Realms of Stone

by Sharon K Gilbert

  Martin stood. “If I may, I should like to tell a story about mirrors. A number of years ago, I travelled to Cumbria to visit Rose House, the Haimsbury family seat. The duke was serving in Crimea at that time, I think.”

  The duke shook his head. “If this is 1860, I’d already gone to Paris by then, Martin.”

  Kepelheim nodded. “Ah, yes, so you had. In fact, did you not also attend the negotiations, Your Grace?”

  “I did. As did Paul’s father and Charles’s.”

  Sinclair set down his wine glass. “My father worked in government?”

  Drummond touched his nephew’s hand fondly. “Your good father also served as a spy, Charles. In fact, his mind was much like yours, designed to solve puzzles. There is much of Robby Sinclair in you, son.”

  Charles sighed as he rubbed the back of his head. “I wish I could remember him. What little Martin helped me recall of my childhood only whets my appetite for more.”

  The tailor gazed at the circle’s leader knowingly. “I imagine all of those memories will return to you one day. This particular visit was in June of 1860, and your father had just returned from the negotiation table. He’d left the delegation early to attend your birthday, in fact. Your father hated being away from home, but he was often forced to do so, usually for circle reasons. I met him at Rose House, and as usual we all celebrated together. My birthday gift to you that year, Charles, was a set of silk handkerchiefs with your courtesy title, Lord Loudain, embroidered upon them. Your small nose was always running. I’m pleased it has since stopped.”

  Charles smiled. “I’m relieved to have outgrown it, Martin.”

  Many at the table laughed as Kepelheim took a sip of water. “So, I am at Rose House, and whilst there—a week perhaps—a most strange fellow visited your mother. Rose House sits upon a hill overlooking the Eden River Valley, forty miles southeast of Carlisle. Your father had gone into the city to visit a bereaved friend, and when he returned, he ordered the visitor to leave. Your father’s behaviour was most unusual, as he was generally a tolerant man with guests. I wish I could tell you more, but neither your father nor mother told me more, which means I’m limited in what I may convey. However, I do know this: That night, your father told me privately, that he wished that damnable mirror had never come into his house! He used that very phrase, and I repeat it only to express how angry your father was. Robby Sinclair seldom swore, yet, he did so that night, numerous times. I’d never seen him in such a state!

  “Naturally, I asked him what mirror, and he said the one that came as a gift for you on the day of your birth, Charles. It sat in your mother’s bedchamber for many years, but in the spring of 1860, it was moved to your nursery. I remember seeing it there, and I tell you this mirror looked exactly like the one we found in the duchess’s chamber.”

  “Could it have been the mirror used by Trent to exit into Whitechapel?” Aubrey asked.

  “I think it possible. You see, we’d assumed only just the one existed back then, but I looked for the mirror when I was there last week, Charles.”

  “And did you find it?”

  “No.”

  “My poor mother,” Charles said wearily. “Was she also subject to the same horrendous visitations and perils that plague my wife?”

  “Not exactly. Your mother seldom spoke of these things, but your father often saw visions,” the tailor answered, “and at the time, it puzzled me, for most in the circle have always assumed it was the union of the Stuart and Plantagenet blood that the enemy longs for, but we know better now, do we not? When Paul’s brother Ian was murdered, Patricia had no choice but to marry Connor. That led to Elizabeth, who descends from both twins, and she is both Stuart and Plantagenet. But since then, we’ve learnt that it has always been Redwing’s plan to use Charles’s blood, for he descends from Stuart, Plantagenet, and Sinclair. It may have a French connexion, for the Sinclairs reach back to ancient France and certainly to the founding of Normandy, but according to some sources the line also descends from another. I shan’t say more until I have proof, but it’s clear that Redwing has been manipulating marriages and births for centuries, if not millennia. And though we appear to play into their hands, as some would say, we do so with open eyes!

  Sinclair’s head began to throb, and he took another sip of his water. “Go on, Martin.”

