Realms of Fire

by Sharon K Gilbert

  “Della’s staying at Maisie’s during the funeral. Paul doesn’t want her to attend. He worries she’ll find it gruesome. Do you need any help with your clothing?”

  “No, I think I can manage, but if not, I can ring for Esther. I do miss Alicia, though.”

  “Your staff members keep leaving. Is it true Andrea Jenkins is going to Edinburgh? Have you worn her out already?”

  “Of course not,” Elizabeth replied as she left the desk. “As you undoubtedly noticed, Andrea and Michael Emerson had grown quite close before he left to care for his brother, and I suggested she go there for a few weeks to support him. She’ll stay with Michael’s aunt and uncle. He’s the Bishop of Edinburgh.”

  “Oh, yes! I know Calvin and Hermione Emerson quite well. I’m sure Miss Jenkins will be in safe hands during her stay. She and Michael make a good match, I think. How is Michael’s brother faring?”

  “Much worse,” Beth sighed. “Michael’s last letter arrived two days ago, and it’s why I gave Andrea permission to leave. The specialists in Edinburgh are perplexed by Laurence’s sudden downturn. He’s lost all ability to move his limbs, and they fear he’ll soon be unable to talk. Already, he’s showing signs of it: sputtering and coughing, as though the very breath in his lungs fails. His poor wife is beside herself. They’ve only been married a year.”

  Ever the pragmatist, Tory cut to the sad truth. “And they remain childless?” Beth nodded. “Then, it’s inevitable that Michael will become heir to the Braxton earldom.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” the duchess whispered. “I prefer not to think about it, and I’m sure it’s the furthest thing from Michael’s mind just now. Christmas only makes it worse.”

  “Will he continue practising medicine here, if he inherits the title? The Braxton businesses are all in the north.”

  “I cannot say, but regardless, he’s encouraged me to secure someone else as consultant. Michael plans to remain in Edinburgh through Christmastide, and perhaps longer. Honestly, it leaves me very little choice. Charles likes this man Gehlen, but I’m not sure.”

  “Unsure of what? The man or his methods?”

  “I cannot say,” the duchess replied, gloomily. “I’ve promised Charles I’ll meet with Dr. Gehlen as soon as we return from Branham. At the moment, I prefer not to think about it. I miss Emerson.”

  Cornelius Baxter returned to knock. “Do come in, Baxter,” said Victoria. “The duchess is out of sorts and weary from poor sleep. Inform your mistress she needn’t solve all the world’s problems in one day. ”

  The butler held a bit of paper in his right hand. “I should never do so foolish a thing, Lady Victoria. Your Grace, I regret to bring you additional problems to solve, but a commissionaire’s just delivered this for Duke Charles. It’s from Lord Salperton. Shall I leave it with you, or do you prefer I send it ahead to Marylebone Church?”

  “Henry sent it?” she asked, crossing to the doorway. “I’ll not see the duke until eleven. Did the commissionaire mention if it’s urgent?”

  “He did not use that precise word, but implied as much, my lady. I could send a coachman to the church.”

  Beth took the telegram and opened it. “The viscount asks my husband to meet him at Montmore rather than the restaurant. Yes, do take it to the church. It’s unlike Lord Salperton to summon someone without good cause.”

  Victoria took the telegram from her niece. “I’ll see he gets it. I’m ready to leave, unless you need me. I can drop Della at Maisie’s house along the way.”

  Elizabeth’s thoughts ran in several directions at once. “Yes, I suppose that will work. Thank you, Tory. Baxter, if you’d send Mrs. Alcorn up, please, I’ll start...” The duchess paled as nausea overwhelmed her stomach. Without a word, she dashed into the bath and shut the door.

  Victoria knocked. “Beth, are you all right?”

  Elizabeth offered no reply.

  “Beth!”

  “Give me a minute,” a voice replied from the other side. When she emerged, much paler, the duchess was wiping her face with a wet cloth. “This will be a very long pregnancy, if this keeps up.”

  “Shall I fetch a doctor?” worried the butler.

  “No, Mr. Baxter, it will pass soon. Tory, if you’d stay, I’d appreciate it. We’ll send the telegram with a footman. Is that all right?”

