“Some of them have been struck through in black,” said Bainbridge, pointedly.
“I gather they are all deceased. Killed in the line of duty, presumably,” replied Newbury. He glanced at Veronica, his expression dark. Clearly, he thought there were other, more sinister reasons behind some of those deaths. It was entirely possible that the Queen had removed them to suit her own obscure whims. “The recent murder victims are all present on the list, but not struck through.”
“We’re all named,” said Veronica, scanning the list. She pointed to Newbury’s name, holding the page up for him to see.
He nodded. “Remember, it’s a list of agents, not a list of targets.”
“Which might yet amount to the same thing,” said Bainbridge, bitterly.
“Well, yes. I suppose you have a point,” Newbury conceded. “All the same, we must look for patterns. Were the dead agents all part of a single investigation, for example? There are annotations in the margins denoting key operations. Do they have something in common that might point to a motivation? Revenge, perhaps, from a villain they thwarted? Any or all of these things might point to a reason for their deaths.”
“I can hardly conceive of understanding the motivations of a killer who removes his victims’ hearts as trophies,” said Bainbridge, balefully.
“Ah,” said Newbury, “but it is not the motivations of the killer herself that we’re interested in, but the person who is pulling her strings.”
“Her?” said Veronica, surprised. “You have some notion of the killer’s identity, then?”
Newbury nodded. “There’s more. I’ve been to see Aldous.”
Bainbridge glanced up from the pages on his lap. “He’s found something, hasn’t he? Well, give it up, Newbury!”
“Aldous believes he has identified our murderer,” said Newbury. “A hired killer from Paris, brought over by some enterprising person-or, perhaps, a faction or organisation-with the express purpose of eradicating the Queen’s operatives in London. It has all the hallmarks of a certain individual. A woman.”
“A woman!” echoed Bainbridge, shaking his head. “Did Renwick give you a name?”
“Not a name,” said Newbury, his jaw tightening. “A moniker. She’s known as the Executioner.” He glanced pointedly at Veronica, who felt herself growing suddenly pale.
The Executioner. Was it true, then? Everything that Newbury and Amelia had seen, had told her? That this woman, this killer-for-hire, was to come after her? Was she the next target on the list? She had dreaded this moment since the first time Amelia had uttered that name.
Veronica swallowed, but her mouth was dry. She suppressed her urge to bombard Newbury with questions. She had made her decision, and she would stick to it. She would not flee. The future was not fixed and settled, despite this alarming revelation.
“Is that all?” asked Bainbridge, frowning now over his empty brandy glass. He had evidently downed the contents while she’d been distracted, as he assimilated the new information. “What about the missing hearts? Is there any relevance?”
“That’s her hallmark,” said Newbury. “That’s what led Aldous to the conclusion it was her. It’s said that she never leaves a corpse without first removing its heart. And, as we suspected, they mean something to her. They are symbols of a life she cannot have.”
He glanced from Bainbridge to Veronica. “This is the difficult bit to stomach. According to Aldous, the Executioner is nearly a century old. She’s almost mythical. She appears in the footnotes of history, all across the Continent. Aldous showed me the stories, drawn from esoteric books and papers, woodcuts and etchings. She looms large in the shadows of all the important events that have shaped the world for the last eighty years. She’s always there, in the background, operating on behalf of the highest bidder.”
Bainbridge sighed, placing his empty glass upon the table. “This is ridiculous, Newbury. Utterly ridiculous.”
Newbury held up his hand, staying Bainbridge’s objections. “Hear me out, Charles. I have every reason to believe that Aldous is correct in his assertion.” He took a swig of his own brandy. “The story goes that this woman, who appears as if she’s in her early twenties, wears a substantial metal construction on her left shoulder, and is covered from head to toe in elaborate tattoos”-Veronica raised an eyebrow at the bizarre description-“is actually as much a machine as a human being. Just like the Queen herself, she is part mechanical. The Executioner’s heart has been replaced by a clockwork mechanism that feeds her blood through her veins. Occult enchantments and runic rituals have prevented her flesh from withering, leaving her locked in a sort of permanent stasis. But she has lost something in the process. By becoming something more than human, she has somehow given up her humanity. So now she walks throughout history, massacring people for money and removing their hearts as a reminder of the one thing she can no longer have: a real life of her own.”
Bainbridge was frowning. “Say this is true, that this woman actually exists and is responsible for the deaths. Who is pulling her strings? Who’s this enterprising person you spoke of?”
Newbury shook his head. “I don’t know. That’s what we need to find out. It’s one thing to stop the Executioner herself-and at the moment, I’m no clearer on how we might achieve that; it’s another entirely to identify her employer.”
“Well, let’s consider the facts,” said Veronica. “We have a string of deaths, apparently related only by the fact that the victims are all agents of the Queen. If we assume that’s why they’re being murdered-reasonable enough under the circumstances-then we’re looking for someone who has access to that sort of information.” She held up the sheaf of papers in her hand. “After that, it’s a case of identifying any further links between the victims, just as you suggested. If they were all part of the same operation, for example, that in itself might suggest a potential perpetrator. Otherwise, we may be looking at a person or organisation that has something to be gained by undermining the Queen’s position. In that case, the targets may in fact be chosen at random, and we’re back to the beginning again. Who else besides the Queen and the Prince of Wales might have access to this list of names? A servant? No one would suspect someone such as Sandford, for example. He might be swayed by untoward pressure from a third party.”
“I cannot believe that of Sandford,” said Newbury, frowning. “But you may have a point, nonetheless.”
“Astute as always, Miss Hobbes,” said Bainbridge, passing her the rest of the papers. She shuffled them together and returned them to the envelope. “I think it best, under the circumstances, for me to take possession of the list. As you’ve both established, we can go no further until we’ve ruled out whether there are any significant patterns to the choice of victims. I will spend some time this evening analysing the list and applying what I know of Her Majesty’s prior operations. Clearly, I am not aware of everything,” he said, with a shrug, “but I may be able to glean some insight from my years of service.”
Newbury nodded. “Good idea.” He glanced at Veronica. She passed the cream-coloured envelope across to Bainbridge, who accepted it with a weary smile. “There’s one other matter we need to address,” said Newbury, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I have reason to believe that Miss Hobbes may be in danger.”
“From the killer? This Executioner character?” asked Bainbridge. “Whatever gives you that idea, Newbury? If you know something more, you should spit it out. Now’s the time.”
“It’s just … a feeling I have.” He looked at Veronica as he spoke. “A concern.”
“And what do you propose we do, Sir Maurice?” she asked.
“I know you will not be persuaded to leave London, but I suggest that you temporarily move into the spare room here, at Cleveland Avenue. That way, I can protect you if my fears prove to be justified,” he replied.