“I only had one small cup of ale, but I think someone might have filled it up when I wasn’t looking, because the road felt like it was swaying when I walked along. I was making my way home, and I heard singing. It was a song I’d heard in the Three Barrels – I recognised the words – and I thought it might be Peter singing. He had been at the inn as well, but I think he was asleep on one of the tables when I left – that’s why I was walking home alone.
“I shouted into the dark side street: Peter, is that you? Come and walk me home like a gentleman. But it wasn’t Peter. I heard someone go shush really loudly, and then another man giggled. And then one of them said: Madam, I seem to have fallen over – can you come and help me up? I went to see if I could help him, and when I stepped into the shadows, I was grabbed from behind.” Deirdre’s voice faded away and she shivered.
“What happened to you then?” Sheldrake asked.
“I couldn’t see who held me, but another man came towards me. He was laughing and drinking from a bottle of wine. He put his face very close to mine, and I could smell the drink on his breath. I was going to ask him what they were doing, and he just... he kissed me. On the mouth. His lips were very moist, and he tasted of wine and tobacco. He put his tongue in my mouth, so I bit down on it. He pulled back, laughing, and then he tore my blouse down the front. He put his hand on my breast – it was very warm, and he squeezed too hard, so I cried out. And then he put his other hand on the front of my skirt...”
“Oh, my,” the old woman said, her face flushed.
“And you think these men were members of the Guard, do you?” Sheldrake asked.
“The one who kissed me was,” Deirdre said.
“He was in uniform?”
“No, he was wearing an old linen shirt, open down the front so you could see all the hairs on his chest.”
“Then what makes you think he was a Guardsman?”
“Well, Samuel Stuckley is in the Guard, isn’t he?” Deirdre said.
Sheldrake looked across to the young Guardsman, who nodded.
“How did your encounter last night end?” Sheldrake asked.
“He fell over,” Deirdre said. “He was trying to get his breeches down, and he just fell down. I ran away when his friend let go of me and went to help him.”
“That’s a relief,” Sheldrake said.
“You might think so,” the old woman said, “but I think it’s disgusting.”
“Indeed it is,” Sheldrake said. “Such behaviour is totally unacceptable, and I assure you that this Samuel Stuckley will be properly disciplined.”
“Castrate him,” the old woman said. “That’s what they used to do. If a few more men got them snipped off, there’d be a lot less of this sort of thing. If you want someone to do it, I’ll volunteer my services, and I’ll bring my own shears.”
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you,” Sheldrake said. He turned to Deirdre. “On behalf of the King’s Guard, I apologise for what happened to you last evening. Please be assured that the culprit will be punished, and that steps will be taken to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
The old woman made snipping movements with her hands, her lips providing accompanying sounds. Both Sheldrake and the young Guardsman breathed a sigh of relief when she and her daughter were gone.
“Find Samuel Stuckley and send him to me,” Sheldrake said.
“He’s not on duty today,” the young Guardsman said.
“Then go and find him and bring him to me.”
“Where should I look, sir?”
“Do you know where the Three Barrels is?”
“The inn, sir? I think so, why?”
“Never mind, come with me, we’ll find him together,” Sheldrake said.
The Three Barrels was crowded and noisy. Although it was early afternoon, the shutters at the windows gave the place an atmosphere of perpetual twilight. The air was filled with smoke haze and alcohol fumes. Different songs were being sung at opposite ends of the room, while at the bar a thin, haggard young man was celebrating the birth of his ninth child. Sheldrake could see several men he recognised as Guardsmen. The young Guardsman at his side pointed out Samuel Stuckley, a heavyset young man with thick dark hair and arched eyebrows. He was sitting by the stairs, and there was a woman with a painted face sitting in his lap. Several other young men were gathered around him on stools, laughing merrily, their cheeks flushed, tankards in hand. Sheldrake pushed his way through the crowd.
“Stuckley! What is the meaning of this?” Sheldrake demanded.
