“Why did you do it?”
Wilbert found this to be a strange question. “Why should I not do it? The cat was sick. It would have died.”
“You see?” Lucia said. “You did it without thinking. That is what you are saying.”
“Yes,” Wilbert said, “I suppose it is.”
“That is the difference between you and me. You do kind things without thinking. For me, it would take a momentous effort to even consider saving that cat.” She paused, bit her lip, and then went on: “Wilbert, why do you love me? There is little love in me. Just coldness and hardness. Why not find a nice frumpy woman who will love you deeply and pack your pipe for you?”
Lucia had never spoken so plainly to him. He found himself unable to answer for a time. He choked, coughed, laughed at his inability to act decisively, like a man. There was color in her cheeks, bright red, and her eyes were wide and awake. “Because—” It was the truth. Blast it, why was the truth so hard to speak. “Because,” he said, at length, “that woman would not be you.”
He locked his eyes on her, forcing himself not to look away. He prayed that this was the moment when she would finally see him, finally return his affection. He reached up and touched her cheek. It was soft and gaunt and perfect. She touched his hand, held it against her face. “Wilbert, dear,” she said. “I want to ask you something.”
“Ask me.”
He felt half-asleep. His hand was on her face. Fire rose within him. His manhood stiffened.
“Would you think me a complete whore if I asked you to make love to me right here?”
*****
The words had escaped her, had thrust themselves out of her. She expected to regret them, to quickly mutter an apology. But she did not. Instead, she just watched him, watched the effects of her words rippled through his muscular, supine body. His tilted his head at her and inspected her, tracing his eyes from her forehead down to her boots. She liked when he looked at her like that; it made her feel like prey. But not helpless, not afraid. Just alive.
“Are you sure?” he said.
“I am,” she replied, quickly. His hand was almost twice as big as hers. She gripped his fingers. “Why shouldn’t we?”
He stared at the earth. “I just—I have never—”
“Neither have I,” she said. “Oh, Wilbert, I thought you had – you know how men are – but I am glad that you haven’t. It will be nice, won’t it, if we do it together for the first time?”
“Here? Now?”
“Yes, yes.”
The more they talked about it, the more Lucia wanted it to happen. A metamorphosis had come over her. All because of that look in his eyes, that slightly boyish, speculative, half-afraid look. He didn’t say anything else. He rolled over so they were close, and then kissed her upon the lips. She opened her mouth and thrust her tongue toward him. His tongue caught hers and they danced. His hands were on her, grabbing her breasts, moving down her body to her womanhood.
She moaned as he undressed her.
*****
Afterwards, they lay half-clothed in silence for a time. Then their eyes met, and they began to giggle. Lucia hadn’t known what to expect. The pleasure of the body had always been oblique to her. What she had experienced had been painful at first, and then slowly, slowly, pleasurable. They would do it again. Of that Lucia was sure. But now that case was on, and they had to focus. It was around two o’clock in the afternoon. The Viking would be here soon.
“That was—unexpected,” Wilbert breathed, as he pulled his shirt on.
“I know,” Lucia smiled, pulling her boots on. “We’ll do it again, when this Viking fellow is caught.”
“Yes?”
Lucia touched his nose. “Yes.”
“Let’s hope he hasn’t sneaked by whilst we were—busy.”
“He hasn’t,” Lucia said. “I would’ve sensed it.”
Wilbert didn’t dispute her. He had done, when they first started working together, all those years ago. But she had proven herself to him time and time again. It had gotten to the point where her self-regard was contingent upon his absolute confidence in her abilities. And he rarely doubted her, which meant she rarely doubted herself. If Wilbert would gone, she would be extremely sad indeed.
“Wilbert, my love,” he said.
“Hmm?”
She swallowed. She was not, she reflect, a lady at all. “What would you say if I suggested we become husband and wife? Oh, let us push away all sentimental considerations for a moment. We would be quite the team, I think. Mr. and Mrs. Underwood, crime-fighters extraordinaire!”
