Chapter Twenty-Six #2
No reply is needed.
My sympathies,
Oliver
“Proof,” Percival said. He held the letter in his hand, slumped in a chair in the drawing room. Kehinde stood over him, and Mrs. Rose sat on the couch across from them, hands twitching in her lap.
“It doesn’t… Perhaps it’s not…” Mrs. Rose said, trailing off.
“It is,” Elswyth said. “That is proof of an affair between Prince Oliver and Persephone. And proof that he was threatening her.”
“That doesn’t mean he killed her,” Kehinde said, but he seemed unsure as well.
“No, perhaps not. But it very much seems that he wanted the affair to remain a secret. How far would he go to ensure that no one knew?”
A stunned silence fell over the room.
Kehinde spoke slowly. “This address is in the Rows.”
“I know. That’s why Persephone was there that night. She was going to see Lady Sheers.”
“Yes, but who is Lady Sheers?” Mrs. Rose said. “I believe I know every lady in the ton, and I know of no such woman. I do not even think I know of a Lord Sheers, or anyone with that name. There is no such noble house, to my knowledge.”
“No, and no lady would have a permanent address in the Rows. Perhaps it is an alias,” Kehinde said.
“Precisely my thoughts. But we cannot be sure. We must go to her. She might be the only person who really knows what happened to Persephone.”
“Now?” Mrs. Rose asked. “But it’s your wedding night! You and your new husband…”
“Have an understanding. I will send him a card and tell him I am running late. I must go now. I have waited months for information like this. For all we know, she could be packing to leave the city at this moment, now that the season is through.”
Kehinde and Percival shared a look. Percival cleared his throat. “Elswyth—”
“And I won’t hear any business of you trying to stop me. I am a member of the peerage now, and I no longer need a chaperone—”
“Elswyth—” Percival said.
“And I do not need your permission to—”
“Elswyth!” Kehinde said, cutting her off. “We’re going with you.”
Elswyth looked to Percival and then to Kehinde. “Really?”
Kehinde nodded. “I taught you to fight for yourself. That does not mean I will not fight beside you.”
Elswyth looked to Percival. “I thought you didn’t believe me,” she said.
“This letter changes things. I am sorry that we doubted you, Elswyth.”
Percival moved to the wall and examined the rifle that hung alongside his trophies.
“And if Prince Oliver really is to blame for Persephone’s disappearance… We will find a way to bring him to justice. No matter the cost.”
Elswyth clutched the letter tightly in her hands. She felt like she could shout for joy. For once, they believed her. They were going to help her.
“And I as well,” Mrs. Rose said.
Elswyth turned, surprised. Mrs. Rose fidgeted, her hat in her hands.
“What? Mrs. Rose, are you sure?”
She nodded. “I don’t know if I will have much to offer. But if Prince Oliver is somehow behind the murders of those women… I suppose that I have a duty to protect them. I know a little girl from the Rows who would be very disappointed in me if I did not.”
She smiled, but her face was pale, her eyes distant. Elswyth nodded.
“Very well. Then we leave at once.”
“Now? Don’t you want to change out of your wedding dress?” Mrs. Rose said.
Elswyth shook her head and then gestured to the window. Outside, the gold of sunset settled over the city. “No. It’s almost dark. Oleander and I are supposed to leave London tonight. If we go, it must be now.”
Kehinde nodded. “I shall fetch the carriage.”
Percival followed him toward the door. “And I the rifles,” he said. He stopped by Elswyth and put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile. Behind it, she saw worry in his eyes.
By the time their carriage reached the Rows, the sun had set.
Fog rose and ran in rivers through the streets and alleys, leaving the cobblestones wet and shining.
The carriage rattled deeper and deeper into the twisting bowels of London with Mrs. Rose and Uncle Percival sitting across from Elswyth.
She kept her eye out the window, on the fog and on the shadows that marched through it.
Gaslight lit the way, hanging over brothels and druggists and factories, tenements and lopsided houses.
“We are here,” Kehinde called down. He brought the horses to a halt, and the carriage slowed.
A few moments later, he opened the door and extended a hand to Elswyth.
She stepped out, her wedding gown dragging in the dirt.
Before her was a narrow alleyway covered in ivy.
Most of the leaves had fallen to the ground, but a few remained on the vines, bright red against the stone walls.
