by Sahara Kelly
When he’d arrived, he’d been welcomed courteously and treated royally, of course, as befit his status.
But as soon as he saw Randall, he knew the man had worsened a great deal since their last meeting. Apparently he was now fixated on Gerolf’s research. That wasn’t a bad thing, but pinning hopes of one’s survival on a premise that had yet to function—that was a bad thing.
As was Alwynne’s condition.
Gerolf quit the room as the women gathered near, whispering and gently tending to the damaged woman now curled in upon herself like a broken doll. Would she recover? That was a good question.
Would there be repercussions? Highly likely. He couldn’t imagine a member of the aristocracy being treated like this without some sort of official response. Neither could he believe that a house full of bodies and some of the worst savagery he’d ever seen would go unnoticed.
No, he had to brace himself for some unwanted attention. He would manage to get through it, of course, but the sooner he was ensconced in his laboratory the happier he would be. His supplies and equipment would be arriving soon and he needed to assess the current status of his work.
His mind busy, Baron Von Landau walked down the main staircase of Harbury Hall and went to find the butler.
As he did so, Lord Harbury popped his head around the door to the small salon. “Good morning, Gerolf. Damned servants. There’s no breakfast yet. Don’t know what’s gotten into them today.” He shrugged. “Doubtless they’ll get on it. If you see Malcolm, do tell him to hurry up? There’s a good chap. I’m starving.”
Words deserted Gerolf at that moment. All he could do was nod.
The man was utterly and completely insane. He was amoral, savage, lost to any notions of humanity.
He was, in the truest sense of the word, a monster.
And he was the one that Gerolf would be dealing with for a while at least. Resolving to tread about as cautiously as he’d ever done, he turned to continue his quest for the butler, hoping to find him without delay.
Even as he did so, there was a loud boom from the massive doorknocker.
He sighed and turned away. Somebody else could be the first to deal with what would be a stream of the curious and the just plain nosy. He had other matters to attend to.
Ones he would prefer not to share with anyone at Harbury Hall.
Chapter 18
Portia was wrapped snugly in a blanket on the large chair in front of the hearth. Many of the staff had sat here, and over the years the wood had worn smooth. It was a strange sort of comfort, the silky finish of the arms beneath her fingers. She had cried out her horror and sadness, and now she was feeling rather idiotic. But she didn’t want to budge. The security of the blanket, the warmth of the fire and the rough affection of Mr. ‘Enry were doing wonders to restore a measure of her equilibrium.
“Poor child. C’mon now. Finish that tea. There’s more where that came from, and a nice slice of fruit cake as well if you’ve a mind to it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think I could right now, Mr. ‘Enry. Thank you, though. You’re very kind.”
He looked at her, his eyes gentle. “You’re a good lass. Far too good to be a Mary Jones, I’m thinkin’. But that’s none o’ my business. Right now you’ve ‘ad the shock of your life and you best just stay there for a bit while you get your wits back.”
She managed a tiny smile. “You’re right. A shock indeed.”
He drew up another chair. “Bad, was it?”
“I can’t begin to describe it.”
He swallowed. “Ours? Our people?”
“No.” Portia frowned. “No, I don’t…oh wait. One was a scientist I’ve seen around here.”
“My goodness. Which one?”
“I think he was one of the chemists from Level Three. You know, the two young gentlemen who were always getting those herb deliveries.”
“I know ‘em. Granville and Somerly. A title and a bit of money wi’ those two. And a lot of ‘igh on their ‘orses. Looked down their noses at us, they did.”
She shrugged. “Well, one of them won’t be looking down any noses any more.” She shivered. “He was dead, Mr. ‘Enry. Stark naked and dead, right on the floor of the Dower House.”
Mr. ‘Enry ran a hand over his face in distress. “I s’pose that’s right. It’s how we comes into this world. Might’s well go out the same way. But it’s nothin’ you should have seen, dear. You just forget that bit, all right?” He patted her hand awkwardly. “Now. That cake. Could use a piece meself. Might just put a drop of brandy on it. Soften it up, like.”
He stood with a grunt and bustled away, leaving Portia to try and “forget that bit”. Actually a good many bits. But the images lingered in her brain. She stared at the flames, fighting for the analytical evaluation she had always been able to bring to situations that required clear thinking.
But God, this was hard. She wasn’t an adult with years of experience under her belt, and what she’d observed had been beyond any nightmare she could have imagined. She’d seen the deceased before, so it wasn’t death that had shattered her.
It was what the living had done to each other that had brutally torn away the last vestiges of her girlish innocence.
She knew now, first hand, that human beings could be as savage as any wild animal. In fact more so, since this was not done from hunger or for survival. What had happened at the Dower House had clearly occurred in the name of pleasure. But what kind of pleasure could turn a normal person into a butchering monster, she had no idea at all.
Leaning back against the hard wood, she closed her eyes and let the warmth of the room seep back into her bones.
The scent of the fire and the lingering aroma of Mr. ‘Enry’s superlative cooking gentled her restless mind. She realized that at the moment of her most satisfying and wonderful achievement—rescuing Devon—others had been falling to the ultimate depths of perversion and debauchery.
