8:11 pm
Victoria Stuart scanned the headlines of that day’s newspapers, her wide mouth growing more tense with each page. “They’re all about the poor girl at the Lyceum,” she told her nephew. “Does the press have nothing else to report? Salacious details and gory imagery have replaced politics and finance,” she complained, setting the papers aside. “By the way, Charles, I’ve read through the clippings that came with that dreadful letter. Elizabeth asked me if I knew anything about the murders, but I denied it. Also, my brother wisely reminded her that London has more than its share of murders each week, and that most have nothing at all to do with our family or the circle. She seemed relieved by that answer. She also believes that photograph is of you as a boy. I merely agreed that it might be. I hope that’s all right.”
“Thank you, Tory,” Sinclair answered from a nearby chair. “She seemed exhausted this evening. I still wonder if she isn’t coming down with some illness. Her vigour wanes so easily. We’d planned to tour the new house, but as she seemed weary, I suggested we postpone until tomorrow. Instead, we spent an hour in the conservatory, talking. I’ve missed conversations with her, you know. Elizabeth and I spent many hours discussing all sorts of topics at Branham, but since arriving back here on Sunday evening, I’ve allowed work to steal me from such lovely pastimes.”
“Beth can be quite philosophical,” Victoria told him. “I’ve seen her hold her own with the greatest minds in England and France. It’s all that reading, I imagine. As a girl, books were her constant companions, and she has read nearly every volume in her libraries. Her tutors often found themselves the student, rather than the teacher—and two of them actually resigned, claiming they had nothing to teach our little duchess. She is quite brilliant,” she added proudly. “A family trait, I think. Charles, I’m very glad you had some privacy for a bit, but you mustn’t neglect decorum, my dear. As I told you when we first met, I am a modern woman, but there are certain rules that must not be broken.”
Sinclair sat forward on his chair, taking on the look of a man sitting upon hot coals. “Ah, yes, well, I can see why you would say that. Look, I’m glad you and I have a little time to speak in private. I’d like to ask your permission to do something rather radical.”
“Radical?” she asked. “Are you thinking of siding with the anarchists now, Nephew?”
“Hardly,” he replied, laughing. “No, it’s just that I want to make sure Elizabeth is never alone inside that bedroom at night. I’m convinced that William Trent was actually, physically in there with her last night, though how he entered an upper storey window is yet to be discovered. Elizabeth told me that Trent fears Paul and me, so I’d like your permission to sleep with Beth, inside her bedchamber.”
Stuart’s mouth opened in shock. “Sleep with her? Charles, I cannot sanction that!”
“No, forgive me,” he explained, realising how his request must have sounded. “That isn’t what I meant at all! I want to be there, of course, yes. Inside the room with her, but not with her,” he continued, completely embarrassed. “What I mean to say, Aunt, is that I would guard her more closely. Be inside the room as protector. That is all, I promise you! With your permission, I would take the large sofa that sits before her fireplace and move it alongside the bed—just so she knows I’m there, close by. But there would be nothing improper. It would all be completely innocent. At least, I hope you see it that way.”
She took a deep breath, her hands itching to light a cigarette. “I believe I understand what you intend, and for the record, I trust you, Charles, I do, but if I agree to this, we’ll have to explain it to all new members of staff. All but the newly hired know our family’s history—or most of it, anyway. They’re aware of Redwing’s plots, and it’s why so many staff members are third and fourth generation. You might say they serve as adjunct members of our circle.” Her eyes grew still as she weighed all the options, at last sighing, as she made up her mind. “You are set on this?”
He nodded. “I am, Tory. I believe it the most sensible solution. Once Beth and I are married, this problem will resolve on its own, but until then, it’s imperative that someone be near her at all times. And I prefer that someone be myself.”
“Or the earl?”
He paused. “I do not think Paul would take advantage, Tory, but dare we put his heart through that?”
“He managed last night, my dear,” she proclaimed, and then seeing how the reminder affected her nephew, she moved on. “So, you believe Trent was truly inside that room?”
“I do.”
