Broken White: The Complete Series Read online

  "Like what?" I ask, hoping to deflect any questions.

  "Like something official," he continues. "I've been keeping an eye on you for a while, and something's changed. About four, maybe five years ago, rumors got around that you were leaving the country. Some people even said that you were handing your network over to Cather May. Then, suddenly, it seemed like you'd decided to stay. Six months later, Cather's body was found pinned to a door in Covent Garden, and there were stories about a dead body having been found in your house. From what I've heard, a gentleman by the name of Vincent D'Oyly. And then all of a sudden, everything kind of hushed up, like someone put the brakes on the discussion. It's impressive, Pope, but I've got to wonder how you did it".

  "You give me too much credit," I say quietly.

  "I don't think so. You're a smooth operator. You keep yourself to yourself, but you seem to have an impressive range of contacts".

  "I don't know what you're talking about," I reply. The truth is, I only came into the King's Arms because I needed to calm my nerves. I can't go to Henrietta's home yet, since her husband might be there, so I need to wait until I can be sure he's out. He usually goes to his club in the evening, so I need to wait until at least 5pm. For now, my only safe harbor is this grubby little hellhole, although I'm not a fan of Wolff's new, inquiring way of passing the time with his customers. He's always been such a glum, uncommunicative kind of guy, so it's strange that he's suddenly trying to maintain a conversation with me. "You think too much," I say, smiling at him. "That's your problem".

  "No-one's ever accused me of that before," he replies dourly.

  I shrug.

  "Whatever," Wolff says with a smile. "Keep your secrets to yourself if you want, Pope. They're probably not that interesting. I just thought that maybe you'd learned a trick or two that you might want to share. It's important for us to share information. Don't forget that I helped you out a while back, hooking you up with some emergency medical care from John the Pig. I was hoping you might repay the favor by letting me in on your secrets. I understand if you'd rather play your cards closer to your chest, though. Men like us can only really survive if we're alone. When we start working with others, we end up making mistakes. After all, life's little more than a game".

  "I don't have any cards," I say, finishing my beer. Damn it, Wolff is normally a quiet guy who keeps to himself; why did he have to choose today, of all days, to suddenly become talkative and interested in my life? Maybe I'm paranoid, but I can't help wondering if even the King's Arms, once a refuge for the bastards of London, might have been infiltrated by unseen forces that seek information about the game. "I just got lucky," I continue, climbing off my bar stool. "You know how it goes, Wolff. A little luck here, a little luck there, and suddenly you're on a roll. It could end any time, though. You never know what's just around the corner".

  "I guess not," he replies, taking my empty glass. "See you around".

  As I walk out to the street, I make a mental note to never, ever go to the King's Arms again. It's clear that something's spooked Wolff, which means that someone is making inquiries around town. Given the fortress-like nature of that pub, however, it's hard to imagine who, or what, could have persuaded Wolff to turn against me. I can't help but glance over my shoulder, just in case someone's following me, but the coast seems to be clear. Still, something's definitely wrong, and my only hope is to get to Henrietta and find some answers. She has connections throughout London, so she's bound to know if someone's on my trail.

  Elly

  Today

  "How long have you known Isabella Raynard?" I ask, trying to make my inquiry sound casual as I unhook my earrings. It's the end of a long night, and Mark and I have finally come back to our hotel room. Unlike previous nights since we arrived in Zurich, I'm not feeling at all drunk; I guess my little conversation with Isabella has kept me sober.

  "I don't know her at all," Mark replies, sitting on the end of the bed with a glass of whiskey in his hands. "I've just met Frank a few times. That's all".

  "Huh," I reply, still wondering whether I should tell Mark about Isabella's comments. "So you've never really talk to her?"

  "Not about anything substantial," Mark says. "Why?"

  "Nothing," I reply, although I immediately get a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'm going to tell him eventually, so why delay things? "She said something odd tonight," I continue after a moment, not daring to look over at him; instead, I pretend to be examining my make-up in the mirror.

