Davies The Darke Chronicles

Tales of a Victorian Puzzle-Solver
1. Auflage 2014
ISBN: 978-0-7509-5476-1
Verlag: The Mystery Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 192 Seiten

The Darke Chronicles introduces the aristocratic and flamboyant Victorian detective Luther Darke, who tackles mysteries that have baffled Scotland Yard and are seemingly unexplained. The cases featured here take Darke into a world of deception, murderous sleights of hand, spiritualism, vampires, curses and phantoms in fin de siècle London. This volume, a treat for all fans of vintage crime fiction, features seven of Darke's most challenging and chilling investigations. If you like Sherlock Holmes, then you will love Luther Darke.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Davies, David Stuart

Leseproben

2

THE PUZZLE OF THE INNOCENT MURDERER

There was a gleam in the eye, one of great pleasure and satisfaction, as the knife came down. It came down again, and again and again. Out of such destruction, thought the wielder of the knife, we create a new kind of justice.

Luther Darke propped himself up in bed, his head resting on a large white pillow, and gazed across the room at the naked form of his mistress, Carla, as she sat with her back to him by the dressing table, combing her dark tresses. ‘Come back to bed and hold me once more,’ he murmured in a mock romantic voice.

Carla giggled. ‘You may have all the time in the world to make love in the afternoon, my fine fellow, but I have a train to catch.’

Darke groaned loudly. This time there was no humour in his response. ‘Must you go?’

‘I must, and you know I must. I explained all this to you before you lured me into your bed.’

‘Lured! I take exception to the word “lured”, madam,’ he said laughing, plucking at an imaginary moustache. ‘Twas a mutual contract, I warrant.’

Carla’s red lips parted in a broad smile. She crossed to the bed, knelt by Darke and gave him a long sensuous kiss. ‘And it was mutually enjoyed, I can assure the gentleman. But now I must go. I shall only be away a few days. I am sure that he can be patient until I return.’

‘Impatient and pining. But be off with you, you strumpet, I do not wish to incur your mother’s wrath by causing you to miss the train.’

‘That’s better.’ Carla jumped up and began to get dressed.

Darke watched her with great affection. With an artist’s eye as well as that of a lover, he observed the delicate and graceful figure before him as she dressed herself. And then the main cause of his unhappiness connected with her imminent departure flashed into his brain. ‘But how am I going to survive Lord Neville’s party tomorrow night? You know how I hate these ghastly affairs. It is only the fact that the most beautiful and intelligent woman in London accompanies me to such functions that makes them the least bit tolerable.’

‘Don’t go. Feign illness and send a note of excuse.’

‘I can hardly do that, my sweet. I am the guest of honour after all. Have you forgotten that Neville is unveiling my portrait of him at this blasted soirée?’

‘No, of course I haven’t,’ Carla replied, smoothing down her dress. ‘Oh, don’t look so petulant, Luther. You resemble a rather miserable little schoolboy who has been give double Latin homework.’

Darke laughed. ‘I feel like a miserable little schoolboy.’

‘Now, Luther, you know I can’t go with you, so why not take someone else?’

‘Who?’

‘What about that policeman friend of yours?’

‘Thornton? Why him?’

‘Unlike you, I’m sure he would find the occasion interesting and exciting – amusing, even.’

Pursing his lips, Darke considered the suggestion. ‘Mmm, it is an idea. I like Edward. He’s good, intelligent company, which is more than can be said for Lord Neville.’

‘There you are then. Take him along and you’ll hardly miss me at all.’

‘Ah, Carla, I would miss my heart less than I would miss you.’ His voice had lost its playful tone and the genuine sentiment crackled in the silence it created. Their eyes met, but they said nothing.

‘It is my brother’s dress suit,’ said Inspector Edward Thornton the following evening as he slipped off his overcoat by Darke’s fireside.

Darke scrutinised the outfit. ‘Quite respectable, if a little historical. Now, a snifter before we venture into the night and across the threshold of the Neville household. Whisky?’

Thornton nodded and added: ‘Just a small one, please.’

‘Small? That word does not feature in my alcoholic lexicon.’ So saying, he handed Thornton a large tumbler of the amber spirit.

‘I am intrigued as to why you invited me this evening,’ said the policeman, taking a small sip of whisky.

‘Not as intrigued as I am as to why you accepted.’

‘I am a detective, and as such, I’m a curious cove. My preoccupation is the study of human nature in all its guises. I get many opportunities to observe the lower echelon of society, but it is rare for me to mingle with the rich and aristocratic.’

