Blood Rites

by Sharon K Gilbert

  Sinclair stepped closer, keeping his manner easy and gentle. “I mean you no harm, Eddy. My name is Charles. I know you are frightened, but I assure you that I only wish to help this poor girl and find her killer. Did you see anything?”

  The boy trembled all over, the violent spasms causing a broom and mop secured within the closet to rattle against a tin pail. He nodded slowly.

  “Can you write it down for me?” Sinclair asked gently.

  Again, the boy nodded, and Irving brought a slate the company used to leave messages for rehearsals. Taking a stub of white chalk, the lad scribbled rapidly in block letters, and then turned the small board towards the detective.

  Sinclair’s face paled.

  Two words. Two words only.

  Wolf Men.

  Chapter Twelve

  2:58 am

  Inside the small parlour, adjacent to Beth’s bedchamber, Paul Stuart yawned and stretched to keep awake. He’d read through all the British newspapers, and now made a series of pencil notations on several items he’d found in the American press, particularly one concerning a rail tycoon who’d been making deals with President Porfirio Díaz to expand lines into Mexico. The businessman’s name was Hezekiah Adams, someone the earl knew to be a high ranking member of Redwing’s Chicago branch. As Paul scribbled orders to his inner circle lieutenants, his mind replayed the night’s events, particularly the conversations with Romanov and the contessa. He made another note to himself, regarding the need for a detailed background assessment of both. He’d speak with Sir Thomas Galton about putting a man on the prince right away. The room was eerily quiet, save the ticking of the mantel clock, but just as the hands marked the hour of three, Elizabeth began to scream.

  Instantly, the earl scrambled to his feet and tried to open the door to her room, but found it locked. “Elizabeth!” he shouted, pushing against the stubborn barrier with all his weight. “Beth! Unlock the door!”

  The panicked screams continued, rising in pitch and urgency, so he raced through to the second bedchamber and tried to access the main chamber by way of the connecting bath, but found that door also locked. Stuart pounded upon the heavy, oak door, but it would not yield, so he put his right shoulder to it, slamming against it over and over. Still, it would not budge.

  The duchess’s piercing cries echoed throughout the upper floors now, and lights and candles sprang to life in every corner of the mansion. By nine minutes past the hour, the butler, John Miles, arrived in the second chamber, dressed only in his trousers and shirt, his breath short from running down the long, servants’ staircase. “Sir? What has happened? Is it locked?”

  “Of course, it’s locked!” the earl shouted. “Do you think I’d let her scream like that, if it weren’t!?” Then, realising he’d reacted poorly, Aubrey added, “Forgive me, Miles. Help me, please. It won’t yield, but you and I might move it together. On three. One, two, three!”

  The two men threw their combined weight against the door, and it flew inward, the wood of the frame splintering into jagged pieces.

  Paul ran to the bedside, where Elizabeth lay tossing about on the mattress in a fitful dream, screaming and pulling at the velvet quilts, her small hands clenched in terror. The easternmost window stood open wide, despite the night’s chill, and the draperies billowed and slapped against the walls. Elizabeth wept in her sleep as the nightmare visions continued to assault her, but she seemed unable to awaken.

  Paul climbed onto the bed, sitting beside the duchess and taking her into his arms to soothe and protect her. “Beth, it’s Paul, dear. You’re having a dream. Darling, it’s only a dream. Wake up now. Please, Beth, wake up. It’s just a dream, that’s all, dear. Only a dream. Open your eyes,” the earl said gently as Cynthia Meyer, Mary Wilsham, and several maids, all in hastily donned dressing gowns, their braided hair askew, rushed into the room.

  Despite the commotion and her cousin’s entreaties, Elizabeth would not awaken. Instead, she twisted in Paul’s grasp as if his touch only made the terrors worse.

  “No! I won’t go! You cannot hurt him! Please, no! Leave him alone!” she cried in her sleep.

  “Fetch a moist towel, will you, Mrs. Meyer?” Aubrey asked the housekeeper. “Mary, could you pour two fingers of brandy into a glass? I believe there’s some in the parlour.”

