Blood Rites

by Sharon K Gilbert

  “I’ve already met Lord Cowper, Tory. In fact, he was instrumental in helping me return the body of my late wife back to England. Authorities insisted that, because she had died in Dublin, her body must remain there.”

  “Really?” she asked, her dark brows pinched into a furrowed line. “Well, I suppose miracles do sometimes happen in politics. Such a dreadful business about your late wife. I cannot imagine why she would decide to leave someone as thoroughly kind and generous as you, my dear.”

  “She had her reasons,” he said mysteriously. “Amelia was very unhappy, Tory. I think she believed her lover, Harold Lowry, would deliver what happiness I failed to provide, but he only used her. Gambled away the money she’d inherited from her grandmother, and then left her to die alone.”

  Victoria touched his arm gently. “I’m so very sorry, Charles. You’ve endured much in your young life. But let’s look to the future, shall we?”

  “That is my plan,” he said, kissing her hand. “So who else is here?”

  “Ah, well now,” Victoria continued, “you’ll notice that Lord and Lady Brackamore are just behind Cowper and his wife. She’s Northampton’s daughter, of course. Oh, I see he’s with someone. Perhaps a relative. The admiral’s a widower, you know. And the earl—Brackamore, I mean—is an old family friend, and his late father was a member of the inner circle for a few years before growing ill. Poison. Dreadful way to die,” she added.

  “Was he murdered?”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper, her face behind a silk fan. “I do not like to gossip, but one has to ask if one or more of the cooks had a hand in it. No one was ever arrested, though the entire kitchen staff were dismissed the following week. Very strange, don’t you think?”

  “I do indeed,” he answered. “I might look into the investigation, assuming there was one. Where did he die?”

  “It’s old business, but if you must look into it, the earl died in Mayfair at Brackamore House,” she replied. “Ask your uncle about it. James always believed Brackamore was killed by Redwing, which is probably why no one was ever arrested. Now,” she continued, lowering her fan, “if you look across the way, you’ll see Lord Boughton, next to the woman with the outrageous hat.”

  “The purple monstrosity?” Charles asked, eyeing a thin woman in an electric blue evening gown, wearing a velvet hat adorned with violet-tinted birds and three, spindly peacock feathers.

  Tory laughed. “Oh no, my dear! Though that hat does make one shudder. No, the pale, hawk-nosed woman in the pink silk affair with all those awful, yellow bows. Hats! Such a nuisance. I wear them, of course, but only when required, and you’ll notice Beth almost never wears them, even when required.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed much about my fiancée, Aunt. As it happens, I never tire of noticing.”

  “As it should be. That ring is perfect, Charles. Simply perfect. You’ve no way of knowing this, but Beth often told me that she hoped one day to marry her handsome prince and wear a pink diamond upon her hand. It truly is her favourite stone, and as you have been her prince for many years, that dream is now fulfilled.”

  “I hoped she would like the ring,” he answered, smiling. “I could never have imagined even looking at such a stone before all this, save in a museum, but I’d have spent my entire fortune to see her smile.”

  She patted his hand. “I know, my dear, but Elizabeth’s continued happiness rests upon far more than diamonds. Keep close watch upon her, Charles, especially whenever we are in public places. I’m sure my brother informed you that Beth’s had numerous close calls since her mother’s untimely death.”

  “I kept in touch with the family as best I could, but I’m not sure I recall anything other than that awful spring of ’79,” he told her. “There were other ‘close calls’, as you put it?”

  She leaned in, whispering again. “Far too many. Elizabeth’s curiosity and natural passions sometimes overwhelm her common sense and lead her into danger. For example, there’s the time in Paris this past summer, but also that terrible railway affair.”

  Charles stared at his aunt. “Could you explain what you mean?”

  “I’d prefer Beth not overhear anything about them. Ask me later about Paris. A rather persistent young man hounded her for most of the summer. They had an awful row in August. And then there’s the near abduction when she was thirteen. It took place onboard the Aubrey family train, bound for Victoria Station.”

