Blaze of Glory (28 page)

'Should you call the police?'

Sir Darius ran his hand along the leadlights on either
side of the door. 'I don't think that would do much good.

Anyone who can find his way into my house, take the
appearance of my butler, and waltz off with property
belonging to my guest would leave the police in a state
of bafflement, don't you think?'

Aubrey had to agree.

'I'd send for the Magisterium, but . . .'

'You don't trust Craddock?'

Sir Darius nodded once, sharply. 'I have no reason to
believe he's dishonest. Quite the opposite. Everything he
does shows that he is absolutely incorruptible. And yet
I can't forget that it was he who gave Rollo Armitage
expert advice which resulted in my having to resign as
Prime Minister. Naturally, this meant Armitage became
PM in my place.'

'Thanks to Craddock.'

Sir Darius completed his inspection. He straightened
and smoothed his moustache. 'I think we're living in
turbulent times, Aubrey.'

'Yes, sir.'

Sir Darius sighed. 'I wish your mother was due to go
off on one of her expeditions. For once, I'd actually feel
better if she were away.'

'I'll take care of her.'

'Of course you will.'

Lady Fitzwilliam and Caroline were sitting together on
the settee when Aubrey and Sir Darius entered the room.
George was in a low chair opposite. Lady Fitzwilliam
looked up. 'Well, Aubrey,' she said, 'Caroline has done her
best to restore the reputation of both George and you.'

He bowed to Caroline. 'Many thanks.'

Lady Fitzwilliam relented and gave a half-smile. 'I'm
glad to see you can remember your manners. Now,
I'm going to get Stubbs to drive you home, young
lady.'

'What about my bag, my notebook?' Caroline said.

Sir Darius stood, hands behind his back. 'If you agree,
Miss Hepworth, I think the only way to proceed with
this is for a bold stroke which may flush out our enemies,
whoever they are.'

'Darius?' Lady Fitzwilliam frowned.

'I'm going to go to Darnleigh House to see Craddock
in his own headquarters. Tomorrow.'

'Darius, no!' Lady Fitzwilliam was on her feet and at
her husband's side in an instant.

'I've been there before, Rose,' he said gently. 'I'll be all
right. There are a few matters I need to put before the
Magisterium, I think.'

'Telephone, send a letter, summon them here.'

Sir Darius's smile was wintry. 'No, I don't think so.'
He looked at Aubrey. 'What did the Scholar Tan say
about fighting a battle against an enemy in fog?'

Aubrey knew this one well. 'When fighting a battle
against an enemy in fog, either move the enemy, move
the fog, or move the battle.'

'And I,' said Sir Darius, 'am about to move the battle.'

A
UBREY SLEPT WELL, DESPITE THE EVENTS OF THE
previous evening, and it was a relief. He realised
it was Sunday, but decided not to go to church. He
wandered downstairs to the conservatory and out
into the garden. The sky was a cheerful blue, entirely
untainted by clouds. The leaves on the enormous
rhododendron beside the door were still, not a breath of
breeze disturbing them. Sunlight was soft on the irises,
the daisies, the fuchsias. The air was alive with growth,
carrying a thousand floral and vegetative scents. It was
a morning where nature itself seemed to be holding
its breath in wonder at the perfection it had wrought.

Aubrey stood there a moment soaking it in.
This is
another reason I don't want to die the true death,
he thought.

He stepped back inside and closed the door, leaving the
lingering golden morning to itself.

Breakfast was in the conservatory, to make the most of
the glorious day. Tilly was setting out chafing dishes.

'How are you, Tilly?' he asked.

She jumped a little, not having seen him approach. She
was a tiny thing. 'Well enough, sir, thank you for asking.'

'No headache any more?'

'No, sir. Thank you, sir.'

She hurried off, nearly bumping into Maud, who was
coming the other way from the kitchen, armed with a
large canteen of cutlery.

A few moments later, Aubrey was the solitary figure at
the table, enjoying a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon.
He had just concluded that the eggs were excellent, if in
need of a touch more pepper, when George dashed
through the door, waving a newspaper over his head.

'Aubrey! The code! It's here!'

He thrust the newspaper under Aubrey's nose and
jabbed a finger at it. There, halfway down the right-hand
column, was an advertisement consisting solely of
familiar gibberish. Aubrey saw the patterns in an instant.
He dropped his fork on the plate with a clatter, stood,
threw his napkin on the table and grabbed the toast
rack. While George stared, Aubrey slipped a butter knife
into the pocket of his shirt and jammed a pot of blackberry
jam in his trouser pocket. He handed George the
butter dish. 'We may need nourishment while we work.
To my room.'

A
FTER AN HOUR AND A HALF, AUBREY THREW HIS PENCIL
on the desk and crossed his arms. His head ached. 'There.'
He held out the deciphered message.

