Blood Lies

by Sharon K Gilbert

  Charles suddenly felt great despair, but also fear. “I’m tired,” he said at last. “I may go sleep for an hour.”

  “Yes, yes, I think that is wise. I’ll lead you to one of the readied apartments. Mrs. Alcorn showed them to me. And I will tell our duchess that you require rest. Shall I send a footman to wake you?”

  “Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Tell Beth to send for me whenever she wishes to leave.”

  “Very good. Sleep, my friend. Later, you can try on these wonderful new clothes, but for now, rest and put all our strange experiences out of your thoughts.”

  Charles selected a large apartment not far from the main staircase and lay upon the bed, and in minutes, he’d fallen into a deep sleep.

  Two hours later, a footman knocked upon the detective’s door, and Charles hastily washed his face and straightened his shirt and waistcoat. He pulled on his suitcoat and climbed down the main stairs. Though still weary, the sight of Elizabeth at the foot of the case, cheered him as no tonic could, and he kissed her hand. “I take it our plans are in place?”

  “They are, Captain, if you are ready. I’m told you grew weary earlier. You gave the earl two transfusions last night, Charles. If you require additional rest, then...”

  “Not necessary,” he assured her. “Truly, Beth, I’m fine, and I am as prepared as ever. However, I’d like to stop by the drawing room before we go. My revolver is still there.”

  The Labrador met St. Clair at the entry to the large parlour, her eyes bright, tail wagging rhythmically. “Hello, Bella. Good girl,” the detective said, patting the dog’s head. “Ah,” he told the duchess. “I see the pistol on that small table. This won’t take long.”

  Elizabeth took a moment to kiss the earl’s face whilst the detective secured the leather holster around his back and shoulders, re-buttoned his waistcoat, and then donned his suitcoat once again. As they left the room, she showed him a large willow basket, sitting near the main doors. “I have prepared a lantern, and Mrs. Stephens has made us a picnic,” she said, as St. Clair picked up the basket.

  “It seems you’ve thought of everything,” he said, smiling.

  They left the hall, turning eastward once outside. It was nearly half past three when they set out. The day was bright and sunny, and Elizabeth suggested to Charles that they walk to the tunnel entrance. “We could take a coach or even ride, but it’s a lovely day.”

  “Aren’t the tunnels connected to some of the rooms inside the hall?” he asked, holding the basket in one hand as they walked. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to enter from there?”

  “Yes, but the section we’re heading for is accessed more quickly from above ground. You’ll understand when we get there. I hope you don’t mind the walk, Captain. I can use the exercise, and it gives us time to talk.”

  She led Charles into the woods northeast of Branham Hall, where they passed a dozen sentries, each waving and tipping their hats, weapons ready should the need arise. It did him good to see the small army of workmen, farmers, and servants rallied ‘round their duchess.

  “You certainly seem in your proper setting here,” the detective said. “Though Paul and I kept in touch over the years, you and I weren’t able to spend much time together before you left for Paris. Well, no time at all, really. I saw you just the once at Aubrey House—and then, you were gone. Did you enjoy your life there?”

  “I suppose I did. If music lessons, language studies, and drawing classes are enjoyable. Don’t misunderstand me, Charles, I do like all those things, but I sometimes wonder what it is I’m meant to do with my life. That’s why I asked Mr. Kepelheim to teach me something truly useful.”

  “Many people who toil and scrape for their next meals might love to trade places with you, even for a day,” he said. “I hope that doesn’t make me sound critical, Duchess. It’s just that this life—your life—is so vastly different from the lives of the citizens of Whitechapel.”

  “I am all too keenly aware of that,” she said, and he realised he may have hurt her.

  “Beth, really, I meant no offence,” he said, stopping so he could look into her eyes.

