The Black Lotus (Night Flower)

by Claire Warner

  “No!” Shaken out of her despair, Melissa sat up and seized his arm. “You can’t tell mother.”

  “Melly, if you can’t tell me what’s going on,” Detaching his arm from hers, he walked toward the door. “Then maybe you’ll tell Mother.” He reached the door and looked back at her. “Well?” His fingers depressed the door handle and he opened the door.

  Melissa took a deep breath. “You won’t believe me Marcus,” He let the door close and turned back to face her.

  “Why don’t you try me?” He returned to the bed and sat down.

  Melissa bit her lip as she stared at her brother. She wanted to tell him, needed to tell him. The horrifying turn that her life had taken, needed bringing into the light. Marcus may not fully understand but she trusted him, even if he did not know what to do, he would have advice or comfort. She cleared her throat and took a breath, wondering how she would start this lunatic tale. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, expectant and encouraging as she tried to formulate the words. Whether she would have told him was a mystery she never solved, for at the precise moment she began to speak, a scream echoed from downstairs.

  “What the devil?” Marcus got up and raced for the door, Melissa followed close behind, her emotional breakdown forgotten in the rush of adrenaline. They reached the upper landing and began to race down the stairs.

  “Wait,” Marcus called as they reached the first landing. “The lamps are out.” Melissa glanced sideways and picked a candle from the nearest table. Handing it to Marcus, she followed him down into the hall. At the foot of the stairs, the crumpled form of the upper housemaid Alice lay in grim stillness. “Melissa go upstairs,” Marcus ordered, stepping into the hall and reaching for a cane from the stand by the stairs.

  “No!” She moved forward, staying close to him.

  “Don’t argue,” He seized her arm and propelled back towards the stairs. “Go to my room, take one of my pistols and wait there.” She staggered backward and began to climb the staircase, reluctant to leave her brother in the dark hallway. Marcus moved deeper into the hall, watching the shadows carefully as he traversed the familiar space. Glancing back over his shoulder, he motioned her upward. “Go,” With a heavy heart she raced up the stairs and dashed across the landing.

  Opening the door to Marcus’ bedroom, she raced inside, shutting and bolting the door behind her. Without even taking a breath she headed for his dresser and pulled out the top drawer. Nestled within the shallow space was a mahogany box, polished to a high sheen and monogrammed with Marcus’ initials. Undoing the clasps, she opened the case to reveal Marcus’ duelling pistols. She seized both and laid them flat on the dresser top, before retrieving the powder and shot. Forcing herself to slow down, she loaded both guns and returned to the locked door. For a long moment, she stared at the door, listening intently for any sounds from downstairs. Silence had descended on the house, both comforting and terrifying. No matter how hard she listened, few sounds from the floor below reached her ears. For several minutes Melissa stood by the door, straining to hear through the sound of her heart pounding in her chest. As the silence lengthened, dark thoughts flooded her mind. What if something terrible had happened? What if Marcus had… She shook her head, trying to obliterate the dark thoughts. Yet the thoughts stayed, plaguing her mind with visions of her brother wounded and alone in the dark.

  “Damn it Marcus,” She swore, “I’m not letting you get hurt,” She gritted her teeth and reached for the handle. With a decisive click, she unlocked the door and walked out onto the landing.

  It was quiet on the dimly lit upper hallway. The portraits on the walls were in shadow, only briefly seen in the light from a few candles. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the landing and headed for her mother’s bedroom. Light from the candles bounced off the barrels of the pistols as she reached her mother’s door. Depressing the handle, she walked into the room. The room was dark, her mother’s bed shrouded in shadow.

  “Mama?” She whispered, leaving the door wide open as she crossed the room to the bed. “Mama?” Her knees bumped against the frame and she stopped. Using the dim light from the door she reached for the bedside candle and lit it, throwing warm, welcoming light across the room. Her mother’s bed was empty and it had clearly not been slept in. Fear clenched about her heart and she backed off, reaching for the candle as she did so. With a cluck of annoyance, she realised that she was still carrying two pistols. Looking down, she weighed up the options. Two pistols were better than one, but if she had no light shooting would be a problem. After a moment’s indecision, she tucked one of the pistols into a pocket and then reached down for the candle. Carrying the candle and one of the pistols, she headed back out onto the landing and moved towards the stairs. Stopping at the top of the steps, she listened intently. No sound drifted up the stairs. Swallowing nervously, Melissa began to walk downstairs into the darkened hallway.

  As she reached the ground floor she stopped, the still form of Alice still lay at the foot of the stairs and she avoided looking at. Listening intently, she tried to work out where her brother had gone. In the dark vastness of the ground floor, there were no sounds to be heard. Wondering where the rest of the servants had gone, she finally stepped into the middle of the hall and looked around. Each of the doors that led from the hallway was open. Choosing a corridor at random, she walked down it, looking for her brother and anyone else.

  “Marcus,” She reached the first door and opened it, letting herself into the library. The stacks of books loomed over her, only partially lit by the candle she held.

  “Marcus,” She called again, moving between the stacks carefully. “Are you here?”

