“I’m not sure I can, but I’ll try. Tory, will you stay with me?”
“Of course.”
The door stood ajar, and two black dogs entered, followed by the brown and white Parson’s Terrier.
“Bella! Briar! Do stay down now,” Victoria scolded the Labradors. “Beth, you must discipline your dogs.”
Despite Victoria’s reprimand, all three animals leapt onto the wide bed and formed a protective ring around the duchess.
“Charles wants them in here, Tory,” the duchess answered. “They’ve formed a sort of friendship. Rather like a canine inner circle.”
“Yes, so I see. Henry, I hear voices. See if that’s Charles, will you?”
Salperton left the room, and the formidable lady turned back to her niece. “Tell me what really happened downstairs. What caused you to faint?”
“I’m not sure. It’s probably nothing, Tory. Henry’s been very helpful. Don’t scold him. With Emerson away, I need a doctor nearby.”
“Yes, but not one who’s in love with you,” she told Elizabeth plainly. “Anyone can see it! Surely, Charles realises it.”
“Henry isn’t in love with me. He’s my friend. That’s all.”
The door opened again, and Charles Sinclair entered.
“It’s time you got home, Charles Robert!” Victoria exclaimed. “Tell your wife to rest. She had no business paying calls today. She’s only just out of hospital.”
“Why, thank you for the lovely welcome, Tory. If I might have a moment alone with my wife, I’ll be happy to tell her that.”
Victoria Stuart shrugged. “You are hopeless! Come, Henry. Tell me about your family and how it is we’re cousins. I’ll see you downstairs, Charles. See that she eats.”
The two left the bedchamber, and Sinclair sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the dogs. “I see your canine protectors keep watch. What happened in my absence? You seemed well when I left this morning.”
“Nothing happened. I’m merely tired. I hate to admit it, but Tory may be right. Perhaps, I shouldn’t have called on Cordelia this afternoon. It’s worn me down, I think.”
“Something is wearing you down, but not any condolence call. There’s something you’re not willing to speak aloud,” he whispered. “Shall I stay here with you?”
“Of course not, Charles. You’ve work to do, I’m sure.” She stared at the food. “I really cannot eat this. Would you ask someone to take it away?”
“Nothing at all?” he asked, touching the curling hair that fell along her face. “Not even one bite? Our children need nourishment, darling. If this doesn’t appeal, then let me find food that will. If it’s in the city, I’ll fetch it for you.”
“Please, Charles, I just want to sleep. I’ll eat it later.”
He took the tray and set it on a low table near the fireplace. “I’ll come up as soon as we’re finished, little one.”
He kissed her cheek, and she slid down into the quilts. The dogs moved closer, and before Charles had shut the door, the human and her three furry companions had all fallen asleep.
Chapter Forty
“Henry, I’d like to take you on a tour, if you’ve the time. We can talk as we progress,” Charles told his second cousin as the two of them entered the library of Haimsbury House. “The other members won’t start arriving for half an hour, I shouldn’t think. You remember Martin, of course. Tailor, spy, and consummate philosopher.”
Kepelheim stood near the room’s carved Languedoc marble fireplace, a glass of claret in his right hand. The tailor’s ample cheeks rounded as he set the glass on the mantle and extended his hand to greet the newcomer. “Good to see you again, Lord Salperton. I look forward to sharing all those talents with you. Also, I’d hear more about your own talents. You have a unique view of the world.”
“Politically, you mean, Mr. Kepelheim?”
“Martin, please. In fact, you used to call me Uncle Marty when you were small. I’ve never had children of my own, but I do love them. No, the viewpoint I mean is a spiritual one. I’ve often wondered if the blood confers such abilities. As with your mother, you see into the hidden realms.”
“I would happily give that gift to another, if the Lord allowed it,” the viscount answered, “however, he has yet to do so. If that strange gift is useful to the inner circle, then I’m happy to share it. Charles tells me that you helped prove his inheritance rights.”
