by A. W. Exley
Did I? Gosh. If a long dead ancestor of Seth's was trying to reach through time, then Crowley seemed as good a conduit as any. "I believe our true enemy makes ripples in a pond. Crowley is one such disturbance on the surface. You may think it's mad, but we are surrounded by insanity. Investigating every possible lead, no matter how ludicrous, is the one thing that makes sense to me."
"Do you have information on the man, General Donovan?" Seth asked.
He rubbed the back of his neck and sat back down in the ornately carved chair behind his desk. "Yes. We have someone close to Crowley. We've been keeping a close eye on him ever since he started stirring up trouble before the Great War. Then he relocated to America and proved himself a traitor to England by working for Germany."
The general pulled open a drawer and drew out a large metal key. Then he rose and moved to a series of deep mahogany filing cabinets that comprised the bottom half to his bookshelves. The key fitted into a brass lock and from the drawer, he pulled out several stuffed files.
"This is all strictly confidential and not to leave this room. I cannot risk our informant being compromised, especially if this Crowley is the source of the plague. Nor do I want it leaking to the newspapers that we are giving the idea of an evil force rising against us any credence. But the deaths of millions will stain Crowley's soul if you can prove this." He dropped the files on a table to one side of the room. "You can work here and I'll have Bradford order you some lunch."
He supplied us with pen and paper to make our own notes. Then Seth and I divided up the files and started reading. Crowley's early life was slightly odd, but no more so than any other British peer farmed out to different nannies and private schools. What interested me were his activities in the year before the pandemic outbreak. In 1918, Crowley undertook a mystical retreat in the wilderness of Esopus Island on the Hudson River.
After what seemed like hours, I found the passage that made my blood run cold. "Here," I said to Seth and slid the report over.
He read the words then looked up at me. Then he read aloud, "Crowley is obsessed with awakening a woman he refers to as the mistress. While others think her dead, he says she has merely slumbered. If he delivers enough souls to her hands, she will return to this world and bring it under her sway. Crowley works to combine magic and science, and he says he has crafted a weapon that will set off a shock wave that will resonate around the world."
He blew out a breath as we let the words sink in. Then his grey gaze met mine. "Do you think Millicent is the mistress?"
Pieces of the puzzle fell into place. "Yes. But what did he mean that she isn't dead, but slumbering? Do you think Millicent was like the Turned, dead but not?"
"Imagine if Millicent was the first one. No wonder that was left out of the family history." Seth rubbed his hands over his face. "This bit about combining magic and science to create a weapon sounds like the origins of the initial pandemic."
"If only someone had believed that there might be a kernel of truth in Crowley's mad ravings and paid closer attention to these reports." I traced the edge of the page with a fingertip. Imagine if swift action had pounced on Crowley before he released whatever triggered the pandemic. Millions of lives lost because bureaucrats thought it impossible.
It was dark by the time we handed back the files, reclaimed Alice, and left the War Office. My friend looked as bleary eyed and tired as I felt.
"There's so much to learn, I shall dream in triplicate tonight," she said as we waited on the pavement for Frank.
Once in the warmth of the motorcar, Frank drove us to Piccadilly and the Ritz hotel. A livery-clad footman rushed to open the door and offered his hand to help me out. He didn't even raise an eyebrow as my sword emerged first.
"Your rooms are prepared, your grace, if you will follow me." He bowed to Seth.
I tried not to gawk as we walked across a marble-tiled foyer. Large mirrors reflected the furs, jewels, and haughty noses of the wealthy who surrounded us. We took an elevator to the third floor as though it were an everyday occurrence. My state of indifference was hard to maintain when Alice whispered crikey from behind me.
Crikey indeed. My suite was bigger than our house. The bed sat alone on a carpet the size of a field. Thick damask drapes hung from the rails and were tied back at the end posts. If I flicked them free, the bed would be enclosed. A table and chairs could seat eight. Who ever entertained that many in their boudoir?
