Gone: A Shadow Slayers Story (Shadow Slayers Stories Book 3)

by Nellie H. Steele

  The butler considered it a moment, then widened the door’s opening. “Please come in, Mr. Buckley.” He led Alexander to the sitting room and requested he wait.

  A tense few minutes passed as Alexander waited. After a time, he wondered if she would refuse to see him. If so, should he attempt a second visit? As he pondered his options, the door across the room opened. The Duchess strode in, still in her dressing gown. Alexander leapt to his feet.

  “Mr. Buckley, I am surprised you would dare set foot in this house after the incident last night,” she said, stopping across the room from him.

  “Duchess Northcott,” he greeted her, bowing, “it is that specific incident that propelled me to call upon you at this hour.”

  “Do you wish to continue to defame my husband’s name?”

  “No,” Alexander admitted. “I wish to beg your pardon for my cousins’ impropriety. I humbly throw myself on your mercy. I’m sorry to say my cousins may have enjoyed too much in the way of spirits last night. They spoke out of turn. I wish to apologize on their behalf and hope we may consider the incident concluded. In particular, I hoped to request your discretion, particularly where your husband is concerned.”

  Celine smirked. “In other words, Mr. Buckley, you wish to learn if I have already discussed the matter with Duke Northcott.”

  “I’ll confess that was one of my goals in speaking with you, yes,” Alexander admitted.

  “My husband can be a harsh and unforgiving man,” Celine responded. Alexander nodded, fearing the worst. “But he knows nothing of the incident.”

  Relief coursed through Alexander. A chance still remained for him to salvage the situation. He had only to convince Duchess Northcott to continue her silence on the subject.

  “Do you plan to inform him?” he inquired.

  “You have no right to stand in my home and ask me these questions, Mr. Buckley. But in answer, no, I do not.”

  Alexander breathed a sigh of relief. “Might we then consider the matter closed?” he questioned, hoping to be finished with the discussion soon.

  “No, Mr. Buckley, we may not,” Celine answered. A lump formed in Alexander’s throat and his stomach turned over. He was glad he had chosen not to eat breakfast this morning, fearing he may not be able to keep it down. Celine made her way to the couch, perching on the edge. Alexander remained standing. “Please, Mr. Buckley, be seated.”

  Alexander seated himself across from the duchess, unable to speak. He assumed she would lecture him on the incident, give him a tongue lashing before allowing him to leave. At least this was his sincere hope over something worse.

  “In truth, Mr. Buckley, I am unable to forget the incident,” she began. “It has disturbed me to my core.”

  “I understand, Duchess Northcott, I offer my most heartfelt apologies…”

  Celine held up her hand, cutting him off. “I do not wish to entertain your heartfelt apologies, Mr. Buckley. I wish only to gain the truth.”

  The words left Alexander speechless for a moment. What truth did she wish to gain?

  “I’m not sure I understand,” Alexander responded.

  “Your cousins accused my husband of a grave crime. There is a truth to the matter. I wish to learn it. I also desire your cousins be present when I do, so that, if they are being dishonest, they might know it.”

  Her words stunned Alexander. The duchess hoped to learn the truth about Michael and Damien’s story concerning Duke Northcott’s involvement in her father’s death. Did she suspect it may be true? Or did she prefer to prove them wrong? If the latter, for what reason? What did she gain by it?

  “I judge your cousin, Damien, spoke in earnest last night when he told his story. Perhaps he is mad and does not realize the error of his ways. If so, he must be shown the error.”

  “Quite right,” Alexander agreed.

  “On the other hand, perhaps he is correct. In which case, I should prefer to learn the truth about my husband.”

  Alexander wondered if he may be imagining the conversation. Was Duchess Northcott admitting suspicion of her husband? Were Michael and Damien correct in their assessment that her marriage was a mistake? “I shall ensure my cousins are available to you when you need them.”

  “I shall request their presence tonight at midnight. I require your assistance as well. We shall meet at The White Horse pub. Are you familiar with it?”

