by Daniel Kemp
“It struck me that Paulo might have paid for this place. It oozes wealth as much as you ooze class. Must have cost a fortune.”
“I have only been free from the captive confines of the CIA for a few weeks, Harry, I haven't yet found a rich enough lover for all my needs, but give me time and who knows. Yes, the money did come from Paulo, but many moons ago. Perhaps it first originated from the deep pockets of our shared relative; Maudlin and that bank of yours called Annie's. I never could understand why a bank would have a female name. Surely banking is a masculine occupation. Any answer to that riddle, Harry Paterson?”
“I have, but it's so boring your pants will fall off.” I laughed loudly and Katherine joined in. Jimmy, on the other hand, extracted himself from the wooden slats and made to leave.
“I can only take so many English jokes. Catch up with you in the morning. Say around eleven? I'll get my driver to honk twice from the street below to wake you up. And to you, your royal highness, I bid farewell. May your past indiscretions not cloud the present, and may your future be one of broad painted strokes of respectability.”
“You have Russian poetic blood, Mr Jimmy,” she proclaimed. I, on the other hand, was jealous of that line. I chose to forget it.
“I won't be here, Jimmy, I'll be at the Hyatt. You can take my English native word on that.”
Chapter Thirty-Two: Reasons For Leaving
My initial guess about Percy's reasons for leaving Ireland in favour of English shores was wrong, as was my guess at his joining the army simply through a predilection to violence. The reason had originated at Grange Manor, which was the catalyst for them both.
Lord Cecil Montague of Monmouth divided his time between his English home, on the edge of the Forest of Dean, his Irish one at Grange Manor and the London flat he used at Dolphin Square on the north side of the River Thames, a mile from the Houses of Parliament at Westminster. Cecil, born in 1893, was eligible to take his seat in the House of Lords on the death of his father in 1937 and he raced to that appointment as fast as his squat body with bandy legs would carry him. London was where his sexual interests really lay; or stood, knelt, hung from chains, swung from chandeliers or simply waited to receive his generosity. It was in the hands of his elder sister, Grace, that his perverse interest in sex had grown from one of evil appeal to one of complete evil obsession, consuming his mind beyond all else. However, his lifestyle brought many complications not all to do with the bestial sex which he promoted, but the one that started in 1929 palpably did.
Percy Crow had taken the young Cecil's eye when they first accidentally met at his father's friend Oliver Somerset's castle, near to Lady Lamb's farm, when the two were discussing the Somersets' financial predicament. Percy had accompanied his own father, taking a side of pork to the castle's kitchen. They literally bumped into each other outside the cold house door in the adjoining walled vegetable garden. That was the time when the practically minded Lord Herbert Montague advised the move to Cork that was to start Percy's journey into the sordid world of despicable profiteering through child smuggling and prostitution.
By 1929 Percy was not just Cecil's favourite plaything, he was also his confidante and harmonious companion, sharing everything together. Grace, with Imelda Somerset constantly by her side, predominately shared the girls and it was into their clutches that Rachel had fallen. At a particularly wickedly depraved gathering at Grange Manor in the summer of 1929, when a new influx of children had been procured through associates of the Montagues at the Irish Ministry of Home Affairs, Percy was in charge of the camera that took stills of the tortuous acts performed that day by a collection of adults who he knew only too well, as it had been he who had written the invitations, posted them and then added their coded names to the book that he'd had absolute control over for the previous three years; the renting ledger. A book of coded names, dates those names attended Grange Manor, money owed against money paid, with its attachment; a list of real names and real addresses. During the evening, when he was alone with Cecil developing the photographs, he raised a question that had occupied his thoughts for the last few days.
The first months of his separation from Rachel had been disturbing for Percy but soon forgotten, not through fear but the security he found in the older Cecil's comforting arms. He'd tasted fear at Raglan Castle when his parents died and he been forced to watch his sister being handled by the local policeman and Imelda Somerset. He'd been helpless and frightened, so the sensation of fear was only too well known. Cecil offered the kindness and compassion that he found from his parents when they were alive. It was true, he silently argued, that the older boy expected favours that seemed abnormal at first, but he never deliberately hurt him as he'd first done, but that early pain had healed and left no injury. In truth he enjoyed what Cecil did to him, although he knew it to be wrong, happily returning the acts with enthusiasm.