George had been cutting articles out of past issues of
the newspaper, concentrating on anything to do with
Holmland. He put down the scissors.
'The burnt church the
Mire midnight,'
he read.

'Clear enough, I'd say. They must be confident that
their cipher hasn't been broken.'

George frowned. 'The Mire at midnight. I'm not happy
about that.'

Every city of large enough size has a place like the
Mire, a quarter where the police patrol in pairs, if they
go there at all. The Mire was a squalid district, squashed
between the vast Newbourne railway yards and the river,
full of crooked streets, foul miasmas and short lives.

Aubrey had a different opinion of the Mire from most.
He'd been fascinated by its dark energy and over the last
few years had taken to spending time there, suitably
disguising his background and identity. Using his experience
in the theatre, he had created a street persona as
Tommy Sparks, a petty thief and procurer of stolen
goods. Once he put this on, he was able to move freely
around the Mire and found it a useful source of information.
At first, he was surprised at who visited the
place, but soon realised that the high and mighty used
it for their own ends. His experiences had confirmed
that there were many wrongs to be righted in Albion,
much that was hidden from the law-makers. It made him
more determined to enter the world of politics when he
was able.

'The burnt church?' George grumbled. 'I didn't know
there was a church at all in the Mire.'

Aubrey grinned. 'Now, George, you're being rather
prim. It has churches – and the churches have worshippers,
too, in case you were wondering. They're ordinary
people in the Mire, despite what you've heard, just like
you and me.'

George shrugged. 'But what is this burnt church the
message mentions?'

'Most of the Mire is low-lying, near the river, hence
the name. There is one hill in the Mire. More of a rise
than a hill, really. A few centuries ago, when the Mire
was different from how it is now, there was a cathedral.
St Agnes' Cathedral.'

'A cathedral in the Mire? I don't believe it.'

'You wouldn't know it now. The church burnt down
last century, completely destroyed, just ruins and scattered
stones.'

'No-one's taken the stones? You'd think good stone
would disappear and end up as part of someone's new
house.'

Aubrey spread his hands. 'It was tried, soon after the
fire. Stones were carted away, hauled to make fireplaces,
paths, new homes. But ill luck befell anyone who took
the stones, and it usually involved fire. Houses burned
down, people fell into the coals, things like that. The
stones had a habit of finding their way back to the ruins.'

'Are you saying there's a curse on St Agnes'?'

'So the story goes. Whether it's true isn't important.
People believe it, which is enough to ensure that the stones
are still on the site where they fell. The burnt church.'

Aubrey felt uncomfortable because he knew he wasn't
telling George everything about the burnt church. If he
had, he was sure George would refuse to go there because
the burnt church was the dumping ground for failed
magical experiments of the worst kind.

Aubrey had stumbled on it in his ramblings. In his
dealings with the folk of the Mire, few spoke of the burnt
church, even though it was a prominent landmark in the
area. Those who did speak of it did so in hushed tones.
Naturally, Aubrey's curiosity was aroused by this. He
was compelled to investigate.

What he found there, late one night, appalled him. In
the caves and grottoes far underneath the site were the
cast-off failures from forbidden magical experiments.
Twisted abominations, these monstrous creations were
the worst results of insane tinkerings with spells that
twisted bodies and minds. They had once been human,
but were now horrors.

Such experiments were, of course, forbidden by the
Sorcerer Royal and the Ministry of Magic, but there were
always those who went outside the boundaries in the
search for power. As Aubrey had with his exploration of
death magic. He could understand the urge to explore
the arcane regions of magic, the need to try to make
sense of the unexplained and the challenging, but he
despised those who abused others to achieve their ends.
Aubrey had gone into forbidden territory, but he had
risked only himself.

And I'm paying the price
, he thought grimly.

'The Holmlanders are going to meet there tonight?'
George said. 'Let's tell Sir Darius!'

Aubrey was torn, then nodded. After the incident in
the library, he felt being open might be the best policy.

They hurried downstairs, only to run into Lady
Fitzwilliam. 'Where's Father?' Aubrey asked.

Her mouth was tight. 'He spoke on the telephone for
some time. Then he left to see the Magisterium at
Darnleigh House.'

L
UNCH WAS SUBDUED AND AFTER IT
A
UBREY AND
G
EORGE
waited for news. George read and Aubrey tried to busy
himself with researching his condition, but found it hard
to focus. Every time the bell at the front door sounded,
he leapt to his feet. Whenever the telephone rang, he
opened his door and tried to overhear the conversation.

Lady Fitzwilliam, George and Aubrey ate a light meal
as evening drew in. Afterwards, Aubrey sat there, peeling
an orange with a silver fruit knife. He looked up at his
mother, who was sipping a glass of dessert wine. 'Why
don't you ring Darnleigh House?' he suggested. 'It's been
long enough.'

