Monday 1st September 1879: The Coffee House

Friday 27th June 1879: The Coffee House

A little joke for myself, for it feels like three months, not three weeks, since our ordeal began. My memory is hazy (at best) and mood foul, but I force myself to record what I do recall, if for no other reason than to help plot my retaliation.

After Captain Borgnine betrayed us (not unexpectedly; I suppose—charitably—the man was just doing his job) we were escorted to and locked within the Bloody Tower. Blackwood told me later that the charmingly named prison was once reserved for royal criminals. I swear I heard the ghosts of the murdered child princes pacing my cell as we waited; no wonder this tower was nigh-abandoned. Once I would have laughed off the very concept of ghosts, but now I know better.

My only satisfaction was witnessing our quarry suffering the same fate: Quill, Sayers, Foedemere, both Colopinto’s, and a badly wounded fellow we did not recognise. All were locked away, and one of my last pleasures was the sneering, venomous glare I earned from Foedemere when I caught his eye. “It was all worth it for that look,” I whispered to Silas, who only sighed. As I was to discover, the sigh was a far more appropriate reaction than mine.

We were chained and manacled, each in individual cells. The indignity after what we had done, what we had risked, the sacrifice we had made, burned me. We had saved the Crown, saved the wedding, saved their most precious jewels. And our reward was this.

Added to the humiliation was the growing confusion from the world being backwards. Despite the tea, I was exhausted and the world slipped with every head movement. I choked back bile again and again as my poor mind and shaking body tried to reconcile this new reality.

After what seemed like days, but was perhaps only hours, the constabulary arrived. Time was difficult, like a dream, and the order of events not clear. But we were taken to our next confinement, more cells—was it Scotland Yard? The Old Bailey?–via streets that led the wrong direction. My familiar, beloved London was gone, replaced by a mirror version full of threat.

I was shaken awake at some point and dragged to a metal room with a lone table and cold metal chair. I slumped against the table, desperate for rest. But that too was denied. Footsteps roused me and I lifted my head to find…Clement! I almost cried out with happiness such was my relief at a familiar and, I hoped, friendly face.

Alas it was not to be. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Miss Harrow?”

What followed was a brutal series of targeted and accusatory questions, all clearly designed to entrap or convict. I did my best to defend our actions, describing precisely what had happened. I told him everything; the time for concealment or misdirection was over.

I became increasingly stroppy and snappy as I tried to force Clement to accept the truth that lay before his eyes. “We travelled through mirrors to the Tower, as did our foes! If you can come up with a better explanation on how they and we could have breached an impenetrable tower, Clement, please do. You have to believe me, believe us. We warned you and you did not listen, so we were forced to take matters into our own hands!”

Clement would not hear a word. He left me alone several times, returning with further questions that, I intuited, were the result of talking to Blackwood and Silas. I had no doubt that they too were holding a straight line, strong men that they were. Clement studied my clothing closely, I guessed as a result of Silas demonstrating his were backward. He mentioned Salvin and I knew at once that Blackwood must have invoked that name as a material witness in our favour.

Eventually Clement and I reached an impasse so I tried to turn the tables on him. “Tell me, Detective Clement—what is your theory? What do you think happened?”

“Quite simply, Miss Harrow, it is that you have been undertaking your own investigations into the burglaries of the man who walks through walls—”

“We have never denied it.”

“And in the course of doing so you have seen an opportunity—”

“Preposterous! If we had why would we have prevented the theft of the Crown Jewels!”

“And in the course of pursuing the opportunity you have trespassed upon Crown land—”

“Yes. We have. TO SAVE THE CROWN!”

“Hiding how you travelled—”

“As I have repeated many times: we travelled through the mirrors!”

“Miss Harrow, enough! You exasperate me and quite clearly have nothing to offer in your defence but absurdities. I will take my leave. Good day, Miss Harrow.”

And that was the last I saw of him before my descent into hell.

The next eternity was spent in Newgate Prison.

There is no adequate way to describe the horror of that place, only to say that any soul that is committed to its walls is a soul that will never fully recover.

