by S M Hardy
‘I have often wondered about you,’ he eventually said.
I didn’t ask why – I don’t think he expected me to.
He crouched down so we were face-to-face. ‘Simon told me you were a very special man. A man of many, many talents. Not only were you dangerous, you also had a gift for sniffing out danger, and on several occasions you saved him and your other friend from making disastrous, possibly life-threatening mistakes. He said it wasn’t your only gift.’ His eyes stared directly into mine as though trying to read my mind. ‘I’ve come across very few real psychics, most are charlatans out for the money they can screw out of the gullible. Tanith is by far the most talented I have yet to meet out of forty years of searching – until perhaps now.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you a true psychic, Jed Cummings, or do you just have a sixth sense for danger?’ Then he laughed and, clapping his hands on his knees, straightened to loom over me. ‘If you truly had a sixth sense you’d have been gone days ago, I’d have thought. Unless of course you’re an idiot.’
If he was trying to make me angry he was wasting his time. I was as angry as I could possibly get without him trying to goad me. If my hands had been free they’d have been around his throat and choking the life out of him. There are many ways of killing a man with your bare hands. I know all of them and he would most definitely be a dead man if I had even the slightest opportunity. If I were to save Emma and Laura I would have to make one.
‘Tell me, Jed Cummings, what restless spirits have you come across at Kingsmead?’
‘I could tell you, but it’d probably take all night.’
He laughed. ‘I thought as much. You’re a fraud, though a round of applause for taking Simon in. Not many have ever pulled the wool over his eyes.’
‘Except you,’ I said. ‘You apparently managed it very well.’
His good humour palled a tad, his expression growing pained. ‘Sadly, not as well as I’d hoped. I’d told him it was over after Edward died for the first time. He believed me to begin with. Then, when he left the forces and came back to Kingsmead, he became suspicious. Things soured between us and it was a relief to us both when he went off to London and his new high-powered job. Then, of course, he heard William and his whore of a wife had died and afterwards he wouldn’t let it be.
‘So the Order of the Blood never ended?’
His lips twitched into a smile. ‘Of course not. It was our heritage.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘As lovely as it is chatting to you, I have things to do and, as you aren’t the man I’d been led to believe …’
A sharp pain in the back of my neck, as though I was being pinched by an invisible hand, had me jumping in with both feet. ‘Your second wife – you never divorced her because you had no need to. It was only when you came up with the scheme of faking your own death that you realised you’d have to change your will, otherwise people would start asking questions when she couldn’t be found.’
He stared at me.
‘She died in the pool. I suspect it wasn’t an accident.’
He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again.
‘Then there’s the girl Edward murdered on the night of his birthday party, Suzie.’
‘What else?’ he asked, trying to hold back his excitement, but failing miserably.
‘A maid. She died in the pool too. Another of Edward’s indiscretions?’
He laughed out loud. ‘No, no, her death wasn’t down to him. Well, not directly. She committed suicide.’
‘Suicide?’
‘Hmm, if anyone was to blame it was William. Martine was to have been the virgin offering the year he ran off with her. Instead another girl had to take her place and Tanith can be very persuasive when the mood takes her. The girl agreed, seduced by the expectation of for ever being special and the ‘chosen one’, but was too young and naive to understand what it entailed. She never got over it and a few years later she drowned herself. Silly girl, she could have had the best of lives and she threw it all away over the loss of her virginity.’
I listened to him in growing horror. Was he really saying what I thought? My earlier nausea was returning together with the urge to wring his miserable neck.
‘What I don’t understand is how you know all this?’
I had to force myself to be civil. It was possible I could use what I knew to my advantage by causing a bit of dissention in the ranks – or driving a wedge between him and Tanith. ‘The dead talk to me and there are rather a lot of them in this house.’
‘But Tanith said …’ he hesitated, frowning at me.
