“Trent,” she whispered bitterly. “How I detest that man! I wonder how far back his influence reaches. Patricia was always impressionable and easily led. She never got over her wild infatuation for Ian Stuart. In truth, she was a very unhappy woman.”
Charles moved closer to his aunt, placing an arm ‘round her shoulders. “Money and position do not guarantee happiness.”
“No, they do not,” she agreed, sighing. “Patricia and Connor seldom saw eye to eye, but those miscarriages drove them further apart. Charles, you must never tell Elizabeth what I’m about to say, for she likes to think of her parents as loving one another, but I once had an argument with Trish Stuart that may shock you.”
“Yes?”
She took a deep breath and stubbed out the newly lit cigarette. “I should quit these dreadful things,” she said. “It was after the second miscarriage. I’d gone to stay with Patricia until she recovered, for the loss had taken a great toll on her physically. In fact, Price despaired of her ever conceiving again.”
“How awful,” Sinclair said softly.
“Yes, it was. Connor remained at Branham for most of my visit. After a month, he spent the days in London, taking the train each morning but returning at night, and it seemed to me that he and Trish began to grow closer. I couldn’t have been more wrong. One evening, I found Trish packing her bags.”
“To travel?”
“I assumed as much. I thought the two of them had decided to spend time abroad and rekindle their marriage, but instead she was leaving him. Charles, I did my best to dissuade her, but nothing would alter her plans. Nothing. When Connor returned, the two of them had a terrible argument that resounded throughout the house. He left the next morning for India, and Trish unpacked her bags. It had all been a ploy to force him into leaving, you see. She knew his temperament well enough to predict his reaction. Oh, she could be devious when she wanted to be.”
“But they reconciled; they must have,” he countered. “If she hated Connor so much, why would she agree to take him back?”
“I’ve always wondered about that as well; but take him back she did, and only a few months later. Connor consulted with his father before agreeing to reconcile, for he’d begun to contemplate divorce even then. Only a short while after, we learnt about the third miscarriage. Connor nearly lost his mind. I had never seen him weep so, Charles. Not ever. Not once. He blamed himself, you see. After that, he remained at Branham and tended to Trish personally, bringing her meals, feeding her, making sure she grew stronger—for she’d nearly died. That Stopes woman had left her in a deplorable state!”
“Tory, if it takes a lifetime, I shall find that woman and make her account for all her misdeeds.”
“Good,” his aunt said simply. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“Do you think Patricia loved Elizabeth?” he asked.
She snapped the cigarette case shut, and Sinclair noticed that her hands shook. “I think Trish loved Beth as much as she could manage. Duke George was a flinty man, and Trish was much like her father. After Elizabeth’s birth, Connor remained at home as long as possible, but Redwing emerged, full force, in India during that time, and our circle ranks were thin. When offered the position in the governor’s office there, he chose to take it, but that became the death knell of his marriage.”
“And the trip to Drummond Castle that November? When he wrote the letter I found?”
“He’d been transferred from India to Austria; a much better posting. Before commencing his new duties in Vienna, Connor was given a few weeks to spend with family, and they planned a holiday in Glasgow. However, when he arrived at Branham, he and Trish had a terrible row, and Connor stormed out of there, taking Beth with him. That night, after Beth went to bed, he told me about the argument, but said nothing regarding plans for divorce.”
“Does Elizabeth know about her parents’ embattled marriage?” he asked.
“No, she does not; though she may have suspected. Beth is very good at uncovering secrets, so it is possible. When she and Connor arrived that November, Beth clung to her father nearly every minute. It was as if she knew something was going to happen.”
“She did, Tory. Elizabeth told me—told us, Paul and me—about the Shadow Man appearing at her window just before that fateful trip. In September of that year, this creature showed Beth a vision of her father’s death and even told her when it would occur.”
