Catherine_Novella

Prologue

I have felt, for many years, the need to tell this story. It will be an excellent retirement project; I have always wanted to be a writer, but have never had the time, nor the energy. It was the most exciting time of my entire life, and the most depressing; it brought out the best in me, and the worst. I have the police logs and reports at my disposal, so, if indeed I wished to, I could recount to you every detail, every moment, every fact present in this incredible case. But I prefer to tell this story as it happened, as I remember it - as I see it. I will make it a thriller – no, more of a mystery, with adventure, romance, and danger. That’s what it was to me, in any case. And I won’t change the ending, or the feelings, but I will change the dialogue – and the names. Sometimes the normal facts of life need a little exaggeration to make it all that it should be. And so, join me on the case of a lifetime – every young detective’s dream and nightmare – one that would change my life, and the lives of others, forever.

Chapter One

But first, I must give you the background. Our story begins in the year 1859; the setting is our fair England, in an age of politics, astronomy, literature, and more shockingly, Darwin. I was born in the country village of Bariton, to a poor, educated clergyman and the daughter of yet another poor, educated clergyman. It goes without saying that religion was expected to be a tremendous part of my life, but for me, although the church held solitude, it never held my interest. I grew up with a quiet, simple, sparse country life. My parents were old, and kindly, both with spectacles and iron grey in their hair. My mother was soft and welcoming, my father strict and incredibly stubborn, but fair. They had never really expected to have children. My mother had several miscarriages before I was born, and my father was extremely careful of her health. I was a gift from above, in their minds, and as a result I was doted on. As I grew older, they tried to keep me in the house for longer and longer periods of time, to keep me close to them. I, on the other hand, wanted no more than to enjoy the great outdoors with other boys of my age, and I snuck out as often as I could to play cricket or go pester the cows in the fields. I was exceptionally bright for my age, due to the prodding of my parents to study in all my free time, and so I had an educated, but never carefree, childhood. After attending the village school until the age of ten, the schoolmistress recommended my parents to have me try for a scholarship at one of the public schools in the area. I was accepted into Winchester, one of the most prestigious boy’s public boarding schools in the county. My father, in his strict tone of voice, made it clear to me that I was not going to Winchester to play – I was going to study. However, his voice softened when he said good-bye, and I was truly sorry to part from my parents. At Winchester, I spent eight fulfilling, but not quite happy, years. I had not grown up in tremendous privilege, like most of the other students, and as a result found them shallow and superficial; they didn’t seem to realize the real facts of life and how tremendously lucky they were. I was friends with everyone, but not close; fortunately, I had a talent on the athletic field that endeared me to them, so I was not made fun of, unlike many other scholarship students. I received the best education there was to offer, formed lasting relationships with professors who guided and mentored me, and became lifelong friends with a precious few. Yet I always felt somewhat apart; I was serious, and did not care for the parties and pranks the others played. I laughed along with the rest of them, so as to fit in, but I couldn’t help feeling how trivial it all was. It was my greatest ambition to just get out in the world and do something – find a goal – a purpose. Upon graduating from Winchester in 1877 at the age of eighteen, my father encouraged me to continue my education; I had certainly done well enough at boarding school to try for a place at Oxford or Cambridge, and he clearly wished for me to study theology and enter the priesthood. I had other plans. I loved being a scholar, but it was so confined. What I really wished to do was see more of the real England, my home country – not read about it in books. I received a full scholarship to Oxford and took it, not entirely sure about what kind of degree I would try for and even if I would stay the expected four years. Oxford was very similar to Winchester, but also very different. There was the same privilege, same boy’s camaraderie, the same trivial pursuits, but it was even more ridiculous to see it in men, no longer boys. Nevertheless, there was also far more brilliance. I found myself surrounded by intelligent, amusing, well-looking, rich, foolish people; it was a delight and a horror. I decided to study the law; I had always been far better in history, classics and English than in science or mathematics, which made my head spin; and at least I could apply law to the world I lived in, not just think on the past. Home on my first vacation at half term, I broke the news to him. I expected him to be disappointed, but not particularly upset or surprised. What greeted me was far different.

“Daniel, what can you be thinking, studying the law? I’m sure it has some merits, but boy, we have trained you for the priesthood your entire life! We did not send you to one of the best schools in the country with the intention of you giving up your calling, your duty to God!” “Father, you must have known that the church never held any interest for me. And besides, //you// did not send me to school – I gained a place there myself, on my own merits!” “But who raised you? Gave you moral guidance, and the principals that will stay with you for the rest of your life? The early education and ambition that made you the brilliant scholar you are today? More importantly, for the immediate moment, who gives you your monthly allowance?” “Withdraw the allowance, if you so wish. I can survive without your – “ “If you think that you can study and work at the same time, you are very much mistaken. You may not have to pay the university fees for actual tuition, but you still must pay for your housing and food. I very much doubt you can do that on your own. We may not be rich, but we have a steady income, which we have been handing over to //you//, so that you would live in comfort while you trained to be a priest!” “I can manage on my own, and I will. I cannot be a priest when I do not even believe in God!” He fell silent at that, his face stark white, the eyes seemingly about to explode out of his wrinkled, round head. My mother gave a small cry and leaned back on the sofa as if she had fainted. “How could you be so different from the adult we raised you to be? You were so perfect as a child,” he uttered, the tears welling in his eyes. But then, seeing my nonchalant shrug, his face hardened. “Leave this house.” I nodded and stepped out the faded cottage door. And so, in this manner, I parted my parents’ house. I did not see them again for another ten years.

Chapter Two

I studied hard at Oxford, but like my father had forewarned, it was not easy to get a BA with honors while waiting on table. It wasn’t that I had many classes to go to, but to get a first, one had to be constantly studying for that one final exam that would determine everything; who came first, who came second, and who failed. You only had one chance. I don’t quite know why I wanted a first, or why I even wanted the degree. It must have had something to do with proving my dear father wrong. I’m not even sure anymore why I worked so hard; I worked more hours than I needed to cover my payments. It didn’t leave me with much of a social life, and I became a tolerated, and, in some cases, well-liked, loner. I believe that I started to think that money was the key, or certainly a large part, of life. With money, I felt I could have independence – from my parents, from the kindly institutions that decided I was intelligent enough to receive their attentions, and from the guaranteed privilege many of my classmates seemed to enjoy on a daily basis. At the same time, however, I was extremely anxious to escape school; I wanted a real life, a real job, but at the same time, I knew I would be more valuable on the shaky job market with the highest degree in the nation, which few could afford to have. I studied hard and challenged myself for the first time ever in an academic sense; I received my degree a year early. I did not apply to any law graduate schools, as all the other law students. I didn’t want to be in school anymore– I wanted the real world. I guess I should’ve thought of that before I decided to study law, that it required even more education to be a lawyer, but I had no idea how tired I would become of scholarly life At this point in time, all I wanted to do was get away. At the age of twenty-one, in the year 1880, I found myself a part-time waiter with a first in Law from Oxford with no close friends, no house, and no real job. I decided to go where everyone else who was lonely, with a small dream or a hope, was going: London.

