Star Locket

by Natalie Jane Prior

  ‘Dearest Anna,’ he murmured. ‘What are you up to now?’

  With a last glance at the paper, Greitz pushed back his chair and stood up. His coat hung over the chair’s back, but he did not trouble to put it on, for the cold did not bother him. Dressed in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, he turned up the gas jet to a more normal level and left the room. Halfway along the corridor he met a guardsman coming in the opposite direction.

  ‘Procurator.’

  ‘Martin. How many men are here at present?’

  ‘Five, sir. Counting Sebastian and myself.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘Eighteen at the ducal palace, on normal guard duty. Another thirty-one are off duty; about half of those will be in barracks. The rest are on leave.’

  Greitz stood thinking a moment. ‘Very well. I want to speak with Sebastian; if you see him, send him to me. By the way, the men who went out looking for Barker and the van Homrigh woman: have they had any success?’

  ‘Not as yet, sir. They’ve checked the most likely places. But the Casimirites move often, and they’re adroit at covering their tracks. It’s going to take some time.’

  Time I should have troubled to spend looking for her years ago, thought Greitz, as he nodded and continued on his way. I have been remiss. But who would have thought Anna van Homrigh would have bobbed up to interfere with things now? Even fifteen years ago, the Casimirites were a joke. It was only Dominick Barker who turned them into a threat, and he was born and raised as one of us. It was magic, Barker’s magic, that brought about this crisis, and it will be magic that ultimately puts matters back to rights. But first, I must find the Taverner girl’s half of the locket. It is here somewhere, it must be, for the magic has said as much. But I cannot quite understand how that should be.

  Quickening his pace, Greitz turned his feet towards the staircase that led to Esther’s premises. It seemed unlikely that Sally would be able to shed any light on the mystery, but it could not hurt to ask her. Halfway along the passage, where it joined the cross tunnel leading to the embankment, Greitz was distracted by the sound of someone apparently rattling the metal gate at the end of the passage. He stopped and looked for a moment, then quietly, on bare feet, passed along the tunnel in the direction of the noise.

  ‘May I help you?’

  Stephen jumped. His heart seemed to shoot up halfway into his mouth, then plunge back, pounding, into its proper place. He fell back against the metal gate, one hand still clutching the bar he had been shaking a moment before. Standing in front of him, in a pair of well-cut trousers, a shirt, cravat and elegant waistcoat, was Richard Greitz. He had approached so silently that Stephen had not heard him, or perhaps he had been too preoccupied by his desperate efforts with the gate to notice the man’s arrival. Now, there was no way out. His thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, Greitz stood looking at him with one eyebrow quizzically lifted.

  ‘Mr Stephen Melhuish,’ he said. ‘What an unexpected surprise.’

  Stephen shifted, his back against the grille. ‘Get away from me,’ he said, his voice coming out several notes higher than he had intended. ‘You can’t touch me. You don’t have the power.’

  ‘Now, that really is a fatuous remark,’ observed Greitz. ‘Do you honestly believe that? When you came here, you must have understood what you were doing. If you choose to beard the lion in his den, boy, at least try not to feign astonishment when he bites.’ He scrutinised Stephen carefully. ‘You’ve obviously been speaking to dear Anna. What has she told you? That if you do not give me the power of your name, or any of the other concessions, that I can have no magical power over you? All true, of course, so you are partly right, but one does not need to wield power directly for it to have an effect. My gate, I see, is keeping you restrained quite nicely, and Valentine’s fireball knocked you into the river. In any case, I’m not such a purist in my practices as you might think. For instance, I’m not too proud to use a revolver, if necessary. Modern weapons are remarkably efficient, don’t you think?’

  Stephen blinked. There was, quite suddenly, a gun in Greitz’s hand, and it was pointed at his chest. It was hard to imagine where it had come from, for there did not seem to be anywhere in Greitz’s clothing where he could have kept it hidden. Stephen realised miserably that there was more happening here than he could understand in the context of his own experience. A sweat, and feeling of faintness which had been upon him for some time, made his head swim suddenly, and he clutched at the grille with renewed desperation. Mrs van Homrigh would never have done this, he thought, and with a flash of painful insight he realised that by coming here he had put all those who had helped him—Anna, Bridget, even Michael Barker—in danger. Stephen bit his lip. As Greitz gestured for him to follow, he let go of the gate and accompanied him along the passage to the gas-lit tunnels he had left only minutes before.

  ‘This way.’ Greitz spoke quite pleasantly, but the further into the Undercroft Stephen walked, the weaker and more unwell he felt. The sensation had been stealing up on him since Estée had left him in the storeroom, and he knew what was causing it: Sally Taverner’s pendant in his pocket. He managed to keep going, but once or twice he could not help staggering against the passage walls, and by the time he reached the room where Greitz was taking him, it was all he could do to stay on his feet.