“My friends and I are having a drink. We are off-duty, as you can see.” He turned and fluttered his tongue in the girl’s ear, whispering something to her. She glanced at the captain through long lashes and giggled.
“I want you back at the Guard House, immediately,” Sheldrake said. “You have a complaint to answer.”
“Has ‘Lord Algernon’ complained that I won’t bend over for him?” Stuckley asked. “Oh, no, he can’t have, can he? Because he disappeared from the Guard House, taking your prisoner with him!”
Stuckley’s friends all grinned in appreciation of this.
“That is no concern of yours,” Sheldrake said.
“But, captain, I am concerned. When one Guardsman is made to look like an idiot, we’re all judged to be fools.”
The men gathered about laughed nervously, and some of the nearby civilian drinkers chuckled too. Stuckley whispered to the girl, who stood shakily and swayed towards the captain, stopping in front of him. “Are you really a captain?” She husked. She smelled of wine and her strong sweet perfume was overpowering. She caressed the front of Sheldrake’s uniform, toying with the fastenings of the jacket. She leaned forward, her cheek leaving pink dust on his shoulder. Her scented hair brushed against his face. “Don’t be angry,” she said, “let me help you to relax.
Sheldrake shoved her roughly away from him. Unable to maintain balance in her half-drunken state, the girl stumbled over a vacant stool and fell heavily at Stuckley’s feet. Stuckley stood, helping the girl up. He glowered at the captain, advancing towards him. Some in the inn cheered him on, enjoying the sight of an authority figure seemingly helpless.
“Mr. Stuckley, you currently stand accused of common assault and insubordination. If you do not return to the castle now, I shall have you charged with mutiny. Do you wish to hang?”
Stuckley stopped, and without realising it, his hand went to his neck. He glared at Captain Sheldrake, then his shoulders slumped and his hands dropped to his side. A few in the crowd booed their displeasure.
“Any more trouble, and I close this inn. Permanently!” Sheldrake’s voice carried clearly, authoritatively. The crowd grew silent. “I want all off-duty Guardsmen back at the castle now: this establishment is out of bounds until further notice. Move!”
Men hastened for the door, all averting their faces to avoid the chance of recognition. One young man hurried upstairs and soon returned with a second who has hastily fastening his breeches.
“You two,” Walcott stopped them. “Take Mr. Stuckley back to the Guard House and place him under arrest.”
All three men exited, heads down. Sheldrake followed them out, ignoring the mutterings behind him.
“We need to do something about discipline,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” said the young Guardsman at his elbow.
“And it wouldn’t be a bad thing if we did something to make the commoners afraid of us again,” he said, thinking of his earlier confrontation with the old woman.
“Is there something in particular you’d like me to do, sir,” the Guardsman said. “To frighten them?”
Sheldrake looked at him. “Just find Lieutenant Walcott. And don’t come back until you’ve located him.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll ask around sir.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Lieutenant Walcott stood near the mouth of the cave, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. The sea sparkled brightly and the dry
sand was a shimmering band of white right along the coast. Weren’t secret meetings supposed to take place in dark corners?
“Did you come alone?”
Walcott spun round, the voice startling him. “I did,” he said, as his heartbeat slowed again. He peered into the darkness of the cave, but his eyes could only make out a dull metallic gleam – the curve of a loaded crossbow, he was sure. He stepped into the shadow of the cave and waited for his eyes to adjust.
“Thank you for coming,” the voice said, “I hoped I could trust you.”
“You weren’t sure?” Walcott asked. He saw the shadowy figure shrug.
“We were never friends. And now...”
“Now you are a fugitive, suspected of assisting a murderer to avoid justice,” Walcott said. “What game are you playing, Varian?”
“It is no game,” Varian said, stepping forward.
“Have you been hiding in the caves all this time?” Walcott asked.
“There are miles of them,” Varian said, “a man could hide forever.”
“And you could escape down this one if I had not come alone?”