“I played a small role,” the shorter man answered. “Charles, did I overhear an offer to take our viscount on a tour? I’d love to come along, if I’m not intruding.”
“I’d hoped you’d be willing to go with us, Martin,” the marquess said. “Shall we begin with the ballroom?”
“Are you sure?” Kepelheim asked warily. “That room has very dark associations, as you’ll recall.”
“That’s precisely why I want Henry to see it. If his vision is as clear as I believe, then I want to know if any shadows linger in that room. We’ll stop by Mrs. Partridge’s office and borrow her keys, and then take the lift from there.”
After a short conversation with the housekeeper and a slow ride upwards, the three men arrived at the ornate doors to the grand ballroom. To his surprise, Charles found them unlocked.
“Now, that is strange, if not disturbing. I’ve left strict orders that this room remain locked at all times. The only time it’s to be entered is for cleaning. Baxter’s completely reliable, which makes it all the more odd. I’ll ask him about it later,” he said pushing open both doors. “Shall we?”
Henry stood his ground, remaining in the open doorway. “Perhaps, we should stay out here.”
Charles had already stepped into the room, and he turned back to engage his guest. “Why?”
Kepelheim remained with the viscount. “Henry, what do you see?”
“Something that makes no sense,” Salperton answered. “Tell me what you see, Charles. Describe the room to me.”
Haimsbury found the behaviour puzzling. “It’s a typical ballroom, I suppose, though I’ve not visited all that many, and all of them within the last two months. Three-storeys high with murals covering nearly every square foot of the ceiling—the parts that aren’t stained glass, of course. A hundred feet wide, I imagine. Half again as long. There are six gilded mirrors along each side of the room, and light is provided by equally grand chandeliers, six in all. The floor is the same red and white marble tile in many of the rooms elsewhere.”
“Rouge Languedoc and white breccia,” Kepelheim said. “Your grandfather visited Versailles in his youth, and vowed that he would one day build a mansion to match it in London. On a smaller scale, he accomplished just that. Few men in England could have afforded such extravagance, but your grandfather never put a foot wrong when it came to business. The ninth marquess took an already vast fortune and multiplied it many times over. You might say this house is his epitaph.”
“So I’ve read,” Henry said, “but that is not what I see. Not even close. The room is hardly gilded, and the mirrors are not at all ordinary. They look more like unfriendly doors made of shining black. The walls are covered in vines, and the ceiling glass is broken and open to the sky. I am sorry,” Henry added, turning away, “I cannot bear to look any longer! The entire room is filled with spirits!”
Sinclair could see none of this, but he wondered if these spirits might present themselves to him, if he crossed to the centre.
“Charles, go no further!” the viscount shouted as he rushed after his friend. “Stop!”
The marquess paused. “Why?”
“There are shadows all about the floor, and a great serpent with vertical scales upon its spine writhes beneath your left foot. This room is host to darkness beyond anything I’ve ever seen before!”
“Who are you?” Charles asked the room’s inhabitants.
A whisper kissed his cheek, and a woman’
s voice answered. “An old friend. Remember?”
The chill of death ran through his body, and Sinclair felt her hands upon his shoulders, caressing his arms, his chest, thighs, touching him everywhere.
He leapt backwards, nearly stumbling into Salperton.
“What is it?” Kepelheim asked.
“Nothing. No one.”
Sinclair left the room quickly and shut the massive doors, his heart pounding. “Martin, there’s a parlour intended as a private room for ball attendees next door. I need to sit.”
The two men helped Sinclair to the drawing room, and Charles took a seat in one of several dozen large chairs that lined a gallery wall, hung with portraits of previous marquesses.
Henry sat beside him. “What startled you?” he asked his second cousin.
“A voice I’ve not heard in years. It may have been my imagination. We’ll end the tour, I think. Sorry.”
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Look, Charles,” Salperton told him, “I’ve no wish to see what I do, but that room needs to be cleansed.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Martin, would you speak with MacPherson about anointing it after this evening’s meeting?”
