Myra Stephens clamped the lid onto a pot of stewed chicken, and then took a chair next to Esther Alcorn, the hall’s housekeeper. “It’s a pleasure, my lord. We didn’t get ta see much of ya when you an’ Lord Aubrey came back with the little duchess. I reckon you’ve had a real interestin’ month. Do ya like bein’ a marquess, sir?”
“I grow more accustomed to it each day, I suppose, Mrs. Stephens, but I still feel like a man with a thirty-four inch waist trying to fill out a pair of forty-two inch trousers.”
The cook laughed, as did the others, and Baxter took two more biscuits from a plate near his elbow. “An apt description, my lord, but it always seemed to me that your bearing is that of a peer. There was something quite familiar about your eyes and other facial features, if I may be so bold. The child grown into the man, you might say. I had the honour to meet you several times when you were a boy, and it is a very great pleasure to see you come into your true inheritance at last.”
“Honestly, Mr. Baxter, I find it difficult to shake off the modest garb of a policeman, but each day takes me a step closer to complete acceptance. Our little duchess has helped a great deal in that regard, and she is most patient with me.”
“Our lady is patient with all of us, sir. As Mrs. Smith mentioned, we had very little time to catch up with you and your cousins when last you visited. Much to our dismay.”
“Forgive us for that, Baxter. When we came down from Glasgow, I’d thought our purpose was to spend a week or two doing nothing but relaxing, for we were all of us quite exhausted. However, it immediately became clear that the duchess’s many friends throughout the county had other ideas. I’ve never been to so many dances! It’s a good thing my aunt and uncle forced me to learn basic steps, else I’d have embarrassed myself and my fiancée many times. Her tender feet could never bear my untalented prancing about, otherwise. But those many dances kept us away from Branham nearly every night.”
Alcorn agreed. “Aye, sir, tis true tha’ you and our dear little duchess trod many a ballroom floor, but I’m sure she enjoyed showin’ ye off ta all her friends. When word came down to us of your engagement, Mr. Baxter said that the postman would soon bring invitations ta a rash o’ balls and the like—but many were hand-delivered, ya know. Alicia started cleanin’ all the duchess’s gowns right away, so as ta be ready. Bu’, if I may, sir, wha’ is it brings ya down to us now? And without Duchess Elizabeth?”
“I have need of your counsel,” he told her plainly. “Not personal, though that is always welcome, but investigative. We’ve had another murder in London, and as I examined the scene, my mind kept going back to 1879.”
Baxter nodded, looking at the women. “Yes, we’d thought you might eventually wish to speak to us of that, sir. Sir William Trent. Am I right?”
“You are, as always, exactly right, Mr. Baxter. When we visited in October, Mr. Kepelheim and I explored the east wing. Do you remember?”
“How could I forget, my lord? It was here, in this very kitchen, at this very table, where you asked me about that wing, and I shared my experience with you regarding the ghost.”
Charles had finished his tea, and Mrs. Smith poured him another cup. “Two sugars and a splash o’ milk. Isn’t that right, my lord?” she asked. He nodded, and the cook stirred the mixture and handed him the refilled cup. “Those choccy biccies’ll be done in half a tick. If I remember right, you’ve a sweet tooth, sir.”
“And so I do! I can smell their delightful aroma even now, Mrs. Smith. I’ve missed your chocolate biscuits. Mr. Kepelheim will be crushed when I tell him you made them. Yes, Baxter, the ghost. You told Martin and me that you encountered a spirit you thought must be Duke Henry, the little duchess’s great-grandfather. Is that right?”
“It is, sir,” the butler replied as the cook rose to remove the baked biscuits from the hot oven. “I’ll have two when they’ve cooled, Mrs. Smith. No, make that four,” he corrected. “Yes, sir, Duke Henry was a very different sort of person from his son. Duke George was distant and somewhat cool in his emotions, whilst his father was fiery and unpredictable. Richard Henry George Robert Linnhe, 8th Duke of Branham knew no strangers, but as he aged, he became rather reclusive—or so I’ve been told. The eighth duke was killed the very year I was born, sir. 1827. His son inherited the Branham title when he was, I believe, eighteen. Is that right, Mrs. Alcorn?”
