Jane Vows Vengeance (18 page)

“Good night,” he said. “I hope you will excuse me, but there’s a game I would like to watch.”

“Football?” Jane asked, knowing the Italians’ fondness for the game.

“Rugby,” said Orsino, pointing at his shirt with his free hand. “I played at university. It was one time when being heavy and low to the ground was an advantage. Now I just watch.”

Jane bid him good night. As he walked away, Jane imagined him on a rugby pitch. She knew a bit about the game, at least enough to know that a man built like Orsino would likely be very good at hitting his opponents.
Or tossing them
, she thought.

Yes, it was entirely possible that Orsino, if so moved, could lift a man off his feet and throw him some distance.
Over a wall, for example
. True, Orsino had not been seen on top of the keep, but could he not have very quickly run down the stairs and pretended to have been on the ground all along?

It was possible, but unlikely. Still, he had reason to want Ryan McGuinness dead. Their relationship might have been brief and ended years earlier, but revenge, as was so often said, was a dish best served cold. Perhaps Orsino had waited for the occasion. Or perhaps seeing Ryan with Enid had been too much to take.
Although I think it would be harder on Chumsley
, she thought.

This brought her back to the question she’d been about to ask Orsino. Chumsley. The night she’d seen him coming out of Ryan’s compartment, she’d assumed that Chumsley was angry with
McGuinness because of his relationship with Enid. But was it possible that something else was going on? Was it possible that Chumsley too had fallen for Ryan, and had been threatening to reveal their affair to Enid?

The more she discovered about the members of the party, the more questions she had. So far there were at least four people who might have wanted Ryan dead. In fact, the only person she could think of who might have cared if he remained alive was McGuinness himself.

“Here’s your dinner, miss,” said the waiter, interrupting her thoughts.

“Thank you,” Jane said, taking the bag with the food in it. As she walked back to the elevator and rode it up to her floor, she reflected some more on her situation. Truthfully, the death of Ryan McGuinness was the least of her concerns. She was far more interested in finding Crispin’s Needle and in marrying Walter. But she could do nothing about either of those things at the moment, and so the mystery occupied her thoughts.

She was passing the twenty-first floor and on her way to the twenty-second when the elevator suddenly came to a stop. No alarm went off, so she assumed there was nothing to worry about and that the elevator would begin working again in a moment. When it didn’t, she told herself not to panic. Instead she pressed the button for her floor again, even though it was still lit. When nothing happened, she pressed it again several more times, with the same result.

“That’s not going to work,” came a voice from the speaker on the elevator’s panel. “So you might as well stop.”

Jane stared at the speaker. “Who is this?” she asked. “Are you a custodian? Is there something wrong with the lift?”

The voice laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with the lift,” it said. “I just want to have a word with you.”

Jane couldn’t tell if the voice was male or female. This was disconcerting,
but not as much as the fact that whoever the voice belonged to was able to stop the elevator at will.

“Don’t worry,” the voice said. “I’m a friend.”

“Then why won’t you tell me who you are?” Jane asked.

“Because it’s not important,” said the voice. “I have just one thing to say, and not a lot of time.”

“Which is?” Jane said.

“The Needle is real. And it works.”

“How do you know this?” said Jane, her heart beginning to race.

A kind of static burst from the speaker, as if someone was trying to talk. The fuzzy words were indecipherable.

“What?” Jane said, leaning down and putting her ear next to the speaker.

“Find … key … choice.” The words were faint beneath the buzzing.

“Find what?” Jane cried. “Where?”

The speaker went silent. A moment later the elevator began rising. Then she was on the twenty-second floor and the doors opened, revealing two elderly women.

“Thank heavens,” one of them said. “We thought it would never come.”

Saturday: Edinburgh

“D
OES IT EVER NOT RAIN IN
S
COTLAND
?”

Jane looked up at the sky, which was filled with dark clouds. She was wearing a blue raincoat and red rain hat purchased minutes ago from the shop outside which she stood with Walter, Lucy, and Ben. Somehow she had forgotten her rain gear in Ireland, and so had been forced to buy new things. The hat was a bit too large for her, and the brim hung down all the way around. She felt ridiculous, but at least she was dry.

“You look like Paddington bear,” Ben remarked. “Sarah has one, and he’s wearing the same getup.”

“All you need is a tag that says
PLEASE LOOK AFTER THIS JANE
,” Lucy joked.

“Very funny,” Jane snapped, although secretly she rather liked the idea of resembling Paddington.
I ought to get some red Wellies
, she thought.
I wonder if they have them in my size
.

The sound of laughter caught her attention and she turned to see Miriam exiting the shop with Lilith. The Chihuahua was wearing a tiny blue raincoat very similar to Jane’s. A little red hat was perched on her head, and on her three paws were wee red booties.

“Oh, Mother,” said Walter, looking sympathetically at Lilith.

“She hates the rain,” Miriam said.

“I do not,” said Lilith, although of course only Jane heard her. “I’m quite fond of the rain, actually. She just thinks I look cute in this ridiculous getup.”

Now ready to brave the elements, the group began to walk through the city. Everyone had been left to their own devices for the early part of the morning, with instructions to meet at their next location precisely at ten o’clock. Jane had not yet told Lucy about her strange experience in the elevator, and it didn’t look like she would have time until later. Lucy and Ben were skipping the house tour and instead going to the National Museum of Scotland, where Ben wanted to see the exhibit of the Lewis Chessmen. They would reconvene for dinner at seven at a restaurant selected by Enid.