Chapter Three

London was cramped and narrow, with piles of dung, downtrodden markets, and gleaming black carriages. I often walked from street to street, marveling how some had incredibly ornate brick houses with stern footmen guarding the door in livery much finer than mine, and how others had tenements housing thousands which stunk of the more disgusting aspects of life. It also had It was a cold, windy day in February when I saw the notice. I had my long black coat on, with the collar turned up against the wind; as I looked in the window at the sign, I saw my tired, pale face. I studied my countenance for a moment, trying to see some hidden depths, some sign of life. All I saw was a tall, skinny man – or a very old boy – with dark, messy hair and a stern mouth with hard cheekbones. My father’s cheekbones. I shook my head, focusing my attention on the sign. It was in the police station, a short walk from my grotty apartment. “WANTED: Criminal Investigation Department (CID) London Detective vacancy. Will be filled as quickly as able. Bring Proper References. Must have passed National Investigator’s Exam. “ I stood still, my teeth chattering from the cold. I saw in the window that my dark eyes had brightened. A sign of life. Taking a deep breath, I turned the knob on the heavy, black door and entered the police station. It was the greatest decision of my life.

The Station was badly lit and musty, with papers littered around on old wooden desks. Men, most about age forty, were bustling about in navy blue uniforms or in tweed suits, with vests and dark ties. They regarded me with bemusement. I must have looked like a washed up mess – unshaved, with an old jacket and wild hair. I made my way to the information desk. “I’m here about the detective vacancy.” the man regarded me with a raised eyebrow. “Aright, Sonny, but if you want-a get in with the boss you’d better lose that posh accent o’yours!” I looked at the old, kindly man, tired, confused, and exasperated. Did he think I could help the way I sounded? And couldn’t any one be a policeman? At that moment I had no appreciation for the skill of the job, but I held off from voicing my thoughts, as I did not want to be on his bad side. “Yes, sir.” “Right, turn left down the corridor and knock on Chief Superintendent Hardy’s door. This is highly ‘erregular, ya shouldn’t see him w’out an appointment, but we just done put the sign up, so yer welcome to go in.” “Thanks. I’m very much obliged to you.” “Don’t mention it. Best o’luck!” The corridor was dark and winding, but I found myself at a lighter area near the end, with a large, dark oak door that proclaimed the Chief Superintendent’s name. I hesitated for a moment, and then knocked. “COME IN!!!!!!!!” a voice thundered. I entered and saw a stout, squat, spectacled man sitting at a beautiful black desk. He was so short that his legs didn’t even touch the floor; his tweeds were immaculate, yet strangely, his bowler hat was still on. There were no decorations of any kind in the room besides the incredibly ornate desk and picture frame turned face down; there was a Victorian chair on the other side of the desk, and I pulled it out and sat down. “Now who might you be?” he enquired, his voice surprisingly deep, his eyebrows arched and his mouth frowning. “I’m – I’m here about the detective vacancy.” “Got the paperwork?” “The what?” “The paperwork. You know, proof you’ve passed the National exam.” “Well, not exactly…. “Well, I’m sorry son, but you can’t get any job with the police, let alone be a detective, unless you’ve passed the exam! Do you have any experience at all?” “I’m afraid not.” “Then what were you thinking, waltzing in like this, with no exam and no record? Did you honestly think we were that desperate to hire you?” “No-o…. I just wanted this job.” “Well, it takes a lot more to get something in this world than wanting.” He saw my face, and must have deduced how dog-tired and incredibly hopeless I was. “What’s your story, anyways?” “My parents turned me out. Didn’t want to be a priest. Got a first at Oxford in law, but I can’t bear to go to school anymore. I don’t have a job or any purpose. I just don’t know what to do.” It was quite a rant, shouted more than spoken. I didn’t dare look up. What a simply awful day. I rested my face in my hands, furious at myself. It was embarrassing, spilling my guts like that to a complete stranger! “That’s quite a story.” I looked up; he was smiling. “Not many days I get a boy with a first in my office! You know, you could be useful. Some detectives get too focused on the dirt-dog side of a case. They think if they just keep working hard and intimidating people, they’ll get to who did it. Detective work does require methodical thinking, but it requires a touch of genius as well. Sometimes you’ve got to be the sly dog instead of the brute. And with a degree of law, you’ll know exactly what you need to get someone convicted – and what’ll stand up in court. No, you could be useful.” I felt a rush to my head. Was he seriously saying – “You can start on Monday. You’ll be an apprentice of sorts for a month, and then we’ll have you take the exam. I’m sure you will pass very easily – I bet you learn quickly. IN any case, we’ll have you a detective in no time at all. I’ll have Constable Jerry take down your details, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning!” I stared at him unbelievably, my stomach in a sea of turmoil. “Are you quite serious?” “Boy, I never joke.” “Then - why me?” “Let’s just say I have a need of some upper-class smarts and behavior around this office. We get a lot of the rich London elite in here every day. Don’t quite know how to deal with them. Also, I’d like to put some blind faith in someone. Haven’t done that for a while.” “I’ll never forget this.” “I’m sure you won’t. Now, let’s see about your paperwork…”

And so, at the age of twenty-one, I became a detective of the Metropolitan Police Force at the Bow Street Station. I owed it to a man who would become my true father. The police changed my life - it was at this very police station that I first heard the name Georgiana Rothschild.

Chapter Four

Life at the station was incredibly exciting for me; I was continuously challenged in my thought, as in many cases, I had to stop my increasingly overactive imagination from jumping to vast conclusions. With time, I became a patient, methodical, albeit quiet detective – I certainly wouldn’t be able to intimidate anyone in the interview room. They paired me on cases with old ladies who needed their nerves soothed, or with middle-to-upper class people, who, in their words, preferred someone who could “speak their own language,” although I thought that some interaction with the //real// inhabitants of London, who had lived their all their lives and were blessed with a cockney accent, would do them some good. I increased in skill, especially as a listener, as being a detective enabled me to do something that was very hard for me before – connecting the scholarly knowledge I did have with actual people, not ancestors from a forgotten age. With time, the other police officers and detectives stopped the jokes about my accent, as they saw that I wanted this job, this life, as much as any of them. There was nothing like the thrill of a case – the feeling of unearthing deep, forbidding feelings, the chase that would ensue until the wrongdoer was caught. Then again, it definitely was not all fun and games; often I returned home, to my new, neat apartment (afforded on my modest yet sufficient salary) refusing to think about the motives criminals had expressed for their actions. Many of their motives made sense, they were things I could do and understand - yet they were still against the law. It was a philosophical discussion that scared me because all the principals of society I had been raised to have, and so in many cases, I simply tried to avoid it. I did have a fun time at the station, however; in June, after more than a year’s worth of detective experience, I received a letter from James, an old friend of mine from Winchester; he had been a scholarship student as well, good at maths and English, with a studious mind but always willing to laugh. He was sly, charming, and confidence oozed from him like he had the greatest fortune of them all. He kept up the deception for a year, but once they discovered where he came from, however, it all disappeared. He decided not to go to Oxford, as his final years at Winchester were fairly miserable, due to the amount of teasing that made the rounds; I was his only friend. We had lost touch, however, once I went to Oxford, and I was surprised to find he had tracked me down. He said he had seen my name in a London police report, and I happily discovered that he was in London as well, a detective no less! Working as an accountant, he had met a beautiful girl and married her, who was the daughter of the best private investigator in London: Benton Hardcastle of the Hardcastle Detective Agency. Mr. Hardcastle had encouraged James to try for detective, and three years later, here he was – right under my very own nose! He was working at one of the stations on the other side of London, but we immediately arranged to meet for lunch at a charming café on one of the side streets; it was good to see him again, with much of his old swagger returned. “Well, well – Danny Ashton - how have you been, old boy? Surprised to see you in the force, not after all that about Oxford!” He grinned, showing off his flashing white teeth, his blue eyes bright and shining. “It didn’t suit, I’m afraid to say - got my degree, but I just couldn’t be bothered to be cooped up any longer! They’d do a lot better if they gave us a bit of adventure.” “I figured that out at Winchester. Of course, other affairs also made me realize I didn’t want to go to any of those posh universities. Parents were a bit upset though; Mum was dead set on me being a professor! But after seeing all the discipline and usefulness of the force, I think she’s come round to it. Salary isn’t bad either, and the in-laws are awfully nice. No, we’re all ridiculously happy.” “I’m delighted to hear it. When do I receive the honor of meeting your lovely wife?” “Oh, she’s always off with her friends during the day, but come ‘round to dinner sometime and you’ll get a proper meal and introduction – you wouldn’t mind meeting some of her fair friends either, would you?” I laughed. “No, of course not! Why don’t you come back to the office and meet my super? Gave me the job with nothing to recommend me, he’s been great, name’s Luke Stevens.” “Oh yes, I’ve heard tremendous things about him from the old father-in-law; I think he’s had to work jointly with him on some private cases. I’d be pleased to meet him. Think he’ll be there?” “Always takes his lunch in office, egg sandwich with brandy every day. Come on, if we get back in time before he finishes it, maybe he’ll offer us some!” We ran off like a bunch of giggling schoolboys; it was awfully nice to have a friend outside of work, someone I could talk to, someone whom I could always rely upon.