  “Yes,” Alexander said, still parsing through his shock. “I am surprised, Duchess Northcott, you are familiar with it.”

  “I am not as naïve as you imagine. I am well-versed in many things. Give me some credit, Mr. Buckley. Now, are we agreed?”

  “Forgive me, Duchess Northcott, but meeting at The White Horse at such an hour is unsafe for you.”

  “I am capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Buckley. Now, are we agreed?”

  “And what of your husband? How will you explain your midnight roamings to him?”

  “My husband will be none the wiser to our clandestine meeting. I shall see to it that he is unaware of my absence.”

  “I must admit, Duchess Northcott, I am stunned. But we are agreed. I shall see you at midnight to proceed with whatever plan you deem best.”

  Celine stood, offering him the slightest of smiles. He leapt to his feet. “I’m glad we are agreed. Good day, Mr. Buckley.”

  She strode from the room, leaving him alone. “Good day, Duchess Northcott,” he called after her. It took all his strength not to collapse onto her couch in astonishment. His weak knees carried him out of the house and away from the Northcott residence.

  He pondered the conversation his entire walk home. He continued to question whether or not it occurred or if he had merely dreamt it. He had traveled to speak with Duchess Northcott, expecting to be berated at the very least, or faced with the news that her husband sought vengeance over the matter. Instead, she had assured him of her husband’s continued ignorance on the subject and proceeded to make plans to determine the legitimacy of the wild story Damien and Michael conveyed to her at the party.

  He reached his home, climbing the steps and entering the foyer just before lunch. He removed his overcoat and joined Michael, Damien and Gray in the dining room.

  “Alexander, sorry we missed you this morning,” Damien began. “We wanted to apologize again and see if there was anything we could do to rectify the situation.”

  “Yeah,” Michael chimed in. “We feel terrible about it.”

  “Actually,” Gray voiced, “I have already made arrangements for us to leave and travel back to the States. The Duke’s reach is far, but it gives us some time to plan. Perhaps if we are not immediately available, tempers will cool before he deals with us.”

  Alexander seated himself across from Damien and next to Gray. He shook his head, still finding it hard to fathom what he was about to impart to them. “It seems that won’t be necessary, Gray.” He directed his next statement at Michael and Damien. “There is something you can do,” he informed them.

  “Anything, name it,” Damien responded.

  “Won’t be necessary?” Gray questioned. “Have you also gone mad? Surely Duke Northcott has learned of the accusations made against him last evening. He has a clear reputation as a cruel and unforgiving man. We shall be ruined if not disposed of.”

  “He hasn’t learned of the situation.”

  “You’re sure?” Gray queried.

  “Quite,” Alexander assured him.

  “How are you sure?” Gray questioned further.

  “I have been to visit Duchess Northcott this morning. I paid her an early morning call, hoping to prevent her from speaking to her husband.”

  “My God, you ARE mad,” Gray interjected.

  “She has not informed her husband of the situation,” Alexander told them.

  “I find that hard to fathom,” Gray responded.

  “Instead, she has asked for my help in ascertaining the truth of the situation.”

  “You’re joking,” Gray ventured.

&nb
sp; “I am not,” Alexander answered, shaking his head, still finding the situation incredulous himself. “Although, I understand your bewilderment. I was party to the conversation and still find it difficult to believe.”

  “Tell us what happened!” Damien insisted. “It’s a good sign she didn’t tell the Duke, and that she wants to learn the truth!”

  “As I said, I paid an early morning call to the Duchess. I threw myself upon her mercy and begged her forgiveness for the entire incident,” Alexander explained. “She informed me that she had kept the matter secret from her husband and planned to continue to do so.”

  “That’s great!” Michael said. “We’re in the clear!”

  “I assumed so, however, she confided that the incident disturbed her. Nevertheless, your conviction as to the truthfulness of the matter struck her. She judged you to be earnest in what you told her. She feels compelled to determine if your story is true.”

  “Now, that’s the Celine we know!” Damien exclaimed.

