by Kate Danley
"Wesley!" she cried.
He was standing by the fireplace, healthy and whole, but ragged and exhausted. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles and his face was gaunt from his time in the prison. "Oh, Clara!" he exclaimed.
She felt her knees go weak, but he ran forward and was there to catch her. She leaned upon his chest heavily, feeling his strong arms around her. He was real. Really, real. He was flesh and blood and alive. She felt the tears of relief prick in her eyes, but tried to push them down in case this was all just a cruel joke.
Her fingers ran over his face, feeling the careworn lines of his stubbly cheeks. She kissed him over and over again. "You were dead," she replied. "They told me that you were dead."
"What?" he asked.
"Marguerite told me that there was a fire. That you did not make it out. Oh, Wesley! I was sure you were dead!"
"Oh, Clara! If I were ever to die, I would haunt this house so that you would never be alone!" he said, his rueful laugh rumbling in his chest.
"You are not a ghost?" she asked seriously. "For often I cannot tell the difference."
"No, Clara," he replied, kissing her forehead. "I am flesh and blood and stand here as alive as you. No, somehow, Minnie knew of the coming fire and came to rescue me."
"She what?"
"I had a dream," Wesley replied, murmuring his words softly into her hair. His voice vibrated against Clara's bones. "I dreamed that Minnie came to me. The cell of my prison was so cold. The locks and barred windows were nothing to her. I dreamed she opened the door for me and beckoned me to follow her, then walked me all the way to my house and ushered me inside. She put me to bed and that was when I woke up to discover it was no dream. I have not known what to do! To turn myself in? To flee with this freedom? Oh, Clara! You must help me!"
"You cannot go back!" Clara stated vehemently. "I will not allow you to return to that place! There is no justice! Corruption runs rampant!"
Wesley squeezed her hands. "I know, Clara. But it is the right thing to do. Otherwise, I will be a fugitive the rest of my days!"
"Minnie knew. Minnie knew that if you stayed there, you would have been killed. Stay here with me, Wesley. Allow me to hide you. Help me to clear your name and to solve the mystery of Thomas's murder."
She could see he was relenting, so she did not cease her urging.
"I am powerless without you! I try as I might, but I need you beside me to learn what went so terribly wrong. Please, Wesley. There is nothing you can do to help if you are placed once more behind bars. Help me."
He finally sighed. "Very well. Instruct me as you will. I could never deny you. Say that which you would have of me and I shall do it."
"Just stay," she replied, clinging to him and vowing she would never let go, "and we shall determine the rest."
17
Clara stepped out into the hallway and called "Mr. Willard? Mrs. Nan?" louder, surprised that they were not already there. She did not know the sleeping habits of the dead. Surely those who had lost their earthly form did not need rest as their human counterparts.
She heard footsteps coming from downstairs, and then the flicker of their candlelight as they came down the hall.
"Are you all right, Mrs. Clara?" asked Mr. Willard, his voice filled with alarm.
"I am afraid that a certain resident of this house has decided that we needed a house guest," Clara replied, standing aside so that Wesley could reveal himself.
Mrs. Nan gave a relieved cry. "You are alive!" she said, disbelief in her voice before pulling herself back to more practical matters. "However did you get in? We should have heard you come in!"
"My apologies for waking you," said Wesley. "I can only assume that my sister felt that it would be best if I were here instead of my jail cell."
"This is quite a pickle. Quite a pickle you have gotten us into, Minnie!" Mrs. Nan scolded at the ceiling.
"The police are under the impression that Wesley has expired," reminded Clara. "I do not know what justice could be served if they learn he is alive. They would perhaps think that he had started the fire to mask his own jailbreak. I cannot think what conclusions and accusations they might throw at him."
Mrs. Nan came over and smoothed Clara's hair in a motherly fashion. "Now, now. We most certainly are not suggesting that Wesley go back to that place. If his sister believes he is most safe in our care, than who am I to argue? It would have been a bit more pleasant, though, if she had the decency to warn of us of her meddling rather than waking all of us up in the middle of the night."