Miriam, to Jane’s dismay, had elected to join the tour, and so it was that at a few minutes before ten Walter, Miriam, and Jane walked up to the front of the Chewgristle Playhouse, where they met the rest of the group—with the exception of Chumsley, who, like Ben and Lucy, had elected to instead visit the museum. His absence had apparently put Enid in a bit of a mood, which at first seemed odd until Jane realized that by not being there Chumsley was depriving Enid of a chance to show off.

“The Chewgristle Playhouse was built in 1867 by my great-great-great-great-grandfather, Laird Birral,” Enid said as she posed on the steps of the theater. “At the time it was the most majestic theater in all of Scotland.”

“That’s all very well, but can we go inside?” Brodie’s booming voice carried over Jane’s head. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining cats ’n’ dogs out here.”

Enid set her mouth in a grim line. “Come on then,” she said as she opened the theater doors.

Once inside they stood, dripping, in a lovely marble foyer. As she looked around, Jane had the distinct feeling of having been in
the theater before. Then her gaze fell upon a row of framed posters from various productions. One of them was for a production of
He Thinks He’ll Keep Her
from 1873. It starred the husband-and-wife acting team of Argyll Peploe and Maisie Longmuir.

I’ve been here before
, Jane realized.
I saw that play
.

It all came back to her. The trip to Scotland. The play. Being introduced to Argyll and Maisie after one of their performances and discovering that they too were vampires. But who had introduced them? She searched her memories for the name.

“The theater’s first and most famous director was Wurrick Ogg Runciman,” Enid said.

Wurrick Ogg Runciman
, Jane thought.
Of course. How could I forget?

This was a very good question, as Wurrick Ogg Runciman had been rather unforgettable. So short that he was rumored to have been a dwarf, Wurrick made up for his lack of height with his abundance of bluster. Also, he wore specially made high-heeled boots and a very tall top hat. Even thus attired he still was barely five feet tall, and if it hadn’t been for his very long black beard and the stream of curses that flowed from his mouth like the Water of Leith, he might easily have been mistaken for a child.

Runciman was not a vampire, but he ran in their circles. Probably because most of the world treated him like a freak, he knew what it meant to be feared, and found in vampires the family he had never had in real life. He in turn provided the undead with gainful employment, hiring them to oversee virtually all aspects of his theater, from costuming and music to scenery and managing the box office. And of course he used many of them as actors.

Jane had been given a letter of introduction by a friend, the actor George Eames. At the time, Jane thought that she might like to write for the stage, and George had suggested she speak to Runciman about perhaps working with him on some small thing.
This had never happened (after reading her first attempt, Runciman had informed her that she had no ear for dialogue), but she had spent a delightful couple of weeks there filling in for a property mistress who had gone and gotten herself staked.

“As we walk up the stairs, please take note of the plaster moldings,” Enid said, bringing Jane back to the present.

She followed Walter up the stairs, her fingertips tracing the lines of the brass handrail. How strange, she thought, that she’d forgotten such an unusual period in her life. Of course, if she were human, then not so much time would have gone by since, allowing her to forget. But when your life had no end, there were always new memories piling on top of the old ones and eventually burying them. How much had she forgotten? How many old friends? How many shared moments?

She looked at Walter, walking ahead of her, and suddenly she wanted to grab hold of him and not let go.
What if I forget him?
she wondered.
What if a hundred years after his death I have to see a photograph of him to remember him?

They had taken almost no photographs on the trip, and none of them together. Jane had to stop herself from grabbing Walter and dragging him outside so that some passerby could take their picture. She needed something besides memories—something tangible that she could hold and look at, so that when her memories faded this part of her life wouldn’t just disappear.

When they reached the mezzanine Enid led them through one of the numerous arched doorways and into the interior of the theater. There it opened up, revealing the three horseshoe-shaped galleries rising above the stalls. The seats were upholstered in a deep red velvet that matched the color of the walls and carpets, and the bountiful plasterwork was gilded. An enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling, the thousands of crystals radiating light.

“The theater enjoys protected status,” Enid said. “Thanks in
no small part, I might add, to my work on the board of Creative Scotland. As such, nothing here may be changed, and any improvements made to things such as lighting and the sound system must be done without interfering with the architecture.”

“I have to say, I’m impressed,” Walter whispered to Jane. “Do you know how much red tape we would have to untangle to get something like this done in the States?”

“It looks just like it did back then,” Jane said, only half listening.

“Have you seen pictures?” Walter asked her.

“What?” said Jane. “Oh. Yes, I have. I forget where. In a magazine, possibly, or a book. I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Take a look at this.”

The voice was Brodie Pittman’s. He was looking at a series of photographs hung on one of the walls. Several other people were looking as well, among them Genevieve and Sam. Jane and Walter went over to join them.

“Looks just like her, doesn’t it?” Brodie said, pointing to one of the pictures.

Genevieve turned and looked at Jane. “A younger, thinner her, perhaps,” she said.

“Jane,” said Brodie, beckoning her closer. “Look what Suzu here found.”

Jane walked to the wall and looked. Brodie indicated a photograph showing the cast and crew of
He Thinks He’ll Keep Her
. She saw Argyll and Maisie sitting in chairs on either side of Wurrick, who was standing on a lettuce box so as to appear taller. Around them were other faces, most of which Jane didn’t recognize. And then, peering out from between the actor playing the father of Maisie’s character and the woman who had designed the hats for the show, she saw her own face. Despite the obvious age of the photograph, she looked exactly as she did now.

“Uncanny,” Brodie said. “She could be your twin sister.”

Walter put his face up to the photo. “She even has the same dimple you have,” he said to Jane. “And if I didn’t know better I’d swear I’ve seen you wearing that same necklace.”