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Blood Rites

Page 24

by Sharon K Gilbert


  “Ah, I see. Thank you for clearing that up, Alicia. You say the duchess is all right, though? No illness?”

  “A slight fever, but my lady is much better this morning, sir. Both Lady Victoria and Lord Aubrey thought the fever caused by the nightmare.”

  “Thank you. I’m just going to check on her, but I shan’t close the door. Nothing improper with me either.”

  “Very good, sir.” Alicia said, smiling slightly, and then she turned and left.

  Charles entered the room. Paul had shut the window and pulled the drapes, so that the morning light would not disturb her slumber. Beth lay in the middle of the bed, her dark hair unbraided, spread upon the satin-covered pillow like a sable waterfall. Her face was pale, but she seemed all right.

  “Elizabeth?” he spoke softly, touching her hair. “Darling?”

  Her eyelids fluttered open, and she called out, “Paul?”

  A momentary doubt gripped his heart, but he chose to disregard it. My cousin may love her, but he would never do that to her—nor to me. “It’s Charles, little one.”

  Her eyes opened wide, and she reached out, drawing him towards her and clutching at his shoulders like a drowning child. “Charles! Oh, Captain! My wonderful darling, you’re home!” she exclaimed, tears filling her eyes as she kissed his stubbled cheek. “Thank you, Lord! Oh, thank you, most wonderful Lord! I was so worried, but you’re all right.”

  He kissed her lips, and then looked into her dark eyes. “Yes, thank you, Lord,” he said in return. “Beth, darling, did Paul sleep in here last night? With you, in this bed?”

  “Did he what?” she asked, somewhat confused for a moment. Slowly, the duchess sat up, her long hair falling across her shoulders. “Paul? Sleep in here? Wait, yes, I think he did. Oh, but nothing happened, Charles,” she assured him, realising the reason for his question. “Not like that! Paul stayed because I begged him to do so. It was William. He was here—in this very room! He and that... That awful beast that travels with him. He said he would kill both you and Paul and take me away! I was terrified to be alone, so I begged Paul to stay with me. Please, Charles, please! You mustn’t be angry. Nothing happened. Nothing!” Her words came in a stream without breath, her eyes wide, so he took her hands to calm her.

  “I believe you,” he whispered gently. “But how could Trent get in here, darling?” he asked, wishing at once that he’d not said it. It was his detective’s mind that spoke, not his heart. “No, you needn’t answer that. Forget I said it, please. If you say that William was here, then I believe it. I told you long ago that I would always believe you, and I do. Now, tell me precisely what happened.”

  Three quarters of an hour had passed by the time Elizabeth finished her tale and returned to sleep. Certain that she was safe and unharmed, Charles returned to the conservatory, wearier than before, and he sat into a willow chair, his eyes half closing as he fought fatigue.

  His aunt handed him a cup of strong coffee. “Turkish, the way you like it, so I’m told. How is Elizabeth?”

  “Frightened. Confused. She’s gone back to sleep now, but she told me about the dream—and about asking Paul to remain with her during the night. I admit that at first I was somewhat angry, Cousin,” he told the earl, “but then it became clear that you only did as I would have done in your place. She needed you, and I’m glad you acted as her protector.”

  Aubrey had dreaded what his cousin would say regarding the overnight arrangement, and he visibly sighed with relief. “Thank you, Charles. I’d feared you’d think me intruding into old territory, which now belongs to you. I had no right to remain, but I simply could not say no to her. I’m sure you understand. Nothing happened. I merely kept watch whilst she slept.”

  “I know. She told me,” Sinclair replied. Sitting forward, he took a long sip of the coffee. “Oh, this is quite good, Tory. Is this one of your recipes?”

  “It is,” she said proudly. “As to Beth’s fever, I sent a wire to George Price. I thought you’d want me to do so. He replied about half an hour ago, saying he’d already heard from Cynthia Meyer regarding the sick maids, so he plans to take the first scheduled train. Both our family trains are in Victoria right now, so it’s actually faster for George to take the public line. He should be here by midday, I should think.”

