“Adam?”
He turned. He tried to smile, but his forehead was creased, his eyes worried. He held his cloth cap in his hand, and the breeze off the ocean had ruffled his long curly black hair. That and his sculpted features gave him the look of some wild Byronic hero, a Manfred or Childe Harold, but I knew that he had little in common with those stormy romantic characters.
“It is almost dark,” he said. “We are to join Mr. Holmes at the grove.”
I nodded. The sea still had a certain muted shimmer, reflecting the color of the dying sky. At the horizon I saw a sudden flash of orange, a sliver of light. “Oh look!” Michelle said. “The moon.” We watched a great pale swollen orb with a faint orange flush slowly rise over the dark waters.
“Good Lord,” I said. “It looks so big. An illusion, I know.”
“It will light our way,” Adam said. He shook his head. “Such a beautiful evening for… How I wish this was all over with—how I wish Diana was safe.”
We went back down the hill. Dodd joined us as we started along the ridge. No one felt much like talking. Michelle stayed by my side. Once or twice her hand reached out to take mine. I was carrying my medical bag, which paradoxically enough also held Michelle’s revolver. Holmes and the policemen would also be armed. There might be perhaps some thirty pagan worshipers, but Holmes and Pratt did not think many would be combative before a display of authority. Some would be women, others, like Sir Nathaniel, were elderly.
As we walked, the moon slowly rose, losing its orange hue and appearing to shrink. When we skirted the ridge, we could see the orb cast a great swath of white across the black waters, a strip which bobbed and danced with the movement of the sea. To our left, our own dark shadows seemed to trudge along with us. Here amidst the absolute darkness and the quiet solitude of Yorkshire, one saw the true power of the moon’s luminescence.
Michelle shook her head. “Adam was right. It is so beautiful here, so incredible—and that there should be wickedness, evil… It is just wrong.”
I sighed softly. “Tomorrow night this will be all over. One way or another, things will be resolved.”
Michelle squeezed my hand fiercely. “For the better,” she whispered. “For the better.”
Once we reached the woods, the dazzling light was muted by the thick foliage of the trees. I realized how much they had leafed out since my arrival nearly two weeks ago. Adam, however, led the way. Those childhood games with Diana must have made the grove truly familiar to him, and he did act the part of the worthy Natty Bumppo or his Indian friend Chingachgook in leading us to our destination. Dodd had a dark lantern, but we never needed to use its beam.
When we finally came out into the clearing, the change was dramatic. The moon had risen still higher, and the light cast upon the grass, stones and vegetation was intense. One could see some green in the fern leaves. The tall stones were even more dramatic, black monoliths against the sky like giant jagged teeth. My eyes followed the grassy turf, then a ridge of rock and found a black shape which I knew must be the mouth of the pit. I felt a curious emptiness in my chest and looked away at once. We hesitated, somehow not wanting to advance out into the clearing.
“There you are, Henry.” It was Holmes’s voice; his tall figure had appeared out of nowhere to my left. He was wearing his wool walking hat and a long dark overcoat. “Any trouble making your way?”
“No. Adam was an excellent guide. Did you and Pratt talk to the men?”
“Yes, and as I suspected, nothing out of the ordinary has happened.”
“Diana is all right? She has not been harmed?” You could tell from his voice that Adam was on edge.
“Not so far. The man observing the back of the house saw the two Marsh ladies come outside briefly during the afternoon. The day was uneventful. Even now the two men are still watching. I suspect the worshipers will have a procession through the woods, while the others will come from the house.”
I frowned. “Sir Nathaniel was certain Arabella was not Corchen. I don’t think he was lying. Who do you think she is? Some local woman?”
“Oh, I believe I have that figured out.”
“Yes?” I asked.
He laughed softly. “It will be much more dramatic if I show you.”
I shook my head. “‘Dramatic.’”
Michelle had listened with her arms crossed. “What must be done now, Sherlock?”