A hand-carved wooden sign hung on chains above the entryway, reading APOTHECARY.
Through the vines, at the end of the narrow passage, she could see a small house with a thatched roof and half-timber walls.
A rush of autumn wind whipped through the alley as though it were the throat of a beast, breathing down her neck.
Elswyth stepped toward the entrance, and Percival fell in step behind her, limping without his cane. He carried a long big-game rifle in its stead, and Elswyth could see the handle of a pistol peeking from the pocket of his overcoat. She turned and raised a hand to stop them.
“You and Kehinde should stay here,” she said.
Percival raised an eyebrow. Kehinde, too, looked surprised. He paused, clutching his walking stick in his fist.
“What do you mean?” Percival asked. “Of course we’re coming with you.”
“We know nothing of this Lady Sheers, but it seems she deals with young women. Two heavily armed men could frighten her and scare her off. And for all we know, the Reaper could be about, watching us. It’s best if you stay here and stand guard. I will go inside.”
Percival scoffed. “Like hell you will!”
“There could be danger,” Kehinde said.
Elswyth inclined her head to him. “If there is, I will handle it. I am ready. You have prepared me well.”
“Elswyth, I’m not sure about this,” Percival said.
“If I feel unsafe, I will call for you. Stay close.”
Percival looked between Elswyth and the alleyway, uncertain.
“Uncle, you must have faith in me. There are some things I must do alone.”
He thought for a moment and then set his jaw and nodded. “I do. But if you are not back in twenty minutes, I am coming inside.”
Mrs. Rose’s voice chimed in from the carriage. “And I am staying right here!”
Uncle Percival took out a pocket watch and flashed the face to Elswyth. “Twenty minutes. Not a second more.”
She nodded and then turned away, facing the alley. The lone lantern hung above her, its gas flame flickering in the autumn wind. Dead leaves flew in eddies in the alleyway, making scraping sounds across the floor. The place looked abandoned. Forlorn.
She stepped forward, through the passageway.
The vine-covered walls swallowed her as she walked.
Finally, she came to the little house at the end of the alley.
Ivy covered this, too, the woody vines twisting in and out of shattered stained glass windows.
The door, made of ancient timber, had no adornment save for a bronze mascaron of an eldren.
Elswyth grabbed the wooden ring in the eldren’s mouth and knocked. Once, twice, three times. At first, nothing happened. Then a small latch opened in the door, and a lone yellow eye stared out.
“Who are you?” an old woman’s voice said. Elswyth had the strangest sensation of déjà vu, as though she’d been to this door before.
“Lady Sheers?” Elswyth asked.
The eye flicked left and right. “Who wants to know?”
“My name is Elswyth Elderwood. I’ve come to ask about my sister, Miss Persephone Elderwood.”
“I don’t know any Persephone Elderwood,” Lady Sheers said, “and I don’t know any Elswyth Elderwood, either. You should go. It’s nae safe out here at night.”
Lady Sheers began to close the latch.
“No! I know—I know it’s not safe. That’s why I’m here,” Elswyth said, reaching forward. Lady Sheers lingered there for a moment, listening.
“My sister came to you. She came here, and she never came back. She was taken, I believe, by the Reaper. Please—she was silver-haired. Fair. About my height. Please.”
Lady Sheers said nothing. The latch closed, and Elswyth stood there in the alley, shoulders slumped.
A slithering sound came from the door, followed by the groan of rusted hinges.
Beyond it, an old woman waited—if she could be called that.
Half her face was gone to warping, replaced by knotted bark.
Pine needles sprouted from her scalp alongside her hair, and a burl of wood jutted from one shoulder like a hunchback.
Lady Sheers wore ratty robes, threadbare from years of use, and her single yellow eye looked up at Elswyth through strings of gray hair.
“Come. This will be easier over a cup of tea,” she said.
She began to limp down a set of stairs to her right, descending into a basement.
Elswyth turned to look over her shoulder, where Percival watched her, gripping his rifle.
She gave him a reassuring smile and then followed Lady Sheers into the house.
The door closed behind her, sealing tight with roots that snaked through the wood.
All down the stairs, she could see them weaving through the dirt walls as if they were part of the house itself, binding it to the earth.
The shape of Lady Sheers disappeared into the basement, and Elswyth lifted the hem of her wedding gown, following her.