Nothing about the strange present sounded alarm bells, for hundreds of gifts had arrived over the past ten days, many with puzzling if not outlandish instructions from givers, who wished to ensure their presents received immediate attention. Even the envelope tied to the frame failed to raise concern. Its handwritten greeting was to ‘Supt. Sinclair, Lord Haimsbury’, and the footmen reasoned that the master suite now belonged to the marquess, and that the main bedchamber would be used by both husband and wife.
Having satisfied all the instructions, the busy footmen returned to their duties, giving no thought to the true purpose behind the enigmatic mirror.
On the main floor, with the foyer empty, no one noticed a woman enter through the unlocked door and tiptoe up the staircase to the bedchamber, where she hid within the interior of the bathroom closet, a vial of laudanum stashed inside her purse.
Chapter Thirty-Five
8:55 pm – Queen Anne House
The wedding reception and associated activities lasted until after eight, and by the time the Sinclairs and their entourage left Drummond House, all were exhausted. Now, they stood in the elegant and roomy foyer of Queen Anne House, celebrating as a family.
The duke, his sister Victoria, Paul Stuart, Adele, Martin Kepelheim, Arthur France and his wife and two children, Mr. Baxter, Mrs. Alcorn, Mrs. Wilsham, Miss Jenkins (Beth’s new secretary, who had spent most of the night crying and telling all she was amazed to have received an invitation), Edmund Reid and his wife Emily, Michael Emerson (who’d spent much of his time speaking to Miss Jenkins), and all the Queen Anne servants gathered together beneath the glass rotunda, gazing not at the stars above, but at the newly wedded couple now facing them as they prepared for one last, farewell toast.
Charles stood next to the duke, and already many toasts had been offered, stories told, and songs sung. The marquess turned to his uncle, his glass raised high: “To Uncle James, my friends. He is our patriarch, our leader, and our best friend in all this world. May he live to see many more such weddings!”
Everyone heartily agreed, lifting their glasses and drinking, and the duke patted his nephew on the shoulder proudly.
“Charles, my dear boy, you bring a light to my granddaughter’s eyes that is akin to nothing I’ve ever seen there before. She’s loved you for years, and today is only the beginning of your lives together. May our Saviour bring you his blessings and his protection. I only wish that your parents could have been here today to see the two of you wed. Elizabeth, my dearest Princess, may you never have an unhappy day and may you walk always in the light of our Lord’s lamp. To Charles and Elizabeth Sinclair, everyone!”
All drank to the toast, and applause erupted amidst a round of ‘hear, hears’ and ‘jolly goods’. Baxter and Alcorn wiped tears from their eyes, for both felt a special kinship to the duchess, and they clinked their glasses together, feeling as proud as if they were parents of the bride.
Mr. Kepelheim then called for all the eligible ladies in the room—including the maids and kitchen staff—to gather at the base of the staircase to catch Elizabeth’s bouquet. She had carried a cascade of orange blossoms and white roses, accented by a spray of ivy, and she took her husband’s hand and climbed to the third, broad step on the winding case.
“Are you all ready?” she asked, after making sure Adele had joined the group. “All right, here goes,” she said, turning her back and tossing the bouquet over her shoulder.
Adele rushed forward and nearly caught the arrangement, but it was Miss Jenkins who found herself in possession of the flowers, much to her surprise. “Oh, I mean—well, I didn’t think—I’d. Well!” she sputtered, looking at Michael Emerson with a sense of profound embarrassment.
Adele offered the secretary a wide, conciliatory smile. “Miss Jenkins, does this mean you will be next?”
“It may,” Beth answered for her secretary. “Well, dear friends. Now that I’ve completed all my duties for the day, I must leave you.”
Alicia Mallory pushed through the dense pack of females and climbed the other staircase towards the master apartment. “Shall I meet you upstairs, my lady?”
Beth nodded. “Charles, I shan’t be long. I’ll change into my travelling clothes, and then, we’ll leave for our new home.”
He pulled her close and kissed her. “I love you, wife.”