“We must practice patience, for there is nothing to do but wait. As I told you, high tide will be at eleven fifty, and I do not expect them to arrive much before midnight. Pratt is waiting by the main path from the road; it is the only way a large group of people could take. One of the men will also come from the house to alert us as soon as anyone leaves from there.”
I shook my head. “Three hours or more, then.”
The time passed slowly, and the air grew more chill. Michelle and I went round the grove to a spot near the cliffs where we could see the ocean. We remained well back to keep my vertigo in check. I put my hand on her shoulder, drawing her closer. The wind off the sea felt cold. The moon had risen, but its light still shone on the water. The stars were out, but they and the darkness itself were muted by the shining orb.
Suddenly a star streaked sideways, creating a vivid white diagonal line across the sky which faded immediately. I felt Michelle stand straighter and stiffen. “Make a wish,” she murmured.
I drew in my breath slowly and thought of Adam Selton, who had remained behind with Holmes. A man who seemed to have everything—money, a certain intelligence, good looks and a beautiful, devoted woman madly in love with him. But he was miserable. I hope things work out for the great blundering oaf, I thought to myself. And Diana… But the wish had already been made.
The wind made us feel cold, and we returned to the grove and Holmes. I had begun to yawn compulsively, the lack of sleep catching up with me. Michelle told me to sit by a tree and have a rest, and I actually dozed for a while.
Around eleven thirty, Pratt appeared and said a procession was approaching. Holmes told us to take up positions behind the standing stones and stay hidden until he stepped out. He stared sternly at Adam. “Do you understand? You must not act on impulse. We must wait until the last moment so we have clear proof of Lady Verr’s intentions.”
Adam nodded, but you could see that he was very uneasy.
“Very well.” Holmes started forward, then stopped suddenly. “One other thing: should anyone fall into the pit, it is of the utmost importance that the person be pulled out as quickly as possible. It is a matter of life and death.”
“The water is cold,” I said, “but if someone can swim, surely…”
“Henry—there is no time now for lengthy explanations or a discussion of various possibilities. Take my word for it: anyone who falls into the water is in terrible danger and must be fished out immediately.”
I shrugged and nodded. We started across the grassy turf. A man stepped out from the trees. “They are coming from the house,” he whispered loudly. Holmes nodded. Michelle and I took up a place behind one stone, Adam and Holmes behind another, Pratt and one of his men behind a third, Dodd and the other man behind the fourth. Pratt and his men were all carrying dark lanterns which had been lit and were ready to illuminate the grove once their square shields were raised. The sea and the cold wind were at our backs, and we could hear the low rumble of the surf.
Soon another sound could be heard, a choir chanting softly. I stared out from behind the massive lichen-crusted stone face, careful to conceal as much of myself as possible. Orange light danced about within the trees, and two of the figures in white robes bearing torches came out into the grove. The bearers were tall, but their cowls hid much of their faces from the twisting yellow-orange flames. The group slowly advanced, still chanting, and you could hear both male and female voices. The bulky white robes and cowls hid their sex, their shapes and identities, but one figure was clearly stooped and used a cane-like stick. It had to be Sir Nathaniel. They gathered before
the pit, still chanting some words I could not make out, probably some variant of Gaelic or Welsh fitting for the followers of Druids. Six of them held smoking torches, which were unnecessary under the dazzling moon.
I wondered how many times over the past millennia men had trekked to this grove and gathered under the full moon for some ritual sacrifice. A shudder worked its way up from the base of my spine. So little was really known about the Druids and Celts. Surely they had not worn such uniform and neatly made white robes! One could hope… perhaps they gathered to wonder at the moon, the stars and the seas. Perhaps these monoliths were here only to mark the motion of the heavens.
The chanting suddenly ceased. I looked about the grove and saw that others had come out of the trees: two women all in white, and Hamswell carrying Diana draped across his arms. My lips formed the word damn. It was one thing to conjecture Diana being sacrificed, another to actually see it begin to unfold. Holmes must be holding Adam back.