“Seventeen, if memory serves,” the housekeeper corrected as she stood to leave the kitchen. “I can make certain of it, if you wish. I gathered up all my old diaries, my lord, in anticipation of your interviews.”
Charles laughed. “Am I that obvious? Do you think yourself subject to police interrogation, Mrs. Alcorn?”
The buxom Scotswoman laughed, leaving the table for a few moments. “I do hope I’m not a suspect!” she called from the interior of her office. In minutes, she returned, wearing a pair of reading spectacles and carrying a stack of diaries in her hands. “I’m guilty of nothing more than the odd sweet before bedtime, Superintendent,” she added, winking. “Mr. Baxter is a few years my senior, but I also remember Duke George as a youth. I’d entered service as a char, you see, following in my mother’s footsteps, who had followed her mother. Both worked their way up from chars to housekeepers, remaining in service until their final days. We moved down from Scotland when I was seven, taking over a sheep farm, not far from the Baxter cottage; just this side of the brewery. It’s not far from Parker’s Clearing, where that wonderful balloon of Mr. Reid’s waited for you and the duchess.”
“A day that will live forever in my memory, Mrs. Alcorn,” the detective answered with a bright smile.
“And in mine, as well, sir,” Baxter said, his brown eyes turning soulful. “Our band of soldiers certainly came up to the mark that day. But as we were saying, the east wing contains many a ghostly presence. Is it because of Sir William that you bring it up, my lord? Do you think him involved with these mad murders in London?”
“I think him behind much of the evil in England,” Sinclair replied simply. “Which is why I’d like to see inside his apartment. The one he used whilst married to Patricia. Kepelheim and I weren’t able to open the door, so we’d planned to return later, but then everything went rather mad, didn’t it? I wonder if I might ask for the key, Mrs. Alcorn? I’d like to examine the contents of those rooms; as a policeman.”
Baxter finished his tea and wiped his mouth, gazing fondly at the cooling biscuits. “May I suggest, sir, that it is unwise to journey into that dark domain on your own? Perhaps, it would be best to have accompaniment by one familiar with the surroundings. And one who, unfortunately, knew Sir William whilst he lived here.”
“I’d hoped you would suggest that, Baxter!” the detective said happily.
Alcorn stood and returned once more to her office. When she reappeared, she carried a large ring of keys in one hand and a Bible in the other. “Well, let’s get started then, gentlemen. If his lordship is to return to London tomorrow morning, then there’s a great deal to accomplish in the interval.”
Charles bowed. “You are a woman after my own heart, Mrs. Alcorn. Were I not already engaged to be married, I should give serious consideration to courting you. And when we return, we will have Mrs. Smith’s chocolate biscuits to nourish our constitutions whilst we make sense of anything we find there.”
6:13 pm – Queen Anne House
Elizabeth read through the short letter for the third time, setting it against her lap with a heavy sigh.
“It’s no good trying to wish it away, my dear,” her aunt noted, handing a pinch of brown bread to her dog. “Not everything in life goes as we like. Our response to disappointments is what defines us.”
“Nothing is going as I would like,” Elizabeth said. “I’m allowed to sleep away half the day, and now Charles leaves for the night without bothering to explain why he’s gone to Branham, saying only that there is information there he lacks. Whatever do
es he mean by that, Paul?”
The earl had been reading through the press coverage of the lord mayor’s procession, glad that every reporter but one had yet to discover the horrors that lay inside Miller’s Court. It was Sir Thomas Galton who’d alerted Aubrey to a single column near the back page of The Star. A letter to the editor from a man named Dr. Hermann Adler, Deputy Chief Rabbi, who addressed a rising conviction that was currently running rampant throughout the Jewish population of Spitalfields: That the Ripper was, in fact, a dybbuk, a type of malevolent spirit thought to have been brought into London as a possessive entity during the massive influx of Jewish immigrants fleeing the Russian pogroms in 1881. Rabbi Adler hoped his letter would calm the fears of Jewish readers through scientific argument, but he also wished to address the mistaken belief that Ripper was, in fact, a man of Jewish heritage.