I was ‘lucky’ enough to be in the ward for ‘high-value’ prisoners, or so the priest assured me when I was locked in a confession box for service. He also assured himself that I was a woman, his sweaty hands and stinking, panting breath impossible for me to escape from.

A hood was placed over my head whenever I was moved, I saw no living soul other than the leering guards. But I heard everything and will never forget those sounds. Mad women screaming obscenities one minute and begging for salvation the next; howling mothers and their bawling bairns; beatings, rapes, sordid death, and worse.

How can a society call itself civil when it sends its women and children to such a place? How can Clement and Williamson sleep at night knowing full well what goes on here? I vowed revenge each and every hour.

They tell me it was only two weeks. One day I will show them just how long two weeks can take.

One day a newspaper was shoved between my cell bars. I couldn’t read a word, backwards as it was, but I hid it away and kept my sanity by slowly unravelling the words.

“DYNAMITE PLOT FOILED!” the headline screamed. “Plot to blow up Crown Jewels by foreigners!”

“Foiled by us!” I muttered, infuriated, as I read on to find the Tower Guard credited for everything we had done.

“Missing Royal Architect found alive and well”

“BY US!” I cried.

“Wedding set for sunny weather”

“Because of us,” I whispered. It was all too much.

Two months weeks later I was removed from the cell and bundled into a carriage. We travelled through unfamiliar streets to arrive at somewhere I finally did recognise: the Old Bailey Courthouse. I had bailed my share of employees out of here, but this time I found myself on the other side of the dock.

Shortly after I arrived, and to my great relief, both Silas and Blackwood were escorted to my side. Blackwood sported what looked like a broken nose, which he later told me was the result of his futile but continuous efforts to befriend the guards at Newgate. Silas, whilst tired and worn, was as straight-backed and determined as ever, his eagle eyes scanning the court.

I followed his gaze and was delighted to see Daphne of all people in the common area. He waved a greeting as if nothing was untoward, bringing the first smile in some time to my face. Dear Daphne. Clement too was in the audience, making quite the effort not to look our way. I did manage to catch his eye briefly and I made sure that my gaze held all the trauma and fury I could muster. He looked away very quickly.

“I can’t see the Rat King’s spy, though I’m sure there is one,” I whispered to Silas.

“It’s the magistrate,” Silas quipped. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad prediction.

Next to arrive were the full company of the Colopinto plotters. Both brothers, our magician friend, and various and sundry thugs and surly Italians. They too looked worse for wear and studiously ignored us and the hungry stares of the Fleet Street hacks.

Finally, the Judge entered the courtroom—“Be up standing for Judge Reinholdt”—and things got underway. It turned out this was a ‘plea hearing’ where the court is told the intent of the accused toward the charges laid. The first surprise (other than Daphne) was that we had legal counsel. A Mr Barnard was introduced—a very well-to-do fellow in a commanding white wig—and he set about laying forth our cause. This was most peculiar as we had never met this man nor discussed any plea.

As it eventuated, the plea he did articulate was perfect: not guilty to Treason, the theft of Property of the Realm, the Murder of the Queen’s subjects, and putting the life of Her Majesty under threat. The only charge Mr Barnard was willing to entertain was that of ‘Trespass’. I could have hugged him.

The Judge acknowledged all this with a scowl, after which Mr Barnard was able to have a brief word with us. We asked who had engaged him, and his answer was a delight: “The Marleybone family, madam.” Daphne was more than an observer, it seemed!

“And your guilty plea to Trespass—with mitigation, I hope?”

“Of course madam, that is precisely the argument I will be making.”

Before we could continue the Judge called the court to order again to hear the pleas of the Colopinto crew. I was stunned to hear their lawyer plead guilty to every charge, though upon later reflection I guessed he was an appointee of the Crown, and as such had no interest in trying to truly defend them. It was a jolt to realise that they would all hang for this.

