by Lynda Hurst
Monsters, all of them, she thought, continuing to race headlong through the trees. But none of them frightened her as much as their leader. When she had been brought into their midst, their leader intoned such fanatical twaddle about her being a symbolic representation of the Moon Goddess. She had been close enough to witness the maniacal look in his eye, bloodthirsty and insane, and it chilled her to see that there would be no reasoning with the man as he had built up the blood thirst of his companions through his zealous yet cultured speech.
On she ran, glancing back to see if they had caught up. For the split second that she wasn’t looking where she stepped, she had to stop herself from almost colliding with someone who called out, “Boo,” causing her to shriek to the heavens.
A male, by the sound of his voice, tried to reach for her, but she had already quickly turned in the other direction to run. “Come now, sweetheart. The game can’t be over yet,” the fake Mr. Keenley cajoled.
She found she couldn’t make another step, as she felt a jarring pressure hit her square in the chest, stealing her breath for all of a moment. Rendered speechless and still, it took all of her effort to look down and see the fletching of an arrow protruding from her body where her heart would be.
The last thing she saw as she looked up was the leader dressed all in black, holding an empty bow, fresh from having its arrow released.
***
As their leader, he told them to get rid of the body in the usual location, but he did not expect them to be arguing over it like children in the nursery. Shouting and shoving soon ensued, and as their leader, he made his way back to them to sort out the problem.
Approaching nearer, he heard one of them yell, “Did you not recognize who this is? My own sister has had her invited to tea more than once! How could you not see that she was one of the local gentry and not some slattern!”
Lord Ravenwood, or “Mr. Keenley”, lamely replied, “How was I to know she was gentry? She only offered her name as ‘Lisbeth’ without any mention of her family name. I assumed she was just another villager, especially with the way she was poorly dressed.”
Alarmed, the leader broke up the circle around the body to confront the two men. “What do you mean she was gentry? Have I not told you to thoroughly look into their backgrounds before making the decision to bring her here?”
The man who had confronted Ravenwood replied, “This is the Stanhope girl. The only child of a baronet.”
Ravenwood, still unsteady due to imbibing a large amount of wine earlier, shrugged. “She was a virgin, wasn’t she? I assumed that was all that was required.”
The leader turned his fury on Ravenwood; with brute strength, he lifted him by the lapels of his coat and shook him. “You imbecile! With her death, there are bound to be consequences that could see the loss of our heads! Killing a member of the gentry cannot be ignored, not in this parish that has a duke watching over it!”
Mumbling his apologies, Ravenwood dropped to the ground clumsily as their leader abruptly released him from his grasp.
With cold menace, their leader commanded, “Leave her by the creek outside the town. I don’t want her anywhere near here where someone could stumble too close to our meeting place.” He turned to leave.
Ruminating on this little problem, the leader hoped there would be no repercussions following. Thus far, they had been able to go about their activities undetected, and he despaired that they may now have to curb the frequency of their meetings further spaced apart.
Feeling the thrill of the hunt earlier course through his veins, he found that it was the thrill that gave him fulfillment and power unlike any other he’d ever experienced.
And he wanted to feel it again and again.
5
Three Days Later – Prestonridge Manor
Devlin and Jackson had been urgently called upon by the local magistrate, Mr. Alexander Nobley, to meet about a serious matter regarding their little parish town, and the three agreed they would meet in Devlin’s study that very same afternoon. As Nobley was instrumental in the arrest of Benjamin Avery two years prior, Devlin had made it a habit to meet with the man on a regular basis by way of thanks for incarcerating a dangerous man whom he happened to share a blood relation with. If it weren’t for Nobley, Faith and Margaret could have been fatally harmed that day, and he thanked God and Nobley daily that they hadn’t been.
The mood in Devlin’s study was light-hearted and easy between the two men waiting on Nobley. But once the Prestonridge butler, Hugo, ushered in the magistrate, they noted the grave face Nobley affected once he walked in, and they immediately sobered when they were properly seated.
“Your Grace, my lord,” Nobley said, addressing both men, “as much as I wish this to be a social call, I’m afraid I have some terrible news that requires both of your ears and your help.”Without waiting for permission, Nobley went on. “There’s been another body recovered from just outside the town’s limits. A farmer’s boy had found her while he was out looking for a stray cow, and stumbled upon her by their creek.”
“Was there an arrow?” Devlin asked.
“Yes, just like the others.”
Devlin and Jackson sighed collectively, somber at the thought of yet another poor soul having been subjected to such a violent fate.
Nobley continued, “But this time is different.”
Jackson asked, “How so? This latest one counts as the sixth, and the preceding five were all local unwed girls thought to have been runaways.”
Sighing heavily, Nobley said, “This time, the deceased was more than just a local girl. She was a baronet’s daughter.”
