seen. The figures she had watched step out from the tradesmen’s entrance had been living men, she was sure of this. She recalled the fear that haunted the gaze of the boy she had followed through St James’s Park, the scarf falling from his features to reveal a glowing green countenance. What manner of experiment could create such a face?

Reaching the bottom of the stairwell, Penelope stared into the gloom. She could see a wide hall, seemingly running the length of the building, with blackboards fixed to the walls. Penny glanced at the nearest of these, trying to decipher the chalked symbols, numbers and equations, far beyond her own understanding. How could she even tell if this held the answers she was searching for? The sound of raised voices from the floor above caused Penny to glance upwards in alarm.

“But if this is the real Madame Curie, then who on earth was that other woman?” She instantly recognised Professor Röntgen’s clipped tones. “Our work here is of the utmost importance for the future of mankind; we cannot just let any
passing waifs and strays wander in from the street.”

In reply, the stuttering sound of Dr Jackson’s voice echoed down the stairwell.

“I am sorry, my dear professor. I had not before seen a portrait of Madame Curie, and when the first young woman arrived at the very time when the delegates were expected, I could not imagine who else it would be.”

At the sound of their footsteps descending the stairs Penelope sprang into action. She hurried forward, wincing at every sound that her footsteps made on the patterned tiles. She tried the first door on her right, but then groaned in frustration as she found it was locked. It was the same with the next one and the next again, the solid oak doors denying her a hiding place. From the stairwell, Professor Röntgen’s grumbling reply grew louder still. In another moment she would be discovered.

Turning in desperation, Penny spotted a grubby-looking door with a sign reading “STOREROOM”. Lunging for the handle, the door opened at a push and she quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind her. Breathing heavily she stood there in the gloom, listening as Röntgen and Jackson reached the bottom of the stairs.

“I want every room down here secured,” the professor snapped, his shoes squeaking across
the tiled floor. “My experimental equipment is of incalculable value; I cannot risk it falling into the hands of some sneak thief.”

“I hardly think the young lady looked like a thief,” Dr Jackson replied in a mollifying tone.

“Appearances can be deceptive. Surely you have learned that by now.”

An answering jangle of keys gave Professor Röntgen the reply he was looking for.

With her back pressed against the door, Penny glanced round her surroundings for the first time. Rather than a storeroom filled with scientific equipment, she found herself standing in a narrow passageway, its surface gently sloping upwards into the darkness. The only source of light was that seeping through the doorframe, the keyhole illuminating a scratched picture etched into the wood-panelled wall. Penelope gasped. It was the outline of a bird – a black crow, in fact – poised as if it was about to take flight.

She cringed as the sound of footsteps drew near. She couldn’t let herself be discovered here, not now she had found this first clue. Penny reached out with her hand, feeling the scratches beneath her fingers: the curve of the crow’s beak and the ruffled plumage of its feathers. The real Black Crow, whose anonymous letter had inspired the story of
The Thief Who Wasn’t There
, must have stood in this very spot. Keeping her hand against the wood-panelled wall, Penelope crept forward
into the darkness. She had to find out where this passageway led.

From behind her, she heard the rattle of the door handle. Penny froze, waiting for the moment of discovery. Then, with a scraping sound, she heard the turn of a key in the lock, followed by muffled footsteps walking away. She let out a silent sigh of relief. For the moment, she was safe.

Penelope shuffled forward, picking her steps carefully in the darkness. The air around her was cool and crisp and goose pimples pricked at her skin. Penny shivered, thoughts of the black-coated figures she had seen last night crowding her thoughts. She peered into the gloom. She could only hope that she would not meet them here unawares.