‘Don’t bet on it, Lansdowne,’ Blackdown returned. ‘No pun intended…’
Lansdowne studied Blackdown’s hardened face. There was something about it, cut deep into premature lines etched by tough experience; a resolve that reached out of the man’s seemingly present hopeless situation to start a small shiver of concern rippling through him. It did not last long. ‘Get him out of my sight,’ he said, and Blackdown was bundled swiftly if not awkwardly away.
20
The Chamber
Blackdown was taken back to his cell, but instead of being fastened back to the wall he was allowed to stand free. He watched as Callisto and their soldier companion were released. Callisto’s body tensed as he was told to get to his feet, a pistol aimed squarely at his broad, bare, blood-spattered chest. For a moment the giant’s eyes burned with intent, as if he were about to launch himself at his captors, but Blackdown caught his attention and gave an almost insignificant shake of his head. Callisto understood that Blackdown intended them to bide their time, and demurely let the guard lead him to stand against one of the walls. The guard ordered all of them to stand in a line.
Presently a large bowl of cold water was brought in and placed at their feet.
‘Wash,’ the guard ordered. ‘You have but a few minutes and we will be taking you from here, but our guests don’t want your stink clogging up their sensitive nostrils.’
The ex-soldier had been whimpering softly, blood still trickling from his severed tongue. But now he stood straight-backed and resistant.
‘Do as he says,’ advised Blackdown.
The guard grinned as the three men bent to the bowl and began to splash water over their faces. ‘We’ll be back presently,’ he said, leaving and locking the door after them.
Blackdown placed a hand on each of his companion’s shoulders. ‘We can escape this madness, but we have to choose our time carefully. Play along with their game for now.’ He stared into Callisto’s saddened eyes. ‘They will pay for taking out your tongues,’ he assured, but Callisto’s expression looked doubtful. ‘You know this beast, Callisto,’ he said. ‘Do you know of its weaknesses?’
Callisto shook his head gravely, implying that he knew of no such weakness. The ex-soldier looked terrified at the turn of their conversation, unsure what they meant but drawing enough to feel suddenly fearful.
‘They mean to have us killed,’ said Blackdown bluntly. ‘But we will not let them have the pleasure, eh?’
Callisto grunted and tossed up his hands in dismay.
‘I need you to stand firm, Callisto,’ Blackdown said. ‘I need you to put your trust in me.’
The prize-fighter’s eyes squeezed shut and he drew in a calming breath.
‘What is your name?’ he asked the ex-soldier.
The man bent to the floor and scrawled his name in the dirt. JACK.
‘Jack,’ said Blackdown. ‘Well, Jack, we’re in one hell of a prickly situation here, but you need to stand tall, too. We’ve faced tougher opposition than those vagabonds, have we not?’ The man nodded. ‘We have faced the French and all they could throw at us, eh?’ He nodded again. ‘And did we falter?’ The man shook his head. His back stiffened, though his eyes were like sunken windows to his shattered emotions.
The door opened again and three guards entered, each with a pistol. The prisoners were made to form a line, Callisto at its head, Jack in the middle and Blackdown bringing up the rear.
‘Remember, stand fast,’ Blackdown whispered to Jack.
‘Hold your tongue!’ said the man at his back. ‘Lest you want it pulling from your mouth.’ With that he stuffed a wad of cloth into Blackdown’s mouth and fastened a gag around it. ‘That should keep you quiet. Why they didn’t take your tongue too is a mystery to me,’ he moaned. He prodded Blackdown in the back with the barrel of his pistol. ‘Move!’ he growled, and the three men were marched through the cell door and into the corridor beyond.
The rattle of their shackles and chains bounced off the curved stone walls as they hobbled down black tunnels, finally ascending stone stairs to a locked door at their summit. A plain candlelit corridor greeted them as the door swung open. Some way down its length they paused outside another door, guarded by two men wearing the uniform of the Blackdown Horse Patrol. One of them took the head of the line of prisoners and unlocked the door, holding it open slightly. He told the prisoners to wait, exchanged quiet words with someone on the other side and then signalled for the men to follow him, drawing his sabre as he did so.