  “She asked us to meet her at The White Horse pub at midnight. She prefers you to be present when she verifies the factual nature of the story so that if you are found in error, you might realize it.”

  “Please tell me you did not agree to meet her,” Gray queried.

  “I did. I’d rather that than have her discuss the matter with Duke Northcott,” Alexander countered.”

  Gray sprung from his seat, leaving his half-eaten lunch behind. He paced the floor. “What if it’s a trap?”

  “Celine wouldn’t do that!” Damien argued.

  “You miscalculated how Duchess Northcott would react last evening. You can’t be sure,” Gray countered.

  “If it was a trap, to what end?” Alexander asked.

  “To our end,” Gray answered. “Her husband will finish us.”

  “Duke Northcott would not require nor use his wife’s assistance to lure us into a trap,” Alexander surmised.

  “I’m with Damien, I vote we meet her,” Michael replied.

  “How sure are you gentlemen about your story?” Alexander queried.

  “Very sure,” Damien assured him. “It was the Duke who ordered her father killed. I’d bet my life on it.”

  “You already have,” Gray informed him.

  They finished their lunch, discussing arrangements for their midnight jaunt. With any luck, Celine would learn the truth about her husband and trust them. Damien and Michael spent the afternoon and evening filled with nervous energy, awaiting their excursion. Damien spent much of the time pacing the floors, anxiety and anticipation building.

  As the midnight hour approached, the four men prepared themselves for the trip. Gray elected to join despite his suspicion of a setup. They left the house, traveling on foot to The White Horse pub. It was located in a less-than-desirable area of town. They milled around outside the pub, hoping the sketchy characters that loitered near the entrance kept their distance.

  At the stroke of midnight, a hooded, cloaked figure approached them. “Mr. Buckley, thank you for joining me,” Celine greeted them. “We shall now get to the root of this issue. I shall prefer to remain anonymous as we enter the pub for obvious reasons.”

  “Yes, of course,” Alexander answered.

  “Shall we?” she replied.

  “Just a moment,” Gray interjected. “What is your plan?”

  “It shall be revealed as necessary. We shall begin by entering the pub. If I am not mistaken, the man who murdered my father should be inside. I assume you both should recognize him if you should see him?” Celine asked of Michael and Damien.

  “Yes. We would recognize him,” Damien responded, hoping it was true.

  “Point him out when you spy him,” she replied, pulling on the pub door. She entered the pub, her hood still covering her. They followed her into the pub. Loud laughter and muddled conversations abounded as they entered. Michael and Damien scanned the crowd. Damien’s pulse quickened as he worried about recognizing the man again. They had been in a cave lit only by candlelight. Suppose they could not distinguish his features. His certainty of moments ago began to fade. “Do you see him?” Celine shouted over the din.

  Damien shook his head, panic building in him as he glanced over the various faces. “Wait, there!” he pointed toward a man against the right wall.

  “Yes,” Michael confirmed. “That’s him.”

  “Indeed, it is,” Celine confirmed. She passed a few coins to Alexander. “Tell the barkeep you require use of his storeroom and that we shall not like to be disturbed for the course of the next hour. Bring the man with you.”

  Celine stalked across the room to a door in the back, disappearing through it. Alexander raised his eyebrows at Gray. “You heard the lady,” Gray responded. “You talk to the barkeep. I’ll retrieve him.”

  Michael and Damien followed Gray, who requested a few moments of the man’s time. He revealed a few coins, assuring the man it would be worth his while. They met Alexander in the middle of the bar. He secured use of the backroom from the barkeep. They proceeded through the door Celine disappeared through moments ago, finding a hallway. A small room located on the left held barrels. They assumed this was the storeroom. They ushered the man inside. Celine stood in the back corner of the room; her hood pushed back. She removed her gloves, setting them aside.

  The man spotted her and tried to run from the room. Gray and Alexander reached for him, but Celine stretched her hand in front of her, drawing him back like a magnet draws metal. She released him into a chair placed in the middle of the room. Shackles closed automatically around his feet and hands.

