“You’re very well spoken for seven, going on eight.”
“Mrs. Shelton insists we speak clearly and with proper pronoun... Pronounc...” She stumbled on the word.
“Pronunciation?”
The grin widened. “That’s right, sir. Pronunciation! We have to say each word correctly and write it out in a clear hand.”
“Do you enjoy reading?”
“Very much. The duchess keeps lots of books in our school library. Will there be anything else, sir? I’ve more fires to light before I go to school. Today’s our last day, and we’re to have punch and cookies.”
“Then hurry along, but I pray it isn’t you who fills these wood boxes. The logs are quite heavy, even for me.”
“No, sir,” she laughed. “One of the gardeners does that. Good day, sir. Thank you for talking with me. You’re awfully kind.”
“As are you,” he said as she scampered from the room. The girl passed by Aubrey as she left, curtsying politely, and the earl offered her a slight bow in return, which caused her to giggle.
“Another child who’s the better for this place, Charles. She’s paid well, learns service skills, and receives an education. The girl would be working the streets as a pickpocket or worse if she lived in London. How’s our Princess this morning?”
“Beth rose long before I did. She’s sitting with Seth, according to Mrs. Alcorn. Was there more than just the one kiss?”
“When? In ’84?”
“Have there been others?”
Paul sighed. “Probably, but I’m not the person to ask about that. Tory mentioned a marriage proposal in May. Obviously, she turned him down. Are those the morning papers?” he asked, pouring a cup of coffee.
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Yes, I am. I find it easier.”
“Very well, I’ll speak with her about it later. As I said, I wear her ring.”
“And she loves you, Charles. That love will never wane.”
“You’re right! So, what’s our strength this morning? How many men plan to join the search?”
“Most likely the same as yesterday,” replied the earl as he sat into a deep-cushioned chair near his cousin. “I think we counted seventy-three. It sounds like a lot, but there are thousands of acres to search, including Henry’s Woods and Queen’s Downs. I’ve told them to concentrate on the areas nearest that hellish cavern where I found Holloway. Have you spoken with him at all?”
“Not yet. Henry said he awoke briefly last night, raving about statues and dolls. I shudder to think what happened down there, but that cannot sway my opinion. I have to consider him a suspect, Paul. Holloway may have killed Patterson.”
“Yes, I’d thought of that as well. One warning, though. You’ll have a great deal of trouble with Elizabeth if you decide to charge Seth.”
“It cannot be helped. If he’s guilty, he’ll hang,” Charles answered firmly.
“That will not go down well, Cousin. On a more pleasant topic: is our pretend aunt, Lady Stuart, still coming to visit?”
“I think so, yes. I did warn her we might have a bit of excitement now and then, but Drina found the possibility intriguing. I leave to fetch her first thing tomorrow. If all goes as planned—which it seldom does in this family—then, we’ll be back by nightfall.”
“The servants should have all the trees in place by then. There will be four on the main floor, or there have been in past years. Is James bringing our Castle Contingent?”
Charles smiled. “So he says. I miss Riga. He’s a wise old bird, and he’s promised to tell us Romanian tales. We’ll also have a chess tournament. Riga and Blinkmire both play very well, and Merrick is good enough to beat me.”
“Ah, but does he cheat the way you do, Cousin?”
“I do not cheat, I merely take advantage of uncommon rules. Any word from France or Galton on the investigations in London?”
“Plenty, but none that satisfy,” answered Aubrey. “We’ll talk about it Monday morning with James. Drina seldom rises before eleven, but she stays up very late, which gives us the morning hours to talk freely. She and James are quite close, and she’ll likely want to monopolise his time whilst here.”
Kay entered with the papers and a stack of letters. “Good morning, Your Grace, Lord Aubrey. Here are the London and Edinburgh editions along with the first post. Also, Mr. Baxter asked me to remind your lordship of a promise to assist Constable Tower with the interview of Colonel Collinwood. The colonel apparently arrives in Branham this morning.”
