Realms of Stone

by Sharon K Gilbert

  Charles entered the hospital room. It had a single window, which faced north, and contained four beds. Three barefoot women in overcoats sat upon wooden chairs and spoke in whispers from a corner. On one bed, lay a very pale female with bright red hair, the coverlet drawn up to her chin, eyes shut. A second bed held Ida Ross, her strawberry blonde hair loosely braided, her eyes open and watching the detective.

  “Sir,” she whispered, her lungs struggling to work after the smoke-filled escape. “Mr. Sinclair.”

  He sat upon the narrow mattress and took her hand. “Miss Ross, I am so very happy to see you. I’d grown terribly worried after receiving your letter.”

  “I’m sorry for that, sir,” she told him, gasping between words.

  “Don’t try to speak. Dr. MacAlpin found us, and he told me about the duchess. He said that you’ve been very helpful, Ida. Thank you. If there is anything you need, you’re to tell me. Anything at all.”

  “I’m content, sir,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Have you seen him?”

  “Seen whom?”

  “The prince, sir. Did he come?”

  “Do you mean Prince Anatole? No, I’ve not seen him. Did he harm you?”

  She shook her head. “No, sir. He’s been very kind—to both of us. The duchess and me.”

  Her eyes shut for a second, and he could see that she wanted to sleep. “Rest, now, Ida. I’ll visit you again later. And I’m going to place a guard on this door.”

  She closed her eyes, and her breathing grew regular. Sinclair turned to the others. “I’m Charles Sinclair. Were you ladies also living in the castle?”

  The tallest of the three stood and curtsied. “My lord, I’m Katrina Gulin. These are Lila Brodeur and Maybelle Aslanov, the castle’s cooks. Miss Kilmeade sleeps over there. We all lived at the castle.”

  “You served there?”

  “Not Miss Kilmeade, but we three did, sir. I clean a little and help wherever the prince requires it. I’ve served Miss Ross and the duchess as lady’s maid. We’re very worried about the prince, sir. He didn’t come. He always comes if the enemy draws near, but not this time.”

  The cooks began to talk to one another in a mix of French and Russian, and the elder of the two, Maybelle, spoke up. “Is most strange, sir,” she said in a thick accent. “I blame that witch! The countess. The prince warn us that she might be traitor. Forgive me saying, but is strange. I think she bring much bad to us.”

  “Contessa di Specchio?” he asked.

  “Oui! She bad person,” the second cook agreed. “Trés mal!”

  Katrina explained. “The countess lived with the prince off and on for six months, sir. Recently, she began to host visitors that the prince explicitly said were not welcome, and after the last time, His Highness ordered her to leave and never return.”

  “And she’s not been back since?”

  “No, my lord. She has not. How is the duchess?”

  “We don’t know much yet. The doctors are still deciding, but I’m hopeful. Thank you for whatever part you played, Katrina. I’m told that some of your men sustained injuries. What happened?”

  “He came, sir. That bad one. Lord Raziel.”

  Charles felt a chill run down his spine. “We found the body of some reptilian creature outside the castle.”

  “I’ve heard the prince call it an ala, sir. Raziel uses them in battle. They have the ability to transform into any type of creature, making them perfect soldiers. I’ve seen them as wind, rain, human-like beasts, snakes, and ravens.”

  “Ravens?” Charles asked. “Do they speak?”

  “Indeed, my lord, they do. You must beware of their lies, for they are quite convincing.”

  “I can attest to that,” he said. “Thank you. I’ll leave you all to rest. May I speak with you later? And if you need lodgings, please tell Mr. Treves, and I’ll arrange it.”

  “That is kind of you, sir. We hope to stay close to Mr. Blinkmire and Count Riga until they have fully recovered.”

  “They’re in a private ward?”

  “So I’m told, my lord, but we’re not permitted to visit them.”

  “I’ll ask a nurse to bring you word of their condition.”

  He left and shut the door. Once back in the lobby, he left instructions with the sister to deliver news to the women regarding the men. As they waited, Sinclair kept busy speaking to Reid.

