Page 48 of A Devilish Element
As if that were any concession.
George grumbled and groaned, but nevertheless stripped off his clothing and donned the nightrail over his birthday suit, while Jem and Bell averted their gazes. Linfield produced a mob-cap for George to pull down over his hair.
“Perfect,” he announced.
“And now I suppose you expect us to tear around after him?” Bell gave his eyes a laconic roll. The man could move swiftly enough, when pressed or caught up in a matter that excited him, but he was not the sort for childishness or unnecessary exertion, and he’d endured a deal of the former this evening already.
“That is generally what a hunt entails, Ludlow, my dear fellow. Oblige me, this once, won’t you, and I shan’t bat an eyelid when you next bring a corpse through my door. Up now. Up, varmints!” Linfield propelled them onto their feet, with a series of gesticulations worthy of an orchestral conductor. “Georgie, get ready. Gentlemen, all is fair game within the bounds of Cedarton’s walls. The first to capture the ghost, may claim the victory. George, if you’ve managed to evade and outwit us by the time the clock strikes one, then…”
“Then?” All three of them prompted in unison. Open-ended agreements weren’t something one wanted to agree to, especially with the likes of Linfield, who was a known snake, and couldn’t be trusted to play fairly.
“Then the victory is his?”
“That’s it?” George grumbled. “No prize other than a pat on the back? I’m foxed, but not foxed enough to risk a chill for less than a guinea apiece.”
“I can think of better things to do with my guineas,” Jem muttered. In hindsight, he ought to have kept his mouth shut. Protesting only served to make Linfield more determined they would all run around like blind mice to suit his whim. “Ten guineas to the victor.”
Dammit, that would mean coughing up over three guineas apiece, money he could do without throwing into George Cluett’s pockets. Naturally, George brightened. An avaricious smile snaked across his face, and he started skipping from one foot to the other in readiness. Bell continued to hesitate, which at least served to make Jem’s own reluctance less remarkable.
“What’s the issue, gentlemen? Afraid you might meet our resident white lady and piddle yourselves with fright?” Linfield gave a raucous, nerve fraying laugh. “She’s not real, muttonheads. She’s merely a delusion of my wife’s. Start running, George. I’m going to start counting now.” He did just that, beginning a droning amble towards a hundred that sped as the digits increased. George vanished from sight as the count climbed towards thirty, whereupon both Jem and Bell were obliged to find their feet. The physician positioned himself at the exit that led towards the stairs. Jem hesitated, wondering if it was safer to follow his lead, or flee in the opposite direction. Linfield was already shooting him lascivious looks that spelled his intent out all too plainly.
It was the perfect reason not to linger. If he managed to outpace Linfield far enough at the start of the chase, then he ought to be able to stay out of his grasp for the duration, particularly if he ventured into the parts of the castle that were dank with ruin and best left to fester in peace.
“Ninety-nine, one hundred,” Linfield finished.
Jem sprinted for the glass-scattered remains of the former solarium via a circuitous route through the first floor rooms. From that chamber he would be able to circle around the outside of the building, then enter again through the window into the dining room with the dodgy latch. Then… then with luck he’d make it down to Bell’s surgery, and from there into the tunnel between the walls where he could hopefully wait out the hour unmolested.
That was assuming Linfield didn’t know about the hidden passageway, but even if he did, he had no idea that Jem knew. Hopefully, he’d be busy stalking corridors and looking under beds and inside closets.
The first part of the chase was the most precarious. Unfortunately, George seemed to have had a similar path mapped out, for Jem caught sight of him as he nipped across the entrance hall. The last thing he wanted was to actually catch the man and then endure a second bout of this nonsense, or worse, whatever Linfield’s mind conjured next.
He took a right into the Lady’s Parlour and hefted open one of the sash windows, then slipped out and lowered himself onto the window ledge below, and thence into the channel that bordered nearly the whole of the property. With the window pulled down once more, hopefully Linfield wouldn’t notice it was unlatched. Jem then snuck around to the west facing side of the castle. The mist that had swaddled the property for days still sat heavy on the surrounding moorlands. Coupled with the dark, it made it difficult to scry more than a few feet ahead. Once or twice, he thought he saw lights amid the gloom, or heard the whisper of voices, but he dismissed them as phantoms of the fog. The walls were a certainty, so he stuck to them, making sure to take care when passing any windows.
He slid in through the back entrance onto the boot room, then skirted the servants’ quarters to reach the tunnel that lead to Bell’s domain.
Would Bell himself be there? Would he find him at his studies, rather than humouring Linfield by chasing around the castle? Would Linfield have struck out in this direction thinking it a likely place to find Jem?
The rooms were blissfully silent as he passed through and slid into the concealed passageway.
Of course, he had not accounted for the lack of a light source, leaving him to navigate the inky darkness by touch alone. He got turned about at the first junction and found himself in a suite of rooms he’d never seen before. Cobwebs hung like sails from the ceiling and black mildew had created a canvas of lurid figures across the whole of one wall. The chamber was sparsely furnished. Jem pulled aside one dust-drape and uncovered a child’s rocking horse. Deeper into the chamber sat a replica of the castle, inhabited by a miniature lord and lady, though most of the maids and footmen had been knocked to the floor and trampled. Both a cleaver and flame had been taken to the Lady’s Tower so that it stood as soot blackened and damaged as the real tower. He noticed himself then, positioned in his chamber, and Bell in his surgery downstairs, Jane, Eliza and both the Cluetts all positioned just so. Lady Linfield’s bed had been burned in the middle, and her dolly’s face damaged so the face was melted on one side and her golden hair singed back to her waxen scalp.
He stepped back from the horrid display with a yelp.
What devilry was this? Someone’s recreation of the events after the fact, or the place where they had plotted their actions?
Who even knew of this chamber besides him? Linfield claimed to never have set foot inside Cedarton prior to the party’s arrival here, but they had only his word for that, and his word was hardly reliable.
What if he truly had come here to enact some dastardly plan to rid himself of his unwanted wife, and not just to avoid the aftermath of that disastrous carriage chase.
If he murdered her, he’d likely get away with it. He’d claim the privilege of the peerage and the House of Lords would acquit him without punishment. They mercilessly honoured their own.
Was Linfield really capable of such villainy? He was a tyrant to be sure, but more mischief than miscreant in Jem’s experience. And would he really subject himself to Bell’s leeches if he meant to do away with his wife? Her death would rather render the need for a cockstand unnecessary.
But if it was not Linfield behind this ghastliness, then who? And why? Who could possibly wish Lady Linfield such ill? And why create such a rendition of the castle? The rooms were arranged to the last detail, including the deserted area he and Bell had explored hunting for clues as to what Lady Linfield had seen, right down to the mice and the candle left in the middle of that dark painted otherwise empty room. Even this suite tucked away at the rear of the west tower was reconstructed with its cobwebs and replica house.
Perhaps he needed to further question Eliza on her friend’s past.
Jem found a candle stub among the detritus, and with a trick for making sparks he’d learned as a child, kindled a flame to light his way through the concealed passageway. He did not attempt to exit the suite via its actual door, being too afraid of finding Linfield on the other side irate over having his secret lair uncovered. Although, in truth it was not a very Linfield sort of room. Cedarton’s master was a creature of comfort and privilege. He disliked filth, sneezed over the tiniest bit of dust, and was not overly fond of eight-legged beasties.
