"No, I'm in court tomorrow, and there are papers I need to go over tonight to be prepared properly for that."
They were silent again for a time, both forcing the terrible concoction into their bodies.
"What did the two suspects have to say?"
"What suspects?" James asked. He knew full well who Edwards was talking about but didn't like this choice of word.
"You know who," Edwards smiled, "the blacksmith and the brawler."
"They both pointed to the other."
"Really?" There was a look on Edwards' face that James thought was mild scepticism.
"Does that surprise you?"
"My first thought is that they might be cleverer than we gave them credit for."
"How do you mean?"
"What if they were working together?"
"Why would they?" This thought hadn't occurred to James, and in the split second he had to think about it he still couldn't see it as a possibility.
"The blacksmith could be avenging his friend and Muc will get the thrill of violence out of it." This seemed very fanciful to James.
"Then why would they point to the other?" he asked.
"To hide that fact. They must know that there is no evidence against them."
"They know they are under suspicion."
"If they are that clever they would have expected that,” Edwards said. James recalled that Muc knew exactly what he wanted to speak to him about. The blacksmith, though... "This may be getting more interesting," Edwards said with glee rubbing his hands together.
"No this wouldn't explain the letter or the drawing. I don't know if either of them can even write, but I'm sure neither of them can draw."
"I don't know," Edwards said looking as though something had just struck him, "I suppose the blacksmith might consider his work something of an art form, perhaps he has some other artistic talents that he keeps at home."
"That’s true; I have seen tradespeople draw things in the past to ensure they are going to do what the customer asks. He probably does this too," James said, a spark of excitement welling in him.
"There could be drawings in his shop or at his home," Edwards suggested.
"Maybe," James said. "There are some soldiers meeting me here soon, I'll get them to go look when they get here."
"That might be too late."
"Why?"
"If you saw him today, he might panic. He could be burning everything in the fire in the shop right now," Edwards said.
"We better go look," James said getting up, this possibility raging through him all of a sudden.
"Right behind you," Edwards said, finishing his glass as he stood and throwing a cloak over his shoulders.
They marched with intent along Cook Street to the blacksmith. They came into the shop to find Mullins bent over some white-hot piece that he was trying to straighten with metal tongs. He looked up as they came in and seemed confused at their appearance. James was slightly out of breath. Mullins stood up and regarded them with a questioning gaze.
"Is there something else you want to ask me Alderman?" he said, looking at Edwards as though trying to figure out who he was. "I know you from somewhere," Mullins said.
"You know me from prowling the streets late at night a few years ago," Edwards smiled at him. Mullins nodded, as the recollection must have to come to him. "You told the Alderman here that I was the Dolocher," Edwards laughed.
"I'm sorry about that. It was a very confusing time, especially that night."
"I should say so, you witness a murder, and then you are the one arrested for it."
"I didn't witness it."
"What's that?"
"I came on the scene just after it happened. I heard the girl scream, but I was too late getting there."
"Oh, I see," Edwards said with what James knew was insincere understanding.
"I wanted to ask you do you do any artwork for your customers?" James said, getting to the point as to why they were there.
"I can make some fancy things, but I don't know if you would call it arty."
"No, I mean do you sketch things out for people, to give them an idea of what a piece will look like?"
"I normally just fix everyday things."
"So you never have to draw something?"
"I get the boy to draw something sometimes; he's very good at it, actually."
"Do you have any of those here now?"
"No we don't keep them; I know what I'm doing. It's only for the customer, I don't need it."
"So what do you do with them?" Edwards asked.
"Just dump them in the fire, unless the customer wants to keep them."
"Is the boy here now?" James asked.
"I think he's out the back," Mullins said, and then he called out, "Scally?"
"Yeah?" a voice came from out there.
"Can you come in here a minute?"
A few seconds later Scally came in and looked at the assembled group in front of him. James noticed a shift in Edwards, and he looked at him from the side. Edwards looked like he'd seen a ghost, but he hid it almost instantly.
"I want you to draw something for these men," Mullins said to the boy. They watched as he went to a desk and took up a loose sheet of paper and then some charcoal that was beside it.
"What do you want me to draw?" Scally said looking up at Mullins who in turn looked at the Alderman.
"Can you draw people?" James asked. Scally looked at him confused.
"Like a statue?"
"Well, I suppose yes."
"Is it for a gate or something?" Scally asked.
"Yes why not," James said. Scally looked again at Mullins who nodded that he should go on. The boy shrugged and went to the desk and began to draw. When he was finished, he came over and handed it to James. He held it out so that Edwards could see at the same time.
"This is very good," James said, genuinely impressed with the drawing.
"But not what we are looking for," Edwards said dolefully. James handed the picture back to Scally.
"You can keep it if you want, it'll only go in the fire otherwise," Scally said to him, his smiling face showing pride that these two men had liked it.