“Of course, my friend. Shall I fetch you a brandy?”
“No. I just need a minute.” Sinclair glanced at Salperton. “You’ve seen these things your whole life? How do you remain sane, Henry?”
“Faith. My mother taught me that faith in Christ is our primary weapon against these creatures. It may sound simple, but then God’s truths are simple, whilst also complex beyond our comprehension. Even given an eternity, scientists would never plumb their depths, yet a small child accepts them through faith.”
Sinclair smiled. “I said it at the hospital, and I repeat it now. The Lord fills our chairs with his choices, his warriors.”
“Hardly that,” Henry argued, “but it’s kind of you to consider me such. You and Aubrey are the warriors. If I’m anything, it’s a humble squire.”
“Shall we return to the library, or have you regained enough vigour to continue the tour?” Kepelheim asked his friend.
“I’m much better, thank you, Martin. Let’s leave this area and explore the portraits in the long gallery. It’s not far.”
The trio left the ballroom antechamber and passed into the east wing of the rambling mansion, but once they’d turned the corner, the ballroom doors shivered and then opened, as though something had just left and now walked freely within the house.
Chapter Forty-One
7 pm – Haimsbury House Library
Darkness had fallen across the elegant chimneys of Westminster, and many of the regal borough’s citizens dressed for an evening out, gossiped about the latest string of fires and high-profile murders, or shared a drink and a smoke at their exclusive gentlemen’s clubs. Unbeknownst to these preoccupied Londoners, inside one of the largest and newest private mansions, the members of England’s most important organisation gathered to discuss matters that would affect every man and woman alive.
Haimsbury House library soared two storeys high, illuminated by a gleaming, four-foot-wide, cut crystal chandelier. Six matching wall sconces mirrored the chandelier’s design; each with multi-faceted rock crystals suspended from their gilded and branching arms. The library contained no windows to distract from the structural beauty of the interior. Pedimented, mahogany bookshelves lined the north and south walls, each filled to bursting with classics, biographies, histories, Bibles, novels, dictionaries, and row upon row of journals and diaries.
The fireplace and entry walls contained no shelving but were decorated in brightly coloured murals that depicted scenes from Sinclair family history. This vibrant panorama radiated outwards from a curious central image, positioned just to the left of the fireplace. The spectacular interplay of oil and plaster had always fascinated visitors, and many of the members now offered theories as to its meaning.
“Is that Cumbria?” a tall man in a frock coat asked. “I don’t recall ever seeing it looking like this.”
“I believe it’s the area where Rose House now stands, but long before the house was built,” observed a smaller man in a hand-tailored coat of dark wool. “Ah, here are our stragglers! Edmund, do come in. I believe our marquess is about to open our fellowship,” Kepelheim informed them. “Come, Dr. Whitmore, you and I must find chairs before all the sturdier ones are taken.”
The men and women of the circle had been enjoying the magnificent space and sharing stories of their interactions with the man who now led them, when the ringing of a handbell called them to order.
“If you’ll all, please, take your seats,” their leader called. “We’ve a great many items to cover before we enjoy supper.”
Edmund Reid and Arthur France took the last two chairs at the table, and Charles Sinclair called for the doors to be shut. “If you’ll do the honours, Mr. Baxter, we’ll begin.”
The impeccably dressed butler bowed. “I shall be pleased to serve, my lord. If someone knocks, shall I answer?”
“I imagine so, but as we’re all in here, I doubt anyone will. Good evening, everyone. I’m pleased to call us to order in my family’s house, and now that my wife is in it, it begins to feel like a real home. Uncle James, would you lead us in prayer?”
Every head bowed, and Drummond petitioned the Lord. “Saviour of all who call upon your name, we do so, now, with humble hearts and minds. Not long ago, a day of rejoicing turned into a night of great despair, and it looked as though we might lose both Charles and Elizabeth, but through all of that anguish, you were ever in control. Since that dreadful night, we’ve come through the darkness into a bright and glorious morning. Charles has recovered, our girl is home, and our family continues to expand with the addition of a beloved cousin. We know that you brought Henry to us, and I personally want to thank you for using him to keep Beth alive.”