‘What did she say? That there were no spirits here? Kingsmead is full of them,’ I paused as though thinking. ‘Perhaps they don’t want to speak to your lady friend.’ I was going to add she frightened them, but this was most likely best kept to myself. It could be better he had doubts she was the psychic he thought. Or she was lying to him.
He studied my face for a very long time. ‘Hmm, I’m going to have to have a little think about you. If it weren’t for you allegedly being so dangerous, it could be you’d be worth keeping around.’
I kept my expression neutral. If he thought he could use me, I might buy us some time. If not – well – I’d have to make sure I was ready for all eventualities.
‘Aren’t you worried the police might turn up? They were crawling all over the place earlier.’
He laughed. ‘A slight exaggeration, I feel. There are two on guard outside the house,’ he glanced at his Rolex, ‘and they will be going off duty very shortly. When their replacements arrive they will be offered refreshments by the very capable Mrs Walters and will be out for the count until well after we’ve finished what we have to do. As for Detective Inspector Brogan – well, let’s say he’s had orders from on high, which are keeping his time occupied elsewhere.’
The door at the far end of the chapel swung open and Sebastien marched in, sawn-off tucked under his right arm. Long blood-red robes flowed around him, rippling and shining in the lamplight. A sea anemone came to mind; barmy I know, though maybe not. Once this lot got their tentacles into you, I doubt you’d ever escape them.
‘Watch him,’ Oliver ordered. ‘But don’t get carried away. I might have a use for him after all.’
The lad’s arrogant smile slipped a bit. ‘What good would this ald duffer be to us?’
Oliver gave him a disdainful glance. ‘With age comes knowledge and experience and, in some cases wisdom, something you could do with a lot more of.’
Sebastien scowled at Oliver and then me. I was hoping Dan had been right about him and he was a little stupid and his arrogance would be his downfall. Unless, of course, he shot me or kicked me senseless first.
‘I mean it, Sebastien. Just watch him and keep your distance. I’ve been told he was once a dangerous man to have as an adversary.’
Sebastien grunted, clearly not impressed.
‘Are we clear?’ The lad muttered something under his breath, but forced out a ‘yes’ just the same. Oliver looked down at me. ‘I’ll be seeing you again shortly. Don’t try anything – as you know, the boy can be a little trigger-happy.’
I didn’t reply. What was there to say?
With Oliver gone I turned my attention to the itchy-fingered Sebastien. It was a rather grand name for the oik and he wasn’t exactly the sort I’d expect to be a member of an elite secret society. He glared down at me with cold blue eyes. I was surprised his full bottom lip wasn’t trembling he was so angry, and then it came to me – the photograph of the three young brothers on the day Simon entered the fold, three pairs of the same blue eyes and the same full lips. If I wasn’t very much mistaken this boy was one of Oliver’s bastards – or maybe Edward’s. I was getting the impression my first thoughts on Satanism were correct. It was an excuse for narcissistic people to get their kit off and have group sex when they really should know better.
He gave a sudden huff and stomped off to the right of the altar. I couldn’t waste a second. I hauled my feet towards my ches
t making some slack between my ankles and wrists and patted down my right calf. To my total amazement they hadn’t spotted my blade in its sheath. I couldn’t say the same of the one beneath my jacket or in my pocket. Tanith had taken them both before she’d started playing with me.
His footsteps stopped and there was a grating sound as though he was dragging something across the stone slabs. I had to chance I’d have enough time before he returned. I slipped the knife from my ankle sheath. He was getting closer. I had maybe a second or two. I sliced across the lower loop of rope between my ankles, leaving a few strands intact, then flipped the blade so it was facing upwards and did the same to the rope between my wrists. His lengthening shadow and the irritating scrape of wood against stone told me he was almost upon me. I slid the blade inside my sleeve. Just in time.
He shambled into view, struggling to keep the short gun squeezed beneath his arm while dragging a monstrosity of a chair, which could have come straight out of the Dark Ages, judging by its bulk and crudely carved design. He hauled it a few paces more and then dumped it down opposite me. Not too close, but close enough to be stupid. I leant back against the altar, biding my time.
