The Black Midnight Read online

  Four Years Later

  London

  1889

  Chapter 23

  London

  April 1, 1889

  It was morning.

  Or afternoon.

  Or somewhere in between.

  Groaning, Ike closed his eyes against the lukewarm rays of sunlight that had sliced through his dreams and jarred him awake. The last thing he remembered was trying to decide whether to find some lunch or give in to the short nap he had been craving ever since the ship docked in London.

  Someone knocked. Or so he thought.

  Fighting his way out of the tangle of silk to sit up, Ike shook his head to dislodge the sleep from his fogged brain. He looked down and saw that he was fully dressed except for his boots, which were nowhere in sight.

  Apparently he’d chosen the nap. Interesting, since he had no recollection of climbing into bed.

  He’d managed to fall asleep yesterday at midday only to wake up today with a groggy head and a complete inability to remember how he had come to be sleeping beneath silk sheets with blue sky and wisps of clouds overhead. Upon closer inspection, he determined the clouds had been painted onto a canopy bed situated in the middle of a massive room.

  He wrangled the sheet into submission and managed to climb out of bed. Then he found his boots under the bed and stepped into them as the second knock sounded.

  “Come in,” he called.

  A uniformed butler opened the door, followed by another man in livery who held a silver tray in his gloved hands. He marched to the table beside the window and deposited the tray. With a flourish, he removed the silver dome to reveal breakfast along with a folded note card.

  “What time is it?” Ike asked the fellow, realizing his watch was back on the table beside the bed.

  “Fifteen minutes past ten, sir.”

  “Right.” He retrieved the note and waited for the hotel employees to leave before he read it.

  Meet in the lobby at eleven o’clock. Wear what is in the closet. Please.

  Ike opened the gilt-trimmed armoire to locate a dark suit and white shirt hanging there. On the shelf above was a bowler hat and a pair of socks. Below was a pair of leather shoes.

  He shook his head but slipped into the suit anyway. Then he donned the socks. He took the hat off the shelf, put it on, and padded to the mirror. “I look like an idiot.”

  The hat he would wear, Ike decided. The shoes, however, were another matter.

  After taking a few bites of breakfast, Ike slipped into his best pair of boots and headed down to the lobby. Annie was waiting.

  He spied her before she saw him. Unlike her surprise visit to his office in Austin, he knew she would be here. Still, his heart lurched at the sight of her.

  Her hair was tucked up into the latest fashion. She wore white gloves, and her dress was a confection of flowers and bows that seemed unlike her. When she looked his way and smiled, however, Ike knew that she was still his Annie.

  That somewhere under the trappings of royalty was the Pinkerton detective he loved. Had loved, Ike amended, for he had no business loving her now.

  None at all.

  “Good morning, Isaiah,” she said smoothly. “You’re looking well-rested.”

  “Good morning to you,” he said. “Is it Annie, or do I have to call you Alice Anne when I’m on this side of the Atlantic?”

  “Annie will do.” She offered him a smile. “I’m not that different.”

  “If you say so,” was all he could admit to. Because she was different. She was royal. And she wasn’t his.

  “If you’re ready then.”

  She led him outside to a fancy carriage with a seal on the side that likely meant something. A coachman opened the door, and Ike climbed inside to settle onto a seat that felt more comfortable than the new settee Hattie had convinced Pop to buy her last year.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We have a meeting at the palace,” she said. “Officially we are meeting with a few of my great-grandmother’s advisers to discuss the Whitechapel murders, but knowing Granny, she might be curious enough to pop in. If she does, you’ll need to know the protocol.”

  When she finished going over the rules, she looked down at his feet. “Isaiah, really?”

  He shrugged. “I compromised and wore the hat, so something had to give. Let’s talk about the Ripper. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to your theory.”

  “And?”

  “I’m not convinced,” he said. “Yet.”

  “Fine.” Annie shrugged. “I welcome your input, but let’s save this conversation for later, shall we?”

