But then my attention was caught by Mr. Stoker. He stood toe-to-toe with Colonel Cornell. The colonel had somehow managed to retrieve the dagger while my boss had similarly rescued his Indian club. They moved first one way and then another, fencing, feinting, each trying to gain the advantage. The colonel’s monocle had long since gone, and his bald pate was scratched and bleeding.
Slowly the noise died down in the caves. I saw that the battle was over. Policemen were leading Hellfire members out and away. Soon there was only myself, the inspector, the Guv’nor—who had come down off the chair—and Sam Green to form a loose circle about the dueling duo. I perched on the edge of the altar table, my arm around Jenny, who clung to me and was very slowly returning to normalcy. I heard her murmur my name and my heart skipped a beat.
I think that the colonel knew there was no escape. He paused and looked at each of us.
“All of this to take down one man!” he cried. He glowered at the Guv’nor. “Mr. Booth is a far, far better actor than are you, sir! He is the best in America, and I am determined to see that he becomes the best in the world.” He suddenly lunged forward and stabbed at Mr. Irving. The Guv’nor’s years of onstage fencing stood him in good stead. He reacted immediately, though not quite quickly enough to escape completely. The dagger slashed down and tore into his arm before an almost equally immediate swing of Mr. Stoker’s Indian club sent the colonel to the ground.
We took both Mr. Irving and Jenny up to Knowl Hall to be treated by Cook and others of the hall staff still in residence. I was determined not to let Jenny out of my sight. Mr. Stoker said that he would give Inspector Bellamy a hand with sorting out the gang of miscreants and ensuring that Colonel Cornell and Mr. Hartzman were sent safely off to Scotland Yard.
Chapter Thirty
It was Sunday morning before we were able to make any sense out of the Walpurgisnacht Hellfire debacle. Before starting the rehearsals—full costume was to take place that afternoon—I was ushered by Mr. Stoker onto the stage. I had been assured, before parting company last evening, that Jenny was safe and would spend a few days with Aunt Alice in Bermondsey. I was reluctant to be away from her but realized I couldn’t stand at her side permanently. The conspirators had been apprehended, and everyone should now be safe. I was elated that Jenny had come to no real harm. She had not been abused nor treated badly in any way, just badly frightened and confused. I was so thankful and filled with joy.
Mr. Irving came onstage with his arm heavily bandaged. He did, however, seem to be in good spirits, pooh-poohing the attentions of Miss Terry.
“Everyone here, Abraham?” he asked, looking around.
I saw that a select group had been assembled. It included Sam Green and the stagehands who had been at the caves with us, Edwina Abbott (I was surprised to see her included), Bill Thomas, Billy Weston, Miss Connelly, Mr. Edwin Booth, and Inspector Bellamy.
“I think this is all concerned, Henry.”
“Good! Good.” The Guv’nor cleared his throat as he did when preparing for one of his addresses to an assembled cast. This was a relatively small group, but he gave it his full attention.
“Firstly, I must congratulate all of you, and thank you, for your contributions to the events of last evening. What we were involved in was nothing less than a situation that might have been penned by the Bard himself. Shades of Macbeth, Othello, Julius Caesar, and many of the other tragedies. Yet by your efforts, a real tragedy was averted.”
There were some murmurings among the stagehands, who stood with wide grins on their faces. I believe they had almost enjoyed the set-to with the Hellfire congregation.
“The subject of this unique event was, of course, a young lady in my employ; a young lady who had done nothing to be drawn into this nightmare. She was being used as a pawn to get to myself. I am sure she would wish me to pass along her own gratitude for your efforts.” He gave a moment for that to sink in before continuing. “Much that transpired is still something of a mystery, to myself and I am sure to many of you. I would therefore ask our more knowledgeable theatre manager to run over the events and to explain, as fully as he is able, their sequence and reason. Thank you, Abraham.”
He went to gesture with his arm, in Mr. Stoker’s direction, but I saw him wince. Obviously his wound was more severe than “just a scratch,” as he had dismissed it. Miss Ellen Terry must have caught his brief flinch and crossed to stand close beside him. He gave her the briefest of smiles as he took a step back and waved Mr. Stoker to center stage.
My boss was always reluctant to be the center of attention but, when forced into it, was well able to rise to the occasion. I had often thought that he could have made a more than adequate living as an actor.