  “Thank you, Tory. Yes, I’d planned to ask about him, so you’ve read my mind.”

  “It’s the kind of thing your father would have done, so I assumed his son would do the same,” she replied as she added two cubes of sugar to her tea. “Did Elizabeth tell you that Trent appeared inside her room?”

  “Yes, and I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t believe it at first, but then I reconsidered. Beth has been trying to tell all of us just what the enemy is planning, and they take advantage of her by confusing her mind and making intrusions that seem impossible, causing her word to be doubted. But we need to start believing her. I’m convinced that Trent and some other entity actually stood inside that room. The fact that both doors were locked lends credence to her claim, but there are other signs. The window latch has been forced, for one thing—from the outside.”

  “What?” Aubrey gasped. “With all that happened, it didn’t even occur to me to examine it, but the window stood wide open last night, allowing cold air to chill the room. I’d assumed Beth or perhaps Alicia opened it.”

  “Do we have men patrolling the grounds at night?” Charles asked.

  “Four men do, but I’ll bring some of my own men over and have the watch tripled,” the duke said, angrily. “That window must be fifty feet off the ground! How could he scale it?”

  “I’m not sure, but if Trent is able to transform into a wolf at will, then a housebreak would seem a trivial matter. Is there a way we could use spiritual means to protect her? Anointing the doorways, or something?”

  Kepelheim sat opposite the marquess, his eyes on his pocket watch. “I think so, Lord Haimsbury, but I must interrupt with a question that applies to the physical realm. Do you plan to keep your photography appointment, or shall we postpone it?”

  Charles longed to sleep, but such a luxury wasn’t to be his this morning. “I’ll keep it. I hope he doesn’t mind if my eyes are shut for most of the images. Oh, I am so tired! I’m not sure even Turkish coffee can clear my brain. What a night! Generations from now, our descendants will examine the photographs taken of me today and assume their ancestor capable of sleeping on his feet.”

  Tory touched his hand reassuringly. “I shall continue to pray for your stamina, Nephew, but even a strong man like you requires sleep, eventually. Take the afternoon and rest.”

  “If I’m able, I will, Aunt, and thank you for your prayers. It’s beginning to feel that our brief respite after Scotland is now officially over. It’s a strange thing for a policeman to say, but we’ll need to combat these assaults through prayer and the power of the Holy Spirit.”

  The duke placed an apple fritter onto his plate. “That’s not an observation you’d have made a month ago, son. You’ve come a long way in a very short time.”

  “Uncle, would you say grace for us?” Charles asked the duke. “I’ve a feeling that we need our Saviour’s blessings even more today than usual, and in this family, that’s saying a lot.”

  The duke smiled. “I’m always pleased to petition the Lord for his tender mercies, and right now, we sorely need them,” he replied. They bowed their heads, and Drummond spoke softly. “Father in heaven, Lord of all that is good and true and faithful, we thank you for providing this bounty to us. Many in this city despair of food to set upon their tables this day, so we pray that you would remind us always that this bounty has been given to us so that we might share it. Allow us to see the enemy’s plans with your eyes and know his steps before he even takes them. Protect our Beth and help her to strengthen, not only physically but also emotionally. Bind her and Charles together as no other couple has ever been so joined, my L
ord. And keep them far from the enemy’s reach. Keep also my nephew Paul, safely hidden beneath your protective wings, my Lord, and encourage and protect my sister, for her counsel keeps us on an even keel as we sail into the horizon. Bless Martin for his many insights and his unfailing level-headedness and intelligence. Without Victoria and Kepelheim, I believe that we would all fall into despair. May we stand firmly against the foe, my Lord, and never forget that, no matter how desperate the circumstance, no matter how fierce the battle, that you’ve already won the war. In Christ’s name we ask it. Amen.”

  “I do love hearing you pray, sir,” Sinclair told the duke. “It reminds me of listening to Beth pray before she sleeps each night. I can hear her from the parlour whilst I keep watch. She is so tender and generous. She always prays for the family, but also for all the staff, and even for total strangers and those living in poverty.”