  “What?” he asked, somewhat loudly, and Elizabeth turned from her conversation with Adele.

  “Darling, is everything all right?” she asked.

  Sinclair kissed her hand. “Just trying to get my bearings with names and faces,” he told her, covering up his blunder. “I fear I shall need a list.” Beth laughed and returned to Adele, and the detective sighed in relief.

  Victoria sighed as well, but out of frustration rather than relief. “Efficiently done, I suppose,” she remarked, “but Elizabeth is quite insightful, so try to avoid ever needing to explain yourself, my dear, for she will see right through it.”

  “I shall always follow your advice, Aunt,” he promised. “But this matter in Paris. Was she unguarded then?”

  “No. Well, not entirely,” the elder Stuart whispered. “She’s nearly always had someone watching her, of course. The circle endeavours to keep watch on all children in the lineage. I’m sure you know what I mean by that.”

  “James and the other members have shared the basics with me, yes. Children born from the Drummond and Branham lines. Those created by Henry’s twin sons.”

  “Yes, that’s right. Well, this past summer in Paris, our little duchess was feted at all the great homes. Eligible men from across Europe lined up to dance with her, but she seldom enjoyed speaking with any of them, save one. An Eastern European prince. Your cousin never liked him much, but I had assumed it nothing more than the earl’s protective nature. Paul remained in Paris as long as he could, but the War Office sent him off on assignment in late July, so he missed the final bit in August. I doubt he knows anything about it, unless Elizabeth told him.”

  “With whom did she argue? I assume it was this prince you mentioned.”

  “Yes, but put away your jealousies, my dear. The prince’s feelings for Beth were much stronger than hers for him. In fact, they fell out over you. Beth insisted upon returning to London, and this fellow overruled it. As if he had some right to control her movements! It was a very bad ending.”

  Charles kept his voice low, asking, “Was this man’s name Rasha?”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Yes, it was! But, how could you know that?” she gasped, turning to smile at Elizabeth, to cover her own raised voice.

  “A postcard, kept within a book she reads each night.”

  “Ah, that would be the Verne novel. She read it every night at my home, as well. It reminds her of you.”

  He smiled, thinking of her many notations within the book’s margins. “I’ve never understood why she thinks of me as Captain Nemo, but if it brings her comfort, then I’m happy to serve as such. Beth’s called me that since we first met.”

  “So she’s told me, many times. Yes, this fellow’s name is Prince Razarit, though he calls himself Rasha. He’s Romanian or Hungarian or some such. He seemed all right at first, gentlemanly in a European sort of fashion, but let’s just say that his behaviour altered over the months. As I mentioned, Paul spent most of that summer with us, and he remained close to Elizabeth whenever this Rasha came ‘round, but once Paul departed for Spain, Rasha became moody and even possessive. When Elizabeth told him that she planned to come here to see you, he went mad with jealousy.”

  “Dangerously mad?”

  “I’d thought not, at first. I always made sure the two were chaperoned, of course, and my friend Dolly Patterson-Smythe was sitting with them, when they argued that last time. Rasha, however, found a way to distract Dolly from her duties.
He asked her to find me, using some thin excuse—I cannot recall what. I’d gone to greet a visiting neighbour in the morning room. Well, whilst Dolly was away, this Rasha began to behave in deplorable fashion! Alicia, Beth’s lady’s maid, happened to be passing the conservatory on her way to the gardens, and she overheard it all. Apparently, Rasha grew inappropriately amorous, and Elizabeth slapped his face. Told him to leave, threatening to call our butler, but rather than desist, he actually struck her!”

  “He did what? How dare he do any such thing!” Sinclair exclaimed sharply, rising halfway to his feet without thinking, and Elizabeth turned again to look at them.

  “Charles, whatever is the matter?”

  “Nothing, darling,” he covered, regaining composure. “Tory and I are just watching the crowd. It’s amazing how some people behave in public places. Quite shocking.”

