A Fever of the Blood

by Oscar de Muriel

Caroline jumped up, rushed over to me and gave me a mighty slap.

  ‘Watch your words! It is my father you are talking about!’

  I stretched my jaw, my skin burning. ‘With all due respect, miss,’ I hissed, ‘your father is a confessed murderer.’

  She raised her fists and McGray had to step between us. ‘Och, stop it! I don’t want youse girls having a catfight right here.’ He looked at Caroline. ‘The bloody dandy’s right. Yer dad’s a dangerous lunatic.’

  There was poison in Caroline’s eyes. ‘So is your sister.’

  Nobody moved. Not even the Greenwoods, who knew nothing about Amy McGray, but Nine-Nails’ expression was enough of a briefing. He drew in a long breath, and it was like the absolute silence between lightning and the strike of thunder.

  Then, startling everyone, he thrust his arm out and grabbed Caroline by the throat, pushed her backwards, knocking over the chair, and pinned her against the wall.

  ‘How dare you?’

  Bertha yelled and punched him all over, shedding desperate tears, but she was harming herself more than she did the tall Scot. Neither Mr Greenwood nor his wife moved a muscle, so I had to step forwards.

  ‘McGray, let her go!’

  ‘I’ve cracked people’s bones for less than that,’ McGray whispered between his teeth.

  Caroline’s face was losing colour, but her eyes were as full of rage as McGray’s. It looked as if she did not – or rather could not–feel any pain.

  ‘We are partners in disgrace, Mr McGray,’ she spluttered. ‘Whether you like it or not.’

  I pressed my gun against Nine-Nails’ back, making sure he heard the click of the safety catch.

  ‘Let – her – go.’

  After a seemingly never-ending pause, he obliged, leaving Miss Ardglass coughing from the depths of her throat, as Bertha helped her back to a seat.

  McGray walked to the furthest corner of the room and must have gulped down at least a quarter of the whisky in one go.

  I leaned in close to Caroline. ‘Are you able to talk at all?’

  She looked up, glaring at McGray with teary eyes. ‘I know your sister talked to my father. If you help me, I am sure I can convince him to tell you everything.’

  Nine-Nails turned his head slowly. I could only see one side of his face, but the spark in his eye was evident.

  ‘What d’ye mean by help?’

  ‘Do not listen to her,’ I said immediately. ‘She is crafty. She will tell you anything you want to hear.’

  ‘My father is going to Cobden Hall for revenge,’ Caroline continued, her voice quivering. ‘If he gets there, I’m sure those witches will kill him, but if we cut him off before he arrives, we might still save him. I know exactly when he’ll be there, but there is little time left.’

  ‘What about the children?’ Mr Greenwood asked.

  ‘Yes, what about our children?’ seconded his wife.

  ‘My father would never harm them,’ Caroline said. ‘He must have hidden them somewhere safe. I don’t know where or even why, but I am sure they’re fine, and I am sure I can persuade him to bring them back.’

  There was a gleam of hope in everybody’s eyes, except mine. I was outraged.

  ‘Do you want us to take you to your father?’ I said. ‘Perhaps in a luxurious hansom carriage? And then, after he surrenders the girls, will you expect us to let you both go on your merry way?’

  She looked defiant; my words were like wind hitting stone. ‘Yes.’

  McGray turned. ‘It’s a tempting deal, lass.’

  ‘What? Nine-Nails, are you completely insane? These people have been aiding and abetting a murderer. They lied, stole evidence, assaulted two inspectors – shall I continue? If you are in your right mind, you must realize it is our duty to deliver them to justice before they think of another creative way of fooling us.’

  There was a collective cry of What?, No and How dare you?

  McGray approached Caroline with imposing steps. ‘Are ye sure yer dad’ll tell me what Pansy said?’

  ‘If I tell him I owe you – of course.’

  ‘And we want our lil’ ones!’ Mrs Greenwood jumped in.

  ‘I told you,’ said Caroline, ‘I am sure they’re fine.’

  ‘And I hope that’s true,’ McGray said darkly, ‘because if he’s done anything to them, or if he refuses to tell me anything when I ask …’ he pointed his finger at her, so closely he almost touched her between the eyes, ‘I’ll kill him myself.’

