Crescent Dawn

by Clive Cussler

  “Julie, this is it,” she gasped. “He writes, ‘Another dire warning received from the Archbishop. I daresay they seem to be stopping at nothing in obtaining their desired wants. I have little doubt they haven’t already slipped into Broome Park for a look around. My response will hopefully put them at bay. I told them that I am taking the Manifest to Russia and placing it on loan with the Orthodox Church in Petrograd for safekeeping until the war’s end. Imagine their chagrin if they knew I actually safeguarded it with Sally, under the watchful eyes of Emily, till my return.’ ”

  “So he didn’t take it to Russia,” Julie said, her voice crackling with excitement.

  “Apparently not. Listen to this. On June first, he writes, ‘My last entry for now. Prying eyes seem to be everywhere. I feel an uneasy dread about the trip at hand, but it is vital that the Russians stay with us and not negotiate a unilateral armistice with Germany. Will pass this diary to Corporal Wingate for safekeeping. H.H.K.’ ”

  “I’ve read other accounts that he was uneasy when he departed and seemed to be dreading the trip,” said Julie. “He must have had a premonition.”

  “Probably so or he wouldn’t have left the diary behind. But the bigger question is, who was Sally?”

  “She must have been someone trustworthy, but I don’t believe I’ve ever run across anyone named Sally in my research on Kitchener.”

  “Not an old secretary, or perhaps the wife of a fellow officer?” Summer asked.

  Julie shook her head.

  “How about a pet name for one of his aides?”

  “No, I should think there would be references in his correspondence somewhere, but I don’t recall seeing it.”

  “It doesn’t seem right that he would trust a casual acquaintance with the document. How about the other name, Emily?”

  Julie thought for a moment as she waited to enter a traffic roundabout that led to downtown Canterbury.

  “I can recall two Emilys, actually. Kitchener’s maternal grand-mother was named Emily, though she was long dead by 1916. Then there was his oldest brother, who had a granddaughter named Emily. I’ll have to check my genealogy records when we get to the hotel to see when she was born. Her father, Kitchener’s nephew, was named Hal. He used to visit Broome Park rather regularly.”

  “So the younger Emily would actually be a cousin to Aldrich?” Summer asked.

  “Yes, that would be correct. Perhaps we can talk to Aldrich about her in the morning.”

  Julie had reached the city center and drove Summer slowly past Canterbury’s famed historic cathedral. A few blocks away, she turned into the Chaucer Hotel, one of the city’s modest old inns. After checking into neighboring rooms, the women met for dinner in the hotel restaurant. Summer devoured a large plate of fish and chips, not realizing how hungry the day’s excursion had made her. Julie nearly matched her appetite, pushing away a plate cleaned of pasta.

  “If you’d like to walk the meal off, we can take a stroll over to the cathedral,” Julie offered.

  “I appreciate the tour-guide offer,” Summer replied, “but, to be honest, I’d like to spend some more time analyzing Kitchener’s diary.”

  Julie beamed at the reply. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ve been anxious to study the writings since we checked in.”

  “There’s a quiet lounge off the lobby. How about we order some tea and take another pass through the diary there? I’ll take notes while you read this time,” she added with a smile.

  “That would be lovely,” Julie agreed. “I’ll go get the diary and a notebook from my room and meet you there.”

  She climbed the stairs to the second floor and entered her room, then hesitated when she noticed her work papers strewn across the bed. The door suddenly slammed shut behind her as the lights were flicked off. A shadow approached as she started to scream, but a gloved hand quickly covered her mouth before her voice could resonate. Another arm slipped around her waist and pulled her tight against the assailant, who seemed to be wearing padded clothing. Then a deep voice grunted in her ear.

  “Don’t make a sound or you’ll never live to see the dawn.”

  28

  SUMMER WAITED IN THE LOUNGE TWENTY MINUTES BEFORE phoning Julie’s room. Receiving no answer, she waited another five minutes, then went upstairs and knocked on her door. Her concern heightened when she noticed a “Do Not Disturb” sign dangling from the doorknob. She saw a night maid was working her way down the corridor turning down beds and convinced her to check Julie’s room. Opening the door and turning on the light, the maid gasped in shock.