“After I’d shot you in the head with this,” Varian said, holding up the crossbow and smiling. He removed the bolt and released the tension in the string.
“Is he here also?” Walcott asked.
“Who?”
“The fugitive, Anton Leyander.”
Varian shook his head.
“You should give him up,” Walcott said. “Hand him over, and they will treat you leniently, I’m sure.”
“I can’t.”
“Are you blinded by lust? The man is a murderer!”
Varian shook his head. “Anton did not kill Lord Eòghan. Or anyone else.”
“If not him, then who?”
“The same man who killed Conrad and a thief on the night the Skullsplitter was stolen. And who killed Captain Torrance so that he might take his place.”
“That is insane!”
“Is it? Who else has benefited from the four deaths? Not you or I. And not Anton either.”
Walcott was pacing around the cave, trying to reconcile what he had just heard, with his own suspicions, and what he had observed recently. He disliked Sheldrake for sure, and knew the man could only be trusted to look out for his own interests. But would he go as far as murdering a superior officer? And a noble?
“What proof do you have?” Walcott asked. He stopped pacing and turning to face Varian.
“Almost none,” Varian admitted. “The only way we will see justice served is if Sheldrake confesses.”
Walcott laughed. “That is your grand plan, is it? Hope that a guilty conscience overwhelms him and makes him own to it? I wish you luck.”
Varian shrugged. “It’s all I have.”
“Why have you brought this to me?” Walcott asked. “What do you think I can do?”
“With the fool gone for good, we need someone inside the castle,” Varian said.
“You expect me to betray my own captain?”
“No, I want you to watch him. Every move he makes. And protect the Lady Julianne.”
“Protect her?”
Varian nodded. “Sheldrake has asked her to marry him. What do you think he will do when she refuses?”
“He wouldn’t dare...”
“Do not take my word for it,” Varian said. “Watch him. Ask after Lady Julianne’s health and see what feelings he reveals in talking of her. And if you still doubt what I have said, try and come up with a more plausible story that accounts for all that has occurred recently.”
Walcott was pacing again. “I would believe you if I could. But I need some tangible proof if I am to risk my neck by throwing in with you.”
“Anton will seek to force Sheldrake’s hand: have him reveal himself for the villain he is. In the meantime, I ask only that you be vigilant.”
“I will. If I need to communicate with you, how will I do it?”
“To the left of the cave entrance, over there,” Varian pointed, “there is a narrow fissure in the rock. Place a bottle in there with a note in it.”
Walcott went and felt for the fissure with his hand. He turned around to wish Varian luck, but the blond man had already vanished into the shadows deep in the cave.
*
When Lieutenant Walcott got back to the Guard House, he received word that Captain Sheldrake wished to speak with him immediately.
“Ah, there you are, Walcott. We’ve had quite an eventful afternoon in your absence,” Sheldrake said. He added something to the document he was annotating, and then shook sand on the wet ink.
“Forgive me, sir. There was a matter that required my personal attention.”
Sheldrake waved a hand dismissively and smiled. “Do not be concerned. The matter has been dealt with in a most satisfactory manner.”
“About Samuel Stuckley...” Walcott said.
“You heard about that? A most disagreeable fellow.”
“I’m sorry, I should have devoted more attention to the issue of discipline,” Walcott said.
“All it needs is for an example to be made. Punish the worst offender, and the rest will quickly come into line.”
“I’m sure you’re right, sir.”
Sheldrake got up from his desk. “I think you and I should go down and have a little talk with our prisoner.”
“Very good, sir.”
Sheldrake led the way, hands behind his back, striding quickly. His mood was un characteristically buoyant. Walcott hurried to keep up with him.
“Tell me, Walcott, you were born in Sangreston, were you not?”
“I was, sir.”
“Then you must be familiar with the caves in the rocks under our town?”
“They are used as cellars under many of the buildings, and of course we played in them as children. Why do you ask?”
“Idle curiosity,” Sheldrake said. “I have taken an interest in the network of underground tunnels myself recently. There were none in my home town.”