  Wilsham started to look about the unfamiliar space, but the butler quickly located the decanter inside a small cabinet and poured. He brought the brandy to the earl just as Mrs. Meyer returned with the towel. The earl pressed the cool cloth against Beth’s forehead, continuing to hold her, trying to restrain her manic movements, for he feared she might harm herself.

  “Hush now, darling,” he said sweetly as he rocked her back and forth. “It’s only a dream. Just a dream. Wake up now. Open your eyes, Princess. Look at me. It’s Paul.”

  He kissed her forehead and hands, and the newest maid, Gertrude Trumper, gaped at her friend Aggie knowingly, saying nothing. Meyer turned towards the two housemaids, hands on her hips. “There’s nothing to see here, girls. Go back to bed. Both of you.”

  “But, Mrs. Meyer, shouldn’t we fetch a doctor or summat?” Trumper asked, not wishing to leave the scene.

  “If medicine is required, I’ll send a footman to fetch my bag. Now, off to bed! It’ll be six before you know it, and another day’s work to be done.”

  The pair of housemaids grudgingly left, but Trumper remained in the hallway outside, listening. Alicia Mallory had also awakened, and she arrived, standing near the housekeeper. “The nightmares again? Should we send for a doctor, Missus?”

  “Not yet. Lord Haimsbury will make that decision when he returns. Unless, of course, sir, you wish to decide,” Meyer said to Aubrey. “As his lordship is out and all.”

  Beth had begun to calm, and the earl glanced up as his aunt and the French nurse arrived. Josette Marchand led the way and huffed as she entered the chamber.

  “Hysterics. She need laudanum. That is all,” she concluded. “I have some. Shall I get?”

  “Not just yet, Josette,” Victoria Stuart answered as she pushed into the room through the shattered doorway, still tying the knot in her dressing gown as she passed by the nurse. “Paul, what on earth has happened? And where is Charles? Why isn’t he here?”

  “He had to go out again. About two hours ago—police business, I think,” the earl whispered, as he continued to rock the duchess back and forth. “I’m not sure what happened. She had a nightmare, but this is the worst in a very long time. It’s like the ones she had right after... Well, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. Spring of ’79,” his aunt replied as she sat on the edge of the large bed. “Elizabeth? Can you speak to us, dear?”

  The duchess slowly opened her eyes, and they were as black as midnight—the pupils grown large. Her voice sounded thick and slow, almost as if she’d been drugged. “Charles. Where is Charles? I must see him. Warn him. He’s in danger. Charles...”

  Paul stroked her hair, softly. “Charles isn’t here just now, dear, but he’s safe, and he’ll be home very soon. You’ve just had a bad dream. That’s all. Here, would you drink a little of this for me?” he asked, holding the glass of brandy to her lips. “This is very strong wine, but it should help.”

  She took a tiny sip, but the powerful taste caught her by surprise, and she began to cough. “It was William!” she gasped. “He was here!”

  “Trent?” the earl asked. “No, darling, that’s impossible. It was only a bad dream. You’re safe.”

  “But not only he,” she continued, ignoring his doubts. “Another came with him. Another creature. Darker. Much worse. Something like that other one. The Shadow—no, someone else. I don’t know,” she said, tears sliding down her face, her eyes unfocused. “Why is it so awfully hot?”

  Victoria moved closer, touching her niece’s forearm. “Paul, I think she’s ill. Mrs. Meyer, perhaps you or Mrs. Marchan
d should take her temperature.”

  The French nurse turned to fetch her medical supplies, but the housekeeper prevented it. “I will take my lady’s temperature, Mrs. Marchand. Alicia, my medical bag is in the green cabinet, inside my office. Here is the key.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Mallory began, starting towards the door.

  “No!” Beth protested, causing everyone to freeze in place. “No, please, Alicia, stay here. I’m not ill. Really, I’m not. William was here. He was! Paul, you believe me, don’t you? He bragged about murdering a woman for sport, and he threatened to kill Charles. And you! Oh, it’s so hot!”

  She looked close to fainting.

