"Mostly."
"Even if I paid you a week's wages that you get here every time you sit for me?"
"Really?" she was astounded by this offer. A week's wages for less than an hour of letting him paint her. She was embarrassed by how impressed she'd sounded, but he just smiled at her reaction.
"And, I'm sure it would take at least five or six sessions to get the basics down on canvas," he said. She couldn't turn this down, it was far too much money for so little effort, and it would really help Sarah and her out.
"What would I need to do?" she asked. She hadn't known anyone who had been painted before, and she had no clue what might be involved.
"Come to my house, and we'll get a pose that is comfortable for you and that suits my idea for the painting, and then I paint, and you sit."
"That's all?"
"Yes, it's quite simple, I can give you something to eat and drink while you are there as well." A thought suddenly struck her, and she remembered some of the men some nights looking at copies of paintings in the tavern where she used to work. Once or twice she'd caught sight of what they were looking at, and she could see that the women had little clothes on and sometimes there were parts showing. Her face must have changed for Spencer was now looking at her in a confused way
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
"Yes, I just want to know..." how could she put this?
"Yes?"
"What would I have to wear?" she felt ridiculous asking, and she was mortified afresh. Spencer laughed, and he seemed to understand her concerns.
"What you have on now is fine, anything you like. It’s your face, your strength that I want to capture." Mary was relieved, and she smiled too at his answer and his beaming face which she really looked at for the first time now. He was actually quite handsome. In his forties probably but he looked fit and able. His face bore the marks of alcohol, and there was a small scar, faint against the light above his left eye, running down into the eyebrow itself, making it look as though it were two different eyebrows.
"Good," she said.
"So, you'll consider it?"
"Yes, why not?"
"Great, great!" he said.
"When do you want to start?"
"How about Sunday?"
"Sunday is fine."
"Good, I'll send my carriage for you at three o'clock. Where do you live?"
"He can pick me up here if that's allowed?"
"That is allowed," he smiled. "At three on Sunday so. Goodbye."
"Goodbye."
She watched him as he walked back the way he'd come. What a stroke of luck, her face had never been anything other than something to be hidden behind dropped hair or by her head turned to one side as she spoke to people. Now it was going to be making her money; as much as the vegetable stall did in a week! How odd this world was.
Mary tidied up the stall a little earlier than she intended, the rush of knowing that there was going to be money coming in allowing her to do so without guilt. She stored the stock in the shed a lot of the market people used and then walked jollily home along to Skippers Lane and up to her room on the second floor where she waited for Sarah to come home so that she could tell her the good news.
Chapter 11
The road started to rise a long way off from the hunting lodge at the top of Montpelier Hill. It was growing dark quickly, but Alderman James had come to the end of his wits in his search for Edwards. He had been told with some authority this afternoon that Edwards was at the Hellfire Club lodge in the mountains, and had been there for a few days now.
The house itself could be seen for a long time before he got to it. It was lit up and stood out like it was on fire on the dark mountainside making the club name seem very apt. James grew increasingly uneasy the closer he got to it. There was a lot of talk of the things that went on up here, so far from the city and away from prying eyes. It was said that there were orgies and black masses and that the Devil himself would preside over gatherings here. James didn't believe in any of this, but it was hard not to be a little fearful in this wild setting. These people glorified the Devil after all, and this was reason enough to worry about them.
As he came up the road to the house, he was met by a hooded figure on a black horse who seemed to grow forth from the overhanging leaves of the trees.
"Who goes there?" the figure asked.
"Alderman James."
"What business have you here?"
"I've come to see Mr. Edwards."
"There is no one here by that name." James wondered was there some club name that Edwards had to be referred to by, or if there was some secret password he was supposed to say to this sentry to get by.
"I am an officer of the law, and I will go to the house and look for myself," James asserted authoritatively.
"You are an officer of the law in Dublin city, but not out here," the sentry said.
"Who are you? Why do you not show your face?" James demanded.
"You should turn and go back home, Alderman." The sentry's voice was stoic and calm, but there was something very unnerving about talking to a man all in black with a hooded face out here in the dark of night in an unfamiliar place.
"Can you get a message to him for me?"
"I don't know who you speak of." James was aware suddenly of another dark horseman watching from a small distance closer to the house. Though he tried to fight it, there was fear creeping into the Alderman's heart, and he was afraid to say anything more lest they suspect it in his voice.
He nodded gravely to the sentry who had addressed him, turned the horse around and began slowly down the road the way he'd come. As he moved away, he could hear the hooves of the second horse come to join the first one, and he wondered were they going to follow him. He was afraid, and he wanted to look behind, but he did not want to give them the satisfaction of letting them know how he felt. He whet his lips and tested a faint whistle, and when this worked, he loudly rang out a tune until he thought he might be out of their earshot.