The men lurched awkwardly into a large square chamber, lit by an array of guttering candles in gold wall sconces and an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling’s centre. The walls were of black marble run through with gossamer streaks of white, the floor laid with the same; Grecian-style pillars of white marble decorated plentifully with gold leaf rose from floor to high ceiling, on which was depicted the heavens, a multitude of cold stars blazing from a black sky and a bloated full moon dominating all.
At the room’s far end was a large throne-like seat, again crafted from marble and finished in gilt, huge swags of red tasselled curtains falling down like a scarlet waterfall from the ceiling to frame the throne. A slender figure, but for his necktie dressed completely in black and wearing a gold-coloured mask in the shape of a wolf, sat on the throne, one hand supporting his cheek as he studied the line of men brought before him.
As Blackdown’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he made out twelve men, six men sitting on each side of the throne, all similarly dressed in black, and all wearing masks – some crafted to look like creatures, bulls or dogs or deer, that almost covered every inch of their faces, while others wore simple affairs that covered the eyes and nose only.
They varied in age, as far as Blackdown could tell; some youthful and slim, others corpulent and aged. He recognised the form of John Strutt immediately – the man who had put him in Blackdown gaol. It was hard to disguise that fat body, he thought. He wore a mask of white, edged with gold, which hid his upper face. He still hadn’t figured out why Strutt had been keen to lock him away, only for him to be broken out again, unless it was to frame him for the murder of Addison and the guard. But if he were to die tonight, where was the necessity? There were still too many things about this affair that bothered him and didn’t fit neatly together.
Sir Peter Lansdowne stepped out of the shadows as the three prisoners were brought to a halt before the assembled men.
‘Gentlemen of the Lupercal Club,’ he began, ‘I offer you this year’s crop. On your right we have The Mighty Callisto. Have you ever seen such a giant of a man? Undefeated in the ring until only a matter of days ago. In the centre we have Jack Fowler, a soldier who fought with distinction in Spain and France for the 95th Rifles and who was also present at the burning of the White House in 1815. A man of supreme courage in the face of battle. And finally we have on your left Lord Blackdown’s son, Thomas Blackdown, once captain in the Guards, fearless, almost to the point of recklessness, a man covered in much military glory in Spain and France, but recently fallen on hard times. A man whose temper lost him his commission.’ Lansdowne walked up to the men, his heels clicking loudly on the marble. He stopped in front of them and turned to address the thirteen men sitting before him. ‘Each of these men is courageous and fearless. Each offers you something different. But who will come out on top tonight? Which of these brave men will surmount the difficulties and terror that lies ahead to become this year’s winner? Gentlemen, place your bets!’
Suddenly the room erupted into a wild exchange of voices, bellicose, insistent, arms waving expressively. The three prisoners glanced at each other. Jack looked about to faint. In the vocal confusion, Blackdown heard astronomical sums being placed as bets, the odds being given for each of the three men, but his attention was elsewhere, flitting about the room for a means of escape. He noticed two more exits discreetly hidden by curtains, and each had an armed guard placed by it. This was not the place or the time, he thought
. And he had a feeling that time was running out swiftly.
Lansdowne brought the proceedings under control as soon as all bets had been placed and an unusual quiet fell over the room. So quiet Blackdown could hear the faint flickering of the candles. Lansdowne once again faced the assembled men. He bowed before the figure sitting on the throne.
‘My Lord Ravenbard,’ he said, holding the bow for quite some time before slowly rising to his full height. ‘Before we proceed with tonight’s entertainment, we have one last matter that you expressly demanded needed urgent attention.’ He sauntered over to the seated men sitting on Ravenbard’s right. ‘Gentlemen, we are about to enter a new and glorious phase, and I know all of you are committed wholeheartedly to the cause.’ He studied the masked men, some of whom nodded and made quiet grunting sounds in response. He began to walk past Ravenbard to the men sitting on the other side. Here he paused again and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring at them. ‘None of you know by name who sits at your side. Do you trust them?’