Another jolt came when the Judge summed up proceedings. “It is my opinion that all accused should be put to the sword” he growled glaring at each of us in turn, “But the law must be followed and as such we will reconvene for trial at a time to be determined.” He slammed his hammer down and it felt like he was slamming a nail into our coffins.

Silas, Blackwood and I had a brief moment alone which bolstered our spirits, if only briefly. Blackwood made us laugh with his description of trying to find out the guards’ names–“It’s not ‘Joe’, so next I will try ‘George’,” he said rubbing his crooked nose gingerly. Silas assured us that what we had just witnessed boded well.

“Thank goodness Daphne had a headache at Lea Bridge,” I sighed, “Else he would be here with us.”

“Or perhaps we would never have made it to prison in the first place,” Silas teased. He was right (again); Daphne’s father would never have allowed it.

With that we were separated and sent back to prison. I protested at being manacled and the guard retorted in no uncertain terms with language that even I am unwilling to commit to paper. My spirts, so briefly lifted, fell back into the bottomless pit of Newgate.

It is here that things at last started to take a turn for the better. We had expected at least a month of waiting, but only three days later we found ourselves together once more in a wagon bound not for the Old Bailey, but Scotland Yard.

Once there we were escorted, still bound, to an office instead of the expected interview room. Inside we found DI Clement, standing afront a large mirror (of all things!) fixing his hair and moustache. It was no Colopinto mirror but it felt almost like a tease.

“Have you tried stepping through it,” I quipped, trying to start off on the right foot.

“Miss Harrow, charming as always,” Clement sighed.

“If this banter keeps up he’s going to have to make an honest woman of you,” Silas smirked. Blackwood looked thoroughly confused at this—but in his face I could see his mind flashing back to the ceiling mirror and Sangrita’s tender attentions.

“This is your last chance to confess,” Clement said, much to our surprise.

“Confess? Surely you mean this is your last chance to apologise, Mr Clement,” I said, holding up my bound hands. Clement sighed.

Silas, ever alert, jumped straight to the point. “Did you search Overton Farm?”

“We did.”

“And did you find the circular room, with chalk markings?”

“Do you think a fake bookshelf could fool my men? Of course we found it. Along with an empty box of dynamite…and a shattered mirror,” Clement watched us closely as he spoke these last words.

All the blood left my face, and the gentlemen slumped, stunned. Our last chance was gone. We were speechless.

“And shattered dreams, I can see,” Clement said, rubbing it in.

This jab woke Silas from his trance. “Clement please. Did you leave the chalk marks or have your foolish plods ruined that too?”

“Unlike your medical practice, Doctor, my men are not in the habit of destroying evidence!”

“Then there’s still a chance,” Silas breathed with relief.

“If you say so, Doctor. Now—you may be wondering why you are here,” Clement said coming finally to the point. “Despite my misgivings, there have been many and varied representations made on your behalf. A member of the House of Lords, another from the House of Commons, a Baron, Cardinal Onschuldig of the Catholic Clergy…”

The longer Clement’s list grew the brighter our countenances became.

“…A priest, French, not Catholic, maybe Lutheran?” Clement continued. “The Captain of the Tower Guard has also testified in your favour, and Salvin sings your praises. Even Superintendent Williamson had a quiet word. And several of my own officers, some of whom maintain informal links with the less savoury segments of London society, have been reliably informed by said contacts that you played no part in the affair.”

The Rat King!

“And in addition to all of that, several of those same Officers have voiced the opinion that you are in fact heroes who have saved the realm,” Clement concluded with a frown.

I was stunned. After all we had been through, here was the evidence that our efforts had not gone unnoticed. Surely Langbrook was the MP, and Churchill the Baron of course. It passed me by at the time by Silas later assured me that the ‘Lutheran’—aka Luciferian— minister could be none other than d’Chartreuse! And the Lord, more than likely, was Daphne’s father Lord Marleybone.

“As a result of all this…” Clement paused, looking at each of us, “As a result you will not be charged.”

“You are releasing us?” Silas said.

“I am.”

We looked at each other with an equal measure of surprise and relief.