She looked at him. Then she put down her glass,
nodded once, rose and left the room.

It was only a moment later when she returned. Her
face was pale, but her voice was firm. She stood at the
head of the table. 'They said that no-one at Darnleigh
House has seen Sir Darius Fitzwilliam all day.' She paused
to compose herself. 'We'll meet in the library in one hour
to decide what to do.'

Aubrey sprang to his feet. 'Why the delay? We need to
act now. They have Father!'

Lady Fitzwilliam reached out and put a hand on
Aubrey's arm. He subsided, still grumbling. 'I want Miss
Hepworth here,' she said.

'Why?' George asked. 'What can she add to our plans?'

'We shouldn't bring others into this,' Aubrey added. 'It's
not safe for them, or for us. We can trust ourselves, but
others?'

Lady Fitzwilliam's expression was one of intense determination
and, in that instant, Aubrey could easily imagine
her leading a line of bearers through a swamp, or dealing
with rogue traders in an outpost far from the rule of law.
'You don't know Caroline Hepworth very well, do you?'
she said.

Automatically, Aubrey began to deny this, offering
details about her family, her schooling, her background,
but his mother shook her head.

'That's not what I mean. I've only known her for a day,
and I've found out what a resourceful, capable, surprising
young woman she is. For instance, she's certainly a better
shot than you, Aubrey. And she is an expert in unarmed
combat.'

George couldn't help himself. 'A girl?'

Aubrey was silent. He remembered grappling with
Caroline at Penhurst. She was strong, quick, and her
movements were practised. He had no difficulty in
believing his mother.

'Her father had many friends and colleagues. Some
even came from overseas to work with the professor.
Master Wu was one of them, bringing his techniques of
Eastern magic to our country and collaborating with the
professor on groundbreaking advances. He also taught
Caroline Eastern ways of disarming armed opponents
and disabling attackers. When she visited me at the
museum, she demonstrated on a museum guard. Perkins
was quite impressed, when he regained consciousness.'

'Ah, well, I see.' George subsided.

'She has a part in this,' Lady Fitzwilliam went on. 'Her
father's notebook is still missing. I believe she wants to see
this through.'

'I'm sure she would,' Aubrey said.

Lady Fitzwilliam dispatched Harris to organise Stubbs,
the driver. Barely half an hour passed before Caroline was
on the doorstep, accompanied by her mother.

Despite this unexpected turn of events, Lady
Fitzwilliam was gracious, leading them to the large
drawing room near the front door. Aubrey and George
followed.

The drawing room was Lady Fitzwilliam's favourite
room in the house. It was crowded with fine furniture,
while a large landscape took up most of one wall. An
ancient spinet stood in one corner. Aubrey had never heard
it played. These items were familiar, comforting to most
guests. What made the room unusual was the hundreds of
items Lady Fitzwilliam had brought back from her overseas
expeditions. The walls were hung with tribal masks
and primitive weaponry. Shelves were crammed with
statues of earthenware, stone, jade and semi-precious gems.
Botanical specimens under domed glass stood on bookshelves.
Flamboyant feathers burst from vases. Urns and
vases of disturbing shapes were arranged next to carvings
that had once protected whole villages from drought.
The room was a riot, a carnival, a celebration of the exotic
and the outlandish, full of vibrant colours and articles of
mysterious origin. Visitors usually stared wide-eyed at the
jumble. Aubrey knew his mother enjoyed the unsettling
effect it had, and he was impressed when Mrs Hepworth
and Caroline took it all in without comment.

'Mrs Hepworth,' his mother said, once everyone was
seated, 'I'm pleased you came. Forgive me, I should have
asked you in the first place.'

Mrs Hepworth was wearing many layers of brightly
coloured silk. A pearl-green scarf was loosely bound
around her hair. She inclined her head. 'Indeed,' she said.
'I'm normally not one to stand on outmoded ideas of
societal norms, but when my daughter is summoned to
the home of Sir Darius Fitzwilliam in the dead of night,
I suppose I am entitled to feel curious.'

A
tsk
of exasperation escaped Caroline's lips. 'It's not
the dead of night, Mother. Don't be so dramatic.'

Mrs Hepworth smiled a little at that. 'I'm sorry, my
darling.'

'Mrs Hepworth –'

'Ophelia, please,' Mrs Hepworth drawled. 'Everyone
calls me Ophelia.'

'Ophelia. I'll have someone bring you tea in the parlour,
if you wish. The four of us have matters to discuss.'

Mrs Hepworth looked at the door. Then she looked
at Aubrey, Lady Fitzwilliam and George. 'Something is
seriously wrong, isn't it?'