  “As I say, that summer, your father was very angry, and he insisted this man leave. I only saw him once, Charles, just the once, but I must tell you, my friend, that he looked very much like Prince Anatole.”

  Charles felt the blood drain from his face, and Paul’s hand was instantly upon his arm.

  “What?” Charles asked weakly, his head pounding. “Are you saying that Romanov also befriended my mother? That he gave her that mirror?”

  “I cannot make that claim. I say again, I only saw the man once, but he was the same height as Romanov—an unusual height to be sure—with dark, shoulder length hair, as the prince wears his, and eyes of icy blue. The only difference is that this man at Rose House wore a beard and moustache. Other than that, they are strikingly similar.”

  “Raziel,” the marquess concluded. “If not Anatole, then it must be that sadistic creature! Romanov is ambiguous, but feels more fair than foul. It must have been his brother. What happened next?”

  “It cannot have been Raziel,” MacPherson argued. “Wasn’t he imprisoned inside the Mt. Hermon stone until 1871?”

  “Yes,” Sinclair whispered. “You’re right, of course. I’d forgotten. But if not Romanov, then which was it? Is there another of these creatures?”

  “That is a question we must answer, Charles,” Kepelheim replied. “That day, your father called the man out, and this fellow shot your father dead.”

  Charles jumped to his feet, his eyes round. “One of these creatures killed my father? And what of my mother? Was there no one to help her? Is that why she ran?”

  “Sit, my friend, sit, and I’ll continue. You look ready to collapse!” Kepelheim implored with much concern in his voice. “You’re still recovering from a nearly fatal blow to the head, remember?”

  Charles took his seat, looking to Paul. “I’m fine, Cousin. Martin, was there no one else there to help my parents when this happened?”

  “A footman stood nearby, and he tried to assist me with medical aid, but your father’s injuries were too severe. I did my best, but even my skills are limited. No one else witnessed the act itself, you see, and I later read a report from the local magistrate who took testimony from the footman. This murderer, for that is what he was, met your father without allowing him a second, a breach of all rules of dueling. I know this, for I saw no one acting as second when I arrived.

  “I awoke to the sound of the first shot, and your mother and I ran to the garden, reaching it no more than two to three minutes later at most. As we ran, a second shot sounded. When we entered the garden, this fiend stood there smirking, holding a weapon which still smoked, and your father upon the ground, his own, unfired pistol in his hand. I administered all the aid I could, but your father’s wounds were too severe, both bullets entering very close to the heart. He spoke only a few words into your mother’s ear, I know not what, but she grew pale and ran to the house right after.

  “This murderer fled almost immediately, or so I assumed, for the footman told me he’d disappeared, though I did not see the man leave. The magistrate was at a loss. He couldn’t pronounce it murder with only one witness, and the suspect had vanished, figuratively, if not literally. Your mother left with you for Drummond Castle that very afternoon, and I accompanied both you and her there, staying until she ordered me to leave. I begged her to allow me to remain, but Angela said she wished to grieve alone. I sent letters at once to Paul’s father and to the duke, both still in Paris, and to Victoria, also in Paris.”

  The duke reached for his nephew’s hand to offer comfort. “As you can imagine, Charles,
Tory and I were shocked to learn of it. All three of us rushed back to Glasgow on the next ship, but by the time we arrived, your mother had already fled the castle, taking you with her. The rest you know—or you know as much as we do. What we do not know, nor can we fathom, is what hold this creature had over Angela that would cause her to run from her own family. Martin, if the mirror we possess is the same as the one given to Angela, must we destroy it, or may we study it? Perhaps, even use it as a lure.”

  “I defer to Dr. MacPherson for that,” the tailor said, resuming his chair.