  The maiden aunt sat beside her niece, stroking Beth’s long hair, clearly worried. “Of course. I’m sorry for being so combative this morning. Perhaps, you should stay home.”

  “No, I want to go. Cordelia needs the support. Baxter, has Miss Jenkins come down yet?”

  “She has, my lady. Will you be seeing her off?”

  “Yes. Give me time to dress.”

  The butler left the bedchamber, and Tory began unfastening the hooks on the silk skirt Beth had chosen to wear. “You’ll need to let this out again soon.”

  “Esther’s going to alter my dresses whilst we’re at Branham.”

  “I’m sure Martin will be happy to help as well,” Tory suggested. “Is he still working on that puzzle room?”

  “The one off Charles’s library? I’m not sure. Charles won’t allow me in there, and the men seldom talk about it in front of me. All inner circle discussions are forbidden in my presence now. Their meetings all take place at Queen Anne, and soon much of their business will move to Loudain House. Who’ve you invited?”

  “Invited? Oh, to the soirée!” exclaimed Tory as she placed the skirt over Beth’s head. “The usual guests. Most of them are family or friends we’ll not see during Christmas. And I’ve asked Abraham Stoker and his wife to join us. My brother wants to get to know him better. I think James is considering sponsoring Stoker’s research.”

  “What research? Mr. Stoker is a writer, not a scientist.”

  “True, but he’s been studying matters that James thinks important to the circle. Oh, and I’ve invited Señor Puccini, but I think he may have a conflict. A Milanese friend is in London for Christmas. But we’ll have other musicians, of course. This will be a lovely send-off for us, Elizabeth. It’s generous of you to let me plan it all.”

  The duchess slipped her arms through the black silk jacket, fastening the front hooks whilst her aunt secured those on the skirt. The duchess’s small fingers trembled a little on the last hook, and Victoria took notice.

  “I’m so very tired suddenly,” the duchess said wearily. “I pray I can make it through tonight’s party.”

  A footman knocked, entering after receiving permission. “I’m to say Miss Jenkins is about to leave, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Bryce. We’ll be right down.”

  Beth brushed her long hair behind both ears and restrained the loose curls with a velvet ribbon. “I know my hair looks plain, but I’ll see if Esther can help me with a better style before we leave,” she promised her aunt. “Or I could just wear it down.”

  “Up is more appropriate for a funeral, my dear,” cautioned Victoria as they left the apartment.

  On the ground floor, Andrea Jenkins waited near the main entry, surrounded by two trunks and a green hat box. The secretary wore a sensible wool skirt and jacket beneath a tweed overcoat. She’d pinned a soft-brimmed hat of dark blue felt over her upswept hair. “My lady,” she said, curtsying.

  “Stop that, Miss Jenkins,” Beth told her, smiling. “I’ve no idea if you’ll remain on my staff, but you’ve most certainly become my friend. I’ve sent for a coach to convey you to King’s Cross, and from there, who knows where your journey will end?”

  “Pleasantly, I hope,” the timid woman answered. “Thank you for letting me go, Your Grace. I’m very sorry to leave at so busy a time. Are you sure you don’t prefer I remain?”

  “Michael needs you with him, and Scotland is magical at Christmas. You’ll have a very nice visit. Have you everything you need in the way of wardrobe? Edinburgh can be quite cold th
is time of year.”

  The tall, young woman had packed every possession she owned, just in case her visit was extended. “You’re kind to ask, my lady. Michael’s aunt promised to take me shopping.”

  “I understand you’ll be helping the bishop with his correspondence. I hope you’ll write often and let me know how it’s all going. And don’t worry about anything here. Your job will be waiting should you need it, but I imagine your future lies on a different path.”

  Jenkins blushed, and tears stained her smooth cheeks. “You’ve been so very kind to me, my lady! I should never have met Michael if you hadn’t been willing to give me a chance. Did I tell you he has a solicitor friend who thinks he can return my son to me?”

  “The one you adopted out? Oh, Andrea, that would be wonderful! If there is anything I can do to help, you’ve only to ask it.”

  “I will, my lady,” the woman promised as a footman carried the luggage to the coach. “It looks as though I have to say goodbye. It’s all so very strange; this turn my life’s taken, my lady. That path you mentioned lies just ahead. You see, Michael proposed to me in his last letter.”

