The Blood Is the Life

by Sharon K Gilbert

  As they climbed the winding staircase, the detective spoke more gently. “Darling, I’m very sorry if I seem angry or overbearing. It isn’t my intent. I’m just concerned about your welfare.”

  She took the marble steps slowly, her weight against his arm. “Yes, I know,” she assured him, “and I try not to be a bother.”

  “You are never a bother, and if I make you feel that way, then I’ve much to answer for.”

  As they neared the landing for the first floor, she almost collapsed again, and rather than risk a faint, he lifted her into his arms and carried the duchess into the master apartment, crossing through the warm parlour and into the main bedchamber. Once inside, Charles set her upon the soft mattress of the four-poster bed, and then turned down the quilted covers. “Is it the headache, or do you feel dizzy?”

  “Both,” she confessed. “You’re right, I suppose. Perhaps, I have been overdoing. It’s been a rather long day.”

  “Then I’ll say goodnight and ring for Alicia,” he said, but she stopped him, her hand on his forearm.

  “No, please, Charles, don’t go. Not yet. Might we have a few moments to talk first? I know you’re worried, but I need to tell you something. It’s quite important. I tried to speak with Paul about it before he left this evening, but I wasn’t able to catch him. Where did he really go?”

  “A last minute meeting with someone in government, I imagine. You know the earl—in demand by everyone in high office,” Sinclair answered, though he knew Aubrey had actually gone to Egyptian Hall to seek out news of Lorena MacKey.

  “Oh,” she said, her eyes downcast. “Charles, when you came home this evening, you had a worried look. What did Commissioner Warren say to you that left you so agitated?”

  “Only that he’s resigning,” the detective answered, offering a partial truth. “He wished to sound me out on it before word gets ‘round the force. As you might imagine, the Ripper murders have taken their toll, both on Warren and on his family. He has a new grandchild, by the way. A lovely little girl. I got to hold her, Beth, and I kept thinking about our own child—about the future.”

  She smiled and took his hand. “I think about that nearly all the time now, and I know it’s why you’re so worried, but don’t be, Captain. Really, I’m all right. Merely tired.”

  He sat beside her. “Of course, you’re tired, but not only because of the pregnancy. These past weeks have been filled with excitement as well as terrors, haven’t they? Elizabeth, forgive me when I’m overbearing and demanding. It’s not my intent to tell you how to live your life, but as the man who’s about to marry you, I feel my responsibilities keenly. It’s why I asked your grandfather and Victoria to allow me to sleep in here at night. To keep you safe.”

  “And your presence helps more than I can ever express,” she answered. “No, Charles, I don’t mind—well, not very much. I confess that I do bristle just a little, when you tell me what to do, but I know your intentions are only to protect us both,” she said, touching her abdomen. “However, I am stronger than you think. You may share your concerns with me. It is my job to be your helper, is it not? For instance, there’s more to your meeting with Mr. Warren than you’re telling.”

  “Do all the Stuarts read minds?” he asked, smiling.

  She leaned against his chest, and he placed an arm around her shoulders. “Only those who love you,” she replied. “As I said, I’d hoped to speak with Paul, for I’m very worried about him. I keep dreaming about him, you see. I asked him not to tell you about those dreams, for I cannot recall all of their content, but each time, I’ve a strong sense that Paul—and you are in danger.” She sighed, worry creasing her pale brow. “You expect me to obey your commands, but will you obey just one from me?”

  “What is that?” he whispered, kissing her cheek.

  “Nothing burdensome. Just promise to be careful.”

  He laughed softly. “I promise, little one. And our cousin is quite capable of looking after himself. However, I shall convey your concerns when next I see him. Is there anything else about these dreams that distresses you? Anything you’re not telling me?”

  She nearly confessed the nightmare she’d suffered earlier that week: the dark dream of the tall man and the blood-spattered ballroom, but as the disturbing events made Charles seem cold and uncaring, she decided to keep it to herself for the time being. “Not really. Ring for Alicia, if you wish. I shan’t argue, for I am quite tired.”

  “And the headache?” he asked as he stood and crossed to the fireplace to pull the bellrope.

