The Golden Specific (41 page)

“She's alive,” he said, his voice rough with relief.

“I told you she would be,” Goldenrod said, though she was nearly as agitated as she dropped to the ground beside them. “Ausentinia promised me that she was well.”

“
You will find nothing has been lost
,” Sophia said with a weak smile.

“You are a miracle, Sophia,” Rosemary said, clasping her hand. “You have led us to Ausentinia. You have remade the path.”

“It was very brave of you,” Goldenrod said, pulling her into a sudden embrace, “to lose yourself so completely so that Ausentinia could be found.”

 41 

Making the Arrest

I
NSP
ECTOR
R
OSCOE
G
REY
was never home for lunch, and he frequently missed dinner when working on a demanding case. For this reason, the household had a careful morning routine, and it was almost never disrupted. Mrs. Culcutty set the table in the dining room and placed the morning newspaper beside the inspector's plate. The inspector drank coffee and read the paper until Nettie arrived, yawning and with her hair in wrappers, and then they ate breakfast together and discussed the happenings of the previous day and made plans for the day to come.

The morning of July 1, however, did not begin as it was meant to. Roscoe was standing at his mirror, straightening his
thin black necktie, when there was a knock on his bedroom door. “Mr. Grey—oh, Mr. Grey, it's Mrs. Culcutty.” Her voice was anxious.

With a frown of surprise, he let her in. Mrs. Culcutty was out of breath from having climbed the stairs too quickly. There was a newspaper in her hands.

Inspector Grey had fully expected to read in the morning's paper that the Western Party had won the election and that Gordon Broadgirdle had been named prime minister. So it took him several seconds to comprehend the headlines:

WAR DECLARED

WESTERN PARTY WINS ELECTION: BROADGIRDLE NEW PM

UNITED INDIES DECLARES IMMEDIATE EMBARGO

RIOTS AT THE HARBOR CAUSE TANK EXPLOSION

MOLASSES FLOOD CLAIMS DOZENS OF LIVES

I
N
THE
EARLY
hours of July 1, 1892, a proclamation of secession was issued jointly by the Indian Territories and New Akan. New Occident has made a declaration of war in response.

Shortly after Gordon Broadgirdle, the new prime minister and leader of the elected Western Party, made his victory speech at the Boston
State House and declared his intent to lead New Occident toward immediate expansion westward, the proclamation of secession was delivered by a representative of the two jurisdictions. The proclamation, reproduced in full below the fold, states the intent to form an independent nation. It repudiates many of the prime minister's stated policy objectives, in particular his adherence to the closed-border policy. Prime Minister Broadgirdle was swift in issuing a declaration of war, which was passed by a bare majority in an emergency parliament session. The prime minister plans to speak at the State House this morning to make a call for enlistment.

Gamaliel Shore, the defeated candidate of the New States Party, could not contain his chagrin. “I fear that this secession and this war will be disastrous to New Occident. It all stems from our misguided border policy,” Shore argued, “which the New States Party would have overthrown. I am fearful indeed for the future.”

An artist's rendition of Broadgirdle at the podium, accompanied by Peel and other members of his party, occupied a box beside the article. Inspector Grey glanced at the other headlines. War? Secession? An embargo? A molasses flood? How had so much happened in a scant six hours? He realized that Mrs. Culcutty was still in front of him, recovering her breath
and watching him anxiously. “Thank you, Mrs. Culcutty,” he said. “This is grave and urgent news, indeed. I'll come downstairs with you.”

“Oh, Mr. Grey, what is the meaning of it all?”

Grey shook his head. “I hardly know. But I do know that Broadgirdle is a determined man, and if he has set us upon this course, it is because he intends to follow it. He is not one to back away from such declarations once they have been made.”

As they reached the stairs, Nettie's bedroom door opened and she appeared, swathed in a lavender robe, her head bristling with a colorful assortment of hair wrappers. “Father? What has happened?”

“Come downstairs, Nettie. I will tell you over breakfast.”

Nettie was alarmed by her father's unexpected seriousness. “Tell me now, Father.”

Grey paused, his hand on the oak newel of the staircase. “New Occident has declared war on the Indian Territories and New Akan.”

Nettie gasped. “War?” She followed Mrs. Culcutty and her father hurriedly down toward the dining room, her lilac slippers pattering on the stairs and then the floorboards.

“Yes. The Western Party was elected, which prompted an embargo from the United Indies and a proclamation of secession from the Indian Territories, allied with New Akan.” They had reached the dining room. Grey took his seat, and Mrs. Culcutty served him coffee with a trembling hand. “In addition,” he went on, scanning the paper, “this seems to have triggered riots at the Boston Harbor and some kind of explosion
of a molasses tank. Though how that occurred is beyond my comprehension.”

The dining room door opened. Mr. Culcutty wore the same anxious expression as his wife, and he had clearly been waiting for them. Roscoe motioned him inside. “Sit down, Mr. Culcutty, Mrs. Culcutty. Nettie.”

“What will happen, Father?”

“I don't know,” he said, shaking his head. “We will go to war. Although New Occident has only a small armed force, which means Broadgirdle will need to recruit from the civilian population.”

Nettie gazed at her father, wide-eyed. “Will you have to go to war?”

Grey reached out and put his hand over his daughter's. “No, my dear. I almost certainly will not. I am too old, thank the Fates, as is Mr. Culcutty,” he said, and the other man nodded. “Unless things change very much, neither one of us will be asked to enlist.”

