Blood Rites

by Sharon K Gilbert

  “I’d have set sail for home at once if you’d told me, Tory. Look, let’s move on. Beth’s all right, but we must all agree to keep the entire circle aware of everything that happens from now on. Agreed?”

  “Yes, agreed. I’m very sorry, Paul,” she said softly.

  Charles had brought the packet he’d received the previous day from the police commissioner, and he now produced it. “With that in mind, I want you all to see this,” he continued, handing Warren’s letter and the enclosed photographs and other documentation to the duke. “Sir, have you ever heard of the Palestine Exploration Fund?”

  “I have,” the duke said as he donned his gold-rimmed reading glasses and quickly scanned through the contents. “They’re a relatively new addition to the explorer clubs. A brilliant organisation in many ways. And though most of their members are unaware of it, as with many of these explorers societies, the PEF’s an advance operation for a planned British military occupation of the Levant, once the Ottoman Empire finally collapses. Yes, I know we’ve propped it up for decades now, but it won’t last, so rather than allow Russia to gain a foothold and control trade and seaports, England is preparing for the next age. Most of the PEF members have no idea of this agenda, but some within the War and Foreign Offices see archaeological digs as a means of planting our flag whilst conducting surveillance without the Ottoman Empire so much as twitching its nose. This photograph is of the stone that Warren’s team brought back, correct? When was this taken?”

  “1869 or ’70, I believe,” Charles replied.

  Kepelheim grew excited. “Really? Now, this begins to make a sort of sense. Some years ago, I had a very good friend, a mentor in fact, who served in the Levantine Exhibit at the British Museum as curator. Smith was his name. Dr. Conroy Smith. Poor man was brutally murdered, right inside his office the last day of March, 1871. The man who found the body was a student named Wilson. A curious fellow. Despite being known as a reliable worker and a faithful husband, Wilson disappeared shortly after, or at least the police claimed he did. He’d told police that he discovered Dr. Smith’s body beside a large crate marked PEF/Warren/1870. That would be the intake information for the artefact held within. This crate was described as four feet long and one foot deep. Smith’s skull was completely crushed, and many of his bones broken. He also had bite marks upon his person, though the surgeon who conducted the autopsy thought them post-mortem in nature. Conroy Smith was a sincere believer in Christ, so I know where he now resides, but it was very hard on his poor wife and children. If you wish, Your Grace, I can use my contacts at the museum to make enquiries, but it’s quite likely that the crate contained this very stela.”

  “Stela?” Charles asked. “What’s that?”

  “It is a stone used to mark an event or location in ancient times,” Kepelheim replied. “Archaeologists become quite excited whenever one is discovered, because they bear inscriptions that help to date the surrounding find or provide clues to historic figures and events. This one has such an inscription, though it is in a form of antiquated Greek unfamiliar to me.”

  “I’ll wager that the countess could translate it. Or perhaps Anatole,” Sinclair noted bitterly. “Those two have many secrets, and they’re connected to this Romanian.”

  Aubrey took the photographs from his uncle. “How do you know that? Romania and Russia don’t always get along, and there is no evidence here that connects them, unless they’re both Redwing members. Is that what you mean, Charles?”

  “Hardly,” Sinclair replied, pouring a glass of water. “When he spoke to me yesterday, Prince Rasha called Anatole his uncle. I’m not sure what he means by that precisely, but Razarit Grigor could almost be Anatole’s twin, they’re so alike. Similar height, colouring, build. Is there a class of fallen angel or demon that might pass itself off as a prince?”

  Kepelheim had returned to his chair, and he responded. “There might be. Mac could tell us more. Ed MacPherson, I mean. The pastor who’ll be officiating at your wedding. However, there is a class called Archon, translated as ‘principality’, by which we mean ‘prince’. These work in cooperation with the Dynamis, or ‘powers’. Mac has studied the creatures within God’s unseen kingdom—fallen and unfallen—for over thirty years, and he is of the opinion that there is a wide variety of created beings who interact with our world, but who are rarely visible to us. The Archons are rulers, and the Dynamis akin to foot soldiers. I think Anatole and this Rasha you met are the former. I’ve read ancient sources that call them rasim, ros, or even rosh, but the meaning is essentially the same in English: princes and chiefs. Think of them as part of the peerage system of the spirit kingdom. Unseen rulers, whose dominion is over lesser beings of similar kind, which means they are very old and very powerful.”

