“So my brother is safe?” Jessica asked. “We thought so, but we
couldn’t be sure.”
“He’s safe. So is my son, and several others. And several
refused, to the point where the Leader’s suggestion made perfect sense. The best
and the brightest only, with no longer a birthright to gain anyone entry.”
“The best and the brightest. And the most strategically placed
and influential, I would imagine,” Gideon commented. “Please, go on.”
“I should think it would be obvious what happened after we’d
decided what we had to do. We drew up a list. Noddy Selkirk was the first, and
then Cecil Appleby—they seemed the safest to use as our tests before we could
chance anything more bold. When no one suspected, we moved on. Orford, Sir
George Dunmore, Baron Harden. Dead because they’d begun killing us, dead before
they could rid themselves of the rest of us. We took revenge for those who had
been destroyed, and vengeance on the rest.”
“And the Marquis of Mellis?” Gideon asked, and Jessica realized
he was testing the woman with that question.
“No, not him. The marquis died before we could reach him. He
would have been right after Archie and poor Caro’s Lord Charles, although she
swears she still loves him and won’t yet agree. But he and Archie would have
been the last for us. All the members now wear full masks, just like the Leader,
added one by one over the last five years. It was like being spitted by a thing,
and not a person at all. It’s horrible.”
She looked up at Gideon, her complexion gone deadly pale, her
pupils suddenly two small dots in a sea of watery blue. “You...you didn’t know
it was us who killed them? I thought— But you sent your wife to us. I was so
sure— Oh, God, what have I done? Isn’t this what this is all about? You figured
it out somehow? You wanted to know what I know about the Society or else you’d
turn all of us over to the Crown to be hanged? But we have an agreement, my
lord. Please. I beg you.”
Jessica heard herself springing to the women’s defense.
“Gideon, they really had no other choice.” She was terrified he wouldn’t
understand that the true victims were the wives. He had to see that. He had
to!
“It’s all right, Jessica,” he said quickly. “And, yes, of
course we knew, Mrs. Urban, we simply needed to hear you say the words. I’ll
help you, just as I said I would. But there are a few more questions, if you can
manage them.”
“Yes! Yes, anything I can tell you. Anything at all. Because we
had no choice. You see that, my lady, don’t you? You said that. We had no
choice.”
Jessica got up, went to sit beside Felicity Urban on the couch.
She took the woman’s shaking hands in her own. She’d had Richard. These women
had no one but themselves and with their children to consider. “No choice, and
every reason. We understand, truly we do. But I must ask about my father and his
wife. Why them?”
Felicity looked from Jessica to Gideon, and then back again.
“We didn’t...
No!
We had nothing to do with that. It
was a coaching accident. A true accident, a horrible accident. Wasn’t it?
Clarissa was different from the rest of us. She...she
liked
it. We would never have approached her with our plans. Turner
could never say no to his young wife and her...appetites. But he hadn’t been the
same since the murder. The vestal virgin sacrifice, you understand. He hated the
new Leader, the new members, all of them, even as he was terrified of them, the
way all of us were terrified of them. But you don’t leave the Society,
especially when your wife has been named the High Priestess of Hymen. Oh, how
she gloried in that role! She would have learned, in time, when her body began
to sag, when even her talents weren’t enough.”
The woman smiled weakly at Jessica. “We women, we always
thought your father hired Jamie Linden to spirit you away that night. Clarissa
was so angry with him, you understand, when word came you and Linden couldn’t be
found. And here you are, landed on your feet.”
Could it have been possible? Could her father have paid James
to take her away that night, hide her somewhere? Had everything James told her
been a lie? Had he been paid to escort her somewhere safe and then realized he’d
been foolish to cross the new Leader, and it would be best if he disappeared, as
well? Had her frantic offer of her stepmother’s jewelry given him the idea? Had
he always been looking over his shoulder for the pursuing Society or for Turner
Collier, a man searching for his daughter? Oh, how Jessica wanted to believe
that. But she would never know....
“All right,” Gideon said reassuringly. “We believe you. You had
no reason to kill Collier and his wife, just as you say. But who did?”
The brown bottle was uncorked yet again. “Nobody. It had to
have been an accident. Turner was the Keeper. That’s a very high honor.”
