Friday had dawned in Scotland, and Matthew Laurence commenced his numerous chores by fetching the post bag from the foyer. Taking the bag into his office, the young butler sorted through a collection of invitations, personal correspondence for the duke, letters addressed to the servants and staff, two packages, and four London newspapers. One of these last caught Laurence’s attention, for the front page featured a headline he knew the duke would wish to see at once. “Mrs. Calhoun, I’m heading up to waken the duke.”
Annalisa Calhoun had already been up for an hour fashioning dough left to rise overnight into loaves, and she wiped her hands on a tea towel as she peered over the butler’s shoulder. “Another one?” she exclaimed. “The marquess will not be pleased to read this.”
“Indeed, he will not. This may alter their travel plans, now that Lord Haimsbury is recovered. I say, are your cookies burning? Lady Adele will be disappointed if she cannot devour at least half a dozen by afternoon.”
The cook checked the oven, glad to see that the young butler had only been joking. “Your sense of humour eludes me sometimes, Mr. Laurence. Will the duke even be awake? Tis not yet seven.”
“The duke rarely sleeps past six. I imagine he is awake, yes. Plan to serve breakfast at ten, though. Our company has endured much these past two weeks. I suspect that most will sleep late, so don’t worry about tea yet. I shall return in a short while and then take some back up to his lordship.”
The butler took the stack of letters, the package, and two newspapers with him and left the kitchen. On his way to the duke’s apartment, Laurence met Sinclair, who had apparently just left the private library. “Oh, good morning, sir. I’d no idea anyone was yet awake.”
The marquess appeared content and much healthier since recovering, and he paused to offer the butler a warm smile. “The duke and I have been talking. He and I have been awake for over an hour, and we decided to make use of the quiet time. Is that the morning post?”
“It is, sir, and I was cutting through this part of the house to reach his lordship’s apartment. He is still in the library then?”
“He is. I can take this in—oh, wait a moment. Let me see that newspaper.”
“I’d thought you might wish to see it, sir.”
“And I imagine my uncle will also wish to see it. Is that package addressed to the duchess? Give me that as well. I shall explain it to her later. Thank you, Laurence.”
“You’re most welcome, sir. Shall I bring in tea?”
“Yes, that would be quite nice. Have you any coffee, though?”
“We do, sir. I shall bring both.”
The butler bowed and left, and Sinclair returned to the library. “James, I fear that we may have to return to London sooner than planned. There’s been another murder in Whitechapel.”
Drummond took one of the newspapers and read through the article. “I don’t know if you paper includes this, but a witness is claiming the woman was murdered by a disappearing man with a cane.”
“Yes, that’s in here, too, sir. Tall, well-dressed, wearing gleaming boots. William Trent, you think?”
The duke scowled. “He’s trying to lure you back to London, son. Don’t let him manipulate you.”
“It’s my job, sir. The east end is still under my supervision, and I owe it to Reid and Abberline to be there. I know that we’d planned to go to Briarcliff and then Rose House, but I really must leave as soon as possible.”
“And Beth?” the duke asked. “Will you leave her here with us and return on your own?”
Sinclair set down the paper with a sigh. “I would prefer she go with me, if at all possible. She knows I intended to ask you for her hand in marriage, but I think she’s been unsure of how you would respond.”
“Charles, if she loves you—and I can tell you that she does—then that’s all that matters. We’ll sort it out with Paul. In truth, if you’d not vanished back in ’60, you’d have been given the task of looking after and marrying Elizabeth anyway, so it’s like we’ve come full circle. I cannot tell you how overjoyed I was when Kepelheim’s letter came with the news of what he’d uncovered about you. I apologise for not telling you sooner, lad, but I didn’t wish to get your hopes up before we had all the facts. You know, I noticed your resemblance to Paul ten years back, but I didn’t dare think past it. Those bodies we were shown that washed up in Ireland, they looked very convincing, and I’d genuinely thought you dead. Each day I spend with you now, I see more and more of Robby Sinclair in you. Your physical resemblance, of course, but also your mannerisms, and even the sound of your voice.”