  “Anything more on Hemsfield’s murder?” he asked the inspector.

  “Nothing yet. Charles, I’d like to borrow Arthur France, if you can spare him. I’ve no one presently with as much experience, but if you need him to keep watch on the duchess, I’ll find someone else.”

  “No, you can have him for a week. After that, we’ll talk again. He and his wife Brenda are staying in the Haimsbury dower house at present. Once their apartment is finished, they’ll move into the main house, and France will commence his regular duties. Beth can be unpredictable at times, but it’s unlikely she’ll do anything other than sleep for the next few days. If she requires a guardian, I’ll keep watch.”

  “How’s your head?”

  “Pounding, but I manage to ignore it. I’m sure I’ll sleep much better tonight, which should help. Edmund, how well do you know the shop head at T Division, Hammersmith?”

  “That would be Bill Fisher, right? I know him well enough to say hello when we meet up at the Yard. Why?”

  “I’d like to learn more about this castle where Beth was staying. See what Fisher can tell you about the place. Henry MacAlpin, Beth’s doctor, might also know Fisher, if it helps. Henry owns a residential clinic near Fulham, not far from Hammersmith Station House.”

  “MacAlpin,” the inspector repeated. “Is this the same as the Lasberington earls?”

  “Yes. Henry’s the only child, apparently.”

  “Ask Kepelheim about the Lasberingtons. If this is the same person, he’s a very interesting young man, Charles.”

  “How so?”

  “Martin told me once that the earl’s son, Henry, has the ability to see into the spirit realm; somewhat in the way the duchess does.”

  “I wonder if that’s why Romanov drew him into all of this. Where is that Russian? Paul!” he called to his cousin.

  Aubrey had been speaking with a porter near the main doors. “Yes? Is it Beth?”

  “No, not yet. I’d like you to send word to your government contacts and ask if anyone has seen Anatole Romanov in the past two days. There’s an idea growing inside my head, but I require more information to water it.”

  “It might just be your concussion talking, Charles.”

  “I rather think it’s my intuition finally waking up from a week’s slumber. Oh, and have Galton speak with all his contacts. I want every known member of Redwing watched. If anyone so much as sneezes, I want to know it.”

  “You think Hemsfield’s murder is connected to Romanov?”

  “The prince told MacKey that members would begin to die, and less than twenty-four hours later, we find the earl dead. Anatole said the killer would be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, which either means the killer is betraying his fellow members, or else he sits on the inner circle.”

  Aubrey stared, the idea of a traitor slowly seeding itself into his brain. “That is a very dark thought. I’ll make sure every known member is watched, and I’ll wire Deniau to start looking into di Specchio and Trent,” he told his cousin. “Here’s Treves.”

  The weary physician wiped his eyes as he, Salperton, and two fellow surgeons left the hospital room. “Charles, forgive us for making you wait. In a moment, you can visit your wife, but I’d like to speak with you first. In private.”

  Sinclair stepped away from his family and followed Treves into a small registration office, where two porters were arguing over which nursing students were the prettiest.

  “Mr. Cross,
Mr. Davis, if you’d give us a few minutes?” the chief surgeon asked the gabbing men. Davis shut the door as he left with the other porter. “Charles, I’m concerned about the duchess’s condition. There is a complication,” Treves told the detective.

  “Is it her pregnancy?”

  “You already know?” the surgeon asked, obviously relieved. “Honestly, I worried this would be news.”

  “I’ve known about her condition since before the wedding. Is Beth in danger?”

  “No, not at this time, but I want to keep her in hospital for a few days. It’s always a concern when an expectant mother undergoes trauma, but pneumonia can be very problematic. Do we have your permission to keep Elizabeth until Friday at least?”

  “May I not take her home, Fred? I could hire any number of nurses, and we’ve several physicians to call upon. This fellow Salperton’s been watching Beth for the past week, and he’s already enquired about continuing as her physician. I’m inclined to say yes, if she wishes it. I’ve spent far too long without my wife beside me, Fred. I need her.”

