Chapter 19
G abe sat beside me and picked up the coffee cup I’d put down. “You look pale, Sylvia. Have a sip.”
I did, but it tasted bitter. “Gabe…I may have been able to stop him. Last night, I began to suspect Wellington of Daniel’s murder. I decided to wait until today to tell you. But if I’d telephoned you then…” I shook my head. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Gabe gently took the cup from my hands. “No, Sylvia. This is not your fault. Wellington is to blame. Even if you had telephoned me, I would have suggested waiting until today. We don’t know where Wellington’s practice is located, or where he lives. We couldn’t have done anything last night. We also had no reason to suppose Wellington would be so hasty to kill a man who couldn’t communicate. It’s only eight forty-seven now,” he said without looking at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We’ll drive immediately to Epsom and ask the manager where to find him.”
He told the others to finish their breakfast, but they didn’t need telling. Alex had already grabbed the remaining rasher of bacon from his plate and was heading out of the dining room. Willie drained her coffee cup and picked up her plate to take her food with her.
She stopped before exiting the dining room. “I agree with Gabe, Sylvia. You ain’t to blame any more than the rest of us are.” At my questioning look, she added, “Wellington must have overheard us telling Goreman that Ambrose was alive and being cared for. Arlington can afford expensive private care for his son, and there ain’t too many hospitals in London that take on that kind of patient. Wellington probably telephoned them all to find him. He could have done that yesterday afternoon after we left Goreman’s stables. Cyclops can make inquiries at the telephone exchange after his arrest.” She picked up a piece of bacon from her plate. “Come on, Gabe.”
“I want another piece of toast,” he said. “Tell Murray to have Dodson bring around the Vauxhall. I’ll meet you at the front door.”
Willie leaned back against the doorframe and chewed on the bacon. “I’ll wait for you.”
Gabe sighed. Whether he truly wanted more toast, or he’d wanted a quiet word alone with me, he gave no indication. He grabbed some toast from the sideboard and followed Willie out of the dining room.
Ten minutes later, Alex and Willie ushered Gabe to the waiting motorcar after first checking the vicinity. With him safely inside, Willie cranked the engine.
I took the opportunity to ask the question that had been bothering me since I first suspected Mr. Wellington. “Why did Ambrose pay a vet to help with his illegal bookmaking scheme?”
Alex shrugged. “To overlook the doping?”
“But Wellington didn’t work for the Arlington stables in those days. He wouldn’t have known Arthur Cody was doping their horses.”
“Maybe he found out, and Ambrose was paying him for his silence.”
I didn’t believe that explanation either. “Mr. Wellington loathes seeing the horses come to any harm. I don’t think any amount of money would have kept him quiet if he knew about the doping.”
“Perhaps he was threatened, not paid. Perhaps that’s why his name isn’t in the ledger.”
It was true that we hadn’t seen Wellington mentioned in Daniel’s invisible ledgers, but I’d suspected that was because the ink magic had faded. Alex might be right, however. Perhaps Wellington wasn’t in the books because there wasn’t a monetary figure to record.
Gabe had gone quiet. Not even our speculations coaxed an opinion out of him.
Willie jerked open the back passenger door and threw the crank handle onto the floor near my feet. She didn’t get in, however, but leaned on the door. “There’s a taxi parked down the street with someone inside. I’m going to confront them.”
“No!” Gabe snapped. “Get inside. Alex, drive.”
Willie did as ordered but not without protest. “Running away ain’t going to stop them.”
Alex pulled away from the curb and drove off. “Gabe’s right. This isn’t the way to confront them. We need to do it on our terms when there are no bystanders. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they can’t follow us.”
He turned the corner then sped up as much as the traffic would allow. He turned several more corners, taking a circuitous route out of Mayfair. The heavy traffic worked in our favor and stopped the taxi getting too close. Once we were out of the worst of the congestion, Alex sped up. Willie and I turned to peer out of the back.
“We lost ‘em,” Willie announced.
I breathed a sigh of relief, but she continued to watch all the way to the racetrack. Once there, we hurried through the gate and headed straight to the manager’s office. Gabe asked for an address for Mr. Wellington, but we didn’t need it. The manager informed us the vet was on-site for the midweek races due to start in a few hours. Alex asked him to telephone Cyclops at Scotland Yard while we captured the vet.
We hurried to the stable block, keen to bundle Gabe inside. Alex was convinced we hadn’t been followed, but no one wanted to take a chance. Although the races hadn’t yet started, Epsom Downs was gearing up for race day. At the stables, horses were being led by grooms to their allocated stalls, their trainers watching over proceedings. Clipboards in hand, officials barked directions while more grooms sweated as they carried equipment and supplies.
All that hurrying was hot work. I was sweating, too, by the time I reached the first stall. It may only be morning, but the humidity was already suffocating. Hopefully a thorough downpour would put an end to it. Thunder rumbling in the distance and the black clouds gathering overhead were promising.
We found Mr. Wellington in a stall with Mr. Goreman, discussing one of the latter’s horses. They were arguing about whether the horse should race that day, with Mr. Wellington strongly advising against it. He stopped mid-sentence when Gabe pushed open the stall door.