  “You call it a kingdom, Martin,” Charles began, “so who then, is their king?”

  The tailor smiled as he stirred sugar into his coffee. “Ah, now that is a very interesting question, my dear friend. Those of us sitting here would say the true king is Christ Jesus, but the fallen do not recognise Christ. They hope to forge a new realm with one of their own as king.”

  “And who is that? Will it be one of these Archons you mention?”

  “Again, very good questions, Charles. You have made such strides since our first meeting with you at Drummond Castle! It makes one proud,” the tailor gushed. “The short answer is yes. Probably one of the Archons will rise as ruler, but prophecy makes it clear that this will be a short-lived kingdom, despite all the fallen realm’s efforts. Their plans are doomed to failure. Praise the Lord for that!” Everyone nodded and responded with ‘Amen!’. “Quite so,” Kepelheim agreed. “Anatole and Razarit may be Archons, but we do not yet know. Mac believes Redwing has many spiritual advisors.”

  “The thirteen?” Charles asked.

  “Quite probably, yes. Is Razarit one of these? Who can yet say? We need more information on him. Regardless, both Anatole and Razarit have singled you out for attention, Charles. And these entities, these mysterious beings may prove quite dangerous to you. My friend, you constantly insist that the duchess have guardianship, but may I suggest that you, too, be guarded?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Sinclair insisted, but Victoria had grown quiet, and he looked over, noticing that her hands had begun to shake. “Aunt? Are you all right?”

  Victoria had lit a cigarette to calm her nerves, but the brown cheroot trembled in her fingers, causing ash to drop onto the table top. “I cannot lose you again, Charles,” she whispered. “I simply cannot!”

  Sinclair touched her hand gently, and then took the cigarette from her, placing it into a small ashtray. “Calm your heart, dear. I have no fear of these princes. They may attempt a coup, but is not our Saviour already the victor, and we victorious alongside him through his blood? That doesn’t mean that I take this battle for granted. I do not, but these threats don’t alarm me—not for my own sake. I shall stand and withstand his kind until my final breath. Their plot to control Elizabeth rouses my anger, not my fears. You called Paul and me twin arrows within the Lord’s quiver, and I consider it an honour and privilege to be so connected to the earl. So, if we are his arrows, then let our King draw his bow, I say! Paul and I shall fly straight and true, and deviate neither to the left nor to the right! If we battle against brothers of the nether realm, then they fight against cousins from God’s family. Who’s more to be pitied, eh?”

  She began to weep, her entire body shaking, and Charles held her tightly. “Here, now,” he said sweetly. “Is this any way for the stalwart Lady Victoria Stuart to behave? Paul and I will be fine, dear. Really. Trust in our Saviour’s aim. No one’s bow arm is truer.”

  “Oh, Charles,” she answered as she pushed back from his embrace. “I know you are both brave, but tragedy has befallen our family so many times. I worry that your trajectory may take you into some very dark, very dangerous places.”

  “Then Christ will be
our beacon,” Paul assured her. “My cousin and I shall rout the enemy, per our King’s command.”

  She seemed to calm, and the earl continued. “Charles, if this stela was uncrated in ’71, would the police have records of the investigation into Smith’s death? Perhaps, even possess information about this Wilson person? Surely, he was a suspect at the time.”

  “I suppose they might, but the CID wasn’t established until ’78,” Sinclair answered, regaining his chair. “I was one of twenty in that first class of detective inspectors, and we had few resources, and even fewer personnel. Less than two hundred, lower rank detectives to cover all of Metropolitan London, which had a population of nearly four million people at the time. Patricia’s murder was one of our earliest cases. That and the Cricket Ground Killings.”