  “I understand, Charles, but moving the duchess prematurely is very dangerous.”

  “I see,” he answered. “May I stay here, then? I’ve no wish to be without her, and I think she may be in danger. Regardless of how many officers I post at her door, I would find no peace.”

  “Yes, I’m sure we can accommodate that. I’ll speak with Sister, and have her alert the female staff and porters. Shall I have a cot moved into the room?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “The hospital is already awash with reporters, according to my registering clerk. Everyone wants to know about you and the duchess, which reminds me. I’m to wire the prime minister and the police commissioner.”

  “I’ll take care of both,” he said, shaking the surgeon’s hand. “I’ll have our butler pack a bag for me. I’m not leaving until my wife comes with me.”

  “Then, have him pack enough for a week, to be on the safe side.”

  The two men left the office, and the duke approached Sinclair. “You can see her now, son.”

  Charles entered the quiet room and sat next to his beloved wife, kissing her lips and touching her pale face. “Elizabeth?”

  She didn’t move, but her breathing appeared less laboured than before. “Thank you, Lord,” he whispered, taking her hand. “Beth, I don’t know if you can hear me, but please—please forgive me for not being there when you needed me most. I’ve promised you for so long that Trent would never harm you, and yet he—well, he did. He’s dead, though, Beth. I don’t know if anyone has told you that, but Trent was already dead when we got to the house. Oh, my darling, I thought you might be—that you might have left me, you know? I’d feared that our strange time together inside that other realm might mean you lingered near death. If you ever did leave me, I don’t think I could go on, so you must recover. Promise me, you’ll do that.”

  Her hand moved slightly within his, as if she knew he was there. He struggled with what else to say. If she could hear him, then he must avoid saying anything that might upset her.

  “I’ve got our apartment all ready, darling. I even added the tester bed you wanted, a replica of the one you told me about at Versailles, only I had the furniture maker add a few special touches. And the walls are painted in the shade of blue you selected. I’m not skilled at these things, but Tory chose fabrics to coordinate: upholstery, draperies, cushions, and all that. Your bedchamber gleams with golden touches, and the shelves are lined with your favourite books. Mine is less beautiful, though functional. Oh, and Mary asks about you every day, as does Adele. Your grandfather and Paul are here, and I’m sure both want to come in and say hello. Aunt Victoria will come by later today with Della. Beth, we’ve all missed you so very much. I’ve missed you.”

  Tears slid down his cheeks, as he continued. “Beth, I’ve never been so terrified in my entire life. When I awoke and discovered that you weren’t there, I feared the worst. We had no way of knowing what happened to you. When Paul and I reached the house tonight and saw the fire, I thought that you…that you… But you’re here now, aren’t you? You’re safe, and soon you’ll be well. Beth? Darling, can you hear me?”

  She slept quietly, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. He lay his head upon her stomach, listening. “I love you,” he whispered to his unborn children. Sinclair lingered beside the bed, content simply to look at her, and then at last, he kissed her lips and left, softly closing the door.

  “How is she?” the earl asked, a note in his hand.

  “Sleeping, but I talked to her a little, and I’m much encouraged to see her sweet face. You’ve learned something. What?”

  Aubrey smiled. “That’s the cousin I’ve missed these past few days. This message is from Sergeant Williams. A man called at Leman Street half an hour ago, entreating you to speak with him. He claims he knows about Hemsfield and insists the murderer is a Russian magician. The note mentions a Tarot card called ‘the hanged man’.”

  “What has that to do with Hemsfield?” Charles asked.

  “The positioning of the body and the carving on his chest,” Stuart explained. “The way one leg was bent and tied behind the other knee to form an upside down ‘4’. The twelfth card in the Tarot’s major arcana is known as the ‘hanged man’, and the figure looks just like Hemsfield. The card signifies treason, Charles. Redwing’s sending a message to all its members.”

  Sinclair added this information to the other factors in the equation. “Do you think the mention of a Russian magician refers to Romanov?”

  “No idea, but this man asks us to meet him at a nearby hotel. It’s neither the finest nor the safest, but it offers food. We can eat whilst there.”