Chapter Five

As we were walking gaily along the street to the station, a newspaper stand caught my eye. It proclaimed, “ROTHSCHILD FAMILY LONDON BRANCH DEAD IN SAILING ACCIDENT: ONLY SURVIVOR ELDEST DAUGHTER: WHAT HAPPENS TO THE MONEY???” The newsboy selling it was making a fortune, as people all over the street seemed to converge on him, suffocating the small child with their excitement. His screams were lost in the crowd. This was no ordinary news sensation. “Hang on a second, James – look at that! They must mean Alexander Rothschild; isn’t he the richest man in England?” I was supremely interested – everyone in London knew of the Rothschilds. “God help us, he’s the biggest financier in all of England, and knighted, no less! “I thought he was an Austrian-German baron…” “He’s that, too, and probably the most important man in England economically at the moment. Shame that he died in some kind of stupid accident – come on, buy the paper; we’ve got to read the story. Who knows what’ll go down with the will and the rest of the family – I’ve heard most of his cousins are vultures for money. And that surviving daughter will be the primary target; she’ll probably inherit everything! I wonder how old she is?” His eyes were wide and bright – everyone loved a good drama, no matter how tragic, and we both knew that the press would be covering how this drama unfolded for weeks, if not months. I had no idea, at that very moment, how the deaths in the Rothschild family were to become a deep part of my very being, the fabric of my life. It’s the most awful thing, isn’t it – and the most wonderful – how one incredibly small moment can change your life forever?

Chapter Six

It was a few weeks later when I heard her name. The super called me into his office; I had no idea what was going on, I’d just wrapped up a particularly difficult robbery, and was feeling very proud of myself. I hummed as I walked down that narrow corridor, self-pleased and absorbed, sure that he wanted to talk to me so he could offer me his congratulations. My imagination started to take its usual bounds which I never voiced; maybe a promotion would follow, a pay raise, a new apartment, that marvelous suit I had seen the other day…it took one look on his face when I opened the door to come back down to earth. His face was tired, distraught, exasperated. Had I done something wrong? “Sit down, Danny. I’ve got a case for you, but it is most certainly not of the usual kind; I’ve never been called on to do something like this before, and I know for a fact that in your young career, you never have. It will either be a challenge or a bore, but you won’t be alone; I’ll try to give you all the help I can…” He sighed and puffed out his cheeks, looking at me with a worried expression. “Sir, you’re scaring me; what’s going on?” Somehow, I managed to sound calm; my heart was racing with either nervousness or excitement, I’m still not sure which. “Do you know the name Alexander Rothschild?” “Sir, everyone…” “All right, I understand. In any case, you will then know that a few weeks ago that he died in a tragic sailing accident. His wife, eleven-year old son and seven-year old daughter were also on that boat. His eldest daughter, a Miss Georgiana Rothschild, had stayed at the family vacation house with a cold, and as a result, is the sole survivor of this immediate family. An inquest was carried out, per usual, and nothing suspicious was found in the manner of Mr. Rothschild’s death and the deaths of his family. A sudden storm caused the boat to capsize, and although several accounts suggest Mr. Rothschild was a particularly able sailor who enjoyed taking his family out alone, he had never been in a storm before. Another sailing boat a ways off saw the accident, and rushed to assist, but due to the nature of the storm, they did not manage to arrive in time. They were not in the middle of the open ocean, and not too far from the shore; all four bodies washed up on the beach over the next few days, and the autopsy reports confirmed that they drowned. No foul play was suspected. However, recent events may perhaps change that viewpoint.” “Sir, what’s happened?” “About a week ago, Miss Georgiana Rothschild starting receiving threatening letters, which made it seem like an attempt would very soon be made on her life.” “But sir, it’s very possible that this has no connection to the deaths in her family and her father; after all, she must be a very rich heiress now, a legitimate target in her own right.” “Of course. She is currently living in London with her uncle, a Mr. Frederic Rothschild, her late father’s elder brother. It’s in the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan police, but it’s a tricky situation. I met with several other section chiefs yesterday, not long after the incident had been reported (due to its importance), and frankly, this could be nothing more than a disturbed prank. If it is more than that, however, we don’t want to let the perpetrator know that we are deeply involved in an investigation; if he truly means to murder Miss Rothschild, the police being involved will speed up his timeline, in order to complete his aims before we catch on. Then, all we will be left with is a dead body and heaps of blame. Mr. Rothschild is naturally anxious for his niece, and has been rather pressing that some immediate action be taken for her protection, but assigning a full security detail to her would attract all the attention we don’t want. We all decided that a methodical, quiet, behind-the-scenes approach was needed. Of course, this is difficult to achieve, as we need someone who can blend in with the regular life of the Rothschild household without being noticed. Your name came up in the discussion. You have completed a series of difficult cases in the last few months, in addition to showing all the signs of a public school education, which is necessary if you are not to be noticed.” “Sir, that’s very flattering, but – “ “Just humor me, boy. You have the looks, the accent, the breeding, and the clothes. I don’t care to assign cases based on appearance, but her uncle’s raising such a god-awful hullabaloo that there’s nothing to be done about it. I must warn you that he will not be an easy man to deal with; he will be searching for mistakes, and I have no doubt that he’s already hired a private investigator and perhaps a bodyguard, against my recommendation – it’s exactly the sort of thing that would tip off the would-be-murderer, especially if it’s an inside job. He doesn’t really want you around, he’d prefer a full security detail, but we’d be foolish to pour so many resources into this case when we’re stretched so thin, and we’re not even sure how serious it is yet. In any case, there will be a lot of society’s richest people around that house, and you’ll have to deal with many of them, not to mention the girl herself.” “So is this a body-guarding assignment?” “Definitely not. Yes, you are there to protect her, but also to protect our interests. It would be a wonderful thing for the force if we could solve this crime before any snooty PI, and so you are our man on the inside, there to investigate, look for clues, and report back. On the other hand, we don’t want to raise a fuss among the upper classes if there’s nothing going on. Fortunately, Mr. Frederic Rothschild is going to adhere to our request that he remain quiet, at least among his friends. I don’t think I have to tell you that how you acquit yourself will reflect greatly upon the force. It could easily be the deciding factor in your career.” I took a deep breath. The super was right. It could be exciting – trying to find a murderer while protecting one of the richest heiresses in England – or it could be a bore, with nothing to investigate but a stupid prank and a demanding uncle who could get me thrown out of the force if I didn’t please him. The heiress herself would quite probably be an absolute brat, causing nothing but trouble. I thought about it for approximately five seconds. “I’ll do it!” I exclaimed, feeling a glow on my face. “Boy, it was never your decision.” He smiled kindly, and motioned towards the door. I walked out, with an indescribable feeling in my stomach. Would this be an incredible beginning – or a miserable ending?

