Twelve Minutes to Midnight Page 8

  “The spiders … the spiders…”

  Penny turned and fled. She pulled out her handkerchief as she hurried away down the corridor, her only thought to escape from this loathsome place. But as she wiped the spittle from her cheek, Penelope couldn’t escape the image of Lady Ross’s snarling face that was burnt into her mind.

  The woman was truly deranged – that much was clear. No hope of finding any clues from her about how Lady Cambridge was tied up with this mystery – only ravings about spiders and poison. The madness that stalked these walls had already overwhelmed her. Penny’s visit here had been in vain.

  As she reached the entrance lobby, she glanced across at the spot where she had seen Lady Cambridge pause in front of the scar-faced guard. She remembered the envelope that had passed between them. What secrets had it held? The mystery of Bedlam still remained and if she couldn’t solve it, then Montgomery Flinch’s latest tale would remain unwritten.

  She only had one option left – to pay a visit to Lady Cambridge herself. But what excuse could she find to call on a woman who that journalist had said was even more reclusive than the elusive Montgomery Flinch?

  As Penelope stepped through the doors of the asylum and out into the wintry chill, a cunning smile slowly spread across her lips. The answer was staring her right in the face. She knew the person with the perfect reason to call on Lady Cambridge. All she needed to do now was convince him to agree.

  XIII

  “Absolutely not!”

  Monty sat defiantly in the leather armchair, its shabby armrests stained in several places. “There’s no way on earth I’m getting myself involved in that madness once again!”

  Penny sat primly on an armchair facing the actor, waiting patiently for his storm of protest to blow itself out. Monty swayed slightly in his seat, the last dregs of his brandy spilling out over the edge of his glass.

  “The place was filled with crackpots and maniacs.” Monty slurred his words as he jabbed a warning finger in Penny’s direction. “We were lucky to get out of there alive – you should be thanking me.”

  His cheeks shone with an intoxicated glow and, as his stentorian voice filled the club’s saloon-room, an elderly gentleman dozing in a nearby armchair woke with a start. The old man blinked, his eyes fixing on Penelope for a moment. Then, shaking his head in disgust at the sight of a young girl in his club, he fell back to sleep with an angry harrumph.

  “I’ve already told you, Monty,” Penny spoke softly, her tone trying to soothe Monty’s troubled countenance, “I don’t want you to go back to Bedlam. You’ve just got to help me get inside Lady Cambridge’s house.”

  Monty shook his head decisively.

  “You hired me as an actor, my dear – someone to bring Montgomery Flinch’s stories to life on the stage. Not as some sort of charlatan who would help you to prey on elderly members of the aristocracy.”

  Penny frowned. “We wouldn’t be preying on anyone – I’m just asking you to stick to your side of the bargain and play the part of Montgomery Flinch. Besides,” she added, “at twenty-four years of age, I’d hardly call the widowed Lady Cambridge elderly.”

  At this morsel of information, Monty raised his eyebrow in interest.

  “Twenty-four years old? Widowed, you say?”

  Penny nodded her head.

  “So you’ll come with me?”

  There was a long moment of silence. The fingers of Monty’s free hand drummed against the armrest as though considering the matter, but then, with a sigh, he shook his head again.

  “No, no, no,” he replied. “I refuse to be a part of this deception. No good will come of it, you mark my words.”

  Glancing up at the waiter standing unobtrusively in the corner of the room, he motioned for him to refill his glass.

  The waiter glided across the threadbare carpet to Monty’s side.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Monty brandished his empty glass.

  “Another fine measure in there, my good man.” He nodded benevolently in Penny’s direction. “And a drink for the young lady too – a lemonade perhaps – something to take the edge off her disappointment.”

  With an apologetic cough, the waiter slowly shook his head.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.”

  Monty looked up in surprise, his glowering face reddening to an even deeper hue.

  “What do you mean ‘won’t be possible’?” he demanded. “Do you know how long I’ve been a member of this club?”

  The young waiter nodded, his features composed in a sympathetic manner.