  “Cricket? What do you mean by cricket? The game or the insect?” asked Lady Victoria.

  “I refer to the cricket ground at the northeast end of Victoria Park,” Sinclair answered. “There was a series of unsolved murders there in January of ’79 that worried the east then as much as Ripper does now. This Smith, though...” Charles started, but he stopped suddenly, his face still. “The list,” he said, standing. “That’s what the list means. I recognised it at once, but couldn’t fathom the reason for its enclosure until now. Paul, where’s that list Beth received yesterday?”

  “In Connor’s bedroom, I think. Unless you left it at the Yard. Why?”

  “Those names and dates. They’re the Cricket Ground victims, or some of them are. I can verify the names on the English half of the list, and the first two on the French as victims. Why would Merriweather and his so-called anonymous friend include that list unless the Cricket Ground murders are connected to the recent victims in that very park?”

  “You think Redwing is behind the murders in ’79?”

  “I do. We need to find all records relating to the Cricket murders. I’ll see what I can locate at the Yard.”

  The earl made several notes on the blank sheet of stationery before him. “I’ll have Thomas bring everything he has on them for tomorrow’s meeting.”

  “Good. Redwing isn’t letting up, so the sooner we can discover the reason that list was sent to Beth, the better.”

  The tailor had been scratching notes to himself as well, and he glanced up. “Did I hear you received a missive from the commissioner this morning?”

  “Yes,” Charles replied. “It’s a summons, of sorts. I’m to call on him this afternoon at his home. Warren knows much more than he’s admitting just yet. You were right, James. He does plan to resign as commissioner.”

  “So, did Matthews call for his resignation?” the duke asked.

  “I’ve no idea, but when we spoke yesterday, Warren alluded to someone who is pressuring him,” Charles answered. “The Home Secretary has made it clear in recent press interviews that he no longer has confidence in Warren’s administration of the force, but privately he’s maintained support. Warren and Monro haven’t been able to patch up their differences, though, and Monro’s a close friend to Matthews. Funny,” he continued with a smile, “the few times I’ve had to meet with the Home Secretary, I’ve always felt rather intimidated in his presence. I shan’t be now. If Henry Matthews wants to go toe to toe as to why Ripper isn’t solved, he can hang the job for all I care! Whether I’m a policeman or not, I intend to find this man or devil or whatever he is and put an end to him, once and for all!”

  “Then this should help in that effort,” the duke said brightly. He handed his nephews identical sheets of finely woven, linen stationery bearing several typewritten paragraphs and embossed with the royal warrant at the bottom. “Charles, you may have wondered why I’ve been meeting with Her Majesty so often the past few days. There’ve been several reasons, but one of them has to do with the decree I’ve just handed you. It establishes a secret intelligence service that operates completely outside governmental corridors of control. You’ll note that this decree lists the organisation as absolutely independent of the Crown, but warranted by it, which will give you standing and jurisdiction inside any country, any embassy, any law enforcement agency. I made it clear that our new endeavour serves first and foremost to gather intelligence for the inner circle, but we are available for hire by government, as needed. The queen and prime minister have both agreed. It’s all there in black and white. I’ve even chosen a building to serve as offices and train agents. So, nephews? What do you think?”

  Charles looked at Paul. “The ICI? It has a nice, official ring to it. Paul, what do you think? Care to help me run Inner Circle Intelligence?”

  Aubrey laughed. “Does this mean I no longer require a warrant card from the Met?”

  “Did you ever?” Sinclair smiled in return. “This is completely legitimate, correct, sir?”

  The duke nodded. “Completely. And Kepelheim has been working with Risling to design the stationery and other insignia. And you’ll have ICI warrant cards that bear the seals of Britain and the inner circle. Once you approve our work, we’ll send letters containing copies of the decree to all offices within British government. It’s likely to rock a few boats, but who cares? I’m not going to have my nephews kowtowing to this minister and that, when all you’re trying to do is protect our family and the future of England. If Redwing wins, then England is done, along with the rest of the world—and we lose more than that. We lose Beth and her child.”

