Wicked

by Shannon Drake

  “There have been those dealing in the black market forever,” Brian said. “What drew this sudden interest and determination from your department?”

  Clancy flushed, looking at Vickford. “Well, it’s come down the line, you see.” He cleared his throat. “We all know that our good Queen Victoria once believed in mesmerism and the like. And as eager as she is for her Empire, for Britain’s stake in Egypt and the Commonwealth, it seems she might also believe in tombs being cursed and all that rot. But then she recently discovered that a number of treasures bound for Britain were winding up in France. There’s nothing to annoy her like the French taking a lead in anything, you know. She’s had warnings out with our superiors, Lord Stirling, since you returned from Egypt with…with your parents’ remains. We’ve gotten our hands on a few of the petty dealers, but there’s a Frenchman who has diplomatic immunity. The fellow’s name is Lacroisse, Henri Lacroisse. He’s frequently at court, and just as frequently taking trips home. We believe he’s looking to buy a very specific object that someone has promised him. When we found Green shot, we managed to bring in a few witnesses. Twice, when we showed them sketches, they recognized Henri Lacroisse as a man who had been seen on the streets with Green.”

  “If you suspect him of murder, why don’t you bring him in?” Brian demanded.

  “He is a French diplomat,” Vickford supplied, shaking his head. “It’s not an easy matter.” He frowned. “And we don’t believe he shot Green. He was at a tea at the time, or so a number of witnesses will swear. We did go so far as to discreetly ascertain his whereabouts.”

  Brian looked at the two policemen. “The buyer is not going to kill his messenger,” he said.

  “Of course,” Detective Clancy said with dignity. “But we still had to make sure. Naturally our assumption is that the person with the treasure either killed Mr. Green or had him killed. God knows why. Maybe he had threatened to talk to save his own skin. Anyway, he’s paid the ultimate price for his crimes, and like as not, with a fellow like him, the hangman has been saved some work.”

  “Does the Queen or the Marquis of Salisbury know that you are suspicious of this man, Lacroisse?”

  Clancy looked uncomfortable. “So far, all that I’ve been is suspicious. And you know Her Majesty. As fine and good as she is a ruler for a Constitutional Monarchy, she remains…well, she remains the Queen. The prime minister is far more pragmatic. Still, without proof, his hands are tied. And this moment Her Majesty is still deeply disturbed that there were whispers about the Royal House during the Ripper terror, and she is not going to allow us to accuse Lacroisse without evidence. But Lacroisse couldn’t be buying treasures if someone wasn’t selling them. I’m afraid, Lord Stirling, that I was delighted to think I had my man, or at least an involved culprit, when I followed you from the pub. Now I fear we are all but back to square one.”

  “Maybe not,” Brian mused.

  “How so?” Clancy asked.

  Brian rose. “Perhaps, Detective Clancy, diplomatic protocol prevents you from questioning this Monsieur Lacroisse. But it does not prevent me from asking him to dine with curators and staff of the museum.”

  CAMILLE TURNED, following the sound of the groan.

  “Camille! Wait, you could be…hurt!” Hunter called after her. He followed quickly behind.

  She didn’t fear being hurt. Whoever was groaning was in pain.

  She went down one wrong row of cartons and boxes and sarcophagi, then turned and backtracked along the right row. She saw the body on the floor next to the boxes before recognizing the man. Sir John.

  “Oh!” she cried, falling to her knees at his side. He was struggling to sit up. She caught his shoulders. “Sir John…”

  It would be inane to ask him if he was all right; he definitely wasn’t. But he was blinking, steadying himself. “What happened? Are you seriously hurt?” she said, looking at him anxiously.

  He shook his head, swallowing, closing his eyes and frowning. “Help me up!” he said.

  By then, Hunter was at her side. “Sir John, here, take my arm.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be getting up so fast! Take it easy. What happened?” she asked at last, seeing that he didn’t intend to heed her words of warning, and that he was rising.

  “How long have I been…unconscious?” he asked in return.

