He looked back, but Victoria remained shrouded in darkness. "Veronica?"
"No. The younger one. We have considered your request and have decided to oblige. She wil be moved to a new facility. More information wil be forthcoming. We suggest you do not involve the family until arrangements have been made."
Newbury grinned. "Thank you, Your Majesty. That is most excellent news."
Victoria's hissing laugh echoed around the dark, cavernous room. "We do what is necessary. As do you, Sir Maurice." She coughed. "Now go and deal with Ashford."
"As you say."
Newbury crossed the room and stepped through the door into the passageway that would lead him back to Sandford, the waiting room and the cold London morning outside. It seemed Veronica would have an even longer wait on her hands; whilst Her Majesty had given him a little more to go on, Newbury still felt he was only hearing half of the story, and that, if he were to uncover a little more information about Ashford, he'd be able to bring the case to a much swifter resolution. Not only that, but her talk of Newbury's personal stake in the assignment had left him feeling more than a little uncomfortable. He had no idea how an agent from five years ago could have any bearing on him, or the nature of the repercussions that she had referred to. But he did know someone who might: Sir Charles Bainbridge. Charles had been an agent for many, many years and would likely remember Ashford. He may even have worked with the man on a number of assignments. Whether he knew the truth, or, like Newbury, had been led to believe that Ashford was dead, Newbury had no idea. But he knew that he needed to find out. He would head directly to Scotland Yard and speak with Charles. For now, it was the only lead he had.
Chapter Seven
Ashford, you say? It's a long time since I last heard that name." Sir Charles Bainbridge, Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard, moved about behind his desk, shuffling papers, a flustered expression on his face. He was older than Newbury, just over fifty, with greying temples and a big, bushy moustache. He was dressed in a grey suit, with a white starched collar and black neck tie. He glanced up at Newbury, who was sitting in a chair off to one side, watching his friend as he went about his business. "Why do you ask?"
Newbury stroked his chin thoughtful y. He hadn't real y decided how to put it yet. "Her Majesty has asked me to find him."
Bainbridge nodded and looked down at the stack of papers in his hands. Then, realisation dawning behind his eyes, he dropped the papers into a heap and looked back at Newbury, before lowering himself into the chair behind his desk.
"Newbury, William Ashford has been dead for over five years. What on earth are you going on about?"
Newbury nodded. Clearly Bainbridge wasn't aware of Ashford's remarkable second life. "Indeed.
That, apparently, is the received wisdom on the matter. But it transpires that there is more to Ashford's death than meets the eye."
Bainbridge looked confused. "Stop talking cryptical y and get on with it, Newbury."
Newbury gave a curt nod. "You start. What can you tel me about Ashford? What sort of man was he, and how did he die?"
Bainbridge sat back in his chair. "He was a good man, I'll venture that much. I knew him fairly well. He was married, with two children. A boy and a girl, if I remember correctly. He was a good agent – hard, but fair. He always had the best interests of the Empire at heart."
Newbury nodded, glancing out of the window. In the yard below, a group of uniformed men were readying a police carriage. He turned to meet Charles's gaze. "So how did he die?"
"It was a nasty business, Newbury, and not something I care to remember."
Newbury furrowed his brow. It was unusual for Bainbridge to be so reserved. "Come on, Charles! This is important." He banged his fist on the table with impatience.
Bainbridge sighed. He leaned forward in his chair again. "What do you know of Dr. Aubrey Knox?"
"Not a great deal. Former agent. Lost in action about the same time as Ashford. It's never really come up."
"There's an explanation for that, Newbury. It's never come up for a reason."
"Go on."
"Knox was a genius. A brilliant man, who, like you, had a fascination with the occult sciences. He was one of the shining lights of Her Majesty's secret circle; he had proved himself to b e a reliable, loyal subject for over ten years, and his service record was impeccable. He took on many of the same sorts of cases that you take on now: anything strange, psychological, paranormal, supernatural. He had a depth of knowledge surpassed by none in the Empire, yet he didn't crave personal recognition.
He wrote no papers, attended no lectures. In many ways he was the perfect agent; quite brilliant, but quiet, effective, and unassuming."
"What happened to him? Is it al tied up with Ashford?"
Bainbridge nodded. "It was midway through eighteen ninety-six. June, I think. There was a botched assignment. I'm not sure of the details, but something went wrong. Something that everyone expected to be an easy job. Somehow, somewhere in the aftermath, it was brought to the attention of Her Majesty that Knox had been pursuing his own interests. He'd become obsessed with the practice of the occult. Agents were sent to his laboratory in Ladbroke Grove. They discovered that he'd been experimenting on human subjects: waifs, whores, paupers. No one knew what he was trying to do, but we were all appalled by it. It wasn't just the work of an enquiring mind. You should have seen the place, Newbury. It's burned into my mind. The things he'd done.. he should be damned to hell for all eternity. Anyway, a warrant was issued for his arrest. Ashford was given the case. He was told to find Knox and bring him in, whatever the cost."
Pausing, Bainbridge stood, crossed the room and collected two brandy glasses from a shelf by the door. He reached into a cupboard and searched out a plain glass decanter, from which he removed the stopper and sloshed an ample measure of brandy into each glass. He returned to his desk and handed one of the drinks to Newbury. He looked pale. "Bit early, I know.." He shrugged.
His tone changed. "Now, Newbury, you must understand that Ashford was very much unlike you or I.
His disposition was entirely different. Put him in a room with a foreign agent and he'd make them talk, without even batting an eyelid. He was the sort of man who could bring down a network of criminals with sheer brute force. Simple, but effective. 'A tool', Her Majesty would call him, for when we needed 'something a little stronger'. But he had no experience of the occult, no sense of what he was getting himself into with Knox. And Knox, for his part, knew how to play him." Bainbridge sighed. "Ashford tracked Knox across the country for months, finally cornering him back here in London. But Knox was expecting him and had laid a trap. No one is sure exactly what happened to Ashford, but his body was found mangled in an abandoned warehouse near the docks, ripped apart, as if he'd been torn open like a paper doll. Knox was never heard from again."
"So he got away? No one went after him?"
"Plenty of people went after him. But no one ever found him. He disappeared. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Her Majesty still had people looking for him now, all over the world. But poor old Ashford was buried a few days later, and I had to break the news to his wife. It was a sorry business indeed."
"So why have I never heard of this before?"
"Because, Newbury, you were brought in to replace him. In many ways you're the same sort of man: brilliant, dedicated, effective. But even the very best of men are fallible. Don't think that I don't know about your fondness for the laudanum, for a start."
"Look, let's not get into that now."
Bainbridge took a long draw on his brandy. "The Queen is worried. Not because she doubts you, you understand; but because she's seen it before. Knox left a bad taste in her mouth. In al our mouths. She's concerned that, one day, you may drift too close to the line, that the allure of the occult is too strong, not just for you, but for any man."