Chapter Eight
“I can manage all this. I do wish you all would stop fussing. I’m not made of glass.”
Portia frowned at the three faces frowning back at her. It was the fourth such discussion in as many days and not one of them had effectively changed her mind at all. “If working with the Baron gets us entrée into Harbury without question, then I will work with the Baron. And that’s an end to it.” She nodded decisively.
“Portia.” Devon moved toward her.
“Stop.” She held up her hand, palm facing him. “I love you, Devon, and I know this is motived by concern for me. I appreciate that. I’m grateful for that. But…you must give me some credit here. I am sensible, aware and able to defend myself.”
“Oh really?” Devon lifted an eyebrow. “Where’s your Jallai?”
Portia’s hand flew to her forearm. “Um.” She felt a blush heat her cheeks. “I…I think I left it in my room.”
“And what good will it do you in there, young lady?” Inspector Burke hadn’t moved, but his stern gaze pierced her like a well-thrown spear.
“Very well.” She looked away. “I will not leave the house from now on without it.” She moved to Burke’s chair and rested a hand on his arm. “But please.” She looked around. “All of you. Let me do this. I could not save my sister Miranda. James, you know this. You know as well as I that somebody at Harbury is responsible for her loss. At least let me help in getting the man I love his rightful inheritance back. Please. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, Devon.” She lifted her chin. “I won’t be able to enjoy it half as much if I can’t be as much use as everyone else right now.”
There was silence, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the leather chair creaking a little as James lifted his hand and placed it gently over Portia’s.
“I understand.”
Charlotte’s head jerked. “James. You do?”
He nodded. “I do. She knows we all want to protect her and she knows we all love and respect her. These are not incompatible emotions, but we cannot let one override the others. She is part of us. In fact, she is the reason we are all here. Had it not been for her determined and tenacious pursuit of her missing sister, none of us would be in this room. We owe her that.”
Devon sighed. “You’re right, dammit.”
“Devon.” Portia released Burke’s arm and went to her beloved. “You can still protect me. I promise not to be foolish. But we have come so far. You are the rightful master of Harbury Hall. I need to see you there, where you belong.”
“Where we belong.” He hugged her close. “Never forget that.”
“Well, since it seems settled…” Charlotte pursed her lips, “and not to say I like this at all, I suppose we shall have to let you go and work with the Baron on these lights, Portia.”
The idea of jumping up and down and giving a whoop of excitement crossed Portia’s mind. But in a moment of unusual maturity, she merely nodded. “Thank you for your faith in me. I won’t be stupid, and from now on I never leave the house without my Jallai. You all know what it can do. And that I will not hesitate to use it.”
“Good.” Burke nodded. “So tomorrow you and Charlotte will go to Harbury and while you’re there, Devon and I are going to visit the laboratories.”
“What?”
Both women quickly turned to stare at him.
Burke grinned. “If you two could see your faces right now.”
“James…” Charlotte sounded quite threatening.
“It’s all right.” Devon chuckled. “We really are going to visit the laboratories. From what Portia and James have learned over the past few weeks, there’s only the Baron working down there. The patients are down in the lower level and God only know what sort of condition they’re in. So I pulled a few strings with Lord Southfield and behold.” He waved his hand at Devon. “This is Mr. Hatfield, the health inspector dispatched from Whitehall to review the facilities.”
He smiled. “The paperwork authenticating his visit should have been delivered this afternoon to the Hall.” He sipped his ever-present glass of Scotch whiskey. “I’ll bet that put more than one cat amongst the pigeons.”
“Well, Mr. ‘Enry will have tea for you. And his biscuits. They are good biscuits, Burke.” Portia smiled.
“We won’t be there for biscuits, my dear. Devon and I need to get down to those men still on level four. If they haven’t been moved back to level seven, that is.”
“How, James?” Puzzled, Charlotte tipped her head to one side. “Isn’t that all very secret? Can you ask for them without showing your hand? How are you supposed to just appear and ask for men who have been locked away for years now? Won’t it arouse suspicion?”
“Aha.” Burke looked smug. “It would have done, my dear, had it not been for the groundwork I have been laying so subtly over the last month or two.”
Portia snapped her fingers. “Robertandarthur.”
“Sharp girl.” Burke nodded. “I have been nurturing that relationship to the point where I’m not exactly a close friend, but am I regarded as a non-threatening entity, which is enough to guarantee that if I bring in a health inspector, they will know it won’t amount to any kind of problem for Harbury.”
“You are very clever, James, and quite secretive. I knew nothing about this.” Charlotte looked reproving. “Shouldn’t you be sharing things like this with your affianced wife?”
Burke rolled his eyes. “Yes dear.”
The laugh was general, but all knew that the plans had now been formalized. Portia would arrive at Harbury Hall tomorrow and encounter the Baron as she worked on the ball decorations.
Inspector Burke would lead Devon back into his nightmare under the guise of a close examination of the living conditions in the laboratories.
And both would be walking a risky line between the ordinary and the possibly dangerous.
