“How could I?” His expression was frankly dumbfounded. “She said she was returning the jewel. I thought she was simply in some sort of trouble. So I went to Louise, my sister, and told her I needed gear for a masquerade. She fitted me out with a gown and some paste jewels and face paint in a bag and I dashed for the express train down to London. I made it only just.”
“When did the wire come from Madame Aurore?”
He shrugged. “Just before luncheon.”
I calculated swiftly. Shortly after Stoker and I had decided to attend the masquerade, the wire had been sent to Eddy, luring him to the evening’s entertainment. I did not believe in coincidences. I thought of Archibond’s careful maneuvering. We had been invited to sleuth on the princess’s behalf, but when we had refused, it was Archibond’s oblique hints as to Lady Wellie’s distress that had prompted us to investigate her desk, unearthing the diary and the notes she had made regarding Eddy’s whereabouts during the Ripper murder.
“I believe Inspector Archibond has been making a good deal of this up as he goes along,” I said slowly. “The original intention was no doubt to implicate you in a scandal of a most sordid nature at Madame Aurore’s. But the Ripper murders gave him an opportunity to do something far more devious.”
“The Ripper murders? What on earth have they to do with me?”
I explained swiftly about the anonymous note and Lady Wellie’s attempts to establish his alibi.
“Poor Lady Wellie,” he said softly. “How horrified she must have been.”
“You don’t blame her for even entertaining the notion?” I asked.
“How could I? She has looked after us all of her life. She was looking after me still. She made it her business to put me quite in the clear,” he said firmly. “If she had not fallen ill, she would have made it perfectly apparent that I was nowhere near Whitechapel during those terrible crimes.”
I did not disabuse him of his illusions. Lady Wellie’s proof of his innocence would hold in a court of law but not the court of public opinion. One whisper attaching his name to the murders and he would go down in history as an homicidal maniac.
I went on. “The Ripper murders have been a stroke of luck for Archibond,” I mused. “Nothing else could keep Special Branch so preoccupied that he could work out his schemes undetected. He has no doubt kept careful records of your visits to Madame Aurore’s house with an eye to presenting them once you were implicated in her murder.”
“You think that was his plan?” Eddy paled in horror.
“I do. That was why you had to be lured back to her house at a specific time, to ensure that Archibond and his men were there to do the deed. And the time was set for an evening when Stoker and I were there as well so that Archibond could kill three very particular birds with one stone.”
Eddy ticked them off on his fingers. “Eliminating a co-conspirator in Aurore, establishing my presence at the house at the time of her murder, and giving them an opportunity to abduct you and me, so that we would be in their power.”
“Precisely.”
“I cannot approve such actions, but they were efficiently done,” he observed.
“I think it is as much a lack of manpower as efficiency driving their actions,” I pointed out. “We have seen my uncle de Clare, Archibond, Quiet Dan, and one other. I think they have chosen to keep their little plot as quiet as possible in order to avoid word getting out.”
“That would be a reasonable precaution,” Eddy agreed.
Just then the door opened and my uncle de Clare appeared, leaning on his walking stick, with his minion, Quiet Dan, lurking behind.
“Good evening, Niece,” he said amiably.
I inclined my head. “Uncle. How kind of you to visit. It was gracious of Inspector Archibond to permit it.”
He thrust himself upwards. “What’s that?”
I opened my eyes wide. “Well, obviously he is the mastermind of this little endeavor. The kingmaker, as it were. Or I suppose we would call him a queenmaker, although it doesn’t have quite the same ring, does it?”
Eddy was watching de Clare closely but said nothing, letting me prattle on, goading my uncle in ways I knew he would never accept from a woman.
“It is understandable,” I remarked. “After all, you are merely an Irish countryman and he is an inspector at Scotland Yard, a member of Special Branch, no less. It was very wise of you to put someone cleverer than yourself in charge.”
He came forwards, his lips stretched in a thin line.