  Damien gulped. This version of Celine took no prisoners. A sudden wave of uneasiness crept over him. If they were incorrect, she would turn her obvious displeasure to them next. He glanced to Michael, whose forehead glistened with beads of sweat. Michael made a face at him and Damien mirrored his expression. Both of them realized if this gamble did not pay off, they were in serious trouble.

  Celine removed a glowing vial of liquid from her cloak. “What is that?” Damien inquired.

  “A simple yet effective truth serum,” Celine answered him. “Once he drinks this, he will have no choice but to confide in us the truth about anything we ask.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Damien questioned further.

  “It will work.”

  “But how…”

  “Mr. Carlyle,” Celine interrupted, cutting Damien off. “I am not an amateur. I do not appreciate your doubt concerning my ability to obtain the truth from a simple criminal.”

  Damien gulped. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just really important.”

  “Is it? It is my husband that has been accused. Do you imagine it is of little importance to me that I should be so cavalier as to use a questionable method?”

  “No,” he squeaked out. “Sorry.”

  Celine sighed. “Let us proceed. Gentlemen, tilt his head back so I may pour the liquid into his mouth.”

  Alexander and Gray obliged her, holding the man’s head back while Celine emptied the vial’s contents into his mouth. They shoved his mouth shut, holding his nose until he swallowed.

  “The concoction should take a few moments to take effect,” Celine indicated.

  “Going to tell your husband about this, missus!” the man threatened as he coughed, choking on the liquid forced into him.

  Damien glanced to Celine, wide-eyed at the man’s admission. Celine rolled her eyes at him, raising her eyebrow. “Never fear, he will not convey any part of this incident to my husband nor anyone else,” Celine assured him. “Now, Mr. Ward, shall we begin?” Celine placed herself in front of the man.

  “I ain’t answering no questions,” he spat at her. “I’ll tell the gov’ner, I will. Tell him his old lady was asking me questions in the middle of the night.”

  “Spare me your threats, Mr. Ward. Now, you shall answer my questions.”

  “HELP! HELP!” the man screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Celine shook her hea
d, annoyed with him. “Your efforts are futile. No one can hear your screams, Mr. Ward. First question: Were you on the island of Martinique on the twenty-eighth of July 1786?”

  “Aye,” the man answered. “I were there.”

  “Did you on that evening kill the Marquis Gaspard Devereaux on his way to board his ship to return to France?”

  “Aye,” the man said, his eyes glassy and unable to focus. “Squealed like a pig, he did.”

  Celine closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling and setting her jaw. Anger coursed through her. Yet she restrained herself, pressing on with her questioning. “Why did you kill him?”

  “To rob him.”

  “Who ordered you to do this?” she questioned.

  “No one, missus.” Damien's heart sank at the man’s answer. They had miscalculated. Celine’s father had been killed in a simple robbery in this chain of events. He stared at the floor, awaiting the wrath of Celine Northcott to be turned onto them.

  Celine continued; her comments still directed toward the man. “Did someone order you to kill the Marquis Devereaux and claim the motivation was robbery?”

  “I killed him and robbed him for a few coins,” the man repeated.

  Celine fumed but held her temper. “I do not wish to hear your concocted story. I want the truth. Did someone order you to kill the Marquis Devereaux and claim the motivation was robbery? Search the depths of your feeble mind and answer me.”

  The man remained silent.

  “Tell me, Mr. Ward. I insist you tell me. Did someone order you to kill the Marquis Devereaux and claim your motivation was robbery?”

  The man’s mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out. “Answer me, Mr. Ward. Who is responsible?”

  “I can’t,” the man moaned.

  Celine grasped his face, squishing his lips between her thumb and fingers. “You can and you must. You are compelled to tell me. Who is responsible? Who gave the order for you to kill Marquis Devereaux?” Damien glanced to Michael. His eyes were wide as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

  “He did,” the man gasped out.

  “Say his name. Who?” she barked at him.