by Lisa Doan
“And,” Mr. Candlewick said, “to imply that Sir Richard had some dark purpose for not attending the dusk-to-dawn croquet party is absurd. Sir Richard does not like to play croquet.”
Henry began to feel more optimistic. Mr. Candlewick was picking apart the Crown’s case.
“And what of this supposed creature?” Mr. Candlewick asked. “Only one person claims to have seen the alleged beast. A footman who believes he has gone mad. It is my experience that when a person tells you they have gone mad, you would do well to believe it.
“And why was Sir Richard riding around in the dark? I will point out that it was just barely dark, not midnight. May a gentleman not appear on horseback after sunset these days without running the risk of being arrested?
“And how did Sir Richard find the boy’s footprint? He was in the cave searching for Red Callahan. Ground shifts over time, so a thing hidden may suddenly come to light. What woman has not lost a thimble and conducted a thorough search, only to conclude that it is well and truly gone? And yet, when it mysteriously appears again … is that the devil’s work, or is that just the nature of lost items?
“And that brings us to the matter of Red Callahan himself. He is a well-known drunkard and there is not a shred of evidence that he is dead. For all we know, he’s sitting in a tavern in Winchester as we speak.
“Further, the idea that Sir Richard Blackstone, wholly unknown in these parts until three years ago, is somehow connected to the kidnapping of William St. John is a ludicrous notion. At the time of the kidnapping, Sir Richard was attending Oxford and had never set foot in this county.
“Finally, I will contend that Mr. Snidefellow, the author of all this poppycock, is merely a rejected lover intent upon vengeance. He sought to woo the duchess and was quite rightly dismissed. He is driven to a fury by Sir Richard’s success in the matter. He has abused his authority as councilman in the most abominable fashion. If there is any evil here, look to Snidefellow for it.”
The duchess sat straight, her lips pressed into a straight line. Henry did not think she liked her private life talked about so publicly. Snidefellow had gone red up to his ears.
The crowd behind Henry was agitated. He leaned back to hear what they were saying.
“Snidefellow and the duchess! That ladder-climbin’ rascal. As if her Ladyship would connect herself to a councilman! I bet he did make the whole thing up outta spite.”
Mr. Candlewick had managed to turn people’s minds in Sir Richard’s favor. The magistrate glanced at Snidefellow and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “What can I do about it?”
All at once, the back of the church was in an uproar. “It’s him! It’s Red! He ain’t dead!”
The magistrate slumped in his chair. Mr. Snidefellow clenched his fists.
Henry stood up to get a better view. Red Callahan stumbled into the church, thin and haggard.
Mr. Candlewick said, “Is this the man who was supposedly murdered? Bring him forward, I demand to question him.”
Red Callahan was hauled to the front of the church and sworn in.
“Please tell this court,” Mr. Candlewick said, “where you have been hiding yourself.”
Red Callahan broke down. In between sobs, he said, “I was walkin’ home from The Buck and Boar, the same walk I done these past twenty years. All of a sudden I see a monstrous spider standin’ on the road. Black and hairy and as big as a house. It had all these eyes starin’ at me and it comes toward me and I ran. The thing chased me through the woods and all the while I was runnin’ I was thinkin’, Red, this has to be the drink. This has to be the tremens giving you these visions. But even though I told myself it weren’t real, it seemed so real that I couldn’t stop myself. I ran and ran ’til I couldn’t run no more. I was lost in the woods and I lay next to a stream all them nights, fearin’ a creature of my own mind. The tremens left me this mornin’ and I found my way out. I swear on the Lord’s name, I’ll never drink another drop of liquor.”
Mary had gone in pursuit of Red after all. The poor fellow, he must have been scared out of his wits. Henry smiled. Snidefellow’s case had just fallen apart.
Snidefellow jumped to his feet. “Blackstone may not have killed Red Callahan, but we have just heard of another creature!”
A man behind Henry snorted and said, “Now we’re to believe in giant spiders? What next? Mice the size of dogs?”
