The Black Crow Conspiracy by Christopher Edge Read Free Book Online Page B

of London and the Keeper of the Keys. Beneath an army greatcoat, the old soldier’s shoulders were hunched, his face turned away from the dull light spilling in from the smoked-glass windows.
    “That’s him,” she murmured, nudging Alfie as they stepped inside the warren-like room. The other tables in the snug were filled with numerous rough-looking coves: coal-whippers, stave porters, lumpers and labourers. Calloused hands cradled glasses as the men cast them both suspicious glances. With low mutters following their every step, Penny led the way to Middleton’s table, the floorboards beneath her feet sticky with spilled drinks and other dubious stains.
    As Alfie fidgeted nervously by her side, Penelope took this opportunity to take a closer look at the Chief Warder. Middleton’s head was still bowed, his gaze seemingly fixed to the bottom of his glass. His army portrait had shown a distinguished-looking man, his long beard silvered with age, but the hunched figure in front of her seemed somehow broken. He appeared unaware of their presence, the huddle of empty glasses littering the small table a measure of how long he had been here.
    Endeavouring to gain his attention, Penelope cleared her throat.
    “Excuse me, Sergeant Major Middleton?”
    The old soldier lifted his head, staring up at her with flint-grey eyes. His face was ghastly pale, his expression haggard and drawn as if nursing some unspeakable suffering. Penelope had seen this expression before, recognising the distant stare from the faces of the soldiers her father had served with in British India. The men who had fought in the North-West Frontier Uprising, seen women and children dragged from their beds and murdered by the marauding tribesmen. It was the face of a man who had seen too much.
    Penelope frowned, unnerved by the soldier’s silence. According to his regimental record, Sergeant Major Middleton hadn’t seen active service for more than a decade. His comfortable billet at the Tower of London was a far cry from his days fighting in the Indian Mutiny. A ghost who walked through walls, that’s what Drake said the Keeper of the Keys had seen, but how could that be? She had to find out exactly what Middleton had witnessed. Penny glanced down again at the empty glasses.
In vino veritas
, she prayed.
    “Do I know you, miss?” The sudden sound of Middleton’s voice made Penny’s heart skip a beat. His quavering tone seemed strained, as if he was in pain. “I have come here to find somepeace, not be lectured about scripture and the merits of temperance.”
    Penny stared back at him in confusion before the realisation slowly dawned. Middleton must have mistaken her for a member of the British Women’s Temperance Association: the do-gooders who visited taverns encouraging drinkers to seek salvation in the arms of the Lord and mend their ways at last.
    “No, sir, you are mistaken,” Penelope began and then paused to try to gather her thoughts. What exactly was she going to tell him? She could hardly say that she had heard he had seen a ghost steal the Crown Jewels. She thought back to what she had learned from the Chief Warder’s regimental record: tours of duty in India, Afghanistan and the Nile; Middleton had even served on the North-West Frontier, just like her father…
    Unbidden, the image of her father’s face crept into her mind, his dark whiskers neatly trimmed in the military style. She could picture him in his officer’s uniform, his arm draped around her mother’s elegant shoulders as the regimental photographer captured their portrait. She recalled the yellowish tint of the telegram that brought her news of their deaths, her father and mother both murdered in the bloody North-West Frontier Uprising. Her heart ached, the pain of her loss undimmed by the passing of the years.
    “Then what is your business here?” the old soldier demanded, his trembling fingers clinging to his pint glass as if seeking sanctuary there. “Can you not