  “I do, sir,” he replied, lowering his voice in deference to Penelope’s presence, “but I have strict instructions from the club steward not to serve you with any more drinks until your subscriptions have been paid and the drinks bill settled in full.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Monty blustered. “I’m only a couple of weeks in arrears.”

  “Three months, sir,” the waiter replied. He reached down and took the empty glass from Monty’s hand, placing it on his tray.

  “The steward can be found in his office if you would like to discuss the matter further with him.”

  Monty’s face fell like a child who had unwrapped a brightly-coloured Christmas present and found only coal. He turned to Penelope for assistance.

  “It’s a trifling amount,” he told her. “If you could just—”

  Penny rose to her feet, straightening her dress as she stood.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at two,” she replied firmly. “The address is Stanley House, 2 Egerton Gardens, South Kensington. I’ll send a telegraph ahead so that Lady Cambridge is expecting our arrival.”

  With a mournful glance at his empty glass as the waiter bore it away, Monty slowly nodded his head.

  Penelope turned and headed for the exit, her excitement mounting with every step that she took. Now she could start getting somewhere.

  “I’ll speak to the steward on my way out,” she called back over her shoulder as the saloon doors closed behind her.

  * * *

  With Monty’s money worries for the moment taken care of, Penelope stepped out of his club with a new spring in her step. Now she just had to head back to the offices of The Penny Dreadful to write the telegram that would gain their admittance into Lady Cambridge’s home.

  The fog that had clung to the streets since morning was clearing now, but Penny’s mind still swirled with questions. She was convinced that the key to unlocking this mystery lay with Lady Cambridge, but how exactly? Penny was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice the man walking in step beside her until he spoke.

  “Been paying a visit to your uncle, Miss Tredwell?” the man enquired. “How is the illustrious Montgomery Flinch?”

  Penelope’s gaze swivelled in surprise and she found herself looking up into the face of the Pall Mall Gazette’s inquisitive reporter, Mr Robert Barrett.

  “When you said he was staying at his country house residence,” Barrett continued, casting a dismissive glance back at the worn façade of the gentlemen’s club, “I was expecting somewhere a little more luxurious.”

  Penny’s mind raced as she quickened her step. How had Barrett found her here?

  “Mr Flinch was called back to London on urgent business,” she replied, her mind struggling to keep pace with her mouth as she improvised desperately. “This gentlemen’s club is his place of residence in the city whilst he attends to matters at The Penny Dreadful.”

  Barrett raised an eyebrow as he quickened his step to keep pace with Penny.

  “I would have expected such a celebrated man of letters as Mr Flinch to be a member of the Arts Club or the Athenaeum, not such a low-rent establishment as Rathbone’s Club for Gentlemen of Leisure.”

  Penelope sharpened her smile in reply.

  “I’m really not familiar with the merits of different gentlemen’s clubs, Mr Barrett,” she quipped as she stepped smartly past a barrow being wheeled along the pav
ement.

  “Of course, of course, it’s unfair for me to ask a young lady such a question,” said Barrett, holding his hands up in apology, as he dodged past the same barrow, “but there is just one small matter that I wonder if you could help me with.”

  At the end of the street, Penelope saw a row of hansom cabs waiting for a fare. With a sigh, she grudgingly nodded her assent. She’d soon be in a cab back to The Penny Dreadful and have this nosy journalist out of her hair.

  “It’s a puzzling trifle, but one that I’m sure you can explain,” Barrett continued with an inquisitive gleam in his eye. “Why is Montgomery Flinch listed on the membership rolls at Rathbone’s as a Mr Monty Maples?”

  Penny stopped in her tracks, unable to hide the panicked look that flashed across her face. She’d told Monty to cover his tracks. If Barrett pulled too firmly on this one loose thread, then the whole plan could unravel. Her secret would be out and the world would know the truth about Montgomery Flinch. She couldn’t let that happen. Thinking on her feet, Penny turned to face Barrett.

  “You don’t really think that a man of Montgomery Flinch’s fame would be able to keep his privacy if he put his real name on the rolls of his club?” she replied, her lips pursed in a scornful half-smile. “He’d spend all his time signing autographs rather than writing the stories that have made his name. Now if that’s all you wanted to ask me, Mr Barrett, then I’ll bid you good day.”

