“I understand,” she whispered. “The shoulder doesn’t hurt all that much.”
“I doubt that’s true. Once Michael’s seen to your injury, then I hope you’ll tell me the rest of your story.”
“I’ll do my best,” she promised as the coach stopped in front of the great mansion. “Paul, even though William is dead, Redwing will continue. They’re meeting again tonight at the Empress. When Hansen tells them that you took me from her home, my life is forfeit. I’ll be the next woman found in bits and pieces upon the embankment.”
He grew quiet for a moment, remembering the bloated remains of Susanna Morgan’s tortured body. “Can you give us the names of all the London members?” he asked. “Lorena, I realise how dangerous this is for you, but it’s important. The circle has a partial list, but we must learn who it is we’ve missed.”
“Are you aware that William’s Round Table has been trying to free some very powerful spirits in recent weeks? Fallen angels who’ve been imprisoned?”
“Yes, we know a little about that,” he said cautiously. “Susanna revealed some details to me. I believe it’s why she was killed.”
A footman arrived at the door, and Paul could see Eric Miles descending the portico steps. “We’ll have to continue this later.”
The earl stepped out of the coach and spoke to the butler. “Miles, this is Dr. MacKey, a distant cousin of mine and Lord Haimsbury. She’s injured her left shoulder rather badly and requires medical attention and rest. Could you prepare an apartment for her, please?”
The butler bowed. “It’s our honour to serve, Lord Aubrey. Mr. Jacks here will see to any bags the lady has. Dr. Emerson is at the other house, tending to his lordship. Shall I ask Mrs. Meyer to see to the injury until he returns?”
“Yes, Miles. Thank you.” The earl helped Lorena out of the coach. “Careful now, Cousin. If I’m delayed at the other house, I’ll send word. We’ve a meeting this evening, but you and I will continue to reminisce later.”
To Lorena’s surprise, Paul kissed her cheek.
“Thank you, Cousin Paul,” she whispered.
The physician followed the footman and butler into the mansion, turning one last time to watch the coach depart for Haimsbury House. “Mr. Miles, I wonder, is there a Bible in the house?”
“Yes, my lady. If you’ll follow me?” The butler guided her through the foyer, and into the yellow morning room. “We have many copies of the Bible. Have you a preference, ma’am?”
“Whichever is easiest to read, I suppose. And where should I begin? Genesis? Or is there a better place to start?”
Miles answered as though it were the commonest of questions. “Mrs. Meyer might offer a suggestion, my lady. I’ll send her in to look after your shoulder. As you’re a physician, is there a remedy you’d recommend? Ice, perhaps?”
“Yes, ice, but also truth.”
“Our ice cave can provide the first, and God’s word will provide the latter, ma’am.” The butler left, and Lorena took a chair near the window.
Is this a new beginning to my life, or the first step of the end? Only God knows now.
Chapter Thirteen
12:43 pm – 24th November
Martin Kepelheim had nearly worn a hole in the carpeting. “Emerson did say that Charles spoke? Is that right?”
The Duke of Drummond had hardly slept in days, and his dark eyes were rimmed in puffy circles, adding age to an otherwise ageless face. “Della told us that she heard Charles whispering in his sleep. Surely, that means he’s coming ‘round. I wish to heaven Beth were here! He’ll go mad when he learns she’s missing.”
“We mustn’t borrow trouble, sir,” Cornelius Baxter said as he poured coffee for the two men. “Lady Adele has been keeping very close watch on his lordship. It’s no surprise that she’d notice changes before anyone else. If I may be so bold, sir, you’ve not eaten at all today and very little yesterday. I’m sure the marquess would be most upset if he learns you’ve allowed your own needs to go unmet during his illness. We’ve plenty left from breakfast. Mrs. Paget baked those blackberry tarts again, Your Grace. And there are smoked kippers and bacon. I could bring up a tray with a selection of offerings. Shall I, sir?”
Some peers would have called the butler impertinent, but the duke merely smiled. He’d known Cornelius Baxter for over forty years, and in that time, the servant had never so much as hinted at impertinence. Rather, his thoughtful commentary reflected a deep love for the Stuart family.
