Anatomy of Evil (30 page)

“I feel partially responsible for this, Henry. You see, I took over Littlechild’s duties with the royal family. He must have felt he had to do something to put himself back in their good graces, such as closing down the establishment that corrupted the royal heir.”

“‘Corrupted’ him,” Inslip said. “I’m sure we didn’t show him anything here he wasn’t already familiar with.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Oh, you know me, Cyrus. I’m almost used to this sort of thing by now. We may move but we won’t go away. Gives me a chance to redecorate. The West Side next time, I think. Chelsea or Fitzrovia. Someplace posh. I’ll miss Jack, you know. He’s made the district interesting, but it’s probably for the best if we keep our heads down for a little while.”

“Mr. Barker and I are sorry we could not have been on hand when your property was damaged,” I said.

“So, your lad does have a voice,” the Duchess said. “Thank you, Mr. Llewelyn. We’re like cats, you know. We always land on our feet. More of Daddy’s fortune will be spent, but he doesn’t mind. Oh, he’ll grouse, of course, but he has long since given up the notion that I can change my spots.”

Just then a table gave way under the weight of a lamp and they fell to the ground with a clatter. We all stared at it, including the cat, which Inslip was stroking.

“I’m being a bad host,” he went on. “They confiscated all the good cigars and the whisky, but I don’t believe they found the wine cellar. I could have Pigeon bring up some champagne.”

“None for us, thank you. Don’t open a bottle on our account.”

Our host pulled the cat up into his lap and held it. I speculated that he was completely overwrought, frightened and angry, but was doing his best to appear composed. Everything he had built had been destroyed.

“What have you been charged with?” Barker asked.

“Running a bawdy house, but they cannot possibly prove it. You see, this is really just a club. I rented rooms a few streets away for accommodations, shall we say? The Yard doesn’t know about them yet. The first thing I did when I got back was to cancel the lease. There is nothing to connect me with it on paper.”

“Clever, I’ll grant you that.”

“It is trial and error here. I am responsible for my people.”

“So, what services did the Drake Club offer?” I asked.

“We had a grill, dining room, and smoking lounge. We offered drinks and had a game room for billiards and whist. Another room had a small stage for performances—
tableaux vivants
and the like, often bawdy, but then this was a private club. The real purpose, however, was to show men that there were others like them here in London. We introduced them one to another, encouraged them to mingle. It was not my intent to run a bawdy house.”

“You will build again, I am sure,” Barker murmured.

“I will. I intend to. For tonight, however, I shall mourn the Drake Club, and plot deviltries against Inspector Littlechild. He will regret what he did here tonight for the rest of his life.”

Barker reached forward and scratched the cat’s forehead. It stretched its neck out for the attention.

“We shall take our leave, then.”

“If you see Philippa soon, give her my love.”

We made our way gingerly down the staircase, and the butler saw us out.

“That’s the second time he mentioned Mrs. Ashleigh,” I said to the Guv. “How does he know her?”

“He is her cousin. His father, the Earl of Sanditon, is in the House of Lords, and on the Board of Commission for Scotland Yard. I suppose we should probably call the Countess ‘His Lordship,’ but he eschews such titles.”

“My word,” I said. “Did Littlechild know he was assaulting a peer?”

“Probably not. He was trying to improve his relationship with the royal family by destroying a temptation to the Duke of Clarence.”

We wandered through the streets deep in thought.

“The way he spoke, he acted as if men who are only interested in other men are like an ethnic minority, like the Jews or Chinese.”

He did not respond. We walked along, me with my hands in my pockets, which Barker doesn’t like, and he with his clasped behind him. I shook my head.

“You have a problem?”

“I do. I know such things exist, in boarding schools and such, but I was not aware it was on such a scale. Are the men who visited the Drake Club married or bachelors?”

“Both, I assume.”

“So they are hiding their private interests?”

“Of course. They are illegal and condemned by the church. But as Henry said, one cannot change one’s spots. They did not visit the Drake Club out of some need for excitement, as one goes on a night of gambling and carousing. They go to meet others of their kind and feel as if they are not alone.”