“That’s earlier than I’d hoped. Excellent. Thank you, Kay. The earl and I will leave at nine. Ask our newly promoted Inspector Baxter to be ready to accompany us.”
“Inspector Baxter, sir? Very good, Your Grace,” Kay responded with a proud smile. “Hopkins will bring your breakfast shortly.”
The butler started to leave, but Paul called to stop him. “Kay, have you seen my sister this morning?”
“Yes, my lord. Lady Adele is breakfasting with Lady Victoria and Lady Patterson-Smythe.”
“Thank you. That will be all, I think.”
Charles poured a cup of tea and added a cube of sugar. “I could get fat if we stayed here for very long. Stephens might outbake even Mrs. Paget. Her biscuits are light as feather down.”
“Wait until you taste her rum cake. She serves it on Christmas Day, along with a cornucopia of equally tempting cakes and confections. I always gain several pounds whilst here. Who’s this Collinwood person?”
“Head of the Blackstone project. Danny Stephens at the Abbot’s Ghost calls him a ‘right howler’. Says he does nothing but howl and bark at the students. He had very little love for Holloway, apparently.”
“Odd. Seth gets along with nearly everyone. Did you search their rooms?”
“Yes, but nothing there offers insight into what happened. There’s no evidence of disagreement amongst the three men. A few letters. Patterson was engaged, apparently. I’ve sent telegrams to all the families, including Lord Salter. Did you know Dolly and Dickie are related to the dead man?”
“Yes, Tory told me,” answered Aubrey. “A third cousin, or some such, from the branch before the hyphenation with Smythe happened. Dickie asked is he might help with the funeral cost when it comes to that, but Baron Patterson has plenty of his own. I tell you, Charles, death is a dark omen at Christmas. Though the hall’s trimmed for festivities, already there’s a pall of shadow creeping amongst us.”
“Then, let us shine the Lord’s light into those shadows, Paul. I will not have Christmas ruined. Let’s see. Reid’s sent a report,” said the duke, shuffling through the post. “There’s also one from Arthur France, and another from Matthew Laurence. He’s apparently uncovered some interesting information in Ireland about Harold Lowry.”
“The man your late wife ran off with?” Aubrey asked, stirring cream into his coffee.
“Yes, that’s the man. Laurence found evidence that Lowry is connected to Redwing, which puts a whole new colour into that Chapter of my life. Now, what’s this?” he said, seeing a letter forwarded to him from Haimsbury House. The original address was typewritten with no sender’s information. He opened it with the letter knife left by Kay. Two pages of typed lines met his eyes, and his body posture altered as he read.
“Who’s it from?”
“Lorena.”
“MacKey? I’d keep that from Beth, if I were you,” said Paul. “What does it say? Where is she, and why did she leave Queen Anne?”
“Read it for yourself,” he told his cousin, handing over the letter. Aubrey scanned the neatly written lines:
21st December, 1888
Dearest Charles,
Anatole insisted I write to you and allay any worries you may hold for my welfare. He visited last evening and mentioned he’d spoken with you. I cannot tell you how much that meant. It is like life-
giving water to hear your name.
I’d been staying with a physician friend in Mayfair, but the prince has moved me to one of his homes. I’m not to say where, but I’m well cared for and safe. I know that Redwing still hunts me, just as they hunted poor Susanna. Is it true she might be alive? Anatole has dropped hints—for he always speaks of her in the present tense. I pray she is!
Last night, Anatole left for France. There is something big happening there, and I have a terrible dread as to what it might be. The winter solstice just occurred; a high occult season, when the veil between realms thins. If another mirror has been found, then it’s possible a third Watcher has been released. Please, take care!
I will write to you each day during the prince’s absence. If two days pass without a letter, then you’re to assume the worst. But I’ve no fear, Charles. I’ve started reading the Bible, if you can believe it. In fact, I’m reading the Christmas story right now. I’d never realised how that moment in history changed the entire world. What a fool I’ve been to believe in lies!
Enjoy your time with the duchess. She is a lucky woman. I’ll write again tomorrow.
Lorena
“A curious letter,” said Paul. “She suspects a Watcher’s been released?”