  Camille shook her head. Hunter’s eyes widened and he lifted his shoulders, assuring her he was as baffled as she.

  “It, um, had to be a while,” he said, not admitting that he had been in the storeroom for some time.

  “Sir John!” Camille said firmly. “What happened to you?”

  “Let’s get him upstairs, get him some water,” Hunter suggested.

  Camille glared at him. “Did someone attack you?” she demanded, taking his other arm, helping Hunter lead him toward the door.

  “I—” He stopped walking. “I don’t know! I was down here, looking. It has to exist, you know.”

  “What has to exist?” Hunter said.

  “Why, the cobra, of course,” Sir John said, as if puzzled that Hunter shouldn’t understand.

  “Sir John, I think we need to go to the police,” she said.

  “What cobra?” Hunter asked.

  “The police!” Sir John protested, alarmed. “No…no!” He shook his head, an emphatic no and another attempt to clear his mind. He pulled free from her hold and Hunter’s, backing away. “No. It was the lid of the packing carton. No one came after me. I was foolish, careless. And annoyed. The cleaning fellow had been around the place, and I wanted to be annoyed. I’m afraid I was rather sharp with the old man. And then I was impatient. It’s one of those lids that has hinges. I put it up but I didn’t secure it. It fell on my head!”

  Camille didn’t believe him. And she was suddenly suspicious of the cleaning man. It was true that since the fellow had been hired, he did a lot more hovering than cleaning and sweeping!

  “Arboc was here?” she said.

  “Yes. Everything was in quite a state after last night, as you can imagine.”

  “Sir John, maybe the fellow hit you,” Camille said.

  “Camille, I have told you what happened.”

  “What cobra?” Hunter said again.

  Camille sighed, shaking her head. “There was mention of a golden, jeweled cobra in the work I’m transcribing, that’s all. And it isn’t in any of the catalogues or lists.”

  “But I believe it exists!” Sir John said. “And it must be found. I must find it before…before it cannot be found.”

  “Sir John, perhaps next week we should take a day where we bring in the police and the entire staff, and just go through everything here.”

  He glanced at her, but he wasn’t really giving her his attention. “It needs to be found.” He touched his forehead and closed his eyes. He looked as if he was about to faint again.

  Camille reached out, touching the back of his head. She cried out. “Sir John! You’ve an enormous knot on your crown. You need a doctor—”

  “No! It’s a bump, it will go down. I do not want a doctor. There will be no more attention drawn to this museum at the moment. There will be no more doctors brought in, and there will be no more talk about curses!” he said.

  “Then you must get home,” she told him firmly.

  “Yes, you must go home!” Hunter agreed.

  He looked from one to the other and then sighed, seeming to lose strength. “All right, all right. I’ll go home immediately.” He managed to get the strength together to walk ahead of the two of them. “I’ll get one of the officers down here, have him watching. There are too many keys out. Too many keys.”

  He stopped at the door and turned to them, his eyes suddenly suspicious. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Camille murmured, looking worriedly at Hunter. Then she glanced at the watch locket she wore around her chest and winced. Good Lord, she must have been admitting to scores of sins!

  “Hunter, I must…go,” she said. “Wi
ll you see to it, please, that Sir John actually gets into a hansom or a carriage. He must go home!”

  “I’ll see to it,” Hunter swore.

  She bid Sir John a safe and restful Sunday, left him with Hunter and hurried out of the building, eagerly seeking a cab at the entrance.

  SIR JOHN WAS IN AGONY, and so rattled that he couldn’t think straight. Hunter was there, with him. They stood in one of the exhibition halls, yet he couldn’t quite grasp where he was. He needed to stay, to finish what he had started. No, no…he needed to get home. To get rid of the pounding in his head.

  “Come on, Sir John, I’ve got to see you out of here,” Hunter said. “I’ve promised Camille.”

  “Yes…and she’ll be a countess now, soon, right?” Sir John murmured.

  “Do you believe that? I don’t,” Hunter said harshly. “He’s using her. All he wants is revenge. Against us.”

  “No…no…” Sir John said.