Chapter Seven

The next morning I woke up early; I couldn’t laze about until the mid-morning; I had work to do. I went out and bought myself some fancy new clothes with the money the super gave me; the tailor looked at me warily. A special appointment had been made for me this early in the morning by a phone call from the chief superintendent himself, to allow me time to get ready. It was an unusual case, but he didn’t ask me any questions; just poked and prodded and puttered around his shop as he brought out every kind of shoe, jacket, tie, and hat available. Fully outfitted to fit the class I was now to ascend to, I returned home to pack my bags; a cover had been arranged. I was a distant cousin of Miss Georgiana; luckily, I was able to keep my name, and was simply known as Daniel Rothschild. I went out to get a haircut, and some cheap dye was put in my hair to make it just a tad lighter; my part was put on a different side, and everything was smoothed down so much that I no longer recognized myself. The super had been right when he said all I really needed to change was my hair; my features were quite regular, and as a result, changing my clothes and my hair made me look like quite a different person. The disguise was necessary just in case anyone recognized me, although I doubted its necessity; who in Mr. Rothschild’s circle would recognize me? Perhaps some old school fellows, but I doubted it; they were not of the right age to be Mr. Rothschild’s friends, and I had only been close with a particular few. I packed my bags with my new clothes and some investigative tools, which I buried, deep in the bottom, hoping they would not be discovered if my bags happened to be searched. I would report to the police station once a day, but would put on a different disguise just so that no one saw “Daniel Rothschild” in a police station. I considered all the security highly unnecessary for a case we weren’t even sure was serious yet, but it was fun to carry out; it made me feel like I was doing something important. Looking in the mirror while straightening my tie, I was pleased with my appearance; I had not doubt that I would belong. It was frightening to see how the real me could disappear so easily, like I had never existed at all.

Chapter Eight

The house was enormous. There are quite simply no other words for it. Located in Grosvenor Square, one of the most fashionable spots in all of London’s expansive area, it still eclipsed all others around it. Made of red brick, it contained tall windows with intricate white frames, a neatly tiled roof, and statues of Roman gods and goddesses in the slight but lush, green lawn that separated it from the street. In the front was a tall stone wall connecting to a twenty-foot tall black iron gate, with thick prongs and a huge lock that looked out forbiddingly on the rest of the street. Gargoyles were perched on the top of it, their lewd faces daring to you stare. There were no flowers in the strip of garden, just sharp shrubberies and stiff trees, appearing to be newly planted. Another row of trees, considerably older, were on the side of the house and prevented the viewer from seeing into the back garden. Indeed, it was perhaps the only house in Grosvenor Square that had a garden – the other houses were side-to-side, with just stairs and smaller iron gates in the front; it was incredible that the family had managed to procure this amount of real estate in one of the most crowded cities in the world. This house, however, literally stood apart from all the others, as it proclaimed a break in the street. There was absolutely no chance on earth that you could miss this house. The tall, four stories (one story taller than anyone else), the multitude of chimneys, and the incredible width and depth proclaimed that this was a house fit for royalty and a hundred people, not one man and his niece. I knew that the Rothschild family was rich; I just didn’t quite realize to what extreme. At that moment, I saw the shadow of the great house, and wanted to turn back. But I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t. Taking a deep breath, I crossed the dirty street that contrasted so dreadfully with the richness of the palace before me and approached the gate. Two footmen stood just on the inside. “Mr. Daniel Rothschild?” he inquired, his face seemingly set in stone. “Yes,” I said shakily. “You are expected. Please come in.” And with that, the great gate opened.

Chapter Nine I was lead through a beautiful entrance hall with a glass chandelier; beneath my feet were thick, rich carpets. Statues and vases of all kinds stood everywhere, some on pedestals, some on shining wood tables. As we turned left and walked down a wide corridor, art of incredible quality surrounded me on both sides; paintings from famous eras I had studied at museums on school trips. The butler was leading me through, a tall, grey-haired man with a hawk nose and deep wrinkles. We approached a large set of wooden double doors with an ornate design in gold paint on the outside; it looked like some kind of bird. The butler cleared his throat and knocked loudly on the door. “Mr. Daniel Rothschild!” he pronounced, putting special emphasis on my assumed last name. I entered through the doors. Before me, sitting at an ivory desk with some papers strewn before him and a bottle of claret, was Mr. Frederic Rothschild. He had dark brown hair only touched by grey at the edges, but the multitude of wrinkles on his face showed him to be of a sizeable age. His mouth seemed to have its corners permanently turned down, and his sagging, hollow cheeks showed a small appetite. He stood up, and I was immediately struck at how tall this man was; I myself am quite tall, about six foot two, yet this man’s head was at least a few inches above my own. He wore a monocle, giving him a searching look that would’ve been quite comical if he wasn’t known to me to be a man of such extraordinary power. His clothes were undoubtedly the finest, and as he stepped out behind his desk to greet me, I noticed with some amusement that he walked with his head tilted back, his nose in the air. He gave a slight motion with his hand, and the butler closed the doors behind us. Now, there truly was no going back.