  Barrett frowned, but before he had the chance to reply, Penelope had already turned on her heel. As she hurried towards the line of horse-drawn cabs, her smile quickly turned to a scowl.

  Penny hailed the nearest hansom and clambered up into the cab before Barrett could follow her.

  “The offices of The Penny Dreadful,” she told the cabman. “38 Bedford Street, just off the Strand.”

  As the driver whipped his horses into life and the cab clattered across the cobbles, Penny settled into her seat with a frown. Barrett’s prying questions were getting too close for comfort. She needed to shake him off Montgomery Flinch’s tail for good. Her fingers drummed against the seat’s upholstery as her mind searched for a solution.

  The answer came to her in an instant. When she got back to the office, she wouldn’t just write a telegram to Lady Cambridge, but also one to Barrett’s editor at the Pall Mall Gazette. It was time to give this pestering paper their exclusive interview with Montgomery Flinch, but on her terms. And that meant throwing this busybody journalist off the story and out of the picture. Otherwise, the Gazette could say goodbye forever to the pots of money The Penny Dreadful spent on advertising in its pages.

  The cab driver turned right into Trafalgar Square. From the window of the cab, Penny could see Nelson’s Column, the top of the towering monument still wreathed in mist. She sank back into her seat with a satisfied sigh. With Barrett out of the way, she’d be able to concentrate on solving the strange mystery that haunted Bedlam. Tomorrow, she would pay a visit to Lady Cambridge and find out if she had any answers.

  XIV

  “Mr Montgomery Flinch and his niece Miss Penelope Tredwell, ma’am.”

  The stiff-necked butler ushered them through a set of double doors into a cavernous drawing room. Penelope stifled a gasp as she entered the room. Outside, the wintry gloom was already darkening the windows, but the room itself was uncommonly bright. It was lit by an array of incandescent electric lamps which hung from the ceiling in glowing globes. Penny felt her feet sink into the velvet-pile carpet. Penny’s gaze darted around the room, quickly taking in her surroundings with an author’s eye.

  In one corner of the room, a grand piano stood silent, its polished ebony-black veneer shining beneath the lamplight. Elsewhere, luxurious chairs and couches, tables and chiffoniers, were elegantly arranged around the room. Wealth dripped from every surface. The back wall was filled entirely by a vast bookcase which stretched from floor to ceiling, its shelves crammed with countless rows of leather-bound volumes. On the remaining walls, the shimmering black-and-white patterned threads of the wallpaper made Penelope feel as though she was trapped in a spider’s web.

  Rising from her armchair, Lady Cambridge stepped forward to greet them. She was dressed in a flowing black gown, widow’s weeds that made mourning look distinctly fashionable. Dark waves of hair were artfully swept up to the top of her head and her pale face was illuminated by a pair of blue eyes, sparkling with a bewitching beauty. Standing immobile next to her, Penny heard Monty sharply draw his breath in awe, captivated by her youthful allure.

  “Mr Flinch, what an unexpected delight to meet you.” Lady Cambridge took Monty’s hand in a delicate handshake. “My staff inform me that your stories are all the rage in literary London.”

  “Why – thank you,” Monty replied, stumbling over his words like a nervous schoolboy. “I’m so honoured, My Lady, that you have even heard of my trifling serials.”

  Her own outstretched hand ignored, Penelope tried to bite her lip but couldn’t stop herself asking the question.

  “You’ve not read any of my uncle’s stories yourself then?”

  Lady Cambridge turned to look down at Penny, a faint air of amusement playing across her features.

  “I must admit I haven’t,” she confided, her lips curling in a gently mocking smile. “I prefer to deal in fact rather than fictions.”

  She turned away, motioning for them both to take a seat as she returned to her own chair.

  “Your telegram said that you wanted to consult me for my expertise, Mr Flinch. Pray tell me, how exactly can I help you?”

  Monty stayed rooted to the spot, watching Lady Cambridge with a bedazzled expression on his face as she swished her way back to her chair.

  “Telegram?” he replied distractedly.

  Penny swiftly brought the heel of her boot down on to the actor’s foot to jolt him out of his enchantment.