Slowly the women approached. Diana wore only a white gown. She appeared slack and lifeless, but I told myself Holmes was right: she had to be alive for the sacrifice. Most likely she had been drugged. Arabella was the scientist. She would know about chloroform or ether. I hoped to God she had used ether—chloroform was far more dangerous.
As they came closer, I still did not recognize either of the women. One was tall with an incredible long curling mane, its reddish color muted but visible by moonlight. Her face was so pale and white, it almost glowed. This must be Corchen. Just behind her was a shorter woman with similarly abundant and curling tresses, only black. Her complexion was much darker, so much so I wondered if she might be a mulatto.
Corchen stopped some ten feet from the others and raised her hands; the white sleeves fell, revealing her slender arms. Around her right wrist was an elaborate silver bracelet shaped like a snake. “Welcome, followers of the great goddess—welcome! I, your Druidess and the servant of the White Worm, greet you.”
I frowned slightly. The voice was oddly familiar. There was a slight hint of some accent I could not place, one which went well with her part.
“Tonight is the night long awaited. The celestial spheres are all aligned: the stars, the moon and the planets. The moon waxes full, midnight brings the first of May, and the waters rise within the pit, even as I speak. The time long preordained cometh: our goddess demands a special sacrifice—not mere cattle or sheep—but a young virgin!”
A murmur went up in the group. Some obviously found this troubling.
“I have warned that this day would come. To bring forth our mighty goddess at last and satisfy her, we must offer up a worthy victim. This girl, last of the wretched line of the Marshes who have so long warred against our goddess, must be given to the worm. If there are any of you who do not want to join in this offering, go now and never return.”
She sternly looked at the group. One figure came forward, pulled down her cowl, and shook her head. It was an old woman. “It’s wrong.”
Corchen raised her arm with her forefinger thrust forward. “Do not presume to judge the mighty goddess! Go, but remain silent if you would live.”
The woman shook her head again, then turned and slowly walked away. Corchen stared at the others a long while, then stepped nearer to the pit and raised her arms again. “Oh, great goddess, hear your humble priestess and servant. You are mighty and immortal, you have existed through the centuries, dwelling within the earth and sea. We, your followers, beg you to return to us, and we offer you as a gift this young virgin. Take her, goddess—devour her!—and then rise again! Come to us, oh goddess!” Her voice had grown louder and louder. It certainly was not Arabella, but whoever she was, she was quite an actress. “Bring forth the sacrifice—cast her into the pit!”
Hamswell started forward. A beam of light suddenly shone on the priestess and the crowd, and then other beams flashed into the clearing. “Halt!” Holmes cried. “Not another step or I shoot!” I had stepped out past the stone, and Michelle was at my side. The wind had shifted, and I caught a whiff of ether. Hamswell must have a rag soaked in it. Pratt and his men started forward.
Hamswell turned and started toward the pit, Diana still in his arms. Holmes did not hesitate, but fired two shots. Hamswell screamed and staggered, one hand swatting automatically at his leg, then went down. Diana seemed to half stand rather than fall, then stumbled forward and disappeared over the edge into the pit.
“Diana!” Adam cried.
“Blast it!” Holmes snarled. He dropped his revolver and tore off his hat, overcoat and jacket even as he ran forward. “Watch the two women, Pratt—don’t let them escape!” He reached the edge of the pit even before Adam. “Wait—just wait!” I had also run forward. Holmes seized Adam’s arm. “The ledge—get down on the ledge—you can pull us out.”
In the moonlight, Adam’s face was contorted, his eyes wild. His hat had come off. He nodded. Holmes wrenched off his boots, then leaped into the pit, making a great splash. I reached the edge along with one of the policemen, and he shone his dark lantern into the opening. The light danced on the undulating surface. Holmes was in the water, bobbing about—along with Diana.
“Thank God,” I muttered. I had feared that she might be so anesthetized she would sink and drown. Instead the shock must have revived her. I could not believe how high the water had risen compared to last time Holmes had gone into the pit.