  Julie was seated on the floor with her arms behind her back and tied to the bed frame with a sheet. Another sheet was wrapped around her ankles, while a pillowcase covered her head. A desperate wiggling of her arms and legs revealed that she was very much alive.

  Summer burst past the maid and ripped the pillowcase off Julie’s head. Julie’s wide eyes looked at Summer in relief as the American untied a knotted stocking that was wrapped around Julie’s head in a gag.

  “Are you hurt?” Summer asked, moving on to untie the sheet binding Julie’s arms.

  “No . . . I’m okay,” she stuttered, fighting back tears of fear and relief rolled into one. “Just a little scared.”

  She quickly regained her composure while finding a steady voice.

  “He was actually quite gentle. I don’t think he meant to harm me.”

  “It was just one man?”

  Julie nodded.

  “Did you see what he looked like?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I think he was hiding in the bathroom, and I walked right past. He turned the lights off, then threw that pillowcase over my head. I don’t have a clue what he looked like. I just remember that his clothes seemed lumpy or padded.”

  The hotel manager soon arrived, followed by a pair of Canterbury police officers. They carefully searched the room, then took a detailed report from Julie, Summer, and the maid. The historian had left her purse in the room, but it wasn’t taken by the thief. Julie looked at Summer with dread when she realized that the only item missing from the room was Kitchener’s diary.

  “Typical hotel burglary attempt,” Summer heard one of the officers tell the hotel manager out in the corridor. “She obviously surprised him in the room, and he decided to tie her up before fleeing. I don’t have to tell you that there’s a slim chance of catching the bugger.”

  “Yes, unfortunately I’ve seen it before,” the manager replied. “Thank you, Detective.”

  The hotel manager returned to the room and apologized profusely to Julie, promising to have increased security on the floor all night. After he left, Summer offered to let Julie sleep in her room.

  “Yes, if you don’t mind, I think I’d be much more comfortable,” she said. “Let me grab my toothbrush.”

  Julie walked into the bathroom, then suddenly called to Summer.

  “What is it, Julie?” she said, rushing in.

  Julie stood with a grim look on her face, pointing to a small vanity mirror next to the sink. The room thief had left her a warning, written in her own pink lipstick, on the mirror. Pointed and succinct, it said simply, “Let K be.”

  29

  JULIE AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING AFTER A FITFUL NIGHT’S sleep. Her sense of fear and anxiety had gradually evolved into a feeling of indignant violation. Rising early, she found herself burning with anger.

  “Who could have known that we discovered the diary?” she said, pacing the floor of the hotel room. “We had only just found it ourselves.”

  Summer was in the bathroom, fixing her hair. “Perhaps he didn’t actually know about the diary,” she replied. “He might have just been trying to find out what you knew and got lucky.”

  “I suppose it’s possible. But why the warning? What is it about Kitchener’s death nearly a century after the fact that someone would still be afraid of?”

  Summer sprayed on a touch of perfume, then joined Julie in the bedroom. “I’d say one thing is certain. It h
as to be someone who knows more than we do about either the Manifest or the sinking of the Hampshire.”

  “Or both,” Julie concurred. She caught a whiff of Summer’s perfume. “That’s a lovely fragrance,” she said.

  “Thank you. It was a gift from a friend of mine in British Columbia.”

  “The cologne,” Julie suddenly blurted. “I nearly forgot. The intruder who tied me up last night had the scent of men’s cologne. I’m sure it was the same fragrance as worn by that fellow we met at Lambeth Library.”

  “You mean Mr. Baker? Do you think it was him?”

  “I’m not sure about anything at the moment, but I think it could have been him. Don’t you remember? He asked us about the diary. I thought it was a bit odd, at the time.”

  “You’re right. We’ll check with the library when we get back to London,” Summer said. “I’m sure there’s a good chance the librarian will be able to identify him.”