Chapter Ten

“Now, young man, I’d like to call you just by your assumed name. It’s hard for me to keep track of someone if they have more than one name; damned unpractical. Is that quite all right with you?” He raised his bow quizzically and gave me a searching look, as if surveying me. “Whatever you prefer,” I replied; I had a sudden urge to stare him down, to temper some of his undeniable pompousness, but remembering that this man needed to like me; I lowered my eyes and stood silently. “Now, I will tell you of your duties in this house. I am highly against the whole idea; Georgiana needs a protective unit, not some undercover policeman who looks like he’s nineteen. I understand that the police want to keep this quiet, especially when you don’t know quite how serious this could get, and you must believe me that I do also; in fact, that is almost my highest priority; however, it comes after Georgiana’s safety. I think I should inform you that I have already hired a private investigator to look into he case; however, owing to the advice of your police, he will also be coming here in disguise; in fact, he happened to agree with you about not raising any awareness to the man sending these threatening notes if he happened to be in the house. The investigator’s very capable and has been considering many possibilities, and as far as I’m concerned, you should leave the investigating to him. His agency’s the best that money could buy, and though I’m sure the local police are quite admirable people, and you as well, you can’t quite match up to the chaps in the private sector, can you? No, I won’t expect you to. And, just to finish the whole thing off, I must inform you that I’ve hired a bodyguard to protect Georgiana at social events and around the house; my private investigator can’t expect to be doing any investigating if he’s worrying about my niece all the time, can he? I expect the gentleman who will be doing the protecting to arrive tomorrow. I know your force will be upset, but don’t get your little heads in a muddle over it; again, like the investigator, he will be in disguise, and I sincerely doubt anyone will take him for a bodyguard. He is also the best money can buy. Now, as you can see that you don’t have any work to do, perhaps you can tell the local police that you are not needed here; however, you are welcome to stay as long as you like, as you probably have nothing better to do with your time. At least you look the part of a cousin; I thought you’d turn up in police clothes and I’d have to take you under my wing. At least I’m saved that embarrassment. And now, I will introduce you to Georgiana; after all, she needs to pretend that you are a family relation. I must say, your being here is all highly inconvenient, but we’ll try our best to make you comfortable. Now, follow me!” Through this remarkable speech, he had barely paused to take breath or to allow me to retort. That was perhaps a good thing, as my face was so red and I was fuming so much I was afraid that I might burst out with something incredibly rude. I didn’t think I’d ever met a more disagreeable man in my life. My situation could definitely not get any worse. I must admit to you, however, that my viewpoint changed slightly once we entered the entrance hall. I was still trying to keep my temper under control, so I followed the uncle at a distance. I heard a patter of footsteps on the great marble staircase, and looked up. Standing there was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.


 * STARTING NEW SECTION

Chapter Eleven

I still have difficulty describing her, as she looked, at that moment; it would be an insult to her to even attempt a description of her face – every word seems rough and commonplace. Later, I would discover it was her mind, not her form, which carried the real beauty – a generous heart hard to uncover. But now, I am getting ahead of myself; for the reader’s purpose alone, I will attempt to sketch a very inadequate picture of her features. She was tall and slim, with the posture of a ballet dancer, her soft white dress complimenting her figure; she carried herself with her chin in the air, accentuating her high cheekbones, giving her an expression of pride bordering on haughtiness. Her long, shining, raven-black hair was curled at the ends, brushed back perfectly into place. Her face was deathly pale, and she would have looked like a perfect ghost if she didn't have a faint pink blush on her cheeks. Her large eyes were a deep, dark blue, standing out even at a distance; the thin, curved eyebrows gave them a look of surprise. It was not a typical beauty; some would say she was too thin, too tall, not enough color, her face carved too harshly; but for me, it was a face of perfection. But as I looked into those eyes, they stared straight at me, a challenge; her mouth narrowed disapprovingly, appearing as a small rosebud on a heart-shaped face. It was a glare to stop men’s hearts and leave them dying in the street, but I refused to lower my eyes. I would not disappoint her. What had probably been no more than a few seconds had seemed like years, and I appeared to have passed her unspoken test as she descended from the stairs, far more slowly than the patter I had heard momentarily before above my head. I tried to remind myself that she was a girl, although she was only four years younger than myself. Mr. Rothschild showed her into a nearby study, and beckoned for me to follow; he closed the glass doors behind him and dismissed the servants. “Georgiana, as you can see, this is the local policeman come to look after you. Don’t let him bother you, though he’ll probably expect to follow you everywhere and ask a few questions; with good luck, he’ll be gone in a few days. Now, I’ve explained the situation to you; he is to be your distant cousin, Mr. Daniel Rothschild – “ “What is his real name?” “I’m sorry, darling?” “I said, what is his real name? You can’t expect me to allow a strange man to follow me about when I don’t know his real name.” She stared at me again, and with a toss of her hair, turned to look out the window at the street. “Well, then?” “I didn’t bother to ask.” “That’s not very polite.” “Georgiana!” “All right then, I will inquire myself. Excuse me sir, what is your name?” I willed myself not to stutter as I looked into her eyes. “Daniel Ashton – Danny to my friends.” I was surprised with myself. Maybe it was the clothes, or the haircut, or the part I was supposed to play, but I sounded confident, perhaps even arrogant. “Well then, I shall call you cousin Danny. And now, if you two don’t mind, I have to finish piano practice or my governess will be extremely upset. If you aren’t otherwise engaged, cousin Danny, you may have tea with me at four o’clock so we can discuss my schedule over the upcoming weeks; that way, you will know what events you are expected to be at, if any. We’ll also need to discuss your – what do you detectives call it? Oh yes, your cover story, so I know what to say when I introduce you to people. I expect to see you then.” And with that, her nose even higher in the air, she walked out of the room and up the staircase, seemingly without a care.

Chapter Twelve

After being settled into my rooms, I left the house to go to the station. I wasn’t supposed to report until the following day, but I had to tell them Mr. Rothschild’s feelings about my presence in the house, and the discovery I had made of the arrival of the bodyguard and the private detective the next day. I needed someone high up to make a few calls and convince Mr. Rothschild that I should stay; I couldn’t be thrown out of the house – not now – not when I had just met her. When I walked, it was like being on air, and looking into shop windows, I saw that I had a stupid, silly grin on my face. I looked sternly at myself in one of the windows, telling myself to not be such a fool; she was a prissy aristocrat, and I was an unwelcome commoner, and I stayed there trying to convince myself of that fact until I noticed that I was scaring a little girl inside. I dashed off before her matronly mother came out to scold me, and I stopped off at a local pub to change my clothes and disguise. I snuck out a backdoor, and made my way towards the station. I still remember how I was continuously checking my father’s fine golden watch, tucked into my waistcoat. After all, I couldn’t miss my four o’clock appointment. Chapter Thirteen

At the station, the super was furious. “It’s unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. Utter nonsense – it can’t stand. It’s preposterous that he would say that to you. If there’s a problem, he’s risking his niece’s life by calling in the PI and the bodyguard. They had better well be disguised. Right, that’s settled. You are staying in that house, no matter what occurs. We, the Local Police, will the first people he blames if something happens; we’re the easiest target. We must, at all costs, keep a man on the inside, not only for her protection, but also for ours; we need our own version of how events unfold. I won’t be brushed off this case; we can solve it just as well as some snooty PI. Under no condition may you leave that house until this is finished!” He had been pacing furiously around the room, speaking to himself more than to me. His shirt collar was out of place, his eyes wild, the thin, sparse hair on his head sticking straight up, quite a comical figure. Nevertheless, I understood how he felt; a very powerful, influential man had questioned his authority and the reputation of the institution that he had built his life around in its usefulness and ability to do the job. He wanted to prove Mr. Rothschild wrong – not just out pride in his section of the police force, but also for the thrill. Well, maybe that’s bringing more of my own feelings into it than his. I wanted the thrill of being the one to solve the case, to discover who was behind those letters, to show up the bodyguard and the private investigator, and most of all, I wanted the thrill of having the proud Mr. Rothschild thank //me.// I left the office determined to stick it out at the Great House, knowing that for me, it would be no great trial. After all – I would get to see her – every day. But a nagging thought entered my head. I wouldn’t get to see her as Danny; I would be seeing her as snobby Daniel Rothschild, a distant cousin. I would have to play a part that wasn’t me. And where was the romance in that? I was jumping too far ahead of myself, yet again. I shook my head, as if that would somehow shatter my illusion. I had talked to this girl for approximately ten seconds, and had been in the same room as her for approximately a quarter of an hour. That was no basis for a relationship; I tried to convince myself in my head that there was no love at first sight, that it was an insane myth made up by elderly female storytellers. I told myself, frankly, what a pathetic, lovesick child I was being. I didn’t realize until afterwards that I said it out loud, but fortunately the super, too engrossed in his pacing, did not appear to notice. Breathing a sigh of relief, I exited the station. I looked at my watch for the first time in half an hour. It was three o’clock.