“And I you, husband, my dashing Captain. Give me fifteen minutes, at least. There are nearly fifty pearl buttons and many hooks to manage, but I’ll be as quick as possible.” She turned to walk up the steps, and Charles watched her disappear into the upper hallway, his heart full.
“Now, let’s have another round of songs,” the duke called out merrily. “Della, play that highland tune you learned last week. The quick one. I think it’s time we danced like true Scots!”
Adele skipped off with France’s children close behind, and she began a lively reel. Hamish Granger took up his bagpipes and Frame his fiddle, and soon the entire main level echoed with the sounds of the Hebrides. Brenda France sat close by, turning pages as Adele’s quick fingers played the complicated tune. Kepelheim and Reid joined Sinclair, who’d left the staircase in favour of one of fifty chairs, scattered around the perimeter of the cavernous foyer.
Kepelheim sighed loudly as he sat. “Ah! It’s always sad to see the end of such an enjoyable evening. Of course, my friend, yours has only begun,” he added with a wink. “Mr. France now lives with you, I take it? Good. He seems an able man and quick with his wits. This doctor, Michael Emerson; I like him, Charles. He, too, may be a candidate. What do you think?”
Charles tried to keep his eyes open, but the champagne had begun to go to his head. “I think... I think that I could sleep for a week. Emerson? Yes, he’s interesting. He has a detective’s instincts and a medical man’s knowledge, and he is an ardent follower of Christ. He mentioned that his father knows MacPherson and has even consulted with the inner circle.”
“Really? The Emersons. I know no family by that name other than…wait, is his father an earl?”
“Yes. Lord Braxton. Michael’s the second son. He lost his first wife, you know—and their child.”
“How sad. As he is now Beth’s doctor, we might want to bring him into our confidence soon. Keep your eyes on her always, Charles—something which you are happy to do, yes, I know—but our enemy lurks ever in the shadows. Trent in particular. I’m disturbed by Paul’s report about MacKey. If she’s in London, then it’s likely she’s allied with Trent.”
Charles turned, his mind growing more alert. “I saw MacKey at Drummond House.”
Kepelheim stared. “When?”
“Late afternoon. She spoke to me in the lower gallery, and then ran off into the garden. I considered going after her, but it seemed a fool’s errand. I wish I understood that woman.”
“Redwing’s females are past comprehension. Put it out of your mind. Do you plan to remand Trent for questioning? Is that stickpin sufficient to bring him in?”
“Yes, but Reid will have to handle it. Tonight, I’ve other things on my mind.”
The tailor laughed. “Oh, but of course! It is your wedding night, my friend. Let us put all these dangers out of our heads!”
Charles looked at his pocket watch. Beth had been upstairs now for ten minutes. “I’d love to, but isn’t that precisely when the enemy might choose to strike? When we relax our resolve? Oh, I know, I’m beginning to see danger everywhere. Look, I hope you’ll join us for a little gathering next month. Beth plans a small dinner party on the twenty-fourth of December at Branham. Assuming she still wants to have Christmas there. Otherwise, we’ll host it at my home. I mean our home, of course,” he added smiling.
“So she told me. Did I hear correctly? The queen sent you a set of magnificent bone china?”
“She did. It arrived yesterday, and it had a card instructing Laurence to open it at once. It was a huge set, four dozen engr
aved plates with all the bits and pieces that go with them I guess, each with an entwined H and B on them—for Haimsbury and Branham, along with today’s date. James had the queen’s own heraldry artist design the new crest, and it’s on all our coaches now. That queen. She’s a kind old lady, Martin. She kissed Beth twice! Yet, surely she recalls the Plantagenet bloodline and the pact she signed on becoming sovereign?”
Martin nodded. “She knows all. It’s the reason she tried so hard to make a match with the Duke of Clarence. It’s been fifteen minutes.”
Charles rose and straightened his jacket and waistcoat. “Well, then I shall go upstairs and see what is keeping my wife. Oh, I do love saying that, Martin.”
