The Revenge of Moriarty (7 page)

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That is, Belgravia, the fashionable residential area of London, south of Knightsbridge. Also known as Asia Minor, the New Jerusalem.

LONDON:

Wednesday, 30 September
–
Thursday 29 October 1896

(A desirable residence)

North Kensington was pitted with small redoubts of poverty. Dirty, stinking, and overcrowded pockets of misery tucked away behind the affluent building developments which had been growing and spreading in ordered rows during the last half-century. In the past four decades many grand squares and crescents had blossomed along the High Road leading from Notting Hill to Shepherds Bush, changing the character of whole areas.

The most impressive of these was the Ladbroke Estate – ‘leafy Ladbroke' as they called it – secure and self-satisfied with its focal point of St John's Church, its paired villas with wide frontages, rich façades and large gardens. The natural influence of this building style was logically carried eastwards to make up that network of desirable residences around Holland Park and Notting Hill – places with addresses like Chepstow Villas or Pembridge Square. It was to a cul-de-sac in the midst of this rash of respectability – Albert Square
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– that a pair of growlers brought Moriarty and his party on the hot early evening of Wednesday, 30 September 1896.

They had come down from Liverpool by rail, and Moriarty's mind buzzed with associations and memories as the cab took him across London. It had been a hot day and familiar smells pervaded the interior of the vehicle with a sharp pungency heightening the Professor's nostalgic appetite. The streets were just as crowded as he remembered them, even more so now with the addition of the occasional self-acting vehicle. In the main thoroughfares the poor openly nudged shoulders with their betters, the shops still taunted the less fortunate, bulging with goods, and one could really believe that here the pulse of the Empire throbbed audibly. Moriarty also believed he could still detect the beating of his empire's pulse: not yet dead.

Hot and tired, but with a sense of great well-being, Moriarty looked out, for the first time, on his new home: 5 Albert Square, one of ten paired villas set geometrically around a small railed-in plot of grass and trees, dusty with summer, the pavement studded at regular intervals with ash saplings. A desirable neighbourhood. A small world, self-contained and smug in its calm dignity, run on the aching backs of parlourmaids and the cool subservience of cooks, butlers and nannies; as far removed from Moriarty's real world as Windsor Castle was from the sweatshops, thieves' kitchens and gin palaces.

In many ways the houses of Albert Square were pretentious. Not as large as those of the Ladbroke Estate, they still boasted wider frontages than most London homes, though the porticoed entrances and rising five storeys had an overdressed look.

‘The town house of the Duke of Seven Dials, eh?'
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Moriarty clucked.

Barely a mile away there were courts with one pump to a dozen hovels and not a tree in sight. But the nice folk of Albert Square would not like being reminded of that other world.

A hidden watcher on that evening would have seen the growlers draw up and notice that there were two women in the party: one tall with copper-gold hair neatly piled under a large summer hat, the other shorter, but dressed just as fashionably. Both women left the cabs without hesitation, going quickly up the steps and in under the portico. Outside, two men stood on the pavement looking up, casting experienced eyes over the façade, exchanging a word or two, smiling and nodding. One dressed in black, hat in hand. A good head of hair swept back. The American professor coming to Number Five (‘I hear he is a brilliant man, but something of a recluse. Travelling in Europe and doing some important new studies in London. Is he medical perhaps?'). The other was taller, rugged, sunburned face with a livid scar. A bit of a rough diamond. Travelling companion? Or maybe a clinical assistant?

All this time two other figures, burly lads, were helping the cabbies to unload the luggage and carry it down the area steps where a smaller man waited in shirtsleeves. Among the baggage a large Saratoga trunk, a Japanned box and a big leather trunk which was treated with great care, as though it contained the crown jewels – as, in some ways, it did.

The hall was cool with the scrag end of the day's sunlight reflecting off the stained-glass door panels, red and blue quivering specks against the wall. Lee Chow stood smiling to welcome the party, bowing and grinning his constant smile at the Professor. The women, who knew their place, had disappeared into the bowels of the house.