When the newly arrived Charlie Reilly was included as a third participant, Percy was glad. And when Charlie was selected for living in, sharing some of the houseboy duties that had been exclusively his own, he positively relished the love that Charlie openly declared. Cecil could not have been happier too, as he now had another permanent plaything to amuse himself with. But the ledger had raised a question that no matter how much he tried Percy could not reconcile.
In a 1917 entry, Rachel's name was logged alongside another's whom Percy did not recognise, that of a Severndoog, after which there was no further mention of Rachel's name although there was of Severndoog; many times with a variety of other girls' names. In the developing room, as the photos were being exposed, he raised that question with Cecil.
Why is that? he calmly asked, not disclosing his relationship to Rachel. Cecil, was too self-absorbed to remember.
On hearing the matter of fact reply of his sister dying the following day through the internal injuries caused by the owner of that unrecognised name, Percy's mind became unhinged. Cecil's judgement of him being a quiet, untroubled young man was mistaken. Percy then tasted the first flush of violence that would eventually become as compelling as anything he had experienced in his victim's arms. He smashed Cecil's weak body into the wall, repeatedly hitting him hard in the face and body, as cruelly as his considerable strength would allow. Cecil was physically unable to stop his far more powerful attacker. All he could do was pray. But there was no answer to his prayers, as God had never visited Grange Manor since Cecil, with Grace, had taken over, and St Michael, the defender of Heaven, had never chased the devil as far as Cecil's vision into hell.
Tell me who killed her again? Percy screamed.
Severndoog! Cecil screeched.
Was she here at Grange Manor, or with Grace, in Cork? he demanded.
In Grace's care, at Cork, came the squealed reply.
How did it happen? Percy bellowed.
No matter how Cecil dressed the naked answer it remained a sodomitical obscenity that Rachel endured in Cork. Percy never realised how deep his affection ran in regard to his sister. Now he was alone in the world; a cruel disgusting one, one he couldn't change, but he could alter. He smashed into the smaller, much weaker Cecil with fists, feet and anything else that he could find again and again, fracturing two ribs and an eye socket. On a shelf above where he had been working, was a drain cleaner containing sulphuric acid. Percy emptied the near full contents into the developing bath and again asked about Severndoog. Cecil emptied both bowels and bladder through terror as he lay on the floor beneath that sink.
All I know is that he lives in Canada, Percy, but I have the photograph of him with your sister. I will get it for you, just stop all this. Please!
Almost severing one of Cecil's ears from his head as he pulled him to the albums and the place where the photograph was kept, Percy lifted it from the mounting inside a brown leather one, then dragged Cecil back to the waiting acid. Cecil knew only too well of the dangers floating before him. Percy plunged Cecil's right hand into it, adding copious quantities of caustic soda to run down his
victim's arm whilst he forcibly pushed the hand under. He slammed the empty glass bottle of acid into the side of Montague's head causing him to fall to the ground in a bloodied heap. At first he thought he'd killed him, but then Cecil moved and a comfort of sorts spread through Percy's veins just as though he'd escaped another beating at PC Aaron Williams's hands by a hair's breadth. Clarity replaced his insanity, stopping the delivery of a final blow. They'll know it was me and find me, rationally he realised, leaving Cecil where he lay.
Until his death in February 1953 Lord Cecil Montague was never seen in public without a glove covering that hand but nothing could cover his shame if the 'renting ledger' was ever made public. He paid Percy handsomely to keep his and Severndoog's secret, but Percy worried about any premium. He fled the country, telling only Charlie the reason along with the fact that he had a photograph of his sister with a member of the Royal family. He never told a soul the name of Rachel's abuser, nor that he had taken the complete renting ledger with the appendix attached. Montague's explanation was never recorded. Percy went first went to France. Changing his name to Alain Masterson, the son of an English father and French mother, he found work on the construction of the Maginot Line and stayed until war broke out in Spain.
