The Aylesford Skull (38 page)

It came into Finn’s mind that nothing would serve his own endeavors more than immediate bloodshed in this underground room, if only to draw men away from the inn. He waited anxiously, watching Lord Moorgate’s face, which was set like a stone mask, his hand under his coat now – a pistol, perhaps. The woman stood very still.

“I
jest
,” Narbondo said after a desperately long moment. He smiled at the two. “I assure you that I had no intention of turning the boy over to his father. I merely hoped that the man would be foolhardy enough to bring me the ransom money, in which case I intended to relieve him of his life and his purse at one stroke. You’ll agree that the scenario would have been monstrously comical. Come, tell me plainly what you want. Give me an opportunity to put things right. And you’re free to remove your veil, my dear. I make it a habit of knowing my confederates. We all have our secrets, and so be it, but the veil carries things a trifle too far.”

Moorgate reached out and snatched the woman’s veil from her face, yanking off her hat in the process. He tore the veil from the hat, pitched the veil onto the floor, and then gave her the hat back. She restored it to the top of her head while fixing Moorgate with a hateful look.

“Meet Helen,” Moorgate said to Narbondo. “Even I’m not certain it’s her actual name, but you can trust her. I do, as far as it goes.”

Narbondo bowed obsequiously. “Charmed,” he said, looking at her intently, as if he saw something in her face.

“We’ve come to witness the boy’s head separated from his body,” Moorgate said. “Such a display would demonstrate your commitment to our joint endeavor. I applaud your attempt to profit by squeezing the boy’s father, but now that the effort has failed, you’ve no reason to want the boy alive. I’ve promised you... head-money, as they say, and so I want my head. I want it now, and I want to see your own hands red with the boy’s blood, and not his hypothetical blood. I’ll have my way with this or I’ll send to de Groot informing him to cease payment to the War Office and to call off Mr. Fox. He awaits my word.”

“You’ve taken precautions. Good. I like a cautious man. And perhaps you’ve also got a small craving to see the operation transpire?” Narbondo leered at him.

“
I’ve
got such a craving,” the woman said, the first words she’d spoken. “And then I’d like my breakfast.”

“Excellent,” Narbondo said, clapping his palms together as if he were quite pleased. “I’ll send someone to fetch the boy.”

Finn stood as if frozen, his mind comprehending this last exchange, but unable to resolve their words in any sensible way.

THIRTY ONE

THE MESSAGE ARRIVES

A
lice brushed another layer of Langdon’s experimental fixative over the head of the pike. The mixture smelled of varnish and triple-refined spirits. She had done a neat job of severing the prodigious head, which was larger than she had anticipated. The pike had weighed over three stone, and it was unlikely that she would ever catch a larger. He had nearly foxed her again yesterday, running in under a hole in the bank half blocked with stones, but Alice had waded in after him, in order to keep the line straight and free. The battle had lasted twenty minutes, with Cleo and Mrs. Langley on the bank shouting advice.

The process of hardening the flesh required twelve coats of the varnish, inside and out, but because the varnish was so awfully hot, as Langdon had put it – chemically hot – it dried quickly, especially in the summer heat, and she had already applied the requisite number of coats to the inside of the scoured-out skull earlier today, which she had filled with a mixture of hide glue and smashed clinkers. She had thrust two bolts into it, which were now cemented tightly in place, and which would hold the head to its wooden plaque.

She had awakened before dawn this morning, unable to fall back to sleep, and had roused herself out of bed before her idle mind became active. She had set to work on the wooden table in the gallery, which had a view of the wisteria alley through the wire mesh over the windows. Now and then she pictured Langdon and Hasbro turning off the road and appearing beneath the wisteria, Eddie sitting between them on the seat of the wagon. She knew that picturing it wouldn’t make it so, but it was a picture that was welcome in her mind, and which kept out other pictures not so welcome. She turned the pike’s head to catch the sunlight coming in through the screen, wondering whether she had any glass eyes in her collection that would fit the empty sockets.

The door opened behind her now and Mrs. Langley entered, looking unhappily at the head of the pike. “The smell of that mixture is mortal!” she said. “You might perhaps take it outside, ma’am. We can set a table up in the open field, under a shade. It’s a lovely day.”

“You’re right, of course,” Alice told her. “I’ve become quite used to it, but now that you mention it my head is swimming.” She capped the jar of varnish, put her brushes into a bowl of turpentine and followed Mrs. Langley into the kitchen, where Cleo stood on a chair, mixing something in a bowl with a long wooden spoon.

“We’re making scones,” Cleo said. “With bits of cherries.”