‘Your study all arrange over here,' the Chinaman's hand outstretched towards the door on the right of the staircase. Against the other wall, a small table upon which stood a bowl of flowers, the fresh remnants of summer interspersed with the first brown leaves of autumn. Lee Chow, the Professor thought to himself, never ceased to amaze. The Chinese boy would kill without conscience or scruple; would sleep sound as a babe after putting a human soul through unbearable torture, yet he cooked meals as well as any woman and was particularly good at things like arranging flowers.

So Professor James Moriarty passed through the door into his new study, the room from which he would plan and direct the matters in hand – the downfall of four continental villains and two guardians of the law.

It was an oblong room, high ceilinged with two large windows looking out onto the square. Above the fireplace, which was set in the wall facing the door, an ornate overmantle towered upwards, throwing back reflections from its seven or eight mirrors inlaid among the shelves and twists and flutes of wood. On either side of this, tall bookcases reached to the picture rail: rows of books, grave, leather-spined, silent erudition. Under foot an Axminster of dark brown and beige. Other furnishings included four easy chairs with arms, covered in buttoned brown leather, while the centre-piece was a massive mahogany writing desk and matching chair, also with arms. On the wall behind the desk hung a solitary painting – a young woman, coy, head on hands: the work of Jean Baptiste Greuze. It was Moriarty's favourite possession.

He stood looking at the painting for a full three minutes, eyes bright, mouth firm – a hint of ecstasy, for he had not seen the work since Ember spirited it away to safe hiding before the flight from the Limehouse headquarters in '94.

Sally Hodges came in with the Professor's stationery box, and together, with Spear in attendance, they spent an hour looking around the house – dining-room, the kitchens down in the basement (Bridget Spear already making lists and sending William Jacobs off on errands, for she would be ruler of this roost as the Professor's housekeeper); the drawing-room on the first floor; the nine bedrooms; the two bathrooms; the dressing-rooms and usual offices. Downstairs again to the conservatory and morning room. Then back to the study.

‘It will do very well,' Moriarty told Spear. ‘We'll be snug as bugs.' He hesitated as the laughter of children floated in from the square. ‘Snug as bugs, as long as there's not too much disturbance from the neighbours and their brats.'

He asked that Bridget should be brought to him and arranged for everyone to meet in his study at eight o'clock.

‘We can dine late for a change.'

Half an hour was spent with Bridget, hearing her report on the kitchen facilities and what help she would need in order to run the household. Then an hour with Sal Hodges, unpacking personal clothing and other necessary items. The big leather trunk had by this time been brought up to the master bedroom and remained untouched in the middle of the floor.

‘You want me to be here tonight?' asked Sally.

‘Unless your business cannot do without you.'

He was preoccupied with finding the right shelves and cupboards for the disguise materials.

‘As long as I can see to things tomorrow.'

‘Tomorrow we'll all be out and at it early. Some of us will be in the streets tonight,' turning and smiling at her, the head quivering slightly in that strange reptilian motion. ‘But not us, Sal, Not us.'

At eight o'clock the curtains were drawn, the gas mantles lit, the lamps trimmed, and good sherry poured for the council that was now called to order in the study.

Using few words, Moriarty praised the Jacobs brothers for the choice of the house, then immediately started in on the business.

‘You know what I wish concerning the punishers,' he reminded Spear. ‘Get on with it as soon as it is convenient. For the time being they are not to come here during the hours of daylight. I will speak with them tomorrow night at ten. In all matters, remember that too much haste and flurry causes people to turn their heads and look closely. Too much commotion, sudden change, always gathers onlookers. So we move gently but not at a snail's pace. We have not all the time in the world. Nobody has.'

‘They'll be here.' Spear did not need to elaborate.

Ember was the next to be addressed.

‘I want no direct mention of me, you understand?' Moriarty cautioned after giving his orders regarding the re-enlistment of the lurkers. ‘Yours is possibly the most important commission, for we cannot work without eyes or ears. There will be work for them directly and I want quality rather than quantity. They will be answerable to you, Ember, and you alone. As always you will be answerable to me.'

‘They'll be on the streets within four and twenty hours.' Ember sniffed, an unpleasant little man – a rodent, but one whom Moriarty trusted.

‘Lee Chow?'

The silent Chinese raised his head, the large eyes responding, like those of a trained dog to his master's call.

