“Duchess, I assure you that...” he entreated, but she cut him off.
“Do not presume to call me Duchess. Your rank is far too low to make such a blunder, Sir Albert. You will address me as Your Grace, and I am not your cousin!”
“Ah, yes, uh, of course, Your Grace,” he stammered, but once more, she interrupted, her dark eyes sparking fire.
“I know much more about you than you might surmise, Albert Wendaway. More than my husband may even know. Do not look surprised. Shall we discuss what really happened in Dublin? The illegal activities twixt you and your cousin Amelia’s paramour, Harold Lowry? I suspect those are secrets you prefer to remain buried. I can think of several police detectives who would find your penchant for non-existent silver mines of interest. Shall I mention those to my husband?”
“What? I say, how did you...?”
“I may be petite, but my arm is long and my intelligence high. And if you are wise, you will steer clear of my Cousin Paul,” she continued. “His manner is gracious and kind, but the earl’s aim is true and deadly.”
As if on cue, Aubrey joined them, his face serious. “Princess, may I have this dance?” he asked. “Or shall I teach this upstart baronet a few steps first?”
Wendaway immediately stood and adjusted his garish waistcoat. “As I said, Your Grace. Congratulations.” The baronet was walking away just as Charles returned with the water.
“You’d have been proud of your wife, Charles,” Stuart told his cousin. “She sent Wendaway off with a rather painful flea in his ear.”
Sinclair handed Beth the glass and sat down once again. “Yes, I noticed him scratching a bit. Well done, darling.”
She drank half the water, her face flushed with anger. “We’ve not seen the last of Wendaway. His kind have no good sense, only ambition.”
Paul reached for her hand and kissed it. “You were wonderful,” he told her proudly. “I considered stepping in, but honestly, I was having far too much fun watching you dress him down. Wendaway has much to learn about the Stuart clan. Especially you, Princess.”
Still angry, Charles kept watch on the baronet, who wove in and out of the crowd, pausing here and there. He stopped to speak with a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, stooped shoulders, and a slight paunch. “Well, now, that is a depressing picture. Look who just sidled up to my shiftless former cousin.” Sinclair declared.
“Sir Clive Urquhart,” Aubrey said with a sigh. “Apparently, like attracts like. Charles, if you could find a crime with which to prosecute that man at last, you would only please your wife. And your cousin. Otherwise, I may just have to find a less legal way to deal with the man.”
Sinclair took Elizabeth’s hand, and found it trembling. “Darling, is it the company, the conversation, or something else?”
“If you mean present company, of course not. I love and adore you both, but the mixture of Sir Clive Urquhart and Albert Wendaway is worrisome. Clive has taken control of the Royal Estate Agency in the city. Did you know that? My lawyer told me on Friday. Urquhart’s reopening it as a financial institution called Blackstone Investments.”
“Blackstone?” Sinclair asked. “What is it about that name sounds familiar?”
“I can think of no businessman in Clive’s orbit named Blackstone,” Aubrey mused. “Beth, do you know of any?”
“None—no wait. There’s a Jacob Blackstone who used to sit on the Branham Charity’s board of governors. He died last year, though. Oh, no,” she spoke quickly, “here comes Prince Anatole. Please, both of you, keep your manner civil.”
The enigmatic Russian bowed politely. “Congratulations, Duchess—or perhaps, it is more apt to the occasion to call you Mrs. Sinclair. I watched you and your husband on the dance floor. A most handsome couple, if I may say so.”
Elizabeth glanced up, doing her best to manage a sincere smile. “Thank you, Your Highness. You’ve been very kind to us.”
“Paul, would you mind keeping Beth company for a few minutes, whilst the prince and I speak?”
The earl’s brows pinched together in dismay. “I’m sure Beth prefers your company to mine.”
“Nonsense, Elizabeth cherishes any time she might share with you. Isn’t that right, darling?”
“Yes, of course,” the duchess answered, assuming her husband had a very good reason for leaving. “Take all the time you need.”