  “Fading, thanks to you.”

  He returned and kissed her lips. “And your stomach? Is it still unsettled? I noticed you ate none of the lamb, though it’s one of your favourites. Only a few vegetables and a bite or two of bread.”

  “I am sorry about that, but it’s the best I could manage. Victoria has also asked about my appetite. She suspects, I think. May I tell her about the baby?”

  “Of course,” he answered, “but not Paul. Not yet. And say nothing to any of the staff, Beth. If that new maid hears of it, she’ll spread it all across Westminster. Everyone will reason it out soon enough, but I’d prefer they do so after we’re married on the eighteenth.”

  “You don’t like Gertie, do you?”

  “I don’t trust her. I know the employment service Laurence used to engage our new staff was recommended by your grandfather, but Miss Trumper fails to live up to their usual standards. Frankly, I’m shocked that she passed muster with them. She has much to learn about living in a large house. Ordinarily, I would try to be as compassionate as possible, for I understand Gertie’s life has proven challenging thus far, but your welfare and safety depends upon the reliability of all who live here, Elizabeth. I may have to dismiss her, if she continues to abuse her position.”

  “I understand your concern, Charles, I do, but please, give her another chance,” the duchess implored. “Perhaps, she could serve in a different capacity. With the gardeners, or in the kitchen.”

  “I thought only men worked in the gardens?”

  “That is true, but she might be able to tend the indoor plants or help with seedlings in the greenhouse. Charles, I’d hate for Miss Trumper to lose her place, if there is any way we might prevent it. If you and I are to underwrite a charitable hospital in the east, then that same compassion must also extend to our home.”

  “By allowing a gossip to remain on staff?” he complained. “No, you needn’t answer. I promise to consider it, but let’s leave off discussing it for now. Is there anything you require before I return downstairs? A glass of water? A few biscuits? They might settle your stomach. Which reminds me, Mary mentioned to me that water crackers can soothe a queasy stomach. I think she, too, suspects.”

  Elizabeth’s smile widened. “I’m sure she does. Mary is an observant woman, after all. She kept bringing me peppermint tea this afternoon and placing cushions at my back. She’s such a dear, and I’m delighted to have her in our home. May I tell her as well?”

  “If you wish, but remember, say nothing to Paul. I hope you understand about that, Elizabeth. I’m not intentionally keeping secrets from him, but it would crush him just now. He’s dealing with enough as it is.”

  “I promise, but I think you’re wrong about him. Paul would understand. I’m certain of it.”

  “I am not wrong,” he insisted. “As another man who loves you, I’m able to comprehend his emotions better than you do, Beth. Now, if food does not please, then, what about a book? Where is your Verne novel?” he persisted, searching the nightstand. “I don’t see it, Beth. Have you moved it?”

  “No. It should be next to Father’s picture, where it always is,” she told him, pointing to the mahogany drum table beside the bed.

  “It isn’t here,” he said. “Might it have fallen to the floor, when the maids cleaned this morning?”

  “Possibly, but don’t
worry about it,” she said easily. “I’ve another copy in English, though the French is still my favourite. I hope it isn’t lost.”

  “Shall I ring for Mrs. Meyer? She could assemble the maids and conduct enquiries for you,” he suggested.

  Beth began to laugh softly. “Superintendent Sinclair, I don’t think we need mount a formal investigation. My darling, you are so wonderfully predictable sometimes!”

  “Do not force me to place you under arrest, Duchess,” he teased. “It may require that I conduct a thorough investigation of your recent whereabouts and activities. Perhaps, even smother you in kisses!” he told her, demonstrating the last statement with much affection.

  “Do you treat all your suspects with such familiarity, Captain?” she asked.

  “Only the very pretty ones, and she must be a duchess and engaged to me,” he assured her. “Beth, why do you call me Captain Nemo? I’m not complaining, mind you, but I’ve never quite understood it.”

  She smiled sweetly, her dark eyes fixed upon his face. “You look like a Captain. At least, I’ve always thought so. Yes, I know the description of the book’s character isn’t much like you, but he is a solitary, lonely figure. When I first saw you, all those years ago, your eyes made me think of Nemo. They seemed so very sad that it broke my heart.”

