“No, but my cousin does. The earl has visited there several times.”
“Ten at last count,” Aubrey inserted with a disarming smile. “I’ve been to Luxor several times. The British Empire is expanding her reach.”
“We’ve put a few marks in the sand,” the other replied as he sipped his coffee. “The Ottomans are doomed, and England must be ready to pick up the pieces. It requires placement of assets, if you get my meaning.”
“Assets conveyed in the waggons of an archaeological expedition?” asked Sinclair.
“It’s nothing those Moors haven’t done themselves! Subterfuge is part and parcel of war, sir. When the day comes to strike, the Ottomans will find us ready and able.”
“You might even say England’s drawn a line in the sand, daring the Ottomans to cross,” suggested the earl. “But Constantinople is destitute, relying on British loans to survive the rebellions in Europe. Our line is both military and financial.”
“We play the great game,” the colonel answered proudly. “Russia, Turkey; it’s all the same. Shadow boxing, you might say until the opponent is dead on the mat. These Musselmen cannot survive without our English money. Yet, they repay us with thieving, rape, and murder! Damnable darkies!”
“Not all are murderous, Colonel,” argued the earl. “Most want only to raise their families in peace.”
“So you think,” the army man countered.
“So, I know,” Aubrey declared. “I’ve lived with the Bedouins, Colonel. And I’ve worked with many of their fellow tribesmen. Painting Africans with a broad brush is hardly fair. They are no different than we.”
“You surprise me, Aubrey. We offer these pickaninnies a better way of life. The English way of life, yet most are simply too thick-headed to see the advantages!”
“Those people are human beings with rights and sensitivities, created by God. Is it any wonder they see us an invaders?” Paul asked. “Surely, an Oxford man can see that.”
“I see only guns pointed at my face, sir. Eradication and rat traps are the proper response to vermin.”
“And that’s supposed to represent England?” the earl volleyed back. “If the reason for invading is to offer them our idea of civilisation, then compassion and education must lead, should it not?”
“I agree with Paul,” Charles interjected. “Africans, Asians, Indians, Englishmen—regardless of skin colour, we are all human. Now, may we return to the point of this discussion? Colonel, you were describing the solicitor, Albus Flint.”
“Yes, so I was,” replied the soldier, remarkably obedient to the Cambridge man’s admonishment. “Forgive the deviation, Commissioner, but I’m not a diplomat. I leave that nonsense to others,” he added, looking at Aubrey. “Yes, well, as I said, Flint’s an odd chap. Deathly pale with a forbidding manner. But then lawyers who lack a steel backbone are gobbled up in the courts, aren’t they?”
“When did you join the Society?”
“Six months ago. Strange collection of miscreants, that lot. Many of them are exiled princes or counts of some sort or other.”
“Did you meet any of the leaders?”
“Indeed I did!” Collinwood declared proudly. “At a peculiar little party in Düsseldorf last June. I signed a contract that afternoon, and that night attended this soiree, in a mausoleum of all places. Animal masks and the like. But they’re all right, if a bit odd. Wealthy beyond measure and determined to uncover the world’s buried treasures.”
“Any and all treasures, or do they seek something in particular?” asked Aubrey.
“Funny you should ask that. They keep whispering about some sort of sacred book. Seems it was torn into thirteen pieces and hidden ages ago—sometime after the flood.”
Charles felt a shiver run down his spine. “Thirteen pieces?”
“So Flint believes. And each hiding place is guarded by a high profile burial, which is why we’re looking at Branham.”
“You hoped to find one of these ‘high profile burials’ here—beneath Lion Hall?” asked Aubrey.
“We did find it. It’s why the Oxford chaps and I returned to Anjou Castle on the eighteenth. We’d already found a previously unknown crypt at Lion, but our discovery indicated another at Anjou.”
“The duchess gave no permission to enter that castle, Colonel Collinwood,” Charles said. “I’m sure Mr. Clark’s men informed you of that.”