“You’re right, Mr. Baxter. We’d all be lost without your wise counsel. Our Princess will need us strong and able if we’re to find her, will she not? Bring trays up here, if it’s not too much trouble. Simple fare will do. You know my tastes.”
“I certainly do, Your Grace. Will it be coffee, tea, or something stronger?”
“Water for now, but also more coffee. My sister will likely want tea. She’s downstairs with Lady Della presently.”
“Very good, sir,” the faithful servant answered with a bow.
No sooner had the door to the parlour shut than it opened again. Paul Stuart entered the warm drawing room, still wearing his overcoat and gloves. “I came straight up. Miles told me that Emerson was called back here. Is Charles worse?”
“If only we knew!” the tailor complained. “Your dear sister ran to fetch us less than half an hour ago, filled to bursting with the news that our marquess had stirred in his dreams. She claims he said something nonsensical, but it may be that Della mistook it.”
“What did he say?” the earl asked as he removed the leather gloves and tossed them onto the nearest table.
“He was counting, or so claims our Della. One, two, three. Most peculiar!” Kepelheim observed.
“He’s most likely dreaming,” the duke suggested as the bedchamber door was opened by Emerson. “Well?” Drummond asked anxiously.
“I’m happy to offer good news,” Emerson told the three men. “Please, do come in. Della’s right. I think he’s beginning to come ‘round.”
They hastened into the bedchamber and gathered at the foot of the handcrafted bed, and to the delight of all, Charles Sinclair’s eyes were open. He stared at the concerned faces before him, not recognising anyone at first. The dissonant and abrupt change of venue had caught the sleeping man off guard. Though he’d prayed to return to his own world, the new environment seemed both strange and familiar all at once. The back of his head pounded, his mouth and lips felt like sandpaper, and the rest of his body ached as though he’d fought six rounds with a lion.
Slowly recovering his bearings, Sinclair made several quiet observations: He lay in a darkened bedchamber and could hear hushed whispers coming from the faces that surrounded his bed. The smell of liniment and carbolic acid burnt his nose. Then, he realised what bothered him most. Amongst the familiar faces, one stood out—as missing.
“Where’s Beth?” he asked, his unused voice barely audible.
Hearing this simple question, Kepelheim looked as though he might break out in song; the exhausted earl started to weep from relief; and the duke’s ever-widening smile threatened to slice off both his ears.
“Welcome back, son,” Drummond answered happily. “We’d thought you might spend the rest of the year sleeping.”
Ever the professional, Michael Emerson calmly checked his patient’s pulse. “Do you remember your name?”
“That’s an odd question,” the patient replied. “If I say St. Clair, will you doubt my memory or my sanity?”
“Apparently, the blow did nothing to alter your sense of humour,” the physician noted.
“What can you remember, son?” asked Drummond.
“Very odd things, actually. Might I have a drink of water?”
Aubrey had already poured half a glass, and he moved past his uncle and the physician to offer it. “Here,” he told his cousin. “Drink it slowly.”
&n
bsp; Charles’s hands trembled as he lifted the glass, but refused Paul’s assistance. “I can do this on my own. Just give me time. Time...” he repeated, thoughtfully. “That’s it. Time was the key. You ask me what I remember, but I doubt it will make sense to any of you. It made very little sense to me. That annoying birdman and the cottage...” he told them, suddenly wincing in extreme pain. “Oh, my head! Did I take a fall?”
“You might say that,” the ebullient tailor said, his grey eyes glistening. “Charles, it is wonderful to hear your voice once more! We’ve been very worried about you.”
“Worried? Why? James, where is Elizabeth? I thought she’d be here. The watch started ticking, and then...”
Charles stopped. The entire scene and its meaning crystallised into a dreadful possibility. “Is Beth dead?”
Paul Stuart sat beside his cousin and took his hand. “Try not to think of it right now, Charles.”
“Think about what? Are you saying that she is dead?” he asked, worry and dread shadowing his pale face.
