She shivered at the thought of the man’s hideous friends. “You’re not going to have another one o’ your parties, are you, Sir William?”
Trent grinned, his wolf eyes bright. “No, my dear. Tonight’s revelries will occur elsewhere. Beneath the canopy of make-believe.”
Chapter Eight
6:58 pm – Queen Anne House
As he finished dressing for the evening, Charles Sinclair stared into the polished mirror, his face cleanly shaven, hair freshly trimmed just above the collar. Tonight was meant for merriment and relaxed entertainments, so he forced all thoughts of wolves, secret experiments, and Ripper from his mind, determined to make this night memorable for his beloved duchess. Making certain that the gold and onyx cufflinks were secure, the marquess descended the curving staircase to the main floor, where Elizabeth awaited near the doors to the drawing room, speaking with the earl, Victoria Stuart, and Mary Wilsham.
The duchess had chosen a cap sleeved, light blue satin gown, overlaid on the bodice with hundreds of seed pearls, and around her delicate throat, she’d secured a pearl choker that featured the stunning blue diamond Paul had given her in early October. Her mother’s gold cross hung just below the choker, and a pair of gold and pearl earrings swung gracefully from her beautifully shaped ears. Though Elizabeth usually wore her hair loose at home, she’d asked Alicia to arrange it into a cascade of curls, placed high upon the back of her head, and peering from amongst the field of raven locks shone a dozen, diamond and pearl hair pins, twinkling like stars in an inky sky.
“Your beauty puts Helen of Troy to shame,” Sinclair told her as he bowed and kissed her hands. “Oh, must you wear them?” he asked as she started to slip on elbow length gloves. “I so love the warmth of your skin when holding your hand, Beth.”
She rose up on tiptoe and kissed his smooth cheek. “If you wish, I shall remove them once we’re at the theatre, Captain. And may I say that you are dashingly handsome, and that your face is much more kissable now?”
“You don’t prefer the unkempt pirate?” he teased.
“Not tonight, at least. And I’m very glad your dark mood has lifted. It’s a welcome change from the somewhat preoccupied policeman who came home this afternoon. Mary, did Charles often return home from his investigations in a somewhat sullen mood?”
“Sullen?” the marquess complained. “Now, Mary, tell the truth. I seldom came home in any mood other than jubilant.”
Mary Wilsham stood with everyone else in the wide foyer, wearing her Sunday dress, her ageing countenance serene. “Well, sir, if truth be told—and it must—you did sometimes come ‘ome in a bit of a mood, but I found that a slice o’ raisin cake usually put ‘im ta rights, my lady.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Really? As simple as that? Well, then, I shall make certain we are never without raisin cake!”
The front bell sounded, and Miles admitted the duke and Adele into the broad foyer.
“Good evening, sir,” Sinclair said, shaking Drummond’s hand. “Allow me to introduce you and Della to one of the finest women in all the realm. Someone who’s been my very dear friend throughout many of life’s trials, and now has joined our family in a much-deserved retirement. Duke James, Lady Adele, this is Mrs. Mary Wilsham. Think of her as my surrogate mother, if you will.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Wilsham,” the duke said, kissing the former housekeeper’s hand. “Charles has spoken of you often, but he never mentioned what a looker you are.”
Wilsham’s cheeks flushed. “Aw, sir, ya tease me.”
Drummond took her by the arm, patting the round flesh of her hand, a twinkle in his dark eyes. “Not at all! Scottish rules of etiquette require that dukes speak only the truth, particularly when greeting pretty ladies. Della, come say hello.”
Wilsham curtseyed slightly as Della walked up and took her hand, offering a broad smile. “You are family, Mrs. Wilsham? Then, you must call me Della. May I call you Aunt Mary?”
“I’d be right pleased if you would, Lady Della,” Wilsham said, grinning. “Mr. Sinclair—I mean, Charles—didn’t tell me he had such a lovely young cousin. You’re Lord Aubrey’s sister? Is that right?”
“It is,” Adele replied sweetly. “Are you going to the theatre with us, Aunt Mary?”
