They had left the miniature portraits on his desk, clustered at one corner.
“A constant reminder of your treacherous family,” Hood sneered. He believed all of them to be involved in the deception.
William reached across and picked up his mother’s picture in its silver frame. Her rosy smile tinged his weariness with melancholy. A year had passed since his last visit to the nunnery, and his attempts at conversation had been halted by her mad screams. She didn’t even recognise him. Any filial love had been wiped out by religious fervour, which consumed her mind, and dominated her every waking moment.
He remembered that winter morning when she had been found wandering the streets of Southwark, and the Nuns of Bermondsey had taken her in and given her shelter. His arrival to fetch her home had only exacerbated her distress. She called him, “the Devil,” and her home a, “hole of Hell.”
She refused to leave. The Reverend Mother settled that she could stay there, until such time as she thought fit for her to resume normal life, in return for generous donations to their Holy Order. William considered it a fair solution. His mother’s return to peace seemed doubtful, despite her apparent devotion to God.
His thoughts darkened. He blamed Isobel for her illness. Her unexpected disappearance, followed by the shock of father’s death, had been more than his mother could bear. Why, she asked, had she been singled out for such harsh treatment? She turned to The Bible, but the stories and their strange twists of fate, that seemed a prelude to salvation, confused and tormented her. She dismissed them, and indulged in her personal search for redemption by screaming at the sky and running wildly through the streets of London, day and night. Her seclusion in the Nunnery seemed preferable to the cells of Bedlam.
He unclipped the back of the portrait, and tipped the brass key into his hand. He opened the right hand drawer of his desk and swivelled the base over to expose the secret compartment beneath. He fitted the key into the lock and the wooden lid sprang open, to reveal his poison case inside.
He lifted it out and placed it on the desk. The bottles trembled as the case opened, each one cocooned in its separate compartment of thick red velvet.
He pulled on a leather tag in the case’s cross bar, and slid out a small drawer concealed underneath. Inside the drawer, lay an ivory pill box, its carved lid depicting the leering face of Satan.
He opened the box with a flick of his finger. Two brass capsules rested on pads of cotton wool. Each capsule contained a glass phial of Prussic Acid. He slid the carved box into his waistcoat pocket. Then he closed the case and returned it to the drawer.
Voices, raised in confrontation, came from the street below. He recognised Doctor Hood’s sharp angry tone. He returned the key to the back of the frame, and fastened the clips.
The Brotherhood had come for his confession, but he had told them the truth, and he would tell them again. The Wolf brothers at Parklands had stolen the Russian White. He pursued them, but failed to catch them. He hadn’t given up the chase. The fake diamond had been a means of giving him time to spring a trap.
The Brotherhood didn’t believe him. They insisted on his treachery. He had sold the diamond back to the Russians for profit and personal glory. He had deceived The Brotherhood with the fake diamond, and his ridiculous story about the Wolf brothers was just deception.
The lock on the study door rattled. He pulled his chair round. He would present them with his back.
Their boots shuffled across the wooden floor as the door closed with a soft click.
Tension permeated the room as each second passed. William revelled at his ability to keep them waiting, and experienced a return to his accustomed confidence.
So watch me. Size me up like some exotic wild animal trapped in a cage. Gloat over the beast’s emasculation. You want to break me? You want me to beg for clemency? Well hope is all you have, because I’m not going to give you that satisfaction.
The silence continued. Every breath and rustle magnified the tension, and his building confidence wavered. What were they doing? Had they come to murder him? Panicked, he leapt up, and faced them.
Terrington stood in front of the desk and William gasped, unable to control his surprise.
The Chief nodded to Hood and Buffrey, who flanked him at the study door. “This is him. We’ve got the right man.”
Terrington bowed, but The Chief marched forward and pushed him aside. “Expecting him were you?”
William scowled and sat down. The relief at Terrington’s appearance was coupled with disappointment that he was with The Brotherhood. It was clear that his servant was unaware of his predicament, and even worse, that he was in no position to help him.
“Just need to catch that filthy sister of his and we’ll have a full set.” Hood’s snide remark produced a grunt of pleasure from Buffrey.
“Where is she William?” Hood continued. “Still hiding in Parklands, or has she run back to Moscow?”
“Not without her precious lover surely,” conceded Buffrey.
“Just another story to throw us off the scent,” concluded Hood.
“Well William? Is it?” The Chief paced round the desk, and faced him.
“We saw the Classical Beauties Chief,” pointed out Buffrey. “Don’t you remember? In that…”
“Ask him about his other sister,” interrupted Hood. “Nobody’s seen her for years. I wager she’s in Russia too. Whole bloody family are traitors.”
The Chief placed his hands on the arm rests and leant down. His face closed to within inches, and the stink of spicy cologne revolted William, and he averted his head.
“Where is Isobel?” demanded The Chief. “Where is the diamond?”
William met his gaze, and spat in his face.
The Chief recoiled. “How dare you!” He wiped his lips with his sleeve, and then grabbed the lapels of William’s jacket and yanked him upright.
“Traitor! Tell me where she is, or by God, I’ll have you flailed within an inch of your life!”
William spat again, splattering his forehead. Someone seized his arm from behind and bent it into a half-nelson. He grunted with pain as he doubled over.
“I’ve got him,” Hood panted in his ear. The Chief stepped back, bunched his huge hand into a fist, and punched him in the stomach.
Pain rocketed like exploding fireworks from front to back and from chest to groin. His sight blurred and his legs buckled. Hood released him as he fell, and his nose smashed into the floor. A terrible tingling enveloped his head, and he didn’t know if he was going to faint or be sick. He curled up, like a baby, and gasped for breath.
“Kick him in the face,” yelled Buffrey.
“Sir?” Terrington’s distant voice might have been coming from another room.
“What?” The Chief retorted.
“I have news about Mistress Isobel sir.”
“What?” Hood’s voice echoed in his ear as the Doctor’s arm gripped his neck.
“She is in England sir.”
“How do you know?” Hood’s knee jammed into his back, and forced him to kneel.
“I followed her sir.”
“What do you mean followed her?” The Chief pushed the chair back to give himself space.
“She escaped sir.”
“He’s lying,” yelled Buffrey.
“With due respect sir, it is the truth. I saw her.”
William tasted blood. Black specks whirled at the edges of his sight. He didn’t have the strength to kneel, and flopped against the Doctor’s legs.
“Don’t trust him Chief,” snarled Hood. “They’re all in it together. Go on, I’ve got him.”
The Chief’s fist smashed into his jaw. “Where’s the diamond?”