Portia clasped her hand to her other wrist again. Yes, she needed to feel the security of her Jallai, the delicate and unusual jeweled weapon that had proved invaluable in the past. She didn’t want to have to use it, but she would if she had to. Everyone she cared about most in the world was in this room. Whatever it took, she would protect them.
*~~*~~*
The next afternoon, Burke and Devon walked to the entrance of the Harbury Laboratories through a miserable mix of sleet and a very cold rain. However, the door was open and Robert awaited them.
“Afternoon, Inspector Burke. Terrible day.”
“Indeed.” Burke shook his shoulders like a dog, letting the droplets fall where they might. “Robert, this is Mr. Hatfield, from the Royal Investigative Services Health Department.”
“Mr. Hatfield.”
Devon simply nodded.
“If we might begin the tour? I’m guessing we all would rather be in front of a roaring fire today.”
“Of course, sir. This way, gentlemen.”
Burke looked around, trying not to reveal the tension that was rippling through his body. He knew, or at least had a damn good idea, of some of the horrors that had occurred within these walls. As they passed darkened laboratory after darkened laboratory, he could only rejoice that there were so few experiments now underway.
His concern that Devon might be recognized—one shared by the ladies as well—failed to materialize. The Devon who had been imprisoned here was a far cry from the man now standing at James’s side. Nothing like a good diet and some healthy exercise, not to mention a full growth of moustache, to change a man’s appearance.
One large door revealed light behind it. “And here is Baron von Landau’s laboratory. He is the only scientist here at present. He studies the human mind, I’m told.” Robert opened the door.
Burke walked in and glanced around. There were papers and books littered across the large table, a collection of big glass jars on one shelf and several china figurines of the human head with drawings on the scalp. One had the top half removed and what must be the brain showing within. A large blackboard full of odd notations, in what appeared to be a mix of German, English and Latin, defeated him, but nothing seemed to catch his eye as a recipe for drilling holes in heads.
There were no strange machines or half-rotted corpses. For which Burke was very grateful.
“It seems in order.” He turned with a half grin. “If you can call this mess order?”
Robert allowed his lips to crinkle. “Quite, sir.” He moved on down the hallway. “This is the third level. As you saw, the second has living quarters but only for the staff at the moment. Below us, on the fourth level, are our remaining patients. You’ll be wanting to see them?”
At last Devon spoke. “Yes. They are the ones that I need to review. I have a list of names…” He withdrew a small notebook and opened it, reciting names as Robert led them to the end of the passage and a stone stairwell leading down.
“Um your information is a bit out of date, sir. Sadly, two of those men passed months ago. We now have only four left.”
Burke caught the hitch in Devon’s stride at this news. When he had escaped, scarcely more than two or three months before, there had been eleven men entrapped with him.
But he managed to control any overt reaction, merely nodding and saying “I see.”
Level Four was clean, well-lit and there were four doors closed, each of which Robert tapped upon in turn. And in each room the same thing could be observed.
The men—they were all men—were warmly dressed, one sat reading, one rested on his bed, another seemed to be writing, and the last one was asleep. The rooms themselves seemed to possess all the facilities necessary for a comfortable existence, and they were lit by lamps high up on the walls. There were no windows, of course, but several thick hangings added to the snug feel of the environment.
Devon busily took notes, chatted a little with one of the men, and then nodded at Burke. “All seems in order here, Mr. Burke.”
“Very well, Mr. Hatfield. As you say, it seems these men are well tended.”
They followed Robert back along the passage and ascended the stairs, following them back up to daylight and the second level.
“There’s tea in the kitchen, gentlemen. Our cook has also baked some biscuits.”
“Excellent.” Burke nodded. “That’s very kind. I could use a cuppa right about now.”
“This way please.”
They entered the bright and toasty kitchen where tea did indeed await. Devon poured as Burke took a seat at the spotless table and helped himself to a biscuit.
“Those four men down there, Robert. They’re ill?”
“They were, sir. When I first got here they were in sad shape. As were the others in residence.” He sat at the far end and nodded at Devon who was passing out teacups. “Thank you sir.” He took a sip. “We had several doctors at the time, and thanks to their efforts, these poor lads were able to manage their illnesses. You can’t believe how far they’ve come.”
“And yet more than a few have passed.” Devon finally spoke, his voice even, his words betraying no more than a casual interest in the facts.
“Indeed ‘tis sad, sir. But you must understand these poor chaps were all a bit touched, like. You know.” He tapped his head. “Sick in here. Some were slow, others couldn’t care for themselves. Some were raving wild at times. The doctors did some pretty incredible stuff. But some were just too far gone, or too weak to handle the treatments.” He managed to look saddened. “Now we have the medicines worked out for our remaining patients and as you can see they’re doing well. A doctor comes down to visit occasionally—“ he looked over at Devon, “I expect your office gets them reports he writes, sir.”
“Indeed yes. I have read them.”
Satisfied with that answer, Robert continued. “The last gentleman who passed caught a chill early in the winter. We did our best for him, but you must know that these patients are in a weakened condition. They are cared for, and nursed and we do our best to keep them happy. But nobody, including the doctors, can say when their time on earth will cease. God calls us all on his time, not ours.”