Alice had a far smaller room off mine that reminded me of our attic garret. A single bed was pushed under the window with a view of the people below on the street.
"Will you be all right in here?" I asked.
She yawned and waved me away. "Assuming you can dress yourself, I'm going to rest my eyes for a while. I'm so tired after today."
I patted her arm. "We'll talk in the morning."
I closed her door and returned to my room, unsure how to entertain myself. I had hoped for an intimate evening with Seth, but instead I was alone in a mausoleum. A knock made me turn to the door. But it hadn't come from either the hallway or Alice's room.
The noise came again and drew my eye to search for the source. A wooden door was concealed in the panelling. Only a faint line gave away the outline of the door. A key stuck out from the lock. A muffled voice came from the other side. My heart beat faster as I turned the key and pulled.
Seth stood on the other side holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and two crystal flutes in the other. "Fancy a drink before joining me for a night of dancing?"
9
Charlotte
Taking small steps on a new road
* * *
Lieutenant Bain became a regular visitor, knocking on the manse door every afternoon and staying for at least two hours. His quiet presence wrought a slow transformation upon Reverend Mason that began the day we cornered the Turned in the orchard. The reverend began to answer, and the lieutenant no longer had to keep up a steady monologue. Simple, single word answers at first, then one day a snatch of conversation.
Over a period of days, Mr Mason returned to the world around him. Like a sleeper emerging from an overlong slumber he rubbed his eyes and stretched. His thought processes were still somewhat muddled and his words confused, but he climbed out of his isolation and took stock of his surroundings.
Mr Mason even visited the barber for both a shave and a long overdue haircut. His frame was too thin for such a large man, but the warmth and intelligence returned to his gaze. He still spent hours in his study, but now it was poring over old books and scribbling notes that he discussed with the lieutenant. The reverend also ventured out to the overgrown yard. As he awoke, so he planned to bring the garden back to life in spring.
Our uniformed visitor didn't just have an effect on my employer. Each time the rap came at the door and I reached to open it, my pulse raced a little faster. While I knew he came to check the scratch on my arm, change the foul-smelling bandage, and monitor me for any sign of succumbing to the virus, I still enjoyed our quiet conversations. Tendrils of friendship wove themselves around us. From the dark recesses of my mind, mother's voice chided me for foolishly thinking it could ever be anything more, but when she fell silent, I dreamed.
"I believe you make the best shortbread, Miss Charlotte. You should enter it in the village fair this year." Lieutenant Bain carried the empty tea tray into the kitchen.
I blushed at his compliment. After years of being belittled and criticised, it was hard to believe I did anything right. I wanted to dismiss his words as false, but at the same time I desperately wanted to believe them and hug them to me as something wondrous.
"You are too kind and prone to exaggeration, Lieutenant." I took the empty teapot and scooped the loose tea leaves out to go in the compost.
"I shall continue to tell you every day until you believe me. I would also add that you are ever so pretty when you smile." He ducked his head and averted his gaze as he said the last sentence.
My hands froze on the teapot. He thou
ght me pretty? Me? Plain and dumpy Charlotte? His eyesight must be appalling.
"Really Lieutenant, you are either an outrageous liar or your eyesight is defective." I made light of his comment, expecting him to admit it was a joke at my expense. Louise would have burst out laughing at the very idea of someone finding me pretty.
He raised his gaze to meet mine. I expected to see ridicule but found only his warm, genuine self. "My comment is quite true and my vision is perfect. I have a certificate from the army doctors if you require proof."
I couldn't decide which was easier, to believe he teased me or to accept his words as true. I was used to being tormented over my plain appearance and lack of talents compared to Louise. But to have a gentleman's genuine regard? I had no defence to protect me against that. His kindness would undermine the walls built around me.
The lieutenant coughed and looked around, as desperate for a change of topic as me. He picked up the dirty cups and plate and placed them on the bench next to the sink. "Might I be so bold as to request that you call me David instead of lieutenant? And I hope you would allow me to address you as Charlotte?"