“You think I would play second fiddle to that arse-faced Englishman?” he demanded.
I shrugged. “He seems to be making all of the decisions,” I pointed out. “And why shouldn’t he? You are superfluous to his requirements.”
His eyes goggled. “Superfluous! Damn your insolence, girl. This entire plan is mine.”
“Is it? It might have been when you began. But you have given him too much rein and he has slipped the traces. He has no need of you now, does he? He knows what you intend and he has me. What use are you?”
I paused to let that sift through the murky waters of his thoughts. “It is not true,” he muttered.
“Perhaps not,” I said graciously. “He might intend for the pair of you to be partners to the very end. But if you are willing to take the risk, then you are a greater gambler than even I realized.”
“’Tis no risk,” he said mulishly. “We work together and he takes his orders from me.”
“Do I, now?” Archibond’s voice was silken. De Clare had not seen him approach, but I had noticed the shadow falling over the doorway as I framed my last remark. De Clare whirled, his expression dark.
Archibond entered, clearly intent upon placating him. “Are you listening to her? She’s an artful woman, I will give her that. She is trying to divide us by sowing discord, de Clare. Surely you can see that.”
His tone was reasonable, but the expression in his eyes was watchful. And with good reason. Quiet Dan and his companion stood at the ready. If they were prepared to abduct the prince and assault the brother of a peer, heaven knew they would not scruple to bludgeon an officer of the law if de Clare ordered it.
De Clare nodded slowly. “Aye. She is a canny bitch and no doubt about it. Her mother was another just as like.” He smiled a mirthless smile. “All the same, she has a point.”
Archibond’s mouth tightened. “Does she indeed?”
“She does. Who is to say that you won’t cut my throat for my trouble when you’ve got what you want?”
Archibond gave a patient sigh. “De Clare, we have been through this. We each have a role to play in our little drama. This is no time to give up the faith.”
“Faith! That’s a lot to ask of a man when his life is on the line,” de Clare pointed out. “We could all of us hang for this if it goes awry. And even if it don’t. Why should you see me right at the end and not come over greedy? You might have character flaws I had not anticipated.”
“Character flaws? Good God, man. Do you hear yourself?” Archibond demanded. “We are conspiring to commit treason and you have decided that this is the time to worry about character flaws? Of course I have character flaws! I agreed to the cutting of a woman’s throat for this endeavor. Does that not prove my commitment?”
“You agreed to it,” de Clare allowed. “But ’twas Danny who did the slicing,” he added with a jerk of the head towards Quiet Dan. “There’s no blood on your hands, Mr. Archibond. Lily-white, they are.”
Archibond shot me a look of purest loathing. “If you attempt to stir up trouble between us one more time, I will have you gagged, do you understand me?”
I looked to my uncle. “You notice he does not ask your permission?”
De Clare curled a lip. “She is my niece, Archibond. Touch a hair on that pretty head and I will give her your balls to keep in her pocket.”
Archibond winced. “My dear de Clare, must we descend to crude threats of violence?”
“If an Irishman has learnt violence, he has learnt it at the hands of the English, so you will spare me the lectures, Inspector,” de Clare told him in a tone of chill finality. “Now, she is a twisty little bitch, and there’s no doubt about that, but she is right. I’ve no reason to trust you. And I shall be keeping an eye on you. Mind yourself.”
With that he stalked out, leaving Archibond to give me a slow smile. “Well, it appears I have underestimated you, Miss Speedwell. I shall not make the same mistake again. Your uncle and I have a gentlemen’s agreement and we will abide by it.”
He turned, whistling a little tune as he left. The others followed, and I heard him whistling still as the door closed behind them. It was not until I heard the rasp of the key in the lock that I realized what he was whistling. “God Save the Queen.”
I took a seat on the floor, resting my head against the wall.
“Thank God. I thought those chattering bastards would never leave,” Stoker said.
I looked down to find him grinning at me. He moved slowly to stand.