“Where to begin?” he asked, of no one in particular. “You are all familiar with the tragic murder of our own Miss Burton in late March. Some of you are also aware of the earlier murder of a Miss Elizabeth Scott. The dates of those two events led me to surmise that there might well be a third murder attempted last night, and that was how it turned out. Happily, we were able to prevent that.”
“Not to interrupt, Abraham,” said the Guv’nor, interrupting my boss. “But you had made mention of being able to explain why that first young lady, so tragically taken, was not of the theatrical persuasion?”
“Indeed.” Stoker turned to the figure on the far side of Miss Terry. “Edwin, you had said that you and the colonel arrived in Liverpool on the thirty-first of January.”
“Two days late,” agreed Mr. Booth. “Aboard the SS Germanic. As I think I told you, it was a very rough crossing.”
“I believe that if you had arrived on time,” continued Stoker, “it would have given the people concerned time to settle on someone directly connected with the Lyceum, in the London area and in time to become the first sacrifice. Your delayed arrival precluded that, and they had to settle on a young lady conveniently on the scene; the scene of your arrival.”
“Forgive me,” said Mr. Booth. “I am still somewhat in shock at this whole recent chain of events. Despite his being caught in the act, I am appalled to discover that my very own manager was the mastermind behind this series of murders.” He looked around at everyone and then, more specifically, at the Guv’nor. “Believe me, Henry, I cannot apologize enough for what I have brought to your shores. I am in shock!”
Mr. Irving held up his hand—the uninjured one—and shook his head. “We are all in shock, Edwin. That Colonel Cornell should have felt so strongly is, perhaps, understandable, yet to take such drastic action . . .” His voice trailed off. The first time I think I have seen the Guv’nor at a loss for words.
“If I may ask, Edwin?” picked up Mr. Stoker. “Were you aware of the colonel’s activity in the so-called Hellfire Club?”
“He never discussed it at any length, though on occasion he did make passing reference to it. I knew he was an active Freemason. I know that he also had a great interest in ancient magic and magicians. I seem to recall his mentioning Paracelsus, Merlin, King Solomon, and others. I also knew that there were one or two Hellfire clubs dotted about the New York and Pennsylvania area. A legacy of our Mr. Benjamin Franklin. Though I do believe that most, if not all, were simply an excuse for drinking and revelry.”
“I agree,” said Stoker. “As was the case on this side of the Atlantic, though these were more directly sired by Sir Francis Dashwood himself. Incidentally, I have some doubts as to the colonel’s true attachment to the ancient body of Freemasons. I think it may have been a cover for his more frequent activity with the Hellfire group and as a connection with the practice of ritual.”
“What makes you say that?” asked the Guv’nor.
“Simply that at the last Beefsteak dinner I made a point of shaking hands with the colonel, and he didn’t seem to know the supposedly secret handshake of the Freemasons. But that is perhaps neither here nor there. I think he claimed to be able to coach you in ma
tters Masonic in order to be able to exercise some sort of control over your activities.”
“Where did Seth Hartzman fit into it, sir?” I asked. I had been wondering that for a long time. “We saw that he was acting as the second in command at the ritual last night.”
“He was the key figure to connect the two sides of the Atlantic,” Stoker said. “We knew he had been to America. He admitted as much himself. But I took the trouble to check the passenger lists of the White Star Line’s ships berthing here just prior to the arrival of Mr. Booth and the colonel. Hartzman arrived just two weeks prior to them, on the smaller SS Celtic. He had been primed by the colonel before leaving America, and his job was to organize the Hellfire group for the ritual on this side of the Atlantic. I believe that as time grew short he settled on the group in Warrington, since it was so close to where the colonel would land.”
“And why did he become a part of our crowd scenes?” I asked.
“Possibly so that if all else failed he would be on hand to attack the Guv’nor directly.”
“Not by any magical method, you mean?” asked Mr. Booth. “But why not just do that anyway? Why not simply murder Henry if he felt it necessary to get rid of him, rather than go through all this magical rigmarole?”
Mr. Stoker gave one of his long sighs. “I think the main reason was that to murder Henry would have led to a murder investigation, almost certainly by Scotland Yard. It would produce a trial and all that attends that scene. Whereas to bring about the Guv’nor’s death by magical means—if indeed that is possible—would result in a mysterious death, certainly, but no obvious killer, no crime scene, probably no recriminations.”
Inspector Bellamy finally spoke up. I had almost forgotten that he was present, which was very nice.