Jessica closed her hand over the bottle. Felicity Urban’s words
had begun to slur, and her breathing had become rapid and shallow, as if she
might soon pass out. It was important to keep her talking. “No more laudanum,
Mrs. Urban, and only a few more questions, please. You said my father was the
Keeper. Did that mean he kept the journals? The bible?”
Felicity nodded. “Yes. That’s what the Keeper does. In the
tabernacle.” She looked up at Gideon. “We don’t go there. We never go there.
It’s the most unholy of unholies, you see. Unholy ground, as they call it in
their twisted way. Only Turner knew its location, and he wouldn’t tell anyone.
Since the days of his lordship’s father, Turner was the Entrusted One. Those are
the rules.”
Gideon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Are you saying
even the leader of the Society doesn’t know where the journals and bible are
kept?”
Again Felicity nodded her head. “Turner told him that was the
rule. Wasn’t it?”
“Yes, of course. I simply supposed incorrectly. But what about
the rites, the ceremonies? Weren’t they held in this tabernacle?”
“With the women, you mean? No, never. The tabernacle was where
they conducted their meetings. Only the men were allowed, but not since your
father died, when it was ceremonially unblessed and then sealed by the Keeper.
Archie and I weren’t as yet married, so I was never at Redgrave Manor. Lady
Orford told us, when we were still allowed to meet. Nobody ever went back there,
not since your father died. Only the Keeper, and only then to store the journals
and add to the bible. But even that stopped on orders from the Leader, although
some of the members still kept to their journals because they liked to write
down their exploits.” She shivered. “Pigs. Animals.”
“Meaning the journals are no longer mandatory?” Gideon
asked.
“I mean they are no longer
allowed.
But the Keeper still secretly updated the bible. Lady Orford told me that, as
well. She said he wasn’t supposed to do that, the Leader had commanded it stop,
but he continued. Turner Collier, she said, had an orderly mind and believed in
the old ways.” Mrs. Urban blinked a single time and then said, “Oh. Do...do you
suppose that’s why he’s dead?”
Jessica and Gideon exchanged glances. She knew what he was
thinking because she was thinking the same thing. Whether because of a love of
rules or as a result of the leader’s demand Turner Collier hand over his
daughter to be sacrificed, thanks to her father, the bible still existed. All
the old names were there, all the newer names were there. Wherever
there
was...
“What else do you want to know? We meet...the Society meets at
designated spots located on the country estates of the members. I was there with
the others, waiting, the night Jamie Linden ran off with you, my lady. There had
to be a new ceremony, the next full moon. We all suffered for that, we women.
But we were glad for you.”
“Yes...um...thank you.” Jessica had nearly said
I’m sorry,
nearly apologized. There was also the fact
that someone eventually had died in her place.
Been
sacrificed in her place.
She longed to scream but knew it would serve
no purpose. “Gideon? Are we done now?”
“I’m sorry but not quite, no. Mrs. Urban...Felicity...I know we
can never truly understand the horrors that brought you and the others to do
what you did. But are you certain you know no other names?”
“We don’t. Really, we don’t. I told you. The guests didn’t
bring wives anymore, and they always wore masks, even before the new Leader
arrived and took charge. We only knew the ones we...we only knew each other. We
only had each other. These last few years have been terrible, the worst of any
of them. We couldn’t concern ourselves with their wild plans. It was our
husbands we needed dead, so that we’d finally be free, out of it. You can
understand that. You were so lucky, my lady, that Jamie Linden died. Our
husbands seemed to go on forever.”
Jessica could only nod her head, unable to meet the woman’s
eyes.
Too many memories, all rushing back at once. Memories
she’d pushed to the back of her mind, as Richard had told her to do, as
she’d needed to do.
Gideon got to his feet. “Very well, Felicity. You’ve been a
tremendous help to us. Now allow me to keep my end of the bargain.”
“There is the one other thing,” she said as she leaned over,
picked up the bandbox and handed it to him. “Archie had a locked cabinet in his
study. I was able to locate the key and open it and bring you its contents, in
the chance I needed to bargain. But now you can simply have it all.”
Gideon took the bandbox and set it down on the table. “Thank
you. This may be helpful. But we’d better get you moving now, clear of the city
before your husband realizes you’ve taken this and mounts a pursuit.”