“I thought you were dying,” Eddy told him in obvious relief.
“It would take more than those Irish hooligans to kill a Templeton-Vane. I’ve been hurt worse by Tiberius just for taking his horse without permission. But they were enjoying it rather too much, and I have no fondness for pain. I thought if I pretended to swoon they might lose interest, and they did. They have no imagination,” he added. “They only like administering a beating if they can hear you scream.”
“That is quite enough,” I told him, shuddering
Stoker rubbed his hands together briskly. “All right, then. I want to get out of this bloody place and put an end to this madness once and for all.”
“Agreed,” I said, more briskly than I felt. “What do you suggest?”
He stared at me. “Suggest?”
I gaped at him. “Really, Stoker. You are the only one of us to have the lay of the land, a crucial bit of intelligence if we are to effect an escape. And what else were you doing when you were lying around with all the feverish activity of a pygmy sloth? You might have been developing a scheme for our liberation.”
“My scheme was to try to get out through the door and that did not end in success,” he returned coolly. “The least you two might have done is develop another plan. I don’t know what you think my life has been up until this point, Veronica, but until I met you, there was very little call for me to elude abductors and murderous thugs.”
“Feathers,” I said in some irritation at his sudden lackadaisical attitude. “You’re just being difficult because you are in pain. I know for a fact that you were engaged in actual warfare.”
“If you are referring to the Siege of Alexandria, might I remind you that I stood on the deck of a ship as it lobbed cannon fire ashore? I was not exactly vaulting through the rigging with a cutlass in my teeth,” he replied.
“Still, this is child’s play compared to that.”
“It bloody well is not! I had the might of Her Majesty’s Navy, which included some rather ferocious guns and a few thousand sailors at my side. Here I have—”
“You have me,” I told him, lifting my chin.
He broke off and grinned again. “Well, I daresay the Egyptians would have been a damned sight more cowed by you than the navy’s guns.”
“And me,” Eddy said, drawing himself up with visible effort at regaining his courage. I knew then what Stoker had been playing at. By refusing to take the mantle of leadership, he forced Eddy to put aside his fears and step into the breach. Necessity will always triumph over nerve in a person of character, I reflected.
Stoker gave him a look of quiet approval. “Very well, what do you propose?”
Eddy paced the room slowly, studying it from every angle. It was excruciating in its slowness, but he got there in the end, and when he pointed to the clerestory windows, I nearly gave a shout of triumph.
“The windows?” he said in a hesitant voice.
Stoker and I exchanged glances. “It is possible,” Stoker said finally.
“Can you climb?” I asked Eddy.
He nodded. “Six years on Royal Navy ships. Although those were ropes, not stones,” he added doubtfully.
“It is a beginning.” Stoker’s tone would brook no hesitation now. “Shall I go first?”
“It must be me,” I insisted.
“I am a better climber,” he objected.
I looked at the windows again, marking the slender dividers between them, and then eyed Stoker’s broad torso. “Your shoulders will never fit through,” I said.
“Dash, I hadn’t thought of that,” Eddy said, his moustaches turning down in dejection.
“That is a problem for later,” Stoker said. “For now, we will worry only about how to get there.”
I bent and unlaced the slippers on my feet, tying them securely together and slinging them about my neck. I looped up the modest knee-length skirts of my tunic, knotting them high on my thighs.
Stoker was making his own preparations, stripping off the shirt that strained across the breadth of his shoulders. I caught my breath at the sight of the bruises, dark violet and enormous, blossoming over his ribs. Here and there the skin was lacerated, the blood sticky and dark.
“This is going to hurt,” I told him.
“No doubt,” he said, and he smiled at me, a smile of such dazzling devotion and good humor that I vowed to myself whatever happened in the whole of my life I would never forget that moment when, in spite of everything—my insistence upon involving us in yet another perilous undertaking, my murderous relations—he threw himself into this adventure with the whole of his heart. And I vowed then that whatever became of that night’s work, I would endeavor to meet him in the same spirit, headlong into what life threw at us.