“If so, then I think Anatole expected it. We’ll need to stay on our toes at all times.”
“No different than normal, eh?” teased the earl. “And she’s reading the Bible? God’s mercies and plans are ever and always surprising. I wonder where Romanov is hiding her?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find her,” Charles said firmly.
“She’s in no apparent danger,” the earl argued. “Anatole insists she’s all right, as does she. Charles, let the Russian handle this.”
“If she’s abandoned her old ways, then Redwing considers her a traitor, which means she’s in danger,” his cousin countered. “With Anatole away, anything could happen.”
“Or perhaps, she herself is dangerous. I don’t mean as a Redwing operative, Charles. I mean as a woman. I can see she means a great deal to you, but that puts you at risk.”
“I see her as vulnerable, not as a temptation, Paul. My concern is brotherly, nothing else.”
“Charles, do be careful. Lorena may have changed, but those around her have not.”
“We’ll discuss this later,” his cousin stated. “Let’s eat and then find Baxter. The three of us have work to do.”
One hour earlier
Henry MacAlpin sat in the pleasant parlour of one of the hall’s smaller apartments, located on the first floor of the east wing. The walls shone with a shimmering pale blue silk, the trim and mouldings a soothing white. The space felt fresh and airy. The door to the apartment stood ajar, and a black Lab entered, her thick tail wagging as she approached the Scottish viscount.
“Well, hello, Bella,” whispered Henry. “What brings you this way?”
A second dog followed, and then a third. Finally, their mistress entered, dressed in a softly flowing skirt of forest green velvet topped by a cream blouse with a high lace collar. The untucked hem had been modified to give it a square, finished look by adding Battenberg lace edging. Beneath the soft cloth folds, the expanding presence of twin children could be plainly seen now. Beth’s face had a serene, rosy look. She seemed a woman at peace.
“Good morning, Duchess. You’re up early,” the viscount told her as he stood to offer a polite kiss on the cheek.
“Yes, but I slept very well,” she said as she glanced at the patient. “I see quilts and pillows on the sofa, Henry. Did you sleep in here last night? We’ve plenty of rooms, you know.”
“Yes, over three hundred, so I’m told, but none close enough to my patient for my liking. The sofa was quite comfortable. Have you already eaten?”
“Do you ask as my friend, or my doctor?”
“As I cannot stop being either, I ask as both. Have you? Eaten, I mean?”
“Not yet, but it’s only seven o’clock. I’ve had tea and biscuits, which is settling well thus far. How’s Seth?”
“Still unconscious, but it’s a light sleep. Nothing like what Charles experienced. Poor fellow must have seen some quite awful things down there! Price thinks him mad, but after what I’ve seen of late, I wonder if he isn’t saner than most.”
“Why would George think him mad?” asked Beth.
“Murmurings. An odd phrase in his sleep now and then.”
“And his injuries?” she asked as they sat together near the fire. “How serious are they?”
“Quite serious, I’m afraid. The abdominal wound is deep. Price had already sutured the gash as well as treated the scratches along his limbs and face. Poor chap looks as though he’s fought his way out of a briar patch filled with demonic badgers!”
Her dark eyes looked away, and the viscount saw the clear signs of emotional distress.
“What a blunderer, I am!” he declared, moving closer so he could take her hand. “Forgive me, Beth. As your doctor, and your friend, I’m a wretch to cause you pain. Holloway means a great deal to you, and I should know better. I’m here to listen, if you wish to talk. Have you told Charles yet? About your relationship?”
“Not everything, but I will. Tonight.” She glanced at the sleeping patient. “Will he die?”
“Not if I can help it,” Salperton declared. “He asked about you. He was somewhat conscious when I arrived last night, and though suffering from unimaginable pain, his first words were to ask about you.”
This caused her to weep, and he placed a comforting arm round her shoulders. “You loved him, didn’t you?”
“He asked me to marry him,” she whispered.
“Why didn’t you accept?”