Felicity Urban replaced the brown bottle in her reticule and
rose unsteadily to her feet. She attempted a wobbly smile. “That’s very kind of
you, my lord, but don’t worry. That’s already been taken care of. With the
Marquis of Mellis so conveniently dying without it costing us a penny, it was
Alfie’s turn, you understand. His turn...”
“P
IN
MONEY
,” G
IDEON
SAID
,
staring into his wineglass once they were back in Portman Square, he and Max
sitting together in the study. “The wives hired killers with their pooled
allowances. No wonder the
accidents
always seemed to
occur at the beginning of each new quarter. My God, it’s almost funny.”
“So where is the lethal Mrs. Urban off to?” Max asked as he
lounged on one of the leather couches, his long legs stretched out in front of
him.
“Ireland, although she wouldn’t say exactly where,” Gideon told
him. “She has a cousin who will take her in. Her children were in another room
at the shop. A boy and a girl. They took charge of her and led her down to the
traveling coach. The boy is perhaps fourteen, and I don’t think it’s too
fanciful of me to say he’s the near mirror image of the late Noddy Selkirk.
You’d think they would have considered that sort of possibility.”
Max merely shrugged. “No one can say the four of us can’t claim
Maribel as our mother, but can any of us be certain who sired us? It’s a
question I’ve considered a time or two while looking at Barry’s portrait in the
Long Gallery at Redgrave Manor. Haven’t you?”
“Not really, no, and I don’t think any of us should consider it
again. Now, are you ready to see what’s in this bandbox?”
Max got to his feet and wandered over to the desk. “On
tenterhooks, actually. But first, tell me more about the bible. You believe his
own Society killed Turner Collier and his wife?”
“Jessica and I discussed that on our way back here. Yes, we
both think so. The Leader—damn, how I hate saying that word—probably found out
Collier was still visiting the tabernacle, still updating the bible, and
demanded to learn its location. I saw the bullet holes in their heads, Max, but
God only knows what all it took to get Collier to reveal the location before the
murderers finally ended it for them. I think we have to assume the tabernacle,
wherever it is on Redgrave property, is now empty.”
“Unless Collier lied to them about the location,” Max pointed
out. “A man so dedicated to our father’s bizarre rules over the course of two
decades may have protected him to the end.”
Or cursed the Leader until the end for
having made him turn Jessica over to him,
Gideon thought, but
prudently did not say. “Meaning we still have to locate the tabernacle. I
agree.”
“Do you think that’s where they took Barry? Perhaps propped him
up with a glass of wine amid row upon row of journals before they bade him their
last farewells? You said there was some sort of ceremony.”
“At this point, Max? After hearing what Felicity Urban told us?
Yes, I could believe that. I could believe most anything.”
“Then it’s a good thing Val is with Kate. We wouldn’t want her
stumbling over that sort of sight. How’s Jessica? She was politeness itself when
you introduced us but clearly under some duress. I did warn you about that. I
can tell you’ve only half a mind for what we’re about to do, the other half
already upstairs with her. It’s time you were out of this, brother, and let Val
and me take over.”
“I agree, as does Richard. I’d apply to Thorny for his opinion,
but I believe it’s already clear enough that Jessica and I have good reasons to
remove ourselves from London for a space,” Gideon said, taking out his penknife
and cutting the ribbon holding the bandbox shut. “It’s leaving things undone
that’s difficult to come to terms with, as you can imagine. I suppose we could
join Kate and Val at Redgrave Manor, on the hunt for our father’s bones in the
most unholy of unholies, now that we’re certain it exists.”
“No, not far enough. You have to appear as if you’ve given up
the hunt you started by wearing that damned rose. You’re so very good at
arrogance, Gideon, but subtlety isn’t your strongest suit. Happily, you’re also
known for going after what you want and then, once you have it, losing interest
and moving on to something else you’ll acquire just as easily. You’re the envy
of many men, you rascal. Our enemies, if we can call them that, must be
convinced you’ve tired of this particular game now that you’ve
acquired
Jessica, and have retired from the field. I
suggest Yearlings, for a monthlong idyll with your lovely bride.”
Gideon paused in the act of opening the lid of the bandbox.
“Really? Yearlings? Have you got a crystal ball hidden somewhere on your person,
Max?”