The magistrate banged his gavel. With a heavy sigh, he said, “Having discovered that Red Callahan is not dead, and so was not killed by a padfoot, and having no evidence of what Red really saw that caused him to flee, and having no evidence other than a footprint as to the kidnapping, this court deems that the charges are dis—”
A loud buzzing sound filled the church.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Henry gripped the pew and hoped that buzzing sound wasn’t what he thought it was.
The ponderous housefly flew through the open church doors.
The villagers turned toward the sound. Men shouted and girls screamed. Red Callahan turned pale and cried, “Not another one!” An elderly woman near the front of the church said, “For the love of heaven,” and dropped into a faint.
The fly landed on the pulpit and mechanically washed its face with its long front legs. It rubbed over the two protrusions on the front of its mouth, and then a long tongue rolled out and felt around the top of the pulpit.
The curate crossed himself and backed away from it. Two heavyset farmers left the church and came back wielding shovels. They charged up to the altar, each man taking a side. When they were within striking distance, both men raised their shovels. As their arms swung down to crush the beast, it took to the air. The shovels rang down on the pulpit. The fly buzzed over the villagers’ heads, knocking into walls. The farmers chased it, swinging their shovels and putting holes in the plaster. They cornered it, and with a large splat, it fell to the ground. One of the farmers scooped it up and carried it to the front of the church.
That stupid fly! Henry felt a wave of regret wash over him. He should have done something about the fly. He should have lured it in with honey and trapped it. He should have tried something, other than just hope it had been eaten by a falcon.
The magistrate banged his gavel and shouted, “Order!”
Snidefellow leapt up on the altar. “There! You have your proof! There can be no denying that Sir Richard Blackstone is guilty. A creature from hell has been sent through these very church doors to confirm it.”
The magistrate turned to Mr. Candlewick. “Do you have anything you would say to this?”
Mr. Candlewick looked grave. He rose and said, “Your Honor, I do not know the meaning of that insect. I would ask the court to consider a scientific explanation. Perhaps it is a new species, or it has been affected by some type of corrupted water or food. In any event, there is no more evidence that it is connected to Sir Richard than it is connected to anyone in this church.”
“If you’ve nothing further,” the magistrate said, “I will hear closing arguments on the morrow.” He turned to his constables and said, “Admit that monstrosity to evidence.”
A constable approached Sir Richard to take him back to the jail. Before he allowed himself to be led away, Sir Richard whispered something to the duchess. She glanced in Henry’s direction and nodded her head.
Fitzwilliam leaned over and said, “To the manor. Quickly. We have a mere twenty-four hours to devise a plan.”
In the library, Fitzwilliam and Mr. Candlewick debated the best course of action. Fitzwilliam was all for a prison break and taking Sir Richard abroad. They would flee to Rome until the whole mess could be unraveled. Mr. Candlewick felt that would be ill-advised. He counseled that running to the Continent would present a look of guilt. He proposed that if the decision went against them, he would ride to Winchester and appeal.
The duchess swept into the room. Henry had not heard the door and suspected she had not bothered to knock.
The men leapt to their feet, bu
t the duchess waved them down. “Before Sir Richard was led away,” she said, looking directly at Henry, “he directed me to see you. He gave me the following message: ‘Henry, you are to tell the duchess everything. From start to finish. Everything, with no exceptions.’”
“Everything?” Henry stammered. “Are you sure he meant actually everything?”
“Quite sure,” she said.
“But,” Henry said, glancing at Fitzwilliam, “everything is a lot. Not even Mr. Candlewick knows everything.”
Mr. Candlewick sighed. “Good grief. There’s more?”
“I’m afraid so, sir,” Henry said.
“Well, if any of it will go against Sir Richard, I don’t want to hear it,” the solicitor said. “Henry, perhaps you should step outside with Her Grace while Fitzwilliam and I continue our conference.”
