Tuesday 27nd May 1879: The Coffee House

Today was frustrating, very frustrating, but saved at the last by a sudden frenzy of inspiration from our small company.

I awoke determined to pay a visit to Inspector Clement, the burden of Jessica’s death and what Inspector Hamlin might have discovered weighing heavy. Scotland Yard proved as arrogant as expected, the desk clerk (much though he denied that was his role) obfuscating until finally telling me Clement was otherwise engaged off premise.

Annoyed I stepped outside only to be barraged by the dulcet tones of the morning barkers: “Burglar who walks through walls strikes again!”

This naturally piqued my interest, for any such thief would rapidly put my small escapades out of business. I scanned the broadsheet and my interest was soon more than piqued, for the victim of said robbery was none other than our favourite young politician, John Langbrook! If the news story were to be believed, he had interrupted an attempted theft in his house, confronting the uninvited visitor and was ‘lucky to escape with his life.’

Furthermore, the paper reported that this was the eighth such break-in in the last several months. If memory serves me correctly (and Silas later confirmed that is does) this aligns very nicely with Dr. Foedemere’s residence as magician-of-the-moment.

Well! This was a sudden turn. Just as we had put Foedemere’s mirror trick to bed, a new wrinkle. Silas and Mr Blackwood had vouched their opinion that Foedemere’s mirrors might be a magical transport, and now here was the recent recipient of just such a mirror being burgled by an impossible interloper. Could it be…?

I quickly realised that this event was likely what had detained Clement, and in matter of fact he was likely at the scene of the crime this very moment; we could intercept him!

I rushed over to Silas’s rooms, being the closest of the three gentlemen, to insist he accompany me to Langbrook’s abode. Alas Silas, being Silas, would not begin to consider leaving his patients, vouchsafing that he had responsibilities—and money to be made. “I hope they’re paying you well,” I huffed as I walked out. “Yes, yes they do,” Silas assured me with satisfaction.

At this point I was quite fed up, and ready to return to the Coffee House and drown my sorrows. Instead I roused my spirits, determined to take matters into my own hands. I decided to walk home (in a furious grump) via Mayfair on the slim chance I would stumble up Langbrook’s. And lo I was rewarded for my diligence!

Outside a very handsome mansion on Park Lane stood a trio of bobby’s idly twirling their batons. They let me inside with surprisingly little resistance, and I almost collided with Clement as he opened the door as I went to knock. Unsurprisingly he was very surprised to find me there, despite words to the contrary. “Why am I not surprised to find you here, Ms. Harrow,” he scowled.

I set about questioning him about what had happened here, but he was refused to reveal even the smallest detail. “But Detective Clement I was with Langbrook only hours ago; we dined last evening.”

“That makes your presence here even more suspicious, Ms. Harrow. Where did you see him?”

“Why at Baron Churchill’s,” I said, hoping the Baron’s status would lend me some credibility. No such luck: “I will take that under advisement and add it to our evidence,” Clement muttered. “This is a crime scene, Ms. Harrow, and as such you shall not enter nor ask any further questions.”

“Just one more, if you please: was there a mirror involved with this burglary?” I hinted.

Clement looked non-plussed, and I genuinely believed he had no idea why I was asking. “A crime scene, Ms. Harrow. Now if you will please leave?”

The Baron was right; Clement was indeed a robot. “Very well, if you insist on being so strict. But please, last time we spoke I was accused of being darkly involved in the death of Miss O’Hara. You left me with the understanding you would seek advice—and evidence—from a Detective Hamlin of the Thames police. What did you discover? You can understand my keen interest in clearing my name.”

Clement sighed and rubbed his eyes. “There was no evidence to be found by Hamlin.”

“That is wonderful news,” I beamed before collecting myself. “I take it this means I am longer under suspicion?”

“Ms. Harrow you are always under suspicion,” Clement growled. “Now if you please?”

“Very well, Clement,” I said turning my back, “If you wish to ignore my hint then let that be on your head!”

I could hear him blustering as I strode away, my heart considerably lighter.

I sent for the gentlemen at 6PM, and curiously Daphne was the first to arrive—30 minutes late.

“The other two must be dead,” Daphne decided. He was in a mood, carrying on about grapefruit in a typically Daphne manner. “And you are interrupting my morning!” he flustered, demanding Eunice provide pancakes, “With lemon! And champagne!”.

Euncice looked to me and I nodded. “You don’t need approval,” Daphne scowled, “But bring some for her too, she could use a little extra weight.”