Wilbert smiled and squeezed her hand. “That would make me the happiest man alive.”
“Good,” Lucia said, sitting up. “We’ll do that, then.”
“I love you, Lucia,” Wilbert said.
“I know you do, Wilbert dear,” she replied, smiling warmly. “I know you do.”
That was as far as she could go. Her mind was not yield so easily to her body, to her heart. But perhaps the two could co-exist. Whatever the case, it would be night soon. Wilbert unpacked a lunch of bread, meat, cheese, and ale. They ate and drank whilst watching the house, and when they were done they resumed their positions and waited.
Lucia did not once get bored. Lying about in the leaves and mud waiting for a killer was infinitely more enjoyable and interesting that lying about on a divan waiting for a suitor. When she thought about the thousands of women whose sole occupation was to be ladies, she almost laughed. What they were missing!
Soon, the sun began to set and a round, bright, full moon dominated the sky. Lucia and Wilbert looked up at it together. “He’ll be here soon,” Lucia said.
“Yes,” Wilbert said. “Let’s hope we’re fast enough.”
Lucia nodded. But she knew the truth. Their speed had nothing to do with it. It was all up to Lady Lavery now. Lucia hope the lady had it in her to do the right thing. Poor Malcom, it would be a shame—but it had to be done. His life did not justify his actions.
Lady Lavery must see that, or she would’ve live to see the morn.
*****
The Viking had somehow sneaked to the house without them seeing. There came a loud bang from the house. Wilbert jumped to his feet and sprinted across the field with Lucia panting at his side. “Damnable dresses,” she breathed. “What monstrous man invented these intolerable things! How is one supposed to run in them!”
“Stop complaining,” Wilbert retorted. “Keep running.”
They crashed through the front door and made their way to the drawing-room, from whence the sound had come. Wilbert swung the door open and then stopped, looking down at the huge mass of killer they lay motionless upon the carpet. Lady Lavery looked down at her hands, her whole body shaking. “What happened?” Wilbert said, crouching beside the Viking. With an effort, he managed to turn the killer over. Drool fell from the side of his mouth, and his eyes were half-closed. Wilbert placed a hand on his chest: no breath, no heartbeat. “Dead,” Wilbert said, and felt a profound relief. At least he could soothe the landlady’s heart, if only a little. “But how?”
“Sorry, Wilbert, dear,” Lucia said, sitting casually in an armchair and crossing her legs. “I didn’t think you’d agree. You remember when I wanted to talk to Lady Lavery about ‘lady’s business’? Ha, men, mention lady’s business and they ask no questions! And you remember I hugged you beforehand? Well, I may have lifted that poison-filled pipe and given it to the sweet lady. You never would have agreed, would you, my love?”
Wilbert shook his head. “It would have been too risky.”
“Yes, I knew it!” Lucia cried. “I told Lady Lavery to throw the poison into the man’s mouth, and—” She waved a hand over the corpse. “Here he is.”
Lady Lavery looked down at the corpse. “Poor boy!” she wept. “Poor, poor boy!”
“Lucia,” Wilbert said, rising to his feet. He tried to scorn her, but he could not. It had happened before, and it would happen again. Her plans rarely failed, an
d this had been a success. The child-killer was dead; that was all that mattered. “You are impossible!” he exclaimed, unable to hide his mirth.
Then he remembered Lady Lavery. He knelt before her. “I will send a telegram to Scotland Yard immediately, my lady. You will have all the assistance you require. You need not fear. This was self-defense. I will make sure – personally – that there is no fuss about this. Nobody will know Malcolm’s connection to you. You have my word.”
“Thank. You,” Lady Lavery sniffled.
“Is there a footman about I could borrow, my lady?” Wilbert said.
There was, the telegram was sent, and soon the estate was swarming with Scotland Yarders.
Wilbert and Lucia left them to their work and sat on the balcony, looking out upon the night.
