“Actually, you’d be the Commissioner of Intelligence for the Home Office, but as such, you’d have authority over the CID.”
Sinclair shook his head. “It makes no sense, but if Beth agrees to it, then I’ll be happy to say yes. If that happens, then you’ll need to see to the day to day running of the ICI. I’ll tell Salisbury that my acceptance hinges on the condition that the foreign and war offices no longer take you as their own. I need you here.”
“Shall I salute, sir?” the earl teased.
“Only during working hours.”
As they neared the back entrance to the mansion, Aubrey turned to a different topic. “One thing, though. If I do have to leave England for any reason, I’d ask a favour.”
“Anything. Just name it.”
“Keep watch on Della for me. She loves you dearly, and I think you love her as well.”
“She’s like my own daughter,” Charles told his cousin. “I couldn’t love her more, if she were.”
“Then be a father to her, Charles. I’d considered telling her the truth about her mother—about me—but I’ve left it too late, I think. She sees me as her big brother, and I’m content with that. I’m not really parent material, anyway. Some men are natural fathers. You’re one. I’m designed to spend nights in doorways without a coat. My career leads me into dangers that I prefer remain separate from my daughter. If she’s in your keeping, then I know she’s safe. And loved.”
“Whatever you want, Paul, but Della would understand. She’d love you no matter what.”
He shrugged. “Then, let me continue as her brother.”
They entered the back doors, surprising the servants, who’d been in the process of closing down the kitchen. The housekeeper was holding a glass of wine in her plump hands, and the butler had doffed his livery coat and loosened his tie.
“Sir! We had no idea you and his lordship were planning to call,” Miles explained, hastily bowing and simultaneously tying his tie whilst reaching for the coat.
Paul instantly put them at ease. “Stay as are, please! Mr. Miles, we did not warn you because we decided last minute to call, and it seemed easier to come through the park. Lord Haimsbury and I are here to do a bit of detective work. We plan to take a look at the mirror the duke stored in the garden shed, but first we’d like to examine the duchess’s apartment. Is it locked?”
“No, sir. Shall I go with you?”
“We can find it on our own, but if the shed is locked, we’d appreciate the key. Do you mind if we use the back stairs?”
Miles looked surprised, but he followed orders. “Not at all. You’re sure, you don’t require my assistance?”
“No, I don’t believe we do,” Charles replied. “Please, you and Mrs. Meyer return to your evening,” he told them as he and his cousin started up the servants’ staircase.
Once at the landing, Charles paused a moment to find his bearings. “It’s this way, I think. Yes, all right, now I know where I am. This corridor leads to the guest library and main gallery. We turn there, continue past the ballroom and then right. From there, up a half flight to Beth’s apartment. Is that it?”
Paul nodded. “The house is a bit of maze, but yes, that’s it.”
In five minutes, they reached the top of the short staircase, and the two cousins turned into the hallway that led to Beth’s private rooms. Charles noticed the door to her bedchamber looked new. “Has the door been replaced?” he asked, turning the knob.
Paul followed Charles through. “You don’t remember? We had to break it down to enter. Miles had a carpenter here the next day to install a new one.”
The duchess’s chamber felt cold, for the fire hadn’t been lit in many days. “I miss her,” Charles declared. “The room still smells like Beth.”
“Raspberry and vanilla,” Paul said, wistfully. “I’ve always loved that scent. The mirror stood just there,” he said, pointing to the eastern window, “which put it directly opposite the door. When Beth came up, she must have found her maid right away, but Trent surely stopped Beth from calling out. Chloroform, you think?”
“Most likely.”
“Alicia told us that she felt dizzy when she got up here. The girl had one glass of champagne, no more. Someone must have drugged it.”
“A reasonable assumption. We’ll need to determine who.”
“Lorena, I should think.”
“Possibly. After we broke into the room, what then?” Charles asked. “The head injury’s left my memory rather fuzzy.”
The earl sat on the edge of the bed. “We found the note. There was an envelope attached to the mirror’s frame. It had your name on it in red ink.”