“But she did give us permission!” the other argued. “It’s in the contract. I showed it to those two fellows as well.”
“Clark’s men?”
“Yes, they’ll vouch for it. Have you been there? That place is remarkable. Simply remarkable! Anjou Castle sits on a hill, of course; that much is obvious. But do you know what rests beneath that hill? An ancient burial mound. Far older than the castle. Flint believes it’s 5th century, perhaps older.”
“Pre-Christian England, then,” Aubrey noted. “There’s nothing about that in any of the family histories.”
“Nothing? Well, that is strange,” mused the colonel.
“What new discovery caused you to survey the castle? As it wasn’t part of the original contract, I’d like to know what changed your mind.”
The colonel’s eyes widened, his back up. “Now, look here, Commissioner, we really did get the duchess’s permission. If she’s forgotten, then it’s not my fault.”
“The duchess is a careful businesswoman, Colonel,” Sinclair declared, his ire rising in defence of his wife. “I’ve no doubt she had an army of lawyers comb through every paragraph before she signed. She believes the contract applies only to Lion Hall.”
“Then, she’s mistaken,” argued the soldier, refusing to back down.
“We won’t solve this today, gentlemen,” Aubrey interrupted in a calm voice. “Colonel, what was this new discovery?”
“A map,” he answered proudly, his upper lip tight against his teeth. “We began the project using an old Viking map that’s been in Blackstone’s keeping for many centuries. It shows a warren of tunnels beneath Branham that extend throughout Kent. These are supposed to connect to St. Arilda’s, and from there to Anjou Castle. I confess we deviated from the plan a little when we entered the abbey, but it was worth it. For there, we discovered a new map that indicated two important burials on Branham property. One beneath Arilda’s; the other under the hill at Anjou. Knowing our legal access to the sites ended on Saturday, we decided to spend another day there, but I left strict instructions that no one was to go into the tunnels beneath Lion Hall in my absence. No one. They were to remain in the newly discovered crypt and record its features. If those men disobeyed, then it’s hardly my fault, now is it?”
“Peter Patterson’s family might disagree,” the duke replied. “Tell me about this second map.”
“It’s carved into the south wall of the grand cavern. Flint called that room the crucible. A strangely religious name, I thought, but then he’s a strange little fellow. We copied the writing and presented it to one of our Society’s experts for translation. It was instructions, you see. Instructions to a second site. Another crucible and an accompanying crypt. Beneath Anjou Hill.”
“When did you start working there?”
“We’d been there all along,” he admitted. “Now, before you protest, understand that one paragraph of the contract provided a small loophole. One line ‘and the immediate vicinity’. Since immediate is somewhat difficult to define, we took it to mean anything on the estate.”
“You tricked my wife?” shouted Charles.
“No, sir. Not really. She had her lawyers sift through it all. And she signed it. I admire the duchess, but if she failed to take into account...”
“Failed to take into account!”
“Charles, this isn’t the time,” Aubrey warned his cousin, seeing Fred Best lurking on the other side of the snug’s door. “Colonel, what did you find at Anjou?�
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Collinwood grew silent for a moment, considering just how to respond honestly without giving away too much—or placing himself in legal hot water. “We found the crucible, all right—but also the second crypt, about fifty feet below the castle.”
Charles sensed a road block coming and decided to find a way round it by diminishing the statement’s importance.
“That’s no great surprise, Colonel. Barrows abound in England. How are common graves important to Blackstone?”
“Did I say these were common?” the soldier shouted. Growing suddenly cautious, Collinwood leaned across the table to whisper, his copper moustache puffing out with each word. “Blackstone wouldn’t want me to say, so I hope this won’t go into any official record, Commissioner. But we uncovered seven skeletons in a chamber identical to that beneath St. Arilda’s.”
“Human skeletons?” asked Charles.
