“Do come in, Alicia. It’s all right,” Charles assured the maid. Ordinarily, he would have moved immediately, but not this time. The marquess remained on the bed’s edge with the duchess cradled in his arms. “She’s had a dreadful nightmare. I think Samson must have sensed it, for he’s been scratching at the door. Would you mind tending to her whilst I fetch another quilt? She’s shivering.”
Mallory curtsied and opened a linen cupboard in the connecting bath. “I’ll fetch it, my lord. Sir, if I may, there was a commotion downstairs, ‘twixt Mr. Miles and the French nurse. She claims she saw something trying to climb up the side of the house. Might it be a thief, sir? Should we call the police?”
“Sorry, Alicia. I’d nearly fallen asleep when the duchess awoke. I wasn’t aware of the commotion, as you call it,” he explained, deciding to keep Trent’s visit to himself, but certain that whoever—or whatever—the nurse had seen must have been the loathsome baronet in an altered form. “There’s no need to call A-Division. I’ll go outside myself in a moment. Where is the nurse now?”
“In the kitchen, sir. Madam Marchand is most upset. She’s been telling as how she wants to return to Paris, but I doubt that Lady Victoria would go, sir.”
“Yes, I can see how Marchand might wish to leave a house where it seems as though strange men crawl up the sides, but I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably just the shadows of trees upon the irregular stonework.” He took Beth’s hand and whispered, “I’m going downstairs, but I shan’t be long, little one. Go back to sleep now. I’ll return shortly, and I’ll never be far from you in the night. Just a foot or so away on your couch.” She did not reply, and he felt certain the duchess once again slept soundly. “Alicia, do you mind remaining until I return? If she awakens with any fears, send for me at once.”
“Of course, sir. The duke might already be out there. He and Mr. Kepelheim mentioned something about having a look at the bushes near the foundation. Shall I keep the dog in here?”
“Yes,” he answered, realising that Samson’s sight was far keener than any human’s, and he might provide protection for Elizabeth. “Perhaps, we should consider adding a second dog to our household. One a bit larger.”
Leaving the apartment, the marquess hurried down the stairs towards the foyer, where he joined his uncle and Kepelheim. In a matter of moments, the trio had wound their way through the pathways to the north face of the mansion. As they searched, the tailor pointed to a line of tracks that ran from the edge of the park, past the pond, through the knot gardens, orchard, and the willow trees, finally ending at the north wall, directly beneath the duchess’s window.
The tracks began as human, made by a man wearing large boots; but as they rounded the pond, the marks slowly transformed into something far different: the paw prints of a massive wolf.
“When I moved to London ten years ago, it was because my father had ordered me to spy on England’s branch of Redwing,” Susanna Morgan, born Cassandra Calabrese began. “I was sixteen years old. I’d grown up as the only daughter in a Sicilian family. Four brothers, all older, and all I wanted to do was please my pop. I started singing in my Uncle Salvatore’s cabaret when I was thirteen. I’d already been hardened to the realties of how women are treated in places like that, but at that time, I thought it exciting. My father is second in command in Chicago’s branch, but it’s an uncomfortable position, because the leader owns so much property that he could buy and sell my family a hundred times over, which meant Pop would do whatever he was told.”
She paused, her eyes dry but thoughtful, filled with regret. “Anyway, I got here, and Clive sort of took me under his wing.” She smiled. “I guess that’s a joke, since he’s a member of Redwing.”
Aubrey watched her, assessing the truthfulness of her tale, based on years of experience interrogating both men and women. “Urquhart probably assumed you had influence with the American wing of that wretched bird. But he came to trust you, apparently.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I underwent a series of tests. I won’t tell you what they were, but I’m sure you can imagine the sort that Redwing employs. Starting last year, I noticed an increase in the number of meetings, some of them at Clive’s home. Not the one in Grosvenor Square, but another one in Hackney. It’s near the marshes. An old mansion built back in the 17th century. It’s a spooky place, but it sits over a natural cavern that connects to a system of underground rivers beneath the city. Clive said he bought it because something was buried there. An old mirror.”