Sheldrake hurried down the stone steps to the dungeon. He took the keys from the gaoler and moved towards one of the cells.
“This dungeon is formed from one of the caves, did you know that?” Sheldrake asked, sliding the key into the lock.
“I did, sir.”
“How very ironic,” Sheldrake said, pushing open the cell door.
“Ironic, sir?”
The prisoner chained in the cell was not Samuel Starkley.
“That you and our prisoner should meet in a cave for a second time today,” Sheldrake said.
Varian blinked as the light poured in through the open door.
Walcott felt his stomach lurch and a sudden, sickening light-headedness.
“As you see, my escape was short-lived,” Varian said, looking up at Walcott.
“Escape?” Sheldrake asked, looking from Walcott to Varian and back.
“Lieutenant Walcott tried to arrest me earlier, but I managed to slip away. He does not know the caves as well as I. Or as well as you, captain.”
Sheldrake frowned. “Is this true?” he asked Walcott.
“Yes, sir,” Walcott said, his nausea passing. “I received a message from Varian asking me to meet him in secret. I went to the meeting intending to capture him.”
“I see,” Sheldrake said. He smoothed his moustache with a finger. “If you went there on official business, why were you not in uniform?”
“In my message, I said that if I saw any red uniforms, I would not show myself,” Varian said.
“That is why I did not feel able to share knowledge of this meeting with you, sir,” Walcott said.
Behind Sheldrake’s back, Varian nodded encouragement.
“And when you failed to apprehend him, you did not tell me because you felt embarrassed by your failure?” Sheldrake asked.
Walcott nodded. “I felt ashamed, sir. I had let down myself and the Guard.”
Sheldrake stared at him. Walcott met his gaze, not flinching.
&n
bsp; “You failed in your attempt at capture, but we still arrived at the desired outcome,” Sheldrake said. “Fortunately, when I received word that you were seen entering the cave on the beach, I stationed men at the two exits that our friend here might use when he exited. And here we are,” Sheldrake smiled, “back in a cave.”
“Your plan was better executed than mine, sir,” Walcott said.
“That is why I am captain,” Sheldrake said.
They stepped out of the cell, closing the door and leaving Varian alone in the darkness.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Even in darkness, the living quarters behind the Siren’s Head looked in need of repair. Several roof tiles were loose or missing, and the paint on the walls was beginning to peel, exposing the clay beneath. The platform of the stage now looked like an unfinished structure of wooden beams, rather than a place where art could be brought to life. In the moonlight, the courtyard in front of the stage appeared empty and shabby, with leaves and other rubbish collecting in the corners. With all of Doran Jarrett’s energies having gone into his theatre, the inn building and its surroundings had been neglected. In the small walled garden next to the inn, vines strangled the fruit bushes and the path was overgrown. Ornamental shrubs remained unpruned and shapeless. Weeds filled the beds between sickly plants and bushes. Dead and shrivelled heads had been left beside fresh blooms on the large rose tree that dominated the space below the balcony.
Meg’s ship was due to sail shortly and she was spending a little of her remaining on shore with her father. Edison had scouted the scene during the afternoon, and it had seemed entirely possible to climb the ivy covering the back wall of the house up to the balcony outside Meg’s room. But as he now crouched in the darkness of the garden, the balcony looked far higher, and the ivy a shivering featureless mass in the moonlight.
He could see the flickering light of a candle in Meg’s window, and it was enough to spur him on: he stood, took a deep breath, adjusted his belt purposefully – then took a step back and suffered another moment of doubt. In daylight this had seemed a fine and romantic adventure. In the cool, dark reality of night, it seemed rather less so. He looked down at the carefully wrapped roses, one dozen tight red buds. Suppose Meg simply laughed at him when he had climbed up onto the balcony and opened his heart to her? The idea of climbing back down the ivy with his tail between his legs did not appeal to him. And at this moment, climbing up the ivy to her balcony did not appeal either.
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