  Moving around the library slowly, she glanced into each shadowy corner before returning to the corridor and moving on. As she walked deeper into the house, she felt fear clench at her heart. Where was her brother? She reached the next door and pushed it open quietly. Stepping through the door, she gave a little yelp as a hand snaked about her wrist and dragged her to the side.

  “God’s teeth Melissa, I told you to stay upstairs.” Her brother hissed as he dragged her to one side. “Just for once can’t you do as you’re told?”

  “I couldn’t stay up there alone,” She whispered back, “Mother’s not in her room and I can’t find any of the servants.”

  Marcus sighed and nodded. “Alright, but hand me one of those pistols.” Melissa passed over a pistol and took hold of the remaining one. “Let’s go.”

  They headed back out into the corridor and Marcus directed her back to the hallway. “I’ve already been down here, there’s no sign of anyone. Come on.”

  Arriving back in the hallway, they chose the route to the parlour and slowly moved down it, listened all the while. After a time, they reached the morning room and pushed open the door.

  “Mother!” Melissa pushed past her brother to run to the crumpled form on the floor. Lydia De Vire lay on the hearth rug, her hair bloody from a blow to the head. “Marcus!” her brother rushed forward and knelt down beside her.

  “What the devil is going on?” He dropped his pistol and picked up his mother. He placed her into one of the chairs and stared at the damage with a wince. “Fetch me some brandy,”

  Melissa stood and rushed to the sideboard and pulled out a decanter of brandy. Turning back to the room, she shouted a warning as a man wielding a poker rushed out from behind the door. Marcus turned and avoided the blow that was aimed squarely at his head. With a grunt, he rolled to the side and stood. The man came on and, as he light bounced off his features, Melissa saw that it was Montjoy. Marcus dove away from another blow and attempted to wrest the poker away from his attacker. Melissa let go of the brandy decanter and raised her pistol. As the older man rushed forward, Melissa fired. The ball sailed true and slammed into his upper shoulder. As the shot hit, Montjoy dropped the poker and it clattered to the ground.

  Marcus glanced at his sister in surprised appreciation, but his words of congratulation turned to a shout of surprise as Mont
joy continued to advance. The rake chuckled at the look on Marcus’ face. Melissa stared at Montjoy in shock and a terrible sense of foreboding settled across her. She could see blood from the wound, but there wasn’t nearly enough of it. Her mind flashed back to cut she had seen on Justin’s hand and how fast it had appeared to heal. Now, watching Montjoy walk towards her brother, she felt the sickening sensation of dread seep through her bones. Could Montjoy have obtained a lotus? She remembered the meeting on the road the other night, remembered that he seemed well.

  I pinked him so well that he needed a surgeon.

  Marcus’ words echoed through her mind and she stared at Montjoy in fresh horror. Someone, perhaps John, had given him a lotus. He must have used it, for how else could he have been on the road as though nothing had ever happened.

  “Disappointed De Vire?” Montjoy spoke as he walked forward, a nasty nice smile playing about his lips. “I believe I said I would have my revenge.” He then lunged at her brother.

  Marcus dove back out of the way and Montjoy missed, his swing going wide, sending him off balance. Marcus retaliated, his fist punching Montjoy in the ribs and stomach, knocking the man backwards, yet the older man still came on. Melissa scrambled forward and seized Marcus’ dropped pistol. Picking it up, she cocked it and aimed at the struggling pair, waiting for a chance to shoot. Even with the dark suspicions running through her mind, she couldn’t let Montjoy hurt Marcus.

  Marcus and Montjoy’s fight ranged across the room, knocking over chairs and tables. Melissa’s hand shook as she tried to keep a sight on Montjoy. Despite the blows that were landed on his frame, the older man kept coming. Marcus stepped backwards and fell over a small footstool, landing in a tangled heap on the floor. Melissa saw her chance and fired. The lead pellet smashed into Montjoy’s chest and he gasped, the blood draining from his face as he fell to the ground.

  “Thanks,” Marcus gasped as he stood up. Walking across the room, he stared down at Montjoy’s body in confusion. “What the devil was he doing?” Melissa shook her head, her eyes not leaving Montjoy’s prone frame. The suggestion that he was as cursed as she, still lingered in her mind. She kept her gaze on the body, watching for signs of movement as Marcus knelt down, his fingers closing about Montjoy’s wrist as he felt for a pulse.

  “I think he’s dead,” He announced after a few moments. Standing up, he walked up to Melissa and clasped hold of her shoulder. “I think you killed him.” She did not respond, her eyes still staring at the prone form. Marcus glanced at her stony face and took it for shock. “You had no choice Melly,” He muttered reassuringly. “He must have attacked Mother and Alice.” He released her shoulder and walked back towards their mother. As Marcus moved away, Melissa darted forward to Montjoy’s side. Rolling him over on his back, she stared down at his face. His eyes were wide and unseeing. Taking a sigh of relief, she stepped back from the body and moved over to help her brother.

  “Is she going to be alright?” She asked, her voice a whisper.