The tailor watched happily as his friend passed through the jovial crowd, pausing here and there to say a word or shake a hand, and then he stopped near the staircase to speak with the duke.
“May I now knock upon your granddaughter’s door, sir?”
James laughed, his cheeks rosy. “Aye, but beware when women are shut up in their rooms. A man might walk in on anything! But she’s your wife now, son. Go fetch her!”
Grinning with joy, Charles dashed up the long staircase and followed the hallway until he reached Elizabeth’s apartment, passing through the parlour and knocking on the bedchamber door. No one answered. He listened, and hearing no voices, knocked again before turning the knob.
A faint and plaintive voice responded.
“Help!”
A knot formed in Sinclair’s stomach. “Alicia?” he called, praying he’d misheard.
“Help, please!” she called again. “Help me!”
“Paul! Something’s wrong! Hurry!” he shouted down the stairwell to Aubrey. The earl had been standing near the front entry, saying goodnight to Adele, preparing to leave for his appointment with Lorena MacKey. At the sound of his cousin’s cries, the earl ran through the crowd and took the steps three at a time, his uncle and France close behind.
“Alicia!” Charles called, pounding on the door. “Beth! What’s going on? The door is locked. Let me in!”
“Sir!” the maid called again, her voice barely audible. “Help me, please!”
The two cousins put their shoulders to the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Miles, Frame, and Granger arrived, followed by Baxter.
“On three, sirs,” the hulking Chief of the Mews said as he joined the cousins in the effort. All three men threw their weight at the door, and it gave way, splintering the frame. Charles rushed into the apartment and found the maid lying on the dark blue carpet, her face flushed, hair in disarray.
“Oh, sir!” she wept. “He took her! He just came and took her!”
“Who, Alicia? Who?”
“The man—I don’t know his name. I’d never seen him before, sir. A tall man with a cane. He came out of the mirror, and he took her!”
Paul knelt beside the maid. “Say that again, Alicia. Tell us everything that happened. Leave nothing out.”
The earl helped her to a chair, and the slender maid’s entire body trembled. By now Emerson had joined them, and he began to examine her eyes. “She’s been drugged,” he said plainly.
“I had one glass o’ wine, sir. Downstairs, but I felt fine until I got up here, and then I was so sleepy. It made me stumble, and when the duchess came into the room, she ran to me, asking what was wrong. My lady started for the door to call for aid, but then the man just—well, he was there—all of a sudden. He came out of that new mirror. He put a cloth over her mouth, and she fell into his arms. And then—like a flash—they were both gone! Back into that mirror!”
Charles nearly collapsed, his mind numb, but his cousin caught him. “Paul, we have to find her. It’s Trent, I know it. He always carries that cane. But, how can he travel through a mirror? It’s impossible!”
Aubrey helped Charles to a chair and then examined the looking glass. “Charles, there is a card here. Addressed to you.”
Charles took the card from his cousin, his eyes blurring with tears. He wiped his face and opened the envelope. “It’s from Trent. It says only this: ‘Follow the map, Detective. You have one hour before she dies.’ Paul, what can he mean? Map? What map?”
Reid stood near the back of the group of men, and he raised his hand, pushing forward. “The map of Whitechapel, Charles. It must be that. The one we found with Redwing’s marks upon it.”
“Where is it?” Aubrey asked.
“It’s in the library downstairs,” the duke answered. “Kepelheim put it there along with the other items we’ve been discussing this week. Martin?”
Kepelheim nodded. “Yes, yes! It is there! Come, let us see what this fiend means when he refers to the map.”
In a few minutes, all but Emerson had joined up in the library, the doctor remaining with Alicia for the present. Kepelheim unlocked a small safe tucked behind a portrait of Beth as a child, and he removed a white box. “Here it is.”
“Let me see it,” Charles said as he entered the room.
The tailor brought the marquess the creased and stained map, marked in thirty-three places with the shape of a dove.
“Edmund, you told the circle that there are thirty-three marks upon this map. Miller’s Court murder was the last. Number thirty-three, correct?”