  MacPherson stood once more, adjusting his spectacles. “I should resist any attempt to use the device, Your Grace, unless God makes it clear that doing so is in His plan. These mirrors open doorways into a world which we are commanded not to pursue. The pagans seek power by engaging in such dark rites, but we who follow Christ lean upon his power, not our own. Opening these portals is a very dangerous activity. God may open such doors as he wishes, but man should never do so. I vote to destroy it.”

  Charles agreed. “I believe destruction is best, as well. But will doing so send a message to anyone on the other side of this doorway?”

  “It may, so for now, let’s leave it in storage,” the duke decided. “I’ve placed a Bible in with it, and also covered it with scriptures and had MacPherson anoint it with holy oil. For now, I think it’s safe, so long as we leave it boxed up.”

  “And I’ll put a twenty-hour guard on the shed,” Charles said. “Reid, have you anything to report on Hemsfield?”

  “Nothing new,” the inspector said, standing. “Did I hear that you’ve arrested Dr. Alexander Collins?”

  “Not arrested, precisely. I’ve placed him at the London for observation and examination. Henry and I went to the Castor with questions regarding Lord Peter Andrews and other strange links to that institute, but Collins appeared to have seizure. I asked Treves to ascertain whether it was genuine or contrived. I plan to call on Treves early tomorrow morning.”

  The meeting continued, each man or woman offering a report regarding the Redwing murders, as they were now calling them, but also a series of arson fires. The earl kept notes regarding their locations and assigned Galton to visit each.

  An hour passed in this manner, and as the clock struck half eight, a hand rapped upon the library doors. Baxter rose to answer. The members could hear him whispering with the caller, and he turned to face the marquess. “Sir, the duchess begs leave to join us.”

  “The duchess?” Sinclair asked, unable to believe it. “Elizabeth never asks to attend these meetings. Does she say why?”

  “Only that she must speak to all of us.”

  “James, do we allow this?” Charles asked his uncle. “Paul has told me of a time when Beth attended a meeting and experienced hellacious attacks from the enemy. I will not allow that again.”

  The duke thought carefully before replying. “Paul, what do you think?”

  Aubrey’s face hardened with resolve. “I rarely refuse Elizabeth anything, but I agree with my cousin. I’ve no wish to repeat the event at Drummond Castle. Charles, may I speak to her?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The earl left the meeting and joined his cousin in the outer room. “Beth, why do you ask to come inside? I thought you feared such things.”

  “Paul, I must speak to you. To all of you. It’s important.”

  He took her hand and led her away from the doors. “Darling, I worry what may happen. We’ve heard word of a spiritual attack on the grounds, and I cannot permit you to put yourself or the children you carry at risk.”

  “Do you think I would ever put my children at risk? I wish only to help them, Paul. Please, I’ve had a dream which I think is very important. It concerns Charles.”

  Aubrey sighed heavily, realising he had no choice. “Very well, but, Elizabeth, you must promise to leave if you feel anything unusual, and even if you do not, and we insist you go, then you must promise to accept our decision.”

  Her heart-shaped face turned up to his, the dark eyes large and honest. “I promise. I’ll follow your every order.”

  They entered the library, and Charles stood. “It seems my persistent wife has won the argument. Darling, come here and sit beside me.”

  The duchess walked ‘round the long table until she reached the head, where Charles offered his own chair. “I suspect this is how it should be,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You have been at the centre of inner circle lives since your birth, Elizabeth, and at the centre of mine since ’79. How may we serve you, little one?” he asked sweetly.

  “That’s kind of you, Captain. I do not claim to have any special significance to this membership, but it is generous of you to say so. What I ask from all of you is that you give me your ears, for only a short while. I’ve just awoken from a very important dream. As some of you know, I’ve experienced many dreams in my life, and whilst some are obviously only that—a dream—others imprint themselves upon my mind and heart with a living vengeance. This one falls into that category,” she began. “Some of you know that my father sometimes brought me to London when I was a girl. I never quite understood why he would take me on overnight trips without Mother, but I assumed it because of a need to meet with government ministers and the like.”