  “Everyone out except for Victoria, please,” Paul Stuart ordered, fearing for her health and her mind. “Mrs. Meyer, let’s dispense with the examinations for now. I think she’s just overwrought from a long night and a very dark dream. Thank you for your help. Miles, if you would ask someone to keep watch for the marquess? Send him up as soon as he returns.”

  “Very good, sir. Goodnight, Lady Victoria,” he said, bowing. “Should you require anything at all, Lord Aubrey, we’ll be awake. You need only ring.”

  “Thank you, Miles.”

  The servants all left, and Victoria poured two more brandies. “Here,” she told the earl. “Drink it.”

  Elizabeth’s breathing slowed, and her pupils reverted to a normal size. “Paul?” she asked, her voice like that of a child. “I’m so sorry. I’ve woken you, haven’t I?”

  “No, dear, you haven’t,” he told her, kissing her cheek. “I was just reading, and I heard you cry out. Could you take one more sip of the brandy for me?”

  She took a small swallow. “Where is Charles? Is he asleep? I hope I’ve not disturbed him, too. He was so very tired.”

  “He had to go out, just for a little while, but he’ll be home soon, and he’ll come in to see you. Beth, do you remember what you dreamt?”

  Despite complaining about being overly warm, the duchess shivered in his embrace, but she finished the brandy and then took a deep breath to steel her nerves. “It’s already beginning to fade, but I think I can tell you most of it.” She paused, glancing up at him. “You’re always so good to me, Paul. And I know it’s asking a lot for you to remain here, but...”

  “I would never say no to you, Princess. Never. Now, this dream...”

  “Yes. The dream. It wasn’t the same as the ones I usually have. Those always take place on Kent Road or in Whitechapel. This was in Westminster. St. James’s Park, not far from Grandfather’s house. It was three in the morning. I know because I could hear the tower chimes, sounding the hour. I was all alone, and a fine mist lay all about the park. I could hear his footsteps before he appeared, but I knew it was Trent. He was whistling that same song, an off-tune sort of version of Swan Lake. Then he spoke to me, calling my name. I was terrified, but I managed to keep from falling apart by thinking about Charles—and you. Strange, for Trent seemed to know my thoughts. He told me neither of you would be able to stop his plans. That he would take me with him, and that I would never bear Charles a son—that only he would father children by me.”

  She paused again, still shivering. Her fingertips dug into the earl’s forearm, but he said nothing.

  “What then, darling?” he asked sweetly.

  “Then I heard a sound behind me, and I turned ‘round.”

  A great shudder ran through her body, and she pulled close to his chest. “I saw a woman, and she was dead,” she continued. “No one I recognised, but she’d been torn apart, just like mother was. Three strange creatures crouched beside her, their jaws dripping with blood. The largest of the three looked at me—almost through me—and it grinned, baring sharp teeth. I cannot say if these were animal or human, but they seemed to be both, and one of them had monstrous wings. I could hear them slapping against its sides. Then I heard Trent laughing, so I turned back, but now I stood inside this room. I could hear the little dog clock ticking, and the chimes still sounding the hour of three. A strong wind blew my hair, and William put his hand on the door to the parlour, where you were keeping watch. I tried to call out your name, but William put a finger to his lips as if to hush me, and the hideous, winged creature stepped close, threateningly. Then William smiled and twisted the handle, saying that he would kill you first, and when Charles returned, he would kill him—and then he would take me away with him. That’s when I screamed. I tried to run to the other door, but the creature blocked my way, its hollow eyes upon me, and its great wings beating the air. I think something else happened then, but I cannot remember. Some other presence in the room, a bright light of some kind. It’s all fading now. I’m so sorry, Paul.”

  “No, darling, it is I who must apologise. I’ve let you down, I fear. My fault. Charles is new to all this, but I should have realised Trent would find a way to terrorise you again. Does it help when someone is in here with you?”

  “Yes! Trent’s afraid of you, and of Charles. He fears you both, but especially you for some reason. He truly hates you, Paul. That’s why... That’s why he made certain you weren’t welcome at the hall, when he lived there.”

  “I know, darling. I know. Now, why don’t you try to sleep?”

  “I’m not sure I could, but I’ll try. No matter what, though,” she whispered, her teeth chattering. “Trent’s coming to take me.”