  Greitz shut the door. All at once Stephen felt a terrible sensation of entrapment. He was not normally claustrophobic, but the atmosphere in this room, coupled with the appalling smell, was almost smothering him. He staggered to a nearby wooden chair and clung to its back. Greitz went over to an old deal table, which he evidently used as a desk, and put the revolver down.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, sit down.’ Greitz pulled out a chair and sat down himself; he pressed his fingertips briefly together, then bit his thumbnail. A tiny plume of smoke rose up from the small bronze censer on the table, otherwise there was not much else in the room to suggest its purpose. There were no windows, of course, but that was to be expected of a converted prison cell, and the furniture and fittings were very basic. No obvious grimoires, no wands, no robes: just a few unattractive-looking books in dark, modern bindings and a broken-down cupboard that might have held magical apparatus, but was more likely to be filled with stationery. While Stephen recovered his breath, Greitz picked up a piece of paper from the table, casually folded it, and put it in his pocket.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I was looking for my uncle.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The late, unlamented British Minister. You’re not really surprised to hear he’s dead, are you?’ When Stephen did not reply, Greitz went on. ‘You know, your uncle was the most rapacious man I have ever met. The information he gave me was of negligible value and his price was always high. Why I put up with him as long as I did I really don’t know, but I am quite certain that I have had enough of Melhuishes. How I treat you now depends very much on how helpful you are to me. Killing you might make things difficult for me, but never doubt I will do it if I have to.’

  ‘I wonder you would hesitate,’ said Stephen. ‘You obviously didn’t when it came to killing my uncle.’

  ‘Your uncle tried to blackmail me over the death of Nordernay,’ said Greitz. ‘There was no way I would tolerate that. However, your uncle did not come here aided and abetted by my daughter. You could not have entered the Undercroft without Estella, and for her sake, I will exercise more tolerance than my men did last night on the embankment. Nonetheless, I must know where she is.’

  ‘She went with one of your men,’ said Stephen, thankful he could at least answer truthfully. ‘I don’t know where she is now. She can’t be far away.’

  ‘And Sally Taverner’s pendant is in your pocket,’ said Greitz. ‘You needn’t look surprised. It was what led me to you in the first place. Well, I think it can stay where it is just for now. It seems to be doing a rather nice job of keeping you in check. I imagine you’re feeling quite unwell. Let’s keep you that way, shall we?’ There was a kn
ock at the door and he called out abruptly in Ostermarkan. A young man in a red and black guard’s uniform came in. From the expression on his face, Stephen knew immediately there was something wrong.

  ‘It’s Esther, isn’t it?’ said Greitz. ‘What’s happened?’

  Estée stood on a chair in front of the window, swinging a poker she had taken from the fireplace at the glass, which was not behaving as might have been expected. It made a dull chinking sound whenever the poker smashed against it, the sort of noise that might have been made by a tapping hand. Estée became more and more angry with every blow.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ snapped Sally. ‘Surely you can see it’s not going to do any good?’

  ‘It’s Sebastian,’ said Esther. She had been rattling the door handle, without success, though it was unlocked and she had the key to the room in her hand. ‘He’s sealed us in. He must have seen the luggage on the bed.’ She tossed the useless key onto a side table. ‘He will have gone down into the Undercroft to find Richard. When your father finds out what is happening he will be furious. I own, it makes me quite terrified to think about it. We’re going to have to get you out quickly, by another way.’ Esther opened a wardrobe and pulled out two long cloaks, of the kind worn by the Queen’s Guard when on outdoor duty. ‘Here, put these on.’ She handed one cloak to Sally, and the second to Estée. Then she took the poker from Estée and climbed onto the bed with it. ‘Let’s hope Sebastian wasn’t as thorough as he thought.’

  She stared determinedly at the ceiling for a moment, then deliberately pushed the poker into the elaborate plasterwork. There was a creaking sound of paint giving way. A square piece of the ceiling lifted up under the poker’s tip, revealing a manhole into the roof space.

  ‘Thank goodness!’ Sally had not realised how tense she had been until she exhaled. She rubbed her fingers together and smiled nervously up at Esther. Her mother helped her onto the bed and shoved her unceremoniously up onto the metal bedstead. It shook and rattled dangerously, but there was enough extra height in it for Sally to reach the hole in the ceiling. She poked her head and arms into the roof space and started scrabbling and pushing upwards with her boots.

  ‘Quick. Come and help me.’ Esther gestured urgently to Estée, who was listening at the door. She came quickly and together they managed to push Sally into the roof. The ceiling creaked and there was a momentary ominous bulge in the plaster as she found her place on the joists. Then her face reappeared in the gap. Esther grabbed the bag from the bed and thrust it up at her. Sally hauled it through the hole and leaned through expectantly.

  ‘Estée?’

  ‘Wait a moment.’ Esther jumped off the bed and opened a drawer in the bedside table. She removed a velvet covered box and thrust it at Estée. ‘Keep this safe. You will need money: it is worth several thousand English pounds. May it bring you better fortune than the necklace you received from your father. Now, come.’

  She hustled Estée to the bed. Getting her through the manhole was easier, as there was now someone to pull as well as push. It only took a moment for her to disappear through the gap and then, with a last backward glance at Esther staring up at them, the two girls pulled the cover over the hole.

  There was a moment’s utter darkness. Then they became aware of tiny chinks of light filtering through the slates in the roof and could dimly make out the forest of joists and roof trusses.