‘Before we left, there was a chemist who was helpful. A chemist in Orchard Street.'

A slow grin opened Lee Chow's mouth. Gold teeth showing in the small cavern.

‘The one who is good frien' to Mr Sherlock Holmes, Po'fessor?'

‘The very one. The dealer in dreams. One of your special people, Lee Chow.' The Chinese had always been Moriarty's commander in that twilight world of medicines, smoke and potions so necessary to London's hundreds of dope fiends. ‘You recall him?'

‘Charles Bignall,' Lee Chow enunciated carefully so that the name came out as three words.

Moriarty gave a soft chuckle. ‘Cocaine Charlie.'

‘That what you alway' call him.'

‘Like the rest of our good people in that field, he no doubt imagines that he works for others now. Or even for himself. Discourage him from those ideas, my dear Chow. A little money or a trifle of pain. Either will suffice. I must know if he is still assisting the clever Mr Holmes. Whatever the situation we wish to retain his services. Exclusively. You understand?'

‘I understan'. I look aroun' other people also?'

‘Softly, softly.'

‘Catchee monkey. Yes. I arrange all. Mr Bignall first.'

‘Do that. I need Bignall for my scheme against Holmes, just as I need punishers and lurkers for other plots.'

A dog barked somewhere in the world beyond Albert Square. Moriarty's head flicked to and fro dangerously.

‘Now, all of you. We need intelligence regarding Crow. The Black Inspector Angus McCready Crow.'

‘He's not yet returned from America.' Ember's smile was crooked and self-congratulatory.

‘I dare say.' The Professor did not smile. ‘I require more than that, though. I need to know when he is expected to return; how his marriage is progressing; details of his household; relations with his superiors and those placed under him.' He ticked the items off on his fingers. ‘His past also concerns me. His record as a policeman and his career as a man – if you take my point.'

Sal Hodges gave a high short laugh, like a sudden flash of light on the surface of brooding water.

‘I have yet,' the Professor continued, ‘to meet with the man who has nothing in his past that he thinks worth hiding. Human frailty is the most deadly weapon we have at our disposal. It is worth a hundred men, two hundred barkers. Its price is the same as that of a virtuous woman – far above rubies.'

‘I know a Ruby,' muttered William Jacobs. ‘She's a whore down the Chapel and
her
price is low enough.'

Moriarty froze him with a look.

‘Find me Crow's frailty.'

William Jacobs looked down at his feet and there was a quick exchange of looks between the two women. Silence but for the hiss of the gas mantles.

Sal cleared her throat. ‘I think you will find that we already have eyes on Crow,' she smiled at Moriarty, her eyes almost challenging.

‘Good. Speak with me later. Now, regarding our erstwhile German friend, Wilhelm Schleifstein.' The Professor spat out the name as though it was bitter to his mouth. ‘I understand he is looking for a pretty crib to crack. Well, I have always tried to be helpful to my brothers in law. I wish to find him something that will be a challenge. A daring screw that will bring him good rewards. Avarice is our second most deadly weapon. Trap a man with his own avarice and he is yours for life. And, bear in mind, Ember, when your lurkers are set, I need to know where Schleifstein is hiding.'

Ember gave the nod, and Moriarty turned swiftly to other matters. First to Sal Hodges who was entrusted with bringing in two good girls to help Bridget Spear with the house.

‘None of your soiled doves or plucked pullets, mind, Sal. I want girls with no past and little future. Ripe for moulding.'

‘You'll have slaves tomorrow,' Sal replied. She was well used to filling situations with the right women.

‘Tomorrow indeed,' Moriarty nodded. ‘And tomorrow, Bertram, I shall require you close to me, for working the fences. William, you can lend your hands to Spear and Ember, whichever has most need of you. But before tonight is done, there is one more name I wish to drop among you. The name of Irene Adler. You may have heard of her: a lady of American origin about whom I made certain enquiries in New York. She is, apparently, in Europe and may well be travelling under her married name of Norton – though the marriage did not last long. She is now some eight and thirty years old. At one time an operatic contralto. But she has other talents. Blackmail a speciality. This is a task of the utmost importance and it is for you all. Bear Irene Adler in mind.'
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