Victoria’s face paled. “No! Oh, Charles, I had no idea! No wonder she stuck to his side. Charles, you must keep watch on her. Redwing has been playing a very long and complex game, and it’s still unclear just what their final goal is. I suspect this Shadow Man is but one manifestation of a dark and very powerful entity.”
His aunt left the sofa and began to pace the room.
“Victoria, is there something you’re not saying?”
“Charles, I have a letter that you should read. It was written to me by your father a few months before he died. I haven’t got it here with me. It’s in Paris, but I shall send for it. My butler can find it and forward it to Haimsbury House.”
“I take it the letter is about Redwing.”
“It is—but it’s also about you. As you may have guessed, Robby Sinclair also chased after Redwing, but once you were born he remained at home. He was convinced that Redwing had set its sights on you, but most in the circle failed to heed his warnings. It was always assumed by the majority of our members that the Stuart blood—Paul’s line—had some major part in the final phases of Redwing’s plans. In a way, I suppose it does, since Paul is your cousin thrice over.”
He shook his head. “Do you mean my grandmother? I’m still sorting through the many branches of our family tree.”
“Your grandmother was Robert Stuart’s twin sister. Also, the late earl’s great-grandmother was a Sinclair by birth. Our three families have intermarried quite often through the years, but occasionally one of us marries outside these circles. The MacAllens are another linked family. Did you know that your father and Connor Stuart were very close friends? They agreed that your part in all this is quite important. It’s imperative that you read through all your father’s correspondence and diaries, Charles.”
He was about to reply when the butler knocked on their door. Sinclair rose to answer, since Tory had turned the lock.
“Yes, Miles?”
“Sir, forgive me for interrupting, but you’ve a message from Inspector Reid.”
Charles took the telegram, reading the few lines with dismay. “Is there a runner awaiting reply, Miles?”
The butler nodded. “There is, sir. Shall I send him in?”
“No need. Please, tell the duchess that I’ll see her later this evening. Victoria, I must be going.”
“But Charles, won’t you at least stay for supper?”
“I fear I may be away for the remainder of the night, Aunt. There’s been another murder in Whitechapel.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The dead room at 76 Leman Street held three separate cots in addition to the primary autopsy table. Sinclair entered, finding Thomas Sunders explaining his findings to Edmund Reid.
“This one’s in four pieces,” Reid explained. “As you ordered, I’ve had France enquiring about any bodies washing up along the embankment. This poor woman was found on the south side of the river, in three different locations. I pulled a dozen strings to obtain all four sections of the body. Lambeth and Southwark both laid claim to her.”
Charles joined them at the table. “She’s been in the water for days from the looks of it. You can see predation marks on her face. I’d feared this might be Ida Ross, but the hair colour’s all wrong. Sunders, can river water darken hair?”
“Not in my experience,” the surgeon replied. “We’ve only just started the autopsy. I’ll know more when I examine the hair beneath my lens.”
“I assume Abberline’s already
taken a look at this,” Sinclair noted. “Does he think her Ripper?”
“No. Even Fred admits this isn’t typical of Jack’s work. The arms show signs of torture, meaning someone had access to the woman for hours, perhaps longer.”
“Any identifying scars or tattoos?”
Sunders directed the superintendent towards the other tables. “The lower limbs lie here, sir, and the arms next to that.” The surgeon lifted the waxed cotton sheets. “I believe a hatchet was used to disarticulate the limbs. Oh, and the torso shows an old tattoo upon the lower spine, but there is also a burn mark, just above it. I’d say the latter was done no more than a day or so before she died.”
“More signs of torture,” Sinclair said bitterly. Sunders turned the torso over to show the two detectives the marks. “That tattoo is Redwing’s sign, Edmund. But this burn looks like a branding iron was used. Multiple times. Again, the same winged dove. Is this woman a Redwing traitor?” Charles paled, even as the words left his lips. “Oh, Edmund, I may know who this woman is, and if I’m right, the earl will be very upset.”
“Upset by the death of a Redwing operative?”
“Upset by the death of a woman he tried to help. I think this is Susanna Morgan.”