It was pitch black now between the trees, but he could see the road ahead with the moonlight. It was almost white against the perceived black of everywhere else up here. He looked back along the road, and confident that there was no one following him, he got off the horse and led it into the trees where he tied it up and put an oat bag over its nose. Looking about once more for anyone who might have followed him down the road, he set off on foot back up towards the house.
When he thought he was close enough, he tried to make out some landmarks that he could use for his bearings, and he started to walk slowly and as quietly as he could cross-country. He didn't want to go too deep into the woods, but he had to go in so far that he would not cast an easy to see silhouette.
It didn't take him long to come to a point whereby he could see the sentries at the gate. He could hear the murmur of conversation between them but could make out nothing they were saying. He looked up at the house, and he saw that in two dozen or so yards he could be at the circular courtyard wall. He stayed still for a time and looked all about; there was always the chance that there were more sentries on duty. So far he had not seen any.
The house was blazing with light, and he could hear the voices of men shouting obscenities when he finally got to the wall. It was like he had passed some sound threshold, an area where all things could be heard. Peeking over the wall, James saw one man stumble to a window on the first floor of the house and vomit down into the courtyard. A roar of laughter went up from within, and someone else came up behind him and slapped the man heartily on the back and led him back inside.
James got over the wall at a low point and walked to the steps that led up into the house on the first floor. The sentries were still in sight at their post on the road, but thankfully they were not looking at the house.
James crept up and inside the unguarded and open door. He was in a small alcove, and the voices came clear and loud to him now. It was like he was at the same table with them all. They were swearing
profane oaths one at a time, and James shuddered at the profanity and vileness of them. So far he hadn't recognised the voice of Edwards, so he still wasn't sure if he was here or not. He peered around the alcove and saw ten men around a large table, well lit by candles and covered with food and wine. There was a large bowl of something in the centre of the table with a ladle hanging over the side. He saw someone take from it and fill their glass and drink some. He noticed that the head of the table was left clear and he knew that it was set aside for the Devil as was the rumour. Fear came to him once more, and he told himself that he did not believe all this, but still it did not lift.
As he stood in that doorway, he suddenly felt very vulnerable and alone. He could not go in and challenge these men with no one else to back him up. They were drunk and on their own territory, and God only knew what they might do to him knowing full well that they would probably get away with it. Who would hear his calls for help out here? He regretted coming now, and he cursed the amulet in his pocket and the intrigue it had caused in him. Why did I come here?
He closed his eyes and began to say a prayer, but his mind wandered to images of the carved statue of the Devil under the archway near Christchurch Cathedral; the place called Hell; he could envision that statue as it came up the steps here, go inside and take its place at the head of the table. He shook his head to try to dispel such fanciful images, but they would not lift.
At that moment hot stale-breathed air flushed his face, and he opened his eyes to the vision of a massive shimmering black beast right up at his face. Cold eyes peered at him, and huge buck teeth bared at him each tooth as long as his own hand. James called out in fright, seeing that same Devil as before taking hold of him to whisk him away. There was more noise; voices yelling and he felt a blow to his head as the beast moved away from him and more human forms appeared. There was another blow to his head, and he felt black descend over him.
Chapter 12
Alderman James’ body was warm and clammy, and his head ached. He knew he was somewhere unfamiliar, even before he opened his eyes. He moved to sit up, and pain shocked his head; the flash of memory he had come to some injury. Opening his eyes, he could see a crackling, well-built fire that he hadn't heard up to now. He was laid out on a couch, and there was something wet against his head where he was in pain. He lifted his hand to it and took away a wet towel and saw there was blood on it. What had happened to him, he wondered. Moreover, where was he now? He could recall nothing, and he felt tired and weakened.
"You should put that back against your head," someone said, and James knew the voice. He looked around in the dim room, and saw, by the window, Edwards sitting at a table with a brandy glass in front of him. The fire was the only light in the room, and it gleamed off the curve of the glass leaving Edwards mostly in shadow. James recalled the sentry's at the Hellfire Club, and he got images of being there and the beast that had come at him from the doorway.
"What happened?" he asked.
"You had a fall," Edwards said slyly. James got the impression that Edwards was testing his memory to see if he remembered what had really happened.
"I did not fall. I was attacked."
"If you know what happened, why ask?"
"There was some creature at the door," James said, and he looked around the room. Was this the same place?
"We are away from the lodge now Alderman, down the mountain a bit, in a house where you are safe."
"What was it at the door?" James could feel its hot breath on him, and he saw the black shape as it was nearly on him. It moved slowly, and he felt a chill at the image as his mind raced as to what it could be.
"It was a horse who stuck his head up through the doorway; he must have followed you up from the courtyard," Edwards was almost laughing.
"And who hit me?" James asked.