  “I think so.” He glanced over at the sideboard. “Fetch some brandy.”

  Melissa nodded and picked up the decanter that she had placed down earlier. Picking up a glass, she poured a good measure of the spirit and walked back across the study. Handing the glass to her brother, she waited impatiently while he tried to rouse their mother.

  Chapter 41:

  “I’m here on behalf of Katherine,” Alistair muttered as he nursed his bruised hand.

  “Katherine or John?” Emily asked as she shut the door. “You can’t honestly expect us to believe that she is acting independently?” Stepping away from the door she sat down on one of the chairs and smoothed down her skirt.

  Alistair sighed as he sat in one of the other chairs. “Alright, I would have to say that I’m here on John’s orders.”

  “And what pray tell does John want with us?” Hugh picked up one of the decanters and poured another glass of brandy. Sitting down on the couch, he took a sip and relaxed. “More exhortations to join him in his crusade against your brother perhaps?”

  “No,” A nasty nice smile crossed his features. “He wants you to stay clear of him and not get involved.”

  “I believe we already do that,” Hugh replied, toying with the glass as he stared at the younger Lestrade.

  “No, you skate on the edge of neutrality,” Alistair replied, a cold light glimmering in his eyes as he nodded at Hugh. “And you,” he indicated Emily with a dismissive wave, “You periodically sleep with my brother. I fancy that John finds that behaviour distasteful.”

  “Oh heaven forefend.” Emily stepped away from the wall and walked towards Alistair. “I don’t care about John or his crusade.” She walked towards him, anger evident in the set lines of her face. Stopping just shy of Alistair, she glared straight into his eyes. “I made my peace with Justin long ago.” She unfurled the fan and gently wafted it through the air. “I don’t particularly care for this curse but I’m living with it.”

  “But do you want to make an enemy of John?” Alistair asked.

  Emily laughed and snapped shut the fan. “I made an enemy of John a number of years ago. In fact…” She glanced around at Hugh. “I’d go so far as to say that we’re all enemies of that psychotic bastard.”

  “Then you’re not worried?”

  “Not in the least.” The door opened and Alistair stepped back, schooling his features back to polite disinterest. Emily turned and faced the door, smiling at the people who crossed the threshold.

  “I really think you should listen,” Alistair hissed to her as she walked past him.

  “Talk to Hugh.” She whispered. “Thank you however for the warning.” She stopped and leant closer. “But if John wants to play his games with me, then he’d better be ready for the consequences.” With that she swept past him and out of the room.

  “Hugh?” Alistair looked at the older man, who shrugged and crossed the floor. A babble of conversation rose from the newcomers, covering there conversation.

  “Don’t talk to me dear boy,” Hugh interrupted, shaking his head. “John knows not to mess with me.”

  “You don’t understand Hugh…”

  “Oh yes I understand very well.” Hugh chuckled, a harsh humourless laugh. “John is threatening us with the same torment he handed out to Justin.” He glanced up at the mirror and straightened his cravat. “I’m neutral Alistair. Both John and your brother know where I stand. I will assist either one of them, but.” He turned back to Alistair and a grim line appeared across his forehead. “If John feels the need to threaten me, then I may find my sympathies lying elsewhere.” He reached for his hat and placed it upon his head. “Let him know that.”

  “Hugh?”

  “No,” He did not raise his voice, yet there was a finality to it that Alistair paused at. “I believe you should work out your priorities. John is a loose cannon and not friendly to his allies, as Katherine discovered to her cost. If you link your fate to John, all you will receive is pain.”

  “But what can I do?” Alistair replied with a modicum of panic. “John scares me, even my brother runs from him.”

  “Do what Emily and I do,” Hugh replied, brushing down his jacket with a careless hand. “Don’t get involved.” He walked past Alistair then and out into the hallway. Alistair watched him go before leaving the room.

  “I take it they ignored you?” Alistair glanced over his shoulder at Katherine and nodded slowly. The brunette walked forward and caught hold of his arm. “No matter,” She continued as she led the younger man from the room. “John has another plan of attack.”

  Chapter 42:

  Something woke Justin from deep sleep and he sat up, heart pounding in his chest. For several moments he sat there staring into the gloom of his living room. It was gone midnight, of that he was sure and the room was in almost total darkness. The curtains over the windows shut out the moonlight. As the covers fell away from his still wounded body, he realised that he could hear nothing within the house. Fear unfurled in
his chest as he came to full wakefulness.

  “Coll?” He called out, pushing aside the covers as he got to his feet. The glowing embers of the fire gave only the barest of light as he reached for the candle that lay on the table beside his chaise lounge. As he registered that there was no candle within reach, he also became aware of someone walking across the floor of the room toward him.

  “I’m afraid your lackey is indisposed.” John’s silky tones crossed the space as he walked closer. Justin closed his eyes in resignation at the pronouncement. He wondered, or rather he hoped, that John had not taken Coll as a vessel.

  “What do you want?” Justin pulled himself to his feet and stared through the darkness at John’s shape. “And light a candle, I’d like to see your face when I beat it.”