The Churchill Casebook of Curiosities
Book Four: The Mysterious Case of the Severed Hand
Chapter Nine: Officium Orientis
Contrary to what you might think, Ms Harrow is not decoration
Sub rosa
‘Office of the East’
“Father, when will we see his face?
Only when he drops his mask, child.
Father, when will he reveal his teeth?
Only when he smiles, child.
Father, when will his jaw snap shut?
Only when we are safe inside, child.
Father, when will we know all is lost?
Only when it is too late, child.”
Traditional chant from children’s parlour game,
‘Enter the Dragon’ (c. 1870s)
Saturday 9th August 1879: London
I set out for the Asklepieion on foot, wanting to pass by Caliban Books to see if Mr Neville was now dead. To my relief the shop appeared intact, undisturbed (if closed), and there was no sign of the Ancient Hungarian’s work. I hailed a cab and soon arrived for our date with Mr Mortimer.
Edbury Square was quite the step up, no surprise being so near the royal district and the Palace. Whitewashed Belgravia (and Silas) to the north, the start of the ever sprouting warehouses to the south. The square itself was lined with upstanding official chambers and surrounded a handsome walled garden.
Silas was already waiting. It was clear from his glower that he was already counting the minutes before he could return to his family. “It’s been a long day, Gideon,” he muttered to my query as to his mood. Blackwood arrived moments later, dressed to the nines in an evening suit. He polished up rather well for a big man.
We had set off toward the obvious entrance when Blackwood hailed me. “Lady! I have found your entrance,” he called, pointing to a single doorway around the corner from the grander double door main entry. I frowned, walked over to him, and immediately joined Silas in being ‘in a mood’. The entrance was rather plain with a small sign to the right hand side: ‘Ladies Entrance’.
“No, Mr Blackwood, this is not my entrance,” I growled. “Come with me.”
I stormed back to Silas and led the way to the main doors, pushing them open to step inside. Almost immediately a footman appeared, bowing. “Gentlemen, welcome to the Asklepieion,” he smiled.
“We have an appointment to see Mr Mortimer,” Silas said.
“Of course, you must be Dr Hawthorne and Mr Blackwood. Please come inside.”
I stood by, fuming, as I was clearly invisible to this person. “And I am Ms Harrow,” I snapped.
“Ah yes, if you could please step back outside, you will find your entrance to the north.”
“I will do nothing of the sort. Now, down these stairs, is it?” I said striding toward a marble stairway leading below ground.
“Madam please, if you would step outside,” the man repeated, just as a second appeared.
Silas stepped forward. “Gentlemen Ms Harrow is with us. And you would do well—”
“Silas!” I near screamed, “I can speak for myself!”
Silas looked astonished, and I on reflection I feel rather bad for taking my anger out on him, but enough was enough. If only the men were permitted to speak then my position was no better than the hatstand that stood draped with bowlers.
“I have an invitation from Mr Mortimer,” I growled, producing the card, “And I intend to answer that invitation.”
“Yes the Undersecretary asked that we direct you to the ladies entrance,” the man simpered.
“Silas, Mr Blackwood, shall we?” I said, ignoring him entirely.
“Madam I must insist—”
“Insist all you like, I am going downstairs.”
It was my turn to be astonished as one man grabbed my arm and the other stepped in my way. “Madam it is not a matter of rules, it is a matter of legality.”
I was stunned but managed to regather my wits. “Well then you had best call the constabulary to arrest me for I am not going anywhere.”
“Madam, please?” one of the men pleaded as the second hurried outside, presumably to do as I asked.
“You two may proceed, don’t mind me,” I said to my companions. To my immense disappointment, they did.
Some minutes later a woman came hurrying in from the street, smiling when she caught my eye. “You must be Ms Harrow!” she beamed. “I am Genevieve, no come my dear, I hope we shall be fast friends.”
Genevieve
“Genevieve!” I smiled inanely, “How wonderful! Thank you for the warm welcome but I’m afraid I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh my dear, of course I understand, but you must trust me. I have such wonderful things to show you!”