*****
Lucia cast a look into the house. Nobody was watching. She walked across to Wilbert and kissed him on the lips. “Are you angry with me?” she said.
He laughed. “Angry? How could I be angry? It was brilliant!”
“When will we marry?”
“On the morrow, you mad, brilliant woman! On the morrow!”
“And we’ll have many more adventures, as husband and wife? We won’t grow stale?”
“I do not believe you, my sweet Lucia, could ever grow stale.”
They kissed again, and then the Scotland Yarders commanded their attention. Great work. What an investigation. Something to reassure the public. Jack the Ripper is still out there, but the Viking is finally caught! A very good team, the two of you make. Yes, yes, a very good team.
Fate's Ploy
LollieMcArkam had always been skeptical about the local legend. Spend some time of Finger Rock, they said, and good fortune will be granted to you upon your wedding day. Lollie was of marriageable age, though she had no suitor. But Father had demanded that she fulfill tradition. Finger Rock was named for the way it jutted from the ocean floor like a defiant finger. Father rowed her out to it. The Scottish winds were high, and the mountainsides that bordered the out-of-the-way isle of Karankaywas blasted by the wind. Father said nothing as he rowed. His brow was creased, and every so often he wiped sweat and sea water from his face. Lolli was bored. This was a waste of time. But tradition was not to be ignored.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” Father said, as Lollie stepped upon the rock.
“Okay, Da,” Lollie said.
Father rowed away, and Lollie was left alone. A mist had descended upon the ocean, and Lollie could not see very far ahead. She sat upon the rock and waited—waited for what? She knew nothing would happen. The kelpie was a legend that had persisted in this nowhere place for hundreds of years. Lollie had grown up with it. And yet she doubted it. As she grew, she had observed. She had seen a woman who sat upon the rock fall into loveless marriages. The MacNeill woman had sat upon this rock. Now she lived alone in the shack, and her husband wandered the mountains, only returning once a week to bring her game. What power could this rock hold, if it set matches like that?
But Lollie was not about to dive into the wild ocean and swim back to the isle. She was here for the night. She had brought a blanket. She pulled it tight around her. It did little to protect her from the frigid gales. She tucked her hands into her waistband and tried not to shiver. Once the shivers set in, danger started. She breathed deeply of the sea air. The clouds were a thick shield above her, blocking all light. No merman climbed upon the rock.
Time was hard to tell. She thought she had been here for hours, but it could’ve been less than an hour. The sky didn’t change its hue, and the coldness that crept into her bones didn’t get any warmer. She shivered, and waited for morning, when this tradition would be fulfilled. And she could get on with her life.
What a silly tradition, she thought wanly. What a silly thing for a woman to have to do. Oh, well, it is what they want.
She peered into the mist. Part of her hoped that something would happen. It would break the monotony of her life. It would soothe the boredom that sometimes threatened her. But nothing came. She just waited, and shivered, and stared. And then she waited some more.
“Morning will be here soon,” she muttered, reassuring herself. “Morning, and rest.”
&
There was no rest for Elias Taylor. He and his crew had sailed north, far north, and now they were lost in this blasted storm. “Fix those leaks!” the captain roared above the gale. “Taylor, get on them!”
Elias, mason-turned-carpenter-turned-general-craftsman, ran across the decks and leapt down the stairs to below decks. All around him, his shipmates were tying things down. The last thing you wanted in a storm was things rolling about, tipping the balance. Fish flew all over the deck, where it hadn’t been properly packed. Cases rocked from their bindings and crashed into the wood. Elias ignored all this and began patching the leaks, working quickly, expertly. He lost himself in his work. He patched, and patched, carrying his tool case around with him. He stopped the ship’s boy and sent him scuttling for supplies, and then continued with his work.
After a long time – Elias couldn’t say how long – the storm quieted. Elias climbed above decks. The captain slapped him on the arm. “Good man,” he said. “She didn’t sink this time.”
“Aye, captain.”
“Taylor,” the captain said, as he was about turn.