“No,” Wilsham replied. “I don’t reckon so, Lady Della.”
“Why not?” the duke asked. “We’ve plenty room. You should come! You’d have a grand old time!”
“That’s real nice o’ you, sir, but I’m a bit weary after packin’ an’ then unpackin’ my things. I thought I’d just sit and rest, iffin that’s all right. Maybe do a bit o’ needlework.”
“I do embroidery,” Adele said excitedly. “And I bake cakes. Do you bake, Aunt Mary?”
“Course I do,” Wilsham answered. “Mayhap, I can share some o’ my recipes with you, iffin you’ve the time.”
“I’d very much like that,” Adele said. The girl then looked up at Charles, her face filled with anticipation. “Did you get it?” she asked, winking. “You know. It?”
“I did,” he told her, winking in return. “Everyone! Your attention, please!” he called to his assembled loved ones. “Now that all the family is here, I’ve something important to say. It won’t take much time, but I want everyone to witness this. Beth, would you remove those gloves, please?”
“I’ve only just put them on,” she complained.
“Please?” he begged. “I assure you, that I have a very good reason for asking.”
She did as requested, and Sinclair took the white silk gloves and handed them to Victoria.
“Do hurry, Nephew,” his aunt said with a sigh. “The curtain rises in less than an hour.”
“This won’t take long. I promise,” he told her. “Elizabeth, you pledged your hand to me last month in Scotland, but at the time, I had no ring to offer you as proof of my love.” She nearly spoke, but he touched her lips to hush the reply, and then continued. “You may still say no, of course,” he said as he withdrew a red velvet box from the inner pocket of his dress coat. “I asked your grandfather to tell me what your favourite gem in all the world was, and he said that you have always loved the unusual diamonds in the Branham coronet.”
Beth’s eyes widened, and her hand began to tremble, but he kissed it once again, his face bright. Opening the small box, Charles revealed the contents to everyone present, and Della began to jump up and down, excitedly.
“It’s pink!” she squealed, clapping her hands. “Oh, it is so beautiful, Cousin Charles! Is it a diamond?”
“It is a diamond,” the marquess replied. “It’s called a ‘fancy vivid pink’, and its name is the Raajakumaaree Gulaabee, or the Pink Princess, which I thought perfectly named for you, my darling. It was found in the Kollur mines of India in 1734, when it became part of the royal gems of the Afghan emirate, and over the years was worn by many of the Emir’s wives before being gifted to Lord Lytton by Emir Abdur Rhaman Khan, in gratitude for his aid in Tashkent. When Martin told me that the stone was being auctioned by Lytton’s family, I contacted the auction house and asked that the diamond be removed from the list and sold only to me. It is only eleven carats, but it is flawless and matches the deep pink stones in your coronet. I thought the heart shape also perfect, just as your heart is perfect, little one. The white diamonds that surround the centre are twenty in number, so they are a bit small, but as you were eleven when we first met and are now twenty years old, I thought the numbers appropriate. But regardless of how beautiful this historic stone might be, no gem could ever match your beauty, my darling duchess. I pray this small token will serve as a reminder of my devotion in the years to come.” He dropped to one knee, her left hand in his. “I love you with all my heart and soul. Your smile is the balm that soothes my heart, and your dark eyes strengthen my spirit as nothing else in this world ever could. Your laughter is a symphony of music, and the
simple touch of your hand instantly removes the weight of the world from my shoulders. A lifetime is not enough to spend with you, but it is the beginning of an eternal journey, that I pray you still wish to share with me. So, Elizabeth Georgianna Victoria Regina Stuart, I ask you once again, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
She had begun to cry, and Victoria handed her a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Now, now, my dear. Surely, you don’t want to arrive at the theatre with puffy eyes.”
“Well?” Sinclair prompted, waiting to slip the ring onto her slender finger.
“My answer is still yes, Captain. A thousand times, yes!” she answered, and he placed the stunning diamond onto her hand, standing to take her into his arms.
“This makes it official. You cannot back out now, my love. Everyone’s heard you say yes, and I’ve circled your finger in gold and diamonds.”