Henry led the duchess to the back garden. She attempted to sit on the low wall encircling the fountain, but Henry shouted, “No! Don’t sit there!”
The duchess sprang up and said, “Why ever not?”
“There are piranhas in there,” he said. “They’ve got sharp teeth and they’ll go for a finger if you get too close.”
The duchess turned to stare at the murky water. “Why does Sir Richard have such a thing in his fountain?”
“Fitzwilliam brought them back from the Amazon and this was the only place to put them,” Henry said. “I’m not sure what he will do with them in winter, though he’s talked about building a giant aquarium for the dining room.”
“Indeed,” the duchess said. She did not look too enthusiastic about the idea.
Henry showed the duchess into the gazebo. She sat on a bench and arranged her gown around her, then stared at Henry in silence.
“You’re certain Sir Richard said I was to tell you all?” Henry asked. “Completely all?”
“All,” she said in a determined tone.
Henry told the duchess everything that had happened, watching her expression closely. She was amused by the idea that Sir Richard had tried to turn a tarantula yellow for her cousin’s birthday. Why he thought the queen would like a tarantula of any color, she couldn’t guess. She was even more amused that the tarantula was called Mary, Queen of Scots. She was less amused when she heard how Sir Richard’s experiment on the tarantula had turned out. Henry hurried on, hoping that if he said everything extremely fast, it wouldn’t sound as bad as it actually was. He ended by assuring her that Mary was safely trapped in the valley beyond the cave, hoping that would end the tale on a high note.
“And that’s it?” she asked.
“That’s it.” Henry had not told her about spotting his father or discovering that his parents had some sort of a connection to Snidefellow. He figured she would not be interested in the problems of a commoner.
“Red Callahan was not having visions from delirium tremens after all. He really did see what he was afraid he’d seen. I don’t know what we’re to do,” she said, twisting a silver bracelet on her wrist. “I had thought I would go to London and petition my cousin, but if the queen discovers there is an unnatural creature wandering around the place, things will go very badly for Sir Richard. She is as superstitious as a gypsy. My second idea was to dismiss Snidefellow, but I would have to give the district council a reason. Now that there is an oversized fly admitted to evidence I don’t dare do it. Our only chance is to make the evidence vanish. But even if we could somehow steal the fly carcass, that tarantula will be found. There has been too much talk about the kidnapping and, in consequence, the cave. Sooner or later someone will go there, find the blockade and open it up.”
Henry was rather surprised that the duchess would consider stealing. She was right, though. Making the evidence vanish was their only hope.
“What are you thinking of?” the duchess asked. “Out with it.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out how the lupuna powder works,” Henry said. “If I’m right, I can return both creatures to their original size.”
“Then we’ve no time to lose. I’m off this instant to change into my riding clothes. I shall meet you out front on horseback. Then, we go to the cave.”
“Wait,” Henry said. “You want to go to the cave?”
“Who else should go but Sir Richard’s fiancée?”
“What about Fitzwilliam and Mr. Candlewick?” Henry asked. “Maybe they should go.”
“Bah,” the duchess said, rising from the bench. “Let those men continue their conference. What we need now is action.”
Henry stared at her.
The duchess smiled. “Did you know that the duke and I once slipped into Paris on a spying mission for the Crown? It was highly dangerous.” She paused, as if lost in memory. Then she said, “We were nearly caught. I quite enjoyed myself.”
The duchess strode away, her silk gown billowing out behind her.
Henry sat for a few moments. He had thought that once he told the duchess everything, she would faint and he would have to revive her with smelling salts. She was related to royalty, which made her practically a princess. From the stories he’d read in Sir Richard’s library, he had been under the impression that while a princess was always kind, she would generally swoon in the face of danger. While she was fainting, the knight would spring into action and save the day. He supposed the stories had got it wrong.
Henry had the lupuna powder and a glove tucked safely in his pocket. He had passed the library on his way to the laboratory to get it, but did not stop to tell the solicitor or Fitzwilliam where he was going. The men were still hotly debating what to do if the verdict went against Sir Richard on the morrow.