  “That’s London society for you, Captain. Or at least how it often seems in these places, at any rate. Keep your warrant card firmly tucked within your pocket, though, darling. No arrests tonight.”

  “I shall do my best,” he said, forcing a smile and then heaving a relieved sigh, when she finally returned to her conversation with Adele.

  “That was much too close,” Victoria said, wiping her brow with a silk handkerchief. “I shall finish telling you about that blackguard another time.”

  “Very well, but what you’ve already told me may explain Beth’s reaction, when I asked her about the postcard.”

  Stuart stared at her nephew. “You asked her about it? Charles, I think I understand why you might, but I doubt she told you the truth. Assuming, she can even remember it.”

  “Why wouldn’t she remember? If this reprobate prince struck her, then surely...”

  “That is no guarantor of memory, my dear. Not with Elizabeth. We’ve no idea why her memories fade, but they often do. Our family has learnt to tread softly when speaking of something she has forgotten.” Victoria took a moment, weighing her thoughts. “Tell me, Charles, what was her reaction when you asked about the card?”

  “She tore it into several pieces.”

  Victoria turned, her eyes intentionally averted from her nephew’s gaze. “Perhaps, then, she does remember,” she whispered, almost to herself. “I hope not.”

  “Did he injure her?” Charles asked, the slow burn of anger igniting into quiet outrage.

  “He knocked her to the floor,” Victoria whispered softly, her face close to her nephew’s left ear. “Alicia saw it all, and she threatened to call the French police. The prince stormed out of the house, leaving Elizabeth prostrate upon the floor.”

  Sinclair had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting, and he actually tasted blood. “Describe this man,” he said, his fists tightly clenched. “And then explain to me why he wasn’t arrested for assault.”

  “I shall give you a full description later, Superintendent, but the prince evaded arrest because of his rank. I did send for the police, and Inspector Goron informed me that the prince’s family would complain to government if I persisted.”

  “Marie-François Goron?”

  “Yes. Do you know him?”

  “I’ve worked with him previously, yes. He’s a thorough man, and not easily intimidated, which makes me wonder at this prince’s influence with the Sûreté. Is Rasha’s family really that powerful?”

  “They are connected to nearly every royal house in Eastern Europe, and with the political climate that currently exists, France had no desire to risk an international incident. Beth begged me to let the matter drop, and by the following day, she seemed to have no memory of it.”

  “She remembers something about him,” Charles replied, bitterly. “Else why tear up the postcard? Look, Tory, I promise to keep my silence for now, but if this man ever harms her again, I shall see him arrested, no matter what his family threatens.” He grew silent for a moment, trying to relax. Elizabeth’s laughter rose up, as she shared a joke with Adele, and its music washed over him like healing rain.

  “Tory, I want only for her to be safe and happy,” he whispered.

  Stuart tapped her nephew’s hand. “I have heard Elizabeth say that of you, many times; that she wants only your happiness. It was that deep concern for you, that led to the other incident I mentioned. The one onboard the Aubrey train.”

  “Concern for me? I don’t understand.”

  The strenuous conversation made Stuart long for a cigarette, but she ignored it, taking a sip of champagne instead. “I should never have mentioned it. Our guests will be here soon, so we’ll have to postpone this until...”

  “Tory, you’re the one brought it up, so the least you can do is provide a brief explanation. Then, I’ll let it drop until another time. I promise.”

  “Interrogating me, are you, Superintendent?”

  “If you wish to think of it that way, yes,” he said, managing a brief smile.

  She glanced over at Elizabeth, who still seemed content, and then took one last sip of the wine. “Very well. It was the summer of ’81, and Elizabeth was living at Branham. She’d recovered, for the most part, from the tragedy of ’79, and had even begun to blossom again—more like the happy child we’d all known before her father died, and her mother took up with that bounder Trent. I remained at Branham after Patricia’s funeral to help raise Elizabeth, but in August, I was forced to return to Paris for a week, to attend a funeral of a dear friend. I asked Elizabeth to go with me, but she preferred to remain at home, saying she wished to practise for her riding competition. I learnt later on what truth actually lay behind that response.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked as Soubret began to sing Gounod’s Es war ein König in Thule.