  Julie was slightly relieved, but the revelation only fueled her inquisitiveness.

  “In the meantime, I say we get on over to Broome Park and see what Aldrich knows about his cousin Emily.”

  They ate a quick breakfast at the hotel, then hopped in the car and drove to Broome Park. Two miles outside of Canterbury, the car sailed through a deep dip in the road.

  “Something doesn’t feel right,” Julie said, detecting a sharp vibration through the steering column.

  The car struck another small rut in the road, and the passengers felt a sudden jerk followed by a wail of screeching metal. Summer looked out the window in shock to see the right front wheel bounding ahead of the car and onto the shoulder of the road. The car immediately veered sharply to the right into the oncoming lane. Julie yanked the steering wheel hard left to compensate, but there was no reaction.

  The wheel-less right hub ground into the asphalt amid a spray of sparks as the car careened counterclockwise. The vehicle’s three remaining tires smoked and squealed as the car spun around and then slid off the road backward. Bounding over the shoulder, the car skidded across a patch of grass before slamming into a low embankment. As the dust cleared, Julie shut off the idling motor, then turned to Summer.

  “You okay?” she asked breathless.

  “Yes,” Summer replied, taking a deep breath herself. “Quite a jolt. I’d say we were a bit lucky.”

  She saw that Julie looked pale and still had her hands clenched tightly to the steering wheel.

  “It was him,” she said quietly.

  “Well, if it was, he’ll have to do a lot better than that to take us down,” Summer replied defiantly, trying to lift Julie’s spirits. “Let’s see if we can get back on the road.”

  As she opened her door, a black motorcycle came blazing up the road. The rider slowed slightly, giving the damaged car a long gaze. Then he applied a heavy throttle and roared on down the road.

  “Don’t bother helping us,” Summer spat as the black shape disappeared around the bend.

  She hiked over to the road and found the stray wheel lying on the shoulder. Standing it upright, she rolled it back to the car. Julie had climbed out but was sitting on a large rock, her hands still shaking. Summer opened the trunk and retrieved the jack, then worked it under the front bumper. The ground was hard and mostly level, which enabled her to raise the hub off the ground. Despite some deep scoring on the hub, she was able to mount the wheel, fastening it down with a trio of lug nuts cannibalized from the other wheels. She made sure the lugs were tightened all the way around, then stowed the jack back in the trunk.

  “Summer, you handled that with ease,” Julie complimented. She had regained her demeanor and finally stopped shaking. “I thought we would have to ring the auto club.”

  “My father has been teaching me how to work on antique cars,” she said with a proud grin. “He always says that any girl ought to be able to change a tire.”

  Julie surveyed a slight crease to the rear bumper, then handed the car keys to Summer.

  “Do you mind driving the rest of the way? My nerves are shot.”

  “Not at all,” Summer replied. “As long as you don’t mind some slow going through any potholes.”

  Taking the keys, she hopped into the right-hand seat and started the car, then eased back onto the road. They felt no more ill effects from the car, and soon pulled into the parking lot at Broome Park. The two women entered the manor, finding Aldrich laying out croissants and tea in the garden atrium. Julie made no mention of their auto accident as she pulled him aside for a moment.

  “Aldrich, I wonder if I could ask you about Emily Kitchener?”

  The old man’s eyes lit up immediately. “Why, Emily was a lovely lady. I was just telling a guest about her last night. She used to love walking the gardens here in the evening to hear the nightingales sing. Hard to believe she’s been gone ten years now.”

  “She used to live here at the estate?” Summer asked.

  “Oh yes. My father took her in when her husband was killed in a railway accident. That must have been around 1970. She lived in what’s now the Windsor Suite, on the top floor.”

  “Do you by chance recall her having any friends or associates named Sally?” Julie asked.

  “No, I don’t recall anyone named Sally,” he replied with a shake of his head.

  “Did she ever mention being given any documents or papers from Lord Kitchener?” Summer queried.

