Chapter 1 #2
From their profiles she could make out their masks: the older gentleman wore a wolf, the younger a stag. Both were tall, but the wolf-masked man was broader, more muscular. White hair peeked from the older man’s temples, a hint of age beneath the bulky mask.
Their voices and mannerisms seared into her memory: the younger’s sounded no more than twenty; the older’s was dark, gravelly—cultured but soured. Undoubtedly, Charlotte thought, seasoned by years—and an evil that had long since curdled into cynicism.
‘Do you see this?’ The Wolf withdrew a letter from his jacket’s inner pocket.
The Stag bent to look. Even from where she sat, Charlotte could hear the avarice in his voice. ‘Is that the code?’
‘So eager,’ Wolf drawled. ‘Your work has been... useful this past year.’
The Stag leaned in. ‘So when do I get initiated into the inner sanctum?’ his voice rose with excitement.
Wolf grabbed the young man’s arm. ‘All in good time, my friend. The inner circle will only reveal themselves once you pass all the tests. And you have one final test if you still want to be part of us—and it must be completed tonight.’
‘Tonight?’ the Stag faltered. ‘But I thought—’
‘I grow tired of your dithering. I have given you plenty of time to think about it.’ The Wolf’s impatience crackled. Then, almost lazily, he said, ‘Do this, and you will have what you want.’
Although terrified, Charlotte could not help but be impressed; this was a master of manipulation at work. She no longer wondered how a young man might be taken in by such an evil person—first inciting hunger, and now reward.
‘But how?’ the young Stag asked, as though his consent were a foregone conclusion.
‘Leave the planning to me. I need only that you execute.’ The Wolf plucked lint off his sleeve and flicked it away. ‘The order leaves no place for you if you back out now. What say you?’
Charlotte strained as much as she dared to glimpse the ‘prized’ parchment with its codes, but from her position she could see nothing.
They are mad, she thought, her heart pounding so violently she feared they would hear it.
Clenching her fists against her chest, she dug the toes of her silk slippers into the gravel and braced herself.
If they spotted her, she would run for the terrace doors and scream at the top of her lungs.
She would not be murdered on this wretched bench.
‘Very well, you may count on me,’ the Stag said at last. Unease prickled at the back of her neck as his voice hardened in an instant from bumbling young buck to something dark and dangerous.
‘I’m tired of scraping by. Snatching girls isn’t paying nearly enough to cover my debts. I should have inherited the title—instead it’s all going to that Saracen. If only he’d died at sea like we all thought—’
So she had heard correctly: they were kidnappers. She had pictured kidnappers as rough and unkempt, not two polished members of the ton openly declaring their dark deeds—almost bragging about them.
Another wave of nausea hit, but this time it had nothing to do with the lemonade; if they spotted her, would they bundle her off to some vile place? She swallowed hard.
‘I owe at White’s, and they have barred me until I pay it off,’ the young man went on bitterly, ‘and worse. I’m begging from him instead of the other way round.’
Who on earth are they talking about? Charlotte waited to hear the name—any name.
The young man drew an angry, shaky breath. ‘I am ready—anything rather than being forced into the clergy or the army.’
Despite everything, Charlotte almost snorted. The extremes to which the elite went to avoid monotony—even if it meant kidnapping and whatever nefarious deed they were discussing now.
‘Very good,’ the Wolf murmured.
But the next words from the Wolf made her freeze.
‘Just one condition: his death must look like an act of God, an accident or illness, or the deal is off.’
Charlotte nearly slid off the bench. Murder. He wanted the Stag to commit cold-blooded murder tonight. Her mind whirled; she must warn this poor soul. She strained to catch the victim’s name.
‘Come now, this is ridiculous. How am I supposed to achieve that tonight?’ the Stag protested.
For the first time, the Wolf’s cynical veneer dropped; his voice turned cruel.
‘The Odd Fellows have gone underground since Armitage and his runners ransacked our coastal establishments. We cannot afford to bring more attention to ourselves with obvious assassinations.’ He poked a finger into the Stag’s chest. ‘This is an order from the top.’
Charlotte suppressed a sharp intake of breath.
The Odd Fellows. She recognised the name—the same nefarious group responsible for kidnappings in her county.
Her friend Grace and her now-husband had helped rescue some of those girls; she had thought the ringleaders imprisoned.
But here it seemed they were very much operational.
‘How?’ the young man asked dejectedly.
The older man produced a small glass vial; it gleamed in the moonlight like some bewitched concoction. ‘Slip this into Lord Stanley’s drink.’
Stanley? Charlotte struggled to recall who that might be.
‘But I thought—I mean, isn’t poison obvious?’ he asked, taking the vial to inspect the liquid.
A low, rumbling laugh came from the Wolf.
‘This is no ordinary poison. It contains extracts of foxglove, amongst other substances; once ingested, the effects will linger for several days before he perishes. There is a flu endemic ravaging London—the symptoms are strikingly similar. Commission our doctor’s services, and when he dies no one will suspect you in the least.’
‘Egad—this is remarkable,’ the younger man said, smiling broadly.
The older man nodded.
Charlotte frowned.
‘You do this, and you take your place at Alderley Park as the true heir and baron.’ A short pause followed.
‘I’m playing cards with him shortly. I can do it then.’
‘How convenient,’ the older man murmured.
Not convenient, Charlotte thought. Planned.
‘No point in saying it, but it feels strange to do this to my cousin.’ The Stag hesitated; his voice became small.
Charlotte hoped the boy would not go through with it. After all, familial bonds ought to mean something.
‘What of it?’ The Wolf waved his hand dismissively. ‘It is not personal—just business, my friend. A means to the greater end. Without funding from Huntley and now Stanley, Wilberforce will become an obscure, impoverished idealist—and no longer a threat to our establishment.’
‘And I suppose my inheriting the barony is a happy coincidence.’ The Stag smirked.
‘Now you understand.’ The Wolf nodded approvingly.
As they turned to leave, the older man gripped the younger’s arm. ‘If you fail or are caught, you will be silenced. Forever. I’m sure you understand.’
The younger man gave a nervous laugh. ‘Relax, old man. Leave it to me. What could possibly go wrong?’
Charlotte winced at the cavalier tone, as though murder were all just a game.
‘Meet me at the stables after you have completed the deed.’ The Wolf took another sniff from the snuff box.
The Stag walked back through the terrace doors, whilst the Wolf turned towards the stables.
Charlotte exhaled, only now realising she had been holding her breath. Her knuckles were white where she clutched her gown; her fingers were numb. As she drew shallow breaths and shook feeling back into her hands, her chest hammered so hard she feared it would burst.
She had a choice: warn this Lord Stanley, whoever he might be, follow the older man to the stables, or pretend none of this had happened.
Cowardice would be safer.
But if she did nothing, she would hear of his death—and know she
had let it happen.