“No. Enormous horses. Thirty hands high if they’re an inch! Each was fully articulated, and their bodies carefully arranged to form a radial pattern, like the spokes of a large wheel. Flint said he’d seen the same formation before in Denmark, Romania, Spain, even Assyria. It was a blood sacrifice to empower...”
“Empower what?” the duke asked, his scalp and hands beginning to tingle with that familiar electric charge.
“To empower resurrection, sir. To raise the dead!”
Charles digested this remarkable statement, the electric tingling overwhelming his senses as he added this puzzle piece to others already in his mind. Taken together with his dreams and the symbols in his own home, he suspected all this had some connexion to his past—and perhaps, his future.
Hello, boy. Shall we play?
“Do you believe in such things?” he asked the colonel. “Pagan rites for bringing back the dead?”
Collinwood laughed nervously. “Of course not! It’s all utter nonsense, but it gets far more interesting. After we cleared away the large rocks from over the skeletons and swept up the dust, we discovered a doorway to a decorated royal crypt. Nothing common or mundane here, sir! Knock me down with a feather, if these weren’t the finest discoveries since Petrie surveyed Giza! Painted statues, provision jars containing food for the afterlife, weapons, a chariot; and all along the ceiling were constellations made from glittering feldspar. Draco, Ursa Minor, Boötes, and Gemini.”
“Say that again,” Charles interrupted.
“The constellations, you mean? Draco, Ursa Minor, Boötes, and Gemini. Why?”
A shiver ran along the duke’s back, and his hands went numb. The same star formations as they found in the hidden passageway. The mural of Eden River and the seven dragons.
“Nothing,” he managed to reply calmly. “It’s an old family story. Go on, Colonel.”
“Ah, yes, well, the crypt led to a small door that required one enter on hands and knees. A sort of penitence, Flint told us. Once through, we found it. It was almost too good to be true!” the soldier whispered, his eyes gone wild.
“What did you find?” asked Aubrey.
He drew back, his eyes suddenly unsure. “You must promise to say nothing, sir. This is not for public knowledge.”
“The earl and I are not the public, Colonel, and our commission is no less important than yours.”
The man stared down at his spiked drink. “I wonder...”
“You wonder what?” asked the earl.
Again, the man leaned forward, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “Look here, Your Grace, is what I read in the papers true?”
“Regarding?” asked the duke.
“Your background. Inheritance and all that. I know how these things work. Someone lays down a scent, and these newsprint dogs start sniffing about. One track leads to another and then another, but it doesn’t mean there’s a fox at the end. Sometimes, it’s nothing but a rabbit.”
Charles smiled. “Are you asking if I’m a fox or a rabbit?”
“In a manner of speaking, sir, yes.”
Paul answered for his cousin. “For your information, Colonel, Duke Charles is a very important, very highly pedigreed fox. He descends from the oldest, most important blood lines of French, English, and Scottish royal heritage. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Ah, yes, I see. Then, I may speak freely, Your Grace? As I might to Her Majesty, or perhaps another sovereign?”
“You may,” Charles answered.
“Then, meet me at Pembroke Manor at five o’clock today. It’s where the Oxford chaps and I’ve been staying. It’s a mile or so the other side of Eleanor’s Castle. Meet me there, and I’ll show you something that will alter the way you see the world, sir!”
“Can’t you tell me now?”
“You won’t believe a word I say without physical proof, but it’s rather too large to carry about one’s person. And it’s positively dazzling, sir! It will alter every presumption about the world of men. Meet me, and I’ll tell you everything.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
10:03 a.m. - Drummond House
James Stuart was just finishing a late breakfast when he received a message from the butler at Aubrey House. The ordinarily circumspect servant’s handwriting looked as if the words were hurriedly composed, but the meaning was clear. The duke had to come right away to resolve a crisis.
Traffic along the shopping district was heavy that morning, and it took the intrepid Scotsman half an hour to to reach Aubrey House. When he arrived, Bailey explained in a rush of apologetic sentences.
