Read Online The Black Crow Conspiracy by Christopher Edge - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Edge
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case to one side, she began to draw a series of lines between each of the ink crosses she had already marked on the map, working through these in order to trace the paths that the ghostly figure must have taken as he slipped through the streets of the city.
Gradually, a pattern began to emerge as the lines meandered through Westminster, Whitehall and the Mall. By tracing each night’s journey back to its earliest sighting, the lines all seemedto converge on a single spot – a property near the corner of Carlton House Terrace in the heart of St James’s. Penelope frowned. What business could a ghost have in this fashionable street populated by lords, earls and ambassadors?
She glanced down at her watch. It was half past four. Alfie should be back from the printers now. Even though
The Penny Dreadful
had been banned from publication, there was still work to be done: printer’s bills to pay, paper orders to cancel, the pulping of returns to oversee. In Wigram’s absence as he tried to free Monty, Alfie had stepped into the breach, taking on the older man’s duties as he and Penny fought to keep the magazine alive.
Folding up the map, Penelope placed it in her valise, snapping the clasp shut with a determined look. She would pick up Alfie on the way to Carlton House Terrace.
It was time to go ghost hunting.
Away from the din and bustle of traffic, Penny and Alfie hurried down Pall Mall. Garlands of flowers and strings of gaily coloured bunting criss-crossed the street; the coronation decorations hung resplendent between the grand palatial buildings. Beneath this finery, a stream of elegantly dressed men strolled down the pavement, hansom cabs dropping their occupants at the doors of one or other of the grand gentlemen’s clubs that calledthis street their home. Passing by the classical columns of the United Service Club, Penelope turned left down Waterloo Place.
“So we’re following in the footsteps of a ghost?” Alfie asked as he studied the oversized map flapping in his hands. Taking his arm, Penny steered him past the sneering glance of a well-heeled businessman, the pavement narrowing as they passed beneath the broad-leafed trees bordering the club’s private garden.
“We’re following in the footsteps of a thief,” she corrected him. “I can’t see what use a ghost would have for the Crown Jewels of Empire.”
“Perhaps it’s the ghost of Henry the Eighth?” Alfie suggested with a grin. “Come back from the grave to claim his crown.”
Penelope shook her head as they crossed the road at the end of the avenue.
“I’ve never heard of a ghost whose touch could brand a living man,” she said. “Not even the ghost of a king.”
In his mind, Alfie saw the burn mark scorched across Middleton’s arm, the memory of it sending a shiver down his spine.
Penelope came to a halt beneath the Duke of York’s statue, its shadow lengthening as evening approached. Taking the map from Alfie, she studied the place where the lines converged. To her left she could see a grand terrace of white-stucco-fronted houses overlooking aprivate park. This was the street where the radiant boy’s nightly journeys seemed to begin. Perhaps one of these houses held the key to unlocking this mystery.
With Alfie by her side, Penny started to walk along the terrace. The houses were set back behind wrought-iron railings. Corinthian columns buttressed sweeping balconies, each property reaching up for three storeys. Penelope gazed up in awe, her eyes searching for some kind of clue amid the grandeur. Then she spotted it, a nameplate fixed beside the front door of the second house on the left:
The Society for the Advancement of Science
. Her mind flicked back to the anonymous letter, her fingers twitching as she recollected the confession she had read.
You must believe me when I say I do not wish to do these things that they ask of me, but when that terrible fire races through my veins I am powerless to refuse. I am a living
Gradually, a pattern began to emerge as the lines meandered through Westminster, Whitehall and the Mall. By tracing each night’s journey back to its earliest sighting, the lines all seemedto converge on a single spot – a property near the corner of Carlton House Terrace in the heart of St James’s. Penelope frowned. What business could a ghost have in this fashionable street populated by lords, earls and ambassadors?
She glanced down at her watch. It was half past four. Alfie should be back from the printers now. Even though
The Penny Dreadful
had been banned from publication, there was still work to be done: printer’s bills to pay, paper orders to cancel, the pulping of returns to oversee. In Wigram’s absence as he tried to free Monty, Alfie had stepped into the breach, taking on the older man’s duties as he and Penny fought to keep the magazine alive.
Folding up the map, Penelope placed it in her valise, snapping the clasp shut with a determined look. She would pick up Alfie on the way to Carlton House Terrace.
It was time to go ghost hunting.
Away from the din and bustle of traffic, Penny and Alfie hurried down Pall Mall. Garlands of flowers and strings of gaily coloured bunting criss-crossed the street; the coronation decorations hung resplendent between the grand palatial buildings. Beneath this finery, a stream of elegantly dressed men strolled down the pavement, hansom cabs dropping their occupants at the doors of one or other of the grand gentlemen’s clubs that calledthis street their home. Passing by the classical columns of the United Service Club, Penelope turned left down Waterloo Place.
“So we’re following in the footsteps of a ghost?” Alfie asked as he studied the oversized map flapping in his hands. Taking his arm, Penny steered him past the sneering glance of a well-heeled businessman, the pavement narrowing as they passed beneath the broad-leafed trees bordering the club’s private garden.
“We’re following in the footsteps of a thief,” she corrected him. “I can’t see what use a ghost would have for the Crown Jewels of Empire.”
“Perhaps it’s the ghost of Henry the Eighth?” Alfie suggested with a grin. “Come back from the grave to claim his crown.”
Penelope shook her head as they crossed the road at the end of the avenue.
“I’ve never heard of a ghost whose touch could brand a living man,” she said. “Not even the ghost of a king.”
In his mind, Alfie saw the burn mark scorched across Middleton’s arm, the memory of it sending a shiver down his spine.
Penelope came to a halt beneath the Duke of York’s statue, its shadow lengthening as evening approached. Taking the map from Alfie, she studied the place where the lines converged. To her left she could see a grand terrace of white-stucco-fronted houses overlooking aprivate park. This was the street where the radiant boy’s nightly journeys seemed to begin. Perhaps one of these houses held the key to unlocking this mystery.
With Alfie by her side, Penny started to walk along the terrace. The houses were set back behind wrought-iron railings. Corinthian columns buttressed sweeping balconies, each property reaching up for three storeys. Penelope gazed up in awe, her eyes searching for some kind of clue amid the grandeur. Then she spotted it, a nameplate fixed beside the front door of the second house on the left:
The Society for the Advancement of Science
. Her mind flicked back to the anonymous letter, her fingers twitching as she recollected the confession she had read.
You must believe me when I say I do not wish to do these things that they ask of me, but when that terrible fire races through my veins I am powerless to refuse. I am a living
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