I turned back to Clement. “Three months in Newgate, Mr Clement,” I snapped.

“Months?” Clement sighed, before shaking his head regretfully. “In any case you are right—you have been mistreated, Miss Harrow.”

Finally an admission. Not an apology, but close enough. I held up my manacled wrists and Clement nodded, unlocking each. The feeling of release was almost overwhelming, but I held myself together. “Thank you,” I said softly, rubbing my aching wrists and being sure that Clement could see them. Was that a flush I caught? “I hope the barrier between us can fall now, Clement.”

He merely hmphd, turning away and releasing Blackwood and Silas, who immediately started planning the next phase of our recovery. “Clement. You owe us some recompense for this mess. Despite the severity of our treatment, there is only one thing we ask: we need to get to Overton Farm as soon as possible.”

“It is a crime scene, Doctor, so that will be difficult.”

“Not as difficult as what you put us through,” I muttered. Clement, to his credit, acknowledged this. “Very well. If you will agree to act as witnesses and testify against the Colopinto brothers, and their associates, I will see what I can do.”

Silas nodded. “Of course. Then we can use Etihad’s mirror—”

“I rather think not,” Clement interrupted, “For he has filed a complaint against us after his…erroneous arrest.”

“We can use Langbrook’s, Silas,” I said.

“Or mine,” Silas agreed, turning to Clement. “So we are free to go?”

Clement walked over to the door and held it open.

Outside we stood together, still in a state of some shock at the unexpected turn of events. An urchin stepped up to Blackwood almost immediately (where do they come from!). “Seems the Ol’ Bill never did find those cuts o’ meat you ‘ad stored,'” he squeaked. “Thank you,” Blackwood said, understanding. “Think nuffin’ of it, a favour to a good friend. And if one day you may be able to do us a favour in return, well—what are friends for!” the scamp grinned, scampering off.

We were almost mown down by carriages as we set out for our homes, a sharp reminder of how difficult navigating London in reverse was going to be.

Covent Garden was utterly befuddling, everything on the wrong side, but I managed to work my way to the Coffee House. I was mildly surprised to find a large crowd gathered awaiting service. In the back of my mind I had suspected the infamy of these events might attract an audience, and so it seemed.

I ascended the steps, unidentified thank goodness, to find Eunice exiting the building with a tray of coffee in strangely plain mud-coloured mugs. She started handing them out, freezing when she caught sight of me.

“Why! Ms Harrow! You’re back!”

It was all I could do not to throw my arms around her. She hustled me inside, explaining the mugs as she did. “There are so many I’ve had to invent a new service, ma’am, where the customers take their coffee with them. I call it ‘take away’.” I smiled at her creativity—she was a good one, as well I knew.

She took me behind the house, and the moment we were alone I burst into tears, sobbing like I have never sobbed as the events of these months…weeks?…overcame me. Eunice stayed with me, wordless but a great comfort, until I had nothing left.

“A drink, or pipe, Ms Harrow?” she said softly.

“Just take me to my room,” I begged, and she did.

Over the course of the next unmeasurable time I travelled to a dark place of which I will write no more. I did not emerge from my room and Eunice was the only one to see me. Even she I kept away on the worst of days. A telegram from Silas invited me to the Baron’s, but I did not answer.

Eventually a knock at my door came. It felt another month had passed, but I was to find it was only a week. It was Silas and Blackwood, and I surprised myself by allowing them to enter.

Silas knew immediately. The squalor, the sweat, the ragged bedsheets and barely touched food. He held my hand tenderly, checking my pulse and peering into my tired eyes, then smiled. “You will be fine, Gideon.”

I cried again, softly this time, and only briefly. The gentlemen were good enough to engage themselves with busywork until I recovered my equilibrium.

They regaled me with the details of their visit to the Baron. He was as much a scoundrel as ever, grumpily demanding the story be told. “And where’s that woman,” he apparently scowled. ‘That woman’! I felt my blood rise at his easy dismissal of all I had done as Silas spoke. “We told him everything,” he said, “And I assured him of your part, stressing how you led us through this entire affair. He was most concerned for your welfare—‘make sure that woman’s alright’ he said.”