Clara squeezed Mrs. Nan's hand. "Thank you for your support." Clara looked out towards the road, aware of the sentry that was keeping tabs on all of the comings and goings of her house. "We must hide Mr. Lowenherz here, though. Someplace safe. There is a creature out there I saw from my window which, I believe, should not know of what is going on."
"Is this the same creature who watched you the other night?" asked Mr. Willard.
Clara nodded. "Indeed it is. I was woken by the house," she said, placing her hand upon the wooden doorframe. "It was as if it wanted me to distract this thing while Minnie smuggled her brother inside. I fear this being."
"This house will keep him protected for as long as Wesley needs to stay," said Mr. Willard confidently. "We have those extra rooms upstairs. I shall see that we get you settled in one of them. And please accept our apologies, on Minnie's behalf, for any chaos that this may have encouraged. She is a spirited, strong-willed girl and I do not know if she always thinks through her schemes."
"I for one," said Wesley, "am grateful. I would have been killed if not for her."
"Well, then," said Mr. Willard. "There is nothing left to do but to see you upstairs." He nodded at Clara. "Perhaps tomorrow, we can send Red around to fetch his things."
"Would such an action alert the authorities?" Clara asked.
"Then we shall ask Red to fetch some other things, even if they are not necessarily Mr. Lowenherz's things," stated Mrs. Nan, taking control of the situation. It was as if having this new purpose had rekindled the light in her.
"That is most kind," thanked Wesley. He turned to Clara. "Now, if you would excuse me, it has been a long time since I had a soft bed to call my own and the quiet of well-behaved housemates."
Mrs. Nan snorted. "Don't let that sister of yours hear you talking like that. She has been having us up at midnight practically three times this week!"
"I think we all best would be served by a quiet night," said Clara. "I am sure the answers will come in the morning."
Mrs. Nan gave the walls of the house another glare. "Yes, Minnie. Let's see what answers you have for us."
Mr. Willard motioned to Wesley. "If you would please follow me, I shall show you to your room."
Wesley went over to Clara and kissed her lightly upon the cheek. "I would not do this for anyone but you."
"I know," she replied. "And I am grateful."
As soon as the two men left, Clara turned to Mrs. Nan. "How will I ever keep him safe? A falsely imprisoned, escaped fugitive presumed to be dead!"
"Now, now," the good housekeeper replied. "It will all sort itself out. This building has a funny way about it. It shall shelter him from this storm."
"Someone attempted to kill Wesley," said Clara. "They burned down that prison to protect their secrets. If Trevor Beltza learns that Wesley is still alive, I fear all of us are in harm's way."
Mrs. Nan paused for a moment, but then quietly she said, "I fear you are right."
18
That morning, Clara sat alone in the breakfast room as Wesley took his meal upstairs. It was not worth the risk if peering eyes should see him through the curtained windows. As Clara sipped her coffee, she reflected upon how right it felt to have him in the house, how his presence was like a soothing balm. She glanced towards the stairs. She longed to run to him even now. To sit upon the foot of his bed and listen to him tell her stories. To share the heat of a kiss like they had in the past.
But her reflections were interrupted by a powerful knocking. Mr. Willard hurried down the hall and Clara heard him open the door. The murmuring voice of her visitor sent chills down her spine. She gripped the table until Mr. Willard came back.
"Mr. Trevor Beltza is here to see you, madam."
She silently rose and walked into the sitting room, glad that she and Wesley had decided to keep him secreted away.
"What are you doing here?" Clara spat with barely controlled rage.
Trevor lifted one corner of his singular eyebrow, running his gloved hand across the mantle. "I am a man of my word. I told you what would happen if you crossed me. And I come to warn you that Lady Daphne Grey is currently my guest and she will be the next to die if you do not secure me the money your husband stole."
Clara stood aghast. "You would kill the mother of your true love?"
Trevor's face became hard and pinched. "You think I have any choice in this?"