* * *
Katherine was adding her special sour cream to the strips of frying beef as I poured a small amount of red wine into the pan, when I asked the questioned that had brought me to New York, and her side.
“Why was it that our first meeting happened in Vancouver, Katherine, as there were many conferences that my company attended? Was it Paulo's idea and if so, did he give a reason for it?”
“If we were back there now, Harry, we'd be in some cosy bed enjoying each other instead of which we're standing here wanting each other. I don't seem to recall you wasting any time talking about who arranged much then.” With a frown imprinted on her brow she leant across and kissed me for the third time since the meal had started to cook.
“That's because you weren't cooking beef, Katherine.” She laughed, adding, “it was his call, yes. And as you said that you're not staying the night, then I'd better either get a move on with dinner, or abandon the meal altogether.”
“I can't stay, Katherine, and I'll explain that later. What were the reasons he gave?”
“Paulo was never a conventional father to me. He played his own game in which me and others were just his pawns used as a grand master would in a game of chess. Sometimes he'd use us as his first line of attack, ignoring threats from the opposition, then other times he'd sacrifice us early on, for the greater good, he'd say. Did he ever tell you that while you were serving with the NATO forces in Bosnia he travelled to Iceland to watch the chess game between Bobby Fisher and Boris Spassky? No, well he did, Harry! Fisher was his idol. I can remember him talking in glowing terms of admiration of his attacking strategy, He even sent flowers to Reykjavík, where Fisher lived and died. It was the only time I heard any form of sympathy from him. As far as giving me a reason, Paulo never gave me a reason for anything he did.”
Harry, I haven't had this place swept, but the CIA must have bugged it and put cameras all around as I'm sure the realtor I used was got at. The extractor fan helps cover speech. It's not guaranteed nowadays with the sophisticated equipment they use. Don't trust that doorman either. He's too friendly not to be in their pay. We can't be safe anywhere with directional listening aids and satellite communications but if there's one thing I'm positive of; Mercer is after Paulo. He's not forgiven him, and doesn't buy the dead story that I'm sure you don't either.”
“I'm reading this the same as you, Katherine, only I seemed to be led to Vancouver for no obvious reason. The person I thought to be at the end of the chase had died five or six before I thought. It all goes nowhere, and I'm floundering in misinformation.”
“Paulo trusts you, Harry, like he trusted his father, your great-grandfather Maudlin. Now ask yourself how I know that and then trust what Paulo has shown you, Harry. You must, as I believe a great deal is riding on you.”
“Care to elaborate on the present tense of trusts, that you just used, Katherine?” I asked.
“Care for beef; or sex?” she replied.
* * *
“I have a proposition, Percy! One that I believe you'll favour, that's if you're up for a bit of revenge using bombs and things going bang, bellow, ouch and scream. Throw in a large dollop of torture as well, as much as you like. Sounds right up your street, old son.”
“I want Severndoog,” answered Percy.
“Can't help you there. Brown bread I'm afraid. Dead in 1947, three years short of a century on this earth.”
“The Somersets,” answered Percy.
“All dead or vanished up their own arses,” replied Meredith.
“The Montagues,” answered Percy.
“I can deal with you on that one,” said Meredith. “More on that in a minute,” he added.
“Williams,” answered Percy.
“I'll find you a name.”
“Drogheda,” Percy replied.
“I'll get another name on that for you, old thing.”
“Want anything else?” Meredith asked.
“The whereabouts of my old mucker, Charlie Reilly,” replied a smug Percy Crow.
“Right, pleased we could agree. Pour yourself a drink from my hip flask and listen up with that good ear of yours tuned in.”
* * *
“There's to be a wedding taking place fifteenth of next month at The Hall, the place where I live in England, Katherine. I would invite you myself but my girlfriend might be a trifle miffed at that.”
“Yours is it, Harry? Shall I pretend to be heartbroken? What on earth does miffed mean?” she asked.