I nodded, willing my mind to supply an answer that wouldn't make me look like an idiot. In my head, Louise chortled and mother made a disapproving tsk noise. Perhaps I should ask the reverend to perform an exorcism and remove the last trace of them from me. I shook my head to clear the voices and ran water into the sink. "I would like that, David. I do so value your friendship."
A hand squeezed my chest. It was too cruel to hope for more than friendship. He probably had a girl waiting for him somewhere, because he seemed entirely too kind hearted to be alone like me. What would it be like to dream? Ella had a duke; could a woman like me also find a heart's companion?
I dropped sunlight soap into the warm water and agitated it to make bubbles before washing the dishes. "You have wrought a miracle over the reverend. It is marvellous to see him taking an interest in the world again. The village has sorely needed his direction and guidance over the last year."
David grabbed a tea towel from the rail by the range and stood by my side. "Apparently I tapped into a secret interest of his when I raised the issue of witches. Asking him to return to his research was what finally galvanised his mind into action."
I frowned at a plate with yellow painted daisies in my hands. "Witches?"
"Yes, witches." He took the soapy plate from my limp fingers. "Miss Jeffrey is exploring the possibility of some dark force being responsible for the creation of the Turned. I suspect the idea of finding an evil hand in all this appeals to the reverend's theological interests. He lost his faith, wondering how God could let the dead walk the earth. Now he might be able to debunk the scientific talk and trump it with a battle against demonic witches."
We both laughed. The concept of witchcraft being behind the Grim War was impossible, surely. But if there was any truth to it, were my mother and sister demons? I thought being stuck up and snobbish were my only sins, but now I was the woman related to nightmare horrors. The scratch on my arm heated and I rubbed it with the palm of my hand. Would I Turn and become evil too?
"Nobody thinks you are like them, Charlotte. Anyone who knows you, knows there is goodness in your heart."
I sighed and passed him a wet cup. "I stood by and did nothing while my mother and sister insulted the local women. Then my mother became queen of the damned and my sister her knight. I am facing an uphill battle, but I have a chance to make amends now and I am grateful that the locals have given me the opportunity."
He took my damp and wrinkled hands in his and his gaze met mine. "You are an extraordinary young woman, Charlotte. You just need to believe it and have some faith in yourself."
I managed a weak smile. "I shall ask Reverend Mason for some spare faith."
"You could achieve extraordinary things if you believed in yourself," he said.
It was all too serious and I thought my heart would explode. I picked up the discarded tea towel and flicked the end at him, shooing him away. "Go on with you, filling my head with nonsense. Ella is the saviour of our village, along with the duke and the hard working soldiers like you."
That warm smile never budged from his face. "I'll be back tomorrow."
Even after he disappeared out the back door I still clutched the tea towel in my hands, lost in a maze of thoughts in my mind. David thought I was pretty and extraordinary. I wanted to believe him so much my chest ached.
Enough wool gathering. I was no longer a lazy noblewoman; I had a household to run and dinner to cook.
The light faded outside the window and I lit the lights in the house. I tapped on the reverend's door and waited for his call of enter. I delighted in small things, like knowing he would answer as opposed to the gloomy silence that always greeted me just a few weeks before.
He looked up from a large and ancient tome propped up on his desk with a wooden support behind it. "Ah, Charlotte. No doubt another delicious dinner is awaiting me."
"You are partly right, Mr Mason. Dinner is ready. I'm not so sure about the delicious part, but I do try." Pride was a sin, yet I couldn't hold back the tiny bit of delight at how the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding had turned out.
David was right—I needed to find some faith in myself. Not an easy task growing up under my mother's thumb. I was never allowed to be myself, only the poor shadow she moulded me into. In my mind, I imagined an enormous chalkboard, covered in thousands and thousands of jagged white lines. Each chalk stroke was an insult, criticism, or verbal jab delivered by my mother. Years of abuse were marked out on that board. Now, with her gone, every tiny success or small compliment allowed me to erase one of those lines.