“Thank you, sir. I wish I could remember my father, but I’m just grateful to the Lord for allowing me to know you. You’ve become more than an uncle to me, sir. I hope you know that.”
The duke’s eyes grew misty. “And you’re like a son, Charles.”
“That means more to me than I can say, sir,” Sinclair answered, his own eyes growing bright. “James, are you certain that Paul will accept my marrying Elizabeth? He’s loved her for a very long time.”
“Aye, he has, but Paul will find other adventures to follow. You two may bear a physical likeness, but your temperaments are vastly different. Paul grows restless if he’s not tracking down some killer or spying upon a diplomat. I’d always worried about his ability to remain near to our Beth for very long, but I’ve no doubts about you.”
“I cannot imagine leaving her, sir, not ever,” Sinclair admitted, “which is why I would like to take her back to London with me when I go. But may we return to this other matter? The cottage. I know you have said that you understand, but there is another aspect to it that concerns me, especially given Risling’s interpretation of the symbols left here and outside the cottage windows.”
The duke sighed, reaching for the stack of letters. “Have you mentioned this to Beth?”
“No, sir, but I’m sure it’s crossed her mind, too. Should we not marry as soon as possible—just in case?”
“The newspaper stories about your title and those photographs of you and Beth may help us toward that end, son. Well, now this is interesting,” he said as he opened an important looking envelope. It was made of fine linen paper with a gold seal on the exterior. “Seems Her Majesty is anxious to meet you, Charles.”
“The queen?” he asked, sitting forward. “She mentions me?”
“Aye, she does. Read it for yourself.”
Sinclair reached for the expensive notepaper, reading aloud, “‘James, just a quick note to thank you for letting me know about the wonderful news regarding Lord Haimsbury. Given the reports in our press, I assume you will be announcing a wedding soon. If it’s to take place this year, please, consider a date before December if at all possible, as I leave for Balmoral on the 2nd. I hope to attend and meet Charles in person, and I’ve already planned a little gift. My best to Elizabeth. Tell her that Eddy will be disappointed, but we’ll weather through. – V.’”
The detective’s mouth had opened in genuine shock. “The queen wants to attend our wedding?”
Drummond grinned broadly. “And she’s given you an excuse to set the date right away, son. She grows weary, I think, and she probably doesn’t want to wait. This is her way of choosing the date for us.”
“Well, I shan’t complain about setting the date for as soon as possible. Of course, I’ve not yet proposed, officially.”
“Then make it soon, son. Now, what’s in the package?”
“I’m not sure, sir, but I intend to find out. I know that it’s addressed to Elizabeth, but I’d prefer to make certain it is safe before she opens it. You can see that it’s been forwarded from Queen Anne House, so I am concerned that this Saucy Jack person may have decided to send her another greeting. You’ll notice the original address was written in red ink.”
“Aye, I did at that. Was the letter also addressed in red?”
“Yes,” he
said as he untied the twine that secured the brown wrapping paper. “And thanks to the newspaper reports about Beth and me, this person most likely knows she is here, particularly if this Saucy Jack is a member of Redwing...” he began, but the contents made him stop.
“What is it? Is it from this madman?” the duke asked, leaning forward.
“I don’t know, sir. But it contains a photograph of—of my son.”
“Albert?”
“Yes, sir. Why would someone send this to Elizabeth?”
“It’s a strange puzzle, but I imagine the sender wishes her to know about Albert. You should tell her, Charles, before she learns it from someone else.”
He set the box aside, his heart suddenly heavy. “You’re right, of course, but it’s not a conversation I look forward to having. Especially, if it turns out that she is with child.”
