Blood Rites

by Sharon K Gilbert

  Aubrey grew quiet, his clear blue eyes casting about as if trying to find the right answer written somewhere upon the porch pillars or within the swaying treetops.

  Finally, he looked directly into his cousin’s eyes. “Charles, you said nothing when you learnt that I’d remained in Beth’s room last night to quiet her after the nightmare. In your place, honestly, I’d have been outraged. I know you love her, but it’s... Well, it’s difficult. I want to think myself over it all—over my love for her, my need for her—but truthfully, I don’t believe that will ever happen. But I know you, and I trust you, so if you think this is best for Elizabeth, then I shan’t object.”

  “Thank you, Paul. I would never compromise her.”

  “Neither would I,” he whispered as he stood. “She is safe only when she is guarded, so we must always be near her. Or you must, at least.”

  Charles felt a sudden heaviness in his heart, which seemed to make no sense—as if fear had taken root. “And if I fail her?” As I failed to protect my son.

  Stuart put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Don’t allow the enemy to cloud your mind with doubt, Charles. Trust in the Lord.”

  “You’re right. After all, these problems arise from the greatest joy of my life, so I shouldn’t complain. Perhaps, I’ll ask Miles to give me a few pointers on how to deal with intruders.”

  The earl laughed softly, and it lightened his cousin’s heart to hear it. “Yes, the men of Queen Anne House have a useful bag of talents, do they not? Frame and Miles to name but two. You know, Charles, there’s a boxing ring at our uncle’s home. I’ve spent many hours there. James has embarrassed me more than once, in fact. If you ever wish to improve your form, let me know.”

  “And give you opportunity to best me? No, thank you, Lord Aubrey. I’ve heard about your abilities. I shall keep to my limited workouts, chasing down criminals.”

  Paul stood. “Very well, but the offer stands. It’s also helpful when you find yourself forced to deal with mounting frustration. Beth throws china. I punch a bag.”

  “I might add such a room to my own house,” Sinclair said as they entered the foyer. “For now, I’m off to see my intended. Thank you for taking care of her, Paul.”

  “It’s an old habit,” the earl admitted. “For now, let’s enjoy Della’s music, shall we? And then after, I’ve one last errand to run, which requires I change. I may be out quite late.”

  “Susanna Morgan?”

  “So I hope,” Aubrey said.

  “Be careful, Paul,” he added as he paused near the staircase. “I think I’ll say goodnight to Beth first,” Sinclair told the earl.

  “Give her my love,” Aubrey answered, managing a weary smile.

  Charles then turned towards the grand, winding staircase, which would lead him to the love of his life. With each step, he prayed that the fall had not injured her or the unborn child, and that Whitmore was indeed a man to be trusted.

  I cannot afford to make another mistake, he thought. Lord, help me to choose wisely. For her. And for our baby.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thursday, 8, November - 9:13 am

  Charles opened his eyes to the sounds of hushed voices. A maid was speaking to Mrs. Meyer in the parlour outside the duchess’s bedchamber, and he overheard the girl mention his name. The previous night, the detective had carefully shifted the long sofa that ordinarily sat before Elizabeth’s fireplace, to a spot beside the four-poster, and as he opened his eyes, he could see that the bed had already been made.

  Where is she? he wondered, as he sat up. He’d slept in his shirt and trousers beneath two quilts and a light blanket, and he jumped off the couch and grabbed for his socks and boots. The door to the bath had been repaired the previous day, but stood open as Sinclair had promised his aunt and the earl, so he passed through it into the second bedchamber beyond, where he found Aubrey buttoning his waistcoat.

  “What time is it?” Charles asked his cousin. “It feels very late.” The marquess searched his pockets for the Sir John Bennet watch, but then remembered he’d set it on the floor beside the sofa.

  “A quarter past nine,” the earl said cheerily. “Breakfast is in fifteen minutes. Beth rose at seven, if you’re wondering, and she’s much better this morning. Did I hear the maids?”