  “She’ll see it soon enough. And I won’t let him continue to use her—against us.”

  “What do you intend to do?” Sir John asked worriedly.

  “Expose him.”

  “You’ll ruin us all.”

  “Oh, come, come, Sir John. He isn’t the only rich man in England! And he’s not sane, no matter what the pretense, the show. Come on, I’ve got to get you out of here.”

  Despite the pain, Sir John shook his head. “I need a little time.”

  “Sir John, I promised Camille that I’d see you home!”

  “Then wait for me here. I have something to do first.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No!” Sir John said firmly. He looked at Hunter suspiciously. “You wait right here!”

  “Right here, in the Old Kingdom exhibit, eh?” Hunter said.

  “Just wait!” Sir John said, and he forced himself not to stagger as he hurried for the stairs.

  CAMILLE RETURNED TO THE CHURCH, hurried through the cloisters, nearly knocked over a priest and stopped for a second to offer an abject apology.

  Out on the street again, she felt her heart skip a few beats. She didn’t see Corwin in the crowds.

  “Miss Camille!” he called her, and she turned, gratefully heading for the carriage. He helped her in, saying nothing about the amount of time she’d been gone.

  The drive back to the castle seemed long and, indeed, with the traffic in the streets, it was. She wondered what business Brian had been about that day; she prayed she reached Carlyle Castle before he returned.

  It was nearly dark when they came to the outer gates. As the carriage ventured in, she heard the wolves crying in the forest, foretelling the coming of night. The horses’ hooves clip-clopped over the drawbridge.

  At the doorway to the castle proper, she thanked Corwin and hurried in. She went immediately to Alex’s room and was relieved to find him there with both Tristan and Ralph. They had brought their chess set in.

  “How is he?” she asked anxiously.

  “He wakes now and then. He has had a spot of tea, a bit of broth. I believe he’s doing well,” Tristan said.

  “She brought the broth,” Ralph said.

  “But we sniffed it good, then tasted it,” Tristan told her. “And we’ve not dropped dead yet!”

  Camille frowned. They were taking their guard duties very much to heart. Evelyn Prior might be suspicious, but she’d hardly dare poison anyone in the earl’s house!

  “I’ll stay with him now, if you two have…well, anything to do,” she said. There was little they could do. Now that Tristan was well, they could leave the castle. Except that, at her own insistence, Alex was here now.

  As the men stared at her, she found herself wondering what she would do if it weren’t for Alex. Tristan was obviously well enough for them to return home. But…did she want to return home?

  It was one thing to be used by a nobleman who was passionately bitter, determined on the truth. It was another when he began announcing that they were engaged when they were not. And when…she was in love with him.

  “We could take a bit of a walk,” Tristan told Ralph.

  “A walk is good,” Ralph agreed. “Except for the wolves.”

  “Well, the wolves aren’t this side of the bridge. We’ll stroll the courtyard. And then we’ll come back here. And I’ll trounce you again, Ralph!”

  “Humph!” Ralph said indignantly. He looked at Camille. “When I was winning, Sir Tristan had the strangest tic in his leg. Toppled the board over, he did.”

  “Tristan, I hope you conceded that game to Ralph,” she said.

  Tristan smiled ruefully. “Aye, it was Ralph’s game! Well, shall we? Let’s see if the old Iron Maiden tries to stop us!”

  “Let her try!” Ralph said.

  The two men left, but Camille had the feeling that if they were to so much as see Evelyn Prior in the hall, they’d be running back.

  She sat on the bed next to Alex, noting that his color was good indeed, and that his pulse was strong. As she held his wrist, he opened his eyes. He tried a weak smile.

  “Camille.”

  “I’m here. How do you feel?”

  “Stronger,” he said. He hesitated and tried to sit.

  She caught his shoulders, easing him back. “You were bitten by a cobra, Alex. You must take is slowly.”

  “Camille,” he said again, and it was as if the effort to speak cost him a great deal.

  “I’m here.”

  He shook his head. “We…we have to leave. All of us. You, me, Tristan, his man, Ralph. I…can’t stay. Can’t be here.”