“Yes, I understand,” the duke replied gently. “Look, son, you do what you think is best. I’ll not press. Just know that whatever you decide, Elizabeth loves you, no matter what. Now, let’s see about breakfast. Oh, and if you’re set on marrying right away, we’ll see how quickly that might be arranged, but it’s unlikely we can pull it off before you go back to London. That is, if you’re set on heading back straightaway. I’d prefer to make a show of it. Redwing’s gone to a lot of trouble putting this plan into effect, and I want them to see that we’re complying—or at least appearing to do so. Besides, we’d disappoint Her Majesty if we held the wedding up here. I’ll write to my friend, Ed MacPherson. He’s pastor of the church we attend in London, and he’s a good friend. I’ll see how quickly he thinks we could put together a wedding. And I’ll write to my sister and get her started on the arrangements and invitations—all that. Victoria loves a challenge.”
The detective smiled at last. “I could never have imagined where any of this past month would lead, when I received your granddaughter’s letter. All right. A big show it is, but first I must propose—and also, we must make sure that Paul agrees. I have grown to love and respect my cousin, and I do not wish to move forward without his approval. I’ll send a wire to Abberline saying I shall return as soon as possible.”
“Fair enough. I doubt that breakfast will be served before ten at the earliest so let’s you and I find the earl and try out Dryden’s new rifles.”
As Charles left the library, he passed the doctor, who now wore her own clothing. “Good morning, Lord Haimsbury,” she said with a glint in her eye. “It’s wonderful to see you looking so healthy now, but do not overdo. You could relapse, and none of us would wish for that to happen.”
Charles still held the package, so he tucked it beneath his left elbow. “It’s kind of you to say so,” he replied, wondering if her words contained a veiled threat. “May I speak to you for a few moments?”
MacKey appeared surprised by this. “I suppose so. I had planned on taking a short walk to stimulate my appetite. Would you care to join me?”
The marquess thought for a moment, but he spotted the butler returning to the library with the coffee, and he waved him down. “Laurence would you mind setting this package inside the duke’s library for me? And let my uncle know that I’m just going out for a short walk. I’ll meet him back here in quarter of an hour, and we can leave for the shooting range then.”
“Very good, sir. Shall I keep your coffee hot?”
“Yes, thank you, Laurence. Doctor, shall we?” he said, giving her his arm. In a few moments, the pair arrived in the very garden where Beth had listened to Charles explain about the night in the cottage, and Charles paused near the edge of the cliff. “It’s a sharp drop, so mind your feet, Doctor.”
“I see that. Very steep,” Lorena answered as she peered over the stone fence. “So, my lord, are you content with your new life?”
“My new life?” he echoed. “Oh, the title, you mean. Yes, I suppose I’m getting used to it. May I ask why it is you suddenly decided to strike up a friendship with my cousin?”
She seemed startled by such a blunt question. “Sir?”
Sinclair smiled. “Before I became a marquess, my title was Detective Superintendent, and it still is. You want something from Paul, and I’d like to know what that something is. Do not deny it.”
“I merely wish to know him better. He is a handsome man, and it seems to me, Superintendent, that the earl’s future is about to change.”
Charles considered this strange reply for a moment. “Now, why would you say that? Or is it possible that you have played a part in that change? No, no, Doctor, do not try to leave, for I have observed far more than you might think. I wonder if my cousin would find your part in my fever of interest? Or, if he knows of your attempts to solicit information from the duchess?”
“You observe much,” she said, her eyes sparkling in the morning light. “But I wonder just how much you truly know? You think me a heartless woman, don’t you, Detective Superintendent?”
“I think you—no, wait. Allow me to reconsider,” he said, surprising her. “Lorena, is it possible that you are in over your head? Do you have any idea what fate awaits you once this life is through?” She had not expected him to take this tack, and the doctor grew silent. “Lorena, you are bound for hell, and you know it. Redwing may have convinced you that this fate can be avoided, but I assure you that it cannot. No one may outrun God’s judgment. Either you reach the end of this life protected by Christ’s blood or you do so naked and alone in your sins. Which would you prefer?”
“Leave me alone,” she said, starting to leave, but he caught her arm.