Chapter Fourteen

I arrived at the house at a quarter to four, was let in by the footman, who kept giving me curious glances, and went upstairs to change before I met Georgiana. I walked through the winding, wide hallways of the house, covered in a richness of carpet I had never seen, and paintings famous all over the world. The butler directed me to her chamber, or, perhaps it is more appropriate to say, her apartment, though it was also ridiculous to describe her living quarters, as it was much larger than my parent’s entire house back in Bariton. The wealth of the house fascinated and disgusted me; I had never seen anything like it, even at Winchester, where I was surrounded by wealthy schoolboys from prestigious families; it was simply that the Rothschild family was rich to an extreme I had never even dreamed of; yet, right outside the Rothschild mansion, there were starving beggars in the street. One of them could have had food for many years if Mr. Rothschild had simply chosen a cheaper carpet and given them the difference. It made me sad. I entered through a set of great wooden doors into Georgiana’s apartment, which was surprisingly bright and open. The windows were very large, with plain white curtains, the walls painted a light, sky blue with a golden trim. It was sparsely yet expensively furnished; everything looked in its proper place. In one corner of the room was an immense grand piano, and in another, a large easel, with a variety of paints splattered in crucibles around it; on her canvas was a still life. Approaching it, I saw that what should have been a charming, typical, colorful still life of fruit, was a dark, grotesque painting. The fruit seemed to have a life on its own, painted in rough, bold strokes of black and deep purple instead of yellows, greens, and reds; it was strange to see how a pair loomed frighteningly out of the side of the picture, the banana appearing to be screaming in pain. Suddenly, I heard a rustle behind me. “Do you like it?” I turned to see her blue eyes staring at me hopefully, as if anxious for some kind of praise or attention. I hesitated for a moment; “I…” “Please tell the truth. I think I value honesty above many things. If you don’t like it, just say so. Criticism of oneself always results in improvement – or so my father used to tell me.” She turned away then; I couldn’t see her face, but I knew that bringing up her father must have been painful. “It frightens me. Why twist your scene so terribly? You clearly have talent; this could have made a pretty picture.” “Life is never pretty. In fact, it is frequently ugly, and frightening. This is present in all forms of life – or so I believe. My fruit show that aspect of our humanity.” “You are wrong. Life can be hard, but it can be beautiful also. If you cannot believe that, then //your// life will be sadly stifled.” She turned towards me again, her face carefully masked; I could not tell if she was angry, upset, or indifferent. “Is that what you believe my life is? Stifled?” “Perhaps not always, but it certainly is now. There is another picture on the wall, by the grand piano. It has the same bold, confident strokes as this one. If I’m not very much mistaken, that one was painted by you also. It is a landscape full of life, color, and happiness. I need not ask what happened in between the painting of these two pictures – but I must say that sorrow will pass, and life //must// begin anew again. You owe it to your parents to try.” During this time, she had been slowly turning away from me, walking slowly towards the piano. At the mention of her parents, she whipped around, her face engulfed in fury. “How //dare// you mention my parents. You didn’t even know them!” “I’m extremely sorry. I was being presumptuous. Come, let us talk of other things.” “Yes, indeed.” Her mouth and narrowed, her stare hardened. I knew that at this moment in time, she hated me. How I wished to change that. But strangely enough, I did not regret a single thing she said. I believe I was beginning to see her flaws, and her mine. I did not regret any conversation that helped me know her.

Her face assumed a sort of calm repose, and, very businesslike, she conducted me to an adjoining room where she had an assortment of papers laid out on a wide, wooden desk. She sat on one side of the desk, I on the other. “Now, for your convenience, I have written out the social schedule I must follow for the next few weeks. I am not even sure what all these engagements are, but my uncle and relatives have insisted that I attend them, and so, I presume that you will want to attend also. As you can see, I have four copies – one for you, one for the private investigator arriving to-morrow, one for the protector my uncle has hired, and one for myself. It’s slightly ridiculous that I am receiving so much protection, but count yourself lucky that your police force was first on the scene – you have the best cover. The Private Investigator isn’t going to be following me around, he’s going to be following his own line of investigation, while my uncle has informed me that my protector will be posing as my footman. If you will please read it over, I will answer any questions you have, and then we will discuss how I will introduce you.” “You have gone to a great deal of trouble on my behalf. I thank you for taking the situation so seriously – and being so responsible.” “Don’t use those words.” “What words?” “ ‘Serious’ and ‘responsible.’ I’m not a child.” “I did not mean – “ “I know exactly what you meant.” The conversation was taking another turn for a worse, and I tried desperately to remedy it. “Surely my introduction will be very easy – “ “No, in fact, it will be very hard. Society ladies are very nosy, and will probably want to know all about you and your marriage prospects, your family, where you come from, etc. I will have to answer all those questions – they would never ask you directly. We need to make sure our stories are straight, or someone will suspect something. Haven’t you had this kind of case before?” “No–o… in fact, I have only been a detective for about one year. I am very new to the force…” “Then how, in God’s name, were you chosen? I know that these letters could turn out to be a very unimportant affair, but my uncle’s influence usually ensures that we receive the best – oh dear, that sounded wrong, I didn’t mean to suggest…” “I may not have much experience with high society ladies, but let me now educate you about the London police force. It is very hard to find someone who does not have a cockney accent, and who has some degree of higher education. I have both. Do not misunderstand me. Many of the men on our force are much smarter than I, much more successful in solving cases, are much more experienced, and much less impatient. But, I have limited characteristics and abilities that enable me to fit into your kind of crowd, and as a result, I was chosen for the job. When your society starts discussing philosophy and the writings of Charles Dickens, I will be able to respond with the Cambridge gentleman’s accent, and without any hint of being an outsider. In this kind of case, experience does not matter. It’s quite unfair, but very true.” “Why should it be unfair? You have the job...” “But I do not deserve it. A person’s upbringing should not affect their opportunities in life.” She smiled and looked on the verge of laughing, but then, remembering herself, resumed her usual stern mask. “I saw your smile. Do not laugh at a poor dreamer. Yes, I am an idealist, and perhaps one day it will get me into trouble.” “I think it a wonderful thing.” She looked at me then, and gave me a true smile, without any attempt to hide it, a light shining behind her eyes. In that moment, I felt that for the first time, I had truly seen her. I left her then, shutting the door softly behind me. I was more in love with her than before.

Chapter Fifteen

Georgiana had announced that she would not be attending dinner that night, pleading fatigue, and I also made my excuses to her uncle, explaining in private that I had work to do in relation to the case, although in reality I had nothing whatsoever to do. I had no wish to share a lone dinner with Mr. Rothschild, and he, seemingly feeling the same way about me, did not seem to care much that I would be absent, just mildly offended that I could refuse an invitation from such a grand man as he. I understood from our brief conversation that while at his gentleman’s club for afternoon tea, he had met with the High Commissioner of Scotland Yard (presumably on the behalf of my superintendent) who had plead with him that he cooperate with me and realize that I could be of use in the case presently before us. After much wheedling and persuasion, Mr. Rothschild had condescended to admit that by staying close to Georgiana, I could observe details that could lead to the capture of the letter-writer. It was only that evening when I realized how ridiculous and dysfunctional English society was; one lone girl had received a few death threats, and some of the most influential men in society were spending numerous man hours trying to find a solitary letter-writer. Affairs were about to change, however. Time would soon tell that this was no sick prank or joke. Georgiana’s life was in danger – and events would soon become infinitely more complicated.