  “Not whilst I draw breath,” he vowed. “Charles and I will protect you, Beth. Always.”

  In a few moments, she had fallen asleep against Paul’s chest, so he pulled the velvet quilt up over her shoulders and took the glass of brandy, draining it by half. “Foolishly, I’d thought these attacks were over, Tory,” he said to his aunt, the strain in his voice raw and unmasked. “It’s been so quiet since we returned to England. A fortnight of blessed peace. I’ve not heard her scream like that in years. Not since ’79.”

  “Nor have I,” his aunt replied, sipping at her own glass of brandy as she sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re very good to her. She’ll always need you, my dear.”

  “I cannot think of that right now,” he whispered. “Let’s try to discern what caused the attack. She used to dream of Trent and this shadowy beast that she calls ‘the Other’ almost nightly. Why have they returned now?”

  “Might it be this prince?” Victoria Stuart asked her nephew.

  “Anatole? Why ask me? Isn’t he your friend?” the earl asked brusquely.

  “Don’t blame me for this!” Victoria exclaimed, immediately regretting her response. “Oh, Paul, forgive me. It’s just that it’s like all the bad times have returned suddenly. No, Prince Anatole is not what I’d call a friend, but I’ve been cultivating his acquaintance for some months—per my brother’s orders. James learnt on Monday that Romanov and the countess had been seen in London, so he told me to send them an invitation to the theatre tonight. It’s the reason I arrived early this morning rather than this afternoon. Though, I suppose by now, it’s yesterday morning and afternoon. Look, why don’t I stay with her? You go sleep for an hour or so.”

  The duchess seemed peaceful now, so the earl gingerly moved her to one side, but before he could leave the bed, she awoke suddenly, reaching for him as if panic stricken.

  “No! Don’t leave me, please! I cannot be alone—not in here! Not with him so close!”

  “Victoria is here, Princess. She’ll remain with you,” he told her, but Elizabeth would not be calmed.

  “William’s not afraid of Victoria,” she cried, her hands pulling at his shirtsleeves. “Please, Paul! Please!”

  “All right, darling, all right. I’ll stay. Tory, you know that nothing out of bounds will happen, right?”

  “Of course, I do,” their aunt answered, “but the staff do not. Those new maids might misconstrue the nature of your relationship.”

  “Do you think I care about that?” he asked, his face filled with worry. “The
only thing that matters in this world is Elizabeth. If she wants me to remain, then I shall. Perhaps, though, if you would sleep next door, then appearances might prove less questionable.”

  “Yes, of course,” Victoria whispered. “I can do that. I’ll go tell Josette, and then let Mrs. Meyer and Miles know as well. We’ll leave all the doors open, so there’s no question of anything inappropriate. Elizabeth, darling, you are safe, you know. No one and nothing will get past Paul,” the spinster said, touching her niece’s hand once more. “Charles is going to be very upset.”

  “Because of me?” the earl asked, a trifle angry.

  “No, my dear, because he was not here, when she needed him. I wonder if that was intentional.”

  “You think Charles was removed so that Beth might be more easily accessed?”

  “Perhaps, but I’m sure he’ll be glad to know you have taken such good care of her. Shall I pour you another brandy?”

  “No. Forgive my temper. I’m just worried.”

  She nodded. “Yes, yes, I know. I shall be praying.”

  “Thank you,” he said, as Victoria left the bedchamber.

  “Beth?” he whispered in the quiet of the room. “Can you hear me?”

  She slept soundly now, her breathing regular, so he made himself as comfortable as possible, sitting upright against the headboard of the four-poster, and the earl began to pray to himself.

  “Lord, please, clear her dreams of all assaults and allow her to rest. Guard the spiritual entries into her heart and mind, and keep watch on all the physical doors as well. Even as she sleeps, Lord, help her to know that she is safe and loved. And, Lord,” he continued, tears streaming down his face, “help me to know that she still loves me. Even a little, because I don’t think I could face another day, if she did not.”

  The stalwart earl remained ever faithful during the remaining hours, silently praying as the mantel clock continued to tick, its metronomic persistence beating out the seconds and minutes. Counting the hours until the dawn.