“Could she?” Eunice snapped. It wasn’t clear if this was a snipe at me or Daphne, but I let it pass either way.

Silas was next, late for perhaps the first time I could recall. “Blackwood is dead,” Daphne informed him to a flash of surprise followed by a smirk. “I am sorry to be tardy, but I was detained fitting my new mirror.”

Silas went on to describe how the Colopinto mirror had been delivered by one of the brothers and a robust helper. They had installed it on a wall, as they insisted, and had used a very unusual spirit level that housed a compass—Silas assured me that was quite out of the ordinary; I would never have known. “They were extremely precise with their measurements and alignment,” Silas said. “It really is a magnificent mirror, but as soon as they left I advised my housekeepers to remove it from the wall and relocate it to the coal cellar. It’s there now, padlocked inside, and I scattered flour over the entire floor. If anyone steps through that mirror we will see the tracks,” he explained.

“All of this for petty burglary,” Daphne said through a mouthful of pancake. “Why not install one mirror in China and another here and use it to make a fortune in very short order. That’s what father would do.”

“So would I!” Blackwood announced, having arrived unnoticed. He went on to describe a near identical experience—a Colopinto, a helper, a curious spirit level, and great precision. He too had set about making sure any mirror travellers would be found out, though in a rather more dramatic fashion than Silas. “I surrounded it with giant rat traps embedded with nails,” Blackwood explained matter-of-factly to horrified stares. “I also brought this with me,” he added, producing the fateful royally sealed documents. “I couldn’t trust leaving it there with the mirror in place.”

Despite his proven interest in ultra-violence, I trusted Blackwood’s mechanical aptitude. He theorised that the alignment of the mirror may be important for the ‘magic’ to function: any slightly wrong angles or incorrect cardinals may cause undesirable results.

“Remember how precise they were on stage too,” Daphne said with surprising insight.

“But gentlemen; we have already solved Foedemere’s puzzle,” I protested. “Why suddenly do you all believe that the magic we so recently disproved as mere stage tricks is now real?”

“I believe what we found beneath the stage was a ruse,” Silas said.

“Exactly. We were meant to find that,” Blackwood added.

Abruptly the truth dawned on me. “The stage mirrors were a double bluff?!” I cried.

“Obviously,” Daphne intoned lazily.

I was dumbfounded. How had the three gentlemen worked this out and I had not. Despite my excitement when I heard about Langbrook’s break-in, and despite hinting to Clement the mirrors might be involved, and despite the suspicions in my last diary entry…in the front of my mind they were still simply mirrors. I hadn’t fully grasped what was happening, and now it seemed entirely obvious.

“The Baron will not be happy,” I said, “Given we just gave him our explanation and the all-clear to Langbrook.”

“He’ll be fine,” Silas assured, “He may even be pleased to find out there is more to this than meets the eye. Despite my early reservations, seeing Blackwood here hovering ten feet in the air has convinced me there is something more. And to answer Daphne, I think that simple robbery or profit is not the motive here; I think perhaps there are political motivations involved.”

This made sense to me. The placement of a mirror in the Tower of London gave access to the Crown Jewels, but a mirror in the royal palace gave access to far more: money, power, blackmail. This last was surely invaluable, and we suspected mirrors in near every well heeled household in greater London. Something needed to be done, and soon.

I took a deep breath. “I think our next move is clear, gentlemen,” and pointed to Blackwood’s folio.

“No, Gideon,” Silas said.

“It’s treason,” Daphne groaned.

“And Churchill advised against it,” Blackwood added.

“We have no choice. Besides, who will know? Salvin has vanished, presumed dead. The Baron doesn’t care either way—he put the decision squarely in our hands. If we open them and they are incriminating in any way, we burn them immediately and no-one will be any the wiser.”

The gentlemen exchanged glances. I knew then I had them.

“Let us toast: to treason!”

Daphne and Silas raised their glasses, but Blackwood was hesitant. “I won’t toast to Treason. We are trying to help the Crown, not betray.”

“Close enough,” I smiled, and Blackwood joined our round. “Oh and I have more good news: Clement told me he had no evidence from Hamlin regarding Jessica’s death. So we, or in point of fact I, are in the clear!” This gave rise to another round of toasting.

“Now, to business. I have a room where we will not be interrupted, nor overheard. Shall we?”