Another thought crept forward. This was about the same time she and Devon were scrambling through the small tunnel. And accompanying them was that strange fog.
Which had probably made her dizzy. And also made her feel quite…strange.
She opened her eyes as questions began to bubble up in her consciousness. Was there a connection? Did that fog act as some sort of vaporous drug? And where did it come from? How did it end up in the tunnel? And if it was a drug, was it the cause of the massacre at the Dower House?
She stirred, unfolding her feet from beneath her and putting them down on the floor just as Mr. ‘Enry returned.
“’Ere now. You ‘ave some o’ this, dearie. That’ll put the roses back in them cheeks o’ yours.”
It did look good. “You know, I think I will.” She took the plate he was holding out, getting a whiff of what she recognized as very good brandy.
“Mebbe another cuppa?”
She nodded. “Yes please, Mr. ‘Enry. You’re so kind. Can you tell me if Inspector Burke is still here?”
The older man refilled their cups with a rich brew from the large teapot Portia herself had filled only a couple of hours ago. “Yep. Saw him a few minutes ago. He said something about talking to people here.”
“Good.” She took a mouthful of the extraordinarily good cake. “This is wonderful, Mr. ‘Enry. You really are a genius.”
He beamed at the praise. “You eat up now. Do you the world of good.”
And it did. Although she had a feeling that the brandy might have had a little to do with it.
Lulled by the warmth of the fire, the blanket and the brandy in her belly, Portia let her eyelids droop. She was exhausted, she realized, and a short snooze might be just the thing.
A door opened and she idly glanced up.
It showed her the narrow hallway from the kitchen to the laboratory stairs. At the top, three figures were in close conversation.
It was Robert and Arthur.
And Inspector James Burke.
Portia frowned. That was most strange�
�Did they know each other? Was James just pursuing his investigations? Because surely he’d be the one to handle this entire mess…but somehow it didn’t seem quite right…
Her thoughts drifted again as a wave of tiredness took her and she closed her eyes again. She’d have to think about this…but perhaps just a little bit later…
*~~*~~*
“Bad business. Very bad business.”
Lord Southfield stood with his back to a roaring fire in the impressive salon of Southfield Place. He was speaking to Inspector Burke who had arrived a few moments before and was relating what he knew of the events at the Dower House of Harbury Hall.
“It is indeed, my Lord. I’m not sure if I can effectively conduct an investigation into an event of this magnitude on my own.”
“No, I wouldn’t ask you to.” The elderly man frowned as he stared out the windows onto the snow-laden landscape. “There have been rumors, of course. Can’t be as deformed as Randall Harbury and expect to walk amongst the locals free as a bird.”
Burked nodded his agreement, not sure that any other answer was necessary.
“Look, Burke. I recommend you find yourself an assistant. Someone you can trust who can take care of some of the simpler details while you try and get to the bottom of this mess.”
“I don’t know…”
“There’s too much of it, man. Too many deaths here. Your job is to find out what happened, not catalog the number of empty wine bottles. Although that information will need to go into the file. There’s the other scientist to be tracked down. What’s his name—Granville. Although I tend toward the notion he’s probably halfway to the Americas by now. Even so, you can’t do it all alone.”
Burke sighed. “You’re right, sir.”
“So what do you suggest?” Lord Southfield studied him with a troubled gaze.
“I’m trying to work that out myself.” Burke absently rotated his shoulders as if shifting a burden. “I’ll have to go to London, of course. Young Harbury should be there and there will be an assortment of formalities for him to pursue. While he’s doing that, I have to report on these killings and the attack on Lady Alwynne.”
“Was it Harbury, do you think?”
“Good question, sir.” Burke walked to the window. “The carnage was terrible. Worse than any I saw in the war zones while in service to Her Majesty. There’s really no way of knowing who perpetrated that particular deed. Or deeds, since she suffered multiple assaults on her person.”
He looked back at his host. “But between you and I, sir, my money is on Harbury. In my admittedly unskilled opinion, he’s mad and dangerous. And the word carved into his wife’s back? Reeks of marital vengeance.”
“I agree.”
“How would it be if I took on Devon Harbury as my assistant?” The idea had just occurred to Burke and he knew Lord Southfield would give him a thoughtful and considered answer.
“Hmm.” The other man stroked his chin. “You know, that might just work. He’d have to be careful around the staff, I suppose.”
“Yes. We’d have to find out who might remember him. But then again, it’s been over two years. The inmate from the lower levels of that hell hole isn’t anything like the clean and well dressed young fellow I shall bring back from London.”
“And he’s familiar with so many of the facets of Harbury Hall. Yes, Burke. I think that would be a very good idea.”
“So do I sir. So do I.”
And thus Inspector Burke took the steam train to London to enjoy a period of meetings, paperwork, more meetings and many meals with Devon Harbury whose own quest for the return of his identity was crawling along at the speed of mud.
The two men found much to talk about and were quite honest about the pleasure they found in each other’s company.