Perhaps one day, after decades of slowly wiping that board clean, I might believe I was capable of moving among society as an equal, or even worthy of love.
Mr Mason closed the book with a thud. Another testament to the size of the volume.
"How goes your research?" I asked.
He gave me a sad smile. "I am on the trail of an old foe. Did you know the first Duchess of Leithfield was a powerful witch?"
We walked to the dining room. "No, I did not know that." The latest duchess was nearly a witch though, if Louise and mother had succeeded in crafting events to their design.
"An evil woman who used to torture her servants. Some say she made crops fail, milk cows to dry up, and healthy men to lose their wits and die." He opened the dining room door for me.
"She sounds horrible." Or like the perfect companion for my mother and Louise. The three of them could have swapped ideas for torturing people.
"Some people choose an evil path, not realising that standing on others will never lift you up." He took his seat at the head of the table.
In many ways Mr Mason reminded me of step-father, or the little I knew of him. Both were older men willing to share their knowledge, and I found the reverend an interesting companion, now that he spoke in complete sentences.
One thing nagged at the corner of my mind. The question of whether my mother was born evil or turned that way by subsequent events. The reverend said some chose the evil path, but was it a choice or were some simply born bad? "Is it really possible that learning the local history of witchcraft might contribute to our knowledge of the undead enemy?"
"Ah. Not just the local area, Charlotte. I believe I am on the hunt of a much larger conspiracy of evil. Millicent was not alone in her endeavours." Mr Mason gripped his knife and fork tight and his gaze gleamed with his enthusiasm.
"You think it extends beyond our village?" The notion of any witch in the area was a novelty to me, and I couldn't comprehend more of them. So many things we once thought impossible or ludicrous were now every day occurrences. Like the dead rising from their graves. With many saying the Turned were demons, the idea of witches stepping from fairy tales into our world didn't seem farfetched.
He speared a golden Yorkshire pudding and sliced it in two. "I believe it encircles the world. Millicent deMage
was a most powerful witch, but she was one of three who sought to extend their power beyond England's shores."
Three witches? A small part of me almost pitied Ella. She thought only one was involved, but the mists of time might pull back to reveal a far larger enemy. "How do you know such things?"
He winked. "Just as the deMage family have always lived in these parts, so has there always been a man of God. The manse contains many old records of our county, stretching back to the dissolution of the monasteries."
"Do you think this war has a spiritual origin rather than a scientific one?" We lived in a modern age of science. Doctors found things under their microscopes that explained so much of the world around us. It reassured my mind to think they would find a medical explanation and a vaccine might be developed that would see all the Turned crumble back into the soil. If they had an evil origin, should we all be waving crosses and sprinkling holy water instead?
He laid down his cutlery and tented his fingers. For a long moment he stared at me, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. "Every unfortunate who rose from the grave challenged my belief in God and the afterlife. Science stole my faith and left me a mere shell at a time when this village most needed me. Through the quiet perseverance of Lieutenant Bain I have come to realise that this war does not invalidate my beliefs, it reinforces them."
I tried to grasp at what he saw. Perhaps mother was right, and I wasn't very bright, because I wasn't following Mr Mason's jumps in logic. "I don't understand. Surely that these creatures walk with no pulse, must have a scientific basis?"
He shook his head. "Only an entity that seeks to challenge God's supremacy over life and death could animate the deceased and force them to follow its commands. I acknowledge that there is a scientific explanation to the transmission of the virus, through blood or saliva. But where did it originate and what drives it? I see the hand of an ancient evil controlling events."
Part of me wanted to scoff and to point out that around the world, scientists worked to find an ordinary explanation for why the dead walked. But that part of me was slain by Ella in the catacombs, and now I was free to draw my own conclusions. "I hope what you learn will turn the tide of the Grim War and the dead may return to eternal peace."