  Caroline held his manic stare, and Nine-Nails did not wait for her response to his threat.

  ‘How long do we have?’ he asked.

  ‘Not long,’ said Caroline. ‘Before dawn, I’d say.’

  It was as if the world had stopped, awaiting only McGray’s answer. I was shocked, yet hardly surprised, when he shook hands with Miss Ardglass.

  ‘We have a deal, lassie.’

  I choked and stammered before yelling, ‘You cannot make such a deal! It is illegal. Illegal! And you are a bloody officer of the CID!’

  All eyes fell on me. All of them indignant.

  ‘If you think the pretty boy will give you trouble,’ said Mr Greenwood, his fist stamping his palm, ‘we can take good care of him. Especially when the brewery lads return – they’re large chaps, and they don’t have to look for the children no more.’

  McGray stroked his stubble. ‘Aye, but we’ll have to tie him up until yer lads arrive. I don’t want him to do anything stupid.’

  They approached me, ready to put their plan into action, and I howled: ‘Wait a bloody second! Am I the only person in this room who believes murder and torture ought to be punished?’

  Caroline looked at me with the most turbulent eyes. I had seen that expression before, and it made me feel an awkwardness that was disturbingly familiar.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘but you are the only person here who doesn’t love someone.’

  Never, in my entire life, had anybody’s words wounded me so deeply, so swiftly. I lost all control of my facial expression, which I regained upon seeing my dumbfounded reflection in the window.

  ‘Nine-Nails,’ I said, ‘strangle her.’

  ‘Ye try to strangle her and I’ll make ye wear yer pair as earrings.’

  ‘I say we lock him in one of the rooms,’ said Mrs Greenwood. Her husband was already untying Jed’s fat wrists and McGray was coming to seize me.

  I lifted Greenwood’s gun and aimed at McGray’s face, the barrel inches from his nose. ‘Lay your filthy hands on me and I swear I’ll do it.’

  ‘Yer outnumbered, laddie!’ he said with a chuckle.

  ‘Yes, I can count, but I will not be roughly handled by any of you like a goat. I shall make my own way.’

  McGray and Mr Greenwood marched behind me. I went upstairs and stepped into the first guest room I found open. An unfortunate choice, for the window was missing one of its diamond panes, letting in a frosty draught.

  ‘The gun,’ McGray said.

  ‘I cannot believe you are doing this,’ I said. ‘I can tolerate your stupid occult nonsense, but you are taking part in an actual … conspiracy … obstructing the course … is anyone listening to a bloody word I’m saying?’

  ‘The gun, now, or instead of a room we’ll throw ye into the privy’s pit.’

  I handed over the weapon as Mr Greenwood drew a set of keys from his pocket, and I watched the door close slowly, leaving me in the cold, damp darkness.

  It was evident that the room had not been occupied for a while. The Greenwoods used it for storage, and under a bundle of clothes I found an old overcoat. It smelled like mouldy bread, but I wrapped myself in it nonetheless.

  I heard muffled voices downstairs, and could not repress my curiosity. I was so glad I was alone with nobody to see me; I could lie flat on my chest and press my ear against the floorboards – as Miss Ardglass had surely done.

  Mrs Greenwood was yelling again, babbling unintelligibly before being cut off.

  Miss Ardglass then went on t
o talk about the things Joel had discovered about the green beacons, and how witches used different colours to communicate across the country. McGray asked something, but with his accent I could not make out his words; Miss Ardglass carried on talking about a visual code, and I remembered the flickering flames we’d seen on the moors, right before our violent encounter with Joel and the two witches. From McGray’s description – the flashings of green we’d seen in the fire’s usual yellow – Caroline deduced that Joel had deceived Redfern and Oakley, using their own code to make them think there was another witch waiting for them on that hill.

  Green, she added, was an alarm signal, used to summon all the major witches for an emergency Sabbath. According to Oakley’s book, their ancient codes dictated that whenever the green beacons appeared, all witches had three days to travel to the meeting; that was how she’d worked out the exact time Joel would be at Cobden Hall.