“Yes, I think I recall that. It was from Trent. He told us to follow the map.”
The earl nodded. “And we found Reid’s map in the library, where Martin had stored it. There were coded numbers on it, indicating Ripper murders, but also others.”
“The Victoria Park Killings,” Charles said. “Yes, I remember that now, which is how we discovered the number next to my house. When did Trent put the note on the mirror? Before or after?”
“Let’s find out,” Aubrey told his cousin, pulling the bell rope. “I hate to bother Miles, but he’s the one to ask.”
In a few minutes, the butler knocked on the open door frame. “Yes, my lord?”
“Miles, we’re sorry to interrupt you again, but the earl and I are puzzled about this mirror,” the marquess answered.
“The mirror we moved, sir?”
“Yes, the one that stood here on my wedding night. It was not here before the wedding. Do you know anything about its arrival?”
The butler thought hard about the problem. “Well, sir, I believe the mirror arrived that afternoon. It stood inside a large crate and upon the exterior were instructions to remove the gift and install it next to the east window in my lady’s chamber. The orders were quite specific, insisting the mirror face the door. I assumed the giver wished to make sure the duchess noticed it right away when she returned that evening. Is it important, my lord?”
“It might be,” Charles said. “Was there an envelope already attached to the mirror’s frame when it was unboxed?”
“An envelope? I don’t recall, sir. We received many gifts that day, although most went to your new home. We usually sent them on, but this one instructed as I have said. Is there any news of the duchess?”
“Nothing more, but she will be found. I’m sure of it. The earl and I are searching for anything here that might offer a clue. Do you have the original crate still? Or the instructions?”
“Mr. Frame placed the mirror inside the crate and removed it to the shed. If there is an envelope attached, or if the instructions remain, I cannot say. Dr. MacPherson supervised its removal. He might offer more information. Shall I send for Frame, my lord?”
“No, if I wish to speak to him, I can do so tomorrow. That’s all for now. I appreciate your help. Oh, but we will need the key to the shed. We’ll come back down through the kitchen and fetch it on our way out. Thank you, Miles.”
The butler bowed and shut the door.
Charles stood in front of the window, picturing the mirror in his mind as he sorted through his imperfect memories of that night. “All right, the instructions specified that the mirror should face the door, but was it to make certain she saw it?”
“Perhaps,” Paul answered, crossing to the door and facing Charles. His eyes grew round. “I have it! What if the position of the mirror is part of a spell? Remember that Lorena said the mirror is a gateway to a realm called sen-sen? Perhaps, in order to cast the spell correctly and become this doorway, the mirror must reflect an actual door. Lorena said the second mirror is in a closet, which also has a door.”
“Yes, I follow. Mirrors. What am I forgetting? Something Beth said.” He paced a moment or two, his eyes on the sky outside. The white
owl circled lazily over the park, as though scanning the area. “I remember! At the Kensington Ball last week. We’d thought Anatole had taken her, but it was actually Raziel disguised as his brother. When we found Beth at last, she had fainted, but she said some very odd things on the drive home. She said something about seeing visions in a mirror—wolves and children. But she also mentioned Trent. Is it possible that these visions caused her to faint?”
“If she saw Trent in a mirror, then perhaps he had access to worlds beyond our own. We need to learn more about these pathways, and we must find the second mirror.”
“If it’s at the Empress, we’ll find it tomorrow,” Sinclair told his cousin. “Assuming it hasn’t been removed.”
“Meg isn’t likely to welcome me back, but I’m sure she’ll allow you to enter, and not only because of your warrant card. Madam Hansen has a soft spot for you, Charles.”
He smiled. “Yes, I know. She tried to seduce me—several times. Look, it’s close to eleven. We should leave and let Miles get to bed. We’ll fetch the shed key and look at the mirror, although, I may stay and talk with Lorena before heading back, Paul. You can go on home.”
“And leave you here on your own? Not a chance. We came together. We return together.”