  Elizabeth smiled joyfully. “Did he? Andrea, that’s wonderful! I suppose the tradition is correct, then. You did catch my wedding bouquet, after all.” The duchess took the woman’s hands, squeezing them. “I’m very glad it’s all worked out this way. And you’ll have to stop calling me ‘my lady’. You’ll soon be married to a peer, Andrea.”

  “I cannot imagine such a thing,” Jenkins answered, swallowing hard, for she hated leaving the home she’d come to know as her own. “Your family has made me so very welcome, and I shall never forget it. I’ve no family of my own, you see.”

  “Yes, you do,” Elizabeth assured her. “You’re part of our family, and we will always be here for you. Now, enjoy your rail journey northward. Did Mrs. Paget make you a food basket? It’s ten hours to Edinburgh, though I believe there’s a stop at York for luncheon.”

  “She was kind enough to pack a box for me, yes. And I’ll write every day,” the woman promised.

  “I shall write as well,” Beth answered. “Give our love to Michael. Tell him that he and his family are in our prayers.”

  “I will, my lady.”

  Beth touched her friend’s face. “I shall miss you, Andrea.” The duchess embraced the slender woman at the door.

  As she waved goodbye from the portico, Elizabeth had an odd sensation in her spirit. At the end of the long gravel drive, she could see wheeled traffic and well-heeled pedestrians moving past the gate. Amongst these was a peculiar looking gentleman in a chimney-pot hat. He stared back at her, not moving, his feet fixed to the cobbles of the bordering street as though cemented there. Though he stood in the middle of the road, no one seemed to notice the strange man, and the coaches failed to divert direction. Rather, they passed through him, as if he weren’t really there.

  “Beth, are you coming back inside?” her aunt called from the open doorway. “It freezing out here!”

  The mysterious man took several steps towards the house. Elizabeth shuddered. “Yes, it is cold,” she muttered, heading into the foyer. Just before Baxter shut the door, she turned one last time to look for the stranger.

  He’d vanished, but in the cloudy skies overhead, Elizabeth noticed a flock of blackbirds circling. She could almost hear them cawing. And then an all too familiar voice whisper a chilling warning: The Dragon is coming, foolish human. WE are coming.

  Chapter Nine

  St. Marylebone Church

  Charles Sinclair listened patiently to Edwin Jarvis tell his very peculiar story. “More water?” the duke asked the man as they sat inside the warm vestry.

  The flushed driver took a deep breath and swiped at his clammy face with a mended linen handkerchief. “No, thank you, sir. And I’m real sorry ‘bout that clip to your chin.”

  “I have a very hard chin, Mr. Jarvis. Now, start at the beginning.”

  “Well, my lord, I drives coach fer Cooper and Price Bereavement Services,” he explained. “There ain’t a Cooper nor a Price no more, o’ course. They bofe died in a real odd way on a business trip to Vienna.”

  “Odd? Why would you call their deaths odd, Mr. Jarvis?” Romanov asked.

  “I reckon ‘cause o’ them bodies, sir. They was found in their ‘otel rooms, stretched out on their beds, starin’ up at the ceilin’. Neever one were sick a day, but bofe died the exact same night. The police reckoned it were on account o’ some poison in the food, but tha’ don’t explain it fer me, sirs. I ain’t wha’ you’d call educated, my lords, but even I knows poison don’ rob a man o’ every drop of blood!”

  “Had they been stabbed?” Sinclair suggested without a blink.

  “There weren’t a mark on ‘em, ‘ceptin’ fer somethin’ the police called a rat bite. Anyways, the funeral company were bought right after by some foreign company out o’ Paris. Our new manager’s Mr. Quincy. He were supposed ta ride alongside me this mornin’, but he come down wiv a case of the shivers and arsked me ta take the body down ta Fitzmaurice Place on me own.”

  “The Wychwright home, you mean?”

  “Aye, sir, that’s right. The family arsked special fer us to bring the body there first, so’s all their friends could follow along back ta the church. Like one o’ them royal processions, I reckon.”

  “An odd request,” noted the duke.

  “We get all kinds, m’lord,” Jarvis replied.