  I thought of the lights I’d seen on the road from Lancashire, that night right before I fell asleep in the decrepit carriage. No wonder the witches were having a reunion: with a psychopathic lord killing them like flies, and the police having discovered their enormous stock of smuggled artefacts in Lancaster, they were all flocking to that lonely spot near Pendle.

  I did not envy the people downstairs, about to follow the merciless Joel and face all those witches with their myriad poisons. I heard them preparing weapons and charging rifles, and suddenly felt a pang of unmitigated guilt. Only God knew what they were about to confront, and they’d need as many helping hands as possible. I lifted a fist, ready to bang the floor and tell them I’d join their doomed party, but then came a piercing scream.

  I heard it clearly through the cracked glass, the eerie lament brought on the wind. I could not tell whether it was a male or a female voice, but then I heard it again, this time much closer.

  It was a high-pitched screech but indisputably male.

  Everyone downstairs stopped talking. They’d also heard it.

  I stood up and went to the window, feeling the cold draught on my face. My heart skipped a beat when I saw all the green, yellow and red fires twinkling in the distance.

  They were coming.

  35

  I rubbed my eyes, thinking it might be a nightmare, but I could not fool myself.

  They were indeed coming. From the south-east, from Pendle, forming a neat file of multicoloured torches as they marched towards us.

  I dropped to the floor, banging with my fists and shouting my lungs out.

  ‘The witches are coming!’

  McGray shouted back. ‘Can ye see them?’

  ‘Yes. More than twenty lights.’

  I heard the dismayed cries of Bertha and Mrs Greenwood, and barely made out Caroline saying, ‘I did not expect this!’

  There was a female cry, hoarse and nearby. I leaped back to the window and saw one of the houses catch fire. The flames were mostly gold and orange, but the occasional sparks of green sent everyone into panic.

  I squinted and managed to see the silhouettes of a woman and a young boy rush out from the blazing house, their terrified voices echoing in the darkness, along with the loud cawing of a raven. I felt like Rameses witnessing God’s plagues.

  The flames on the roof lit the main road, and it shocked me that nobody in the village came out to help. I could not even see any curious faces peering through the windows.

  Then I saw a black carriage, its polished surface gleaming in the firelight. It was escorted by four mighty Percherons, the exotic horses ridden by men almost as large as their beasts, and followed by a parade of smaller horses, all carrying figures swathed in black cloaks.

  ‘Dear Lord,’ I muttered, thinking that each person out there would be armed not only with guns but also with vials of things worse than strychnine.

  I heard that male wail again, but it did not come from the east. It came from the opposite direction, from the road McGray and I had come along a few hours ago.

  There was a lone rider there, the horse galloping at full speed, pulling a thick rope. The grey horse halted right in front of my window, and I followed the thick cord until I saw a dark figure crouching on the trampled snow. It was a man, his limbs trembling as he tried to move. I recognized the hunched back and bony features of Floyd, the cart driver. His was the crying voice we’d been hearing, as he was dragged along the roads like a sack of flour.

  The black carriage approached, and the accompanying riders positioned themselves around it. There was an unsettling, almost soldierly precision to their movements.

  A short, dark figure alighted, aided by one of the tall men. I could tell it was a woman, dressed all in black, her pale right hand the only skin I could see. Her left hand was engulfed in a thick leather glove, like a falconer’s.

  The woman walked up to the crouching man with a noticeable limp, and then she spoke, her resonating voice instantly taking me back to that dreadful night atop Winfold Fell.

  ‘Is this him?’

  ‘Aye, Miss Redfern,’ someone replied. That was the first time anyone had confirmed her name. ‘Says they were heading here.’

  Redfern kneeled down, grabbed Floyd’s hair and lifted his face. ‘Is that true?’

  Floyd moaned. He was in a very sorry state, his face covered in ghastly bright-red blisters, which reminded me of the acid burns I’d seen in medical school. Redfern slapped him, then pressed her gloved thumb against one of the blisters, and I could swear I heard his skin sizzle. Floyd howled in a pain I could not even imagine, his anguished voice tearing the night air, his legs writhing in despair.

  ‘Is that true?’ she repeated.