“No! Not at all. At least, we pray she is not. Charles, the truth is that we’ve no idea what happened to Elizabeth or where she is. When we were finally able to enter your old house, we found no one inside. She’d been there, but escaped before the fire started.”
Strangely enough, Sinclair actually laughed. “Thank you, Lord! Thank you! She’s alive, Paul, I know it. I saw her. She was with me in that awful place, but she’s alive. Only, she may be ill. She must be. Why else would she have been there with me? But if I escaped, then Beth can escape, too, can she not?”
“Of course, she can,” the earl answered, thoroughly confused but not wishing to upset his cousin.
“But you say I’ve been sleeping? That may explain my journey. Perhaps, she is also sleeping in a fever. How long?”
“Long?” the earl asked.
“Yes, long,” Charles answered as he pushed his way up, finally gaining a sitting position and throwing off the quilts. He wore a blue silk nightshirt, and though his leg wounds were no longer bandaged, he noticed five red gashes along the shins and thighs, three of which still bore stitches. “Now, how did I get these?”
“Glass,” Emerson answered as he took the marquess’s pulse once more. “Your heart’s racing, Charles. Your constitution is strong, but you’ve been in a protracted coma for days.”
“Days? How many?” he asked again. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“A week,” the physician replied. “Seven days.”
Sinclair’s face took on an odd sort of calm. “A week? I see. And you’ve no idea where Beth might be?”
“We’ve searched the entire city,” Paul told him. “But we will find her. I promise.”
“And I’ll help,” the patient decided, starting to stand.
“No, Charles, you need to remain here for the rest of the day,” Emerson ordered, his hands on Sinclair’s shoulders.
Paul agreed. “Charles, rest today. Tomorrow, you and I shall prepare a plan.”
“No, I’ve slept long enough. I promised to find her, Paul. I promised! I cannot let her down. I will not!”
The determined patient pushed out of the bed, but the duke and Kepelheim gathered near to hold him, trying to stop Charles from injuring himself.
Esther Alcorn had just entered the room, bringing clean bandages and freshly laundered linen. The efficient Scotswoman quickly assessed the situation and provided precisely what was needed. Passing through the knot of distraught men, she reached the bed and spoke to her employer in a soothing voice.
“How nice to see your eyes open, sir,” she whispered. “I know it must be quite confusing for you, but it will all make sense in a moment.”
“Mrs. Alcorn, I’ve lain in bed far too long already. I will not stay here one moment longer!”
“I understand, my lord. Do you trust me, sir?”
He nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Then, allow me to offer a suggestion. If you must leave your bed, then why not sit by the fire?”
“If it means I can begin to make plans, then fine. Yes, I’ll sit.”
Alcorn smiled graciously. “We’ll do all we can to help you, sir,” she said, taking charge.
Esther turned to the earl. “Sir, if you could give the marquess your shoulder, and Mr. Kepelheim, perhaps you’d be good enough to fetch a dressing gown. There should be plenty o’ clean ones in his lordship’s bedchamber closet.”
“I’ll get it,” Drummond offered, crossing through the connecting bath and into the master chamber. The duke opened the panelled door to an expansive, cedar-lined closet that stretched the length of an entire wall. Since Sunday night, the earl had spent many sleepless nights in this chamber, and his own clothes took up part of one rod. After replacing Matthew Laurence as butler on Monday morning, Cornelius Baxter had taken an entire afternoon to arrange the contents of the closet. He pressed and cleaned dozens of suit coats, trousers, shirts, and waistcoats; organised the items within a built-in bureau, including sleepwear, socks, personal linen, handkerchiefs, ties, and ascots; and even polished and re-ordered the marquess’s jewellery into two velvet-lined drawers. A series of shelves stretched from one end of the closet to the other and held a variety of hats and shoes, neatly arranged by colour and occasion. The beautifully ordered closet would have made any haberdasher proud, but Baxter had done it to keep his hands and thoughts busy.
The duke whistled when he saw the interior. “Baxter needs to teach Booth his secrets. My closets look as though a military campaign’s run through them. Dressing gowns?”
Alcorn had entered to put away the linen. “There, sir. To your right. The blue one looks quite nice.”