  “Fine.” He paused. “Pop and Hattie send their greetings. They were pleased that you paid them a visit while you were in Austin. Hattie was still talking about it when I left. Your gift of a silver tea set and a box of wooden spoons for Alfie from the queen is the talk of the town, at least among Hattie’s friends, and I figure any day now I will come home and find that she’s framed the congratulatory letter from Her Majesty.”

  “Her Majesty was very pleased that your parents cared enough to take me in at Christmastime. It was very kind of them. When I told her about Alfie’s love of wooden spoons, she had to send them too.”

  “Where’s my gift? I was there too.” He punctuated the jest with a grin.

  “There was a time when a British monarch had the power to toss a man in jail and throw away the key. Be glad that is not your gift.”

  They fell into companionable silence. Finally, Annie spoke up. “I am curious. How much trouble are you in with your lady friend over this trip?”

  Ike chuckled, even as he recalled Miss Rampling’s very vocal response to his announcement that he was temporarily shuttering his office and heading for London. “Let’s just say we’ve gone from her daddy recommending me for political office to neither of them being willing to vote me in as dog catcher.”

  Annie did a poor job of stifling a smile. “I see. Well, that is unfortunate.”

  “Probably,” Ike said. “But despite my gruff demeanor, I really do like dogs, so I’ll be fine.”

  The carriage turned onto a narrow brick street and slowed to a stop in front of a building marked SCOTLAND YARD. “Simon Kent is joining us. He’s the third member of our team. He’ll be with us on an as-needed basis.”

  He knew that name from the research he’d done after Annie left him for England. Simon Kent was a high-level officer of the Metropolitan Police with a great deal of influence in England and abroad. He was also Annie’s mentor.

  He’d learned from the captain that Kent had been influential in arranging Annie’s employment with the Pinkertons. Kent had also been the one who provided information to the captain regarding the movements of Annie’s father between the continents. The captain then relayed them to Annie via telegrams.

  Cap said he and Kent had tried to save Annie from her family. Ultimately, however, they had failed for lack of communication on his end. He still blamed himself that a poorly worded telegram had ended Annie’s Pinkerton career.

  Thus Ike had already formed a favorable opinion of Simon Kent before the small bespectacled man slid into the carriage beside Annie. He watched Annie and Kent share a smile before they turned to regard him.

  “Isaiah, this is Simon Kent.”

  “Isaiah Joplin. Well met, sir.” Kent reached across the carriage to shake hands. “Well met indeed. Annie speaks highly of you.”

  “And of you,” he said.

  “I understand you two met while investigating a series of murders in Texas. I’d be interested in hearing about that case if you don’t mind telling me about it.”

  Annie watched Isaiah closely for any sign of what he might be thinking. From the moment she saw him in the hotel lobby—no, even before, back in Austin—the old feelings had risen. But he and Simon, having become instant friends, were chatting about the Midnight Assassin case and generally ignoring her.

  A glimmer of gold at the former detective’s pocket and the
distinctive chain attached to his vest button told her he still wore the watch she’d given him. What Isaiah couldn’t see was that the watch pin he’d gifted her that Christmas was safely tucked out of sight in her bodice.

  Once the carriage arrived at the palace, both men fell silent. A footman ushered them up the grand staircase and down the hallowed halls under the painted images of uncountable ancestors of the Crown. Finally, they reached the Yellow Drawing Room on the southeast corner of the palace.

  Though relatively small in comparison to most rooms at the palace, the space could still fit Mama’s grand ballroom with plenty of room to spare. With walls covered in golden yellow silk that matched the floor-to-ceiling drapes, the room was bright and cheery against the dreary London weather outside.

  A half dozen of Granny’s trusted advisers were already assembled, some of whom she recognized and a few others who were unknown to her. She spied Sir Edward Walter Hamilton conferring with a white-haired gentleman whose face was obscured by the man in front of him. When the fellow shifted position, Annie’s breath caught at the sight of Lord Salisbury, the prime minister who had turned down Granny’s offer of a dukedom a few years ago.

