Infernal Vices (Resurrectionist #3)

CHAPTER 12

A SOCIAL LIFE

Little did I know that after that splendid night of loving where we used the Staff of Asklepios, I would see neither hide-nor-hair of my Sebastian for many weeks. He’d assured he would ‘be in touch soon,’ but such a protracted absence was unusual and vexing. It meant that we had missed our first St Valentines Day together and the portrait of me by Charles Ashe that I’d had framed as a gift for that very occasion remained in its wrapping paper.

And so as a busy February galloped toward March, it shocked me that in the silent times between dealing with business, the ache of longing for word of him made me feel so damnably bereft. It was as if I had been lifted skyward on the wings of love to then be unceremoniously dropped. I did not want to be alone, pining, and waiting for him to call on me. I still did not know where he lived, which confounded me more and more with each passing day. In the weeks apart I had acquiesced to Charles Ashe’s wish that I make the effort to socialize, the result of which meant I shockingly developed a social life, enduring weekly dinners at my club, The Athenaeum , in the company of Charles Ashe, Benjamin Cavendish, and the discomfortingly intense Lawrence Blake.

At the first such dinner in early February, and without his young pup Leopold to entertain, Blake initially waxed lyrical about his successes. He had been given the rare privilege of a meeting with the board of the Society for Psychical Research and was invited to dinner with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who had very much appreciated his article titled: Ancient and Modern Testimonies to Spiritualism by a Truth Seeker, which Blake had written for The Ligh t magazine.

Back at my club for a second dinner the following week, Blake appeared distant, lacking the bravado and showmanship of our previous encounters. He’d seemed out of sorts, nervous and twitchy, his heterochromatic eyes darting around the Coffee Room restaurant as if he was searching for someone in particular.

At the third dinner with just Cavendish, Blake, and I, Benjamin drew a thick letter from the inner breast pocket of his frock coat and offered it to Blake. Blake picked it up, removed the several pages from the envelope, and scanned the first few lines. His countenance brightened considerably. I was rather curious and bemused. Then with a sly smirk, the American revealed,

“Well, this is the most wonderful news my brothers. It appears our blessed vessel is safe and planning to return to us.”

“Good lord!” I exclaimed. “Is that letter from Leopold? What the devil happened to him? What did he say?” I asked unable to disguise the rush of anxiety. Blake did not answer me, but continued reading the second of three pages.

It had been more than eight weeks since Leopold vanished. My disquiet was all-too-real for I did not know if the young whippersnapper remembered the events that occurred before he awoke dressed as a woman on the ship named Christiania, bound for Hamburg! That night Leopold had consumed more alcohol than a sailor on shore leave and so I hoped he did not recall that I was involved in a ruse to abduct him and in-turn, scupper Blake’s’ ungodly master plan.

I needed to know what he said, but Blake remained silently reading, and Benjamin was sucking on a cigar, smirking at my agitation. The way he grinned riled me, and I could not remain quiet.

“I have been extremely concerned on his whereabouts. I feel wretched that he was supposed to be my charge when he absconded,” I justified. Blake remained quiet for a painfully long time, and so I filled the silence at our table with a gulp of claret before the man looked up from the third page of the letter and said,

“Calm yourself, my friend. Leo did not abandon us willingly. The letter confirms that you have nothing to concern yourself about. Our dear Leo was forcibly removed from London by his retainer and returned Thüringia at the demand of his father, Baron Maximillian Von Liebenstein. He was kept under lock and key in his rooms as a punishment for disobedience.”

Cavendish tapped his cigar over a cut crystal ashtray. “I kept telling the scamp to write to his father and reassure him all was well, but he ignored me. The silence was sure to worry his family, but, no, Leo wanted to make them suffer. He pushed his father too far, too damnably far and this was the result,” he harrumphed.

“He plans to return to us within the month, but he requires a beard,” Blake informed.

“I beg your pardon?” I said confused.

“The boy needs a cunt for a disguise,” Cavendish sneered crudely and I recoiled from those vile words. Blake spoke up then.

“He needs a wealthy girl of marriageable age to play his fiancée. The imaginative pup told his father he’d left his retainer’s care because he’d fallen hopelessly in love with a wealthy young lady and sought to woo her. He declined to give his father her name for the sake of her honour .” Both Blake and Cavendish burst out into peals of filthy laughter.