Paul sat forward, his eyes intense. “A mirror? Why would someone bury a mirror?”
“Redwing isn’t exactly sure just who buried it, but it had been there for thousands of years. I overheard Trent tell Clive that it may have been put there before the flood.”
“What flood? Do you mean Noah’s flood?”
She nodded. “Yes. As crazy as it sounds, that’s what they believe. Trent said he learned about it in ’71, when he was living in Austria. I’m not sure if he was telling the truth, though, because William lies so often, his mouth is crooked.”
Aubrey smiled. “An apt description. What happened in ’71?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m told that’s when this plan was first discussed. Redwing’s always been run by men who communicate with ghosts and spirits, but that year, the London leader at the time, a man named Sir Arnold Winterfeldt, announced he’d been visited by something he called a Watcher.”
“I’ve heard of these creatures,” Aubrey replied. “They are very powerful beings from a realm outside our own. Fallen angels. Did this Watcher give his name?”
“If he did, I never heard it, but Winterfeldt became terrified of the direction the group took afterward. Clive said that he eventually tried to deny this creature access to the meetings—that Winterfeldt even contacted someone from the inner circle for help, but he died quite suddenly in ‘74, and Sir William took his place.”
All of this was new information to the earl. “Do you know the name of the circle member Winterfeldt contacted?”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t, but he was Scottish. That much I do know. Clive made great sport of it, saying that Winterfeldt’s folly was to go the Scots for help. I’d always assumed it was your family.”
“Possibly, but if so, then neither my uncle nor my father mentioned it in any of the meetings I attended. Perhaps, they thought me too young, but no one has mentioned it since. Never mind. I’ll speak with the duke about it. So what happened then? Did this Watcher begin to steer Redwing’s course?”
“Yes. As I said, a new plan was devised, beginning with the search for this mirror I mentioned. That’s why Clive bought the house in Hackney Marsh. Last June, their diggers uncovered a hidden cave, and within a month, they’d found the mirror.”
“And?”
“And this Watcher said that one of his brothers was imprisoned inside it—and that Redwing had to free him.”
Stuart’s mouth lengthened with dismay. “A brother? Another Watcher, you mean?”
She nodded. “Yes. Paul, this first creature—someone named Raziel—he taught the members a ritual that would allow them to release this other Watcher. It required a stone key and collecting organs from thirty-three murdered women.”
The earl’s face blanched. “The Ripper killings.”
“I think so. Clive never admitted his involvement to me, but I’m sure that this ritual is behind the murders. You have to tell your cousin.”
“But thirty-three? I’m only aware of half that number, and that includes a few the press know nothing of.”
“Not all of them were in London. A group of men commit them—or I think that’s how it works. Some of the spirits that advise Redwing participate. This Watcher—Raziel—he’s begun to alter a few of the members, and he’s teaching them to transform. That’s how they evade detection,” she explained.
“And once this ritual is complete? Wha
t then?”
“Then the mirror’s imprisoned Watcher will be released,” she whispered.
“A second such creature will roam the streets of London?” Stuart asked, his mind scrambling to make sense of the dark news. “Will the London branch answer to both?”
“I’m not sure, but probably. I don’t think everyone agrees as to the direction the group’s to take from now on, though. I’ve heard hints to that effect. However, Clive and Trent continue to meet, so if there is division, those two stand together on one side of that divide.”
The carriage had turned south onto Regent Street, and Aubrey knew they had little time remaining. “Is that all you know?”
“Almost,” she said, her face turned towards the window. “Three days ago, Clive received a telegram from France, which caused him great excitement. He immediately wired Trent.”
“Did you see the telegram?”
“Part of it. I saw the words ‘mirror found’. Paul, I think it means that another Watcher has been located.”
“Another? Susanna, do you mean that Trent intends to unleash a third fallen angel into London?”