The sound of cloth rubbing against cloth rippled through them as they shuffled at the unexpected and uncomfortable question.
‘How do you know you can trust them? You do not know who they are.’ Lansdowne looked at his feet. ‘But Lord Ravenbard knows everything about everyone present.’ He glanced at the seated figure, who nodded almost imperceptibly at Lansdowne. ‘It is in his interests to know everything. The venture on which we embark is a dangerous one, especially if we cannot trust the members of our very own club.’ He walked up to one of the guards and held out his hand. The guard placed a pistol in it. Lansdowne looked over the weapon and pointed it upwards, cocking the hammer. He took careful, measured steps to the men sitting on Ravenbard’s right again. ‘You all know the price for betrayal and falsehood.’ In an instant he levelled the gun at the figure of John Strutt and pulled the trigger.
The room lit up with the loud explosion and the bright flare of lighted gunpowder. Many of the seated men rose to their feet in horror. John Strutt groaned and slipped off his chair, a pool of blood spilling out to flow across the tiles. His fingers worked away on the marble tiles like fat, white slugs as Lansdowne strode up to the stricken man and bent down. He tore off Strutt’s mask.
‘Behold, a traitor to the cause. John Strutt!’ he cried.
Strutt lifted his head and moaned softly. Lansdowne motioned with a peremptory nod of his head for one of the other guards to step forward. He did so, removed his pistol and calmly shot Strutt in the head.
One of the seated men recoiled as blood and brains spattered his breeches. Silence fell over the room again.
‘Gentlemen, proceedings inside are concluded,’ Lansdowne said as if nothing untoward had happened. ‘Please take up your places for the rest of tonight’s entertainment and rest assured the sums of money laid down tonight will be put to the good cause.’ He turned to the prisoners. ‘Take them to the arena.’ But he held up his hand for Blackdown to remain behind. As the masked men began to file out of the room through the curtained exits behind him, Lansdowne leant close to Blackdown’s ear. ‘Confused?’ He grinned. ‘Strutt, it transpires, was a Government agent, sent to infiltrate our club. He is a dead agent now. His body will be found alongside evidence that will incriminate you as his murderer. He did, after all, imprison you, and your temper and need for immediate and often violent revenge is becoming well known. One can only suspect his real motives for putting you behind bars was to keep you out of the way and protect you. It was an action that forced him from his cover and sealed his death warrant.’
Blackdown lifted his bound hands, attempted to utter something through the gag, but he was whisked away by one of the guards. He heard Lansdowne chuckle derisively. He glanced back and caught sight of the wolf-masked man called Ravenbard sitting silent and alone on his marble throne, apparently watching him with interest as he was hauled away.
The three men were hurried through more dark corridors and out of one of the house’s many rear entrances. They entered a small courtyard surrounded by a tall red-brick wall. A black, windowless carriage stood in its centre, headed by four black horses, the light of the bright full moon causing the creatures’ hair to gleam like polished ebony. Without ceremony the men were led silently by their captors to the open door of the carriage. A man was standing by the door, his face encased in a white, almost featureless mask. But Blackdown frowned upon seeing the figure, for he thought he recognised him.
The white-masked man waved a finger for Callisto and Jack to be bundled on board the carriage, but beckoned that Blackdown be brought to one side, some distance away from the carriage. He waved again for the guard to leave them alone and turned his back on the carriage, facing Blackdown. Slowly he reached up and drew off the mask.
It was Lord Edward Tresham.
Blackdown was shocked, his eyes obviously betraying his confusion. Tresham lifted a hand. ‘Thomas, I have been given permission to speak with you before…’ He swallowed, cleared his throat, and began to untie the gag around Blackdown’s mouth. He let the cloth fall to the ground and Blackdown spat out the wad that had filled the inside of his mouth.