Burke didn’t share all the details of his business, of course. Much was on a somewhat hush-hush level. But when asked to join the investigation, Devon leaped at the chance, and given they’d both received the news of the sad death of one of Harbury’s “patients”—Portia’s quotes in her letter—things looked a lot easier for him.
“I was hoping for an excuse to go back as soon as possible, you know that Mr. Burke.” Devon grinned. “I can’t wait to see my savior again.”
“And I’ll bet you good money she’s waiting for you with every bit as much eagerness. She’s a wonderful girl, Devon.” Burke smiled over the brandy they were sharing. “I’d be willing to bet that she and Charlotte are having a lot of fun together.”
“Mrs. Howell is a fine woman.” Devon grinned knowingly.
“Oh shut up.” Burke laughed. “I will tell you this, though. If you ever do anything to hurt my lass Portia, I will hunt you down and do some pretty terrible things to you.”
Devon chuckled. “I understand completely.”
“So will you be free to leave—let’s say—the day after tomorrow? I have a couple more meetings, but I should be done by then.”
“Of course. I can do nothing more here at the moment. My petitions are circulating, my credentials, such as they are, have been placed into the appropriate files. All it’s going to take is some bureaucratic clerk to make the appropriate mark on the appropriate form and I will then be able to reclaim my life, my title and my estates. But, as you are well aware, these things take time.”
“And until then, you’re going to be my protégé. We’ll work out the details on the way down in the train.”
Devon looked pleased. “I’ve missed a lot of new developments. The airships now are extraordinary. The train is a pleasure and I’m shocked at how quickly one can reach London.”
“Portia will love expanding your knowledge. She’s quite brilliant you know.”
“I know.” Devon nodded. “She and I have this...this link of sorts. I’m not sure if she’s mentioned it to you?”
“She has. I can’t say I understand it, mind you. I’m more the practical sort than the psychical sort. But I will accept that something is there that can’t be explained. I leave it at that.” He gazed pointedly at the young man.
“Understood.”
A companionable silence fell for a few moments. Then Devon spoke again. “Were you able to reach the Somerlys?”
“I was.” Burke closed his eyes. “It wasn’t…a pleasant experience.”
“They must have been distraught.”
“She was. His father, though? There’s a cold-blooded bastard for you. Commented that he always knew the idiot would come to a bad end, then thanked me for bringing the news personally when a note from the Ministry would have sufficed.”
“Christ Almighty.”
“Yes.”
“I’m happy I’m going to be living in the country. I couldn’t take people like that. Not after being damn near buried alive for two years. Makes you appreciate life, people, family…all those things the Somerlys apparently take for granted.”
“Amen to that.”
The two men toasted each other and finished the liquor; each knowing the future was uncertain, but ready to face it together.
*~~*~~*
“Are you sure they’re coming today?”
Portia pulled the heavy curtain aside once more to look out at the fresh fall of snow.
“Yes dear.” Charlotte continued her reading.
“And he is bringing Devon back too.”
“Yes dear.”
“Charlotte.”
“Yes dear.”
“Stop saying yes dear.”
“Yes d—.” She looked up. “Portia, for the love of God. Have a little patience, child. They will be here soon.”
The younger woman sighed. “I know. But these last hours, waiting for him, have been the longest of my life.”
“It hasn’t been an easy road, has it? But you’ve achieved a small miracle. You’ve returned Devon to the land of the living.”
“I suppose I did.”
“What did your parents have to say about all this?”
The confessional visit to th
e Fieldings had taken place soon after Devon’s departure. Charlotte insisted it was time.
Portia shrugged. “Well Papa was more interested in the fact that the Jallai worked and ignored the rest of the story. I had to demonstrate it for him in the barn.”
Charlotte laughed. “Typical male.”
“Yes indeed. And Mama, well she was busy with the baby, who is very sweet, of course. I shan’t mind having another sister.” She felt a twinge of loss for a moment, thinking of Miranda and how they’d probably never know her older sister’s fate.
Placing her hand over Portia’s, Charlotte squeezed it in silent sympathy.
“Well, to finish the story, the family didn’t seem to have a lot to say about it all either way. It’s funny really.”
“How so, my dear?”
“It all seems so intense to me. So terrifying, being here, seeing what I’ve seen, doing what I’ve done. And yet here’s my family only a few miles away and it’s like they’re on the moon. Not any sort of clue about these things. And it saddens me to say that they don’t seem very concerned either.”
“That’s life in the country, I think. It’s easy to become insulated and more concerned with the minutia of life than the larger issues,” said Charlotte comfortingly. “I’m sure they do care, Portia. Just in their own way.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Well, at least they know now.” Charlotte closed her book. “Have you thought about what’s next? I know you’re taking a leave of absence from maid duties. But you’ll have to make a decision soon as to whether to go back or not.”
“I’m waiting to speak with Devon, I suppose. I need to find out about him. To spend time with him. To know if this…this thing I’m feeling…” Her hand lifted to her breast, “…inside here, is real.”
Charlotte smiled. “You’ll know if it is.”
“Which reminds me.” Portia swung around to look at her friend. “On the night we escaped, there was some sort of vaporous fog in that tunnel. And it made me feel most strange.”