“Unless they change very much?” Nettie echoed. “Does that mean it might happen?”

“Frankly, it is impossible to say, with a prime minister like this one. Broadgirdle is an extremist. He will take extreme measures.”

“Oh, I don't like him!” Nettie burst out. “Horrid, horrid man.”

At the conclusion of this pronouncement, there was a knock at the front door. Mrs. Culcutty rose and headed for the foyer. The others heard the door open and then the sound of a woman's voice, low and tense. A moment later, the
housekeeper returned, accompanied by an older woman wearing an expression of deep distress and a small boy wearing almost nothing at all. Inspector Grey recognized the woman as Mrs. Sissal Clay, Shadrack Elli's housekeeper.

“Mr. Grey,” Mrs. Culcutty said, clearly trying to preserve some semblance of normality, “a Mrs. Sissal Clay is here with what she says is an urgent matter. One of your officers accompanied her. He is waiting at the door.”

“I'm sorry to interrupt your breakfast, Inspector,” Mrs. Clay said apologetically, with a glance at the newspaper on the table. “Especially given the very disturbing news. But I am afraid I am here with a more immediate problem.” She paused and suddenly clasped her hands nervously.

“Yes?” prompted Grey.

“It has to do with Prime Minister Broadgirdle and—and Theo. Theodore Constantine Thackary.”

“What has happened?”

Mrs. Clay took a deep breath. “You see, Inspector, Theo has taken it upon himself to—well, to investigate the murder of Prime Minister Bligh on his own.”

Grey frowned. He sensed an unpleasant difficulty appearing, like a dark cloud on the horizon.

“He has been investigating the murder and has discovered a great deal. But . . .” Mrs. Clay cleared her throat. “But in so doing, he has not been entirely honest with you. In fact, neither of us has been.”

Grey's frown deepened.

“Theo believes that Gordon Broadgirdle is responsible for
the murder,” she continued, with difficulty. “And he decided to find evidence proving it. He has been working in Broadgirdle's office for more than two weeks now—under a different name—and he has found some suspicious circumstances. But the difficulty is this. Last night, he was with Winston here”—she indicated the boy in rags—“and he went into Broadgirdle's offices for a meeting. Broadgirdle left the State House half an hour later, but Theo never emerged. Winston waited all night for Theo to reappear.” She collected herself. “We are concerned for him. We are afraid something may have happened to him in that office.”

Grey's frown could deepen no further, but he held his watch in his hand and tapped its cover, a sure sign that his consternation had reached unusual heights. Mrs. Culcutty blinked in astonishment. Mr. Culcutty looked baffled. Nettie was listening intently with a shrewd expression that was very unlike her.

“This is extremely dangerous, what he has done,” Inspector Grey finally said. “What is the evidence you spoke of?”

“Theo has a map. It is not an ordinary map, but a map that records recollections. It describes another crime related to the prime minister's murder.”

“I see,” Grey said skeptically. “And is there any other evidence he has discovered and concealed?”

“I suppose there is,” Mrs. Clay said, her face suddenly flushing bright red, “if you consider the gloves and robe found at the murder scene. And the knife.”

There was a long pause, during which Mrs. Clay was too
afraid to look up and meet Grey's eye. “What gloves, robe, and knife?” he asked, his voice steely.

She took a deep breath, as if preparing to plunge into an icy pool. She reached into the basket that she was carrying and pulled out a lumpy white bundle. Without asking permission—she was worried that if she spoke, she might not be able to continue—she put the bundle on the table. She unfolded the white sheet. Mr. and Mrs. Culcutty gasped. A pair of gloves and a robe, both bloodstained, along with a short knife, lay on the sheet. “These,” Mrs. Clay whispered. She looked down at her shoes.

If she had looked up, she would have seen that Inspector Grey was not so much angry as he was dismayed. He was thinking, not for the first time, that well-intentioned people managed to do very foolish things, not infrequently committing serious crimes in the process. It was one of the circumstances that exasperated him most about his job. Locking up evildoers was easy—even agreeable. But there was no pleasure to be had in pursuing the crimes committed by good people who made very bad mistakes.

“You see, Theo was there,” Mrs. Clay exclaimed, reaching out impulsively and putting a hand on the inspector's arm. “He was there, in the room with Mr. Elli and Mr. Countryman, when they found the body. But when the officers arrived he hid, and he took these things with him. He knew Mr. Elli and Mr. Countryman were not guilty, just as he knew these things would incriminate them.”

“And these objects have been in your possession?” the inspector asked.

She nodded.

“And you knew that they had been found at the murder scene?”

She nodded again.

Now Grey was angry. He was angry because the investigation had been derailed by these misguided efforts to conceal evidence, and he was angry because now he would have to arrest someone other than Prime Minister Bligh's murderer. He stood. “Sissal Clay,” he said evenly. “I am arresting you for the concealment of evidence in connection with the homicide of Prime Minister Bligh.”

“Arrest me if you must,” Mrs. Clay said, her voice shaking, “as long as I am not deported.”

“That may well happen in the sentencing.”

Mrs. Clay stared at him for a moment. Then she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Inspector, please have pity!”

Grey moved to collect the evidence. “I have no choice,” he replied, his voice betraying a hint of his anger. “You have withheld evidence and told me so.”

“But I came here to tell you that Theo was in danger!” Mrs. Clay protested.