"Thank you, I think I will," James said, rolling it up and putting it inside his coat. We won't take any more of your time, goodbye," he said, and they left.
When they were a distance from the shop, James looked over at Edwards.
"You looked quite aghast when you saw that boy?" he said, thankful for having something over him for once.
"I thought he looked like the son of someone I used to know."
"Who?"
"Not someone I'd like to see turn up in Dublin."
"Why is that?"
"Don't worry Alderman, he's not someone who would be going around killing, and besides I had a closer look and that boy isn't his son,” Edwards was laughing now, and he walked off ahead of the Alderman. The alcohol and then the heat of the blacksmith had made James feel tired, and he stood there for a moment before he followed.
Chapter 23
Mary arrived at Spencer's house on Sunday a little after three as planned. Once more she was shown into the same room as before by Hetty. Mary was much more comfortable here now, and she was even able to sit down on the chair before being asked, as she waited for Spencer to come. The painting was on the easel in front of her, and she so often wanted to take a peek to see how it was coming. She was too terrified, however, that she would get caught and Spencer would be angry and cancel the whole arrangement. She couldn't afford that, the money for this sitting had been a godsend; it enabled Sarah and her to keep their heads above water financially.
Spencer came in after much less of a wait than usual, and she was glad that she hadn't tried to look at the painting today.
"Miss Sommers, how are you?" he said with a smile.
"I'm very well thank you," she said standing up. He strode across the room and pulled the sheet from the canvas and looked at it. He glanced at Mary and then back at t
he painting.
"Have you been offered anything to eat and drink?" he asked.
"Yes, but I said I was fine." Spencer was making a face at the painting, and she was not sure he'd heard her.
"I think I have all I need on this one," he said after a long pause. "Would you be interested in sitting for another, in another room of the house?" Mary hadn't realised he was close to finishing, and she was glad that he offered another.
"Yes, I'm happy to do whatever you want," she said.
"Come with me," he said.
Spencer led her out of the room and towards the front door and then up the stairs. Mary looked at the paintings on the wall on the way up and wondered if the Colonel had painted any of them. They got to a long landing and then went up smaller wooden stairs into the attic.
It was dark up there, lighted by candles and a single skylight. Many of the corners were in complete darkness, and she was sure there would be spiders crawling everywhere that she could not see. The temperature was much cooler than the rest of the house but not uncomfortably so.
"Is this setting too grim for you?" Spencer asked holding a candle toward her.
"Not at all," she said, though she much preferred the room downstairs. "Where do you want me to be?" Spencer looked around and pulled a chair to the centre of the room, a little to the left of the slant of light let in by the skylight.
"Can you sit there for a moment?" he asked, and she did. He stepped back a few paces and looked at her. He nodded in satisfaction and then adjusted some candles to the place he was standing before setting up his easel. Lastly, he took a blank canvas from a pile of them on the floor near the door. Spencer then took his notebook from his jacket pocket and began to make furious sketches as he had on that first day; once more he let the sheets fall about him as he finished with each one. The light outside was waning, and the candles grew warmer.
"That's the sketches done!" he said with a smile after about half an hour. "Do you want to stretch your legs and back a little before I start on the painting?"
"I can go on sitting like this if you like?" she answered.
"No, get up and take a rest from it. I have something to do, but I will be back in about fifteen minutes. Do you want anything sent up?" Mary shook her head, and he left the room.
Once alone in that attic, it took on a whole new persona, and Mary began to feel apprehensive after only a minute on her own. The lights flickered from various breezes that smuggled their way in from different apertures, and the shadows danced and took on forms that scared her, like something living just beyond the light, something that could pounce on her and kill her. Something like the Dolocher.
Mary had heard all about the new murders and the rumours, and she hadn't slept well at all since. She tried to calm herself, telling herself that it was all in her imagination, that Spencer would be back any minute and all would be well again.
She stood up and looked out through the skylight, it was dull now, but she could make out the roofs of some of the buildings nearby, and it was a beautiful sight that she hadn't expected or seen before.
She moved around the room carrying the candle he'd given her, and she lit up old objects and trunks filled with clothes and silver and some children's toys. She came to the pile of canvasses, and she lifted one to see that they were all blank. Dust rose as she did this and she stepped away from them. She went to a corner of the room that was in complete darkness and suddenly saw that the room was much larger that she had imagined, only about a third of it had been lit up by the candles.
Down this end, she saw military things, muskets and sabres, and uniforms, but there were also other things that she didn't recognise, things that were sharp and metal and looked dangerous and large enough that they might be some sort of torture devices. There were sharp metal teeth on some that reminded her once more of her attack. Mary recoiled at the cold touch she gave these things to convince herself she was safe from them.
She looked away and towards the back wall, and she saw that there was a large drop sheet on the wall and what looked like the shape of a picture frame underneath it. She crept closer and looked back towards the door and listened to see if anyone was coming. There was no sound. She lifted the corner of the sheet but she could make out nothing decipherable, just fire coal red and dark patches. Lifting the sheet higher, she could see more colours but still not what was depicted.