“Your Highness, might we find a quiet spot? I’d love to learn more about Russian politics.”
The marquess disappeared through a side door that led into a smoking parlour, and the earl turned towards the duchess. “Are you happy?”
“Yes. Very happy, but also quite tired. Why do you think Charles wanted to speak with the prince?”
Rather than worry her, Aubrey offered innocuous speculation. “Most likely, he wants to talk to Romanov about Russian spies in London. I’m sure our new investigative venture will run afoul of countless government factions in the years to come, but the Okhrana make a second home in England, requiring the establishment of firm rules at the start.”
“The Okhrana? The Russian secret police, you mean.”
“Yes, they’ve infiltrated all aspects of society, even the Met Police, I’m told. Their stated aim is to root out anarchists, but in truth, they’re spying on England.”
“Is that what Salisbury wants Charles to do? To uncover spy rings?”
“Possibly. As an independent intelligence service, the ICI will provide information to government without accountability. It’s a politician’s dream come true. Oh, but speaking of spying,” he said, hoping to make her smile, “it looks as though I’ll be giving Egypt a miss this year. That’s why the prime minister asked to meet with me last night. Robert said it was his wedding gift to you and Charles. The trip is cancelled for the present. I shan’t be leaving England for a good long while.”
Elizabeth’s face brightened into a wide smile, and she jumped to her feet to embrace him. “Oh, Paul! That is the best news I’ve had in such a long time! And it explains your smooth face, I imagine. Tory told me you’d shaved the beard to impress Cordelia Wychwright. I’ve no idea how Lady Delia feels, but I much prefer you this way. Your cheeks are far more kissable.”
She leaned in to offer said kiss to his smooth cheek but caught the toe of her shoe on his, causing her to tumble into his lap. “Oh!” Beth cried out, instantly trying to regain her feet.
The earl helped the duchess back to her chair, his face red. “Careful, Mrs. Sinclair,” he exclaimed just as Cordelia Wychwright’s mother walked past.
The baroness glared at Aubrey, her disgruntled breaths sounding rather like a steam engine as she turned towards a long table filled with refreshments. Suddenly, however, the angry engine spun about and she addressed the earl directly.
“Where is Lord Haimsbury?” the baroness asked pointedly.
“Charles has gone to have a chat with Prince Anatole,” Elizabeth answered, her face flushed. “Baroness, I’m so glad you and the baron were able to attend the wedding. I saw your daughter earlier. She’s looks quite lovely—as always. When again is her debutante ball?”
“Next March,” the woman answered sternly. “We’d hoped to introduce Delia to a few suitable gentlemen in advance of the party, but it’s so difficult to find men who are trustworthy.”
“Yes, I imagine it is,” Elizabeth answered, intentionally taking her cousin’s hand. “I’ve the honour to know two such men, however. My husband, of course, but also my beloved cousin, Lord Aubrey. Did you know that Paul became my protector when I was but a child? He faithfully kept watch on me all those years, never once complaining. I suppose it’s one reason we’ve grown to love one another so much. The young woman who finally wins his heart will indeed be blessed, and I shall be delighted to call her cousin.”
The speech seemed to cool the steam engine’s boiler to a more moderate heat, and the puffi
ng slowed to a lighter rhythm. “I’d not heard that story before, Duchess. Since childhood? Lord Aubrey, you must have been quite young yourself.”
The earl exhaled, for he’d been holding his breath, dreading the woman’s assault. “Relatively young. Beth is twelve and half years younger than I, and Charles four months my elder. Though, he’s still struggling to regain his early memories, mine are intact. He and I were like brothers as children. I’m grateful to the Lord each day that he’s returned my cousin to us.”
A smile crept across the stern woman’s wrinkled face. “Well, it all begins to make sense. Delia is our only child, you know. It’s very important that we make the best choices for her life. I’m sure you agree, Duchess?”
“Yes, of course. Forgive me, won’t you, Baroness? We’re to have photographs taken in the gallery. Paul, may I have your arm? I’m not sure I trust these shoes. The left heel’s beginning to wobble.”