Who was this woman? She reeked of money, privilege, and determination.
“I am sure you do but you see I have an appointment, by invitation, that I simply must keep.”
“Now, now, don’t be a spoil sport—we will have such a jolly time!”
As I was about to speak Silas reappeared, to my surprise. “I am waiting for Mr Mortimer to be summonsed,” he explained, looking even more out of sorts. “They wanted me to put on a ridiculous toga in order to enter.”
Genevieve snorted with delight, and even I was intrigued. “And you refused?”
“Of course I did,” Silas snapped. “Blackwood had no qualms, I saw him waddle off in a most ungainly fashion.”
I clapped with delight. “Silas! I will make you a deal: if you will change into your toga, I will stop my protest and accompany my new friend Genevieve,” I said nodding toward her.
“Smashing! Oh please, Silas, if you will pardon my familiarity, please do!” Genevieve gushed.
Silas was about to speak when I saw a shudder pass through him and he too gave up the fight. “Oh very well,” he grumbled.
I had never seen Silas less than fully clothed. My my, Hana, you lucky thing. Genevieve blushed with pleasure.
She took me through the accursed second entrance, descending to a Italian tiled change room where I slipped into a ill-fitting sheet. “No secrets here, Genevieve,” I smiled as I stood naked before her. “None indeed!” she agreed pleasantly.
I shaped the toga to better fit and she led me down a second set of stairs into a spectacular bathing room. Women of all manner lounged in various states of undress, smoking from hookahs and selecting drinks and Turkish treats from the indentured servants that moved through the room. A group of larger women minced to the steaming pool and dived in with a squeal.
“This is a harem,” I said with some amazement, and Genevieve didn’t disagree.
“I can’t help but notice there are no men?”
“That would spoil the fun,” Genevieve grinned.
“Can I assume there are no women for them in their half of this den of iniquity?”
“Just as we like it,” Genevieve winked.
“Ha ha, yes, just so,” I laughed, screaming inside. “There are some rather voluptuous women here, I must say. What if I wanted one?”
“Oh Ms Harrow I had heard of your little establishment,” Genevieve smiled warmly, “I’m afraid this is not that kind of place.”
“No of course it isn’t,” I nodded ruefully.
“You must let me entertain you instead,” Genevieve teased.
“Oh I will,” I grinned. If you can’t fight them, join them?
She summoned a maid and spoke to her briefly in a language I did not know. She returned quickly with champagne and a selection of condiments. “Ladies!” I toasted, “To us!”
The gentlemen later told me of their escapades.
They ventured into the mirror version of my harem; unimportant men serving important men, robust discussions and no shortage of barely concealed mary-annes. After enquiring of a well-muscled semi-nude butler, they eventually found Mr Mortimer in a state of complete undress being worked on by an overlarge (in both senses of the word) masseuse.
“Ah Doctor, Mr Blackwood,” Mortimer nodded as he was prodded and rubbed. “Join me, won’t you?”
Blackwood didn’t hesitate, dropping his toga and jumping up to the warmed stone plinth. “As hard as you like,” he instructed in one of the great unintended double entendres.
“What is your safety word,” the Turkish masseuse grunted.
“I’ve never need one,” Blackwood said innocently.
The mind boggles.
Silas on the other hand was all business. “Mr Mortimer I have had rather a long day and would prefer we get down to business.”
Mortimer raised an eyebrow as this, but was gracious enough to agree, leading the gentlemen to a small chamber off the main room.
To his credit, Silas made one last attempt to keep me involved. “Contrary to what you might think, Mr Mortimer, Ms Harrow is not decoration. She should be here.”
“Perhaps it is not she whom I wished to meet with, Doctor,” Mr Mortimer said calmly. It was clear he was highly intelligent and more than used to dealing with sharp minds like Silas’s.
Silas pressed on regardless. “Then why did you invite her?”
“I thought she might appreciate the hospitality,” Mr Mortimer said magnanimously, “Perhaps I was mistaken.”
“Indeed,” Silas sighed.
“How can we be of assistance to the foreign office,” Mr Blackwood said.