She nodded. “Yes, but it gets much worse, Paul. Clive and William found an old scroll that describes this long ritual. It indicates that there are thirteen mirrors in total. And if all thirteen are joined together in the right location and the correct incantations spoken, then Redwing could unlock Time and release all the Watchers held within the Abyss.”
Paul stared at the woman, scarcely able to comprehend the scope of her claims. The universal evil of it all. “The Abyss mentioned in the Bible, you mean? The place where Abaddon reigns?”
“Yes. That is my understanding,” she finished as the coach pulled next to the Carlton Hotel. “If anyone from Redwing learns that I’ve told you this, they will kill me. There is no way they’ll let me live, and the death described for traitors is slow and painful. I know it sounds crazy coming from someone like me, but would you pray for me?”
Hamish Granger appeared and opened the door. “Sir, we’re here. Shall I accompany you and the lady inside?”
“I’ll take her on my own, Granger. Stay with the coach.”
The earl helped Morgan down from the interior and held her arm as they entered the expensive hotel. A night manager was speaking to a portly gentleman and his female companion, registering them for an overnight stay. Paul waved as they approached the desk.
“Good evening, Lionel. This is my cousin, Violet Stuart. She’ll be staying in my suite for a few weeks whilst she visits London for the wedding. Do give her your best service,” he said, handing the agent ten pounds. “Her luggage arrives tomorrow.”
The desk agent took the money, offering a knowing smile as he handed the earl a key. “We shall provide your cousin with everything she may require, Lord Aubrey.”
The earl escorted Morgan up a curving staircase to the third floor, where he unlocked the door to number 301. “I think you’ll find it comfortable,” he explained, leading her inside. “There are two bedchambers in addition to this lovely parlour. Also, there’s an en suite water closet and bath, and a large dressing area in the main chamber. I’ll send one of my men to keep an eye on you. He’ll be discreet, but I prefer you were not alone.”
She set her handbag upon a burnished maple table that stood at the centre of the foyer. “It’s beautiful. Do you keep this as a second home?”
“Of a sort,” he answered. “I own the hotel.”
“You constantly surprise, Lord Aubrey,” she said, taking his hand. “You’ve treated me with far more kindness than I deserve.”
He gave her the key. “You asked if I would pray for you, Susanna. Of course, I shall. All of us in the circle will lift you up to God, but you must also seek him out. Behold, the Lord’s arm is not shortened that he cannot save; nor his ear heavy, that he cannot hear,” he quoted. “There’s a Bible on the nightstand inside the larger bedroom. You’ll find that verse in Isaiah, chapter fifty-nine. It’s in the Old Testament. God waits to hear your voice, my dear.”
“I promise to read it.”
He kissed her sweetly on the cheek. “We don’t dare send for your clothes, but I’ll have a woman friend of mine gather the items required to get you through until you may safely shop on your own. Will that do?”
She threw her arms around his neck, tears welling up in her eyes. “Thank you, Paul. Thank you so very much!”
For a moment, he considered kissing her—really kissing her properly—but his heart refused to allow it. Somehow, it felt like he’d be betraying Elizabeth. Instead, he kissed the palm of her hand. “You may thank me by forever abandoning Redwing. Their path will lead you to destruction, Cassandra Calabrese.”
He left, and she locked the door. Who am I? Susanna? Cassandra? Or do I sever all ties to my old life?
“Violet Stuart,” she whispered to herself as she gazed into a framed mirror hanging over the parlour fireplace. She could alter her hair colour, just as MacKey had done, and put her feet upon this new path. Violet sounded delicate and pure—it sounded like hope.
Will God hear me? she wondered.
Leaving the looking glass, she sat upon a velvet sofa near the fireplace and closed her eyes. “Our Father, who art in heaven,” she began, recalling the words her Catholic mother had taught her many years before. “Do you even hear me, sir? If so, then I have a lot of sins to confess. It may take me all night to name them, maybe even all week, but if you’re willing to listen, then I’ll try.”