Both men were shocked into brief silence at Nobley’s admission. Devlin spoke up once he found his tongue and wits, “The only baronet living in these parts is Lord Stanhope. Surely you don’t mean his daughter?”
“I’m afraid I do mean his only daughter, who so also happens to be his only child. Both he and his wife are beside themselves having heard the news just this morning. They’re preparing for the burial this Sunday.”
“She was only seventeen,” Jackson supplied. “How could this have happened?”
“After our interview, Lord and Lady Stanhope had no reason to think their daughter was meaning to run away. According to them, Lisbeth was a devoted and dutiful daughter, never causing either of them any displeasure. Her parents only discovered she was missing when the ill cousin whom she was supposed to be visiting that day reported the girl had not shown up.”
“When did the parents claim her missing?” Devlin asked.
“Only yesterday. They consulted with other relatives and friends first before coming to my office. Unfortunately, I gave them reason to believe that Lisbeth may have had cause to run away.”
“What cause was that?” Jackson asked.
“One that involves a secret beau. After all, the ill cousin was the only family member that knew about Lisbeth’s secret meetings with one. All five murders prior also had their families initially supposing that their daughters had run off with an unknown beau.”
“Did the cousin know the identity of Lisbeth’s beau?”
“Nothing so specific as a name. However, the cousin mentioned Lisbeth’s beau was not from the area.”
“Lisbeth told the cousin this?”
“Yes, in addition to the fact that this beau only visited at night, but did so only recently.”
“Recently? Such as in the past few months?”
“No, as in the past week. The cousin had also delicately mentioned that there was no question of Lisbeth’s virtue remaining intact. Short as the courtship was, it was something Lisbeth closely guarded.”
Jackson asked after all three men pondered a few moments in silence, “Is there any other common thread between all of the murders? So far, the baronet’s daughter is the only deviance from the other five.”
Nobley shook his head and replied, “I had written London for aid from Bow Street, and so far, two Runners have been sent to further invest
igate and are currently interviewing the other families to see what we can find.”
Devlin said, “You mentioned needing our help. How can we assist your efforts?”
“As persons of high ranking, your combined voices to the Crown hold greater power than mine alone,” Nobley explained. “With the death of a noble, the Crown cannot ignore what’s happening here, but the deaths of farmer’s daughters and one noble will not be enough to sway their sympathies. May I ask that you write the House of Lords to petition them for a military presence here in Donnesbury? I fear we can no longer rely on the people of Donnesbury alone to keep watch and will need a stronger force to deter the murderer and keep our women safe.”
“Of course, we will,” agreed Devlin. “I may be a little hasty by speaking for the both of us, but I for one will be happy to use my influence for the benefit of public safety.”
Jackson said, agreeably, “You have my support, as well, Nobley. As I still have yet to be appointed my seat in the House of Lords, I have a few friends within whose families have influential, high-ranking military officers who would be glad to help.”
“That is an immense relief to hear, and I must now take my leave as I will be hearing from the first Runner rather soon. Thank you for your time to see me out of your busy schedule, Your Grace. And you, my lord. I will call again once I hear something of use that you can add to your petitions.” Devlin and Jackson nodded their heads as Nobley bowed his way out and turned to leave the room, on to his next appointment.
At his retreating back, Jackson remarked, “Nobley is busy as ever, I see, now that the latest victim just happened to be Stanhope’s daughter and a noble at that.”
“Yes, and with an elusive murderer who has yet to be caught, our parish has little hope of finding the person responsible until we have a stronger force of protection at hand. We would be doing our due diligence by writing the House of Lords right away for at least a regiment to be posted here,” Devlin said, reaching for paper and ink.
“A murderer after unwed girls? Here? Donnesbury isn’t exactly teeming with enough prospects to keep the killer satisfied for long. Our petition letters would require fast riders to get there in time, and even then, we would still have to wait for the next session to pass the motion,” Jackson said, every inch the realist.
Devlin only arched a brow at the man his darling wife considered like a brother. “Am I a duke for nothing then? Being a duke has its advantages in that I do have the ear of the King. One of the things His Majesty is bound to understand is the need to protect his loyal subjects, and with a well-worded letter, I believe I can get things moving faster for our needs.”
“Sorry, old man, I had almost forgotten you outrank me. I will still write the House of Lords as a witness to your own petition. Their combined powers will still be needed to ensure that this doesn’t occur elsewhere in the country.”
Busying himself with the beginnings of his letter, Devlin said without looking up, “On another note, and if you’re not already aware, my sister has reported that Faith’s oldest brother has returned unexpectedly. Faith has yet to see him, but from what Margaret said, it’s unlikely that she will.”
From his seat, Jackson stared at Devlin. Jackson had always known how Faith’s natural family had ignored her when she was younger. “No, I wasn’t aware. How did Margaret come upon that piece of information? And how does she know Faith isn’t the reason he’s come back?”