Finally, she lifted the sheet above her head, and the candlelight fell on a vicious and terrifying face of some crazed and wild creature. Teeth flashed at her, and wild red eyes showed rage and menace, and she fell backwards, pulling the sheet off completely and dropping the candle causing it to snuff out on the floor.
In this new dark, all she could see were those eyes and those teeth, and she knew that it was coming for her, that she had unleashed something terrible. She cowered and tried to defend herself, and she screamed as she heard shuffling and felt things move around her.
And then there was light again, and she heard someone calling to her. She looked up and saw Spence standing there, a look of terrified concern on his face, he was saying something but she couldn't make it out.
"Miss Sommers!" she heard finally before the dark took hold of her once more.
Chapter 24
When Mary came too the room was cold and wind whipped through it. There were more candlelight’s, and Hetty was there now as well as Colonel Spencer. Mary didn't know for a few moments where she was even though she knew who the people were around her straight away.
"What happened?" she asked, wearily as she tried to sit up.
"You fainted," Spencer said helping her. As she sat up, Mary saw the wall, and she remembered the face she'd seen- was something coming after her? What was it?
"Do you know what happened dear?" Hetty asked. Mary shook her head. She remembered finding the larger part of the room and seeing those machines, she looked about and saw that they were still there. She'd been afraid, she could feel the ghost of that fear still inside her. She'd been thinking about her attack, and she could feel that nausea too. She was suddenly aware that she was in a part of the room that she shouldn't have been and she looked up at Spencer in apology but didn't know what to say.
"Are you feeling alright now?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you. I'm very sorry about this," she said.
"Nothing to be sorry about," Spencer said with a smile.
They helped her up and back across the room to the seat she'd been in before.
"She's fine now Hetty, but I think we'll call a halt to our sitting for this week. Can you see Mary out to the coach, please? There is a purse in the dining room on the table that Mary should take with her," Spencer said.
"I can still sit if you want to go on?" Mary said feebly.
"Not at all, you've had a little turn, best that you go home and rest and we will continue on next week."
"I'm very sorry, Sir," Mary said again, but Spencer waved her away with an affable smile as Hetty took her by the arm to indicate that it was time to go.
As she was leaving the room, Mary had one last glance, and she remembered the painting on the wall, an evil presence there, a depiction of something so terrible it could have been nothing but the Devil himself. Spencer was facing away from her, and she wondered what had become of the painting while she was unconscious. Why would it have been moved? She felt a chill run down her spine as she saw those fiendish eyes in her mind.
Chapter 25
Edwards passed the sentries at the entrance to the hunting lodge at Montpelier Hill. He could hear from there that the revelry inside was already in full swing and he was glad he'd been drinking on the way. The carriage let him out at the door, and his coachman saw to the animals and parked the carriage out of sight at the rear. Edwards took a final slug from his brandy bottle before dashing it against the wall across from the doorway to mark his entrance.
Edward's swaggered inside to cheers and whistles and men came to greet him as he made his way to the table. The whole co
ntingent of the club was here tonight, all twenty of them. The table was covered in platters of food, bowls of scalteen and jugs of various liquors.
Some of the chairs were occupied or showed signs of having been, all except the one reserved for the special guest should he ever deign to come to one of these gatherings. Edwards always smiled at this, it was one of the few rumours that went around about the club that was true, but people didn't understand it at all, didn't understand the Hellfire Club at all.
They all thought it was about Devil worship but it was nothing of the sort, none of the men here held any more belief in the Devil than they did in God. That was the part that Edwards never understood of the public perception of them; if it was clear that they did not believe in God why did they think they would believe in the Devil?
"There's the man of the hour!" he called out on seeing Spencer. The Colonel looked up and saw him and got up to shake his hand.
"Good to see you!" Spencer said.
"Are you happy with it?" Edwards asked nodding to the covered painting that hung on the wall.
"More than happy. It had its first viewing a few days ago by accident, and it caused the viewer to faint!" Spencer's smile of pride at this was impossible to hide.
"I better be sitting down when it is unveiled then!" Edwards laughed as he took up a tumbler and scooped some scalteen in and drank from it. It was a powerful and not altogether tasty beverage that Edwards mostly drank early so as it didn't get shoved at him later if by some accident they ran out of everything else.
"I think everyone here will be alright," Spencer laughed, "We've all seen worse things than a painting."
"What do you think the God fearing of Dublin will think when they hear about this?"
"They probably expect that there is something like it here already." They drank, and both were looking at the dust cover.
"Did you draw on yourself for inspiration?" Edwards asked, and he felt Spencer sour a little and look at him.
"No, I used you," he said. Edwards smiled.
Shadow of the Dolocher Page 10