  “Our girl has a very tender heart. Now, this murder last night. Is it Ripper’s work, or something worse?”

  His stomach began to rumble, so Sinclair selected one of the cinnamon twists and bit into it, wiping the warm vanilla icing from his mouth with one finger. “Did Mary make these? They taste just like the ones she used to serve me at my old house.”

  “I’m not sure,” Victoria replied, “You have told her that she isn’t here to work, I hope?”

  “Of course, I have,” Sinclair insisted, setting the pastry onto a china plate and wiping his hands on a serviette. “Mary’s more at home with the ladies in the kitchens, I imagine. She’ll come ‘round.”

  Aubrey had finished eating and now worked his way through the selection of newspapers. “You were going to tell us about the Lyceum murder.”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry,” Sinclair continued. “I’m not sure just what sort of creature is behind this, but the crime scene was much worse than the press have reported. The manner of death combines the all too familiar knife work of Ripper with something else. More diabolical. I’ll not be more specific since we’re eating, but it’s something we’ve not seen since ’79.”

  The company grew silent for a moment, for all knew precisely what the detective meant: the murder of Duchess Patricia on third March of that pivotal year.

  “Our recent experiences may help us catch this madman—or collection of madmen,” Sinclair explained.

  “Why do you say that?” Aubrey asked.

  “Something a witness said. James, when I was with Reid yesterday, he gave me several files on current cases, and one contains half a dozen eyewitness reports that wolves have been spotted near the docks in Whitechapel. One woman told Arthur France of seeing wolf-like creatures that walked on their hind legs and even spoke to her. Also, there’s an eyewitness at the Lyceum, whom Dunlap believes mentally incompetent, but this boy told me in so many words that he saw wolves as well, and that it was these wolf-men, as he put it, that killed the girl at the Lyceum. Paul, do you recall that flyman we spoke to yesterday evening?”

  “Tawbry?” the earl asked.

  “Yes. Gus Tawbry. He claims to have seen three wolf-type creatures who walked as men and spoke to each other. Now, the newspapers tell us that a man not far from there was attacked last night by something he describes as a wolf that walks on two legs. And all this occurs only hours before Elizabeth sees Trent and some other entity inside her bedroom. That cannot be coincidence.”

  Aubrey took a sip of tea. “You’ve read the account from Pall Mall, then?”

  “Kepelheim alerted me to it, and I am very glad he did. I was ready to strangle Joe Dunlap, so in truth, our tailor may have saved me from the hangman’s rope.”

  They all laughed, but the tailor merely nodded. “I think the courts would have found just cause for your actions, Lord Haimsbury. This witness in Westminster we interviewed lives only a short drive from here. He works as a carpenter, living above one of the jewellry stores, set amidst the many men’s clubs on that avenue. You know the ones I mean.”

  “Yes,” the duke said, adding a slice of cucumber to a rising tower of bread and meat—roast pork, salted kipper, several pickles, cabbage, and Muenster cheese. “I fear that I do.”

  Charles made a face as his uncle bit into the strange combination. “How can you eat like that so early in the day, sir?”

  “Practise, my boy, practise. Needs a bit o’ herring, I think.”

  “I’ll ask Price to bring his stomach pump, shall I?” the marquess quipped. “So, as Martin said, this witness seems sober and well-respected, with no financial incentive for a lie. My one concern is that his first interview came at the hands of Fred Best, which makes me wonder how that hack learnt of it.”

  “Best has informants all across the city,” Aubrey explained. “As do many reporters these days. The first paper to break a sensational story is often the one people follow for that story. Charles, tell us about this victim at the Lyceum. Was it the singer?”

  “Yes, and I could not help thinking of the strange shadow you noticed behind her last evening, Paul. Galton and Malcolm Risling told me in Scotland that I must learn to recognise Trent in all his guises, including vapour and smoke. Might one such transformation present to our eyes as a shadow?”

  “I cannot say,” the earl replied, “but Beth might be able to offer some insight. She’s dreamt of both wolves and shadow men since she was a child.”