“For a nice tea,” Mrs. Langley put in. And then, in a lower voice, she said to Alice, “I inquired in the village this morning about Mr. Marchand, ma’am, the zookeeper. He’s very much alive, apparently, although ancient. Living in Maidstone, I’m told. His younger brother Bennett keeps the books at the paper mill on Hanley Road.” She looked furtively at Cleo now, who was apparently paying no attention. “The younger Mr. Marchand has informed me that the... item of interest might indeed be purchased for a sum. A rather substantial sum, ma’am, but well within the stated limits.”

“Splendid,” Alice said. “You put our plan into motion, then?”

“I did. Are you certain it’s... That it’s quite...
reasonable
, ma’am?”

“No, indeed. It’s utterly unreasonable, Mrs. Langley, and therein lies its attraction. I’ve come to suspect that reason is a much overrated commodity.”

“Perhaps it is, ma’am. That’s enough stirring, Cleo. They’ll be leaden if they’re over-beat.”

There was a clattering outside, the unmistakable sound of a wagon rattling up the wisteria alley. Alice’s heart leapt into her throat, and she rushed into the gallery again, her hand to her mouth, her heart beating, nearly unable to breathe. But it wasn’t their wagon, and Langdon and Hasbro weren’t driving it. A boy she didn’t know sat on the seat. He reined up before the steps and climbed down, Alice already opening the door before he had a chance to knock.

“I’m Alice St. Ives,” she said without preamble. “Have you news of my husband?” She had almost said, “my son,” but caught herself, not wanting to tempt fate.

“No, ma’am,” the boy said. “I’ve got a letter from Mother Laswell, what just came up with the coach from the village at Cliffe.”

“
From Mother Laswell?
And who are you, then?”

“I’m Simonides, from Hereafter Farm,” he said, plucking off his cap. “She said I was to find you mortal quick and give you this, and I’m to say that the wagon is yours to command. I’m to drive you out to Cliffe Village if you choose to go. Old Binion here is what’s called a trotter, ma’am, bred up to it – tolerably fast and at your service.”

He handed across an envelope. Mystified, Alice tore it open and read it, and then read it again. She looked up at the wisteria alley and then glanced across the lawn to where Finn’s cottage stood empty in the sunshine, her mind revolving.

“Will you give me ten minutes?” she asked. “And then we must hurry.”

“Ten minutes, ma’am, and we’re off.”

Alice came out through the door in nine, followed by Mrs. Langley, who held Cleo in her arms. She and Cleo would be fine, Mrs. Langley told her, along with sundry other bits and pieces of advice as Alice had thrown things into her bag, including clothing for Eddie. From her seat beside Simonides Alice promised to send word from Cliffe, promised any of a number of things to Mrs. Langley and Cleo both.

As the cart clattered away, she looked back at the two of them still standing on the veranda, in her mind seeing herself standing there the day before yesterday, filled with unhappiness, watching Langdon racing away from her. She was no longer standing and waiting, however, which had been her fervent wish, but she had no idea exactly what she
was
doing, only that she had an urgent need to find out.

THIRTY TWO

THE TUNNEL BENEATH THE INN

F
inn ran, his mind laboring to see a clear way before him. The front yard was blessedly empty – his good fortune, may it last. The walnut tree stood before him, and he was into the lower branches and climbing before he gave it another thought. No one cried out. The morning was still. He went straight to Eddie’s window and looked in through the rippled, dirty glass. Eddie was asleep on the bed – no surprise in that. Finn knocked hard on the casement, but the boy didn’t move. He knocked again. Still nothing. He yanked the sleeve of his velvet jacket up over his clenched fist and hit a windowpane fast and hard, the glass shattering. Eddie sat up, and Finn saw that the boy knew him instantly – no balaclava now. And there had been the wink and nod through the rear window of the coach. Eddie looked around wide-eyed and sprang out of bed, immediately putting on his slippers and vest, ready to bolt.

Finn slipped the latch on the window and pushed it open, and then slid over the sill and dropped to the floor. “They’ll be after us,” he said to Eddie. “Can you climb the tree?”

The boy shook his head, his face betraying his unhappiness with the idea.
Cleo might have been game for it
, Finn thought, but Eddie was on the cautious side. Finn should have taught the boy to climb, of course, but it was too late to start now. He looked around the room, considering his options, of which there were none. He slipped the bolt high on the door and peered out: a long hallway leading away to the left, where there was a set of stairs; to the right a dead end. It was the stairs or nothing.

“Look here,” Finn said to Eddie, crouching down so that he was something like the same height. “You and I are going to find our way out. I’m hellfire smart, but you’re smarter than me by far. The two of us can do it together. The Professor – your father – is close by, down along the bay. If we can win free, you and I can find him easy as kiss-my-hand. He’ll take the both of us home in his airship. Do you hear what I’m telling you?”