Mr Mortimer’s face set firmly. “This morning’s papers were, and I will be quite frank, most disappointing.”
“And I too will be frank,” Silas said, “That was absolutely nothing to do with us.”
“I will take your word for that, Doctor. From my interviews with Mr Clement, am I to understand you are making your own investigations into the disappearance of Baron Churchill?”
“Yes.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not very well.”
“Have you ever known him to be associated with…papists?”
Silas was taken aback. “Absolutely not!”
“Interesting. So what have you discovered?” Mr Mortimer pressed.
“A whole lot of people being killed,” Silas deadpanned.
“Related?”
“Quite possibly, yes. We’re not big believers in coincidence.”
“Just so.” Mr Mortimer leaned back and spread his arms to expose his bare chest (a power move if ever there was one—little did he know Mr Blackwood was immune to such displays!). “I’ll put my cards on the table: it is our belief that he has not been kidnapped at all, but has in fact absconded. Our great fear is that he is in possession of property belonging to the Crown, and, despite what you have said, he plans to give said property to his papist allies.”
My goodness. The Baron a papist? I was shocked as the story was being told.
“I would call that a big leap,” Silas scoffed.
“Our intelligence we feel is quite strong. You must understand the material he is in possession of is of great import.”
“What is it he has access to?” Blackwood said, speaking finally after watching Mr Mortimer intensely.
“Unfortunately I am not at liberty to explain the nature of the materials,” Mr Mortimer explained.
Blackwood frowned. “Do you think him untrustworthy?”
“It’s not about trust,” Mr Mortimer soothed, “It is about state secrecy.”
Blackwood told me he wondered at this point if he might have to kill Mr Mortimer. But he had great inner turmoil: he considered the Major his friend, and he had great loyalty to his friends. But Mr Mortimer represented the Crown, and Blackwood would never cross the Crown.
Silas had heard enough, frustrated at the obfuscation from Mr Mortimer. “Is this meeting just you fishing to see if we know where the Baron is?”
“If you do, then say so,” Mr Mortimer said, not rising to the bait.
“We do not,” Silas conceded.
“Well if you do learn anything regarding his whereabouts it would be very much in your favour to keep us appraised.”
“Favour?” Blackwood growled. “Sir. I don’t know you, but my favour is not available at any price. You need to be more forthcoming so we understand the gravity of the situation and who we are to best serve.”
“I am in the service of the Crown, sir,” Mr Mortimer said with some umbrage. “Let me make that quite clear, first and foremost. As to the gravity; I can only entreat you to believe it is of the highest level. The nature of the information he has absconded with is crucial to Her Majesty’s endeavours in the current political climate.”
Blackwood nodded, relaxing slightly. This is what he needed to hear. “You accuse him of absconding. I have always found the Major to be an honourable man who serves the Crown without question, as do I. What are you accusing him of?”
“I understand your misgivings,” Mr Mortimer empathised (he was very good at this). “There is not much further I can say, except, again, to implore you that we are made privy of any information you might find. More is at stake than you can possibly imagine. And I am sorry to emphasise that you simply cannot trust the Baron’s loyalties.”
Genevieve toured me further into the club. The luxury was overwhelming, and I admit to some jealousy at the funds that must have been appropriated to create such a hidden palace of sin for the ultra-wealthy. On the other hand at least my establishment was open to all, and had many visitors in common if I was not mistaken.
On a small amphitheatre that overlooked a central massage area Genevieve let me in on a secret. “If you lean back on this wall you will find yourself only inches separated from the menfolk,” she smiled conspiratorially. “Is amazing what you can hear through those inches.”
“Genevieve you are wicked,” I grinned. “I am familiar with such things from my Coffee House. You should visit sometime, I am sure you could learn a thing or too—and not just from eavesdropping.”
Was that a flush? “I’m sure I could!”
“I must admit I am disappointed to have missed my appointment with Mr Mortimer,” I confessed.
“You have been played, my dear,” Genevieve said taking my hand.
“Yes. And I don’t like being played,” I growled.
Later, the gentlemen returned to the Coffee House to find me slumped on a chaise lounge in a furious frump.