“So you’ve thought of it, as well? The most minor and most
unlikely to be known of the Saltwood holdings and nicely secluded. Yes, it’s
perfect. We’ll see what’s in this damn box and then we proceed from there.
Whether it’s to turn everything, including your suspicions, over to the War
Office, or for Val and I to continue what you began— With more finesse, of
course.”
“Of course,” Gideon said, smiling. But the smile soon faded.
“Bloody hell. Max, look at this.”
He pulled out a black silk hood that would conceal the wearer,
fitting closely over face and hair. There were openings for the eyes, nose and
mouth. The design, fashioned of pieces of flame red silk sewn to the hood, was
simple: a skull on a black background. A grinning skull, at that.
“The stuff of nightmares. With everything you’ve told me,” Max
said, reaching into the bandbox to draw out a long black cloak, “this still
serves as a shock, doesn’t it? We should probably take this to Trixie. I want to
know if our dearest father wore one of these ridiculous things.”
“Then you’d best do it yet today. She leaves for an interment
in the country in the morning. But first, let’s see what else is in here. All
right, now this is interesting.” He lifted out a journal similar to the one
belonging to Turner Collier, save for the fact that it was embossed with the
current year. “It would seem Archie Urban also preferred to continue keeping a
journal of his exploits. Take this with you, as well.”
“Bedtime reading?” Max asked, quickly leafing through it,
stopping when he came to a rather detailed ink drawing. “No, I suppose not. I
believe the man sketched his
endowments
with more of
an eye toward optimism than accuracy. Do you really think he’s dead?”
Gideon shrugged. “She said she wasn’t worried about pursuit,
that it had already been taken care of. So, yes, I’m fairly certain Archie Urban
has been just lately introduced to the real hellfire club via some sort of fatal
accident. You do realize the true beauty of the thing is all of these men
supposedly were the victims of accidents. We have to hope the Society hasn’t
realized it’s been under siege. There’s Turner Collier’s murder, but that had to
be the Society. But unless Archie Urban is found with Felicity Urban’s sewing
scissors stuck in his back, he’ll be just another unfortunate accident. We’ll
know for certain when the morning newspapers arrive, at any rate.”
“Leaving Lord Charles as
der käse steht
allein,
” Max said. “That’s part of a German nursery rhyme, brother,
taught to me by one of the many tutors Trixie had parading through our
childhoods. The cheese stands alone. Lord Charles, our last known link to the
Society. You and I might want to pay Lord Cheese a visit tomorrow.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. We could do that. Max, you’re the one who’d best
understand what I’m seeing here, although I have a sinking feeling I already
know. But look at this, tell me what you see.” Gideon handed over several sheets
of vellum, one of which had an official wax seal affixed to it.
Max spread out the sheets on the desktop, pushing his blue-lens
glasses up onto his head and then leaning on his hands as he moved his eyes from
one to the other, his expression becoming increasingly hard. When Gideon added
several blank sheets of vellum, a metal sealing device meant to impress an image
into wax and even a thick stick of red sealing wax and a few lengths of striped
grosgrain ribbon, Max swore under his breath.
“Everything necessary to pen official orders. Why would Urban
have all of this?”
“I’ve done some research on that. He acts—acted—as one of
Perceval’s many undersecretaries. I suppose either he was in charge of them or
he pilfered them. Lord Charles, before you ask, volunteers his noble service at
the Admiralty. Slacker that I am, I only take up my seat in the House of Lords,
run six estates and ride herd on my siblings. We won’t even discuss Trixie,
because nobody controls her. In any event, you’re better suited to tell me what
you think is going on here, unless you want to keep up the charade you put on
for Kate, that both you and Val are nothing more than feckless dilettantes who
could give a damn about anything but your own pleasures while the rest of the
nation is at war.”
“We’ll leave that last little bit for another time,” Max told
him, lifting the most official-looking of the pages. “This, I’m convinced, is
real. A directive, to be distributed with accompanying documents concerning
supply ships, their cargos, their destinations up and down the Peninsula.” He
put down the sheet and piled three more closely written pages on top of it. “The
details meant to accompany the command. All right?”
