“I’m not sure,” she whispered. “Why would you go into that awful wing?”
“It’s not germane to this, darling. I shall tell you later, but I would like to see the rooms, if we can find some way to unlock it.”
“Did you ask Mrs. Alcorn?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t have the chance to, but I will when we return. Do you think Drummond may have had it shuttered?”
She sighed. “Yes, it’s entirely possible. Grandfather hated Trent, and after Mother’s death, he sealed off the entire wing from the other parts of the house. Now, the only access is either through the winding case or through his friend’s apartment next door.”
“His friend? Baxter said nothing of that.”
“He wouldn’t, because I doubt that Baxter knew about it. He was a horrid, disfigured man named—oh, what was it?—Minster, or Manster—no, it was Monstero! Appropriate, too, for the man looked as if he’d been pieced together by Mary Shelley’s Dr. Frankenstein! I’m not sure if that was the man’s true name or not, but it’s what Trent always called him. He wasn’t always there, though. Strangely, enough, he often visited when the moon was new, as if he hated moonlight.”
“What?” he asked, unable to follow her reasoning. “Why would he...”
“Never mind. It was a childhood game of mine to try to fathom why the creature fascinated Trent so much. The monstrous man was nearly eight feet tall. He towered over Trent, and I always wondered why he obeyed him. There is a passage into Trent’s rooms from that apartment, and the apartment itself communicates with the east attics by way of a narrow staircase, hidden inside a linen cupboard.”
He stared at her. Elizabeth Stuart was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen—more beautiful than any woman he could even imagine seeing—and yet there was an ever-widening sphere of intricacy to her that fascinated him. “How did you discover that?” he asked.
“Merely by exploring,” she replied enigmatically. “I’ll tell you more about my childhood curiosity at a later date, Captain. For now, believe me when I tell you that Trent’s fireplace swings open, and if we’re able to get in, I shall prove it to you.”
He touched her hand once more, ducking as a bat flew overhead. “Bats! A reminder that we’re out of man’s domain, I suppose,” he said hoping to see her smile, but she did not. “Beth, I’ve made you think that I doubt you, and I assure you that I do not. Darling, I want only to understand.” She began to shiver, and he took her into his arms. “You’re cold. Would you like my coat?”
“No, I’m all right. Forgive me, Charles. It’s just that Paul has so often doubted me that I’d feared perhaps you...”
“I believe you, Beth. I believe everything you tell me. If there is any discrepancy, then I’m sure there’s an explanation, but I have no doubt whatsoever about your claims. If you say it happened; then it happened.” She began to weep softly, and he kissed her forehead lovingly. “Darling, are you sure you want to continue?”
“Yes, please, let me finish, Charles. It’s important.”
“Very well. You followed him into the fireplace?”
She nodded, tears tracking down her cheeks. “Yes. It leads into the tunnel system, and that night, he... He...” She paused for a moment, her entire face pinching into a mask of regret and pain—and he saw that small tremble of her lower lip that he had come to recognise as a sign of great inner distress. She took a deep breath as if to steady her mind. “Charles, he dragged my poor mother inside and said that, if she screamed, he would kill me!”
Elizabeth paused again, her entire body shaking. “I knew I had to help her somehow, so I crept after him. He had shut the fireplace, but I had seen the location of the switch plate beneath a small carpet, so I activated it again, stepping onto it with all the weight in body, and it opened. And then, after waiting a few eternal moments to make certain he did not perceive me, I followed them down the passageway and eventually into the tunnels below.”
“And he did not know you were there?”
“At first, I thought I’d eluded his ears and eyes, for I crept quietly behind him, careful to keep away from his lantern. Following his lamp was simpler than it may sound, for I had done it before. And the things I had seen made me fear all the more for my mother.”
“What do you mean?” he asked her. “Darling, I saw your mother’s poor body. What could be worse than that?”