“Our boy certainly can think on his feet!” Cavendish chuckled. “If we can ensure a good match Leo’s father will permit his travel so he can continue to court the young lady and arrange the marriage,” he explained

I considered the proposal for a moment. Would Leo require a similar arrangement to that of Euan’s match, where his sapphist wife took lovers, as Euan did?

“While I understand the difficulties the boy faces in returning to England, I cannot agree with any plan that deceives an innocent,” I said with concern.

“Agreed. The girl needs to be in on the game, to be aware that she is merely a pawn. She will not actually marry Leo,” Blake insisted. “An arranged marriage to a female is not our vessel’s fate,” he added a moue of distaste in his expression.

Blake’s tone took me aback. Did he despise the fairer sex? Did he intend to keep the young man for himself? If this great work occurred, was Leopold even expected to survive his journey into death with the Svengali American?

“Do you have a young lady in mind?” I asked as I picked up my glass and took a sip of rich dark claret.

“In fact, I do,” Cavendish preened. He sat straighter and grinned with malevolence. “Miss Cecily Ashe.”

I sputtered and coughed, putting my glass down and reaching for my napkin. I was surprised to hear the name, and rather horrified by the cavalier way Benjamin bandied her name as a tool for this ruse. I recalled seeing a sketch of Miss Cecily Ashe fall from Charles’ folio when he came to my home. According to her brother, the girl was seventeen and a debutante due to begin her first season.

“As I understand it, Mrs Ashe is keen to find a suitor for her only daughter, but the girl is rather bookish,” I said my knowledge and opinion appearing to surprise both Cavendish and Blake. “That is not a mark against her by any means,” I surrendered, holding my hands up. “It would be very strange if she was not an avid reader, coming from such a family of renowned bibliophiles.”

My companions nodded. “Miss Ashe is unremarkable, yet pretty enough for our uses,” Benjamin conceded. “It is the Ashe family name and their wealth that will mollify Baron Maximillian. Apparently, Miss Cecily is far more interested in higher education than the marriage mart. But if we can convince Charles to permit us to approach her with a proposal—” Cavendish paused, and Blake took up the thread .

“We could use the fact she would prefer university to marriage in our favour. You have connections at Cambridge, yes, Benjamin? The girl would need to be courted publicly and we would offer to provide an educational enticement to get her to agree to our plan,” Blake purred with Machiavellian delight.

“Yes, yes, I see what you’re saying,” Cavendish smoothed his moustache thoughtfully.

“Then I suppose this is where you come in, Benedict.” Cavendish turned to pin his dark eyed gaze on me.

“Me?” I gasped innocently.

“You are a confidant of Brother Ashe, yes?”

“I…I…I” I blustered, unable to believe that I was yet again becoming embroiled in matters that did not truly concern me. I was sure I would not want my sister to be used in such a manner and I had a feeling Charles would rally against the idea too. He adored Cecily and I doubted he would permit her to be dishonoured in this way.

“It has pleased me to see that you’ve made quite the friendship with our young Ashe, Benedict. Maybe Benjamin is right. It would be…appropriate if you made the first approach and suggest the match?” Blake said a mischievous twinkle in his peculiar heterochromatic eyes.

“Bless-ed is the seed, my brothers. Yesss, bless-ed is the seed,” he hissed softly. “Now is our time. I can feel it.”

“You can?” I was perplexed.

“Indeed, Brother. With the vessel returning preparations for the great work will resume. Finally…finally it is all coming together.”

“Bless-ed is the seed,” Cavendish repeated. I was still not used to the rote parroting of that blasted phrase and I awkwardly stuttered, “Yes, bless-ed is the seed.”

“It is time to inform our brothers of the coming of the vessel.” Blake delighted.

“Agreed. We can use my country house as the location for the ritual. It will suit our purpose and afford us the privacy we require,” Cavendish informed.

“But, the search continues for the sacred phallus?” Blake sighed .

“Indeed, I do not think that will take long. My man, Grimsbane is about in London. He will leave no stone unturned.”

I felt distinctly uncomfortable at the thought of one of Cavendish’s bully boys searching for the Greek artefact and hoped they would not be able to track it to me. I reached for my glass.

“Is there anything else we can do to aid Leopold?”

Cavendish became animated at the change of subject. “Very kind of you to ask, brother, but the travel arrangements are all in hand. All you need to do is secure a wealthy young lady to play the part of his fiancée and keep an eye out for the Greek artefact,” Cavendish asserted. I nodded.

That was all easier said than done!

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