Silas poured himself a large whisky and plonked himself down. “Well that was largely a waste of time,” he sipped. “Mr Mortimer believes the Major is a papist in league with the pope’s political operators.”
“People like Mortimer who work for the political offices,” Blackwood said, “Aren’t they the most easily influenced by other powers?”
“Indeed,” Silas said taking a long swallow. “He’s lying. Remember the Baron told us to trust no one? I would put Mortimer squarely in that category. He has his own agenda, which is not necessarily antithetical to our own, but I think he has quite the wrong end of the stick as far as the Baron is concerned.”
“I agree,” Blackwood nodded slowly.
“In matter of fact—”
I couldn’t believe this was happening again. The gentlemen barely acknowledging my presence whilst they spoke of matters for men’s ears only.
“Gentlemen!” I cried, jumping to my feet. “It seems I have no place here. You talk amongst yourselves, I will leave you to it!” I hurried toward the door.
Silas sighed. “Gideon, really?”
“Yes, Silas, really!”
“It’s us!” Blackwood appealed forlornly as I exited in a huff.
To their surprise, I joined Eunice and Liberty at the bar and began serving our guests. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to, madam, but you don’t look happy,” Eunice observed dryly.
“Oo, you look awful!” Liberty agreed.
“Thank you, Liberty,” I scowled.
She flushed. “It’s only that you normally have such a glow,” she said apologetically.
“I appreciate that,” I sighed just a man stepped up to the counter. “Have you a moment to pour me a drink, madam?” a familiar voice asked. I looked up to find Simon d’Chartreuse standing lugubriously.
“Mr d’Chartreuse, your timing is impeccable,” I said. “What will you take?”
“Just a small absinthe, if you please.”
“I must confess I had forgotten that I had summoned you here,” I said handing over the tumbler. He looked rather less kempt than his usual insouciant self. “Will you join me? Silas and Mr Blackwood will be pleased to see you I think.”
We almost bumped into Silas who was pulling on his hat. “Silas where are you going?” I accused.
“Home for dinner,” he said sharply.
“Not yet,” I ordered. “Simon is here.”
Silas sighed deeply. “Mr d’Chartreuse,” he said holding out his hand (he later told me Simon’s felt like a cold wet fish.)
We gathered again with Blackwood, who raised a silent eyebrow.
“I was sorry to hear about Susanna, Simon,” I said as Silas poured drinks.
“Thank you,” he said, downing his glass in a single gulp.
“What was your relationship?” I asked gently.
“She was my sister.”
“Oh Simon I am so very sorry,” I said reaching out a hand.
He nodded, looking away. “Not by blood, but we were raised together. I understand you were there?” he added, trying to recover.
How did he know that, I wondered, before recalling it was likely he had set her on our tail. “We were. You had her watching us, I believe?”
Surprisingly he did not answer. He held out his glass to Silas to pour another, and shifted his eyes to Blackwood. “Light the fire would you?”
I leaned in. “She was watching us, was she not?”
“I was not aware she was there,” Simon said softly and sadly.
“That comes as a surprise,” I admitted, for it was indeed unexpected.
“To me too,” he sighed. “I don’t know what she was doing, nor why.”
I peered closely at him, trying to determine if this was an sophisticated act. But he was genuine; more than that, he was worried and perhaps even scared. I proceeded to explain what had happened and how we had found her.
“You found her, and left her?” Simon said accusingly.
I glanced to Silas, who jumped in. “There was nothing for it, I’m afraid. I did my best but she was dead, and we were in danger.”
“We found a papist trinket on her,” I added, “Pope Innocent XIII, if that means anything.”
“And a crucifix,” Silas added. “And you know I had a sudden thought—what if the trinket belonged to Susannah, not the killer? Might she be working with the papists?”
Simon shook his head. “Why? None of this makes any sense.”
“We don’t know, nor do we know why she was there if it wasn’t you who tasked her,” I said.
Silas looked grim. “She was killed because of something she saw. Most likely the Hungarian murderer, as assume. Perhaps she saw him, or interrupted him.”