The earl had never thought the demon who now savaged the women of the east connected to the Jews, but with mention of this dybbuk demon, he began to wonder if a spiritual explanation might not draw near to the truth of the matter.
He set down the newspaper and focused his attention on his cousin. “Charles merely wishes to confer with Baxter regarding some of the conversations the two of them had with Kepelheim, Beth. There is nothing dark or mysterious about it. I’m sure he’d planned to speak with our enigmatic Mr. Baxter whilst we were there recently, but the dance floors of Kent County had other plans.”
“Do you imply that I encouraged those frivolous plans?” she asked angrily.
“I do no such thing,” he assured her, folding the newspaper and hiding it beneath a small pillow. “Tory, your dog will grow fat if you keep feeding him.”
“Samson is to be praised for his quick wit,” she insisted, breaking a biscuit in half and allowing the terrier to nibble.
“What quick wit is that?” the duchess asked, oblivious to the animal’s earlier discovery of a human kidney, buried overnight in the gardens.
Aubrey glared at their aunt. “Tory refers to Samson’s persistent barking whenever an intruder nears the house. One apparently tried to enter our backdoor last night. Madam Marchand saw him, in fact, trying to scale the walls. No doubt a reporter hoping to enter and garner an exclusive story from your fiancé, but Marchand was quite overcome by it, poor thing. It seems to have overtaxed her flinty constitution, for I’ve not seen her all day.”
Victoria Stuart huffed in irritation. “That is because that peculiar event has more than overtaxed her, my dear, it has sent Josette packing! My ordinarily taciturn nurse has taken the early train to Dover and left me on my own.”
Paul began to laugh, surprising both women. “Then you’re the better for it, Aunt! You have no need of a nurse, and though I do not begrudge you a companion, I’m sure you can find one more agreeable than she. Shall I advertise for you?”
“You’ll do no such thing. To be frank, I am content to be on my own. Besides, Josette returns to my home, if you must know. I’ve asked her to report to Dr. Calvet that I am fully mended.” Victoria turned to her niece. “Elizabeth, you are far too brusque with your poor cousin. He does not imply that dances are frivolous, nor did he blame the flurry of social invitations on you. Really, you must not take such comments so personally.”
The duchess said nothing, choosing instead to re-read Charles’s letter:
My Darling,
Forgive the sudden departure. As I write, you sleep soundly, and I’ve no wish to disturb that much-needed rest; hence, this inadequate letter.
I need to speak to Baxter—in person. Were there an alternative, I would never leave your side, little one. I hope to return Saturday afternoon for our picnic. I shall write this evening to let you know I’ve arrived safely.
Until I return to your smile, I am less than whole, for you complete me, Elizabeth.
Your Faithful Captain,
Charles
Beth glanced up from the letter, tears brightening her eyes. “What did you say?” she asked Victoria.
“Do pay attention, Elizabeth,” the duke’s sister admonished, brushing crumbs from her skirts. “All of the strange activities of recent days have left you out of sorts, which is why Paul and I have arranged a distraction.”
“Have we?” the earl asked, his mind now returned to sifting through the scene at Miller’s Court.
“Of course, we have! A small gathering of friends. I sent word to Maisie Churchill to come by this evening following supper, along with a few others. You suggested it to me earlier, Paul, and I thought it a splendid idea. We shall have light refreshments and play games. Charades, I think was on your cousin’s list,” she said, looking at Elizabeth. “Maisie’s nephew is also coming. Winston is about Della’s age and might teach us youthful games unknown to my generation.”
“Must we have company tonight?” the duchess asked, massaging her temples with both hands. “Truly, I don’t wish to be difficult, Tory. It’s just that I’m very worried about Charles.”
“Hence the notion of a distraction, Princess. The games will take your mind off those worries,” Aubrey replied, moving so that he might sit next to her on the sofa. “In the meantime, why don’t you let me take you for a walk ‘round the park? The stars begin to emerge, and the rains have subsided. It’s actually a lovely evening. The walk will aid in your appetite as well. You hardly eat at all these days.”