  "Odd in what way?"

  "She mentioned the game".

  I wait for Mark to say something, but there's just silence. Finally, I turn to see that he's staring at me with a look of shock on his face.

  "She mentioned Mr. Blue and Mr. White and Lady Red," I continue. "I didn't tell her about any of it. She didn't really know what she was talking about, but she had a few ideas. She wanted me to confirm it all for her".

  "Impossible," Mark says, his voice taut with tension. "There's no way -"

  "I'm just telling you what she said," I reply.

  "No-one knows," he says firmly, almost as if he's struggling to remain calm.

  "You can't be sure of that," I say. "It's the twenty-first century. Information spreads everywhere. If just one person has an inkling of something, it'll be on the internet within seconds. It's amazing that the game has been kept secret for so long".

  "It's not 'amazing', as you put it," Mark replies, sounding a little hostile. "You're acting as if it's all down to luck. The game is very, very carefully kept behind closed doors, by people who know what they're doing. There's absolutely no way that any information could leak out. No way at all". He pauses for a moment. "Not unless someone says something inopportune".

  "I didn't tell her anything," I say, deciding to leave out the complications and keep my story simple. "She said she'd heard a few things, that's all. She clearly didn't know the whole deal. Someone must have just mentioned a part of it".

  "I've already told you," Mark says, getting up and refilling his glass, "there's no way anyone could have talked about the game".

  "What about the other people who've played?" I ask. "There were girls before me, weren't there? Maybe one of them talked?"

  He shakes his head.

  "You can't be certain," I point out.

  "I can," he says, taking a sip of whiskey.

  "What do you do to them?" I continue, forcing myself to smile. "Do you kill them?"

  "No," he says, almost shouting. "Of course not! It's just..." He pauses, as if he's trying to gather his thoughts and calm down. This is a stressed, angry side of Mark that I've seen a couple of times before, and I don't like it. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "I shouldn't talk to you like that. You just have to trust me when I say that we have a very secure system in place that ensure there can be no leaks".

  "Every system leaks eventually," I reply.

  "Not ours," he says. "The game has been played for hundreds of years, and word has never managed to get out".

  Smiling politely, I pour myself a glass of whiskey. In a strange way, it feels good to be having this conversation. We usually just have sex in the evenings and then go to sleep, but talking to Mark right now is making me feel like we're more of an actual couple. I can't help but think back to Isabella's words about affection. Walking over to Mark, I place a hand on his shoulder.

  "What?" he asks, looking perplexed by the gesture.

  "Nothing. I just thought I'd..." I stare at the confused look in his eyes, and slowly I move my arm away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it".

  "Are you sure she mentioned the game?" he asks. "I'm serious, Elly. This isn't a time for messing about. Are you absolutely certain that she mentioned it first? Are you sure you didn't let something slip?"

  "I'm sure," I say. "She mentioned it first. I denied all knowledge, and eventually she seemed to believe me. She knew the names of the three of you, and she had some kind of vague idea about the game behind something to
do with sex. She seemed to be under the impression that you're involved in some way". I wait for him to respond, but he doesn't say anything. I guess I should probably leave him alone with his thoughts, at least for a while. "I'm gonna take a shower before bed," I say, almost kissing him on the cheek before deciding I should be a little more formal. "I won't be long. Do you want to join me?"

  "No," he says, staring at his whiskey glass. "I'll be out here".

  Keen to get some time alone, I linger in the shower, feeling the warm, soapy water run down my body. It's strange, but even though I sometimes feel lonely when I'm with Mark, I find myself looking forward to these moments when I'm actually, physically alone. Of course, the same thing happens each time: I end up going over and over the details of my relationship with Mark, trying to work out where we stand. Sometimes I feel as if he genuinely cares for me, and other times I feel like I'm just some annoying girl he's keeping around for sex. Thinking back to Isabella's words, I try to remember one time in the past few weeks when Mark has shown me some genuine affection. Just a touch or a word... something, anything to show me that he truly cares. The harsh reality, however, is that there's nothing.