"Hard to tell; there was quite a melee when the alarm went up that there was an intruder on private property." James knew better than to pursue this. If there was anything Edwards was good at it was keeping secrets, he was sure of that; there was no way he was going to tell him who had struck the blow. "I would advise that you don't go sneaking around up there in the future," Edwards added after a pause.
"What was going on up there, anyway?"
"Nothing really; a bunch of men having a good time."
"Good time?" Edwards nodded. There was no point going on with questions. "I've been looking for you for a while."
"Yes? What can I do for you?"
"I wanted you to look at something for me." James rooted deep in his pocket, took out the amulet and held it up.
"What is it?" Edwards asked, not getting up from the table.
"Some kind of amulet I think. It has a carving of the Devil on it. I thought you might know where it came form." Edwards walked over and took the amulet, taking it to the fire where he could see it better. James watched his face as he studied it but it gave nothing away; he couldn't tell if Edwards had ever seen something like it before.
"Where did you get this?"
"Do you know what it is?"
"Perhaps. Where did you get it?"
"It was at a murder site." Edwards nodded.
"I should have known really, why else would you come to me with it."
"Do you recognise it?"
"I've never seen one, but it looks like an amulet described to me before that used to be worn by members of the club in London back in the fifties."
"Hellfire Club members?"
"Yes. We've never gone in for this type of thing over here," he said. "Still, it is nice work don't you think?"
"The craft maybe but not the subject," James said. Edwards laughed.
"I forgot how pious you like to be." James didn't say anything to this. "So how many murders this time?" Edwards asked.
"What?"
"How many murders have there been?" Edwards looked at him with raised eyebrows. "You haven't been searching high and low for me just to show me this. You want me to help with your investigation."
"No, I just wanted to know what this was. It pertains to one murder."
"You've always been a terrible liar Alderman." James ignored this,
"Can you tell me anything else about the amulet?"
"No, I'm not even sure it is what I think it is."
"Would any of the rest of your cabal know?"
"Possibly."
"Can you ask?"
"So you do want my help?"
"In this small matter only."
"Of course I'll help you, Alderman. I hear this body was found outside the gaol not long after the one in the tower." James didn't know how Edwards always knew these things. It was infuriating the way that he dropped things into conversation like that.
"There's been another since," James said, happy to at least have that one over him.
"Yes, also at the walls of the prison. Do you think it is the return of 'our mutual friend?” This was the name Edwards had given the Dolocher when they were investigating that case.
"Of course not, don't be so ridiculous!" James snapped, as angry at his infuriating information as for his blasé attitude to peoples deaths. Edwards laughed out loud again. James' head hurt, and he put the wet towel back to cool it.
"But you are afraid that this is what the locals will think when they find out?"
"Yes," James admitted.
"Did you find anything else on the other bodies?"
"No."
"And how were they killed?"
"The first had his throat cut; the second was stabbed many times and slashed all over, his eyes removed and the latest was stabbed multiple times, and then the area removed so that it resembled a huge bite mark."
"Bite mark?" James nodded. "And you don't think this is related to the Dolocher?"
"Someone is killing and trying to evoke that same fear and confusion, but not in the same way as before. These murders are different."
"How so?"
"Well, the last two have been killed at some unknown location
and dumped at the scene near the prison."
"Any idea where the actual murders have been committed?"
"Not yet."
"The identities of the people killed?"
"No yet, but hopeful on the latest one."
"Why is that?"
"She is young and would be recognisable, her face is unharmed."
"There's something else? Something you're holding back on for some reason?" Edwards looked at him, and again James wondered about how well this man could read him so often. He hadn't mentioned the letter or the sketch, but at that moment he knew that Edwards was going to be involved, so it was as well that he knew everything. Everything within reason.
"I've received a letter from the killer." Edwards lit up at this.
"I knew you were holding out on me," he exclaimed, "What did he say?"
"He said that he will kill again soon."
"And?"
"He claims that he is the Dolocher," James sighed.
"That connection was easy enough to make without his writing a letter."
"He is not the Dolocher. Cleaves is dead and buried."
"I know that, but this person wants us to think of him as the Dolocher, and I see no reason why we should deny him this."
"There was a sketch with the letter."
"Of what?"
"Thomas Olocher's body as it was found on the morning, half eaten by pigs."
"That was a gruesome sight."
"Indeed. It was a perfect rendition as though from my own memory."
"So it was done by someone who was at the scene?"
"Certainly."
"Do you have the sketch or letter on you now?"
"No, they are at home. They are on either side of the one sheet."
"Was it delivered to your house or office?"
"It was under my doormat at home."
"So he knows where you live."
"Well, that's no great secret."
"I suppose, but you should be careful; what is security like at your home? Is there any at all?"
"Not really, but I'm not too concerned about that."
"Still looking to be punished for doing your duty eh?" James didn't respond to the mocking tone Edwards had addressed this to him.
Shadow of the Dolocher Page 5