Elizabeth entered the drawing room shortly after six, having finished with her rehearsals and taken off her gown. She’d hoped to find Sinclair, and her countenance fell when she saw he had already gone.
“I thought Charles might still be here,” she said, sitting in a chair opposite her aunt. “Has he already returned to Haimsbury House?”
“Yes,” Victoria lied. “He had business to finish with his contractors. Something about the lift. I take it your rehearsals went well?”
“Della turns beautifully,” the duchess answered. “She’s a lovely girl. She asked if she could live with us after the wedding. Are you going to live here? We’d love for you to join our new household, Tory.”
Charles had been gone for over an hour, but as it was likely he would be away most of the evening, Victoria looked for means to distract her niece. “I’m not yet sure. Even a large house can feel crowded to a newlywed couple. Did Dr. Emerson call on you today?”
“Briefly. He’s quite nice, though I shall miss dear Dr. Price.” A shadow passed against the lights of the portico, and the duchess crossed to the large window; looking out. “There’s a strange coach in the drive.”
“Probably someone delivering another gift,” Victoria answered, searching through her handbag. “I’ve misplaced my spectacles.”
“Ring for Miles, Tory. I’m sure he’d be happy to send a maid to fetch them. Are they in your apartment?”
“I’ve no idea. I won’t be long,” she said, leaving the room. “Shall I send Della down?”
“Yes, please. I think she’d spend the entire night wearing that new dress, but remind her that is has to remain clean for the wedding. Ask her to come down and play for me, would you?”
“I shan’t be long,” Tory promised as she headed into the foyer. She passed the butler near the foot of the stairs and mentioned the coach. “Do you mind sending a footman out to see who it might be? No one’s bothered to knock yet.”
“Of course, Lady Victoria,” Miles answered. As he started towards the front door, he noticed it closing. “It looks as though someone has already done so, my lady. Perhaps, Stephens answered.”
“No, I think Stephens said he would be at the other house this evening,” she said, a dreadful thought suddenly crossing her mind. “Oh, no! I do hope my niece hasn’t gone out there!”
The butler still wore a sling upon his left arm whilst his shoulder healed, but he moved quickly towards the door. “I’ll see to it, Lady Victoria.”
Victoria Stuart followed quickly behind, praying the caller was a friend. “It might be Maisie Churchill. She said something about dropping by with a box of letters.”
The butler had reached the door, opened it, and stood within its frame, looking out onto the portico. The lights of the south entry silhouetted his tall form, and beyond, Stuart could see a large black coach, parked upon the gravel drive. A double-headed eagle was painted upon the door. It was the Russian Empire’s crest.
“Good heavens!” she gasped, rushing towards the butler. “Tell the duchess to come inside at once, Miles!”
“My lady!” the butler called. “Your aunt asks you to return.”
Beth started to reply, but Prince Anatole had already emerged from the coach, and he took her hand, bowing gracefully.
“Good evening, my dear friend. Forgive any presumption, but I wonder if you might join me for supper?”
Victoria stepped onto the portico and called out, doing her best to sound calm. “Your Highness, what a lovely surprise! Won’t you come in?” she said, her hand on Elizabeth’s forearm. “My nephew will return any moment, and I’m sure he’d be pleased to see you again.”
Romanov smiled, his ice blue eyes sparkling in the light of the porch lamps. “Which nephew would that be, Lady Victoria?”
“Why, you may take your pick, Your Highness. Both are staying here as we prepare for the wedding. Won’t you come in?”
“I’d hoped to entice your niece into sharing supper with me, as my opportunities to woo her soon end. Do you mind?”
“That depends on Elizabeth,” Tory answered with a dry throat. “Beth, surely, you’d prefer to wait for Charles to return.”
The duchess appeared confused. “What?”
“Do forgive us, Your Highness. My niece has been ill of late, and the night air might cause a chill.”
“Then, she may find warmth inside my coach. Here, my dear, take my hand.”