“It might have been a cigar band, for all I care, Charles, but the ring is indescribably beautiful! Oh, I do love you, Captain!”
He kissed her, and the Stuart family applauded, along with the entire Queen Anne staff, who had gathered near the balcony railing above to watch the tender moment.
“Shall we?” he asked, taking her arm in his.
“We shall, my wonderful Captain. The first step of a lifetime of love.”
The Lyceum Theatre buzzed with palpable excitement. Every glittering private box, every orchestra stall seat, every balcony row was filled that night, due to the marketing prowess of the theatre’s owner, Henry Irving, and the gossip surrounding the promise of a new play, based on the notorious crimes of Jack the Ripper.
The playwright, Abraham Stoker, had befriended Irving many years before in their native Ireland, and the talented young writer had been running the theatre’s business office for several years. It was Irving who suggested his protégé compose a play about the Whitechapel murders, following upon the unprecedented success of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in August and September. Police suspicion surrounding that play’s lead actor, Richard Mansfield, as a possible Ripper suspect had aided in packing the theatre’s seats, so Irving enticed his friend in management to pen an original work that would add a gothic, supernatural element to the east end horrors.
After conducting just three days of hasty rehearsals, Irving photographed the play’s final, grisly murder scene, and then printed the graphic image on five thousand playbills, which he then distributed throughout the London metropolis. The result of Irving’s brilliant marketing scheme was three weeks’ worth of guaranteed, full houses at premium prices.
Many of that evening’s patrons, particularly the distaff set of London, were there because of persistent rumours that the newly titled Marquess of Haimsbury, his fiancée the Duchess of Branham, and her Scottish family might be in residence. Press reports of Charles Sinclair’s miraculous ‘return from the dead’ and inheritance had played daily upon the front pages of nearly every major newspaper across the empire, but also in America, France, and Germany. Women who seldom read the news snatched up circulars and broadsheets, devouring each tantalising article and daydreaming of the dashing detective over their morning eggs or that evening’s poached salmon. Consequently, as the duchess and her cousins entered the theatre lobby, the eyes of nearly every female present were set upon the resplendent marquess.
After wading through a nearly impenetrable assembly of ardent female admirers, Sinclair and company settled at last into the opulent comforts of Box Two. From below this lofty perch, ladies from all social classes eagerly eyed the two handsome cousins, attired in bespoke finery to rival a king’s, both tall and graceful, with light blue eyes and similarly muscular builds. Whilst gossiping about the Scottish pair, the ladies of London smiled coquettishly, but kept their fainting fans and smelling salts handy. Many single and even married ladies cast flirting glances towards the earl, but it was the marquess whose name was whispered along the aisles. Newspaper coverage recounted fantastic and often dubious tales of the famous detective, who’d been kidnapped as a boy and now returned to his rightful place as a leading peer of the realm, and every female plotted how best to manoeuver her way to his side, come the entr’acte interval.
Box Four, just to the left of Aubrey’s box, belonged to the Earl of Cartringham. Lady Cartringham had entered with her cousin Cordelia Simpson in tow, both ladies dressed to the nines, their throats bedecked with colourful gems, corseted figures squeezed into expensive satins and taffeta silks. A narrow curtain of embroidered velvet hung betwixt the two theatre boxes, and the countess pulled it aside so that she and her young cousin might more easily converse with those within the Aubrey Box.
“Well, if it isn’t the Stuart Clan,” Lady Cartringham gushed, leaning against the railing. “Duke, it’s a very great pleasure to see you in London again. You seldom honour us this time of year. Usually, you and your handsome family spend holidays in Scotland. I say, is that your new nephew sitting next to the duchess?”
Drummond sat in the chair nearest Box Four, and he now stood politely and kissed Cartringham’s gloved hand. “Countess, you grow younger each time I see you. Yes, that’s Charles, all right. A handsome lad. Looks a bit like me, don’t you think? Where’s Basil tonight? Doesn’t he like murder mysteries?”