“Because of Charles,” she answered, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I simply couldn’t get his image out of my thoughts. I tried, Henry! Really, I did, but no matter how gallant, no matter how handsome and kind, no other man could replace him. Charles is permanently etched upon my heart, you see. But I do care a great deal for Seth. Had I never met Charles, it’s possible I would have accepted his proposal. I still love him as a friend. Is that wrong of me?”
“Of course, not,” he assured her. “You and I are friends. I’d like to think we share love for one another.”
“Of course, we do. You’re my very dear friend, Henry. Poor Seth! It’s his love for me that placed him in danger. If I hadn’t asked his opinion on Blackstone, he’d be safe in Cambridge right now.”
“Seth’s a grown man. If he’s here, then it’s because he chose to be. Now dry your eyes,” he told her, handing her a handkerchief.
“Thank you, Henry. I’m so very blessed to have such good and wonderful men to love me!” she exclaimed. “I really don’t deserve it.”
“Ah, but you do, and we men who love you are blessed for knowing you, dear Elizabeth. Trust in our Lord for Seth’s recovery. I’ve a strong suspicion he’s come back into your life for a reason.”
Inside the darkened bedchamber, just beyond the parlour door, Holloway tossed and turned upon the soft mattress. He dreamt of mirrors and blood-filled streets; of fire-ravaged buildings across a smoky city; of destruction and dragons and endless death.
So much so, that the Thames turned red.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
10:23 am – The Abbot’s Ghost Inn
Charles Sinclair could summarise Colonel Sir Alfred Collinwood in one word: pompous. He was tall, ginger-haired, with a copper moustache that hovered over a thin upper lip like an autumn caterpillar; square jaw, grey eyes, and a slight limp. Collinwood attributed the injury to Wolseley’s Ashanti Expedition to rescue a German missionary in ‘74. Aubrey had warned his cousin that Collinwood would say little in the presence of a man he deemed ‘inferior’ or ‘subservient’; so rather than expose the newly commissioned Inspector Baxter to a litany of veiled insults, they’d sent Cornel
ius with Constable Tower to conduct additional village interviews.
Sinclair had encountered many a proud man during his years with the Metropolitan Police, but seldom interviewed one with so high an opinion of himself. However, Collinwood was a multi-generational Oxford man, which made Aubrey’s attendance that morning all the more helpful. The men sat at a table in the pub’s cheerful snug, the door shut to assure privacy. Collinwood added gin to his cup of coffee. Already, Aubrey had thoroughly charmed the obstinate man. In addition to being Oxford men, each served the government in foreign climes, and Paul spoke the soldier’s language.
“Which college?” enquired the colonel as he stirred cream into the spiked coffee.
“Merton,” the earl replied easily. “Rowing team?”
“Of course. Boxing club?”
“Champion my last two years. Polo?”
“What true gentleman doesn’t play? And you’re an Etonian, I take it, Lord Aubrey?”
“My father insisted I uphold the family tradition, but I admit to idling away some of my time whilst there. One cannot study every hour, can one, Colonel?”
“Quite!” Collinwood laughed as he stroked the bristled moustache. “Well, this is all very enjoyable, but I know you gentlemen are busy. How may I assist in your enquiries? It’s my understanding that you, Duke Charles, are in charge. Correct?”
“I am, Colonel, and you may call me Commissioner for the present, as I represent the Crown.”
The man’s face grew serious, and his cheeks flushed. “Ah, yes! The Crown, indeed. Well, we’d best be spit and polish, eh? Fire away, sir.”
“To begin, what can you tell me about the Blackstone Exploration Society?” asked Sinclair.
“Not much, I’m afraid. I met their solicitor in Egypt about a year ago. Albus Flint. Odd sort of fellow; a trifle off the mark, if you know what I mean, but sound where it matters. His legal abilities are flawless. The chap got me out of a rather nasty scrape last summer. Nothing to do with your sort of cases, Commissioner, but one that caused me a sleepless night or two, I can tell you! The army is deployed now and again to guard British expeditions in North Africa. Our unit was tasked to keep watch on a dig near Luxor. Do you know much about Egypt, sir?”
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