“We would like to point out, gentlemen, that Scotland Yard is most definitely implicated now, and we can promise that those involved—all of those involved—will be brought to justice.”
“But are all of those poor people who were in the caves truly guilty?” asked Miss Terry. “Were they not simply part of the scenery, as it were?”
“We must view them as accomplices to the murders, ma’am. That is the law.”
“In effect, tricked into it, in my opinion,” said my boss. “But I am sure that all will be sorted out at the trial.”
“Please, sir?”
I recognized the voice of Edwina Abbott. “Miss Abbott,” I called. “You have a question? Won’t you please step forward?”
She did so, and Mr. Stoker gave her his full attention.
“My cards, sir? I’d just like to say as how they was right in the end, then.”
“Right?”
“You remember, Mr. Rivers. The Chariot and the Hanged Man.”
My mind went back to when Edwina pulled cards to see if there was anything regarding the end of the run of Hamlet. She had drawn those two cards. “What about them, Miss Abbott?”
“I think I can answer that,” said my boss. He acknowledged Edwina with a nod of his head and then addressed the assembly. “I believe that Miss Abbott has quite a talent for prediction, with her pasteboards. She did, as she has reminded us, pull two cards. One of these—the Hanged Man—speaks for itself in that both Colonel Cornell and Seth Hartzman will almost certainly swing for their parts in these heinous murders. But the other I find interesting. Won’t you please tell us about the Chariot, Miss Abbott?”
Suddenly finding herself the center of attention, especially with both Mr. Irving’s and Mr. Booth’s eyes on her, she blushed and took a step backward.
“Come now, Edwina,” said Mr. Stoker. “We are all friends here. We would be delighted if you would elucidate.”
She gave a nervous cough and then stepped forward again, groping in her reticule as she did and producing her cards.
“It was like I told Mr. Rivers at the time. The Chariot is rushing forward with an important man at the reins. He is unstoppable.”
“And he almost was,” murmured Mr. Booth. “Important? I suppose being a colonel might qualify.”
“There was good and evil there,” continued Edwina.
I saw, in my mind, the image of Mr. Stoker battling the colonel. Good and evil indeed. And with people like my boss, I knew that good would always triumph.
“Is there anything else of which we should be made aware, Abraham?” asked the Guv’nor.
“Nothing of any great importance,” Stoker replied. “But one small item that I found fascinating. Perhaps one or two others of you may do the same. Perhaps a reason why Colonel Cornell felt that this was the opportune time to make his play to depose the Guv’nor and install Mr. Booth as premier Shakespearean actor. It was, or is, the year. This year.”
“What do you mean, this year?” asked Mr. Irving.
“It is 1881. A magical year. According to numerology we have 1, 8, 8, 1. Add those together—1 + 8 and 8 + 1. That equals 9 + 9 which, in turn, equals 18. 18 is 1 + 8 which again equals 9. The number 9 has always been regarded as a magical number, and so this year of 1881 is very much a magical year. Nine, by the way, is regarded as a fire sign; emotional, active, and impulsive. I think we have seen all of that.”
“Lot of what someone called rigmarole, if you ask us,” said the police inspector. “We think that we will stick to plain crimes and criminals and leave the magic and mathematics to others.”
“Gentlemen! And ladies,” cried the Guv’nor, his gold pocket watch in his hand. “Fascinating as all this may be, tempus fugit! Tomorrow sees the opening night of Othello. We are honored to have Mr. Edwin Booth with us and know that this will be as successful a production as was Hamlet. But to doubly ensure that success, we must now break up this verbal autopsy and focus our minds and efforts on a good dress rehearsal. I know I can count on you all.” He waved his watch. “It is the time for some repast. Take a good lunch, for we may not manage another break for some hours. I want to see you all, plus the rest of the cast, in makeup and costume onstage here by two of the clock. Thank you.”
He turned and swept Mr. Booth and Miss Terry ahead of him as he left the stage. The others broke up and headed out of the theatre and toward the Druid’s Head.
“Come, Harry,” said Mr. Stoker. “The Guv’nor gives good advice. Let us take a good meal. Tomorrow is the start of another life.”
“Happily, one that will include Jenny in it, sir,” I said. I promised myself that for much of the morrow I would find myself in Bermondsey and would do everything in my power to make up to Jenny for all that she had been forced to endure. Life was indeed starting afresh.
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