“They’d have bit me, if I stood here any longer,” he said, removing a quilted dressing gown with velvet trim.
“Here,” he told his nephew as he placed it against Sinclair’s back and shoulders. “Arms through, son.”
“Thank you, James.” Aubrey and Drummond helped him through the doorway and onto one of the upholstered sofas near the fireplace.
“Are you satisfied now?” Charles asked his caretakers. “I’m not an invalid, and unless you plan to shackle me, I intend to start searching for my wife.”
Aubrey stood nearby. “No shackles. You and I shall spend the afternoon making plans.” He turned to the Branham housekeeper. “Mrs. Alcorn, would you be so kind as to tell Lady Victoria that her nephew is awake?”
“Of course, sir,” she answered. “I’ll fetch a pot o’ tea as well.”
“I believe Baxter is arranging that, Mrs. Alcorn,” the duke informed her.
“Did you say it’s Saturday?” Sinclair repeated, his voice slowly growing stronger. “If I’ve slept a week, then why do my mind and body feel completely worn out? Mrs. Alcorn, I’m surprised to find you still here. Delighted, but surprised. And, James, did you just mention Baxter?”
“Neither our blessed Alcorn nor the formidable Mr. Baxter would leave you, Charles,” the earl explained. “They’ve been very worried about your health, and both have vowed to remain until the duchess returns and you are fully recovered.”
Sinclair reached out and took the woman’s hands. “My dear Mrs. Alcorn, that is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me, I think. I hope Mrs. Partridge has treated you kindly.”
Esther laughed. “Aye, sir, she has, and we’ve become good friends. She’s got her own manner o’ keepin’ a household. I stay out of her way, an’ I get ta do as I wish. Mr. Baxter, now, he’s taken over as butler. I do hope he didn’t overstep.”
“My fault,” Aubrey explained. “I needed as many men hunting Beth as possible, and I seconded Laurence as an agent. He’s scouring Kent County as we speak. A very good man. I’d like to keep him, if I may, Charles. You’re head of ICI. It’s your decision.”
“If so, then, I heartily agree,” the marquess answered. “Not only to
Laurence, but also to this new arrangement. Mrs. Alcorn, would you consider remaining here indefinitely? As you know, we’ll be needing an experienced nurse. Not only for the duchess, but for our children once they’re born.”
“Children? Did you just say children, sir?” the Scotswoman asked.
“Did I?” the marquess replied, smiling as he thought of Georgianna. “I meant child, of course, though eventually we’ll have more than one, I’m sure. If you’d consider staying on, we’ll make arrangements at Branham for your replacement. I take it that Mr. Kay has assumed leadership there?”
“He has, sir,” she answered, “and I suggested that Mr. Baxter promote Mary Haversham to temporary housekeeper. She’s been helping me for a year now and is quite competent.”
“Good. Thank you for taking care of all that, Mrs. Alcorn.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Shall I ask Mrs. Paget to prepare a special tray for you? Clear broth is better than cheese and meats after so long a time without food.”
“I’m tired but famished, actually,” he admitted. “Michael, is my diet restricted?”
Emerson shook his head in amazement. “I have never in all my years in practise seen a man come out of a protracted state of unconsciousness with such energy, however, I suggest eating sparingly today. Clear broth, porridge, scrambled eggs.”
“No bacon?” his patient asked. “Not even one rasher?”
“Your digestive system will be sluggish, Charles. Allow it to catch up to your appetite. Mrs. Alcorn, I’ll speak with the marquess’s cooks regarding dietary requirements.”
“Very good, sir. Lord Haimsbury, I’ll see if there’s any rashers left over from breakfast,” she added with a wink.
Aubrey began to laugh—something he’d not done for many days. “Praise God Almighty! Charles, it’s a great relief to see you on the road to recovery!”
“If I’m recovering, it’s because I know that Beth is alive, Paul. I’ve seen her. She’s feverish but alive.”
“I think you’ve been dreaming,” the earl answered.
Drummond took a chair near the fire. “How can you have seen her, son, if you’ve yet to find her? I’m confused.”
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