“She met him at Revelstoke Place three days ago. He barged in unannounced and threatened revenge on my unsuspecting head until Margaret mentioned that Faith and I had married. Then he managed to rescind his first statement and still vow revenge but not on my person directly,” Devlin said, too casual for Jackson’s liking. Jackson didn’t understand how one could exact revenge without…
“So, he threatened Margaret instead, didn’t he?” Jackson shouted. “And you’re letting that bounder get away with intimidating her? Does Faith know he so much as said so?”
Devlin looked up then and raised a brow at Jackson’s volume. “No to the last two questions, and yes, but indirectly to the first. From the sounds of it, Margaret held her own against his threats, and even welcomed him to try.”
Jackson visibly calmed, but just marginally. “What do you mean ‘indirectly’? What did he say exactly?”
“I only know what Margaret said, and I believe she is keeping Frederick’s exact words to herself for the time being. But the intent to seek vengeance was clear.”
“Hm. What do you plan to do?”
“Nothing yet. Faith and I are planning to stay in London before the season begins. As an impoverished earl, I don’t know how he could attempt to hurt me or my family without ample means. You again forget I am a duke with connections in high places, and I am not above using those connections to my advantage.”
“I’m not likely to forget your rank as a duke with the way you keep throwing it in my face,” Jackson commented sarcastically. “But in the event you find Frederick more than you can handle, don’t hesitate to call on me for aid. Mary and I have had experience dealing with one particular Revelstoke male more times than we care to acknowledge.”
“Thank you, Jackson. I believe I will, if that may be the case. I will always be eternally grateful to you on Faith’s behalf for your running interference with her family in years past. That can’t have been an easy task.”
“You’re right,” Jackson agreed. “If the sons are anything like their father, with young Ethan being the exception of course, they are bound to cause more trouble than we would care for.”
“Then let’s hope the rabble-rousing is kept to a minimum before we leave for the city.”
6
That Same Day—Margaret’s Bedchamber
Out of that day’s delivered correspondence, two letters had arrived addressed to Lady Margaret de Chamblay. Hugo, as per his usual routine, sorted the day’s mail into stacks that were separated according to recipient, and hand-delivered them to Devlin, Faith, and Margaret after breakfast.
Faith’s stack always arrived in large brown envelopes due to the manuscripts and sheets of music that regularly delivered for further editing. Devlin received no less than the usual letters detailing his investments and other business, while receiving the occasional invitation from friends in London for various life events such as baptisms, weddings, and the like. Among Devlin’s stack of letters, Nobley’s quick note, written shortly that morning, was also included in his pile.
Margaret, however, expected just the one letter in response to the one she had sent days ago to Abraham. Receiving two letters instead of one was a pleasant surprise, and she summarily thanked Hugo before rushing off to her room to read both in private.
Comfortably seated at her escritoire, she opened the thicker and heavier letter of the two and confirmed that it was indeed the response from Abraham in her hands.
Dear Lady de Chamblay,
With some help from another historian, I was able to procure the information requested, although I must say, your inquiry has created quite the stir in our History department. Our resident expert on King John has claimed that his connection to the area in question has not been well-documented, but that there is reason to speculate that he was indeed present in what is now Donnesbury parish.
My colleague has been able to unearth an account of a monastery in the area you’ve indicated, confirmed to be written by a monk in Latin and addressed to a nobleman inquiring after his brethren’s welfare. This was established to have been penned just before John’s ill-fated campaign in 1214 to take back Normandy. From the letter’s tone, the monk was heavily distressed at King John’s mounting need for funds to back his campaign and worried that his monastery’s wealth would be plundered for the king’s unholy purpose. Centuries of accumulating religious treasures and artifacts made most of the monasteries prime targets for King John, and it wasn’t long until the King had turned his eye upon theirs.
A kind, God-fearing baron had sympathized with
the monks’ plight and helped them escape to France. When the king had come upon the monastery to demand their treasures, the baron had come to meet him with the news that the monks had been flushed out but there was nary of the treasure to be found except for one small chest of jewels. Satisfied, and as a reward for his loyalty, King John bestowed the baron with a new title and with the lands which the monks had abandoned. This baron is known as the first Earl of Revelstoke to this day.
Your other request has also proved a fruitful search. There has been evidence of Saxon hands fashioning an image of Artemis along with what has been disputed to be either Orion or Actaeon. The reason for the dispute is due to the fact that both males were hunters who had displeased the goddess and there is nothing to distinguish one from the other. Its geographical origin is still unknown, but the piece itself is currently being studied at the Royal Museum of Antiquities in London. When next can I expect your next visit to London? I would like to arrange another meeting regarding everything I’ve discussed here.