She shivered again, for the cavern was damp and cold, but the memory colder. “Oh, Charles, you cannot imagine it. You asked me earlier what I meant by William’s friends. Well, you see, he met—other men down here. Those images etched and painted upon the walls in the abbey above? They were acted out by real men—prominent men, using real animals and even other prey down here.”
He gasped, nearly cried out. “No! Dear Lord, can such men exist? I might believe that three hundred years ago pagans may have practised such unthinkable rituals, but civilised men living in England? Now? Beth, I met your stepfather, and though he is a craven and cowardly blackguard, I would never imagine even him in such heathen rites as those walls bespeak!”
She touched his arm. “But William did do those things, Charles, and he probably still does. You would be shocked to learn the identities of some of his fellow heathens. I recognised the faces of some of those mad revelers once—recognised them as men who’d visited our home, who’d dined with Trent and my mother. It was the second time I followed him here, when these wretched men shared in their devilish rites, but that time most had not yet donned their masks.”
“Masks?”
“Yes,” she said. “You saw those imps and demons drawn above? Well, these men wore costumes and masks to act out their roles, and it shames me to tell the things they did to each other and to their terrified victims. The first time I saw them here, they raised up foul chants to Satan and other infernal deities whose hideous names I cannot recall, whilst they slit the throat of a lamb, drinking its blood and defiling its remains in unimaginable ways—oh, but the second time!—the time when I saw some of their faces? Then, it was not a hapless lamb they sacrificed, Charles, but a small boy with whom they engaged their knives and deviant desires.”
“Oh, my sweet Beth!” he cried out, trying to hold her, but she pushed him back.
“No, please, let me finish! Charles, I truly wanted to help that boy, to tear him from their murderous grasp, but I could not. I dared not! I had neither strength of voice nor of body to attempt such a feat. And so I watched, horrified. I felt frozen, unable to move. I have lived with the memory since that night. Lived with my failure to help him. Lived with my guilt. Oh, I can still hear his screams!” she cried out, covering her ears with both hands.
“Darling, it isn’t your fault,” he assured her, taking her into his arms. “You were but a child yourself. Oh, my dear sweet Beth, how I wish I could tear these memories from your mind. Remove them forever so you might have peace.”
She clutched at his waist, weeping into his shoulder, her entire body jerking with great sobs and spasms of regret. “A boy, Charles! Just a small boy! Those men. How could they? I tried to tell Mother about it, but she said I’d dreamt it all.”
He stroked her hair, whispering love to her, calming her, and she slowly regained her strength, through his. With her face pressed against his chest, she continued. “I learnt, years later from Dr. Price, that a local boy of that description had been found in a rail yard, dead and drained of all blood, and that this sad event was not uncommon in our county. The boy’s viscera had been cut out and displayed upon his poor corpse, and his most...private members removed and taken. Does that sound familiar to you?” she finished, looking up.
“Ripper,” he whispered, the puzzle pieces at last clicking into place. “I finally see why you connect those crimes to this place. No wonder you feared for your mother’s life!”
“I did. I feared what he might do to her. Feared that those other me
n might also be here, masked and ready with their knives. And so I followed until he brought her here, and then and only then...did I scream.”
Charles could picture the moment, and it terrified him. “And so he found you.”
She shut her eyes, and he knew the dark memories were overwhelming. The little girl he’d met, carried, protected, later fallen in love with, and now longed to marry, had seen more blood and torture than most grown men.
“He did find me,” she continued, her voice trembling. “William tore me from my hiding place and showed me to my mother, saying he would kill me then and there, abuse my body, slit my throat, and drink my blood, if she not obey his every command.”
“I shall kill that man with my bare hands,” St. Clair vowed.
Elizabeth began to weep again, crying out as she fell to her knees. “She pleaded for my life, Charles; she begged! It was here! Right here, where he made her watch as he dragged me to the centre of this cauldron of blood. She promised to do anything he asked if William would but spare me, and for a moment, he seemed to relent. He—he set me aside, telling me that he would return to me in time, and then he went to my beautiful, terrified mother and dragged her to her feet. He then looked at me, those cold eyes burning with hell’s own flame, and he ordered me to beg for her life now.”