“That’s a very good idea,” Victoria added. “My brother won’t return with Adele until seven, so a short walk will increase your vigour, my dear. Remember what Dr. Price said, that you should enjoy the outdoors whenever possible.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she answered, thinking of the tiny life growing inside her. Don’t tell Paul, Sinclair had warned her. But how can I not? He has been my dearest friend for all my life. He deserves to know. “If you’ll give me a moment or two to change my shoes, I’ll take you up on the offer.”
He helped her to stand, and then the earl walked Elizabeth to the staircase. “I’m not to allow you to climb or descend on your own,” he reminded her. “Charles made me promise. You might grow dizzy.”
“I’m not an invalid,” she complained. “I’m quite capable, if I take them slowly.”
He took her hand. “No, darling, I will not allow you to defy your doctor’s orders. Come now, lean upon your old cousin.”
Once inside the apartment, she changed into a pair of sturdy boots and added a short, woolen overcoat. The earl again helped her to climb down the winding stairs and then accompanied the duchess out the conservatory doors and into Queen Anne Park.
“You seem more delicate to me, Beth,” he said as they walked together along the gravel path, arm in arm. “Is there something I should know? Price keeps visiting you. Darling, are you ill?”
“Of course not,” she assured him, wishing she could tell Paul the truth. “What did you and Charles do today? I overheard one of the maids mention that you were in Whitechapel. Was it to do with the murders there?”
“In a way,” he replied, trying to find a way to soften the blow. “Another woman was found dead. She might be Ripper, but the evidence is still being collected.”
She stopped, her eyes boring into his. “That’s why Charles left for Branham, isn’t it? It’s to do with Ripper, but what can he possibly learn at the hall that he cannot find in London?”
“I’m no policeman, so I’m afraid I cannot answer that to your satisfaction, darling. You’ll have to ask your fiancé when he returns.”
They had reached a lovely, old knot garden that featured a miniature maze consisting of boxwood interspersed with lavender, barberry, and a variety of colourful herbs. Surrounding this intricate island of formality, stood staggered rows of graceful willows, and beneath these sat three curved ragstone benches. He led her to the central bench and the two cousins sat, holding hands.
“You miss Charles terribly when he’s away from you, don’t you?” he as
ked. “I know it tears at him as well, darling. Being parted from you, I mean. He loves you very much.”
Without warning, the duchess began to weep, her gloved hands covering her face. Certain he’d said something wrong, the earl drew her into his arms, holding Beth close to comfort her, much as he’d done so many times before. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry, Beth. I’ve made you cry.”
“You’ve nothing to apologise for,” she said. “Nothing at all. Paul, it is I should apologise to you! I’ve been so unfair to you during the past few weeks. In early October, I promised to accept your marriage proposal at Christmas, and I’ve broken that vow. What sort of woman am I to intentionally hurt such a noble heart as yours? All my life, you have been there for me—consoling me, protecting me, making me laugh in times of great distress; making me feel safe when I’m most fearful. I would never have made it through those years living with Trent without you, Paul. Never! Oh, I am so very sorry for all I’ve done to you. You must hate me!”
“Of course, I don’t hate you. Beth, what’s caused this rush of self-recrimination and doubt? Is it the dreams you’ve been having this past week? This new crime in Whitechapel? Charles’s departure? What, darling? Tell me the source of your woes, and I shall slay that dragon, if it lies within my power. I’d do anything for you.”
She wiped at her eyes, and he handed her a handkerchief. “You would never understand,” she told him. “I’m sorry. Yes, it’s probably just the nightmares. Paul, promise me you’ll not leave me. Not ever!”
“How could I? Such an act does not lie within my power,” he admitted. “I’ve belonged to you since the day you were born. I shall remain bound to you for all eternity, Princess. Don’t you know that?” His words caused her to weep all the more, and he noticed that she shivered. “Perhaps, this walk wasn’t a good idea, after all. Are you sure you’re not ill? Did Price look in on you this afternoon?”
The Blood Is the Life Page 15