“But he never referred to me by name?”

Silas shook his head sadly.

“I am done with that man,” I fumed.

“He was fascinated by our pocketwatches,” Blackwood added. “They clocked in reverse, so he kept both as souvenirs. Oh and I also asked him if he was pleased with our work. He said he was?”

“Jack’s right, Gideon. I believe his words were that we had done a ‘sterling’ job and that he never expected such ‘excellence on his behalf’, all of which is quite the compliment coming from him. He plainly respects Blackwood greatly, I should add.”

Blackwood blushed at this and I had to smile. “Well Jack, it seems you have two admirers now!”

Jack flushed bright red; I really must get him back with Sangrita! The very fact I had this thought chuffed me—a sign I was coming back into myself.

The gentlemen also filled me in with their own travails. Blackwood’s home had been thrice ransacked: doors broken, windows smashed. He had spent most of the intervening time holed up in there repairing everything and restoring order.

Silas had troubles of a different kind: namely most of his staff had abandoned ship, leaving only his housekeeper Mrs Cumming. She too was on the verge of departure. “It’s untenable associating with criminals, sir,” she protested. Silas turned her around quickly with assurances that all charges were dropped and his very presence was a guarantee of that. “Well that’s good enough for me,” Mrs Cumming beamed, and soon enough the rest of the staff were back too—a promise of full pay for the months (yes, yes, weeks) absence too good an offer to refuse.

We ventured downstairs for my first outing, slipping into my favourite table where Eunice served us. The Coffee House was still heaving, full to the brim with the youngest crowd of desperate-to-be-seen that I have ever witnessed. “There’s a lot of them,” Eunice nodded, “But they are sitting on their drinks. So I’ve had to implement another new service,” she said holding up a rough looking earthenware cup. “Customers can buy these for a pittance, take them away, then bring them back when they next visit. I call them ‘keep cups’.”

I must remember to give her a raise.

“Eunice you are a treasure,” I smiled. “We are going to get the backrooms working again. I already have some ideas, new services that this crowd might be tempted by—something a little more delicious and a little less traditional.”

Eunice raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Jack muttered, confused.

Some days later I was delighted to find Clement working his way around the tables toward me. “Why Inspector Clement!” I beamed, “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Miss Harrow,” he nodded sternly, trying to keep his eyes on me and not the various temptations beyond. “I am not here for your services…offerings…uh,” he said, stumbling at last, much to my delight. “No. Instead—it is now or never.”

“Oo, now then! I have long waited for this moment!”

“Miss Harrow!” he scowled, trying his best to remain official. “This is no joking matter. An opportunity has arisen: if you wish to visit Overton Farm it is now or never.”

“Well why didn’t you say so, Clement? Of course we wish to visit—do you have the gentlemen with you?”

“I do not,” he sighed. Moments later we were in his wagon (“let her be free!” the patrons cried) and soon after had collected Silas and Blackwood.

Silas instructed his man McCrae to secure and affix the Colopinto mirror atop the carriage (“of course it’s secure, Sir. I’m not in the habit of lashing something to a carriage that I expect will come off that carriage,” McCrae scowled as only a Scot can). Thus we had everything we needed to return ourselves to reality—or so we hoped.

On the journey Blackwood proudly announced that Salvin had nominated him for membership of the Artisanal Club! I knew it vaguely (a few of their number were regulars) as a very niche club dedicated to architects, engineers, designers: just the people for our Jack. We heartily congratulated him, of course, and I made sure to suggest Blackwood consult Daphne on his outfit for the big event. “Corduroy all the way down, Jack,” Silas laughed.

It was so good to be with my friends. A dark period was ending, and with any luck the last piece of the puzzle was about to be solved.

Overton Farm was unchanged, and we were relieved to find Clement as good as his word: the chalk marked mirror spots were intact on the floor of the circular room. The mirror was indeed shattered, though the frame still intact.