  Poor Floyd nodded, and Redfern bent closer to him, her hooded ear listening intently. She rose like a dart, held her left hand high and the raven landed on her glove. One of the men handed her something – I guessed it must have been a little note – which she fastened to the bird’s leg before tossing it back into the air. As the raven flew away Redfern nodded to the men. Two of her guards banged on the inn’s door with their enormous fists, and she bellowed: ‘Give us the Ardglass woman!’

  McGray’s thundering voice responded at once. ‘Sod off, youse rank bitches!’

  There was a general uproar, high-pitched cackles from beneath the black cloaks and deep, cruel laughter from the broad-shouldered guards.

  ‘I don’t like to ask twice, Nine-Nails McGray,’ Redfern said, her voice imposing even over the clamour of her helpers.

  I would have given anything for a gun; from that window I would have had a perfect shot at the witch’s head. I cursed them all downstairs.

  I heard McGray uttering a frantic ‘No!’ followed by Mr Greenwood yelling, and then a rifle shot came from one of the windows, missing Redfern by a mere inch and hitting the carriage.

  The witch nodded, stepping back. All the men drew out guns and rifles, and without a second command a rain of bullets fell on the inn’s door and windows. I had to cover my ears, even at that distance, and the deafening shots prevented me from hearing what was happening below.

  I feared looking, but could not help it: four big men kicked the main door open while the others continued their relentless shooting, and eventually I heard a scream. It was Caroline, her voice desperate as one of the men dragged her out. The shooting stopped and then I could hear McGray grunting.

  The other three men were struggling to remove him; two of them kept a firm grip on his arms while a third one stood behind, holding Nine-Nails by the neck and occasionally punching his kidneys.

  Caroline looked in panic at the multitude of torches around her, but the girl went still when she faced Redfern.

  The old woman was pushing her hood back, for the first time showing her white, wiry hair and her bony, angular face. With her high cheekbones and soft jaw she appeared to have been very beautiful in her youth. Like Oakley’s, her manners were not those of a pauper.

  ‘Where’s your father?’ she asked.

  Caroline spat on the crone’s face, who wiped herself with
a ragged sleeve, and then struck Miss Ardglass a terrible slap.

  ‘We’ll find him anyway, dear. Save yourself some pain.’

  ‘Go find him then.’

  Redfern held her by the hair. ‘There’s only one reason I don’t give you the lashing that you deserve. Mrs Marigold wants to see you.’

  I could not believe my ears: Marigold, the very word written by McGray’s sister. And then the skull in the crypt, its eye sockets stuffed with dry marigolds.

  ‘She might show some mercy if she hears you were a good girl,’ Redfern went on.

  Caroline held the crone’s stare. I could not tell what her expression was; however, even from the upper floor I saw a set of stained, uneven teeth as Redfern grinned.

  ‘Have it your way,’ she concluded.

  The hag searched in the folds of her cloak. She produced a little vial and something that looked like a jute pouch, on to which she poured a few drops. ‘Hold her still,’ she said, and a second guard had to step forwards. Caroline was twisting and kicking savagely, and I clenched my fists in burning frustration as I witnessed what followed.

  Redfern struggled, taking a few of the kicks, but in the end she managed to cover Caroline’s head with the pouch, her gloved hand pressing the material firmly against the girl’s face. McGray howled dreadfully and Caroline continued to struggle, but very soon her voice and body lost all strength. Her limbs and head fell slack, and the men carried her to the carriage as if handling a rag doll.

  ‘Pray it be only laudanum,’ I mumbled, still appalled by Floyd’s blisters. I spoke so softly that someone standing next to me would have struggled to hear; nevertheless, Redfern looked up. I instinctively jumped aside, my back against the wall. She could not have possibly heard me, I knew it, yet I did not dare move back.

  McGray shouted then. ‘Let the lass go; she has no idea where the madman went.’

  Redfern did not bother to reply. ‘Tie him up. And gag him, I can’t stand his accent.’

  ‘What do we do with all the others inside?’ a deep voice asked.

  I very slowly leaned back towards the window, and I saw Redfern being helped back into the carriage, looking at the inn over her shoulder.