“Lorena, do not wait until it is too late. You think those in the circle are your enemies, but we want only to serve Christ, which means we follow His commands. One of those commands is to love others as we love ourselves.”
She laughed. “Oh, so you love me?”
“Christ loves you, and it is my imperative to tell you this. I would be your friend, for it occurs to me that you need true friends. The men and false gods that you serve care nothing about you.”
MacKey blinked, all bluster gone. “And you do?”
“I think you are unhappy.”
She gazed at him, seeing far more in his face than she’d realised lay there before. “You are different from any man I’ve ever known. Why is that? What is about you that would cause you to even try to save me?”
“Nothing about me is worthy. Only Christ within me.”
“No, no, it is more than that. Yes, I recognise the presence of what you call the Holy Spirit within you. That presence shines from within your eyes, and though most might not see it there, I do. But there is more to you. Our Prince says that you are the chosen one. That your blood has qualities beyond that of any other human. I wonder if your unique nature goes far beyond that, though. Beyond what the Prince imagines.”
“Who is this Prince, you speak of, Lorena? Is he flesh or spirit?”
She started to reply, but suddenly, as if her old nature called her back, she shook her head. “Do not ask me! I—I’m no longer able to make choices like one with free will. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lord Haimsbury, I should pack.”
“Pack?” he asked, following her back up the path toward the castle. “You would leave us?”
“You and your circle may wish only good things for me, but I have others to whom I must bow, and they have no intention of allowing me to avoid that.”
“And what of you, Lorena? Is there not a longing within you to have true peace? To know a life where there is no fear of this Prince? No fear of hell?”
“Why do you care? And do not pretend it is to please your God!”
“You think me so callous that I speak to you of Christ as a tactic? No, Lorena, I do not. I see a frightened woman beneath all your bravado and pretense. I would be your friend, if you would permit me.”
“Why? You are in love with the duchess. Why would you befriend me?” she asked, a
nd he could see a change in her demeanor.
“Perhaps, because I see your loneliness and understand it.”
She considered this, and when she again looked at him, Charles thought he perceived tears. She wiped at her face, angry with her own emotional display. Forcing a smile, she spoke at last, and her old nature overcame her momentary lapse. “My how gallant you are, Lord Haimsbury. Shall I tell the duchess just how fortunate she is? Shall I send her into a fevered longing for her Captain?”
“Beth is off limits, Lorena.”
“Is she?” the doctor asked with a harsh look in her eyes.
He took her arm. “Do not think me overly kind, Lorena. I may wish to honour Christ by telling you of His love, but I will not have you harm Elizabeth.”
“Why is that woman at the centre of all men’s thoughts? Forgive me, but not all women have such blessings!”
She stormed off, and he chose not to follow. Perhaps, he had overstepped, but the marquess had begun to wonder just why any woman would choose evil over good. Then he thought of Amelia and of his son. Could he tell Beth about Albert? If he did, then he would have to admit his own failure to keep Albert from dying. Would Elizabeth understand, or would she blame him the way Amelia had? The only way to know would be to have the conversation, but once said, it could never be unsaid. With these thoughts in his mind, Charles decided to remain near the cliff and take an hour to think before returning to the house.
CHAPTER TWENTY-Five
That evening, as the company finished supper, Adele Stuart announced that she would sing for their evening entertainment. Following the disastrous conclusion to her piano recital, the adolescent had that afternoon asked Elizabeth to play whilst she sang several art songs that her new music tutor, a Mr. Andrew Kettle, had taught her recently. Adele had a lovely soprano voice, and her sweet renditions cheered all in the music room that night. Charles had hoped to speak quietly to Elizabeth that afternoon, but every time he found the duchess alone, someone entered the room, so he had finally decided to wait until everyone had gone to bed. Now, the marquess relaxed and enjoyed every moment and every note of the young lady’s concert, but he especially loved watching Elizabeth’s dainty fingers flying upon the keys. Realising what an accomplished pianist she was, he hoped now that she would also sing for them.
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