The man returned her gaze, a bright smile lighting up his face. He looked lost, but hopeful.
Nearby, the other patients continued to circle the airing courts, indifferent to the fact that their newest arrival would, in just a matter of hours, finally be reunited with his loved ones.
Chapter Thirty
Newbury leaned heavily on the mantelpiece and took a long draw on his pipe, watching the smoke curl in lazy circles in the still air of his Chelsea living room. He was wearing a long blue dressing gown and slippers, and was warming himself by the raging fire that Mrs. Bradshaw had built up for him earlier that evening. Across the room, Bainbridge sat easily in one of the Chesterfields, his cane propped by the door, a brandy clutched firmly in one hand, a cigar in the other. He observed Newbury through a pungent wreath of smoke.
Newbury was tapping his foot impatiently, unable to allow himself to relax. He clearly wasn't taking well to his period of convalescence.
Bainbridge sucked on the end of his cigar. "So, truthfully, how are you man? You seem irritable."
Newbury laughed. "No, not irritable, Charles. Just anxious to get out of these rooms! I feel like I've been trapped in here for weeks, pacing backwards and forwards, waiting for something new to come along that I can sink my teeth into. My wounds are healing in a satisfactory fashion, and with any luck I'll be fighting fit again in no time. I need something new to engage my mind. I fear I'll be climbing the walls before long if something doesn't come along soon."
Bainbridge shook his head. "Newbury, you astound me! I'd have thought after your experiences this last week you'd be anxious to get some rest. I know I am!"
Newbury chuckled. "You know me, Charles. I never have been able to stand still for long." He glanced at the end of his pipe, a frustrated look on his face, and then tapped out the spent tobacco on the mantelpiece, banging the vessel repeatedly against the palm of his left hand. He moved stiffly across the room, still wincing with the movement, and lowered himself into the armchair opposite Bainbridge. He searched out his leather tobacco pouch from amongst the debris on the coffee table, and began the process of refilling his bowl. "So tell me, Charles, what of Joseph Chapman?"
Bainbridge took a swig of his brandy, shuddering as the alcohol sent tickling fingers of warmth into his belly. He looked grave. "Chapman's for the noose, and he knows it. His crimes were some of the most severe and inhumane I've yet encountered in my career, and in this city, that's certainly saying something. What galls me, though, is the man's consistently pompous attitude. He sits there during his interviews gloating about his crimes, about how clever he was to outwit us for so long. The man is a monster."
Newbury struck a match, lit the bowl of his pipe and tossed the dead match into the fire with a brief glance over his shoulder. He puffed to kindle the flames before replying. "They often are, Charles. They often are. Shame about Villiers, though. He was an entirely singular man."
Bainbridge pulled a face. "For the life of me, Newbury, I cannot understand where you developed such profound respect for the man."
Newbury closed his eyes. When he opened them again he was studying the floor. "It's complicated, Charles. Villiers was an evil man, but he was also incredibly accomplished. In fact, I'd go as far as saying he was a genius, in his own way. And with genius comes a certain amorality that is sometimes difficult to judge. Genius is, in many ways, akin to madness. Both states of mind demand a disconnection from reality, from the real, physical world, an ability to lose oneself in thought." He shrugged. "There is no contesting the fact that Villiers's crimes were of the most appalling variety, but I only wonder what may have come of it if his genius could have been harnessed for the good of the Empire, instead of being misapplied in such a terrible way…" He trailed off, lost in thought.
Bainbridge chewed on the end of his cigar. "Good riddance to him, is what I say. Chapman did us a favour when he removed the man from proceedings, and that's all I have to say on the subject." He paused. "Still, it's good to see another case through to its resolution, isn't it?"
"Hmmm?" Newbury returned from his reverie, his eyes darting to meet Bainbridge's expectant face. "Oh, yes indeed. Although I hasten to add that there is still one small part of the mystery that perplexes me. I've yet to discover the reason why a Dutch nobleman was to be found onboard the wreckage of a passenger-class airship bound for Dublin."