Sinclair could see the weight of decision moving across her face like a shadow, and Victoria’s hand unconsciously reached for her silver cigarette case. Her fingers tapped the gleaming metal, the sound repetitive like that of a clock.
“Oh, very well,” she said at last, as he jumped to kiss her cheek. “If James agrees to it, then it’s all right with me.”
“Thank you, Tory!” Sinclair said happily. “I hoped you’d approve, because I’ve already told Beth my plans.”
Victoria’s dark brow rose high as she opened the cigarette case. “You are confident, Nephew, I’ll give you that. So, what time does our meeting begin?”
“Nine,” he answered, wiping a happy tear from his eyes. “It’s been a very long day for most of us, but this meeting is of great importance. Oh, and that photographer’s asked me to sit again tomorrow, but I might postpone. I really do need to sleep.”
“I can send him word, Charles, if you want. In fact, it might be best to postpone Elizabeth’s sitting again. She’s simply not herself.”
Sinclair struck a match and lit his aunt’s cigarette, his eyes thoughtful. “No, she is not. I do hope the wedding plans haven’t proven too much.”
“I doubt that’s behind her weariness, Charles. By the way, I spent several hours with Mary Wilsham this afternoon. A lovely, practical woman. She’s sensible and quite endearing, and she’s good with Della, which is important. I helped her to arrange her things in the east wing guest suite, and she showed me several photograph albums of you that she’d packed up from your old house. I noticed that one page was missing a photograph, though I made no comment. I seriously doubt that Mary removed it, for she seemed surprised at its absence. She thought perhaps that you’d taken it, because of its hurtful memories.”
“The picture of me with Albert, you mean? I honestly cannot recall the last time I saw that picture, but I’m sure the missing photograph is the same as the one included in Merriweather’s package,” he admitted. “And before you remind me that I have to tell Elizabeth about Albert, Tory, I know I do. It’s just that it’s a part of my life I’m not proud of, and it’s... Well, it’s difficult to discuss. I promise to tell her this weekend. I’d still like to take you, Della, and Beth to Brighton. If she’s up to it, that is.”
“I think a day’s holiday will provide a very nice distraction from all the darkness of the past two days.” She put the French cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply, and then released a thin cloud of silvery smoke that rose above her head and slowly dissipated across the room. “Beth actually detests this habit, but it helps, you know,” she said, tapping a bit of ash into a dish. “I learnt a lot about you looking through those old photo albums. I noticed several of you in polo garb. Did you play at Cambridge?”
Sinclair sat opposite his aunt in the warm drawing room, and he’d begun making notes on a pad regarding the cases now concerning his men at H, J, and K Divisions. “I did, but I learnt to ride much earlier than that. My aunt and uncle bought me a horse for my twelfth birthday, in fact. I used to wonder how they were able to afford the cost on a greengrocer’s wages. I assume they were paid handsomely by whoever it was abducted me. ”
“Probably,” she agreed, “but it doesn’t mean they didn’t love you, Charles. You know, your father had a way with horses that rivals even Elizabeth’s. In fact, he used to demonstrate dressage in compet
ition, just as she does. You’ll notice many ribbons and trophies at Haimsbury House.”
“Yes, I’ve found entire walls of them in the east wing,” the marquess said as he set down the pad to concentrate on the conversation. “Beth mentioned a horse named Connor’s Pride. She told Powers that she feared he’d gone lame.”
Tory placed a pair of half-moon spectacles onto her thin nose and picked up a copy of the Gazette. “I certainly hope not! That horse is already a champion. He’s Paladin’s grandson, you know.”
“The horse I rode with Beth at Branham? He’s a magnificent animal. Paladin saved our lives. I’d wanted to thank him personally whilst there these past weeks, but he is in Cornwall, apparently, wooing the mares of Sir Michael Donaldson’s stables.”
“So Elizabeth told me. And she also told me all about your wild ride to escape Trent’s men. How terrifying that must have been! You know, it’s remarkable that Paladin carried you at all, Charles. He is very particular.”