  He drew her into his arms. “I hope your heart is now mended, little one; for mine certainly is. Never does a moment go by without a thought of you inside my head. Not one moment. Not one second. Honestly, Beth, you saved me that day. And each day since, you make me a better man.”

  “I love you, Captain.”

  “And I love you, little one. Now, sleep. I shan’t be up for some time yet, I shouldn’t think. I need to speak with your grandfather and Martin, but it’s only about tomorrow’s circle meeting. We’ve decided to compose a list of topics for discussion. Shall I wake you when I come up?”

  She nodded just as her lady’s maid knocked at the open doorway. “Good evening, Alicia,” the marquess said. “Your mistress has a headache. Might Mrs. Meyer have some of Dr. Price’s sleeping powder remaining?”

  “I believe so, my lord,” the slender maid replied. “I’ll fetch it right away. And there’s a letter arrived for you, sir. Mr. Miles asked me to let you know, if I saw you. It came by way of special messenger.”

  “Thank you, Alicia. If you find the opportunity, could you see if you might discover the whereabouts of the duchess’s Verne novel? It’s generally on the night table, but it’s disappeared.”

  “Has it?” the maid asked, clearly puzzled. “Yes, sir. I’ll speak with the chamber maids whilst I’m fetching the powder. Shall I bring up cocoa, my lady?”

  “No, thank you, Alicia,” Beth answered, her eyelids already grown heavy.

  “It seems you’re wearier than you thought,” Sinclair said, kissing her forehead. “Good night, little one. Sweet dreams.”

  “Goodnight, Captain,” she whispered as the marquess shut the door.

  “My lady?” the maid began as she arranged the duchess’s night clothes at the edge of the bed. “I see that you’re weary, but we should get you out of that evening dress. Won’t take but a minute, and then you can have a lovely rest.”

  “What?” she asked, having lain back on the pillow. “Do forgive me, Alicia. It’s this headache. Don’t tell the marquess I said this, but it is quite awful.”

  “I’ll fetch one of your powders, my lady. Right after I help you with your night dress. It’s getting quite cold outside, isn’t it? Mr. Miles says it’ll snow soon. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  “Yes,” Beth answered drowsily.

  The maid felt her mistress’s forehead. “You’re a bit flushed, my lady. I hope you’re not coming down with measles.” She crossed into the bath and ran cool water onto a linen hand towel, but when Alicia had returned, she found one of the windows open; frigid air gusting into the room, causing the fire to crackle in the hearth.

  Despite the chill, the duchess had fallen asleep. The maid shut the window and latched it. “You surely did that quick, my lady,” she observed, assuming her mistress had opened the window. “I’ve not been out of the room more ‘n a minute.”

  Still puzzling through the mystery, Mallory softly closed the door and headed towards the servant staircase to fetch the headache and soporific powders from the housekeeper.

  Inside the darkened bedchamber, the window slowly opened on its own, and the night winds blew into the room. The candles upon the mantlepiece guttered as a great Shadow drifted into the chamber. The shapeless visitor sat upon the bed’s edge, slowly shifting into that of a man, its wispy fingers reaching out for Elizabeth’s hand.

  Beth twisted in her sleep as though experiencing a terrifying nightmare. The intruder touched her forehead. An evil, amorphous grin crossed its face. “Dream, Duchess. Dream of darkness and the beautiful night; for soon, you shall be mine. All mine.”

  Ida Ross stood inside an ancient house, her eyes blindfolded. “May I look now, sir?” she asked her host. “Am I back at the Empress? I hear no voices. Usually, this time o’ night, there are lots of men talking and music playing in the parlour.”

  She felt warm hands upon her face; someone untying the soft folds of cotton. As the cloth left her eyes, the prostitute blinked away strands of red thread from her lashes. She could see very little, for only a few candles burnt in a chased silver candelabrum to the right of a lit fireplace. The glow of the coals and burning wicks painted dancing fingers of amber upon the silk-covered walls.

  “Where am I?” Ross repeated.