Adam swung round, dropped his right leg and eased himself down to the small sloping rocky ledge some six feet below. The water was only two or three feet further down. Holmes had his arm about Diana, and he managed to get them both closer to the ledge. “Take her—take her!” he cried. Adam lowered his enormous hand, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her upward as if she were only some rag doll. He had her halfway out of the water in an instant.
“Diana!” he cried.
“Adam—oh, Adam.”
He set her onto the ledge. “Get her out!” Holmes cried. Adam hesitated, then put his hands about her waist and lifted her. Dodd and the other men quickly pulled her up and out. Adam turned and lowered his hand again, then effortlessly plucked Holmes out of the water. Holmes scrambled wildly with one leg, then got himself up onto the ledge. I could hear him panting deeply. “Oh thank God,” he moaned. “Go on—get up there.” Adam hoisted himself up using his arms, then brought one leg around and climbed out. He reached down again and helped Holmes up.
Holmes was soaked. The moonlight showed on the dome of his long forehead and his thin face, all nose now with his wet black hair plastered back. He managed to smile at me, then his shoulders rose as he shuddered. I grasped his arm. He was trembling uncontrollably.
“You’re freezing,” I said.
He nodded. “I am cold.” His teeth clenched involuntarily. “But it is not just that—I am afraid.” He laughed once. “Terrified, actually.”
I stared at him incredulously. I could not recall ever seeing him truly afraid of anything.
Michelle had his jacket and his coat. “Put these on. It will help.”
“Gladly.” He slipped into both and also found his boots. He pulled off his wet stockings before putting them on. He turned to Diana. “Are you all right, Miss Marsh?”
Adam had taken off his overcoat, put it over Diana, and now his big arm clasped her tightly to him. The moon shone on her bony white feet. She nodded. “Yes. Still a little dizzy. Thank you, Mr. Holmes—oh, thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome, my dear young lady.” He glanced at Pratt who was watching the two women, revolver in hand. “It’s done, Lady Verr. It is over. You have lost, and now you shall pay for your crimes.”
My forehead creased. “What?”
Neither of the women spoke but only regarded Holmes warily. He drew in a long deep breath, then stepped forward, grasped the hair of the shorter woman and pulled hard. The black wig came off, revealing red hair. The woman smiled. “Very good, Mr. Holmes. Bravo.”
He turned to the other woman. “You might as well take yours off
as well.”
She hesitated only a second, then used her long slender hands to remove the red wig. Her hair was black. She smiled proudly.
“Oh Lord,” I whispered. “Angela. Of course.” Arabella with a black wig and dark makeup, Angela with a red wig and pale makeup—how obvious now! And Angela’s pathetic “I no speak-a de English” had only been an act.
“Your English is most impressive, madam,” Holmes said. “Those cadences were positively biblical in their grandeur.”
I looked round me. The group of worshipers had shrunk, many of the younger and more spry ones disappearing into the woods. These were mostly older women, or the more devout. Sir Nathaniel had thrown back his hood; he appeared frustrated. The policemen had their dark lanterns and revolvers in hand.
Pratt shook his head. “An incredible business, this.”
Hamswell was moaning. “Help me—someone help me.” Michelle and I glanced at one another, then she took her bag, went over and stooped down beside him. After a moment she looked over at us. “He’s in no danger. One bullet is buried in muscle, the other went cleanly through the outer thigh, with little real bleeding. He will have trouble sitting for a while.” She took out a roll of bandage and wrapped it round his leg several times. “Henry and I can tend to him, but that can wait for a few minutes.” She rose.
“We should have known we could never fool you, Mr. Holmes,” Arabella said.
Holmes’s forehead creased. “We?”
Arabella took a step back, in the direction of the pit, then another. “You thought you were so clever, but you see, it was never my idea.”
Angela stood up very straight. Her arms stiffened even as her fingers spread apart slightly. “Arabella?”
“I met her in Italy, of course. It was a crazed infatuation. I knew it was foolish, but I could not resist her. I loved her you see. I did not want to hurt Diana—I never wanted to hurt her. But she said it was the only way, the only way we could be together.”
The White Worm Page 27