She wept bitterly, her voice cracking. “His hands closed ‘round her slender throat, and she was choking, dying, and I begged, I pleaded with him to spare her! I fell to my knees, and I promised him I’d be good, that I would do all he asked from then on—and then, suddenly realising the spiritual darkness at work in him, I looked to heaven instead, and I began to pray. It was all I could think to do, and I spoke our Lord’s prayer out loud.
“Hearing the words of our Saviour drove William into madness, and he tossed my mother to the ground as if she were nothing but a ragdoll. She cried out, one tiny whimper, and I think that may be when she died, for she moved no more. He then snatched me from my knees and carried me up those winding steps, through the abbey, and to the outside, where a wagon and two horses stood waiting. It had all been planned, Charles! That man, Monstero the Monster, stood by, ready to drive the team. Ready to obey his master’s every command. I kicked and screamed, and it was then I felt the first crack of his cane upon my neck. I collapsed into a deep sleep, waking later in the wagon as I have told you.”
He helped her to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes. “You’re safe now,” he whispered. Exhausted by the dark memories, Elizabeth began to cry again, and he held her close, kissing her hair and forehead, making plans how he might remove the threat of William Trent from her world forever.
CHAPTER Fourteen
The sun had set below the woodline, though Charles and Elizabeth had no way of knowing it. Ominous clouds of ravens had begun to gather above Branham Hall, and below them, a small army of brave men patrolled the grounds, their weapons ready should any enemy dare to breach the line.
Paul Stuart had begun to rally, his hopes raised by the man from Scotland Yard, and he perceived that his uncle had launched a plan of action that just might rescue his beloved duchess from what was proving to be a deadly trap.
“They are not yet returned?” he asked Baxter, who had brought tea and sandwiches.
“They are not, sir,” the butler replied.
“What can be keeping them? Edmund, I fear your device may have arrived too late.”
“You must eat, my lord,” Baxter urged, placing a plate near the earl. “Mrs. Stephens has made your favourite. It is pork roast with that spicy sauce you brought her from Spain. And there’s a fine port wine as well a lemon chiffon cake.”
The earl had little patience now and even less of an appetite, but he knew his body required nourishment, so he did as the old butler had asked. As Aubrey nibbled at the sandwich, Dr. Price recorded observations and wrote instructions to whatever physician would attend his charge at their next hiding place.
“You must keep still, sir!” the doctor insisted, struggling to obtain a reliable blood pressure. “Mr. Baxter, can you not hold him down?”
The butler’s thick brows rose in concert. “I shall endeavour to do so, but it has been my experience that only my lady’s stern command may alter Lord Aubrey’s mind when once it is set upon a task. Still…” He reached around Paul’s broad shoulders and set one large hand on either side of the earl’s head. “Will this do, Doctor?”
“Nicely,” Price remarked, squeezing the ball that forced water into the von Basch sphygmomanometer cuff now around Paul’s right wrist. “Mr. Kepelheim, I have made a list of the earl’s vitals for reference, and I am also giving you a list of all medicines I have administered, though few in number, to deliver to the next doctor—should you find one ready for your aid—wherever it is you are going.”
Reid had been huddled with the tailor, and the two pored over maps of England and Scotland, drawing pencil lines and whispering. Kepelheim looked up from the maps, nodding. “Yes, yes, that is much needed, thank you! And perhaps I should have these medicines with me in case there is no doctor, eh?”
Price agreed. “I shall send my own medical kit with you, Mr. Kepelheim.”
Paul put his hand on the doctor’s wrist. “That is most generous, Doctor. Allow me to reimburse you for all your time and sacrifices. As soon as you have finished here, perhaps Mr. Kepelheim will fetch my wallet and bring it to me. It is in my overcoat pocket, Martin.”