“That must be wretched for them,” I said.

“It is,” Barker admitted. “For some time, I searched the scriptures for such passages as might apply. In the end, I decided it wasn’t my place to tell another human being how to live his life.”

“I see.”

“Within reason, of course. Do take your hands out of your pockets, Mr. Llewelyn.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The following morning, the seventeenth of October, we were to return to the palace. So far we had twice been unable to see or speak to Mr. James K. Stephen, and my employer felt he could neither confirm nor deny a connection to the so-called Ripper without a conversation with him. Sir Henry Ponsonby was able to get us an appointment during one of their tutorials.

“Didn’t Sir Henry say the duke was twenty-four?” I asked as our cab neared Buckingham Palace. “That’s an advanced age to require a tutor.”

“I gather His Highness is a lackadaisical student, and I’m certain there must be a great deal of preparation if he is to eventually become king.”

“I wonder that they don’t sack the fellow, Stephen. Men have been sacked for less. Do you suppose the duke has any say in the matter?”

“Let us withhold judgment on that score until we’ve spoken to Stephen, shall we?”

I don’t know what I was expecting when James Stephen entered the room, but the man himself was a surprise. He was tall, broad shouldered, handsome in a square-jawed, athletic way. He had a head of blond curls a matinee idol would envy, and brown skin from lying in the sun. His eyes were blue, and when he spoke it was in an Old Etonian drawl.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“Mr. Stephen, we are working for Scotland Yard on the Whitechapel case.”

Stephen sat down on a divan as if the palace belonged to him. “I assume you want to know where I was on the night of the last murders,” he said.

“No, sir. We know very well where you were that evening. You were at the Drake Club.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was here that evening.”

“I could provide the name of the man, or rather the boy, with whom you spent the evening.”

“That’s a damnable lie, and slanderous, Mr.—”

“Barker,” the Guv said. “Cyrus Barker.”

“I shall remember that, Mr. Barker. My father is a chief justice.”

My employer smiled tolerantly. “I know that, Mr. Stephen. In fact, there is very little about you that I do not know. For example, I know you prefer a cocktail made from champagne and stout, and you have cigarettes made for you especially from Astley’s.”

“Obviously, you’ve been talking to the staff at the Drake,” Stephen said. “What exactly is it that you want?”

“Let me see if I understand this correctly, sir. You were hired as the Duke of Clarence’s tutor, based upon your excellent student record. Since then, you and His Highness have become … close.”

“Be careful,” the tutor warned.

“I shall. The royal family has not been told of your friendship, because if they had, you would be sacked. They would forbid you from ever seeing the heir again. However, were that the case, you might reveal to the press not only your relationship, but also the fact that many on the staff here at Buckingham Palace share the same tastes you do. It would cause a major scandal. Therefore, Sir Henry is on the horns of a dilemma.”

“Look, Barker, what do you want? I must get back to my lesson.”

“Discretion, Mr. Stephen. I want discretion. You know the Drake has an unsavory reputation, yet you took His Highness there more than once. The press might not write about it yet, but they have eyes and ears and they stay up late if there is a story to write about.”

Stephen looked down and I saw a resigned smile on his lips. He shook his head.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “I did take Eddy to the Drake once, to show him what it was like. Unfortunately, he liked it. I’m not responsible for every decision he makes. He does as he pleases. My control over him is limited.”

“I understand His Highness is all but engaged to be married,” I spoke up. “How does he feel about that?”

“We’ve talked about it extensively. While he has no interest in Princess Alix, he understands his duties as the heir to the British throne. He is willing to go through with them provided the princess agrees to give him certain liberties and separate rooms. I think she will. She appears to be a docile little thing. Goodness knows Eddy won’t be the first English monarch with an interest in men.”

“Sir Henry might have other ideas about the matter.”

“Poor Ponsy. I’m afraid we’ve given him a hard time of it. I wouldn’t envy him having to tell Prince Albert, who has bagged more ing
é
nues than a Sandringham hunting party, that his son, the product of his loins, is a poof.”