  Their eyes met, and the prime minister offered an almost imperceptible nod. Annie responded in kind.

  As planned, Simon made the introductions. “Let’s get right to it,” he said once all names had been announced. “We are here to listen,” he said as he glanced first at Isaiah and then at Annie. “So please, do let’s continue.”

  Nigel Kellum, a man with a string of titles she couldn’t recall and a long history as an adviser and friend to Granny, stood. “As you can see, we have a varied group here, but we are all united under one cause. The madman plaguing our city must be stopped.”

  A chorus of ayes mixed with murmurs of agreement. The prime minister sat stone-faced.

  “We’ve been instructed by Her Majesty to abdicate any interest in this investigation to you,” the nobleman continued, “so I will speak for all of us, and I will make this brief. There is a particular concern that must be addressed, and it has nothing to do with any worry that our city might be thought unsafe to the rest of the world.”

  “Is that no longer a concern?” Simon said with more than a touch of surprise in his voice.

  “Of course,” Kellum exclaimed. Then his gaze fell on Annie. “I must tell you, however, that I wish I did not have to broach this topic, as it might bring some level of distress to you, ma’am.”

  “You may speak freely here,” Annie told him.

  “Very well, it concerns your relative, Prince Albert Victor.”

  Her attention went to the prime minister, who showed no reaction. Then she turned to Kellum.

  “I see.” Annie folded her hands in front of her. The man she knew as Uncle Eddy, whom the public called Prince Eddy, had a rather interesting reputation, to put it mildly. Still, murder was well beyond anything she would expect of him. “Go on.”

  “There have been some rumors…”

  He paused, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. Annie wondered if he’d drawn the short straw in the competition to see which of them would be speaking today.

  “That is, it has been whispered…”

  Annie shook her head. “If you could just say it, that would be most helpful, sir. I assure you I am not the delicate sort, and I prefer a man who speaks his mind plainly and clearly.”

  Kellum gave Simon a helpless look, prompting the police officer to nod. “What Lord Brixton is saying is that there is a theory that the prince could be the killer we are looking for.”

  Lord Brixton. Yes, she remembered him now. Papa hadn’t particularly cared for him.

  “I…I…I am not advancing that theory,” Mr. Kellum stammered. “However sordid or false, which it likely is, it is something that has been spoken about, though not publicly. At least not in the newspapers. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention it.”

  He looked around to the other advisers, and they all nodded. Then he turned to Annie. “That is, if we did not mention it,” he amended. “Our hope is that this investigation might prove that the prince is innocent of any atrocities. Were it to be found otherwise, I do not know how we would manage to tell Her Majesty.”

  “So she hasn’t heard these rumors?” Annie asked. “Are you certain? I have found that the queen is quite intelligent and generally well informed, even about rumors. Nothing gets past her, so do not underestimate her knowledge on this subject.”

  “We have heard these rumors.” Granny swept into the Yellow Drawing Room with a sea of courtiers following in her wake. “And we are much distressed.” She focused on Annie. “Thank you for the compliment, kitten. There must, however, be no preferential treatment for Eddy. I want him properly investigated, and I will not abide any editing of the facts.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Annie said.

  The queen turned to inspect the men in the room. “Prime Minister, we did not expect to see you here.”

  Lord Salisbury cleared his throat, his hands clasped behind him. “I am here on an unofficial basis, ma’am. What concerns the nation concerns me.”

  She held his gaze, then nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  Silence fell. After a moment, her steely gaze landed on Isaiah.

  Annie held her breath. The Texan had executed a perfect bow when she entered the room and so far had followed all the rules of protocol he’d learned only a few minutes earlier.

  “Detective Joplin of the Pinkerton Agency,” the queen said.

  “I was, Your Majesty,” he told her. “Though I have recently taken up lawyering.”