  “Alex, you must get better.”

  He shook his head. “He’ll try to kill me again.”

  “Who?”

  “The Earl of Carlyle.”

  His voice was so hoarse and rasping that it sent a chill through her limbs.

  “Alex, Brian didn’t try to kill you. You were bitten by a cobra.”

  “He…he let it loose.”

  “Alex, I came to the museum with Brian. He wasn’t there before me.”

  “He was there. I know that he’s been there.” His voice was weak, then he suddenly gripped her hand tightly. “Camille, that’s it, don’t you see? He blames us all. His parents died and he blames us. All of us who were there. And he intends to have us all die, as well, one by one, in ways that can’t be traced, can’t be proven—like his parents.”

  “Alex, that’s madness!”

  “Yes, it’s madness.”

  “Alex, listen. Brian hasn’t been at the museum!”

  “He’s been there. I know he’s been there. And he means to find ways for all of us to die. Because they died, and we didn’t.”

  “Alex—”

  “We’ve got to leave here, Camille.”

  She sighed. “Alex, we can’t leave. You’re still too weak, and I was the one who insisted on bringing you here.”

  “He’ll never really marry you, you know,” Alex said distractedly.

  I know! she cried inwardly.

  “He has a way about him, he always did. He is the Earl of Carlyle now, of course. But people always believed him, believed in him. He is seducing you to madness, Camille. You’ve got to see this, realize it.”

  “Alex! Please—” She broke off, hearing a tapping at the door. She rose and opened it.

  Evelyn Prior stood there. “So, dear, you have returned.”

  “Yes.”

  “And are tending to Alex.”

  “Yes, and I will do so myself through the night, Mrs. Prior.”

  “Certainly. I can tend to him while you go to Mass tomorrow.”

  “Mass?”

  “Dear child, I know that you will naturally be eager to go to Mass. All those hours of confession today…I had not realized you were quite so religious. The earl, of course, is Anglican. Our beliefs are a bit different from yours.”

  “With all the hours I spent in church today, Mrs. Prior, I believe God will forgive me when I don’t attend tomorrow. Alex is my friend. I will look aft
er him.”

  “Or have Tristan do so,” she said.

  “It’s my responsibility,” Camille told her.

  “I see. Shall I have supper sent for you here, then?”

  “That would be very kind,” Camille said, and hesitated. “Has Lord Stirling returned to the castle yet?”

  “I have not seen him.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  “Your supper will arrive shortly,” Mrs. Prior said, and giving Camille a long assessing look, she turned and left at last.

  Camille went back to sit by the bed. Alex, however, had slipped into a fitful doze. She drew up one of the heavy armchairs, leaned against it. Despite the insanity of the thoughts rushing through her mind, it was only minutes before she fell asleep herself.

  SIR JOHN WAS EXPECTING the knock at his door. He rubbed the knot on the back of his head, hesitated and fingered the little pistol in front of him on his drawing room desk.

  The knock sounded again. Hard.

  He slipped the pistol into his drawer, on top of his papers—where he could reach it easily.

  “Come in,” he said, “the door is not locked.”

  His visitor entered. The door closed. Minutes later, the muted sound of gunfire could have been heard on the street—had anyone been about to hear it.

  SHELBY SHOOK HIS HEAD at Brian Stirling. He had served with the man in India, seen him under the harshest conditions, watched him cast his own life into danger before ever asking that sacrifice of another man. He had followed him to Cairo, and sat with him through the anguish, the rages and the loss. He had served him not because he had needed the work so much as because Brian Stirling had never asked a man to think less of himself as a human being based on the class he had been born into.

  But at the moment, Shelby was wondering at Brian’s sanity.

  “It’s an impossible task.”

  “Impossible? Nothing is impossible,” Brian said.

  “It’s been quite a day. I didn’t know whether to show myself or not when the culprit in the square turned out to be a police officer,” Shelby said. “Now, Lord Stirling! You’ve a real lead, a chance to discover what is going on. Can’t you rest for the night? Must we start this now?”