  “I believe I understand thus far, Mr. Jarvis, but how is any of this cause for you to become so agitated that you’d resort to physical assault on a total stranger?” Sinclair asked patiently. “Whilst I appreciate a strong punch, I prefer not to be the recipient.”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir. I don’t know me own strength—so says me Missus. I ain’ never touched her. I’d not ‘arm my sweet Sue for all the world, sir! Naw, it were that bird what’s the cause of it.”

  “The bird you had to shoo from the coach,” Sinclair observed, slowly making sense of the man’s strange tale.

  “That’s right, sir. Like I done told you afore, when I opened the doors ta free the bird, I noticed the lid ‘ad sprung open. That’s when I seen it.”

  “When you saw what, Mr. Jarvis?” the prince asked, his forefinger tapping the head of the cane rhythmically.

  “I seen the body were gone an’ all. Nuffin bu’ an empty box, like the body jus’ up and walked away. I didn’t know what ta do, so I come ‘ere ta arsk Davies fer ‘elp. I daren’t go back ta Mr. Quincy, sirs. He’ll reckon I done it.”

  “Why would he suspect you of stealing a body, Mr. Jarvis?” the duke asked.

  “It ‘appens now an’ agin, my lord. Two bodies vanished jus’ last week from one o’ them competition places. Calvin and Rodgers Services, over in the city, sir. Mr. Quincy told me ‘bout it.”

  “Calvin and Rodgers? Do you know the address?”

  “Lime Street, my lord. Just where it crosses Leaden’all. Big place, all done up wif black drapin’ in the windows.”

  “Is it new?” asked the detective. “I’ve never seen such a business, and I know those streets well.”

  “I cain’t say, sir, bu’ there’s been a righ’ bee in Mr. Quincy’s bonnet ‘bout tha’ place. Cuttin’ prices ta the bone an’ all. You reckon they stole the body, sir?”

  “Why would they do that?” asked Romanov.

  “Dunno, my lord.”

  “Whose bodies disappeared from Calvin and Rodgers?” enquired Haimsbury.

  “Don’t know bofe names, sir, but one were a ‘right hon’rable’. Big name in Westminster. Hemsworth? Hemington?”

  “Hemsfield?” Charles asked, dreading the answer. “Do you mean to say the Earl of Hemsfield’s body vanished as well?”

  “I reckon so, sir. Mr. Quincy’d know more.”

  “But why steal a body?” the duke pressed.


  “It ‘appens now an’ agin. Sometimes, it’s gangs out ta squeeze a bit o’ money out of a grievin’ family’s pockets. Other times, it’s ta provide bodies to them what wants ‘em.”

  “Provide bodies? Surely, anatomists no longer require Burke and Hare provisions for academic study,” countered the duke.

  “I don’ know them men,” Jarvis replied innocently. “Might they be part of a new gang o’ roughs?”

  The prince laughed. “Burke and Hare were resurrectionists, Mr. Jarvis! Men that exhumed corpses and then sold them to medical schools for profit.”

  “You mean they stole bodies right outa their graves?” the driver asked in shock as he crossed himself.

  “Indeed, it was a thriving business at one time. However, Burke and Hare preferred fresher provisions,” the Russian replied. “Rather than wait for people to die natural deaths, they hurried the process along through personal intervention.”

  “Wha’ sorta intervention migh’ tha’ be, sir?” the simple man asked.

  “He means they murdered them,” Charles explained bluntly. “Mr. Jarvis, why do you think modern day thieves would steal a body, if not for ransom? Is there a black market in post-mortem flesh?”

  “If you mean folks what’s dead, there is, my lord. Only I don’ likes talkin’ ‘bout it, as it’s unsettlin’. Let’s just say there’s men what uses body parts for personal use.”

  “Personal?” asked Sinclair. “Do you mean for sexual gratification?”

  “I cain’t say as they’s gratified by it, sir, but some folks got strange ways. Then, there’s the rituals.”

  Charles and the prince exchanged glances. “What rituals?”

  The man’s eyes shifted back and forth as he weighed his response. “I hear tell o’ men what dresses up, all in masks like, an’ they speaks o’ things what’s dark and magical. It goes on right ‘neath our noses, sirs. Below...” he whispered as he pointed towards the floor of the church.