'SUICIDE. POISON CONCEALED within a false tooth.'
Sir Humphrey Appleton steepled his fingers beneath his chin, his pince-nez teetering on the end of his nose. He was wearing full military dress: a bright red jacket with twin rows of polished brass buttons and a cluster of medals proudly lined up for inspection on his chest.
Jessica winced as she prodded at the gap in her mouth with her tongue. 'One of the insurgents?' She sipped carefully at her tea. 'Their attacks are becoming alarmingly frequent, are they not?'
'Nothing we are not capable of keeping in check, my dear.' Appleton propped his elbows on the mahogany desk. 'Care for a biscuit?'
Jessica shook her head. Flint reached out and took a round circle of shortbread from the offered plate, nodding his thanks.
'Good work in Salisbury.' Appleton nibbled on the edge of a biscuit, a few stray crumbs making a nest in his bushy grey moustache. 'That creature had managed to escape our clutches for quite some time.'
'They're not usually known for their brains.' Flint reached down, rubbing at his ankles.
'Indeed they are not, Mr Flint. That specimen seemed to have had some assistance, from what we are able to gather. But we shall track down the source of that in due course, fear not.'
'That's our next mission?' Jessica looked at the buildings of Whitehall visible through the large windows of Appleton's office. 'Back to Salisbury?'
'No, no, my dear. We have people on the ground for such mundane investigatory matters. Your next assignment is far closer to home.'
'Here, in London?' Flint sounded weary.
'Precisely, Mr Flint.' He picked up another biscuit and neatly snapped it in two. 'You have heard of these dreadful killings in Whitechapel, I take it?'
'Only from the headlines,' said Jessica. 'What has been occurring?'
'We have withheld details from the newshounds as best we can. But they have all the signs of being vampyric slayings.'
'A nest? Here in the capital?'
'Indeed. It is hard to believe, is it not?'
'Your people on the ground,' said Flint, 'I take it they have uncovered nothing of use to us?'
Appleton sniffed. 'Quite the contrary, Mr Flint. Our investigators have discerned that the killings all seem to have occurred within a stone's throw of one particular locale. An interminably seedy place, skulking in the shadows beneath the viaduct.'
'You've found the nest already?' Jessica was hopeful of a quick resolution. She longed to be back in the skies, leaving the choking fog of London far behind them.
'No, no, just a place where we think people may know a little more about what is happening. Though it is frequented by some quite dreadful unsavoury types. Criminals, prostitutes, drug addicts, that sort of thing. Our men have had no luck trying to prise information from them.'
The way Appleton had phrased his last sentence made Jessica shiver. 'The underclass do tend to close ranks when authority goes poking their nose in their affairs. They keep to their own, Sir.'
'Precisely, my dear.' Appleton beamed, his moustache curling upwards. 'And that is exactly why you and your little crew of desperadoes are utterly perfect for the job.'
__________
'You enjoy doing the Empire's dirty work?' Flint glared at the guard stationed outside Appleton's office as they walked down the corridor.
'I don't really have a choice, William. None of us do, not unless we want to go to prison. Or, in your case, back to prison.' Her mouth was throbbing; she would need to get Cottingley to take a look at it when they got back to the Zephyr.
'Sometimes I feel we're nothing more than a dirty little secret dealing with a whole host of other, dirtier secrets. And that's a lot of dirt.'
'Better than having the truth out there amongst the populace, surely? There would be panic in the streets.'
'But would there? Wouldn't they feel better knowing the truth?'
'That the monsters of their fables and fairytales are real? That their lives are in constant danger? Sometimes, I wish I could forget the truth myself, William.'
'It just doesn't sit right with me, that's all.'
'We have our orders, William.' They walked on in silence, along the corridors of the Department of Interior Security. Jessica had some sympathy for Flint's point. Though she had sworn an oath to Queen and Empire, their orders often seemed to serve the glory of those in power, rather than the safety of the citizens.
'Jessica.'
Her stomach lurched. 'Roman.'
He was just as handsome as she remembered, with an expression which suggested he knew it. His green eyes sparkled as he stroked his short-clipped black beard.
'Off on another of your little escapades, Lady McAlpin?'
'We have official business, yes.'
Roman's face creased into a broad smile, revealing pristine white teeth. 'Desperate times call for desperate measures, do they not?' He glanced at Flint's scuffed greatcoat and worn boots. 'Yes, quite desperate.'
Flint pushed back his shoulders and made a growling noise which Jessica knew would soon explode into an insult. She stepped forward. 'We all do what we can. For the Empire.'
Roman straightened, the light shining on his gold epaulettes. 'Quite so, my Lady, quite so. Even if it takes us to those dark places of the Empire where civilised people fear to tread. Though I would imagine that to be ground you and your companions have stepped upon many times before.'
'I'm surprised you are able to see the ground at all from your illustrious position, Roman.'
'You flatter me, Lady McAlpin.' He put a hand across his chest and feigned a hurt look. 'I am but a humble servant, nothing more.'
'Humble?' Flint spoke through clenched teeth. 'Not often a word you hear used to describe the Corps.'
'Ah, Mr Flint. Forgive me, I didn't notice you standing there. Tell me, how is your good lady wife?'
'You bastard!' Flint lunged forward, his fist raised.
Jessica managed to grab his shoulders, restraining him. Roman took a step backwards and shook his head, laughing.
'My, my, Lady McAlpin. What sort of company are you keeping these days?'
'Just go, Roman.' Jessica was struggling to keep a hold on Flint. 'Leave us to our business, and we'll leave you to yours.'
'Your servant,' said Roman, holding the hilt of his ceremonial sword as he bowed. 'Your humble servant.'
Jessica glared at Roman's back as he strode off down the corridor and walked into Appleton's office.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Trap