  “I took none, Charles. Truly, I didn’t. It’s just that, well, I want to help people like those in your Whitechapel. People like Miss Ross. I can still remember the faces of those living near your house and close to the police station. They treated me very kindly, and I should like to return that kindness. Do you think a hospital would make a difference to them, or is there a better way to help?”

  “I think the hospital is a marvelous idea. Might that mean you would spend more time there? It’s a very rough borough, or parts of it are, Beth.”

  She had picked up a fallen branch and begun tapping it on some of the shrubs alongside the path. “Mr. Powers must be letting some of this path go to seed. He generally trims back these flowering shrubs by now.”

  He walked beside her, slowing to allow her to keep pace. “Have I said something wrong?” he asked her, certain he’d hurt her in some way. Her thoughts seemed faraway now, and he noticed tears glistening on her soft cheeks. “Beth? Please, Elizabeth, I have hurt you, haven’t I?”

  She stopped, her head down as she tapped the branch against the hard packed earth. “Do you think me—do you think me vain, Charles?”

  “You? Vain? Beth, you are not—never. I have known many women who spend their entire morning in front of mirrors, primping and selecting clothing and arranging their hair into just the right form, but they have no substance. They are vain. Not you, dear. Never you. You have a natural beauty that—that would make any man want you.”

  “Any man? Oh, Charles, if only it were that simple.”

  He took her hand. “Elizabeth, you know I’m in love with you, do you not? I tried to make that clear on the train, and if you’d have me, I’d live the rest of my life with you.”

  She looked away. “Really?” she whispered, and he heard deep emotion in her simple question.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, for he believed all the world must surely see it on his face.

  “I, well—look, it’s nothing. I’d wondered if your feelings were those of a friend only, especially as you and Paul have grown close.”

  He touched her face, and it was like electric fire passed between them. She felt it, too, and tried to pull away. “Charles, we dare not—dare not risk…”

  “Dare not risk what, Beth? I realise that you have obligations to the earl, and I certainly have nothing to offer you, save my undying love, but if you could choose, then…”

  She closed her eyes, squeezing his hand. “But I cannot,” she whispered.

  “Cannot or will not?” he asked.

  “It is complicated,” she replied, her attention fixed on the path rather than look into his eyes.

  “Why must it be? Elizabeth, I love you, and if you feel the same about me, then why is it so difficult? Even if you have obligations, can those not be altered? Changed?”

  “I… Charles, I’m not sure. Perhaps. Oh, it’s not my choice. It isn’t. It never has been.”

  “You mean your grandfather? He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man to harbour prejudice against me simply because of my status in life.”

  “Of course, he is not,” she answered. “Grandfather likes you, and he pays no heed to class distinctions.”

  “Then what is it? Beth, darling…” he began, but she shook her head, her voice low and filled with anguish.

  “May we pretend—for now—that such choice lies within my power? I want to enjoy every moment with you that I can. That is why I asked if we might walk. I cannot say more, but I hope you know it has nothing to do with any perceived difference betwixt your social status and my own. It is…”

  “Complicated, yes, you keep saying that, but, Beth,” he continued, taking her hand and turning her to face him. “If you could choose, then…?”

  �
��Oh, my darling Charles,” she whispered, and her eyes filled with tears as she rose up to kiss him on the cheek, but he gave her his lips instead. It was a moment when time stopped, and for that infinite moment, she pretended she really could choose her Captain, and for Charles it was enough. She needn’t say it. He knew her heart. She loved him, and that was all he needed to keep on believing. Even if it could only be pretend.

  He took her hand as they walked, and the entire world took on a brighter hue. The sun warmed their path, dancing upon the fallen, autumn leaves and shimmering upon her dark hair. After a few moments, they passed by the power house and soon a small farm, and then came to the ruins of the original hall, which served now as a home to bats and mice.

  “This was built by King Richard,” she explained, “and it was much used in its day, but it came under attack many times, finally falling into disuse by the time of Edward, the Black Prince.”

  “It’s such a ruin, wouldn’t it be safer to raze it?” he asked.