  Paul and Charles glanced at one other. Both knew the real reason Connor Stuart might have taken Beth from her mother now and then, for Patricia Stuart’s ongoing affair with Sir William Trent had commenced very early in their marriage.

  Beth continued without noticing either man’s expression—or at least, she said nothing, if she did. “In ‘75, Father came home for Christmas, and he remained through the end of January. During his last week in England, he brought me to London, and we stayed at Queen Anne. Mother remained behind in Kent, for she’d suffered from migraines the entire holiday. Father thought to occupy my time with a shopping trip. Charles, as you know, Grandfather kept watch on all the Sinclair properties as the closest relative, and therefore had keys to all your houses. What you may not know is that my father also had keys. Including the ones to this house. That weekend, he brought me inside.”

  “Connor brought you into this house?” Sinclair asked, dumbfounded. “Why has no one ever told me? James, did you know about this?”

  Drummond also seemed perplexed. “Princess, are you remembering correctly? Connor said nothing to me.”

  “I don’t believe he would have told you, Grandfather. If you’ll let me finish, it will become clear, I think. As I said, that weekend—a Friday, in fact—Father and I finished breakfast, and he asked me if I wanted to take a walk. It was a beautiful day, though quite cold. He made sure I was warmly dressed, and we walked, hand in hand to this house. Charles, I can see by your expression that you find this story irritating. You wonder why I’ve never told you, don’t you?”

  “Actually, yes,” Sinclair admitted. “When I took you through before the wedding, you never said a word.”

  “I wasn’t hiding anything, Charles, if that’s what you’re thinking. It is one of many things in my past which I could not recall—until now, that is. The dream dislodged the memory.”

  Paul interrupted. “Beth, is it possible this dream implanted the memory?”

  “You think me imaginative? That is typical of how you’ve treated me my entire life, Paul, but I did not imagine this. If you’ll allow me to finish, I think you’ll understand, and perhaps even believe me!”

  “Forgive me, Princess,” the earl whispered, for he feared her tale might bring on emotional distress. “Yes, do go on.”

  As though sensing her need, Cornelius Baxter delivered a glass of cool water to his mistress. “My lady, I hope you’ll forgive the impertinence, but you look parched. And, for the record, I believe you. I remember that weekend trip to London, and I’d be happy to corroborate, but this is not my story to tell.”

  “Thank you, M
r. Baxter, it is not impertinent at all. You are a dear for thinking of it, and once my tale is finished, if my cousin requires proof, then he may seek your corroboration.”

  She sipped the water and continued with her account. “We entered Haimsbury House through the south doors. I’d never been inside before, but I’d known the house sat near ours for a long time. I used to play in the gardens near the south entrance. The Haimsbury dower house has a lovely little folly in its garden, especially built for children. I used to call it the Hänsel and Gretel house, for it looks like something out of a fairy tale. The south conservatory entrance surprised me, for I’d no idea how enormous it was. Haimsbury House encompasses more land than Queen Anne, and to a child, its wings seemed to stretch out forever. We roamed the entire mansion, except for the ballroom, which Father said I must never enter. He called it an accursed place.”

  “I wonder, Your Grace, did Lord Kesson explain why he might call it that?” Kepelheim asked, thinking of Salperton’s vision.

  “No, not in my hearing. When we finished our tour, he brought me back into this room. The house hadn’t been occupied for over fifteen years, and the floor and furnishings had thick layers of dust upon them, but this room had none of that. Not one speck of dust could be seen anywhere. I mentioned it to Father and even asked if he’d had the room cleaned, but he had no explanation for it. He showed me the books, and told me that they must not be moved or relocated. He was adamant about it. Then, he took me to this wall,” she said, standing and walking towards the grand Languedoc marble fireplace. The duchess placed a hand upon the mural to the left of the fireplace. “This painting is important,” he told me. “I asked why, and Father explained that it was a pictorial history of a very important family called Sinclair.”