  “An unfortunate turn of events,” she said. “We’ll not need a lawyer here today, thus we hope you have retained some of the knowledge you once possessed when you actually were a detective.”

  Annie detected the slightest hint of a smile beneath Isaiah’s serious expression. “Yes, ma’am. I believe I have.”

  Granny continued to study him. Unlike the other men in the room, Isaiah did not cower under the queen’s icy presence. Rather, he appeared ready to continue their conversation should Her Majesty wish to do so.

  “What else have you retained from the time when you were a detective, young man?” Granny glanced down at his footwear and then back up at Isaiah as she waited for his response.

  “I have learned that patience is a virtue.” He paused. “And that what is meant to be will be.”

  One dark brow lifted. “And what cannot be?”

  “Takes a little longer, ma’am,” he said in his Texas drawl.

  Annie wasn’t sure whether to gasp or laugh. She decided it best to do neither.

  The room fell into silence. Even the courtiers had stopped their whispering. Every eye was on the queen and the Texan who towered over her.

  Finally, she spoke. “Have you made the acquaintance of William Cody, Mr. Joplin?”

  “Buffalo Bill? Yes, ma’am, I have.” He paused. “I understand he performed here for your Jubilee, ma’am.”

  “We were pleased with that performance.” Her gaze slid to the floor and then returned to his eyes. “We were gifted with footwear much like his cowboys wore. Unfortunately, the ornamentation on them has rendered the boots quite decorative and unfit for our stables.” She paused. “We would much prefer a pair like yours.”

  “Ma’am, with your permission, I could see that you have them,” he said. “It would be my honor.”

  The queen never broke her even gaze or showed any indication of her thoughts on the matter. Finally, she offered a very slight dip of her head. “We shall allow it. We must, however, wonder at the advisability of wearing such footwear meant for the stables on our valuable carpets. Do we understand one another?”

  Annie held her breath in anticipation of what the detective would say. Knowing Isaiah, it could be anything from a polite response to another of his cheeky comments.

  After a moment, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We do.”

  The queen held his gaze a second longer
, then turned away to address her advisers. “I will leave you with the admonishment that you will not be a stumbling block to Alice Anne and her team else risk facing our wrath. And to you, kitten, we will require updates of your findings as you have them.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Annie said.

  “Lord Brixton, your presence was appreciated but is no longer required. You all may go. And Prime Minister, I do thank you for your visit.”

  Lord Salisbury offered a bow before leaving without comment. Lord Brixton and the others filed out behind him, each offering a nod or bow before exiting.

  The queen then turned to dismiss her courtiers, leaving just the four of them in the Yellow Drawing Room. Finally, she turned to Annie. “We wish to be kept appraised of your findings, but only us. Thus give us a code name for your team so that we might be the only four persons in this castle who know from whence any information comes.”

  Without hesitation, Annie said, “The Black Midnight.”

  If Granny thought the name odd, she did not give any hint. But it was impossible not to note the narrowing of Simon’s eyes. Apparently he was not so keen on the name.

  “Very well. Just one more thing, kitten. Your safety is the first priority during the entirety of this investigation. We will hold Mr. Kent and Mr. Joplin personally responsible should so much as a hair on your head be harmed. Are we understood, gentlemen?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the men said in unison.

  Had the speaker been anyone other than the Queen of England, Annie might have spoken up in protest and announced she could take care of herself quite well. But in deference to Granny’s position, she kept that tidbit to herself.

  “We have arranged for the Black Midnight to have full access to this room at all times for use as a meeting place. As we are sharing Mr. Kent with the Metropolitan Police, he will not be in residence but will be transported as needed.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Simon told her.

  “Alice Anne and Mr. Joplin, your rooms have been prepared for the length of this matter and are adjacent to this one.” She turned to Isaiah. “You will find that everything from your hotel is there, including proper footwear. Anything else that might be needed can be arranged. Do let the staff know.”