  “I’m getting to that,” Victoria explained, glancing once more at her niece. “As I said, I’d returned to Paris, and Paul was in Austria, I think; or perhaps Romania or America. In all honesty, I cannot recall. He travels so much and to so many places, I lose track of where the earl is at any given moment. The late Lord Aubrey, Paul’s father, was in Scotland at the time, but he’d suffered a mild heart attack and been ordered to remain in bed. My brother was also away, in St. Petersburg as part of a delegation brokering a treaty ‘twixt the Russians and China, I believe.”

  “I’d no idea James and Paul traveled so much! I don’t understand it, Tory. Why on earth would the family leave Beth alone for any length of time, given all the darkness that swirls about her, and has done almost since her birth?” She touched his hand as if to calm his heart, and Charles took hers in return. “I am sorry, Aunt. Forgive me. That was thoughtless, and it makes it sound as if I’m judging you. It’s just that Elizabeth is so very precious, and even now vulnerable. But at thirteen, she was...”

  “All the more defenseless,” Victoria finished for him. “Yes, but we did not abandon her, my dear. Elizabeth had many guardians, including Paul’s school chums Galton and Risling. Kepelheim was also staying at the hall at the time, though he’d fallen ill as I recall. Martin seldom has a sick day, but he’d taken to bed with a strange fever. Beth occupied her time painting and practising for the dressage competition to be held in September, so we all thought her completely happy, but one morning, without a word to anyone, she suddenly decided to travel to London.”

  “How could she get to the village station without a driver?” he asked. “Surely, someone knew she had gone!”

  “She rode Paladin, actually,” she said. “Elizabeth said she’d wanted to take him through Henry’s woods towards the old abbey. Not an unusual thing for her to do, and as she’d been practising for the competition, no one thought it odd at all. However, instead of riding through the woods, Elizabeth took Paladin into the village, and once there, she convinced the Aubrey train’s engineer that she had Lord Aubrey’s permission to take it into London.”

  “She lied,” he said, glancing over at his fiancée. “What was her excuse? And why, on
earth, did she want to travel to London?”

  “The reason she gave the engineer was that she had to buy a birthday gift for Paul. His birthday was last month, though with all that happened, I’m told everyone forgot to celebrate.”

  “When?” he asked.

  “The twenty-fourth. The day you took the rail to Branham. He turned thirty-three, so the two of you are now the same age. Perhaps, once the wedding’s over, we can have a small party to celebrate both your birthdays,” she suggested.

  “Yes, I’ll talk to Elizabeth about it. So, she’d decided to purchase his gift, but if this was August, why so early—and why go to London, when she could simply have ordered his gift through the post?”

  Stuart glanced at her niece to make certain the duchess was not listening, and then she leaned in closer to Sinclair, speaking in a low whisper. “Charles, I do not say this to cast any blame your way, but since you ask, Elizabeth had decided to visit you.”

  “What?” he asked tensely, trying his best not to attract his fiancée’s attention again. “Tory, I did not in any way invite that. I’d expressed no desire, sent no letters, said nothing. I’d seen Beth in London that April, but sent no communications since. I loved her then, of course, but not in the same way I do now. I hope you believe me!”

  “Yes, yes, I’m perfectly aware of all that, but you see, Elizabeth had learnt that your wife had left you. She’d read it in the newspapers, I believe, or overheard someone talking about it—but no matter how she discovered it, Charles, she had decided you needed cheering up.”

  Quite unexpectedly, tears welled up in his eyes, as Charles pondered the idea that Beth had shown such selfless concern and love for him even then. “In truth, I did need it, Tory. Desperately needed it, but I’d never have allowed Elizabeth to endanger herself just so I might sleep better at night. In fact, had I known she’d planned to do that, I’d have gone to Kent and told her to remain there.”