‘Uncle, what are you doing here? What is going on?’
Tresham held up a restraining finger. ‘Hear me out. We don’t have a great deal of time. I have persuaded Ravenbard to give me a few minutes to try and convince you one last time to join him. I don’t want to see you die. That was never the intention. You are like a son to me. You should never have come home.’
‘I cannot believe you are involved with this madness. Tell me you are being blackmailed still.’
He shook his head solemnly. ‘There is no blackmail, Thomas. I do this of my own free will.’ But his words did not carry conviction.
Blackdown was still coming to terms with what he was seeing. But it all began to fall into place. He said, ‘The attack on Blackdown Manor was a sham, designed to throw me off your scent. How could I suspect you when you and your daughter came under fire too? Except you were never in any real danger, were you? It makes sense to me now, why the fire was directed only at the windows at one end of the room. You had ordered the men you hired to do just that, so you knew where you and Julianne would be safe.’
Tresham gave a tired nod. ‘In part it was to divert attention from me, yes; but in part designed to deter you, to frighten you away. But it appears it had the opposite effect.’
‘So you really have betrayed my father,’ he said, his tone full of venom. ‘What of your friendship? Does it mean nothing?’
‘Friendship?’ Tresham laughed coldly. ‘Your father’s mind is sick and has been in steady decline since the death of your mother. He cut off our friendship a long time ago, as he cut off his life from everyone around him, including Jonathan. He disowned and banished you, his son, for the sake of an unfortunate accident, and has blamed every ill that has befallen him and that cursed estate of his on you. He is a shadow of his former self, a man so immersed in hatred and loathing that he sours everything he comes into contact with. I have no feelings for your father. He long ago washed them away with his bitter vitriol.’ He stepped closer, putting a hand on Blackdown’s shoulder. ‘But you, Thomas, you were always special to me, the son I never had…’
Blackdown shrugged away the hand. ‘Was it your idea, to create false papers to discredit my father?’
Tresham’s lips tightened into a thin, hard line. ‘No.’
‘So it was Lansdowne alone?’
‘That is not for me to say. Thomas, hear me out. You will die tonight if you do not join Ravenbard. Please reconsider.’
‘Were you involved in Jonathan’s death?’
He shook his head. ‘It is not as simple as that.’
‘Simple? My brother died, and so too my servant Addison. Don’t you see what you are involved in? It is evil. And somehow that evil has gotten its claws into you. No matter what you say about your friendship with my father I cannot believe you would abandon him and use him for your own ends,
nor sink so low as to become a traitor. That is not the man I remember. That is not the man who stands before me now. You are a bad liar, Uncle. There is something else going on here, isn’t there?’
Tresham’s lips worked away at words he could not formulate. And then his face softened. ‘Do not display any change in emotion to the guard behind me,’ he said. ‘Keep up the pretence of being angry with me.’ He paused to draw in a deep breath. ‘You have seen through my bluff. I did not ask for any of this. I had no choice, Thomas,’ he said flatly.
Blackdown stared hard and deep into the man’s eyes. They were filling up with tears. ‘It’s Julianne, isn’t it? Julianne is in danger if you don’t go along with it.’
‘I… I cannot say, Thomas.’
‘Has her life been threatened? And your wife’s too?’
‘They are powerful men, Thomas,’ he whispered. ‘Some of the most powerful in the country are behind Ravenbard. My ruin is of little importance to me, but the lives of my wife and daughter…’
‘So you were forced into buying up my father’s land and passing it on to Lansdowne in order that no immediate link to Ravenbard or Lansdowne is made. The movement of Blackdown land now passes unseen from you to them.’
He nodded, almost imperceptibly. ‘I cannot say any more, Thomas, for I will be putting the lives of my wife and daughter in further danger by doing so. If you do not join Ravenbard I will be powerless to help you. I cannot see you die and have your death on my conscience, too.’
BLACKDOWN (a thriller and murder mystery) Page 21