  Charles stared at the duke. Has Reggie Whitmore said something? Does James know that Beth might be pregnant?

  “Sir?” he asked his uncle.

  “Her child,” James repeated. “Or children. I do hope the two of you plan to make me a great-grandpa one of these days!”

  “Uh, yes, sir, of course we do,” Sinclair stammered, recovering composure. “As to the rest, I’m all in favour of this new enterprise, but I hope it doesn’t preclude investigations into Ripper.”

  “Of course not. I made that clear to Salisbury and Her Majesty. Matthews and the Yard will likely complain at first, but they’ll soon come to appreciate having an independent intelligence service to call upon in times of need.”

  Paul set his copy of the decree to one side. “I think it’s a marvellous idea, and it codifies what the circle’s already been doing for England since before I was even born. It’ll be a relief to no longer be subject to the whims of the War and Foreign Offices. James, do we charge the Crown for our work?”

  “Of course, we do,” the duke answered with a grin. “And we’ll use the profits for Beth’s hospital. Now, if you’ll look at this map, you’ll see the house I think will work best for our new offices. Charles, it’s a property that your family owns, and sits right next to the Carlton Club on Pall Mall. Loudain House.”

  “Loudain?” Sinclair echoed. “I understand Sir Thomas has spent time investigating that very house recently.”

  Martin Kepelheim lowered his gaze, sheepishly. “I assume the earl told you about the journal. I thought he might, despite my warnings. My friend, I hope you will not rush to read its contents—once they’re deciphered, that is. Your father used a complex type of shift cipher, but it is multi-layered and requires a passcode word, which I’ve not yet discovered. However, it will not defeat me.”

  “I can assist with that, Martin,” Sinclair said gently. “Mathematics and ciphers are my area, you know.”

  “So they are,” the tailor replied. “However, I have concerns that any sensitive information within the journal might include references to your buried past, Charles.”

  “Martin, I think it’s time we resurrected that past. I’ll be fine. If you’ll allow me, I think I can help.”

  “Very well,” the tailor conceded at last. “You’re probably right. I shall have it copied for you, and then we can proceed in double time.”

  “What’s the condition of the house, sir?” the marquess asked his uncle. “Haimsbury House sat empty for nearly thirty y
ears, and I imagine Loudain even longer.”

  Drummond finished his coffee and set down the cup. “The place is in need of a little renovation, but it shouldn’t take too much capital investment, and it’ll pay for itself in six months’ time. Five thousand ought to do it.”

  “Five thousand pounds?” Charles parroted back. “You expect to receive that much from the government in only six months?”

  “Easily! Probably more,” James replied without so much as a blink. “England’s desperate for reliable intelligence, and they pay handsomely for it. Paul fetches five hundred per week when he’s in the field, so add it up. It sounds like a lot of money, but your cousin is England’s very best agent and puts his life on the line each time he travels.”

  Charles sighed, looking at Kepelheim. “Martin, what position do you seek with our new endeavour?”

  “I thought Chief Tailor would be nice,” he jibed, “but I would dearly love to work with codes and ciphers. Or perhaps research and linguistics. Who knows? It’s all very exciting, I must say! I wonder, though. Is it not of interest that Loudain House sits so close to the Carlton Club, a place numerous Russians call home these days?”

  The duke winked. “Pure coincidence, I’m sure,” he said, flashing a wry grin. “So, what else do we need to cover? Charles, how was your photographic session yesterday?”

  “Trying,” he said, glancing at his pocket watch. “Martin, did Mr. Blackwood plan to stop by today, or were we able to cancel?”

  “He agreed to postpone the sessions until next week. Shall we discuss the crimes committed since our return from Scotland?”

  Sinclair looked at the royal decree. “It’s a shame Warren’s stepping down. Perhaps, we can find something for him, with this new agency. He’s hardly perfect, but I think him honest. All right. I suppose I’m up next then, as we’re discussing the most recent murders. They commence with...” he began, and the five of them continued until well past noon.