  “My grandfather, Duke George, nearly did so, but he changed his mind, telling my mother it was always to stand. It’s historic, apparently. I’ve thought of having a contractor look into restoring it, but I’m not sure the bats would appreciate being dishoused.”

  They both laughed, and she leaned in closer to him as they walked. Charles felt in no rush to enter the tunnels, for he knew Beth’s mood would surely darken then, so he slowed his pace, relishing every moment at her side. They stopped along the way to eat the picnic lunch Mrs. Stephens had packed. Sandwiches, lemonade, apples, and raisins for Charles.

  “Your cook is determined to build up my iron supply. Your staff loves you very much, Beth. And so do I.”

  She let him kiss her again, and they lingered on the blanket for as long as they dared, finally packing the container and leaving it on a bench to collect on their way back.

  It was well past five by the time they reached the old abbey. Without knowing it was here, St. Clair would easily have missed it, so covered by vegetation and massive trees was it. “It’s certainly a gloomy place,” he said as they walked up what had once been a long, gravel drive lined with gnarled yew trees. “Are you sure there’s still a building in there?”

  “It has been five years or more since last I walked here, but yes, I am certain of it. Henry the Second built this abbey as penance for St. Thomas a´ Becket’s murder, I believe. My history is a bit muddled, not because my memory fails, although it does at times, but because history is so sketchy with regard to Branham and all that happened during its founding. Truthfully, much of it has been removed from English histories for reasons you will soon learn from the earl. However, I can tell you that the abbot who presided over this settlement worshiped a deity quite at odds with our Lord and Saviour.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, thoughts of the mysterious, dark-haired man inside the maze filling his mind.

  “You will understand more once you see what lies beneath our feet,” she said.

  They had reached a massive, oaken door. It was thick and fastened with iron bands and square nails. A great iron bar crossed the middle of the door, and it took them both to lift it. “How did you manage this as a child?” he marveled.

  “I didn’t. It was only ten years ago that I learnt that the tunnels actually come up here. I’ve entered them from here only once, five years ago, with Mr. Powers to help me, but the first time I came through this door was that night. When William took me.”

  “What?” he asked, touching her shoulders and turning her toward him. “Look, before we enter this old ruin and descend into whatever hell you witnessed as a child, tell me, did he—did he do anything to you? Did Trent touch you in any way that was, well, improper?”

  “Outside of cracking me on the head with a great cane and tossing me into the back of a market wagon, then driving me to Whitechapel? No, but—well, I think not. I know what you mean, of course, Charles. I cannot say for certain, for in all honesty, my memory is hazy regarding parts of that night. However,” she continued, her eyes looking off into the distance, “I have a dark dream that recurs from time to time, and in it, William—or perhaps not he but someone else, something else, is standing over me—trying to, well, I’m not sure. It is only a dream, I think. I hope. But I do remember what he did to my mother. That was no dream. It was all too real, as you know, for you saw her poor body—and now you shall see where it happened.”

  Charles opened the door and secured it with a large rock. “To make certain we are not locked in,” he told her.

  He took her hand, and she led him into the abandoned abbey. The crumbling walls and staircases were covered in lichen and slime. Large bats hung from the exposed beams, and a dense flock of ravens scattered as the pair moved into the semi-darkness. St. Clair lit the lantern, and he kept it high so they could avoid any animals or obstacles. Once or twice, their progress was impeded by a fallen stone or timber. They passed through room after room, and finally into a narrow passageway that ended in an anteroom with two doors. Near the far left, behind what had once been the sacristy, Elizabeth showed him a worn set of stone stairs. He lifted the lamp, and the steps threw black shadows, curving downward into the earth.

  “I see now why you chose to wear trousers. This place is not only filthy but quite dangerous.”

  She paused inside the small room. “Skirts and heels are hardly practical for such a place.”