“Yes, I agree. Because, much as we say we’re not, we’re about
to stop nibbling at the fringes and fully engage Bonaparte once again, that
Spain is now committed and we won’t have any more debacles as we did with the
Convention of Cintra. Wellington is ready to move. Go on.”
Max smiled at his brother. “Not as uninformed as many, are you?
While Bonaparte plays to the East, the French are being quite helpful, splitting
commands between Massena and Soult, who cheerfully loathe each other in the true
French manner, so that they refuse to act in concert and should be easily
overcome. From the looks of this, I’d say Wellington should be in the field by
early July.”
“By the looks of it?” Gideon asked, watching his brother
closely.
“You don’t give up, do you? All right, yes, I’ve already
received my orders and will be taking up my post as part of his staff. Sadly, I
don’t think he’ll allow me my lovely new glasses once I don the uniform.”
Gideon was surprised. “I knew you wouldn’t be content to do
nothing, but I’d supposed you’d go back to the Royal Navy.”
“Nothing much to do there anymore, thank God. No, the action
will occur on land from now on. Lieutenant-Colonel Lord Maximillien Redgrave. It
has a certain ring to it, don’t you think? Besides, it’s a damned pretty
uniform. I’ve been dutifully studying Julius Caesar’s campaigns—brilliant
tactician, that man, although yet another proof that men at war should beware
beautiful women. Val prefers Sun Tzu and his
Art of War—
I have no idea of that man’s pursuit or lack of romantic entanglements.
Now for the problem we’ve got here.”
But Gideon wasn’t ready to give up. His brothers were going to
war. “It was all a hum, wasn’t it? Val didn’t escort an impecunious friend home
to his financially embarrassed father, did he?”
“No. And before you ask, I have no damn idea where he got the
dogs. You know Val, he likes to play any part to the hilt. I suppose he felt the
dogs fit nicely into his lie.”
Gideon managed a smile, but he wasn’t amused. “You’ve never
been in a ground battle, at least not to my knowledge. Study is one thing,
action is another. You’ll be careful?”
“I’ll even have my valet pack my galoshes, if that will help
ease your mind,” Max said, still frowning over the papers spread out on the
desktop. “And before you ask, because I know you will, our dear brother,
Valentine, will for the most part retain his well-earned reputation as a useless
bit of fashion and frivolity, right here on good English soil. Other than that,
he probably wouldn’t want you to question him. Younger sons, Gideon, it’s either
the army or the church. Neither of us is suited for the church, now, are
we?”
“I wish I could go with you.”
“The curse of being the earl, hmm? But I think you’ve had your
fun. Truthfully, I think you’ve been bloody damn brilliant.” He finished
separating the piles of paper.
The official documents said one thing, about ships, sailing
times, types of supplies, destinations for the delivery of same as per
Wellington’s hopeful progression along the Peninsula. Notes, most likely written
in Urban’s hand, did not match. Not at all. The ports of call had been shifted
in their order, in some cases the supplies halved.
“So, Gideon, if I’m holding the official documents—dated three
weeks ago, as you’ve surely seen—what do you think the Admiralty is not only
holding but distributing down the chain of command? Oh, and didn’t you tell me
Lord Charles is at the Admiralty? Do you suppose he has anything at all to do
with notifying ships’ captains, purveyors? Never mind, we’re both sure of that,
aren’t we?”
Gideon slammed his fist down on the desk, incensed. “Those sons
of bitches! This isn’t some sick game with capes and masks and orgies. This is
treason. Wellington won’t be resupplied once he begins his campaign. They’ll run
out of food, munitions, blankets, medicines, everything, while it all sits in
the wrong ports or travels inland in the opposite direction of the troops. We’re
looking at disaster. Hell,
you’re
looking at
disaster, because you’ll be there. My own brother.”
“Along with a lot of good men, many of them dying for no
reason. That’s my conclusion, as well.” Max gathered up the papers and the rest
of it, and replaced them in the bandbox. “You complained about leaving things
undone, but if you hadn’t stumbled over those supposed accidents and gone out
investigating, we’d know none of this. You and Jessica are bloody well heroes.
My compliments. Go tell her that, brother, before getting the two of you
somewhere safe, because without her, you’d still just be wearing that damned
rose and maybe getting your head bashed in for your efforts to find Barry and
have him properly replanted. I’m off to get this mess taken care of before it
becomes a debacle.”