I led the company to the Black Room. I will leave it to the reader to imagine why it is named thus; suffice to say Blackwood was fascinated by the tools and implements on display (with obviously no idea for what purpose they may be used), Daphne claimed he had no need of such indulgences, and Silas merely raised an eyebrow.

We laid the folio on the (rather brutalist) slab in the centre of the room. It felt that Her Majesty’s Royal Seal was almost glowing under the heavy red lighting of the room (French, and installed at considerable expense). “Will you do the honours, Mr Blackwood?”

I expected some ceremony—it was not every day that one breaks a royal seal—but Blackwood tore the folder open with barely a thought.

Inside were a collection of detailed drawings of the interior of the Tower of London. They showed the Jewel House in Wakefield Tower (wherein the Crown Jewels themselves were housed), and the plans for the addition of a bridge to the Prisoner’s Tower—“Now complete,” Blackwood added. There were maps of the Prisoner’s Tower and Keeper’s Lodge, and, most interestingly, the Treasure Annex. “That is where Langbrook said the wedding gifts were being collected,” Silas pointed.

“Why would this be royally sealed? Is there nothing of more substance?” I said. “Letters betraying secrets, a smoking pistol we can point?”

“These documents are more valuable than any of that,” Blackwood said, poring over the plans. “They give the holder complete access to the layout of the inside of the Tower.”

“I will admit that the idea we could break into the Tower is quite tempting,” I conceded.

“We are not breaking into the Tower!” Daphne groaned. “Where is that champagne?”

Much discussion followed on how best to proceed. Our first instincts were to go to our various sources: the Baron for advice (Blackwood), Superintendent Williamson to warn of the possible danger and glean what he knew (Silas), a bath and breakfast without grapefruit (Daphne), Clement (again) for information about the break-ins (me).

“And then there is d’Chartreuse to consider,” Silas added.

“No more nuns!” Daphne exclaimed.

“That man is a charlatan, nothing more,” I said. “What exactly has he done? Tried and failed to blackmail both Lady Abernathy and Daphne, written a satanic tome, and little else. I don’t think he has anything to do with this greater mystery.”

“Maybe,” Silas said, entirely unconvinced.

It seemed we had decided on our course of action. And yet I felt dissatisfied. As I considered why that might be it struck me that we were getting everyone else do the work we could—and should—be doing ourselves. And we had been doing for some time now, ever since arriving back in London (our midnight Theatre escapade being the lone exception). We poked around the edges and went to officialdom for confirmation. And yet we had so many talents in this room (and Daphne).

Enough. It was time to act.

“Gentlemen I have a proposal. We must take the reigns,” I said turning to Silas. “I don’t trust Williamson, and nor does the Baron—recall that he described him as a ‘tool to be used’ and not necessarily trusted. He also described Clement as dangerously plodding, or words to that effect, and I must concur he is a hard nut to crack.”

“Oh Gideon,” Daphne said, “You have him wrapped around your finger. He would do anything for you!”

“Not yet he won’t, and I’m not ready to play that card,” I said. I wasn’t sure Daphne was correct, though I had not really tried…yet. Clement would be a fine prize, and he was quite handsome after all. I turned to Blackwood. “And whilst the Baron can be helpful, he has made it abundantly clear that he expects us, gentlemen, to work for him, not the other way around.”

“You may be right, Gideon,” Silas said graciously. “We can do this ourselves. Who better to find out more about the mirrors—”

“Than me?” I finished. “Yes! I can use my street networks to find out who has them, and if those same houses have been the recipient of our mysterious visitor.”

“Well, yes, you—but I was rather thinking of Daphne,” Silas countered, to a snort from the same. “For surely there is no-one better placed to find out precisely who has the mirrors, and what indignities they have subsequently faced. You live and breathe those circles, Daphne.”

“Well naturally,” Daphne said, studying his nails. “I’ll get my man onto it.”

“Not your man, Daphne—you,” Silas insisted. Daphne rolled his eyes but nodded. “Good. And I’ll do the same with my patients, they tend to move in the same society,” Silas added.

“Well not the same,” Daphne corrected.

“And you, Blackwood, can find out more about these plans,” I suggested. “What do they show and what does that tell us?”

“I’ll scour the newspapers in the Library of London too,” Blackwood said, “They have a copy of every edition. We should be able to find the other break-ins that way.”

“Very good, gentlemen! For myself I will also talk to the streets and find out what they know. A spate of inexplicable burglaries would be bad for business, after all.”

The plan was a good one, and one where we did our own work. I was pleased and go to bed in a much better frame of mind than I woke.