Infernal Vices (Resurrectionist #3)

CHAPTER 24

THE JOURNEY

Wednesday 6th April 1898

The driver hoisted my trunk onto the roof of the coach, assisted by both Troy and Wilkins. I’d decided that neither would travel with me, as I knew there was to be trouble. I had been offered the assistance of the Ashe valet, Mr. Monkman while at the Cavendish country estate, as he was well versed in the plans of the cabal. Mrs. Twig stood at the door with her broom and when my servants were assembled on the doorstep I stepped out and gave each of them a small gift bag containing a chocolate egg and an envelope with a bonus of two shillings. They would have a peaceful house this Easter as Birdie would also be away for the next six days.

“Have a lovely time in the country, sir. Don’t you worry, we shall keep the house in order,” Flora assured. I gave them my good wishes and then headed for the coach.

“Good morning Benedict. Quick, quick, get in we have a long journey ahead,” Charles cajoled as I stepped up into the travelling coach.

It was a chilly Wednesday morning and I was pleasantly surprised to see the coach was so luxurious and offered the highest comfort. The interior was lined with blue silk and had scarlet leather banquette seating. A small brazier filled with hot coals sat in the center of the floor to keep our feet warm. I eased onto the banquette opposite Ashe and placed the bottle casket containing the sought after phallus on the seat beside me. Charles sent me a near shy smile and I couldn’t help but return it for I did enjoy his companionship. The coach swayed a little as the driver climbed up into his seat. With a yell of command, the coach and four set off around Bedford Square.

“This is father’s travelling coach. It’s rather splendid, isn’t it? If one must travel long distances by road, do it in luxury, I say. This model has excellent suspension,” Charles explained then rubbed his hands together. “It’s bally cold this morning. There are furs and blankets in draws beneath your seat.” He reached to his left, and pulled one of two drawers beneath his banquette seat and then removed a blanket, and what looked like wolf pelt, which he settled over his lap. I followed suit and the warmth of a blanket and fur made the journey a little less uncomfortable.

We finally had all we required to put an end to Lawrence Blake’s ability to blackmail us, and so this trip was one where we would unlock the shackles Blake had hung upon us and regain our freedom. Charles had collated reports about Blake’s true identity, and we had learned that Lawrence Blake, or Nathaniel Everett was in-fact born in New England and named Darius Clements. Clements was a known confidence trickster. According to the initial report from the Pinkerton Agency, Clements was on the run from police for the financial crimes he carried out in at least four US states, as well as being wanted by La S?reté in Paris for the crimes of fraud and running an unlicensed brothel.

“Have you visited Seabourn Abbey before?” I inquired.

“Yes, last summer, just a stop off on my way to York. It’s a rather impressive sight.”

What I’d gathered from reading my copy of Murray’s Handbook for Travellers in England, Seabourn Abbey was located in the unspoilt countryside of Oxfordshire more than three hours from London. We could have taken a train to Oxford and then continued by coach, but I could not be doing with the coach, train, coach nonsense. No, I was quite comfy and three hours in a coach with good suspension with one stop-over at a coaching inn for luncheon would not an imposition.

After the chilly start it was turning out to be a delightful spring day. An hour outside of the metropolis the chimney smoke filtered away to offer us the brisk clean country air of Buckinghamshire. Charles sat opposite me with a leather case beside him, his sketchbook open and a stick of graphite clutched between his fingers as he frantically captured whatever took his fancy. He had drawn impressions of the landscapes we travelled through, the glorious swathes of golden daffodils, the low lying farmland, ancient woodlands, and river valleys. He’d also sketched me a time or two while I leafed through the red book, trying to understand the ritual that Charles had penned in Greek, and the translation in English. To my understanding, the Greek priests and priestesses who used the artefact believed that the volcanic Obsidian was imbued with the powers of the underworld, and by using it in the name of Asklepios; son of Apollo and Coronis and the God of medicine in ancient Greek religion, they could evoke healing and give renewed life and fertility. Was the Staff truly an artefact of healing? I had no idea. But both Sebastian and I knew that there was something arcane and otherworldly about it. Would it have given Euan back his virility? Could Blake use it to travel into death, and then be resurrected?

