‘Godalming,’ Ruthven said, ‘sit down. Lady Ducayne will have to excuse you. We are discussing the evening’s atrocities.’
Godalming, befuddled, found a chair. He had missed the second act, and would have to pick up the thread.
‘The Carpathian Guard has been grossly insulted,’ Iorga said, ‘and must be avenged.’
‘Quite, quite, quite,’ mumbled Matthews. Not generally reckoned to be among the Government’s ablest men, he was sometimes unkindly likened to ‘a French dancing master’. ‘But it would be unwise to fly off the handle, what with the current delicate situation.’
Iorga thumped with a mailed fist, cracking the table. ‘Our blood must have blood!’
Ruthven looked with distaste at the damage the Carpathian had done. The fine finish was ruined.
‘Malefactors will not be allowed to escape unpunished,’ the Prime Minister told the General.
‘Indeed,’ put in Sir Charles. ‘We confidently expect arrests within twenty-four hours.’
‘Just as you have confidently expected at every opportunity for the last few months in this Ripper case,’ snorted Matthews.
The Home Secretary had quarrelled with the Commissioner before, notably in a bitter jurisdictional dispute over who was finally responsible for the newly formed Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police. At first, each had claimed the dynamic detectives as their own, but, of late, both had been less keen; especially with the Whitechapel murders still unsolved.
Sir Charles was angered by the needling. ‘As you well know, Home Secretary, the police failures in this matter owe more to your refusal to allot adequate funds than to any...’
‘Gentlemen,’ said Ruthven, quietly. ‘This is not under discussion.’
The Home Secretary and the Commissioner slumped, each glaring at the other.
‘Warren,’ Ruthven addressed himself to Sir Charles, ‘you are best placed to give an account of the position of the police force. Do so.’
Godalming listened intently. He might find out what this was about.
Sir Charles consulted his notebook like an ordinary constable in court, and cleared his throat. ‘At about midnight, an incident took place in St James’s Park...’
‘... within a few hundred yards of the Palace!’ Matthews put in.
‘... Indeed, in the immediate environs of Buckingham Palace, although at no time were the Royal Family endangered. An officer of the Carpathian Guard was escorting a group of insurrectionists arrested earlier, during the riots.’
‘Dangerous criminals!’ Iorga blustered.
‘That is conjecture. Reports vary. Inspector Mackenzie, a witness, describes the prisoners as “a group of frightened young women”.’
Iorga grunted.
‘A band of men cornered the officer, Ezzelin von Klatka, and destroyed him. In a particularly revolting manner.’
‘How, exactly?’ Godalming put in, intrigued.
‘They stuck a stick of dynamite into his heart and set it off,’ Ruthven said. ‘An innovation, at least.’
‘It was a fine pretty mess,’ Sir Charles said.
‘As our American cousins might have it, that’s the Carpathian Guard all over,’ Ruthven remarked.
Iorga’s head was on the point of exploding, angry red swelling around his eyes. ‘Captain von Klatka died bravely,’ he snarled, ‘a hero.’
‘Come, come, Iorga,’ Ruthven said. ‘A little levity is always welcome.’
‘What of the culprits?’ Carew asked.
‘Men in masks,’ Matthews said. ‘A cross of St George was left by the body. Obviously, Sir Charles’s previous reports on the disorganisation of the Christian Crusade have been sorely in error.’
‘Some see this as retaliation for the attack on John Jago,’ Ruthven explained. ‘Someone has painted thin red crosses all over the city.’
‘Mackenzie says the murderer of von Klatka was a vampire,’ Sir Charles said.
‘Absurd,’ Matthews shouted. ‘You all cling together, you policemen. You cover your mistakes with lies.’
‘Hold fire, Matthews,’ Sir Charles responded. ‘I merely repeat the claim of an observant man at the scene. For myself, I agree with you. It is unlikely that any vampire should wish harm to the Carpathian Guard. That would be practically the same as lifting a hand against our beloved Prince Consort.’
‘Yes,’ Ruthven said. ‘It would, wouldn’t it?’
‘What’s been done?’ Carew said, his habitual angry look turning to black-faced fury.
Sir Charles sighed. ‘I have issued orders for the arrest of the Crusade ringleaders still at liberty after this afternoon’s disturbances.’
‘Their heads should be on poles by sunrise.’
‘General Iorga, we operate under the rule of law. We must first establish the guilt of the felons.’
Iorga waved the irrelevance away. ‘Punish them all and let God decide who is guilty.’
Sir Charles continued. ‘We know the churches and chapels where Jago’s followers gather. All are being raided. In one night, we shall put an end to the Christian Crusade.’
Ruthven thanked the Commissioner. ‘Excellent, Warren. I am myself arranging for the Archbishop to condemn the crusaders as heretics. They will no longer have even the notional support of the Church.’
‘There must be further reprisals,’ Iorga insisted. ‘To stop the rot of rebellion. For von Klatka, a hundred must die.’
Ruthven considered the matter, before he took charge again. ‘We now come to our larger purpose. Even without this fresh outrage I should have convened this meeting within a few nights. This is not an isolated incident. It has not been released to the public, but a week ago an assassin tossed a bomb at Sir Francis Varney during an official visit to Lahore. It failed to explode, but the villain escaped into the crowds. Also, there was this morning an organised mutiny in Devil’s Dyke. That has been suppressed but several dangerous insurrectionists are being tracked on the Sussex Downs.’
Sir Charles looked stricken. This reflected badly on Scotland Yard. On his administration.
Ruthven continued. ‘Silent enim leges inter arma, as Cicero has it. Laws are dumb in the time of war. It may be necessary to suspend Habeas Corpus. The Prince Consort has already taken the title of Lord Protector, assuming the constitutional burden formerly shouldered by our dear Queen. He may yet find it useful to extend his personal powers. In that event, we in this room would most likely constitute the entire government of Great Britain and its Empire. We would be king’s ministers.’
Matthews was about to protest but fell silent. Still a new-born, like Sir Charles, he was in this room only on sufferance. Their seats could easily be filled by vampire elders. Or un-dead of the new breed, who had completely abandoned their warm ways. Godalming realised how close he was to power. He might soon learn what Ruthven was grooming him for.
A dour and silent vampire beside the Prime Minister gave him a ribbon-tied folder of papers. Godalming thought he was connected with the Secret Service.
‘Thank you, Mr Croft,’ Ruthven said, ripping the ribbon. He extracted a paper with finger and thumb and casually whirled it across the table to Sir Charles. ‘This is a list of prominent people suspected of conspiracy against the Crown. They are to be arrested before the sun sets tomorrow.’
Sir Charles’s lips moved as he read the list. He put it down and Godalming was able to glance over it.
Most of the names were familiar: George Bernard Shaw, W.T. Stead, Cunningham-Grahame, Annie Besant, Lord Tennyson. Others meant little: Marie Spartali Stilman, Adam Adamant, Olive Schreiner, Alfred Waterhouse, Edward Carpenter, C.L. Dodgson. There were some surprises.