Anno Dracula - Kim Newman [12]
The doorbell rang just as Whistler made an amusing speculation, perhaps unsuited to predominantly feminine company, regarding the long-ago annulment of his hated enemy’s marriage. Irritated at the interruption, the painter resumed his flow as Florence, herself irritated because Bessie was unavailable for the menial task, hurried off to answer her door.
Beauregard noticed Penelope sitting near the front, laughing prettily as she pretended to understand Whistler’s insinuations. Godalming stood behind her chair, wrists crossed under his evening coat in the small of his back, the sharp points of his fingers dimpling out the cloth. Arthur Holmwood was no longer the man Beauregard had known when he left England. There had been a scandal, shortly before his turning. Like Bram Stoker, Godalming had sided with the wrong lot when the Prince Consort first came to London. Now he had to prove his loyalty to the new regime.
‘Charles,’ Florence said, quietly enough not to interrupt Whistler further. ‘There is a man for you. From your club.’
She gave him a calling card. It bore the name of no individual, just the simple words. THE DIOGENES CLUB.
‘This is in the nature of a summons,’ he explained. ‘Make my apologies to Penelope.’
‘Charles...?’
He was in the hallway, Florence following close behind. He took his own cloak, hat and cane. Bessie would not be up to her duties for a while yet. He hoped, for the sake of Florence’s dignity, the maid would be available to see to the guests when the time came for their departure.
‘I’m sure Art will see Penelope home,’ he said, instantly regretting the suggestion. ‘Or Miss Reed.’
‘Is this serious? I’m sure you don’t have to leave so soon...’
The messenger, a close-mouthed fellow, waited out in the street, a carriage at the kerb beside him.
‘My time is not always my own, Florence.’ He kissed her hand. ‘I thank you for your courtesy and kindness.’
He left the Stoker house, stepped across the pavement, and climbed up into the carriage. The messenger, who had been holding the nearside door open, joined him. The driver knew their intended destination, and immediately set off. Beauregard saw Florence closing her door against the cold. The fog thickened and he looked away from the house, settling in to the steady motion of the carriage. The messenger said nothing. Although a summons from the Diogenes Club could mean no good news, Beauregard was relieved to be out of Florence’s parlour and away from the company.
4
COMMERCIAL STREET BLUES
At Commercial Street Police Station, Lestrade introduced her to Frederick Abberline. At the sufferance of Assistant Commissioner Dr Robert Anderson and Chief Inspector Donald Swanson, Inspector Abberline had charge of the continuing investigation. Having pursued the Polly Nichols and Annie Chapman cases with his customary tenacity but without notable results, the warm detective was now saddled with Lulu Schön, and any yet to come.
‘If I can help in any way,’ Geneviève offered.
‘Listen to her, Fred,’ Lestrade said, ‘she’s wise to the ways.’
Abberline, obviously unimpressed, knew it was politic to be polite. Like Geneviève, he could not see why Lestrade wanted her dogging the case.
‘Think of her as an expert,’ Lestrade said. ‘She knows vampires. And this case comes down to vampires.’
The inspector waved the offer aside, but one of the several sergeants in the room – William Thick, whom they called ‘Johnny Upright’ – nodded agreement. He had interviewed Geneviève after the first murder, and seemed as fair and smart as his reputation would have him, even if his taste in suits did run to lamentable checks.
‘Silver Knife is definitely a vampire-slayer,