He slumped into the chair, the sawn-off resting across his lap, his forearms draped along the arms of the chair. His robes had hitched up his legs showing pallid, hairy ankles and fleshy calves. At the V at the neck of his robe I caught a glimpse of a white pimply chest. He was naked beneath the crimson silk and knowing this did nothing for my temper or my anxiety. If one of them touched Emma or Laura I would cut off their bollocks.
He began to fidget. I wasn’t surprised, the dark wood of the chair looked hard and uncomfortable. He shifted the sawn-off so it was resting flat across his thighs and wriggled a bit in his seat. It clearly didn’t do the trick. After a couple of minutes he laid the gun on the ground by his side and got to his feet, pulling his robe down and wrapping it tight around his back with all the excess material at the front and sank into the seat again. I had hoped he’d get so bored he’d nod off, but from his performance so far, I doubted very much this was about to happen – though the sawn-off was still on the ground. I had a split second to think about it and I knew if I was to make a move it would have to be now.
I tensed my muscles in my biceps and calves and strained against the partially cut strands of the ropes binding me. They snapped immediately and I jumped to my feet and threw myself towards him in one fluid movement. My joints cried out in pain, but I couldn’t afford to listen. He made a grab for the gun, but too late, much too late.
I let the knife slide down my sleeve and into my hand and went straight for his jugular. I didn’t have a choice, his fingers were scrabbling for the butt of the sawn-off and I had two other lives to worry about, lives that meant more to me than his. As the blade sliced through his flesh his eyes opened wide in disbelief, any thought of grabbing the shotgun gone. His hands flew to the gaping hole in his neck as he tried to staunch the flow of his life’s blood spouting in a claret stream from his throat. I pressed him back tight against the chair until the light died in his eyes, his head flopped forward onto my shoulder and his hands fell to hang limply at his sides.
When I was sure he was gone I levered myself off him, wiped my blade clean on his robe, and scooped the shotgun from the ground. Blades were good, but not much of an incentive for twelve or so maniacs to back off should the need arise. I put the knife back in its sheath. It could still be of use to me yet.
I glanced at my watch. It read a quarter to eleven and I guessed I was almost out of time.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I still had no idea where Emma or Laura were, or even if Emma was still alive. I fought back the wave of despair threatening to overwhelm me. The man I’d once been had faced worse, had fought back from worse. He could do this. He still had a chance, though there was now no likelihood of negotiation. I had killed a man who could possibly be Oliver’s son and he was unlikely to forgive it.
Then who’s to say what his reaction would be? He’d already arranged the deaths of his two brothers, his legitimate son and daughter-in-law and, of course, his second wife. I shivered. Who could tell what the madman would do? One thing was for sure – being a member of the Pomeroy family certainly wasn’t conducive to living a long and happy life.
I left by the door Tanith had used at the front of the chapel. Had I not known it was there I wouldn’t have found it. It was identical to the one at the back of the chamber, but it was hidden by the silken drapes covering the wall behind the altar.
The door opened into a darkened corridor that smelt of damp earth and mould. As it didn’t very much matter whether I hid my tracks or not, I left the door behind me ajar and holding back the curtain, giving enough light to guide me to a flight of steps and a heavy wooden door that opened with the flip of an iron latch.
I stepped outside to the warmer aroma of hay and horse manure. I was in one of the stalls in the stable block, the last, empty one next to Satan’s.
Creeping to the back door I opened it a crack and peered outside into the dark. One lone torch was bobbing along the track towards me at speed, leaving a comet trail of light behind it. Squinting through the darkness surrounding the stables I tried to focus on what was beneath the light. One torch didn’t necessarily mean one man or woman. If Oliver was being cautious, he would send two to escort me to wherever he wanted me to be, with Sebastien following along behind with the shotgun pointed at my back.