He smiled, recalling their adventures the previous month. “So I’ve been told, but he bore me gracefully. Probably because Elizabeth needed him to do so.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Paladin’s almost eleven, I think. Born two years before Patricia’s death, but there’s a curious story about that horse you may not know. He suffered a grave illness during his first year, and William Trent insisted he be put down.”
Charles stared, completely surprised. “Trent had no say regarding the welfare of Elizabeth’s horse. I hope Patricia told him as much.”
“Sadly, she allowed Trent to do whatever he wished. It never made sense to me, actually. Patricia Stuart was headstrong and willful, and she rarely listened to anyone’s advice, but in William Trent’s presence, she grew absolutely docile. If he wanted something done, no one was to question it.”
Charles stood and began to pace, angrily. “Did this lax attitude also extend to Elizabeth?”
The elder Stuart sighed and tapped cigarette ash into the small round dish. “I’m afraid it did. Sir William was given a long lead regarding our Beth. My brother even went so far as to threaten him with legal action so that Elizabeth might be moved to safety in Scotland, but Trent merely laughed, saying all the city’s judges danced to his tune. That same summer was when Paladin fell ill.” Sinclair stopped pacing, and his aunt reached out and took his hand. “Perhaps, I should not have brought it up. I’ve upset you.”
He bent to kiss her forehead. “No, dear, I was already upset. William Trent is a constant, nagging thorn in my side, and that prickling sensation will remain there until he’s behind bars—or dead.” Sitting once more in the chair beside the window, he offered her a smile. “So, what exactly was wrong with Paladin? Even Trent wouldn’t put down a valuable animal unless it was quite serious.”
“We never determined it,” she replied, crushing the spent cigarette. “He’d grown listless and unresponsive, almost overnight. The vet thought he was losing blood, for his gums and eyes had gone quite pale. When Trent ordered the horse put down, Elizabeth begged her mother to intervene, but when Trish refused, Beth found her own way to stop it. That’s why Paladin is alive today.”
“She managed to change Trent’s mind?”
Lighting another of the French cheroots to calm her ragged nerves, Stuart nodded. “In a way, he had no choice. Beginning that very night, Beth slept beside Paladin, you see—to protect him. She built a little bed of hay and grain sacks outside his stall and refused to leave it. Cornelius Baxter brought cotton sheets and a pillow to make her more comfortable, and that lovely man stayed out there with her through each day and night, as did Tommy Powers, the chief gardener. He’s Patrick Powers’s brother, you know. Both men grew up on the estate.”
“Yes, so Beth told me.”
“Well, Baxter and Powers never left her unguarded, taking it in turns, when work or other matters drew one of them away. Those brave men watched Elizabeth round the clock for three days and nights, and she, in turn, watched the horse, speaking to him, reading him stories, and even singing now and then. She promised Paladin that he’d grow strong and become a magnificent stallion one day. Baxter once told me a strange tale of what happened on the third night of that vigil, and I’m sure it was spiritual in nature. A great Shadow, as Baxter tells it, appeared inside the stall, and Elizabeth began shouting at it, ordering it to leave the animal alone. Baxter and Powers were armed with pistols, of course, but also with their Bibles, and the two of them started reading out scripture and praying aloud. That battle lasted for three long and perilous hours, and when it was done, all were exhausted. As they shut their Bibles, Baxter said they glanced over at Elizabeth, and she’d fallen asleep next to the horse. As if she knew it was all over. By morning, Paladin was on his feet—good as new.”
Charles ran a hand through his hair, sighing as he pictured his beautiful duchess as a small child, defying the very hounds of hell. “She’s a marvel, isn’t she? I doubt she’d allow anyone or anything to harm those she loves, but even Beth has limits.”
“I’m glad you realise that,” Stuart answered. “Elizabeth has always been able to see things most of us cannot, and though these spirits or demons or whatever they are truly do terrify her, she summons up the courage necessary to face them. Even as a little girl.”
“So she does,” he agreed. “However, that constant battle wears on her. It’s why I want to protect her, Tory. As her husband, it will be my job to act as shield against those spiritual attacks.”