“Yes, but another murder was reported last night, at a pub on Gascoigne. Why?”
“Gascoigne?” Sinclair asked. He nearly fell again, his face white.
Aubrey caught him and helped him to sit. “Charles, this is too much for you.”
“That pub,” the marquess insisted. “Find it on the map. Is there a mark beside it?”
Reid pored over the extensive sheet. “It might be a faint mark. No dove, though. It looks like an upper case ‘I’.”
Paul took the map and held it up to the light. “An ‘I’? Why would Trent use... Wait, Edmund. Not an ‘I’. It’s a Roman numeral. This is the number one. Good heavens, is this starting all over? I remember seeing nothing marked on this part of the map. When did these get here? Who’s had access to this?”
“Find the next Roman numeral,” Kepelheim told the men.
Charles had no need to even look. Suddenly, it all made a dreadful sort of sense. “It’s on Columbia Road.”
Reid placed a lamp beside the stained map. “Columbia Road? Not far from Gascoigne, I take it. Yes, there might be a small mark there, although it could also be just a smudge. The map is so stained it’s difficult to make it out clearly. Does anyone have a hand lens?”
Kepelheim reached into his pocket and withdrew a small brass lens. “Will this suffice?” he asked.
Running the lens along the length of the map, the inspector paused at a street on the northwest end of Whitechapel. “It’s there. Two small marks, like the letters ‘II’. The Roman numeral for two. But what does it mean?”
Sinclair felt bile rise to the back of his throat, and he glanced up at his cousin. “It’s my old house. He’s taken her there, Paul. Trent has taken Beth to my home!”
Aubrey spurred into action. “Then, we find her! Everyone to the coaches. We’ve six of them in the Queen Anne mews, and there are several from Drummond House parked in the front. We’ll need a few men to remain here. Baxter, you and Miles are both handy with a shotgun. I’ve a collection of weapons in the west wing. The key to the gun cabinet is in my top bureau drawer. Martin, you ride with the duke. Charles and I shall leave now. Reid can give you the address!”
In a flash, the cousins had armed themselves and flown out the front door, bound for a two-storey house on Columbia Road. “How far is it from here?” Aubrey asked, checking his weapon and making sure he had additional cartridges.
Charles looked grim. “More than half an hour at this pace,” he said as he watched Westminster disappear behind them. “Paul, I bless the fact that Beth chose to go up when she did. If she’d waited until you’d already left, then I
would be alone in this.”
“That was the plan, Charles,” Aubrey answered. “Lorena was supposed to keep me from going with you. This is a trap. You do know that?”
“Of course, it’s a trap,” the detective answered. “But I don’t care. All that matters is Elizabeth. If I die tonight, I intend to save her.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Elizabeth awoke to find herself lying on the floor. Her head ached, her beautiful wedding dress had been torn at the shoulder, and she could barely breathe. Sitting up, the strange room spun as a wave of nausea took hold, causing her to fall back against the bare wood.
“Poor Elizabeth,” a man’s voice said softly from the corner of the room. “Too much champagne?”
Beth fought against the sickness, blinking to clear her vision. Her mind felt numb, but she knew she was not where she belonged.
“I thought this place infinitely appropriate, my dear. Although, your meddlesome knight errant will never make it here in time. I’ve positioned a band of my soldiers to delay him, you see. And if my friend Lorena has succeeded, then that interfering cousin of yours is also occupied. Expect no help there either.”
The room was dark, lit only by the moon, and Beth tried to determine where she now lay. “I know your voice, monster,” she said, pushing against a wall to stabilise her position. “What did you do to me? To my maid?”
“Just a little laudanum for the sweet Alicia. The fair Lorena was good enough to add it to her champagne. But you—well, I could not risk your screaming, so I had to use chloroform on you. I expect your rescuers are on their way, but it’s unlikely they’ll make it past my hybrids. Such a shame. Those fine wedding suits the noisome Mr. Kepelheim created will be torn and bloody soon.”
The Blood Is the Life Page 53