Charles looked at the earl as if puzzling out a riddle. “You think me incapable of making it home on my own?”
“I think you’re a target, Charles, which means you’re in danger, but you’re also recovering from a concussion. Besides, I like your company, so no arguing with me.”
“You think I require a bodyguard?”
“Perhaps you guard me?” the earl countered.
Charles laughed. “Let’s just say we guard each other from now on.”
As promised, the sen-sen mirror stood securely inside its crate, bound with a chain, pages of scripture, and still showing the cross-shaped oil stain where MacPherson and Kepelheim anointed it. They found neither instruction nor red-inked envelope anywhere inside, but the two cousins decided to have the crate moved to another location as soon as possible.
Charles and Paul relocked the shed, kept the key, and then returned to Haimsbury House. They found the duke snoring in a corner chair of the drawing room, kept company by Beth’s two dogs—also snoring. Charles roused the sleeping Scotsman and the dogs, briefed the human regarding the mirror, sent the animals upstairs to guard Adele, and then bid the duke farewell for the night.
Once Drummond’s coach passed through the Haimsbury gate, Charles yawned. “Time for bed at last, I think. My brain wants to sleep, but my head pounds,” he sighed as the earl walked his cousin to the master apartment.
“Emerson put a vial of white powder beside your bed. It’s medicine. Add a teaspoon to a glass of water, and drink it all. He made me promise.”
“If it’s to make me sleep, I prefer not to take it,” he warned his cousin. “If word comes about Beth, I want to easily awaken.”
“No sleeping powder, just a pain reliever. It’s made from willow bark.”
“If it helps my headache, then I’m glad for it. Goodnight, Paul.”
The earl shut the door, leaving Charles to face the quiet apartment another night without Beth by his side. He changed into a silver and blue striped night shirt, staring at himself in the large mirror inside the bath. “Mirrors,” he said to himself, his hand touching the glass. It grew warm beneath his skin, and an odd sensation shivered through his body. He thought he saw Elizabeth’s eyes within the glass, and dread clawed at his heart.
“Lord, please, tell me that my wife escaped that awful place!”
The idea that she remained trapped inside the stone realms drained him of energy, and his legs buckled. Charles caught himself on the edge of the porcelain sink, gripping it with both hands to keep from collapsing, but his hands had very little strength. Just as his fingers started to slip, a pair of friendly arms caught him.
“Gotcha!” It was Stuart, wearing only trousers and a shirt. “I decided to come back and make sure you took the powder. It’s a good thing, too,” he told Sinclair. “Steady on, Cousin. Lean on me.”
Aubrey helped his friend into the bedchamber and started to guide him to the bed, but Sinclair refused. “No, not yet. I can’t face it, Paul. Sit with me for a little, won’t you?”
“If you insist,” the earl agreed, helping him to the sitting area. “Dizzy? Shall I send for Emerson?”
“No, I just need a minute. The spell will pass.”
“Charles, you must give yourself time to heal.”
“Physically or emotionally?”
“Both. Look, Charles, Beth will return to you. I refuse to believe that the Lord will keep you parted for long. Perhaps, there’s a reason why she’s still missing.”
“What might that be?”
“She may be recovering. The evidence I found at your old house shows that Trent tried to... Well, he tried to hurt her. If she left the house without her wedding clothes, then we have to believe she had help. Perhaps, Romanov told the truth. He may indeed have her.”
“But if did he take Beth, why not bring her home? I’m still unable to sort through it all.”
“Discerning the prince’s motives will keep you awake for weeks, but since Lorena had already gone to bed tonight and asked not be disturbed, we’ll have to leave it until tomorrow to learn more from her. I’ll stop by and speak with her first thing.”
“I’ll go with you, and then after, we’ll call at the Empress.”
Paul sighed, his face revealing an unquiet mind. “I’d rather you stayed here. Let me handle the search.”
“It’s no easier for you than for me, Paul. You love her just as much as I do. I know it tears at your heart as well.”