He paused, and though everyone’s eyes were shut, all were certain that the stalwart duke was weeping. Strong hands clutched at those of their uncle, and both Paul and Charles silently prayed for James Stuart.
Unbeknownst to the gathering of men and women, a white owl perched directly above them upon the steeply pitched, slate roof. Whilst the duke prayed, its head tilted to one side, as though listening. As the heartfelt prayer rose up to God’s throne, the owl’s great wings reached out into the chilly evening air, and it began to circle the mansion, scanning the mortal and immortal realms for signs of intruders.
After many moments of silence, Drummond continued.
“It’s all too much for me sometimes, my Lord! Too much! I’ve seen many miracles in my lifetime, but this one reaches into the depths of my soul! I thought I’d lost them both, and I think it might have killed me, but that was never your plan, was it? These hands, these wonderful hands within my own bring me more joy than any man’s heart can hold. Thank you, Lord! Thank you. I ask your forgiveness for my lack of faith, for my fears. We few here tonight form a ring around Beth and Charles and Paul. These three young people bear the brunt of the enemy’s attacks, and I ask that you prepare all of us to protect them. Though we fail you daily, we ask that you might turn even our failures into victories, according to your perfect will. We ask that your Spirit overshadow our gathering and guide us as we seek to understand the wiles of the human and spiritual enemies of your kingdom. We seek neither power nor glory for ourselves, but submit to your will alone. May our words honour you, may our hands serve you, and may our conversation ever and always seek to praise you. In Christ’s blessed and most powerful name we ask it. Amen.”
“Amen,” all echoed.
James wiped his eyes, a weary smile spreading across his lean face. “Don’t worry, son. They’re happy tears,” he told Sinclair. “Very happy.”
The detective stood behind his uncle’s chair. “My friends, this wonderful man is our patriarch. When I first met the duke years ago, I insta
ntly loved him. Who doesn’t? Discovering that he is my uncle and Paul my cousin marked a turning point in my journey. James serves as my mentor, and Paul is my dearest friend. Our family bears a burden and a mission, one fraught with danger and disappointment, but also filled with wonder and countless joys. I consider myself living inside a miracle—a true miracle!—and no matter what darkness may overshadow, I know that our Lord’s light will never cease to shine.”
“That’s right, son,” James Stuart answered. “It’s a joy to look at these two faces, these two cousins. Both love the Lord and serve him with all their hearts, souls, and minds. I ask you, can any man be richer?” He turned to Sinclair. “Son, I’m grateful to our King for his protection upon you and Elizabeth. My experiences in this long war pale to your own, and you’ve lived less than half my years. Yet, I fear your greatest tests still lie before you. I’ll be seventy next May, which should make me wiser, but the older I get, the more foolish I feel.” He laughed as he wiped the last tears from his face. “I’ve no particular agenda, son, merely rambling as an old man is expected to do. You’re head of our circle. I’ll let you lead the conversation.”
Charles gazed at the assembly of professional and peerage companions as he returned to his chair. “Thank you, James. The Lord is indeed good. It means more than I can ever say to sit beside you, Paul, and all these fellow servants. It’s my hope that we’ll meet regularly from this moment forward. We’ll do so here, for the present, but eventually I should like to move all circle activities to Queen Anne House.”
Paul raised his hand. “Charles, I thought we’d decided to use Loudain House. Has that changed?”
“No, the ICI agents and Intelligence Branch operatives will use Loudain for training and as headquarters, but the leadership will keep offices at Queen Anne. I’ve already discussed this with Elizabeth, and it’s made her very happy, as it allows me to work nearby. The drawing rooms and main library will be furnished as offices, but the apartments will remain living spaces for whenever we host guests. We’ll make no structural changes, of course, because Queen Anne is part of our first child’s heritage.”
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