Beth stared at the carriage, turning to the prince with a puzzled expression. “I—supper?” she asked. “No, I think Charles will be back soon.”
“Elizabeth, I would cherish a few moments with you,” Romanov whispered into her ear as he stroked her hand. “Will you allow it?”
As though sleepwalking, she obediently followed him into the brougham.
Victoria stamped her foot and ran back into the house. “Miles! Send word to my brother at once!”
Inside the coach, Elizabeth listened as the prince spoke in soft tones. “Elizaveta, my darling, I could not risk a telegram, nor would I dare force my way into your home through magical means. My darling, you are in danger.”
“I am in danger? Why?” she asked mechanically.
“Oh, my beautiful Elizaveta!” he whispered in the sweetest of tones. “I would remove all hurt, all dangers from your life, but I cannot see the future with perfect eyes. All the rivers of possibility flow towards rapids that indicate falling, but no matter how I try, your future remains in mist. I want only your safety—your happiness. You do know that, do you not?”
“Yes,” she whispered as if in a waking dream.
“And I would spare you all that will soon happen, but no matter how I try, no matter what variables I employ, a great danger still finds you. Do you trust me?” She said nothing, and he noticed she had begun to shiver. The prince kissed her forehead. “I love you, Elizaveta.”
Nothing. No response.
“Veta, when you were but a child, I vowed to protect you. Always. In doing so—that night on the road to London—I appeared in my true form, and I know that it frightened you. I am sorry for that, but it was the only way I could stop Trent and the Shadow from harming you that night.”
“I’m cold,” she whispered.
“Soon, you will be warm. You must tell Charles that Trent intends to harm you again. Can you remember that for me?”
She nodded, but her eyes widened in terror. “Trent? No, please! Not Trent!”
He placed his arms ‘round her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I will not permit him to harm you, Veta. Now, look at me.” He took her chin into his hand and pulled her face up, towards his. “I know tha
t you are afraid, but I will keep watch over you. Trust me. And, my dear, you must take care. Another life depends upon you.”
Elizabeth stared. “Captain,” she whispered, trying to break free of the spell.
“Your Captain is coming home to you. Be good for him, Veta. Now, I shall take you back inside. When you awaken, you will remember what I showed you near the stables. The red snow. Say it.”
“I will remember the red snow,” she whispered.
“Tell Victoria that you have a headache and must lie down. And remember to tell Charles that Trent plans to harm you. Will you do this?”
She nodded as if dreaming. “Tell Charles. He is my Captain. My great love.” She blinked, the powerful image of Sinclair tearing at the dense veil. “Charles,” she repeated.
“Yes, Charles is your great love. Now, you must lie down.” He helped her out of the coach and up the portico steps. Elizabeth felt the wind in her ears and hair. Have I even been inside a carriage? she wondered.
Victoria was just coming out again, to meet one of the Branham coaches, intent on going to Whitechapel herself to find Sinclair, but found Elizabeth waiting instead, leaning heavily upon the prince’s arm.
“The duchess is ill. She mentioned a headache coming on,” he said, carrying her into the drawing room. “Here, allow me to leave you on this comfortable looking sofa. Your aunt will tend to you. Lady Victoria, shall I fetch a doctor?” he asked, genuine concern written across his handsome features.
Tory shook her head. “No, Your Highness, that isn’t necessary. Thank you for taking care of Elizabeth. This wedding and all the plans have proven stressful. You are kind to offer, but we’ll take care of her now. Charles is due back any moment.”
He bowed. “It is nothing. I hope the duchess is well enough to attend tomorrow evening. The Duke of Edinburgh is most anxious to meet Lord Haimsbury. If there is anything I might do, please let me know. Forgive my intrusion.”
He bowed again and left, anguish filling his heart. Perhaps, he should not have come, but the visions he’d seen of fire and snow caused Samael to dread Sunday’s arrival. No matter what rivers of time he examined, the future always led to the same dark conclusion.
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