  “Probably. The room’s already been tidied, though I apparently slept through it. I pray our aunt informed the staff of my intent to sleep in there.”

  “Victoria rarely forgets anything she’s promised to do, so I’m sure she told them. I expect one of those maids is named Gertrude Trumper. Have you noticed that she has a decided crush on you?”

  “A crush?” Charles asked, blinking. “Whatever is a crush?”

  “It’s a new word the younger set is using to describe a strong romantic attachment. I’ve overheard the maids use it quite frequently, especially regarding Mr. Lester—and you.

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “No, I’m not,” Paul replied as he attached a gold and onyx link to his left cuff. “Miss Trumper most assuredly suffers from a crush. You should speak to Mrs. Meyer about it. I’d hate to see the girl lose her place, but such infatuations can break a household. And with our current situation, the last thing we need is gossip—or crushes.”

  “You say Beth rose at seven?” Charles asked, deciding to ignore the advice. “She was supposed to remain in bed all day.”

  “Was she? Beth’s rather poor about following instructions, but she looked fine this morning. I asked if she had a headache, which she denied, and she promised not to overdo.”

  “Beth took the stairs alone? That is strictly forbidden, Paul. Why did no one wake me?” he asked, angrily.

  “Calm down, Cousin. I walked Elizabeth down the stairs, and she’s been with our aunt and Adele ever since. Honestly, she’s much better this morning. Good colour, all smiles. She insisted we let you sleep, as you’d had none for two days.”

  “She’s in the morning room?”

  “Actually, she might be in the south gardens. I overheard her and Della making plans to gather the last of the summer roses. Do not fret! I’m sure Powers and Frame are with them, per your orders. She has constant guardianship.”

  Sinclair seemed only moderately relieved by this. “I’d prefer one of us be with her whenever she’s outdoors.” He gazed at his reflection, the coarse beard thickening already. “Did you say they’re picking roses? Why? Didn’t Beth just toss out all the bouquets sent by that Russian?” the detective complained.

  Aubrey laughed as he added a gold pin with his family crest to the striped tie. “Yes, those China Pinks are but a memory now. Frame’s men added them to the compost pile. So much for Anatole’s presence.”

  “I shan’t mourn,” Sinclair muttered as he started a bath running in the room next door.

  “You know, most peers would have a valet do that,” the earl said with a wry grin.

  “I’m not most peers,” Charles answered. “And neither are you, apparently. I notice you never use a valet.”

  “Too much trouble. Besides, it’s a challenge finding one who likes to sleep rough, which reminds me, are you planning to keep Laurence as butler?”

  “What? Yes, I suppose so. Why?”

  “I’d thought about training him as a field agent. I have to leave for Egypt in a few weeks, and I’d very much like to take him with me, if you can spare him.”

  “Are you planning to steal all of my staff?” Sinclair asked.

  “Only the good ones. Shall I have breakfast brought up?”

  “No, I’m not terribly hungry yet. I told Beth I’d stay home today, but...”

  “But work calls you. Charles, let your officers and their men handle matters. Stay close to Elizabeth today.”

  “Easily said, but difficult to accomplish. How did your night’s pursuits go?” the detective asked.


  “I’ll let you know after breakfast. Martin’s dropped by, and we hoped to have a short meeting with you and James about the recent murders before I leave. The short answer is that last night’s adventure was very informative.”

  “Unlike you,” Sinclair complained.

  Aubrey clipped his watch chain to the waistcoat. “Charles, I want you to know that Beth’s improved health this morning is all down to you. Your decision to sleep in her bedchamber made a world of difference. She told me so.”

  Charles offered a slight smile. “I only want her to be safe.”

  “I know, Charles. I really do. Now finish dressing quickly and join us as soon as you can. We have much to discuss,” Aubrey said, opening the door to the hallway. “See you downstairs.”