Clara felt the anger rise and knew that her cheeks were flushed with rage. But she also knew that if she gave the slightest hint that Wesley had survived, the small advantage they had would be wasted. "You come here," she said, allowing her voice to tremble, "after the death of the only man I hold dear, and dare to make threats?"
"It is very important that we understand one another, Mrs. O'Hare," Trevor replied. "Your husband took that money. My benefactor requires that money."
"You are asking for blood from a stone!" Clara retorted. "You overplayed your hand! You can do nothing to me anymore! You have already taken away the only thing I wanted. Kill Lady Grey for all I care! You can explain your reasons to her dead daughter when you rot in the ground with worms eating your flesh!"
This time, Trevor Beltza was not the picture of cool, collected quiet that had greeted her the day before. He pointed his finger at her. "Don't you think for a moment this is over." He grabbed her by the arm and shook her roughly. His fingers dug into her flesh even through the thick fabric of her gown. "And you are going to give it to me if I have to wring it out of you!"
And that was when the house itself decided it did not want this man as its guest. A great wind blew through as all the doors to the room flew open at once. It wrapped around Trevor and tore him away from Clara. His eyes were wide with fear. It picked him up by the scruff of his neck and moved him out of the room on tiptoe. Clara brushed back her hair, which was pulled from its bun from the force of the wind and ran afterwards. She got there just in time to see Trevor be thrown, as if by some invisible hand, out the door and onto the sidewalk below. He landed hard on his side, but raised himself up on his elbow, shielding his face with his forearm fearfully.
"And stay out!" shouted Clara before slamming the door.
Her heart was pounding in her chest. The air in the house returned to its normal flow, nothing but the swaying of the chandeliers and an odd paper floating through the entry way to show that anything was amiss. Mrs. Nan and Mr. Willard ran into the room. Wesley ran down the hallway and stood at the top of the stairs. Clara held up her hand, motioning him to go back. She could not risk Trevor looking through the window and seeing Wesley now.
"Was that Minnie?" Clara asked Mr. Willard and Mrs. Nan.
Mr. Willard shook his head while Mrs. Nan looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. Clara placed her hand upon the wooden paneling of the entry way. The wall thrummed with energy.
"This house is very special, isn't it…" said Clara.
Mr. Willard nodded this time, the experience being quite beyond the vocabulary of anyone.
"Are you well?" asked Wesley. Clara could tell it tore him apart not to be able to rush down to her side.
"I am," she said. "But we are all in grave danger. Mrs. Nan or Mr. Willard, would you be so kind as to send Red around for our dear friend Marguerite Matson at the police department? I fear we are all in need of her assistance."
19
Clara joined Wesley upstairs and waited for their guests to arrive. Despite the heat of the day, she closed the window. It would not do to have their voices carry outdoors. Hidden in her pocket was the invitation to the Quatre Portes meeting she had acquired through dubious means at the waterfront stationers. She paced nervously until she heard footsteps come up the stairs.
"Clara?" called Marguerite. "Are you up here?"
"Indeed I am!" she replied, calling back. "Please, if you and Red would join us."
Marguerite walked into the room followed by Red. Her face paled, as if she herself was seeing a ghost. "Wesley!" She staggered back and caught herself against the wall in shock. "You are alive!"
Wesley nodded, his hands clasped behind his back. "For the time being."
Red twisted his cap, obviously nervous in the surroundings. Clara sought to make him feel comfortable. "Dear Red, please calm yourself."
"Are you sure he ain't a ghost, Mrs. O'Hare? Sometimes, I think I see people that just aren't there…"
"I assure you, Red," Clara replied, looking at Mr. Willard and Mrs. Nan who were waiting just outside in the hall, "Wesley is one of the most alive members in my house." She motioned for them to sit and took out the invitation. "Trevor was here not just an hour ago and was quite clear that more deaths shall follow if I do not help him."