“I’ll think about it, once we find her,” the earl answered, picturing the ice block. “Now, go to sleep. I’ll help you into bed.”
“I can get there on my own.”
“Probably, but allow me to make sure you don’t collapse again. If not to satisfy me, then do it for Beth.”
Sinclair smiled. “Very well. For Beth.” He leaned on Aubrey’s broad shoulder until reaching the bed. Once beneath the quilts, Charles pointed towards a tall bookcase to the right of the marble mantelpiece. “There’s a red leather box on the third shelf. Could you bring it to me?”
Paul fetched the box and set it on the bed. “More of Beth’s journals?”
“Yes, I’ve not finished them. If I cannot have Beth here, then her words offer the next best thing.”
“I pray you find sleep, Charles,” Stuart said gently.
“I’ll sleep once she’s home. Goodnight, Paul. And thank you.”
The earl shut the door. Sinclair lifted the lid to the beautiful box. Inside, he found stacks of letters, written by Elizabeth to her grandfather through the years. Charles had read all the letters many times over, but Victoria had added several journals to the collection. Since turning six, Elizabeth had faithfully recorded her thoughts into embossed leather books, organised by year, and Charles removed the diaries written whilst she lived in France. He’d made it through many of the entries already and marked where he’d left off with a scarlet ribbon.
29 August, 1885
It’s been over a year since I left London and still no word from Charles. I’ve written to Grandfather, but he will not tell me whether or not he posted my letter. I begin to doubt that he did, for surely Charles would write, if for no other reason than to tell me that he is still my friend but seeks nothing more from me. He’s too kind a man to ignore me.
His wife Amelia remains in Ireland, I think, but it’s possible that they’ve reconciled. Would he write to me if they have? Perhaps not. Victoria says I must put him from my thoughts, but it is so very difficult. I cannot explain it, but I feel more connected to Charles than to any other person on this earth.
God, grant me strength to keep on hoping
!
15 December, 1885
Tomorrow, I leave for Branham to celebrate the Christmas season with my darling Mr. Baxter, Mrs. Alcorn, and so many others. Whilst there, I might take the train into London and shop for gifts. Perchance, if my carriage strays into east London, should I visit Leman Street?
No, that is too forward and pushy. I must wait, and let him decide.
But it is torture! If Charles would only write! I am sorely tempted to write to him again, regardless of what Victoria tells me. She called me a foolish woman and advises me to set my sights on Paul. He is my future, she tells me. If loving Charles is foolishness, then I shall remain a fool until the day I die.
3pm – Without any warning, Paul arrived at the château. He claims he’s been working in Paris (although he’d said nothing previously), and he will travel with me to Branham and remain until I leave for Scotland in January. I suspect Tory contacted him. She either reads minds or reads my journal. I should be cross, but I know she has my best interests at heart. However, I do wish she wouldn’t interfere! I love my darling knight, but I can no longer imagine being his wife as I once did. Is that cruel of me?
Paul leaves for America in February, but he’s promised to return by my birthday. I shall be eighteen next April. If Paul proposes before I learn Charles’s true feelings, I simply cannot say yes to him, but will it break my wonderful cousin’s heart if I refuse him? Truly, I do not know the answer. Paul loves me, but I do not think he is in love with me.
Oh, my Captain! Please, my love, write!
16 February, 1886
Paul left for America today. Grandfather is also going away on a diplomatic trip soon, and I’ll return to France, where I shall be isolated in the countryside!
Charles, my darling, wonderful friend, if only you were here. I know we are to be together. I know it! If only, you knew it, too. Shall I sneak away to London to find you? Would you think me young and foolish, as Victoria and Paul do?
I cannot sleep, I cannot eat. I dream of you each night. This is torture!
8, April, 1886
I am eighteen today, and I am doomed to marry Paul. I try try to keep cheerful about it. I only cry most nights now, not all of them. I shall do my best to be kind to my cousin, for he has shown me a new side to himself. It is odd, for the appearance of a visitor has given rise to a new aspect of Paul’s affections.
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