  He shined the lamp over the steep stone staircase. “Do these lead into the tunnels?” he asked.

  “Yes. But first look at the walls, Charles. The first time I saw them was when William carried me out that night. I shall never forget them.”

  He held the lantern higher, shining the dim yellow light along the damp, stone walls, and as his eyes adjusted he actually gasped.

  “Dear God in heaven! An abbot did this?”

  “He and his followers,” she explained. “That is what I have learnt over the years. It is a cryptic history, and there are few copies still to be found, but according to obscure church records, the abbot and his priests were finally burnt at the stake for their heresies in March of 1579. The abbey itself was burnt shortly after.”

  “I should hope so!” he whispered.

  The shapes were foul, and the imagery clearly anti-Christian. Demonic entities—some in gigantic proportion—were depicted in bloody rituals and sadistic poses, many with small children and even infants, which made the bile rise in St. Clair’s throat.

  “You saw this as a little girl?”

  She nodded. “I did. When William brought me out through here, he was carrying a lantern also, and its light danced upon these scenes making them seem almost alive. I remember screaming and then crying. That is when he struck me. I did not regain consciousness until we were on the road to London. I cried out then as well, seeing my mother’s torn body next to me in the wagon, and he pulled the horses to the side of the road and dragged me from the rack. He shook me mercilessly, for that man has no mercy, and then—then there was another, something else—someone else, I cannot remember clearly, but William struck me again, this time harder. I awoke only when I was being carried into your station house.”

  He pulled her close, kissing her hair and forehead. “May Almighty God help me to save you from this madman!” he whispered, protecting her with one arm as he held the lantern with the other. She circled her arms around his waist and let him warm her, strengthen her. “I will not permit Trent to harm you ever again, little one,” he promised. “If I have to kill that man myself, he will pay for his crimes.”

  She kissed his hands and stepped back. “I know, Charles. I have always known it. Known that you would protect me and love me. I saw it in your eyes all those years ago, just as I see it there still. But now, my brave Captain, we must descend.”

  Paul Stuart awoke shortly after five o’clock, his head pounding, and his left shoulder on fire.

  “No, no!�
� Kepelheim warned him. “You must not get up! Dr. Price was very firm on this, my impulsive friend. You must remain flat and resting until tomorrow morning.”

  The earl pushed himself upward, disregarding all his body told him to do. “Where are Elizabeth and St. Clair?”

  “They have gone into the tunnels. They said you knew that was the plan. Had you not been injured, then you would be with them, but you saved Elizabeth’s life when you took that bullet, my friend. You probably saved all our lives. Your cool nerves and keen aim took out four men, before the fifth shot you in return. I am certain that he rode swiftly to report back to his evil friends, but we have a little breathing space now, so let us enjoy it.”

  Paul wanted to share the tailor’s positive mood, but his worries for Elizabeth and the dark news from Galton ate at his mind and heart. “Any further word from Thomas?”

  “Not a whisper,” the tailor said as he hand-stitched a seam on St. Clair’s new waistcoat. “This is nice fabric, Lord Aubrey. You should let me make you a suit out of it. Such a nice hand.”

  Paul wanted to scream, to pace, shoot, act—not lie about all day like a child. “Hand! What good is fabric that feels silken to the touch when I cannot do what I must? Lord in heaven, help me to bear it!”

  Then seeing his friend’s remonstrative glance, the earl’s face grew less flushed, and he attempted a weary smile. “Forgive me for the outburst, Martin, but it is maddening to lie here, helpless, wondering what is happening below ground. Yes, perhaps, when all this is over, my friend, we shall have time for fabrics and suits, but until then I would be content to have a rifle in my hand and the enemy in my sights. When did they leave?”

  “Two hours ago, perhaps longer. Certainly not much. She said not to expect them back before late afternoon. The tunnels are long and complex.”

  “Two hours!” Paul sat up, trying to stand, but he fell forward, his head spinning.