  “Oh, no, we will not talk to her about this,” Charles insisted. “Not even once. Not after last night!”

  Victoria had been eating a fruit compote, and she glared at her nephew as she set down her spoon. “Do you think her weak in some way, Charles?”

  “I think her remarkably strong, Tory, but Beth has endured far more than most men of this realm, and as her protector, I would soften those blows from now on. Is that wrong of me?”

  “No, probably not, but Elizabeth should be allowed to choose for herself.”

  Sinclair paused for a moment, taking his aunt’s admonition to heart. “You make a point, Tory. When she’s able, then I’ll reconsider, but no one speaks to her directly before speaking first to me. Is that clear? You all seem to think her a bulwark of fortitude, but I’m telling you that Elizabeth is near to breaking.”

  James took a sip of coffee. “Good this,” he muttered, wiping his mouth. “You’ll soon be her husband, Charles, and I’ll not interfere nor second guess your decisions, but Tory is right about Beth. When she is stronger, she’ll want to know what is happening. She resents decisions being made for her.”

  “I appreciate that, but at the present time, she is not strong. So for now, let’s move on to a different question. This Prince Anatole. Am I wrong to associate the resurgence of these spiritual attacks with his presence in London? Might he be more than he appears?”

  “Possibly,” the duke answered, adding a splotch of brown mustard to his culinary creation. “Did Miles tell you that he’s sent six baskets of roses?”

  “Seven,” Sinclair replied, unable to hide his irritation. “One arrived just behind Martin and me.”

  “Keep your head, son,” Drummond advised. “Beth may like roses, but mere petals could never alter her love for you, my boy—in fact, I’d say nothing could.”

  “They all seemed to be the same type of rose—pink rather than the customary red,” the detective remarked. “Did the prince get it right? If not, he’s certainly overly confident.”

  Aubrey grew pensive for a moment. “Elizabeth loves China Pinks. Always has, even as a little girl. However, this may be more than just appealing to her by using a favourite flower. In the language of flowers, pink roses mean a ‘warm and pure love or adoration’. There are thirty-three roses in each basket. I counted them, for they seemed more full than a typical bunch of one or two dozen. However, there is an additional type of flower included in each arrangement, one which few admirers would ever think to add. Three stems of monkshood.”

  Sinclair threw up his hands. “Am I supposed to
understand some mystery about this? And what do you mean by language of flowers, Paul?”

  Aubrey sipped the last of his tea and set the empty cup into its matching saucer. “Think of it as a cipher, written in petals. Rather than send a message that might be discovered by a parent or other guardian, the lover sends a collection of blossoms. Monkshood has another name, Charles. It is also called wolf’s bane, and its meaning hints at dangers ahead, for monkshood is a deadly poison.”

  Sinclair set his meal aside, his appetite suddenly gone. “Why does this always come back to wolves, again and again? Martin, is there something we’re missing? Pure love? Dangers? What is this prince trying to say to Beth? Is he friend or foe?”

  Kepelheim had been enjoying a slice of lemon cake, but he glanced up, his silvery brows twitching. “A very good question, my friend. Romanov’s allegiance is yet to be determined, for he plays his part as if allied with both sides, though he certainly has a marked aggression towards you, it seems; so for now, I put him in Redwing’s camp. Wolves? Now that is another matter. I’ve uncovered something very interesting about these creatures in the circle’s collection of occult lore at Ed MacPherson’s home. Paganism is replete with references to entities that can transform themselves into wolves at will. Trent certainly seems to practise such morphological shifts, but I uncovered a rather curious Celtic tale of a woman who can also alter her appearance. The Morrighan. And it is this female who wields the true power in the lupercalia realm.”

  “Lupercalia?” Sinclair asked. “As in lupus—the wolf?”

  The tailor nodded.

  “Who or what is this Morrighan?” Aubrey enquired.

  The duke had finished his strange sandwich and washed it down with half a cup of black coffee. “I think I can answer that, son. The Morrighan is a powerful witch goddess, associated, I think—let me know if I get this wrong, Martin—with the moon.”

 

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