  “She never made any mention to me of such. Of course, she would have been quite young when the Earl died. You are welcome to take a look at her things, if you like. I have a few boxes of her possessions down in the basement.”

  Summer gave Julie a hopeful gaze.

  “If it wouldn’t be an imposition,” Julie said to Aldrich.

  “Not at all. I can take you down right now.”

  Aldrich led them to his private quarters and through a locked door to a corner stairway. Down the steps, they reached a dimly lit basement, which was little more than a broad corridor that extended beneath a fraction of the whole residence. Aged wooden crates and dust-covered furniture were stacked high along both walls.

  “Much of this old furniture was the Earl’s,” Aldrich explained as he led them down the corridor. “I really must arrange for another auction one of these days.”

  At the end of the corridor, they reached a heavy door sealed with a dead bolt.

  “This was originally a surplus pantry,” he said, reaching for the bolt before realizing it had already been pulled aside. “They sealed it up tight to keep out the rats.”

  He flicked on an exterior light switch, then grabbed a pull handle and yanked the heavy door aside, revealing a ten-foot-long compartment lined with shelves on either side and a wooden cabinet at the far end. The shelves were jam-packed with cardboard boxes, mostly filled with documents and estate records.

  “Emily’s things should be right down here,” he said, stepping to the rear and pointing at a waist-high shelf where three boxes were marked “E.J. Kitchener.”

  “Emily Jane Kitchener,” Aldrich said. “Might be easiest for you to simply look through the boxes in here. Will you need an escort back upstairs?”

  “Thank you, Aldrich, but that won’t be necessary,” Julie replied. “We’ll lock things up and find our way out.”

  “I hope you both can join us for dinner tonight. We’re having a fish fry in the garden.” The old caretaker then turned and shuffled out of the pantry.

  Summer smiled as she watched him leave. “He is the cutest little fellow,” she said.

  “An old-fashioned gentleman,” Julie agreed, pulling two of the boxes to the front of the shelf. “Here you go, one for you and one for me.”

  Summer stepped over and flipped open the top of the box, which she noted was not sealed shut. The contents were a disheveled mess, as if someone had hastily thrown the items in the box or it had subsequently been rifled through. She smiled to herself as she pulled out a baby blanket and laid it on an empty shelf. Next to that she laid some children’s dress
es, a large doll, and several porcelain figurines. At the bottom of the box, she found some costume jewelry and a book of nursery rhymes.

  “Box number one is filled with childhood memories,” she said, carefully repacking the items. “Nothing of relevance, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m not faring much better,” Julie replied, setting a pair of sequined boots on the shelf. “Mostly shoes, sweaters, and a few evening gowns here.” From the bottom, she pulled out a flat tray of dinnerware. “And some tarnished silverware,” she added.

  The women replaced the two boxes, then jointly opened the third box.

  “This looks more promising,” Julie said, retrieving a thin packet of letters.

  As she began scanning the letters, Summer inventoried the rest of the box. Most of the contents were prized books of Emily’s, along with a few framed photos of herself and her husband. At the bottom of the box, Summer found a large envelope that was stuffed with old photographs.

  “No luck here,” Julie said, finishing the last letter and inserting it back into its envelope. “These are all old letters from her husband. No mention of our mystery girl. I guess the secret of Sally just isn’t meant to be revealed.”

  “It was an admitted long shot,” Summer replied, pulling the photographs out of the envelope and spreading them across the shelf for Julie to see. They were all sepia-tinted images from nearly a century before. Julie held up one photo of a young woman in a riding outfit, holding the reins of a horse.

  “She was a pretty young woman,” Summer remarked, noting a delicate face set with penetrating eyes similar to her famous uncle.

  “Here’s one with Kitchener,” Julie said, pointing to an earlier photo in a garden setting. Kitchener stood in his uniform next to a couple with their young daughter, clutching a large doll, between them. Summer recognized the toddler as a younger version of Emily from the horse picture.

  “She looks about four years old there,” Summer said, picking up the photo and flipping it over to see if a date was written on the back. She nearly choked when she read the inscription.