Oliver was an arrogant dick. He had sent only one. Though it could be he had already made up his mind to dispatch me down in the chapel. Too late for that. The man was getting close now. I pulled the door closed and, laying the shotgun on the ground, took the blade from its ankle sheath, pressed my back close against the wall and waited.
The seconds ticked by and time appeared to slow. A bead of sweat tickled my back as it trickled down my spine. My heart sounded very loud in the quiet. Then, from outside, the slap of leather sandals on dirt. I grasped the knife in my fist, the blade pointing outward above my thumb ready to make a slicing motion.
The door yanked open and the man stepped inside, slowing very slightly. I silently moved in for the kill, my hand grabbing him around the forehead and pulling his head back as the blade found the soft flesh below his left ear. He didn’t have time to struggle. With one slicing motion, followed by a gasp, a gurgle and a spray of blood, he slid to the floor and with a twitch or two was gone. I stooped down to wipe the knife clean on his robe and close his eyes. I thought I recognised the man, but … Then I remembered, he was one of the gardeners. I had seen him on the large motor mower driving back and forth cutting the lawns.
Were all the staff in on this? It appeared that perhaps they were.
I thought about dragging his body into one of the empty stalls, but there wasn’t much point, by the end of the night either I’d be dead or they would. My odds of surviving until morning had improved, but by my estimation there were at least nine of them to deal with, possibly more. Mrs Walters and the young maids would most likely fold if I took out Oliver, as for the others – well, I was pretty sure Tanith would be as dangerous as any of the men, probably more so.
It was time to call the police. I didn’t have a mobile any more and it would take too long to return to the house, but I was pretty sure I’d seen a phone on the wall by the entrance to the stables.
I replaced my knife in its sheath and hurried back to where I thought I’d seen a phone. It was right where I’d expected, but my relief was short-lived. The line was dead and I suspected I’d probably find the extensions inside the house would be the same. Oliver wasn’t going to chance me calling for backup. I was on my own.
Returning to the back entrance, I picked up the still-burning torch and walked out of the stables and into the night – alone.
Once I was close enough for the light filtering through the trees to be sufficient to let me vaguely see my surroundings, I stubbed out the torch and carried on with only their hellish flames to guide
me.
Last time there had been guards loitering amongst the trees around the periphery of the clearing. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. I circled Oliver’s play area a few yards out. If there were any guards, I couldn’t see them. I moved in closer. The fires were spread out in the same configuration as before, the red and golden flames leaping and flaring unnaturally high. I was just in time to see Oliver lift a sickle-shaped blade high above his head and it swung down to a moan of delight from his followers and an eruption of blood. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, then the figure who had been blocking my view moved aside to hold up a goblet dripping with the stuff. I sucked in breath. Oliver had decapitated a young goat.
His lips red and moist in the firelight, his upper face hidden by a black leather mask, Oliver took the goblet from his acolyte, handing over the sickle. A murmur of something close to rapture rippled around the congregation as he dipped his fingers into the vessel and then flicked the contents onto their glowing, upturned faces to almost orgasmic moans. I crept forward as far as I dared, and there, kneeling right at the front, were the two people I was searching for; Emma and Laura. As the blood rained down, Laura’s lips twisted in disgust and she turned her head away, Emma stared straight ahead, unmoving and stony-faced, the liquid speckling her skin and staining it red.
There was a roar from the gathering and Oliver passed the empty goblet to his accomplice, who from her height, build and brazenly red lips I guessed to be the loathsome Tanith. I hoped there was a special place in hell for the pair of them, though I suspected this was what they were hoping too.
Oliver held a hand aloft and the congregation quietened. ‘We are gathered here to celebrate the fertility rites of the beginning of May as our forebears did before us.’ He paused and lowered his hand stretching out towards Emma and Laura. ‘As you see, we have two guests and it very much depends on the actions of a third as to whether we have two more blood sacrifices this night or only one.’ He opened his arms wide as if in welcome. ‘So, Jed Cummings, will the blood of your lady wife be spilt or will you step inside the circle from out of the darkness?’