  Once I'm out of the shower and back through in the main room, I'm surprised to find that there's no sign of Mark. Slipping a dressing gown over my shoulders, I sit on the bed and read a couple of brochures, and eventually I hear the door open and he comes wandering back through.

  "Been somewhere?" I ask.

  "I just wanted to remind Frank Raynard about something," he says, already starting to strip off.

  "Did you see Isabella?"

  "What?" He turns to me. "Oh. Yeah. She was there, but I didn't talk to her".

  Putting the brochures aside, I watch as Mark gets undressed. "Do you realize what we're like?" I ask eventually. "We're like an old couple. Look at us, getting ready for bed and..." I stop speaking as I see the confused look in Mark's eyes. I swear to God, it's as if every time I say anything even remotely affectionate to him, he finds it hard to understand what's happening, almost like I've scared him. "You know what I mean," I say eventually, feeling a sinking sensation in my chest.

  "Sure," he replies non-committally, stripping down to his underwear.

  Sitting in silence, I watch as he gets ready for bed. Suddenly, I realize that if we don't make love, it'll be the first night we've been together where nothing has happened. There's a part of me that's scared, as if he's starting to lose interest in me, but there's another part of me that kind of likes the idea of us slipping into a more normal, more familiar relationship. It's not that I don't want to have him tonight, but I think I could sacrifice one orgasm if it proves that there's more to this situation than just sex.

  "So when does it all begin?" I ask eventually.

  "What?" he asks, clearly distracted.

  "The game," I continue.

  "It's already started," he says.

  "But Mr. White -"

  "You'll meet Mr. White when the time's right," he says. "Lady Red, too. Don't try to hurry things, Elly. The game isn't just about big set-pieces. Even this little trip to Switzerland is part of the whole thing".

  "So I'm being tested right now?" I ask.

  "I'm not going to give you a running commentary," he replies with a smile. "Let's just say that you're doing very well".

  "But I'll have to see Mr. White when we get back to London," I say. "Won't I?"

  "Yes," he says after a brief pause. If I didn't know better, I'd say that he's not keen on the prospect of me being taken for one of Mr. White's sessions. "We might go via Singapore, though. I've got some business out there".

  "Singapore?"

  "Just for a week," he says. "Or two. Maybe. We'll see".

  I stare at him for a moment. "Why are you scared to take me home?" I ask eventually.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You keep delaying it," I continue. "It's like you want to keep us on the road. Are you worried about me having to go and see Mr. White?"

  "Don't be silly".

  "Are you worried about something else?" I pause for a moment, and it's clear that Mark is feeling very uncomfortable. I swear to God, it's like he's running from something. "Promise me we'll go back to London after Singapore," I say eventually. "Promise me there's nothing we're running from".

  "I promise," he replies tentatively, "although I can't help it if business opportunities come up and -"

  "Promise!" I say firmly.

  "Fine," he mutters, walking over to the window and looking out at the night sky. "You know, Elly, sometimes you seem a little paranoid. You ask a lot of questions. It's good to be curious, but I feel as if you doubt me. Do you think I'd lie to you, Elly?"

  "I just don't like being kept in the dark," I reply. "I feel like there are things you're not telling me. I get that the game means there need to be secrets, but I'm getting the impression that there's something else going on here. It's like there's something going on in the background that you're deliberately keeping from me".

  "There's nothing," he says, turning to me. Framed against the window, he suddenly looks like the most handsome man in the world, even if he's wearing nothing but his boxer shorts.

  "You should come to bed," I say, figuring that our night without sex can wait. Right now, I want to feel him on top of me; I want to hold him tight and feel him make love to me, and I want to know that things are okay between us, even if it's only for tonight. Sitting up on the bed, I let the dressing gown fall to reveal my breasts, and I wait for him to come and join me.

  "I thought you were tired," he says, with a hint of a smile on his lips.