Kepelheim pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his aging knees complained. “Oh, to be young again! Here. Here is your coat, Lord Aubrey. Which pocket? Inside? Oh, yes, let me see. This small bag perhaps?” he asked, holding the velvet bag Paul had received from Sir Clive the night of the play. Had that been only two nights past? How time had lingered in their lives since, pulling them into dangers that threatened all their plans—if not their lives.
“Give me that,” the earl said, reaching out with his good arm. “I had forgotten this strange gift. Do you know Sir Clive Urquhart?”
Kepelheim and Reid both nodded as did Baxter. The butler spoke first. “That, uh, gentleman visited here last May, sir. Just after the Branham fete.”
Paul’s eyes rounded. “What? He called here? Did Elizabeth receive him?”
“She did, and once he left, my lady’s demeanor became, shall we say, less positive. She did, in fact, throw a Georgian vase into the fire.”
“Well, that’s not good,” Paul laughed. “Beth seldom loses her temper, but once lost, the safest position is to stand out of reach of her throwing arm! Baxter, did anyone perchance to overhear the conversation twixt the duchess and Sir Clive?”
Mrs. Alcorn, who had been busying herself in nursing duties, glanced up at the butler, who nodded an approval.
“Well, Lord Aubrey,” she began, “I happened to pass by this very room as my lady and this Sir Clive—a devious person, if I may be so bold…”
“You certainly may!” Baxter agreed, gathering up several empty wine glasses onto a tray.
“Thank you, Mr. Baxter. Well, as I said, this Sir Clive person spoke words that led me to believe he had come here to solicit funds from my lady.”
Kepelheim glanced up from the map to which he had now returned. “Funds? Dare I ask for what he needed funds? The man boasts of his wealth with every rotten breath!”
Baxter merely cleared his throat in approval.
Paul opened the bag and withdrew the contents, holding them in his right hand, for his left arm was now enclosed within a sling and fresh bandage. “I believe this begins to make sense,” he told the company. “Mrs. Alcorn, do you and our esteemed Mr. Baxter recognise these?” He handed the rings and cross to the housekeeper, who gasped in shock.
“My word! Are these…good heavens, where did that wretch of a man get these? My lady, Duchess Patricia, Lord rest her soul, had these rings still upon her finger when last she breathed!”
Baxter
took the set and his gentle eyes grew dark with an inner rage, a rare display of emotion, indicative of his great love for the late duchess. “Foul fiend!” he bellowed, touching the gold to his heart. “These are the rings given that gracious lady by her true husband, the duke’s son and your most kind and remarkable cousin, Lord Aubrey. That foul usurper, Trent, insisted she continue to use them as her new wedding set, for he was too mean a man to buy her jewels. He took only—never gave! Inspector Reid, would not these have been upon her hand and heart still when you policemen found her in that east end street?”
Reid left the table and placed a pair of spectacles upon his nose, examining the jewelry. “Yes, I remember seeing these a few days after the murder. I was assigned to the Yard back then, just promoted to Detective Sergeant. Sir Robert Morehouse served as division head at Leman Street. He showed them to me and several others who had been brought in to consult on the case. Yes, and St. Clair was there as well. He confirmed that it was these pretty items found upon the duchess’s body that night. It was their value and beauty that first astonished us, for it would have been highly unusual for anyone living in Whitechapel to afford so high a price.”
Paul nodded. “Sir Clive gave me these in secret on Friday evening. He never said why, but he told me that when I had viewed the bag’s contents, I would one day reimburse him for their price. I shall happily repay that man as soon as I am able, though not as he expects!”
Kepelheim withdrew a loupe from his coat pocket, a miraculous space that often seemed bottomless, for the little tailor always happened to have most any item at need. “These are expensive cuts,” he said, turning the ring. “The sapphires are first quality, and the diamonds are flawless. The wedding band alone would buy my house!”
“So, Urquhart procured these from someone, but who in Scotland Yard, or at H-Division would have stolen them from evidence storage?” the earl asked.
Blood Lies Page 25