“Sad but true.” Burke nodded over his tea. “By the way, excellent biscuits.” He took two more.
*~~*~~*
While Burke was munching on Mr. ‘Enry’s excellent biscuits, Portia was awaiting her work crew in a small salon in Harbury Hall. She was surrounded by greenery—enough to cover several walls if one cared to do so—more ribbons than she’d ever seen before and several pairs of sharp shears. There were buckets off to one side that would be filled with water and “flowers” as Portia and the others made the unusual winter blooms for the ball decorations.
On another table were the rolls of parchment, willow fronds and tiny pieces of thread that would comprise the piece de resistance —the airship lanterns.
They were now only two days away from the event and Charlotte was closeted with Lady Harbury, going over final arrangements.
The room was warm, the sconces already lit against the cold mess that pattered against the window, and there was an air of barely suppressed excitement throughout the entire building.
Portia had seen new faces cleaning the floors and woodwork, and heard voices she’d not recognized calling from one floor to another as a bustle of preparation gripped everyone involved.
Malcolm was everywhere at once, which was a relief, since Portia wasn’t afraid to admit he intimidated her right down to her toes. Even though her Jallai was tucked safely around her forearm beneath her blouse, there was still that inflexion in his voice that made her feel as if she were twelve all over again.
Then she recalled her conversation with Devon the night before.
“You can reach me anytime, you know Portia. Let’s not forget that.”
She had paused. “I can?”
He smiled at her words. “Remember our link? Remember how I spoke to you through our minds not that long ago?”
In truth she hadn’t forgotten, but the need for such contact had disappeared with his rescue. “Do you think it will still work? We haven’t needed it for what seems like an age now. Thank goodness.” She had rested her head on his chest, in that exact spot that seemed made for her.
“Well let’s try.”
Devon was silent and Portia closed her eyes, focusing on opening that “door” in her mind. It was how she had come to think of the strange way in which she heard Devon’s thoughts almost like a regular conversation but not through her ears. Instead they conversed without words, establishing a unique mental connection.
And now—nothing.
She tried again, pushing all other thoughts aside and blanking everything but that special place as best she could. But still she heard nothing.
“Are you talking to me?” She lifted her head. “Because I can’t hear you if you are.”
“I’m trying, but there’s nothing there for me either. I can’t hear you.” He looked down at her, a worried frown creasing his brow. “What’s wrong with us?”
She hugged him, and thought about it. “Hmm.” He smelled so good, a mixture of smoke and rain and Devon. She let it distract her for a moment then returned to the subject at hand.
“What if…” she paused, letting her thoughts assemble themselves. “What if it takes very strong emotions for us to contact each other?” She tipped her head back and looked at him. “Before, when we communicated like that, you were in danger. I was desperate to find you. There was that element of fear there. And I know I read somewhere that there’s a physical effect from that kind of terror.”
“You mean our thoughts got some kind of extra push from the fear in our bodies?” He thought about that. “Yes, I’ve heard that about fright as well. You may be right.” He sighed. “I hate to think that we’ve lost that connection though.”
She snuggled into him. “We have other connections, now, Devon. Perhaps that mental one isn’t needed now that we’ve found each other.”
“I’d like to think it isn’t needed because neither of us is in fear for our lives.”
“That too.” She chuckled against his chest. “I’ll happily surrender that gift for a life of calm tranquility.”
It was Devon’s turn to chuckle. “No you wouldn’t, little liar. I know you too well. The first hint of adventure and you’re off and running. Like this thing with the Baron.”
“Well if there’s any trouble at all, I will try and contact you, but I don’t think you need worry.”
“I shall always worry, darling. I love you. Don’t forget that.”
“How could I?” And the moment had led to a passionate exchange of kisses that heated her body and drove all thoughts of danger and mental communications out of her head.
Now, standing in the salon in Harbury Hall, she felt a slight chill sweep over the back of her neck. If some risky situation arose, could she contact Devon? Or would she have to deal with it herself?
She knew she was equipped to handle more than the average woman. But this was a house riddled with terror and probably madness as well. It wasn’t a comforting thought.
However, Charlotte was here, with Lady Alwynne. There were servants, fires, daylight and Malcolm, if all else failed. She was a nobody really, in the overall scheme of Harbury things. So she really should stop imagining the worst and focus on what she had to do, which was assist the Baron in creating something unique for the ball.
“Ah, already here and on time. You are prompt, Fraulein Jones. An excellent virtue indeed.”
The Baron entered the room, smiling and nodding at her as his eyes wandered over the tables filled with all kinds of decorative things.
She bobbed a curtsey. “Yes, sir. Lots to do. Wouldn’t be right to waste valuable time now, would it?”
“Indeed no.” He moved to her side. “Now let’s see what we have here…”
His voice was warm and rich, soothing any nervousness Portia might have felt in being alone with him. “I think they found most everything you asked for, sir. Can’t see nothin’ missing?”
“Neither can I. This is excellent. Let us begin, shall we?” And with another of those comforting smiles, the Baron removed his coat, set it carefully on a chair and turned to the tools in front of him.
Portia smiled back. This afternoon might even be fun.