I was lost in my thoughts staring out of the window, until Charles placed his hand on my knee and squeezed, gaining my attention. I looked up to see he held the sketch he had just completed. It was of me, I appeared mysterious, pensive, and as per usual he kindly made me look younger and far more handsome than I believed myself to be.

Charles went back to his art and whittered on as he sketched, informing me about the particulars of our destination.

“Did you know Benjamin doesn’t really own Seabourn? He obtained it through his wife’s family. It was a Benedictine Abbey before Henry VIII got his soldiers to destroy monastic property and fill his coffers…it’s all rather fascinating, history…don’t you think? The abbey was rebuilt and turned into a mansion over many generations. There’s still an original medieval church on the grounds, did you know that?”

“No, my Murray’s Guide did not specify that detail. Is the church C of E? Will there be an Easter service or will we need to find the nearest village church?”

“I’m not sure. We’ll soon find out. The village of Abbotsham is closest. Would you like a cup of cocoa?” Charles put his pencil and sketchbook down, and then took two china willow pattern beakers from the case at his side and handed them to me. I held them out while he poured the piping hot cocoa into the beakers, then fitted the flask back into its case.

“This is a nice surprise.” I passed him a beaker.

“Ah, one more moment,” I said, threading my hand into my coat pocket to find my silver whisky flask. “Ah, that’s the ticket!” Charles grinned as I poured a measure into both beakers. We settled back to enjoy the hot chocolate treat.

“I can’t wait to explore Seabourn Abbey. I understand there is an exceptional wine cellar,” Ashe smiled, and then blew on his drink before sipping.

“Will Mrs. Cavendish and her daughters be in attendance?” I recalled at the last Cavendish Ball that Mrs. Cavendish did seem to overdo things!

“Yes. The family always spends Easter at Seabourn. Benjamin is desperately trying to offload the girls on any unwed men with five hundred pounds in the bank!”

“Any man as long as it’s not Leopold. He wants to keep the boy all for himself!”

We shared knowing looks and Ashe cocked a brow. “Indeed!” Leopold was yet another victim of cabals manipulations and I hoped we would find a way of getting through to him before it was too late.

“I wonder,” Charles speculated, “Does this search for eligible suitors include the both of us? If so I think we may indeed to make use of the wine cellar!” We guffawed with laughter and it felt good to be so at ease with my travelling companion.

After the events at Exeter Hall, when Sebastian saved both Euan and I from the cabal’s erotic initiation I did not know the identity of all of the members of the secret brotherhood. But now, three months later Fratres Seminis acolytes were invited to the abbey for Easter week to complete Blake’s supposed great work. What better location than a former Benedictine Abbey? And what better time to complete the ritual than at Easter, when our Lord died for our sins and was resurrected? I was sure Charles knew the identities of all members of the brotherhood, but for me it would be quite a revelation.

There were a total of ten members of the cabal including me. I knew of Blake, Cavendish, Ashe, Liebenstein, Ardmillan, Spencer, and Dancer. Euan was locked away in an asylum to prevent him causing trouble, so that left nine of us for the ritual. Since the events at Exeter Hall I’d discovered we had a police detective, a lawyer, and a judge among our ranks. Dancer was the policeman, but I did not know who the lawyer and judge were. Lord Arthur Spencer was a directionless fop with more money than he knew how to spend. He had dined at my club with Cavendish, Blake, and Leo before I knew of the cabal. I had not seen him since, but he was neither a lawyer nor judge. Our week at Seabourn Abbey would be the first time I would meet all of the brothers unmasked and be introduced to them using real names. And as this was a formal excursion with six days of entertainments, wives were joining their husbands to enjoy the springtime pleasures of the countryside. I did not know how the ritual was to be arranged with wives and fiancée’s in tow, but I was glad that Nissa, and Sebastian, all be it disguised as the princess and Mr. Fairfax, were invited. Having them both with me gave me confidence that after this week was over, so would the ungodly charlatan Lawrence Blake.

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