Simon looked close to tears, and his nerves were clearly shot. “And all this is related to a…book?”
I shared a glance with Silas, who gave a short nod.
“Do you know what the book is?” I said slowly.
“I’m guessing it is Abyssinian,” he sighed.
“The Kebra Nagast,” I said, and he nodded. “Simon you mentioned it when you tried to cast that spell on me last visit.”
“Spell?” he said innocently.
I waved him away. “A figure of speech. Why did you mention it? It can’t be coincidence.”
He nodded respectfully. “I wanted to know if you knew of it.”
“Why?”
“You know more than me. More than most,” he explained.
“You are the second person to accuse me of that,” I said with a frown, thinking of Mrs Pan. “That’s not good enough—why, Simon?”
“Luck?”
“Come now, I give you more credit. Unlike our late friend Daphne, a man of your wiles does not rely on luck.”
“Thank you, madam.” He looked around at us then explained. “I was approached by a gentleman, neat, good looking, professional and educated. He knew I had an interest in religious apocrypha and enquired if I might be able to lead him to this tome. I only wish I could, it is one of the greater outer arcana. I would cherish it greatly.”
“This man—was he bookish? Round glasses?” I asked, thinking it might have been Mr Neville.
“No, as I said, he was a handsome fellow and not at all mousey.”
“Did he give you his name?”
Simon paused. “You know…he did, but I cannot for the life of me recall what it was.”
“Do you normally have trouble with names?”
“I do not.”
“Your description matches the man who approached Mrs Pan,” Silas said. He was right of course; I had quite forgotten.
“So either this was our Ancient Hungarian in disguise, or there is another involved,” I nodded.
“He must be found,” Simon said. “Shall we say we have an accord?”
“To do what?”
“To seek out this Hungarian and take our vengeance upon him,” Simon said with sudden ferocity. “Before his machinations take their full form. This darkness is beyond me.”
“That is quite the admission,” I said, “For a man of your specialities.”
“I am not used to being in this position, Ms Harrow.”
“You should know that we assume this man is watching us constantly,” Silas warned.
“We think the only reason he has not attacked us is he thinks we know where the custodian of book is.” I realised my mistake too late.
“Custodian?” Simon said, surprised. “You mean Baron Churchill is not kidnapped?”
“We…are not sure,” Silas tried. “Just know that you too are now in danger.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Simon said, then narrowed his eyes. “Is there something you are not telling me? Is it true that you can lead him to what he seeks?”
“If we could we would not be talking to you.”
“Touché,” Simon said.
Silas stood, brushing off his trousers. “Mr d’Chartreuse I would love to stay and talk but I need to get home. However there is something I can offer you: I am in a position to have Susanna’s body released to you, should you wish?”
Tears sprung to Simon’s eyes which he quickly wiped away. “That would be greatly appreciated,” he managed. “You will find me at leBouf’s.”
I will admit I believe Catherine leBouf’s molly-house seems an appropriate safehouse for Simon.
It strikes me as rather odd that, given the Major’s warning, the two people we have chosen to trust are d’Chartreuse and the Rat King. Two ‘gentlemen’ who most of London would not trust with a sixpence.
Oh and I suppose there is a third; that man whose name I shall not speak.
As Mr Blackwood departed he turned back suddenly. “Oh, I forgot to mention something. This evening when I went to hail a cab a street urchin made himself known—one of the Rat King’s boys,” he said matter-of-factly. “He said ‘You should seek the Hells Angels of the Devil’s Acre, but if it’s devils of another kind you’re looking for, might I suggest 16 Cheyne Walk?’ Then he scampered off.”
Silas and I were astonished and asked Blackwood to repeat this, which he did word-for-word.
“Devil’s Acre is a rookery,” I explained to a nod from Silas, “And Cheyne Walk is in Chelsea, I believe. I think the Rat King is sending us a lead—perhaps payback for the knowledge you so willingly gave him, Mr Blackwood.”
“What could this message mean?” Blackwood asked innocently.
Silas rubbed his eyes. “There’s only one way to find out. But not until tomorrow!”