Chapter Sixteen I could not sleep that night. My chamber was large and pleasantly lit, my four-poster bed next to a large set of French windows that I kept open to take advantage of the warm summer breeze. The stars were brilliant that night, an unusual event, as the smog and smoke of London usually covered the nighttime sky, and as I searched for the constellations I put my elbows on the windowsill and stared off into the night, feeling like a little boy again. It must have been early in the morning when it happened. I had dozed off on the windowsill, passing in and out of consciousness, when I heard a blood-curdling scream – a woman’s scream – from the level above mine in the great house. I sat bolt upright in my bed and paused for a few seconds, then gathered my wits, ran towards my door, and attempted to seize it open. It wouldn’t budge. It was locked.

Chapter Seventeen

I kicked at the door furiously, not comprehending how it could possibly be locked. I quickly realized through all my efforts that there was something on the other side of the door also, some kind of extremely heavy weight, that was preventing me from breaking down the door in addition to the lock. I tried in vain to break the barricade, ramming my body against the door several times. I was oblivious to all feeling except fear – fear for the woman upstairs. I threw a bucket of water that had been for washing my face on the door hinges, hoping to loosen it with the soaking of the wood. It did just enough. I managed to burst through the door. In the hallway, a heavy, classical wardrobe had been leaning against my door, and was now broken, on the ground. I jumped over it and into the corridor, and I headed for the staircase. I raced up the stairs, still only in my dressing gown and slippers. As I reached the floor where I had heard the scream, I saw a maid crying in the hallway. As I ran towards her, she pointed to Georgiana’s bedchamber, her face a mask of fear. I rushed through the doorway. I saw her on the ground, one lone candle in the room, the lighting dark and macabre. She was pale, her eyes wide open. Not only that, but she was seizing. She was writhing in pain, practically unbearable to watch, and I had no idea what to do with her. “Call a doctor!” I yelled at the maid, the stupid girl to petrified to move. I pushed her out of the doorway where she stood. “Go NOW. Do you want your mistress to die?” Pushed into action, she stuttered, but regained her balance and began to quickly descend down the stairs. I made quick note of the time, knowing that I would have to go over events later in my mind, and saw that it was a quarter to one. Turning back to Georgiana, I grabbed a cloth and the basin of water from her dresser and tried in vain to soothe her, but to no avail. It was clear that she did not have long. I heard the sound of footsteps behind me, and I turned hurriedly, in fear. In the door way was a man I had never seen before.

Chapter Eighteen

He was not wearing the clothes of the servant – instead, an all-black, strange, foreign garb, with a red kerchief around his neck. He was huge – even taller than I – and muscular in a lean way, his cheekbones so pronounced that his face was like a skeleton’s. His hair was so fair that it was streaked with white, his nose was large and hawk-shaped, and his eyes a brilliant blue, that glowed even in the dim light. He had one outrageous feature that would always define him – he would never be described as “the tall man,” or “the man with the blue eyes,” or even “the man with the strange foreign clothes.” No, if I had to ever describe him to someone, I would say “the man with the ghastly scar that slashes across his face and makes it look like it’s ripped up.” He moved towards me, his face and size making him a terrifying figure, and I had no idea whether to call him friend or foe. I had no chance to ask. He pushed me aside with alarming force, and knelt by her side. He felt her forehead and her pulse, and hurriedly pulled out a kind of wallet from the pocket of his long, black jacket. I struggled to see what was going on, and afraid to distract him, lest he actually be helping Georgiana. He took a type of herb from the wallet, opened her mouth, and forced her to swallow it, her writhing fits still occurring, though weaker and weaker. The herb, cure, I don’t know what to call it, had immediate affect. Her writhing began to cease, her eyes closed, and she was still. I was afraid to ask the terrible question, scared to even think it, terrified that it was true. “She is not dead,” he said, not even bothering to turn to look at me. I rushed to her side and picked up her hand, holding it in mine. He was feeling for her pulse on the other. “This will stop the fits – the doctor will have to come and help her, of course, but she will be perfectly all right in a few days.” He spoke calmly, almost as if he was bored, with the faintest hint of accent, not very noticeable, but clearly foreign – Eastern European, if my ears were serving me correctly. “Who are you?” I demanded, starting to become angry, at the way he had just waltzed in without any explanation. I could not stand how calm he was after Georgiana had almost perished. He turned towards me and gave me a wolfish, leering, ugly grin, the kind of terrifying picture one sees in nightmares. It exaggerated the red scare on his face, stretching it, clearly defining its path from his right eyebrow to the left corner of his mouth. He gave a short, hoarse laugh, cruel and harsh, the laugh of a cynic, marveling at the world’s stupidity. “I am the bodyguard.”

Chapter Nineteen “Don’t say a word. You’ll be hearing from me in the next few days. On no account will you mention this incident to Mr. Rothschild, or to anyone else.” “How will I explain her recovery? What do you expect me to do? “Let them believe it was divine intervention – people are comforted if they think that a higher power is on their side. It will be very ridiculous, not to mention amusing.” “That is something I cannot do – “ “Very well, I give in. You may speak of the incident. In any case, I am not confident in your abilities as a liar. You are too young, too innocent. Everyone would be able to tell in a second that you were hiding something. You may tell the doctor what herb I gave her as way of explanation, but no other. I will write it down on a piece of paper, and as soon as he has seen it, it must be destroyed. You may tell Mr. Rothschild that I was here and he will be hearing from me soon. I know that you are police – you may tell only your superior that I was here, and no other. I believe that the private investigator will be arriving soon – on no account will you tell him anything until I have instructed you to do soon.” “First of all, how did you ascertain that I am a policeman – you haven’t arrived in the house yet, Mr. Rothschild would have told me, so he can’t have told you yet who I am…” “I have been here several days. Do not ask how, or in what capacity. Mr. Rothschild himself does not know this.” “Have you been //watching// us?” “Do exactly what I have instructed. Be thankful that you have even received an explanation. I am only allowing you into my confidence because I know that we will have to work together in the near future.” I heard faint, fluttering footsteps in the hallway, most likely the maid returning after sending a carriage from the doctor. The man stood up with lightning speed, his reactions similar to that of a high-strung racehorse, his eyes darting nervously, his entire body tense and rigid. “I must go. Remember what I have told you. Here is the paper with the name of the substance on it. I have checked on the family doctor - he is the type that will need an explanation, but once he sees this, he will not poke his nose in the business any further; I am confident in his abilities to recognize the name, and to realize the seriousness of what has passed.” “If we are to work together, at least tell me your name.” “In this house, you will refer to me as Stefan Keller. But as to my real name – that you will never know.” He stepped quickly out the door, surprisingly light on his feet, and whipped his head twice around to check that the hallway was clear. As he stood there for a moment, his figure silhouetted by the darkness, I felt a strange emotion. I should have felt scared, threatened, by this strange man with a terrifying personality. But instead, I felt comforted. I knew that with him, Georgiana would be safe. But at the same time, my heart sunk. I had failed to protect her. The culprit had probably laughed at how easy it had been to lock me in my room, to steal into the house without notice, and to attempt the murder. I had not the experience, the knowledge of this kind of criminal, to save her. But this man did, and for her sake I was grateful. The moment passed, and he moved off down the hallway, a shadow swathed in black.