"Are you all right?" asked Marguerite worriedly. "Oh, there is so little about this situation which could not be solved so easily if one of us had just a few less scruples..."
"He stated that his benefactor needs the money my husband stolen returned. The problem is that I don't know where the money is."
"Ah… Peter Nero's missing money…" said Marguerite.
"He has made it clear that he will stop at nothing to get that money back," stated Clara. "It is the Quatre Portes, I fear." Clara handed the invitation over to Marguerite. "I feel that we have been on the defensive from the start. After the fire, I truly believe he will stop at nothing. None of us is safe and the time has come to take matters in our own hands."
Marguerite took the envelope from Clara with great curiosity.
Clara continued as Marguerite opened it. "I have discovered that there is a meeting tonight of the secret society, the Quatre Portes. I believe this society may be behind all of the murders we have witnessed."
"What?" said all three of the others at once.
She pointed at the invitation. "That invitation was to go to Trevor Beltza, but I intercepted it. I could be wrong, but I believe that we should attend in his stead. We must find out who these people are and why they so desperately need this money."
"I will go!" said Wesley stepping forward, ready to take the invitation from Marguerite's hand.
Clara stopped him. "No, Wesley. We cannot risk someone recognizing you. You have had a high enough profile in those circles as a medium that I am sure there would be someone there who would figure out you did not die in that fire."
Marguerite shook her head and handed it back. "I would go, but I'm afraid that I am well known as a friend of the Oroberg family. And that damned newspaper outed me as an officer for the police after all of the murders at Horace's manor."
Understanding began dawning on the room as all eyes turned to Red. He shifted uncomfortably. "No, I couldn't…"
Clara pled. "There are so many lives at stake."
"No! It's not that!" protested Red, stopping the faulty assumption she was making. "I would go a million times over. It's just I could never pass as a gentleman. They would sniff me out before I crossed the threshold! I'd liable to spill something or say something foolish and ruin the whole thing. This is too important to put in these hands. They're only good for steering Daisy. Not much more."
Clara stood. "And that is where you are wrong, Red. You have saved our lives on more than one occasion. You are quick-witted and bright. You are our only hope."
"Mrs. O'Hare, I'm only a cab driver."
"Which is why you are perfect! You know as well as I that most people never even look up to see who is driving them around. You're sure not to be recognized."
>
Red rubbed the back of his neck as he glanced up at Clara. "I'll give it a try, but you can't be upset if it all goes to wrong."
"It will not, for I shall be with you," said Clara.
"What?" said the others.
Clara swallowed. "Everyone who knows me knows of my red hair and widow weeds. Well, I shall dress in regular clothes and darken my hair with shoe polish. They are very unlikely to look closely at either one of us."
Marguerite bit her cuticle, looking for some fault in Clara's plan.
"I cannot allow you to do this!" stated Wesley vehemently. "If anything should happen to you…"
Clara stopped him. "We must. Or else something absolutely will happen to me. Trevor has shown he will stop at nothing. And now that the house has refused to allow him admittance, I fear he will do something to drive us out onto the streets. He does not know I am aware of this event. I must go and use this to our advantage."
"But how will you get there?" asked Marguerite. "Red can't very well drive himself."
"We can call ourselves a cab?" offered Clara.
"Gentlemen that belong to this sort of club don't go around in hired carts." Marguerite looked at Red up and down. "Very well, I'll do it."
"Do what?" asked Wesley.
"I'll drive you."
"Oh! You can't do that!" said Red. "They'll figure out you're a woman for sure!"
"We'll put you in Wesley's clothes. You'll give me your clothes. No one ever looks at a cab driver. Clara said it herself. All you need is someone you can trust to stay with the cab. And you need someone who can help you make a quick getaway if you need it, too. I'll be right there, Red. And even better, if something goes wrong, you have an officer of the law there to bear witness."
They all looked at one another, silently accepting the plan. Wesley was the last to agree, but finally nodded, gripping Clara's hand as if desperately afraid to let go. "Let's hope this will bring an end to all of this," he said.