Bainbridge placed his glass on the table and leaned forward. "I may have something to help you with that, old man. The one good thing about Chapman's boastful tirade is that we've been able to glean a few facts from his testimony. He claims The Lady Armitage had been engaged by a coterie of local noblemen, men who were keen to see as many revenants removed from the streets as possible, for use as a plague ship. Chapman had been using the automatons to round up the revenants like animals, forcing them onto the airships and shipping them off to Ireland, where his men were setting them loose in the countryside-if they didn't dump them at sea during the course of the voyage. Not sure that explains how your Dutchman found himself involved in the matter, but it may help you get to the bottom of the mystery, eh?"
Newbury looked animated. "Indeed it does, Charles. Indeed it does!" He sprang out of his chair, clamped his pipe between his teeth and began pacing back and forth before the fire, all sense of his stiffness gone. The silence stretched. After a moment, he turned to Bainbridge, gesturing frantically with his hands. "Charles, allow me to ask you a question. Why should a visiting nobleman take to the streets of Whitechapel by evening, choosing to travel alone, without the protection of a Royal escort?"
Bainbridge frowned. "No reason at all, unless he had a taste for the wicked side of life, if you catch my meaning." He coughed into his hand, embarrassed at the implication.
"Precisely! If the man had harboured a longing for visiting cheap whores whilst staying in the city, he would surely have slipped out of his lodgings unaccompanied, in an effort to keep his inappropriate activities under wraps. If the newspapers were to discover his secret, it would cause the palace a terrific scandal, and if any unscrupulous aides were made aware of it, they might have chosen to use the information against him at some point."
"Blackmail, you mean."
Newbury nodded. "Indeed. So we've established that if the man did engage in such carnal pursuits, he would be sure to hide the fact from his aides, stepping out alone only at the most opportune moments, such as late in the evening after his men had retired." He smiled to himself, pleased with his deduction. "Could it be, then, that the man inadvertently contracted the revenant plague during one of these nightly sojourns to the slums, so that when the automatons came to round up the miserable fellows a week or so later, he was wandering the streets, transformed into one of the detestable creatures?"
"You could be right, Newbury! Certainly no one would recognise the man in that state."
"Until, that is, they removed his charred corpse from the wreckage, which would show no signs of the viral infection that had thus far been ravaging his body. An identifying item of jewellery would be all that it would take for the coroner to proclaim that Her Majesty's missing cousin had been found."
Bainbridge retrieved his brandy from the table. "My God, Newbury. I think you're on to something. But how the devil do you prove the man had such inappropriate desires in the first place? That's quite an accusation to level at a member of the Royal Family without any real shred of evidence. I can't imagine Her Majesty will accept your story on supposition alone."
Newbury chuckled. "That's just it, Charles. I believe I have all the evidence I need. I've spent the last couple of days scouring my records for background on the Dutch Royal Family, identifying potential victims. Her Majesty had been less than forthcoming about which particular cousin had been involved in the incident, but her words provided me with a number of important clues. I knew we were dealing with a young man, a minor royal, but someone who would be sent to London on diplomatic duties all the same, probably due to the importance of their mother. After taking all of that into consideration there was only one likely candidate, a man whose name-I'm sure you will forgive me-I will refrain from repeating here." Newbury paused for breath, although it was clear he was anxious to proceed with his tale. "But during the course of my reading I turned out a number of newspaper reports regarding a 'misunderstanding' between one of the Queen's cousins and a mysterious 'lady', who claimed to be the bearer of an illegitimate child. The newspapers had reported the story as a minor item, alluding to the fact that the woman was a prostitute and had probably invented the entire story as a means of extorting money from the unfortunate young man. However, in light of current events I'll wager there's truth behind the tale. And what's more, I imagine it was this very same man whose corpse was extracted from the crash site of The Lady Armitage just a few days ago in Finsbury Park."