Mr. Goreman clicked his tongue in irritation. “This is harassment. I’ve told you everything I can. I’ve helped at every step. I demand you leave me alone or I’ll file a complaint.”
“You can go,” Gabe told him. “We’re not here to speak to you.”
“Then why are you here?” Realization dawned. He blinked at Mr. Wellington. “What’s going on?”
“I’m innocent!” Mr. Wellington cried. “I wasn’t involved in Ambrose Arlington’s scheme. Why would I be?” He bent to pick up his bag, but Alex beat him to it.
Alex peered inside and removed a large syringe. “Is this what you used to kill Ambrose last night?”
Mr. Goreman gasped. “Bloody hell, Wellington. Is that true?”
Mr. Wellington backed up against the feed trough. With Willie outside keeping watch and Alex holding the bag, it was left to Gabe to capture the vet. It was easy. Mr. Wellington made only one, somewhat pathetic, attempt to shove Gabe away.
Gabe stood his ground. “Goreman, you may leave.”
“But I need to monitor this horse!”
Gabe’s cold glare sent the trainer on his way. Once he was gone, Gabe squared up to Mr. Wellington. He was younger, taller, stronger, and going by Mr. Wellington’s nervous licking of his lips, he knew he didn’t stand a chance if he tried to flee. “What did you inject into Ambrose last night?”
Mr. Wellington shook his head, refusing to answer.
Alex rummaged through the vet’s bag and removed a bottle of liquid. He read the label. “Morphine?”
Mr. Wellington chewed on his lower lip.
Gabe settled his stance, feet apart, arms loosely by his side. With only a few subtle moves, he managed to exude calm yet stern authority. “You overheard us mention yesterday that Ambrose was still alive. You then made a number of calls to several private London hospitals, including the Putney Hospital and Home for Incurables, looking for Ambrose.”
Mr. Wellington’s lips pursed tighter. Then he suddenly gave up. He could see it was hopeless. He couldn’t escape, and there was enough circumstantial evidence that we wouldn’t believe his denial. “Ambrose didn’t deserve to live. He was despicable. No one will miss him, anyway. He’s better off dead.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” I said as a flash of lightning lit up the stall.
Mr. Wellington seemed to see me for the first time. “I put down horses when they’re in too much pain to go on, Miss Ashe. Why not a human?”
Thunder rolled in, louder and closer than the last one. “Hurry up before it rains,” Willie said from outside.
“My cousin doesn’t want to get wet,” Gabe told Mr. Wellington. “The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner we can escort you to the manager’s office and wait for the police. Did you also murder Daniel Barratt in 1891 by injecting him with morphine?”
The vet flinched. “That was a mistake. I’m too used to working with horses, you see, and they require a larger dose than a human. I injected Barratt with an amount I thought would make him easier to deal with, but it killed him instead. I am sorry about that.”
“Why didn’t the coroner notice the puncture mark like the doctor did last night?” I asked.
“An overdose of morphine can depress the respiratory system and cause cardiac arrest. If murder isn’t suspected, a coroner might attribute death to natural causes. Medical science has come a long way in the twenty-nine years since. Nowadays, a good coroner will look for signs of foul play in a young, healthy male. Back then, he often didn’t bother if he had no reason to suspect it was murder.” Sweat dripped down the side of his face to his neck, dampening his collar. “Barratt shouldn’t have refused to destroy the ledgers. Ambrose was gone. He no longer needed to keep them hidden. I think he really wanted to keep them so he could resurrect Ambrose’s scheme and run it himself. I couldn’t allow that.”
“Is that why you also informed the police about Arthur Cody in ’16?” Gabe asked. “Was he also going to restart Ambrose’s scheme and you wanted to stop him?”
Mr. Wellington nodded. “Cody came to me in ’16 and said he needed money, so he wanted me to keep the horses alive after he doped them. I didn’t want to kill him. I hadn’t wanted to kill Barratt either, but…” He swallowed. “I informed the police that Arthur Cody was a cocaine importer and seller, and they arrested him. It was my civic duty to see he was put behind bars. He’s lucky, really. He deserved to die more than Barratt did, but I couldn’t bring myself to deliberately inject him with a lethal dose of morphine.” He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it across his forehead. “I thought it all ended with Ambrose’s accident and Coyle’s death. But first Daniel Barratt then, years later, Arthur Cody wanted to restart the operation…I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t be part of something that harmed horses.”
“Then why were you part of Ambrose’s original operation?” Gabe asked.
Mr. Wellington’s gaze slid to me. He didn’t seem to want to answer in front of me.
“Does it have something to do with Lord Coyle?” Gabe pressed. When Mr. Wellington glanced at me again, Gabe added, “Whatever you have to say you can say it in front of Miss Ashe. She’s a friend to magicians of all sorts.”
Friend to magicians? What did that have to do with Mr. Wellington? What sort of magician became a veterinarian? It didn’t make sense. Yet it seemed to make sense to Gabe. He seemed to already know Mr. Wellington’s answer but wanted to hear the vet say it.