She smiled, the cigarette held gingerly ‘twixt her slender fingers. “You are a genuinely good man, and you’ll make a wonderful husband, Charles. You know, it seems that children are particularly vulnerable to the wiles of these spirits. Della, for instance. She is a bright, cheerful child, but what happened in Scotland proves that she is also a target. It’s clear that she thinks a great deal of you, Charles.”
“Della is a delight, Tory. I’ve grown quite fond of her.”
“You know about Paul’s being her father, I’m told,” she said.
He nodded. “Yes. Why do I get the impression that you’ve been working your way around to this all along, Aunt?”
The spinster offered a mischievous smile. “Because that is precisely what I have been doing. Since Paul is occupied speaking with Reid, Kepelheim, and Galton just now, I thought I’d bring it up. Della’s welfare is on my mind, you see. I worry.”
“Why? She seems content, and she’s found a good friend in Mary Wilsham.”
“Yes, she has, but even so, Adele spends far too much time alone. Despite his love for her, Paul has always been better at espionage than keeping family obligations, which is why I am so glad to see Della’s fondness for you. And yet another reason why your love for Beth is better than the earl’s.”
He started to object, but she raised her hand to stop him, crushing the last vestiges of the cigarette before continuing. “Do not misunderstand me, Charles. I love Paul like a son, but he can be cold and calculating at times, which makes him an expert in the field, but that same ability will always leave his loved ones feeling at loose ends, if not completely abandoned, now and then. Della has never truly recovered from losing the man she thinks was her father, two years ago. Robert Stuart abandoned field work after he adopted Della, and he spent all his time at home with her.”
“Uncle Robert was an extraordinary man,” Charles said. “I found him bright, personable, and a tower of strength. The night I first met him, I noticed two scars beneath his chin. Do you know the story behind those?”
Tory paused for a moment, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Bobby Stuart nearly died of those wounds. Paul was only five. A man tried to abduct him, you see.”
“What?” Sinclair asked, his eyes widening. Suddenly, a dark feeling rose up in the pit of his stomach. “Tory, did you know about Paul’s elder brother’s death? About the duel?”
She nodded. “Yes. Robert tried to ke
ep that from Paul, you know, and I told him it was wrong, but he was adamant. I assume you ask, because your mind has connected Ian’s murder to the kidnapping attempt I just mentioned. Well, you’re right to do so. Robert thought both crimes committed by the same man.”
“Did Uncle Robert actually see the kidnapper?”
“Yes, but it was weeks later when he described the man. This fiend had left him for dead, but by then, the servants had heard the ruckus and come to the rescue. Paul has no memory of it—or I think he does not. It took place only a few months after you and your mother disappeared. Those were very dark days.”
“But that makes no sense. Why abduct Paul, if...?” he began, then his mind made the connexion. “Wait, perhaps it does make sense—to Redwing, at least. It was the same man in both cases. Had to be. My father. Paul’s brother. Both slain in duels. Tory, what if Redwing was actually trying to protect the continuation of the twins’ bloodline? To do so, they kidnapped me, and then tried to take Paul, all to make sure one of us survived into adulthood. Might they have foreseen some future event that would end one or both our lives?”
“I suppose that’s one way to explain it,” she said. “But there is another, far more sinister explanation, my dear. I think Redwing hoped to control your bloodline. After all, the man who abducted you did keep you for two years, Charles.”
“Do you believe that man was Trent?”
“It is one possibility. Robert Stuart described a person who might have been William Trent, but I’ve always had doubts. Charles, have you regained any of your childhood memories?”
“No. None. Or mostly none. A stray thought pops up now and then. Also, I’ve begun to dream things that might be moments from my past, though how would I know? I’ve one strange dream that occurs—oh, once a week or so— about a crying baby and a woman who’s screaming in the dark.”
She turned to him, her dark eyes narrowing. “Really? Do you know what woman that might be?”
Charles shook his head. “No. I suppose it might be just a dreaming connexion to my late wife—and to my son.”
Blood Rites Page 33