  “Ouch!”

  Arranging herself in her chair, Lady Cambridge glanced up in surprise at Monty’s sudden exclamation.

  Grimacing, he raised his hand in apology.

  “I’m sorry – old war wound. It plays me up from time to time.”

  Monty hobbled towards the pair of vacant armchairs, snatching an angry glance at Penelope as she sat down beside him.

  Lady Cambridge stared coolly at the two of them, a flicker of suspicion in her gaze.

  “So what little knowledge of mine do you wish to avail yourself of, Mr Flinch?” she asked pointedly.

  “Ah yes,” said Monty, gathering himself together. “I wish to question you on your expert knowledge of all things arachnid.”

  At these words, Penelope saw Lady Cambridge’s hands grasp the arms of her chair, her slender fingers whitening with the pressure of her grip. Unaware of this, Monty blithely carried on speaking. His words had a slightly over-rehearsed quality to them, as though this was a speech he had been practising.

  “As you know, my dear Lady, in the past year I have built a towering reputation as the author of many bestselling serials. My stories are chilling tales of mystery, intricately plotted episodes for the reading public to puzzle over. Of late, I have had the beginnings of a new tale start to take shape in my mind – a diabolical mystery whose plot hinges on the perfect murder.” Monty paused, a conceited smirk playing across his lips. “Of course, I have disregarded all the conventional methods of murder: the revolver, the dagger, the rope, the lead piping. These are all too plain for my tale and my readers expect to be intrigued.”

  “I really don’t see how I can—”

  Monty cut off Lady Cambridge’s interruption with a reassuring wave of his hand.

  “I was thinking of the bite of a deadly spider – a venomous poison undetectable by human hand, but that could polish off its victim in a matter of seconds. I wondered, Lady Cambridge, whether you would be able to suggest a suitable species of spider to ensure the essential truthfulness of my tale?”

  Lady Cambridge’s lips tightened, the sudden hardening of her face marring its perfect beauty. S
he stared at Monty, an angry gleam in her dark-blue eyes.

  “I don’t believe I can help you, Mr Flinch,” she replied coldly. “My studies of the spider have been to further mankind’s understanding of these remarkable creatures, not to make them the tool of some pantomime villain in a tawdry shilling shocker.”

  Monty was taken aback by Lady Cambridge’s swift change of mood.

  “I can assure you, my Lady,” he spluttered, “this tale would be no shilling shocker. The Penny Dreadful is a highly respected periodical read by doctors, lawyers, even ministers of state. The sales of our latest issue are nearing a million. Your assistance in this matter would be of immeasurable service to the cause of great literature.”

  In spite of Monty’s flattery, Lady Cambridge sat impassive on her chair. The cold beauty of her face set firm against any persuasion.

  “You have had my answer, Mr Flinch.” She reached down to the small rosewood table beside her and lifted the bell there. She rang it with an imperious wave of her hand. “I would thank you not to call again. Good day to you both.”

  From a side door, the butler noiselessly entered the drawing room. With a respectful beckoning motion, he hurriedly ushered them from the room, Monty still indignantly protesting that his intentions had been misunderstood. As the double doors slowly closed behind them, Penny glanced back over her shoulder. For a moment, her eyes met Lady Cambridge’s and a chill ran down Penny’s spine as she saw the malice in her gaze. Then the doors shut with a noise like a pistol-crack.

  The butler swept them down the long entrance hall, foisting their coats into their arms and then depositing Monty and Penny on the stone steps outside. The front door closed behind them with a slam.

  “Well, that was a waste of time,” said Monty bitterly, pulling up the collar of his overcoat as an icy sleet began to fall from the fog-bound sky.

  Penny stood in silence on the rain-splattered steps, her face clouded in suspicion. Behind her green eyes, her mind worked frantically to try to unravel what had just taken place. Monty’s cover story about the spiders had just been a bluff to get them through the door, but Lady Cambridge’s reaction to it had been so extreme. Was there something else at play here? Something that she was missing? Whatever it might be, not a trace of doubt remained in her mind that Lady Cambridge had something to hide.