  Once breakfast was over, Della and Mary Wilsham gathered up the last of the roses and other flowers Beth and her young cousin had picked and took them to the conservatory for pressing into books and drying. Elizabeth ate well and seemed in much better spirits that morning, and Charles could hear her playing through a selection of music sent over the previous day by Giacomo Puccini as a thank-you gift. Though she had no recall of having fallen down the steps, the small swelling at the back of her head had completely disappeared. Confident that his beloved duchess was content and safe (guarded by two armed footmen), Charles joined his family for the circle meeting.

  The duke, Lady Victoria, Aubrey, and Kepelheim glanced up as Charles entered the library. The foursome sat around a burnished bronze and oak table near the lit fireplace. The room felt warm and welcoming, and the marquess took the empty chair next to his uncle.

  “How’s our girl?” the duke asked his nephew.

  “Singing through some of Puccini’s music. Beth has such a lovely, light voice. Like that of an angel. Her face has regained the serenity lost in recent days, and she seems quite like her old self. Is this a formal meeting?” he asked.

  “Of a sort,” Aubrey replied. “I asked James if we might convene briefly to go over the events of this week and try to make sense of it all before tomorrow’s full meeting. Is there anything you’d like us to add to the agenda?”

  “Yes. Prince Razarit, or Rasha, or whatever it is we’re to call this Romanian. He must be dealt with, somehow. Uncle James, would you mind if Victoria prayed for us? I know it’s probably not customary for a woman to pray in these gatherings, but I’ve a strong sense that her petitions are much needed this morning.”

  “Not at all, son. In fact, I’d already asked my sister if she’d open for us. Tory?”

  “Just so you know, Charles, there are four other women on the circle, and we often lead the prayers. Let’s all seek the Lord’s guidance,” Stuart said. “Father in heaven, I never really know how to speak to you in these groups, but I do know that you are always listening and keeping watch. Scripture says that you never slumber nor sleep, which is a wondrous comfort, for the older I get, the more I want to sleep and slumber. You also say that your eye is upon the sparrow, and that you know whenever one falls to the ground. That, my Lord, is an even greater comfort to me, for it means that you regard us each time we fail to fly, but rather stumble and fall.

  “Truthfully, I find myself despairing sometimes, despite all your many comforts and promises, but these hands held within my own, these men of strength and courage all about me, are reminders of your wonderful hands and your endless strength. Lord, I like to think myself a modern woman who can fend for herself, but in truth, I am a weak vessel compared to the spiritual entities that clash all about us, and there are times that I feel completely, utterly useless! Oh, the things our family has seen! The trials! The despair and grief!”

  She paused for a moment, and it seemed to Sinclair that she had begun to weep. He squeezed her hand to impart strength to her, and she squeezed his in return, her voice catching in her throat as she continued. “But—but no matter how useless I feel, my Lord, no matter what has happened, I know that you have surrounded me—surrounded us—with your spiritual protectors, and that you continue to work it all together for good.

  “My Lord, I cannot thank you enough for the incredible surprise of finding Charles again. We thought him long ago lost to us, my King, but you—you were keeping him safe in your hand all this time, appointed for your hour and your purpose. And by bringing Charles back to us, you’ve reunited two, brave cousins. I believe that you’ve placed Charles and Paul as constants amongst our number. Born so close together, raised with warm regard and love for one another, and now joined together once more as friends and cousins, they are like twin arrows in your mighty quiver. Strong, straight, and true. I ask that you show them how to proceed in the days, weeks, and even years to come. That you teach them to listen to your commands and then lead us in the battle plans you have devised.”

  She paused once more and clenched Sinclair’s and Aubrey’s hands in her own. “I hold within my hands two miracles, my Lord. And it is incredible to witness it. I am humbled by these two men. Humbled and yet so very proud of them both. I ask that you would bless them and keep them safe. And that you would continue to protect all my family, but especially our darling Elizabeth. She stands at the centre of this battle—the eye of the spiritual storm. Deny the spirits their dark victory, my Lord, and help us to lift up the flag of Christ—dipped within His precious blood, and do all we may to help Charles and Paul to carry that flag all the way to the ramparts! Sound your trump within our hearts and impel us onward, never tiring, never waning, never giving up! In Christ’s name I ask it. Amen.”