“No not mine, your brother George is marrying, and miffed means upset.”
“In that case Jimmy Mercer's estimation of you was perfectly correct. I expect she would be miffed. You definitely are a rogue, Harry Paterson, and no mistake,” and she laughed so much her head almost fell off. I never asked why she called me that, as some things need no explanation. Do they!
“I'm off with that girlfriend of mine to a fashion show in Milan, Katherine, the week following the wedding. If you have the time, come and meet Serena there. She'll more than likely give you a good discount on her Zabreno spring and winter collection of underwear. It gets cold in New York in the winter.”
“I hope to be somewhere warmer by the winter, Harry!”
* * *
Percy was wrapped up warm, requiring more than a little explanation from Meredith, as they sat in the high-ceilinged, sterile black and white tiled, unheated central waiting area of King's College Hospital, Camberwell London, on a cold night in late February.
“I will contrive to secure someone who will fit your story about Severndoog being the target of your forthcoming vengeance at my end that will last for eternal time. We'll put a slam bam notice on the forthcoming proceedings at Grange Manor so nobody will know the real truth other than you and me. That fictional person will perish with the others that I'll lead to the Manor. You can have the Grace woman with pleasure any which way you prefer, Percy, and you'll never have to worry about any surviving relative of hers sticking a sharp object in your back or front when awake or in sleep ever again. But, and it's a huge but, my boy. Montague is mine and only mine. You lay no finger, or at any time leave delayed fireworks near him. You must obey that directive or I'll simply have you blindfolded, tied to a cold wooden stake, and shoot you myself.
He will not be at home when you pay a visit. No, don't look so glum, no need. I will cut his balls off in my own way. He will be destroyed in a far more destructive way than you can ever imagine. One man who will be at the Grange will stick out like a sore thumb; a young Irishman. You'll know him as he'll speak funny. They do that, the Irish, you know. Probably already noticed that yourself. Now, while we have time to ourselves before your appointment for that leg of yours, do tell me more about the book you call —the renting ledger
—I can guarantee we would pay you a sizeable amount of money for an extended look inside that.”
Percy took little notice of the British intelligence chief's solo plans, nor his sense of humour, he was too busy in other thoughts. He now had his insurance twice over, being allowed to keep his treasured photograph and that secret book, and what's more he had the kind permission of the British to extract revenge in as gruesome a way as he wished.
'I wonder if Douglas is experimenting with anything that's unusual I could use that would prolong the agony,' he thought.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Twenty-One Days and Counting
“We have twenty-one days, Harry, to arrange George's wedding to Sophie and finalise all the travelling arrangements to Milan. I will start to panic soon. Yesterday I had confirmation of the models I requested. Yes, before you ask, I have engaged an extra one; of the full-woman curvy type your perverted mind requires. But she's not there because of you! She's there because I wanted a stunning contrast for the end display. And no, you cannot help with the fittings that are going to occupy my time, so don't be tiresome and ask. You just go and enjoy yourself with that Katherine, the Tzar's daughter! Don't worry about me organising all what's needed backstage. You can thank your lucky stars that's it's only the one day there and not the full week, otherwise I'd have to pressgang you into sewing up pulled threads or steaming the garments. Then where would you be, Mr Casanova?”
“I'm willing to model for you if you're one short, Serena. That's if you think my scars wouldn't frighten the buyers.” She ignored my helpful suggestion.
“Tanta tells me that the house in Portugal will be empty by midday tomorrow, so, I'm flying him straight up to Leeds to redesign The Hall for the reception. With no future referral to you, Harry P. Just stay out of his way. You'll say no to everything he wants. You've seen to the banns up there, haven't you? Good! Sophie says George is dealing with them down here. At least that's one thing that's all taken care of. We will need marquees, Harry, tons of them. Probably pour down with rain on the day, but there you go, that's jolly old Yorkshire for you. Phone Joseph and get a list of local outside caterers, along with marquee suppliers! What? You have all that in hand too! Well, take a gold star and pin it somewhere, preferably on Katherine's backside. No! Don't do that.