  "I am," I say, "but -"

  Suddenly I see something fall part the window outside. I freeze, replaying the image over and over in my mind, and as each second passes I become more and more certain that what I just saw was a person. I open my mouth to tell Mark, but my heart is racing and I feel as if my entire body is trembling. I swear to God, I just saw someone fall past the window. Seconds later, in the distance, far below our bedroom window, a woman screams.

  Jonathan Pope

  1901

  Standing at the end of the street, I stare at Henrietta's front door. Thanks to her husband, Benjamin deHavilland, Henrietta lives in one of the most prestigious parts of the city. I already feel out of place, as if a police officer might turn up at any moment and ask what I'm doing here. To be honest, men like me tend to only come to this part of town in order to case out a joint or conduct some other piece of underhand business. I'd never normally loiter like this, but I need to see Henrietta as soon as possible, so I have to know when her husband leaves.

  "Are you lost, Mr. Pope?" asks a voice nearby.

  Turning, I find that Mr. White has come up behind me. There's a curious smile on his face, and it's clear that this is more than a mere coincidence. In my experience, Mr. White never does anything without a motive. I have clearly let my guard down a little too much and allowed him to sneak up on me, which means he could have been watching me for quite some time.

  "I must say," he continues, "I didn't expect to find you hanging around like this. The three of us aren't due to meet up until Saturday. I do hope you're not intending to have a private chat with Lady Red. I'd hate to start getting the wrong impression about the pair of you".

  "Actually," I reply, my mind racing as I try to come up with a convincing explanation for my presence, "I'm merely here to keep an eye on her husband. Of late, I've heard some rather alarming stories about the type of company he's been keeping, and I intend to follow him and see whether or not there's any foundation to such claims".

  "And what type of company do you mean?" he asks.

  "Ladies of the night, mainly," I say. "I aim to catch him in the act this evening".

  "You won't have much luck," Mr. White replies. "Benjamin deHavilland is out of town for a few days, although I'm sure he'll come rushing back if the rumors about Her Royal Highness turn out to be true".

  "Rumors?" I ask, hoping to b
uy some time.

  "They say she's on her death-bed," he replies. "We're living in strange times. The British Empire seems to be constantly on the verge of collapse, and those upstart Americans are undoubtedly ready and waiting to take up the slack. God knows how the world is going to change in the next few years, but we must be prepared. The game itself is going to change, and we must watch that we're ready".

  "We need to rid ourselves of undesirable elements," I suggest.

  "Like Mr. deHavilland?" He smiles. "Perhaps, but I'm afraid you've come here on a wild goose chase. You'll have to wait a day or two if you hope to catch sight of him. As far as I'm aware, he's off cavorting with the good ladies of the West Country".

  "Fine," I reply, "then I suppose I shall have to come back another day". I pause for a moment, as it becomes abundantly clear that it must be Mr. White who has been keeping an eye on me. He's one of the few men who could ever hope to emerge from the King's Arms without having his throat cut, and I've long felt that he has suspicions about my relationship with Henrietta. I wouldn't be surprised if he had designs on the game for his own purposes; after all, if he could push us out, he'd be left in complete control.

  "Allow me to walk with you," he says, turning and leading me along the street.

  "Of course," I reply, figuring I can lose him pretty quickly and double-back to see Henrietta. The most important thing is to ensure that I don't do anything to arouse his suspicion. "I must say," I continue as we walk, "I feel as if the game has reached something of a lull. I know this is partly my fault, of course, but it's as if there's a distinct lack of new girls, and the ones who do turn up tend to be rather lacking in the requisite skills".

  "You're not the only one to have noticed," Mr. White says wryly. "Over the past year, you've delivered barely a handful of girls, and none of them have been even remotely suitable. I've been reading the record books, and you're by far the least successful Mr. Blue of all time. I'd like to think that you're simply being a little more picky, but I can't shake the feeling that you seem distracted. Lady Red also seems rather different of late. If I didn't know better, I'd start wondering whether the two of you are up to something".