The Policeman of Secrets

Chapter 13 Part 1

Chapter Thirteen

A thin early-morning mist clutched at the three travelers’ ankles as they alighted from the hansom and prepared themselves.

The dawn light did little to brighten the stone walls of the Bethlehem Hospital, which towered above Solomon, Lily, and Professor Claymore either side of a pair of closed black gates. A dim lamp was the only illumination, picking out a brass plate upon which was etched simply BETHLEHEM – PRIVATE.

With one last look at their respective costumes, the professor led the way to a small door within the giant gates, beside which was hanging an iron chain ending in a lead weight.

Claymore tugged hard, and in the distance a bell sounded once, twice.

There was little traffic in the street at this hour, and with no distractions the trio felt their anxiety rising with every passing second. Lily pressed her gloved hands nervously against each other, while Solomon felt sweat trickling down his neck despite the chill. Only Claymore retained an air of confidence as the minutes ticked by.

It seemed an age before footsteps could be heard behind the sally port, and all three quickly assumed a friendly appearance as a key was turned in the door.

It was pulled open with a painfully sharp creak by a warder dressed in an immaculate uniform of royal blue. He looked to Solomon like an army adjutant, complete with high cavalry boots and wide, elbow-length gloves. Only an apron of thick black leather that was stretched tight around the man’s broad chest spoiled his martial appearance.

He stared with watchful eyes at the three callers, then brushed a hand along his bushy moustache. “Yes?”

Claymore pushed forward with the air of one too busy for trifling talk. “Yes indeed, my man. We are here, my daughter and I, at the invitation of Lord Stone. The name’s Canaan, Josiah and Abigail Canaan. We have a pressing matter to discuss with your master, and no time to waste a-standing in the street. So be off with you, post haste.”

The warder paused, gazing at the man before him. This Canaan wore the expensive attire of a merchant, a jacket of fine green velvet atop rich black trousers beneath a long pea green coat and a top hat from which emerged a peacock’s feather. He held an ebony cane in one hand and a calfskin valise in the other. His daughter, who was very easy on the eye, seemed clad in her Sunday best, a dress of soft yellow that did little to hide her slim figure. A fur stole across her shoulders and bust, and a small bearskin hat, were her only concessions to the cold. Behind her, standing with an air of obedience, was a tall man clothed in servant’s black and wearing large brass glasses with deep blue lenses that hid his eyes. He seemed to be staring straight ahead, and gave no sign of intelligence or even life.

“You may wait inside,” said the warder, sounding as if he had given this speech many times before. “But the administrator will have to know of your business before you are allowed any further.”

“Quite, quite,” said Claymore, bustling Lily through the doorway before following her. Solomon brought up the rear, and the warder locked the entrance behind him.

They found themselves in a courtyard, its cobbles wet with frost. To the left and right were stables and storage rooms, from one of which came a number of men dressed in similar garb to the warder. Carrying an assortment of boxes, they trooped off to the main building, which stood opposite the gate. Two stories high, it was lined with small windows, all closed. The roof, high and covered in snow, bore down on the building, its wide lip casting deep shadows on the upper story. The hospital’s appearance was plain and simple, yet depressing in the extreme.

Lily was staring at the windows when she saw a movement behind one pane of glass on the upper floor. A face was pressed to the window, the dirt across it making it difficult to recognize man from woman. But Lily knew immediately that this inmate, if that was what he or she was, stood watching the party crossing the courtyard. She raised a hand in greeting. In reply, the figure slowly shook its head three times. No. No. No. Then it stepped back from the window into the shadows of its room, and was gone.