  Charles hated to leave, but as Beth would likely sleep for hours, he decided to join his cousin. “Are you carrying your ICI warrant card?”

  “Do I need it?” the earl asked.

  “Only if we must arrest a foreign national.”

  “I see what you mean. Yes, I have it, but several other warrant cards as well—in a variety of names.”

  “Now, why doesn’t surprise me?” the detective laughed, turning to the duke. “James, Paul and I must see to a matter that may help to solve a Yard case. If Beth awakens, tell her I’ll return in a few hours. Edmund, will you join us?”

  The inspector’s eyes were rimmed with red from lack of sleep, but Reid found reason to smile. “Now, that you and the duchess have found one another again, the world feels right. I’ll return to Leman Street and let you and the earl handle this one. Stop by when you’re finished. If this solves the Hemsfield case, then you’ll make me happier yet.”

  Charles Sinclair felt energised for the first time in many days. “Cousin, since we are not doctors, let us be detectives and see what this Russian has to tell us. Where are we to meet him?”

  “Gloucester Street. A placed called Porter’s Inn. It’s only a short walk from here, actually. The sun’s out at long last. Let’s walk.”

  The pair of cousins turned out into the morning bustle, looking like brothers, their fine clothing and polished appearance causing every head to turn at their passage. A few recognised Sinclair and waved or even bowed.

  “I wish they’d stop doing that. It feels very strange,” the marquess told his cousin as they journeyed southward. “How did you know Gloucester was a short walk from the London? This is my beat, not yours.”

  Aubrey laughed, the cold breeze blowing his long hair. “I’ve made it my beat for years. Even before William’s crimes in ’79, I often worked these back alleys and crosscuts. Redwing operates everywhere, but London is its heart, and it’s to the dark rookeries of the east that their crows gather. After that night in ’79—after Elizabeth came into your life—I made the borough a second home. I lived on the docks for a few months, in disguise, of course, and I daresay that even you failed to recognise me. One dark
night, I was brought into your cells, and you said not a word.”

  Sinclair stopped and stared at his cousin. “Surely not! I’d spent enough time around you by then, that I’d have recognised you anywhere, even in a disguise.”

  Aubrey laughed. “Apparently, not. Look through your records for a longshoreman named Liam Dorsett, a rascally Scotsman found passing snide amongst your Whitechapel citizenry.”

  “Dorsett? That name is familiar. How is it you escaped our tender care, Mr. Dorsett? Counterfeiting is a very serious crime. Did we not send you to Newgate for your unsociable activities?”

  Paul laughed. “Yes, in fact, you did, but the able Mr. Dorsett found an exit that very night. One day, I’ll tell you how I escaped, but for now, we’re nearing our destination. It’s quicker to go through here.”

  They passed through a shadowy crosscut, littered with debris and scuttling rats. A man and woman haggled over the cost of a ‘quick one’ near a mildewed brick wall, whilst a scrawny fellow in a threadbare coat sold gypsy curses. A pot-bellied sailor tried to stop Charles, offering to sell him a quivering Chinese boy for six pounds. Sinclair showed his CID warrant card, and the entire assembly of discarded humanity fled the narrow enclosure like a flock of startled birds.

  The cousins emerged onto Gloucester, where a boarding house faced east. Above the door, a weathered sign read, ‘Porter’s Inn’ on one side and ‘Rooms by the Hour’ on the other. A card in the window offered special rates to sailors. The small hotel appeared to have been a fashionable address once, where seamen and travelling businessmen stayed a few nights whilst docked. Much of merchant life had changed once the expanding rail system made the unloading and transportation of imported goods efficient, cheap, and swift. Many of the East End dock owners now found their account books running red with debt, and a few threatened closure, adding to the stresses on seafaring men, hauliers, and longshoremen alike.

  Passing through the weathered door, Charles noticed a woman playing with two young boys in what appeared to be a connected kitchen. In the main room, beside a warm charcoal fire, a trio of rough-looking men told ribald jokes as they passed the time in a game of cards.