  Victoria opened her eyes to find all four men wiping their faces. Charles leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Victoria Regina. You are one of the most dynamic people I have ever known. Male or female.”

  Aubrey, sitting on her other side, also kissed her. “Well put, old girl. You say you never know how to speak, well, may the Lord grant me such feeble words as yours. I think Christ looks forward to your prayers, Tory. I know that I do.”

  Lady Victoria wiped her face with her hands, then used a handkerchief to dry them. “I can think of no greater joy than to have you both at this table. So, James, who’s starting us off?”

  Charles raised his hand. “If I may, I’d like to discuss this Rasha person first. Can anyone tell me his background? Family? Do we know if he’s even human?”

  The duke sipped coffee, looking at his nephew from overtop the cup’s rim. “I thought you’d want to discuss him, son, so I asked our tailor to see what he might learn about the Romanian. Martin?”

  Kepelheim stood and handed copies of a single page report to everyone. “This information is sketchy at best, but it’s all I could gather on such short notice. There are no photographs of the prince, but I’m told there are paintings in Romania and in France, so it might behoove us to send an agent to examine these. Prince Razarit Nicolescu Cojocaru Lupei Grigor was born in 1858 at Bran Castle, near Brasov. He claims to be a direct descendent of Vlad II, founder of the Drăculești line of princes in Wallachia and Moldavia. This is the line that fled the castle after Russia’s occupation of the region in 1806. The family relocated to France, where Razarit’s grandfather and father resided until six months before the prince’s birth. To make certain the new heir was born at Bran, Prince Vlad Nicolescu cel Mare Grigor returned there briefly, sneaking past the Russian guards—or as some claim, making a pact with them. At two years of age, Razarit was whisked out of the newly established country of Romania, when it appears that he goes into some sort of occultation, suddenly emerging onto the public scene this year in Paris, when he claims he is visiting his grandmother at a château that just happens to lie close to Lady Victoria’s.”

  Paul read through the genealogy and other notes on his copy of the report, waving his hands in irritation. “It’s all lies! When Russia invaded, they would never have permitted the Drăculești line to continue, unless that line agreed to certain conditions. This smells worse than the docks at St.
Katherine! No, I think this prince is all contrivance. Perhaps, a hybrid of some sort, who invents himself for our eyes.”

  “Charles?” Kepelheim asked. “You’ve met him. What do you think?”

  Sinclair poured himself a cup of coffee. “He’s not a hybrid. At least, I think he is not. He appears and disappears at will, and he has the ability to stop time. Do hybrids have such powers?”

  “We believe Trent to be a hybrid, and it is said he can vanish at will. We do know he can transform himself into a beast,” the tailor answered. “Such capabilities may explain how he entered the duchess’s bedchamber two nights ago. Charles, you never really told me what Rasha said to you yesterday. Did he make threats?”

  “Yes,” Sinclair replied. “He called me his enemy, and he said Beth belonged to him—that she would come back to him, claiming that she always returned to him, which makes this creature delusional. If he thinks Beth would ever willingly go to him, he is sorely mistaken! She’s terrified of him. Did you know that Rasha struck her so hard that Beth was knocked unconscious?”

  Victoria’s face took on a guilty look. “How did you learn about that, Charles? I never mentioned that she lost consciousness—I said only that she nearly did.”

  “Alicia told me, but don’t scold the girl. She’s a good friend to Elizabeth, and she only wanted to help. I think that slender maid would have taken on the prince all by herself, if she thought it would help the duchess. Just how long was Beth unconscious, Tory? Alicia wasn’t certain. She thought half an hour.”

  “Yes, that is most likely accurate,” the maiden aunt admitted, noticing the earl’s stark glare. “Paul, I wrote and told you that Beth had sent the prince packing, but how could I tell you about his hitting her with you so far away?”