The King's Deception

She knew that tomorrow, Saturday, visitors would be everywhere among the Inns, enjoying the grounds and touring the famous Temple Church. But little about the ancient building was original. Centuries ago Protestant barristers, wanting to efface all emblems of Catholicism, whitewashed the interior and plastered the columns — a puritanical cleansing that destroyed all of the olden beauty. Most of what the visitors now saw was a 20th-century reconstruction, the aftermath of German bombs during World War II.

At this hour the church was dark and locked for the night. Midnight was fast approaching. Lights burned, though, in the nearby master’s residence, the custodian charged with the church’s upkeep, a servant of both the Middle and Inner Temples.

She approached the front door and knocked.

The man who answered was in his forties, dark-haired, and identified himself as the master. He seemed perplexed she was there, so she displayed her SOCA identification and asked, “What time does the church close each day?”

“You came here, at this hour, to ask me that?”

She tried a bluff. “Considering what happened earlier, you should not be surprised.”

And she saw that her words registered.

“It varies,” he said. “Most days it’s 4:00 PM. Sometimes it’s as early as 1:00 PM, depending on if we have services or a special event planned.”

“Like earlier?”

He nodded. “We closed the church, at four, as requested.”

“No one was there after that?”

He tossed her a curious look. “I locked the doors myself.”

“And were the doors reopened?”

“Are you referring to the special event?” he asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m referring to. Did everything perform brilliantly?”

He nodded. “The doors were reopened at six, locked back at ten. No personnel were on site, as requested.”

Improvise. Think. Don’t waste this opportunity.

“We are having some … internal issues. There were problems. Not on your end. On ours. We’re trying to backtrack and trace the source.”

“Oh, my. I was told that everything must be precise.”

“By your supervisor?”

“By the treasurer himself.”

The Inns were run by benchers, senior members of the bar, usually judges. The senior bencher was the treasurer.

“Of the Middle or Inner Temple?” she asked.

The church sat on the dividing line between the two Inns’ respective land, each contributing to its upkeep. Southern pews were for the Inner Temple, northern pews accommodated the Middle.

“Inner Temple. The treasurer was quite emphatic, as was the other man.”

“That’s what I came to find out. Who was the other man?”

“Quite distinguished. Older gentleman, with a cane. Sir Thomas Mathews.”

* * *

Malone laid the book on the counter. More customers wandered in through the front door and browsed the shelves.

“They do come after the final curtain in the theaters, don’t they?” he said.

“The only reason I stay open this late on weekends. I’ve found it to be quite worthwhile. Luckily, I am a bit of a night person.”

He wasn’t sure what he was. Night. Morning. All day. It seemed he simply forced his mind to work whenever it had to. Right now, his body was still operating on Georgia time, five hours earlier, so he was okay.

Miss Mary pointed to the book he held. “That was published in 1910. Bram Stoker worked for Sir Henry Irving, one of the great Victorian actors. Stoker managed the Lyceum Theatre, near the Strand, for Irving. He was also Irving’s personal assistant. Stoker penned most of his great works while in Irving’s employ, Dracula included. Stoker idolized Henry Irving. Many say the inspiration for the title character in Dracula came from Irving.”

“I hadn’t heard that one.”

She nodded. “It’s true. But in 1903, while searching for some land Irving might be interested in purchasing, Stoker came across an interesting legend. In the Cotswolds. Near Gloucestershire and the village of Bisley.”

She opened the red volume to the table of contents.

“Stoker became fascinated with hoaxes and pretenders. He said that ‘imposters, in one shape or another, are likely to flourish as long as human nature remains what it is and society shows itself ready to be gulled.’ So he wrote this account and detailed some of the more famous, and not so famous.”

He studied the table of contents, which listed thirty-plus subjects scattered over nearly 300 pages. The Wandering Jew. Witches. Women as Men. The False Dauphin. Doctor Dee.

“Stoker wrote four nonfiction books to go with his novels and short stories,” Miss Mary said. “He never quit his day job and worked for Irving right up to the great actor’s death in 1905. Stoker died in 1912. This book was published two years before that. When I read what was on that flash drive, I instantly thought of it.”

She pointed to the last section noted in the table of contents, starting on page 283.

The Bisley Boy.