We hurried to unwrap Silas’s mirror, Blackwood suggesting we remount it in the now empty frame. “It’s not the frame, Blackwood, it’s the glass,” I said. “Let us just position it correctly and see what we can see.”

With the help of the sandbags in the room we did just that, aligning the mirror with the markings to Langbrook’s mansion as Clement looked on with bemusement. But no matter the adjustments we made, the mirror remained a mirror, reflecting only our increasingly worried faces.

We tried a second position (Etihad), then a third (Foster), but all refused to be anything more than a fancy mirror. “Let’s try your framing, Jack,” Silas said, trying to stay positive. “Meanwhile if I can borrow one of your men, Clement? I need to collect two more mirrors…” Moments later he was gone.

I realised he intended to retrieve the odd mirrors we had found in the Artisanal Chamber. I doubted they would be of any use, being only 6 inches wide, but what other options did we have? I helped Jack as best I could as Clement paced the room, making it quite clear he was tiring of this escapade.

When Silas returned I could see he had reached the same conclusion as I. “They’re too narrow,” he said resignedly before turning to Clement once more. “We may need to interview Foedemere, Clement.”

“Out of the question. The man is highly dangerous and stands accused of the most severe of crimes. I cannot and will not grant you access.”

“You don’t under—”

“I’ve found something,” Jack said interrupting quietly. He was standing behind the mirror, now half affixed to the frame. “Silas’s mirror says Sinestra on the back.”

Sinestra. Something flashed through my mind as we studied the handwritten script. Sinestra. We had seen this before…

“Silas! Your other mirrors!” I cried. “There was something written on the back of those too!”

We flipped both over and there it was: Sinestra and Dextra.

“Sinestra, sinister, for left,” Jack explained matter-of-factly, “And Dextra, dextrous, for right. The prejudice against the left handed of this world goes back a long way.”

“Yes Jack, but don’t you see? We need to find a Dextra mirror! We can’t step through two Sinestra marked mirrors!”

“And where on earth will we find one, Gideon,” Silas frowned.

It was a good question.

“Have you tried using a door instead?” Clement chided, pointing out the door adjacent to the bookshelf entrance. He was enjoying teasing us now, despite our obvious despair.

With a deep sigh Silas walked to the door and pulled it open.

Our shock could not have been greater. Inside were at least a dozen Colopinto mirrors. “Oh my goodness,” Silas blurted. He stepped inside. “Each is labelled: ‘Etihad’, ‘Blackwood’, ‘Langbrook’!” he read with growing excitement. He leaned one forward and the smile on his face told us everything: “Dextra! They all say Dextra!”

Clement couldn’t fathom our excitement, nor why I almost hugged him. We had been wrong: there was no web, the mirrors were a simple one-to-one pair—a Sinister and Dextrous—that when matched opened a portal.

We hauled out Langbrook’s Dextra mirror and proceeded to line it up with the chalk marks. For a moment nothing changed, but then with the smallest adjustment the mirror flickered as if alive! Another tiny movement more and suddenly we could see Langbrook’s hall on the other side.

We were saved!

Clements’s face was pure astonishment. “Well that is quite something,” he muttered as he stared at the impossible.

“Gideon, would you do the honours?” Silas said, proffering the mirror.

“Silas, Jack—I will see you on the other side,” I beamed. “Clement—watch and learn!”

I stepped through…and in an instant everything was exactly right. I turned, smiling wildly, as Jack stepped through, and watched Silas have a short conversation with Clement before he too arrived in the real world once more.

I hugged both gentlemen, shedding tears of joy this time, such was the relief. “Imagine if we had opened that door when we first visited,” I said ruefully, “Things would have been so much simpler!”

We turned back to the mirror and a moment later flinched as we watched Clement bring something down hard on the far mirror. Langbrook’s shattered in response.

“Ah. I explained the mechanism quickly to Clement,” Silas said. “I don’t think he’ll leave any mirrors intact, sadly.”

“Pity,” Jack said, “The Baron will be disappointed.”

“Good riddance,” I laughed.