Mr. Wellington cleared his throat. “You’ve guessed correctly, Glass. Given who your mother is, I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“What sort of magician are you?” I blurted out.
“It doesn’t really have a name. I call it veterinary magic, but my father referred to it as zoological magic. In essence, I’m able to keep animals alive using a spell.”
“For a period of time,” Gabe noted.
“Yes, it’s brief, but long enough to ensure suspicion didn’t fall on the groom taking care of the horses before the race. They appeared perfectly fine after I used my spell. It was only hours or days later, when it wore off, that they suffered withdrawal from the cocaine solution. Or died,” he added heavily. “I haven’t used that spell in years, you understand. Not since Ambrose’s scheme ceased operating when he had his accident. I don’t need to. I’m very good at my job without it.”
“Did Lord Coyle introduce you to Ambrose?” Gabe asked.
Mr. Wellington nodded. “I didn’t want to be a part of the scheme, but Coyle forced me. He threatened to expose me as a magician if I didn’t do as Ambrose ordered. I worked for Coyle in his stables at the time, you see, and he saw me speak my spell as I cared for one of his horses after he fell. That horse was dear to me. I hated seeing him in agony and I wanted to save him. I admit I also wanted to try the spell on a creature larger than the cockroaches I’d experimented on in my youth. I don’t know how, considering magic wasn’t public knowledge at the time, but Coyle realized I was a magician then and there. If he’d followed through on his threat to expose me, I would have been persecuted for being unnatural. It’s one thing to use magic to make watches keep perfect time. It’s quite another to restore an ailing horse to full health.”
Centuries ago, a magician who could keep animals alive longer would have been accused of witchcraft. Thirty years ago, he wouldn’t have been burned at the stake, but he would have been ostracized and feared. It was no wonder he did what Lord Coyle wanted.
Lightning momentarily lit up the stall again, then another growl of thunder accompanied the darkening of the sky even further. The horse tossed its head and stamped its hooves, frightened. Mr. Wellington rested a hand on its neck and murmured soothing words. It instantly calmed.
Alex signaled to Gabe with a jerk of his head towards the exit.
“Come with us to the manager’s office,” Gabe said to the vet. “We’ll wait for the police there.”
Another flash of lightning and rumble of thunder startled the horse. Mr. Wellington didn’t attempt to soothe it this time. He put his hands together and appealed to Gabe. “You’re the son of a powerful magician, Mr. Glass. You understand my predicament.”
“You killed two men, Wellington.”
“I had to protect myself! Imagine what would have happened to me if I hadn’t complied with Ambrose’s demands. Imagine if your mother had been backed into a corner like I am.”
Gabe grabbed Mr. Wellington by the front of his jacket and pushed him towards the stall doors.
“Let me go, Mr. Glass. Please. We magicians must protect one another!”
The muscles in Gabe’s jaw bunched with the clenching of his teeth. “I do not protect murderers.” He marched Mr. Wellington out of the stall. Rather than winning Gabe over, Mr. Wellington’s plea had ignited a fire under his rarely unleashed fury.
Willie quickly stepped out of the way. “About time,” she muttered as she straightened her hat.
Alex suddenly put out his arm to stop Gabe’s progress. “Bloody hell. What does he want?”
Thurlow ambled towards us. Dwarfed by his two bodyguards, he sported a slick smile and a confident swagger. It was race day, and he could expect enormous profits from an operation that was as corrupt as Ambrose Arlington’s had been. It was a pity our investigation hadn’t affected him. He was cockier than ever.
“Out of the way, Thurlow,” Gabe snarled.
Thurlow took my hand and lifted it to his mouth. I jerked it back before he could kiss it.
Gabe released Mr. Wellington and moved to stand between Thurlow and me. “I warned you once before to leave Sylvia alone.”
Thurlow’s brittle chuckle lacked humor. “This is a new decade, Glass.” He stretched his arms wide, unconcerned by the angry man towering before him. “It’s the Twenties, and Miss Ashe is a modern woman. Why does she have to choose one of us over the other? Why not have both?”
Gabe’s fist slammed into Thurlow’s jaw. It happened so quickly that at first I thought he’d used his magic, but he showed no sign of weakness after the punch like he usually did when he slowed time. Besides, his life hadn’t been in danger. Thurlow’s snide remarks had triggered Gabe’s anger, not his magic.
Thurlow reeled backwards, clutching his face. The two bodyguards charged forward to protect their employer.
But one of them inadvertently protected Gabe.
A deafening clap of thunder erupted. At least, that’s what I thought it was. But when the bodyguard fell to the ground at our feet, bleeding, I realized there’d been no flash of lightning accompanying the thunder.
He’d been shot.
I’d barely registered what happened when another gunshot rang out. In the same moment, as if the clouds had been punctured and the pressure building up behind them released, the rain came down in a torrent.
I was thoroughly soaked in the instant between hearing the gunshot and Mr. Wellington stumbling towards me. Gabe grabbed me and pulled me aside as the vet fell into the stall doors. They opened and he landed on the floor where he bled into the straw.
He’d been at Alex’s side, a mere two feet from Gabe and me.
I tried to take in what had happened, but I couldn’t. Chaos erupted.