“I hope you’ll forgive the interruption to your morning, sir, but I couldn’t think what else to do! When she arrived last night, it took us all by surprise. Certainly, we never expected so late a caller, but a woman! I tell you Mrs. Chesterfield had much to say about it. We put her in the second master for the present. I dared not send you word last night, Your Grace. The hour was so late, and I felt certain your household would be abed. I pray I’ve not committed an error in judgement. I do wish the earl were here, sir. It’s been so very strange hereabouts this week. First, the closet incident, and now this. His lordship must know, of course, but I’d no idea what to do until then!”
“Slow down, Bailey. What woman have you put in the second master?”
“Lady Cordelia, sir. Didn’t I say? She awoke us all very early this morning. Around three, I should think. She’d come in a cab and had no money, but we paid the driver and took her in.”
“She came here at three this morning?” asked the duke, growing concerned. “Did she say why? Is she ill?”
“She is in a most unusual state, sir. Her conversation was unclear and somewhat, shall we say, incoherent? Her appearance disheveled, and her face and arms badly bruised. But also in other places. Mrs. Chesterfield could tell you more, for she helped to undress the lady.”
“Have you sent for a doctor?” Drummond asked, already heading for the stairs.
“Dr. Whitmore will arrive shortly, my lord. We hated to disturb him at such an hour. Forgive me for sending to your home. As the earl is more than two hours away in Kent, it seemed quickest to inform you first. Should I wire his lordship, sir?”
“Not yet. Let me handle it. You did well.” The two men arrived at the first floor and turned east towards the second master apartment. “Have you notified her mother?”
“No, sir. I thought it best not to do so. Some of the things Lady Cordelia said indicate a sort of rift twixt them. I dared not widen it further.”
“Yes, that was wise,” he said, knocking softly on the apartment door. “Delia? Are you awake, dear?”
After waiting a minute, he knocked again. Hearing no reply, the duke entered the apartment’s parlour and crossed through to the bedchamber door and knocked.
“Delia?”
The only reply was a faint muttering; slurred and disjointed. A terrible fear crept through Drummond’s spirit, but as the door was locked, he put his
shoulder to it, forcing it open.
He found Cordelia lying on the floral carpet, barely conscious. Her nightgown looked as though she’d thrashed about during the night; rising up to expose her limbs. The bachelor butler shut his eyes in modest response. The duke threw a blanket over Cordelia, and then lifted the girl into his broad arms, gently placing her in the bed. He brought the quilt up to her chin and touched her forehead to check for fever. “She’s warm. Did you dress her in these night clothes?”
“Mrs. Chesterfield did, Your Grace. It’s one Duchess Elizabeth left here when she last visited.”
“I’m glad it isn’t from my nephew’s closet,” Drummond joked to ease the tension. “The earl does love disguises. Fetch Chesterfield at once and ask her to keep watch until Whitmore arrives. I’m heading back to my home to make arrangements. Lady Cordelia’s to remain here this morning, but will stay with me tonight. Would you say she’s taller than the duchess?”
“It’s hard to say, my lord. An inch, perhaps. Are you thinking of a temporary wardrobe?”
“If there’s a rift twixt Cordelia and her mother, then we’ve no alternative. I’ll have someone at Haimsbury House pack enough clothes for a few days. Twice now, this child’s been abused and injured, and I will not allow a third! Tomorrow, she goes with me to Branham, and when Christmas is over, whoever did this will wish he’d never been born!”
5:02 pm –Pembroke Manor
Charles and Paul arrived at five o’clock, precisely as directed and were met at the door by a sallow woman in a dark blue dress, decorated by a single brooch at the throat. She wore no apron.
“Yes?” the stern-faced female asked the two peers. “You’re too well-dressed to be selling anything, which means you’re reporters. Sir Simon has nothing to say about that boy’s murder. Nothing at all. Go sniff elsewhere!”
The door started to slam shut, but Aubrey put his foot in the opening. “Colonel Collinwood invited us, madam.”
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