Chapter Four
Just after midnight - 13 Miller’s Court
Mary Kelly welcomed the handsome man to her tiny bedsit, grateful for the hot meal he’d brought her.
“Fish and potatoes,” he said. “Your favourite. Now, let’s shut these blinds, shall we? I’d like a bit of privacy whilst we talk.”
The man was well-dressed and tall. He placed the carved rosewood cane with the wolf’s head handle against the side of the narrow bed. “Shall we dance?” he asked, his lips curling into an enigmatic smile beneath a silvering moustache.
“You’re ever so good ta me, sir,” Kelly told him, oblivious that this would be the last meal of her life.
“Think nothing of it,” the visitor whispered. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay me. Eat it all now. Every last morsel.”
In less than half an hour’s time, the sleeping powder contained within the food had rendered the girl unconscious. Satisfied that his victim would be unable to protest or fight, the hybrid human known to the inner circle as Sir William Trent had transformed. He’d arrived in one of his many guises, a west-end gentleman named Sir Daniel Outerbridge, who’d squired Kelly to France several times, and who lived in a comfortable home near Kensington.
The mysterious baronet opened the weathered door to his trio of hybridised friends, who entered one at a time, each eager for a share of the tasty spoils. One of the three took the form of Kelly. “I’ll keep the nosy neighbours from hearing our revels with a little song,” the Kelly-shape promised. “Any requests?”
“How about ‘A Violet from Mother’s Grave’?” one of the other hybrids asked, grinning. “Sing it nice and loud, though. I’ve such a hunger tonight, that I make no promises about how quiet I might be!”
The demonic Kelly-thing took a deep breath and started to sing very loudly, so that everyone who lived within Miller’s Court might hear. “Scenes of my childhood arise before my gaze...bringing recollections of bygone happy days...when down in the meadow, in childhood I would roam...no one’s left to cheer me now within that good old home!”
The others began to laugh, and their leader banged his cane against the floor. “Hush, you fools! Even with the song as cover, we must be quiet as mice.”
“Church mice?” one mocked, causing all to break into riotous laughter.
The baronet grinned, and his eyes shifted colour from light grey to i
ntense amber. “Church mice, indeed. Or better put, wolves in sheep’s clothing, who invade and inveigle the pious and paltry pews of the faithful. Now, one of you remove her clothing, so that we might begin our feast. This one’s blood fulfills our quota, and at midnight tomorrow, we shall free the first prisoner.”
The smallest of the three companions ripped the dress and apron from Kelly with his claws, leaving the pitiful victim clad only in her cotton chemise.
“Throw those into the fire,” Trent ordered, and the hybrid opened the iron door of the small stove. Only a few coals burnt there, and the addition of the clothing caused the dwindling flames to flare. “Much better,” the baronet said. “I’m sure anyone walking past the window will assume Miss Kelly has just stoked her fire for the night.”
He reached into the inner folds of his overcoat and withdrew a long knife with an ivory handle that had been carved with occult symbols. “And now, to begin,” he said, placing it beneath the unconscious woman’s jawline. “Precise and deep. We must sever the carotid to offer up her blood for this, our final sacrifice—well, final as regards our current phase.”
“And then?” one of the others asked, his voice soft, his posture subservient. “What then, Master?”
“Then, phase two of our ritual commences, my dear fellow! We unlock the first prisoner and use any remaining material to advance our experiments. If you think your animal forms beautiful now, just wait until we sprout our wings!” He positioned the point of the sharp blade beneath Kelly’s right ear, just over the carotid artery. “May this offering bring us riches, power, and eternal life!” he exclaimed as he pressed down, causing bright blood to spurt like a fountain from the woman’s throat. The resulting spray splattered the walls, and began to pool along the floorboards. Trent licked the knife’s edge, his yellow eyes glittering. “There is plenty for all, my hellish friends. Enjoy!” he told them as he began cutting slices of muscle and skin and organs. “But I shall keep the heart. I’ve an idea how best to use it.”
The Blood Is the Life Page 8