Darke grinned. ‘I had not expected a thesis in response to my little question, but I applaud your reply.’

‘Now answer my question.’

‘Less noble, I am afraid. I get bored at these parties which, as an artist, I am obliged to attend from time to time. It is as though breeding and money have rotted the brains of those who possess them. Carla usually keeps me tolerably sane, but she is away celebrating her mother’s fiftieth birthday at the family seat in Bath. You are my intelligent substitute.’

Thornton chuckled. ‘I have no fear about holding an intelligent conversation with you but, compared to Carla, my appearance is a decided disappointment, I am sure.’

‘A good omen. We begin the evening by agreeing with each other.’

Some minutes later, the two men were seated in a hansom cab, rattling through the darkening thoroughfares of London en route to Lord Neville’s house.

‘The fellow lives in great splendour, in a cavern of a place out at Hampstead. It is stuffed with all kinds of large and grotesque artefacts from the colonies – stuffed apes, tigers’ heads and the like,’ observed Darke with some distaste, as he rummaged inside his overcoat. At length he produced a hip flask and after unscrewing the top, passed it to his companion.

Thornton declined the offer of a drink.

‘Permit me to take a gulp then,’ said Darke. ‘I need extra mental insulation on these occasions.’ So saying, he threw his head back and appeared to drain the flask dry. By now, Thornton was used to Darke’s habitual large intake of alcohol, and yet he had never seen him drunk or any less than coherent and civil. Nevertheless, Thornton knew that his friend used drink as a crutch, a means by which he coped with a world that to Darke was far more mundane and drab than he believed it should be. To Darke, it seemed, reality was disappointing, and it needed a little help. Alcohol helped to blur the edges and add colour, but he never allowed it to interfere with his own mental focus.

‘I get a distinct impression that you hold a particular antipathy towards Lord Neville.’

Darke’s eyes flashed in the gloom of the cab. ‘Astute as ever, Inspector.’

‘As I shall be in his company this evening, it would be useful if you gave me some details regarding the man and his character.’

Darke returned the whisky flask to his overcoat and sat back in his seat, steepling his gloved fingers and placing them to his lips in a moment of contemplation. ‘The man and his character, eh? Well, I will try. Lord Anthony Neville is a young man, not yet forty, the sole heir to the Neville fortune. Married to a downtrodden creature, Evelyn. She was a former actress of limited talent, or so I have been led to understand. The union has produced no children, which may be a blessing, particularly if they were to take after their father. Although he toyed unsuccessfully with politics when he was in his twenties, he now has no occupation, save what he grandly believes is his patronage of the arts. He has dabbled in the theatre, acting as a financial backer to some productions, I believe. However, essentially he lives the life of a rich man. An idle rich man … of the most narcissistic nature.’

‘Hence the portrait.’

‘Yes. He wanted a permanent record of his charms.’ Darke paused and raised an eyebrow. ‘It really should be a miniature.’

Both men grinned.

‘I must confess,’ continued Darke, ‘that I knew little of the fellow before he began sitting for me, but after a few days I had developed a bitter dislike of his arrogance, his lack of compassion, intelligence and his demeaning treatment of servants and, in particular, of his wife. As a staunch believer in atavism, I am of the opinion that we have in Neville a throwback to the seventeenth-century aristocrat, the landowner who on a whim could have a lazy shepherd hung, drawn and quartered if it pleased him – and so often it did please him.’

Thornton was surprised at the vehemence of Darke’s observations. He knew his companion was a passionate man, but his passions were usually of a positive nature, flamboyant and full of unfettered enthusiasm.

‘If you feel like this, why did you continue to paint the man?’

‘Ah, there is the rub, Thornton, there is the rub. As you know, I am not a poor man. I could, if I so wish, throw my paints, brushes and easel out into the gutter and live on my inherited and carefully invested fortune. But I must have an occupation. I must keep my mind and spirit busy. And I have promised myself to achieve some status in the world of art. I started at the bottom of the prodigious ladder, but now I am off the ground – not to dizzying heights, you understand – but off the ground. My daubs are appreciated. My name is gradually becoming known.’

‘Known enough for Sir Anthony Neville to secure your services.’

‘Precisely. Sir Anthony Neville is another rung on my ladder. He is also a challenge to my nature. If I am to succeed in my chosen pursuit, I cannot let personal feelings interfere with the development of my talent. So I must bite my tongue and drink a little more.’ Suddenly, Darke’s stern features melted into a grin. ‘Bite my tongue, drink a little more – and pocket the large cheque, of course.’ He threw back his head in a...