Paul helped her to stand. “It’s always a pleasure, Baroness. Please, tell your husband that, if he’s still in London, I hope to see him at my club next week.”
“Of course, Lord Aubrey,” she answered, nearly giddy as his final words and their possible meaning stirred in her brain.
The earl offered Wychwright a bow before escorting Elizabeth out the side door, where a footman handed the earl a note. After reading it, Paul began to laugh. “Well, your excuse regarding photographs appears to be prescient. It’s from Tory, and she calls the entire family to the lower gallery. I imagine Mr. Blackwood and his camera await. Come, dear, let’s make these portraits as memorable as the day.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
After closing the door to the duke’s library, Charles turned to face the prince. “I’d rather not leave my wife alone for too long, so let’s get right to it, shall we?”
Romanov appeared relaxed, even confident. Calmly, he took a seat near the fire, spreading his hands as if to offer complete transparency. “What would you ask of me?”
“No limits this time. No games.”
“I assure you, Lord Haimsbury, I never play games.”
“So you keep saying, yet your deliberate obfuscation leaves an entirely opposite impression!” He paused a moment to regain his sense of calm, for the prince invariably caused the marquess’s blood pressure to soar.
Romanov’s expression remained serene. “I shall answer plainly. Ask your questions.”
“No limit to the number?”
“Not to the number, no, but your time is limited, Charles. As you say.”
“Do you deliberately bait me?”
A slight smile crossed the Russian’s face. “No, not deliberately. You want to know about last night.”
“Yes,” Sinclair replied, stepping towards the prince. “Who is Grigor, and why did he pretend to be you?”
“Please, sit, Charles. A satisfying answer will take a little time, but a thorough one requires far more time than you can spare at the moment. To begin, as you’ve long suspected, I am not human.”
Taking a chair next to the mysterious Russian, the all too human detective exhaled, releasing tension along with carbon dioxide. “You’re a hybrid.”
“No. Much more. I am elohim.”
“Elohim? I don’t understand. What is that? Some new breed of altered human?”
“It is a generalised class, referring to those whose realm lies beyond your ability to perceive. Some call it the heavenly realm.”
Sinclair laughed. “You’re claiming to be an angel?”
“An imprecise word, but according to your understanding, yes. That is what I am. The term ‘angel’ implies a mission. My presence upon the earth does include a mission, but one that has altered from its original purpose. As I told you before, we’ve no time for complete answers. The person you know as Prince Alexei Grigor is also elohim. Once, he and I were as close as brothers, but our paths diverged many thousands of years ago. It is why I imprisoned him within the stone Warren found on Mt. Hermon.”
“You imprisoned him?” Sinclair asked. “Is your mission as a kind of jailer, then?”
“No. Forgive me for being vague—I promise to tell you everything one day—but my history requires many hours to explain. For now, let us keep to a single issue: Grigor. He is sometimes called Raziel in our realm. Names have purpose and power, and each of us possess dozens, sometimes hundreds of names.”
“Yours are carved upon your cane,” Sinclair recalled, pointing to the prince’s walking stick.
He smiled. “Yes, some are. I have far more names than this slender stick can display. Raziel and I had similar positions in the council once. We served at his side. The One, I mean. The Creator whom you call God.”
“Until you were cast out,” Charles dared to say.
The prince sighed. “Not entirely. Raziel chose to leave, and I was dispatched to apprehend him. Raziel is a special kind of scribe, a member of the Seven. He recorded every word spoken by the One. Every word heard, that is. None of us knows what our Lord spoke before Creation commenced. But each of his words contains power. Raziel compiled a book, which he brought with him to this realm—to Earth. His intent was to reveal these sacred and most powerful words to Adam’s sons and daughters.”
“Did he succeed?”
“Yes. Before the great flood, Raziel’s secrets allowed the proliferation of great evil within this world; though only a very small portion had been revealed. Mankind had to decipher the words, you see. They are written in a very convoluted and difficult language. That was Raziel’s plan. He gave the kings of old the book, but would only translate it in exchange for reward and worship.”