“You really cannot control him?” Barker asked.

“I’m trying. You must understand. When a young man has certain feelings and believes he is the only one in the world to have them, and then he discovers there are others like him, he wants, he needs to speak with them, to share company with them, and learn from them. He wants to have the freedom to be himself.”

“Does he want to be the royal heir?”

“Not especially. I think Eddy loves his grandmother, but after she passes on and his father, a known womanizer, is on the throne, perhaps morals will ease and he might step down from his duties.”

“You said he was willing to undertake his duties,” Barker said.

“Yes, I did. And he is, but you cannot blame him for hoping it might not come to that. He’s confused right now. Who wouldn’t be in his situation? But I know Eddy better than anyone in the world. He’ll do the right thing.”

Barker sat farther back in the seat, but not all the way. We were in Buckingham Palace, after all.

“Have you and the duke been traveling around Whitechapel?”

“Oh, rather, yes. He’s needed to get out of the palace.”

“So, you’ve been to the Drake. Where else?”

“There are one or two other establishments, not as nice as the Drake. Public houses where gentlemen alone are welcome. We’ve been to a few music halls that are daring. And, of course, we’ve just driven around. His Highness is very interested in the Ripper case. We’ve been to all the spots where the women were found.”

“In what sort of vehicle have you been traveling?”

“A closed coach.”

“What of the royal seal on the sides?”

“Don’t take us for total fools, Barker. We covered them.”

“And what did you wear on these excursions?”

“Evening kit, of course. Capes and top hats. We are gentlemen.”

Now it was Barker’s turn to shake his head. I began to speculate myself. If the people of Whitechapel saw a strange coach with all its emblems covered, and a flamboyantly dressed gentleman in the same areas as Jack the Ripper, it would be a small matter for them to believe them one and the same. The Ripper was like a hermit crab, gluing bits of legend to his shell. Suddenly, the killer is an aristocrat, who does his killing in a coach and wears a cape and topper. Jack is a toff.

I was thinking of my next question when a door opened and a young man strolled in.

“James, I finished my essay … Oh.”

Barker and I rose automatically. It was the correct thing to do in the presence of the Duke of Clarence. He was in his shirtsleeves and a silvery waistcoat with a cobalt blue tie fastened with a large pearl. He was of slight build, with pomaded brown hair, a small waxed mustache, and eyes like fried eggs. They were impossibly white with pale blue irises. The only other man I had ever seen with eyes like that was Oscar Wilde.

“Your Highness, these gentlemen are from Scotland Yard.”

Those eyes, so placid, seemed to harden and catch fire. “Oh, really? And what do they want?”

“They were concerned that with our recent visits to Whitechapel, we might place ourselves in danger.”

“There is a good deal of unrest there at the moment, Your Highness,” Barker said. “A band of vigilantes has taken over the area.”

“Someone threw eggs and vegetables at our carriage on our last visit. Do you recall that, James?”

“Of course. They claim they are starving there, yet they throw enough for a good meal at a passing carriage.”

“So, tell me, Mr.—”

“Inspector Barker, sir.”

“Tell me, Inspector Barker, how is the Ripper investigation coming along?”

“Well enough, Your Highness. We certainly have enough men on it at the moment.”

“Are there any promising leads? That is the proper phrase, is it not?”

“It is. I understand you and Mr. Stephen have become quite the sleuthhounds.”

“We have driven around the East End on a few occasions, yes,” the duke said. “Have you heard that my father once walked about the East End dressed as a workman to see how the lower classes live?”

“I had not, Your Highness. That is very forward thinking of him.”

“Is it not? James tells me that Siddhartha Buddha did the same thing.”

“So I understand.”

“You know the Buddha?”

“I grew up in China, sir.”

“You’re not the common chappie I would expect from Scotland Yard.”

“I am a special inspector, Your Highness, brought in by the new assistant commissioner, Robert Anderson.”

“The more the merrier, eh?”

“I have experience tracking men.”

“Why are you here, perchance?”

“He came to ask me about the vehicle we were traveling in,” Stephen told him.