The duchess met him on the drive, astride an eighteen-hand chestnut. He supposed that if she had the nerve to get on such a beast, she must be a skilled horsewoman.
Henry had borrowed Real Beauty. He wouldn’t have time to drag Cantankerous out of his stall or spend half the day urging him to move faster. Cantankerous had eyed him darkly when he passed by the stall, and whinnied when he left. If the pony really liked going places, he had a strange way of showing it.
“To the cave,” the duchess said. She wheeled her horse around and spurred him into a canter.
They rode in silence until they passed the post road. Henry took the horses into the trees and tied them off.
Henry led the way up the slope to the clearing in front of the cave. At the entrance, he lit a torch and peered in. The rock wall that he and Sir Richard had built still held.
Stepping through the silk burrow that Mary had left behind, Henry showed the duchess where her son’s footprint had been found. She knelt down and ran her fingers over the dirt, but she did not let herself indulge in any weepiness. She stood up and said, “Tell me about this lupuna tree.”
“The natives that Fitzwilliam traveled with through the Amazon jungle believe the lupuna tree is powerful,” Henry said. “They told Fitzwilliam that if the tree was offended, the person who delivered the insult would be punished. When Fitzwilliam was ill, he leaned against a lupuna tree and the natives were frightened for him. But then, Fitzwilliam was cured instead of harmed. So I thought to myself, why would the tree cure Fitzwilliam instead of turning him into a giant? And then when I accidentally got some powder on Mr. Terrible—”
“Who?”
“The Phyllobates terribilis,” Henry said. “The poisonous frog in Sir Richard’s laboratory.”
“Good grief.”
“Yes, well, Mr. Terrible did not turn into a giant either. He got an aquarium full of crickets, which he happily ate. So Fitzwilliam and the frog went well, and then the tarantula and the fly went … not as well.”
The duchess nodded her head. “And so, why the different results?”
“The only thing I can figure is it has to be intent. Fitzwilliam said he read part of a poem: ‘Mother Earth and Brother Tree, I love thee well, watch over me.’ See? Fitzwilliam paid tribute to the tree. Mr. Terrible was just an innocent bystander; he wasn’t trying to make the tree do anything and I w
asn’t either, as I just accidentally spilled the powder. But Sir Richard was using the tree for his own purposes.”
“So the lupuna tree decided it would teach Sir Richard a lesson?”
“That’s what I think,” Henry said. “And the lesson happened to be the massive growth of the tarantula because it’s the giant lupuna tree. Same thing with the fly.”
“Well, who are we to know what goes on in these foreign places?” the duchess mused. “I have heard there are men in India who can levitate right off the ground. You won’t find an Englishman aimlessly floating around. But now that we have a theory, what will we do about it?”
“I was thinking about throwing some powder on Mary and reciting the poem,” Henry said. “Maybe that would undo everything.”
The duchess was pensive. “While I follow your logic, it seems a somewhat dicey plan to throw powder on a giant spider and then read it a poem.”
“I know,” Henry said. “But it’s my only idea.”
“You would have to get dangerously close to it. You may not succeed.”
“I have to try,” Henry said. “Sir Richard rescued me off the streets, and he’s been very kind, and he gave me my own room that is actually in the house and let me have the smallest puppy and well, he’s the first person to ever …” Henry trailed off, not really knowing how to explain all that Sir Richard had done for him.
“Say no more, Henry,” she said. “I understand it all; you’re a steadfast young man. Now, I did not come to sit idly by. I will distract the creature so that you may approach unnoticed.”
Henry argued against this idea as well as he could. He could not imagine what would happen if the duchess were injured. Or worse, liquefied. But she was decided.
The duchess helped him dismantle the wall until she was covered in dirt from head to toe. Henry began to feel more comfortable around her now that they were working together and she no longer looked so much like a duchess. They removed enough of the stone to create an opening they could squeeze through.