“He’s downstairs yet,” the countess replied with a laugh. “Having a smoke with a few club friends. Have you met my cousin, Duke? Lady Cordelia Simpson? She’s Baron Wychwright’s only daughter. Delia will be eighteen next month, you know. Marriageable age,” she hinted as her buxom cousin leaned forward to catch the light of the electric wall sconce.
“Is that so? I’ve not yet had the pleasure of meeting your lovely cousin,” Drummond said, smiling. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Cordelia. Countess, I believe you already know Lord Aubrey, but allow me to introduce you to my other nephew, who’s become something of a celebrity of late. Charles! Come here, son. We’ve a neighbour who wishes to say hello.”
Sinclair excused himself, leaving Elizabeth and crossing to the other side of the wide, gilt-edged box. “Sir?”
“Charles, these beautiful ladies are Countess Margaret Bellville, Lady Cartringham, and her cousin Lady Cordelia Simpson. Delia is Baron Wychwright’s daughter. Their estate is just outside Windermere, up in the Lake District. It’s just a day’s ride from Rose House, actually. Your family’s seat. Ladies, allow me to introduce my remarkable nephew, Charles Sinclair, Lord Haimsbury.”
Charles kissed their hands and offered his best smile, bowing. “It is my honour, ladies,” he said politely.
The two women fairly gushed, and young Cordelia Simpson did her best to show off the powdered skin of her décolleté. Charles made certain his eyes never left her face.
“It’s a very great pleasure to meet you, Lord Haimsbury,” the young woman bubbled. “Is it true you’re also a policeman?”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, causing her to giggle profusely. “Are you staying in London long, Lady Cordelia?”
“Oh, do call me Delia,” she insisted, still giggling. “Cordelia sounds so very old, don’t you think? I shan’t be here much longer. Through Christmas, perhaps. I wish I lived in London all year long, actually. Sadly, my family spends most of the winter months at Aisling Hall, outside of Windermere,” the young woman answered. “My father’s an M.P., you know, representing the Lake District. Living in the country is so very boring, isn’t it? London is quite exciting, though. My coming-out party is next spring. I do hope you’ll come, Lord Haimsbury.”
“Ah, well, that would be lovely,” he answered, unsure just how best to reply. “The duchess and I shall be honoured to attend.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right,” she whispered, failing to hide her considerable disappointment. “I’d forgot you’re engaged. I wonder if Lord Aubrey will be free.”
“I’ll make certain that he is,” Charles replied mischievously. “I hope you ladies will excuse me. My aunt has pr
omised to help me learn all the many names and faces amongst the audience. I shall tell her that I know you both now. Again, a distinct pleasure.”
He bowed once more and then returned to the seat ‘twixt Victoria and Elizabeth. “I never had problems like that when I was merely an underpaid policeman,” he whispered to his aunt.
“Get used to it, my dear. Regardless of your status as engaged or married, there are certain women of our set who will always endeavour to catch the eye of a handsome man with money. And you, my dear, are handsomer and far richer than most.”
Before the main production took the stage, a short act had been engaged. This prelude afforded last minute preparation time for the stagehands to set and dress the opening scene, but also allowed latecomers to arrive and find their seats without spoiling the play. To provide this opening entertainment, Irving had decided to offer a preview of a rising musical star from within the theatre’s stable of artists. After much consideration, he’d selected a young woman named Pamina Soubret, a nineteen-year-old soprano with an impressive, mature delivery and agility. Soubret stood tall and regal within the gentle curve of the Bösendorfer grand piano, her gloved hands folded demurely in front, as she sang several Rossini arias, followed by audience favourites from Glück, Handel, and Gounod.
Aubrey watched the stage with keen interest, though his eyes were fixed not on the beautiful singer, but rather something farther upstage, behind her. Next to him, Elizabeth kept company with Adele, who seemed completely absorbed by the theatre’s trappings, stage area, and props. Victoria sat to Sinclair’s left, and she continued to acquaint the new marquess with the various titled and influential personages in the boxes and house seats.
“That is Lord Salisbury, of course, in Box Three, and to his right is Lord Cowper. Steer clear of Cowper, my dear. He will lure you into one of his Irish schemes.”
Blood Rites Page 14