He handed his soiled shirt to Eddy. “It isn’t very nice, but there is a chill tonight and I daresay I will not feel the cold as acutely as you.” It was the truth, but not the whole truth. None of us wanted to think about the fact that we would, if successful, shortly be traversing insalubrious streets of the capital with the future king looking as disreputable as if he had just committed a series of felonious assaults. At least Stoker’s ragged shirt would conceal the prince’s distinctive tattoos as well as keep him that tiny bit warmer.
Eddy did not hesitate. He, who was accustomed to the finest linen and cleanest garments, took the shirt streaked with blood and sweat and donned it gratefully.
Stoker put himself into position and braced his thigh, slapping it once as he looked at me. “Up you go.”
I stepped on his leg and his hands came around my waist, vaulting me upwards until I could find a handhold. I pushed upwards with my feet, clinging to the stone like a limpet. I put my hand out and groped blindly for a place to grip.
“There is no handhold,” I protested. Stoker had climbed up next to me, spreading his arms and legs across the corner to hold him fixed into place.
“There is me,” he said. “Use me to get where you must.”
And I did. Even now I cannot bear to think of the exquisite pain he must have endured as I climbed with his help, moving ever higher, perched precariously above the stone floor of the warehouse. Eddy watched us from below, eyes fixed upon our slow and steady ascent.
We progressed in this fashion, Stoker using himself as a human bulwark, until we neared the window and I no longer looked down, preferring instead to keep my eyes on the goal, the small clerestory window above us. Just then I realized our efforts would be for naught. A narrow beam ran from the wall just under the window, an ideal means of approach. But the window was set a good seven feet above the beam, tantalizingly, heartbreakingly out of reach.
“It is too high,” I told him. “I cannot reach it.”
“I have a plan for that,” he assured me.
Stoker edged himself out onto the beam, his feet placed just so, his legs taut with effort. He stretched out a hand. “Come on, then.”
“I haven’t room to pass you,” I said.
“I will take care of that,” he promised. I edged out to meet him. I have a good head for heights—butterflying demands the occasional foray onto rocky outcropping or jungle cliff—but that was a singularly unnerving experience. We were perhaps thirty feet above the stone floor, our lives suspended by a beam no larger than the span of Stoker’s palm. He knelt as I approached and braced his hands.
“Onto my back,” he ordered. “It is the only way to reach the window.”
I did not hesitate. I did as he instructed, climbing carefully onto his back, wrapping my legs about his waist and grasping his shoulders with both hands. He paused, letting my weight settle onto him, then began to rise, pushing through his thighs to lift us both into the air.
For just a moment, I had the most curious sensation of flight, like a butterfly raising itself upon the wind for the first time. I had no connection to the earth except through him; he was an extension of me, and my life was wholly in his hands.
I stretched out my arms and grasped the edge of the window. Stoker was standing, but I was still not quite able to shift myself all the way out of the aperture. Slowly, and with infinite, sweat-inducing care, I climbed him, moving my weight from his back to his shoulders, placing my hands on the window glass, pushing it open. I felt his palms beneath my feet, as solid as the earth below, and then he gave one fluid shove and I was up and out, through the window and perched on the roof.
I paused only long enough to catch my breath before maneuvering around to look back. Stoker was already halfway down again, swarming with the agility of a jungle creature. He positioned himself as before and instructed Eddy how to begin. Their progress was slow, achingly so, and every second that passed felt an eternity, perched as I was on the roof.
Eddy faltered halfway up and Stoker half pushed, half hauled him onto the beam. What followed was one of the most harrowing experiences of my life: the heir to the throne dangling a heart-stopping distance from the stone floor, dependent completely upon us for his safety. Stoker swore with a new vigor as Eddy climbed his back for the last part of the endeavor.
A Murderous Relation Page 20