  ‘What now?’ asked Estée.

  ‘It looks like a shared roof space.’ Sally shivered under her cloak. Coming out of the heated house, it was all at once bitterly cold. ‘If we keep moving along it, we should be able to find a way into another building.’

  ‘If we get caught, they’ll probably take us for burglars.’ The thought of herself and Sally creeping through someone’s house like a pair of operatic villains in their floor-length cloaks was too much for Estée’s sense of the ridiculous, and she started to laugh. In the darkness, Sally chuckled too.

  ‘This way?’ A puff of dust flew up into Sally’s face as she moved. She coughed, cutting off the laughter. Together the girls crawled along the joists for the length of Esther’s building, and picked their way around the boxes and tea chests in the attorney’s roof space next door. There was movement in the rooms below them, and they heard voices, but could not make out the words. The boxes were succeeded by several rolls of old carpet. Some very creaky joists followed in turn, and they found themselves once again in open roof space.

  ‘We must be above the silk warehouse,’ whispered Estée. ‘I’d say this will be our best way out.’ She stepped lightly from one joist to the next, steadying herself on the trusses with her hand. ‘Here’s a trapdoor, I think. Come here and help me open it.’ The two girls knelt together and prised the trapdoor open. It was crudely made, and the hinges were rusty and creaked horribly as they swung it back. Estée had been right: the building was mostly used for storage. There was nothing below them but piles and piles of baled up silk and wool.

  To jump out of the roof space onto the nearest stack of silk bales was a simple matter. The first stack led them to a second, somewhat lower in height; and in ten seconds the two girls were on the floor, standing in front of a double door in what appeared to be the outside wall. A wooden bar secured it, and they struggled and lifted it onto the floor. This time there was no creak when the door swung ajar, only an open prospect of the River Ling, with the embankment below them and the pointed arches of the disused bridge beyond. A metal ladder led down almost to the ground. As Sally and Estée stood on the edge, a cold wind blew from the river and hit their faces. Without thought or reason their hands reached, each for the other’s, and their fingers linked tightly together.

  ‘Well,’ said Sally. ‘Where do we go to now?’ Estée shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Esther had known it would not take Richard long to act on Sebastian’s information about what was happening. He had never been a man to waste a moment when caught by a crisis, and he had an extraordinary ability to remain clearheaded in moments of stress. In his current predicament, surely the second great calamity of his life, it was hardly to be expected that he would delay an instant, yet Esther was still surprised—and not a little alarmed—by the speed with which he arrived. She had barely replaced the manhole cover and tidied the rumpled bed when she sensed, rather than heard him approaching by the hidden staircase.

  She had just enough time to sit down and take up a book with trembling hands when the door in the panelling opened and he was in the room. He had been working magic. Esther could smell it on him, in the folds of his clothes, and, in his hair. She liked this latter aspect the least. When she had first met Richard, Esther had tried to pretend that the magic smell was like the scent of aromatic tobacco, which had always hung around her father. But of course, it was not. Richard, abstemious in this, as in other things, had never smoked. The pretence had been hers alone, for he had never lied to her about what he was, or made excuses about his ultimate intentions. With her, as with no one else, he had always been completely honest. Until now, she had always valued this fact. This morning, having deceived him as she had, it could only terrify her.

  ‘Esther. What have you been doing?’

  The book shook in her hands and she put it down. She knew he could not be deceived, but her heart was thumping so hard at the base of her throat she could hardly have spoken anyway.

  Greitz waited for her response. When it did not come, he turned momentarily away. He fingered a Meissen shepherdess on a side table and ran his hand along the polished wood before finally drawing in his fingers and resting on the knuckles. His head was bowed, and Esther sensed he was trying to work out what to say.

  In the end, he said merely, ‘You’ve sent them away, haven’t you? The two girls? Esther, why? I’m their father. Their own father, and you’ve sent them away from me.’

  He sounded almost incredulous. Put that way, it indeed seemed monstrous. Esth
er could not reply, for there was no truthful answer that did not imply a fundamental lack of trust. She twisted her fingers in her lap, and Richard went on, as she had both known and feared he would. ‘You put them before me. You knew what this meant to me, what was at stake, and still you let them go. Esther, couldn’t you have trusted me enough to let me do what I think is best?’

  ‘But I do know what you plan to do, Richard. That is the problem.’ Her voice, when she finally spoke, sounded to Esther like someone else’s entirely, a frightened, uncertain creature she had not been for nearly fifteen years. She had turned for support to Richard then, and he had not let her down. Nor had he spared any effort to bring the children back. If he had contrived to find them then, Esther believed she would probably have let him rejoin the locket at the expense of one child’s existence. But ultimately, he had failed, and what she could not comprehend was why he did not realise that with time the situation had changed. Two fifteen year old girls were a very different proposition to two babies scarcely capable of conscious thought; it did not require much imagination to realise that even a shadow life lived that long was precious to the liver, and better than no existence at all. Was Richard truly so blinded by ambition that he could not grasp this? In the past, Esther would never have thought it of him. Now, she did not know which one of them it was who had changed; nor could she understand how two people who had loved and thought and acted as one had somehow been brought to this pass.