  Still holding the red cloth in his right hand, the man who’d taken her from the docks stepped around Ida so that she might see him. “Forgive the blindfold, my dear,” he said. “It is necessary to keep this location secret. To answer your question, you are in my home; or one of them, at least. I do not always reside here, so the contessa keeps house for me, you might say.”

  Serena di Specchio huffed angrily, her powdered nose in the air. “You think me your servant? Really, Anatole. Your sense of humour escapes me.”

  The handsome Russian laughed. “Most of what I say escapes you, madam. It is one reason I so enjoy your company. I have brought Miss Ross here to keep her safe and permit her to rest.” He turned towards Ross. “Ida, my dear, we’ve prepared a lovely apartment on the first floor that will meet all your needs. It has a spectacular view of the west garden, which is yours to explore.”

  Ross seemed perplexed. “I don’t understand, sir. Am I to work for you now? On my back, as I did at Mrs. Hansen’s?”

  Prince Anatole Romanov stroked her emaciated face. “No, dear, you are my guest. No strange men will encumber you here, and the entire staff are at your command. You have but to ask, and your needs will be met. Katrina is your lady’s maid, and she will answer any questions you might have regarding our household.”

  Ross stared, wondering if she’d gone to some level of the afterlife and if her lifeless body now floated along the Thames beneath the Custom House stairs. “Me with a lady’s maid, sir? I’ve never heard of such a thing! Girls like me don’t have servants. We serve others.”

  “Oh, but you do have your own. Now, allow me to introduce you to Andrija Nikolaevich Vasiliev. He has served as my butler and valet for many years. He will show you up to your apartment. Just call him Vasily, if it makes it easier. Like myself, he is from St. Petersburg, but he speaks English quite well.”

  A thickset man with straight black hair, parted severely down the centre, offered a deep bow. He wore white cotton gloves, an elegant coat of black wool and matching trousers, and his shirt was of bright white with crisp pleats down the front. The striped silk waistcoat, like all the man’s livery, looked out of fashion, but as with the prince’s attire, appeared quite expensive. His skin was pale, and his piercing eyes were black as soot.

  Despite his imposing exterior, the butler spoke in a p
olished manner, and his alabaster cheeks rounded high as he attempted to offer her a brief smile. “It is my honour to serve you, Miss Ross.”

  Di Specchio shrugged in irritation. “Do not introduce me!” she complained. “I am merely your caretaker, apparently!”

  “Miss Ross, this rather rude woman is the Contessa Serena Sofia di Specchio,” Romanov told Ida. “The countess has many other names, but few that she uses in England. She is Italian—or so she claims.”

  “I could mention your many names, Anatole Petrovich. And perhaps your many faces as well, but I will not,” the dark-haired woman replied angrily, extending a pale hand towards the newcomer. “It is my pleasure, Miss Ross. We are very glad you have agreed to join us.”

  “Join you?” the young woman asked. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “All will become clear very soon,” Romanov told her. “For now, you must rest. I’ve had a food tray sent to your sitting room along with a bottle of red wine. I suggest you sleep until you wake naturally, my dear. We rarely keep to schedules in this house, so we set no alarms. I have other matters that require my presence this night, but I promise to look in on you tomorrow. I’ve also taken the liberty of providing a wardrobe for you. I hope it pleases. Katrina will assist you with all the many silks, satins, and jewels that a lady wears these days.”

  “Are you leaving, sir?” Ross asked, finding herself troubled by the possibility. Though she knew practically nothing about this strange man, she felt bonded to him already, and the thought of his departure distressed her.

  “For the evening, yes,” Romanov told her, “however, I shall return before morning. I hope my home is to your liking, and that you remain with us for a very long time.” He kissed her hand and left the drawing room, passing into a dimly lit foyer, where he spoke briefly to the butler before exiting through the front door.

  Ross crossed to a set of gothic windows and followed the prince’s departing steps—or tried to do so, for though he had left only a moment earlier, she could see no one anywhere upon the shadowed lawn. Two gas lamps illuminated a broad, brick pathway, leading to a circular, gravel park. Near the end of this area, the black coach stood waiting, but its door was already closing.