“Aye, captain?”
“Take a rowboat and go to yonder isle, will you? I want to see if there are people there.”
“Why me—”
The captain pulled him close. “You know why,” he whispered. “You’re the only man I can trust on this vessel. You’re the only learned, upstanding man. You can read. That seems like magic to most of these men. Come on, do me a favor, please.”
“And if there are people there?”
“A place to dock.” The captain slapped his forehead. “Look for a place to dock, first. If there is a place to dock, row back and tell us. We’ll rest up there. If there is no place to dock, but there are people, see if you can’twrangle some food out of them. I’m getting tired of fish and bread.”
“Aye, captain,” Elias said. In truth, he was looking forward for a chance to get out of the ship for a few hours. He had been locked up here for months. He was beginning to go a little sea-crazy. He had joined the Swan because his family was in ruin. He was the eldest son, and he needed to make his own way. Father had gasped in shock when he told him he was going to take on as a carpenter. He’d been a sculptor, and when his art couldn’t support him, a stone-mason. Father had not even known that he’d been secretly studying carpentry all the while. “I’ll leave presently.”
A rowboat was lowered for him, the anchor was set, and Elias climbed into it. The captain was an eccentric man, but the sky had cleared as though the heavens had opened, the wind had died, and the morning sun was just beginning to show on the horizon, lighting the sea a dull orange.
He began to row, checking his direction every so often, for the small isle in the distance.
*****
The storm had stopped suddenly. Now the morning sun was beginning to show. Lollie hadn’t guessed that it was morning. She must have fallen asleep. Her clothes were soaked through, and she was shivering. Father should be here soon to collect her, though the tradition was that the woman stay until just before midday, so she had some time yet. At least she didn’t have to contend with the elements anymore. She rose to her feet and began jumping up and down on the spot, forcing life back into her stiff, cold limbs. She was looking away for the isle when she saw him: a lone man rowing toward her.
She squinted, unsure of what she was seeing, and realized that her first assessment had been correct. In the water there was a man – alone – rowing before her. Lollie felt a lurch within her. This had to be part of the legend, the kelpie. It had to be. She couldn’t see what the man looked like, but it hardly mattered. She waited for him to approach. He looked up, started, and then adjusted his course. He was a strong-looking man, with sandy blonde
hair and a wild-man beard. His arms were ripped with muscle and his shirt showed the very top of his muscular chest.
He stopped beside the rock and looked up at her from the row boat. “My lady,” he said, “is there something wrong? Why are you up there all alone?”
Lollie did not know how to reply to this. She assumed that anyone who the kelpie sent would know why she was up there. She hadn’t foreseen the need for an explanation. “It is the tradition,” she said. The man looked no less confused. “Of the kelpie,” she went on. “Didn’t it send you?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that, my lady,” he said. “But you look awfully cold and hungry. May I come up, and we can see to that?”
“Please, do,” Lollie said, without thinking. The thought of warmth and food pushed all other concerns aside. She wasravenously hungry, and thirsty. Her belly grumbled at her as the man tied his boat and climbed up Finger Rock.
He stood over her and then looked around. “Are you hurt?” he said.
“No,” Lollie replied. “I’m quite well. Except for the cold, and the food, and the water.”
The man grinned. “Care to give an explanation, my lady? It is no everyday one finds a lady upon the rocks. Some of my more superstitious shipmates would take you for a siren.”
“It is tradition,” she said. “I live over there.” She pointed to Karankay. “On our isle, when woman come of marriageable age, they sit upon Finger Rock for one night. It is meant to bring good fortune with the opposite sex.”
The man laughed. “My,” he said. “I am sorry for laughing. But—my. That is some tradition. A dangerous tradition, at that.What would possess a perfectly sane woman to sit upon a rock in the middle of a storm? I apologize, I am from England. I did not mean to insult your customs.”
“So the kelpie did not send you?” Lollie was beginning to realize how foolish she sounded.
The Duke of Ice Page 34