“He sold the secrets.”
Romanov nodded. “Yes. Such avarice and treachery revealed a rebellious heart within Raziel. He was summoned to the council, but refused to attend. He was, therefore, tried in absentia and found guilty.” The angel paused, intense regret upon his face. “The sentence was death.”
“How can that be? The creature still lives!”
“Yes, he does. I’d known Raziel for millennia, and I believed he might yet be redeemed and returned to the host. We of the divine realm have free will, you understand, but the One sets rules and boundaries. I entreated with him for Raziel’s life, and our Lord repented of his anger, saying that he could live and be given one more chance, but that he must be removed from the Earth until the time of the end.”
“And you did so by imprisoning him in that rock?”
He nodded. “Yes. I laid the stone within the Grotto of Pan at the foot of Hermon, placing hundreds of wards upon it so that it might go unnoticed. After the great flood’s waters subsided, the stone’s location filled with silt and debris, and it remained undiscovered until Alexander the Great conquered the region. Alexander believed himself descended from the great gods of antiquity, so when his men uncovered the stone, he felt compelled to use it as a marker. He forced his soldiers to convey the great slab up the sides of Hermon, finding a temple.”
“And he left the stone there?”
“Yes. First, he had it inscribed with the words of the Watchers. Those who descended to Hermon before the flood. Alexander thought this all his idea, but the inspiration, you might say, came to him from spiritual guides. The spirits who haunt that region are very old and very angry, and devious beyond human imagination.”
Sinclair understood. “They used Alexander to advance their own aims.”
“Precisely. When I discovered that the stone had been moved, I renewed the wards, making it less visible to human eyes. Those wards had worn away by the time Warren’s team arrived at the mount.”
“Thus, the stone came to London.”
“And Raziel with it. He hates the One, and he hates me for my obedience to Him.”
Charles thought for a moment, running through possibilities in his mind. “That’s why he posed as you last night. He wanted me to blame you for h
arming Beth.”
“Yes. Since emerging in 1871, Raziel has committed great evil in this world, and his plans are vast and convoluted. My ability to see and foresee is limited. I can only be in one place at a time. However, based on all I know of his activities, I think Raziel intends to kill you and use Elizabeth for his own ends.”
Fear took hold of Sinclair’s heart, turning it to ice. Not for himself—for his wife. “Use her? How?”
“To engender a new race of kings. Elizabeth’s blood is unique, as is yours, but Raziel has foreseen your future, and it causes him great concern. Your actions will impact the entire world and lead to the end of all things, but they are ordained by the One as part of his plan. Raziel hopes to stop that plan by slaying you—but failing that, he will seek to turn you to his cause.”
Romanov stood. “Your family is gathering for photographs. You must go, Charles. Keep watch on the duchess. Do not let her out of your sight.”
“What do you mean? What is Raziel planning? Is she in danger? What about Rasha?” the marquess asked.
“Rasha is a fool. Do not concern yourself with him. He is a failed and unmanageable experiment. Raziel knows this and will soon terminate the test.”
“The Romanian prince is a test? What do you mean?”
“Razarit Grigor’s human form has been altered through blood magic, but he has become hard to control. Raziel will end him and begin again. Now, I must go.”
“No, wait, there are other questions I would ask!” Sinclair cried out, but the prince had vanished. Reluctantly, the marquess left the room and headed out to join his family.
At Queen Anne House, a package arrived in a tall, wooden crate. Mr. Miles, who had remained behind to oversee last minute details for the family celebration, signed for the package and read the card which stated the gift was to be installed immediately in the duchess’s bedchamber, on orders from the sender. Two strong footmen carried the heavy box up the steps. Inside, they discovered a beautifully polished mirror, set in a carved Indian rosewood frame. Instructions included within the box insisted the gift be placed opposite the door, at the foot of the duchess’s bed.
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