Chapter Twenty

The clock chimed once, signaling the beginning of a new day. It was one in the morning. When the maid returned, I told her that Georgiana’s fit had subsided. She looked at me in wonder. “What did you do, sir? Do you know what happened?” “No, and in fact it would be very helpful if you could tell me exactly when that fit started to occur and if anything came before it…” “Of course, sir. I don’t remember time exactly, but at about one o’clock in the morning, I heard her cry out in her sleep. I sleep in the room next to her, and she often has these little nightmares. I went downstairs to get a special medicine that she drinks to help her sleep. I brought it up to her room and put it on the bureau in the sitting room outside her bedchamber, but then I remembered that I had left my keys downstairs. I went down, and when I came back up, I took the medicine in to her. About a minute after drinking it, it started...” “The fits, you mean?” “Yes, I suppose that’s what you call them. I just didn’t know what to do. It was so frightening; I’d never seen anything like it in my whole life before. I screamed and screamed – I hoped that someone was coming to help me. And I stayed there until you came up the stairs.” “Alright then, thank you very much. What’s happened to all the other servants? Where are they?” “Well sir, this is the fourth floor. You and Mr. Rothschild are the only ones that sleep on the third floor. The rest of us sleep out the back in the servants quarters attached to the house, which are on ground level, and the butler and personal maids, like me, sleep on the first floor of the house. It’s very hard to hear – the walls and floors are thick. You must have very good ears! Besides, it was one of the footmen’s birthday, and we drank quite a bit of wine down there, a gift from Mr. Rothschild…” “Speaking of which, where is he?” “I’ve no idea, sir. I just sent Darren, the butler, to go fetch the doctor.” “Where was Darren?” “Oh dear, I’m so sorry, I forgot to mention it. Darren sleeps in the sitting room next to Mr. Rothschild’s chamber.” “That’s an unusual arrangement.” “Well, Mr. Rothschild doesn’t sleep much at night, and he often wants to read his books and write papers and all sorts of things. Darren gets all that for him, and gets to sleep in all morning.” “How did you find Darren?” “Well, I went downstairs, and down the corridor, and I saw that there was this heavy wardrobe against the apartment door. I managed to shove it aside, I’m quite strong and big, at least for a girl – me dad’s always proud of me for it, and anyways, I heard that Darren had been banging on the inside of the door.” “He couldn’t get it open? You hadn’t heard his knocking before?” “No sir. Darren’s only just over five feet, he’s quite skinny, not very strong; I doubt he could have opened the door, and besides, the chambers are quite a long way down the corridor, if he had been knocking before when I came downstairs, I wouldn’t have heard it. The door was locked, as well. He couldn’t get it open, which means it must have been locked from the outside. All of the locks in the house, if locked on the outside, can’t be opened from the inside, but I had my set of keys, so I got him out, told him what had happened, and sent him to fetch the doctor. He should be here any minute now.” “Why are all the doors like that?” “I heard a story from one of the other maids that the elder Mr. Rothschild, Mr. Frederick’s father, was very strict and didn’t like to think that any of his children were sneaking out of the house and seeing the town, especially his sons. He used to lock them in as soon as they went to bed for the night.” “Thank you very much. I need you to wake all of the servants, and tell them Miss Georgiana has been ill. As soon as the doctor arrives, send him up to Miss Georgiana’s room. I will go see what has happened to Mr. Rothschild.” “Sir, why were the doors locked? It isn’t supposed to be like that.” “I assure you, miss, everything will be worked out in the morning. Between you and me, I wouldn’t worry about it for the moment. Make sure to mention nothing of this to the servants, or to anyone else. Do you understand?” “Yes, Sir. What about Darren…” “I will deal with him later. In fact, as soon as he returns with the doctor, send him straight up to me. While you are busy, make sure there is someone with Miss Georgiana at all times.” “All right, Sir.” Taking one last look at Georgiana, who was lying on the bed, deathly pale, her eyes closed, I took the great staircase down one floor, still only in my dressing gown and slippers, and started walking down the long corridor, until I reached a grand door that must have been the entrance to Mr. Rothschild’s apartments. I entered, and before me was a lavishly furnished sitting room, with various kinds of fabric and cluttered with rich, wooden furniture. I saw the ornate mahogany door leading to his bedchamber, and opened it. He was inside, sleeping heavily, seemingly undisturbed and dead to the world. I shook him, but he did not wake. I tried several times, but still, he did not wake. Finally, I shouted directly into his ear, and he started and gave a small yelp. “What in the name of //God// do you think you are doing?” “Mr. Rothschild, there’s been an incident.” “What sort of incident?” “I believe an attempt was just made on your niece’s life.” He sat bolt upright in the bed, looking at me with wild eyes. “Is she all right?” “I believe she will be fine. A servant has been sent to the doctor. Everyone in the house believes that it was a mere illness that afflicted her. I have spoken to your maid, and will presently speak to your butler. They will tell no one of what came to pass.” “What happened to my butler?” “You were locked in your room from the outside, presumably by the culprit, and barricaded. At some point in the night, your butler realized this, and tried to open the door; it might have been when the maid, discovering the state your niece was in, screamed, which woke me up, and very well might have woken up your man. I was locked in my room as well. I presume your butler did not alert you to the situation because of the difficulty of waking you, and he did not want to interrupt your sleep, which, I understand, comes rarely, until he ascertained how serious the situation was. Miss Georgiana’s maid sent him to the doctor – I believe he will be returning in a few minutes. “ “Yes, sleep does come rarely to me. Darren’s a very sensible chap, knows that I don’t like to be disturbed. Hang on a minute – what exactly happened to Georgiana?” “I believe she was poisoned. From what the maid told me, she began to have fits after being given her usual sleeping medicine. I saw her myself. There is absolutely no other explanation for it; the fits she was having, how close she came to dying, could not make it anything other than a poisoning.” “Good God. How did she make her recovery?” “That, sir, is a story for another time, but I have been instructed to tell you that Stefan Keller was here and that you will be hearing from him soon.” Mr. Rothschild’s face blanched. “He was here? Where? When? Why?” “All that I may tell you is that he saved your niece’s life, and that he will be coming to you to discuss the situation. Now, I will make a full report to the police about this, but I will not call them to the house.” “Why ever not? An attempt has been made on my niece’s life! She needs protection!” “Mr. Rothschild, the culprit was obviously an insider. He or she knew who slept in which rooms, had the keys necessary to look the doors, and was able to steal through the house, locking in those who might be of any assistance to Georgiana or her maid if they cried out. If we bring the police here now, the culprit will bide his time until they have been here so long that they have to leave, and then will make another move - most probably a fateful move. Bringing a protective force in will not do. The culprit does not know about Mr. Keller, who will, from tomorrow, be protecting your niece very ably. In all probability, they also do not know of my identity. Your niece will be perfectly safe, but the only way that we will be able to catch the culprit is if he makes another attempt on her life, and we are there to catch him red-handed. At this point, we do not have sufficient evidence to suspect anyone. I understand a rather large and rambunctious party in the servant’s quarters culminated with many of them, oblivious by drink, to anything going on in the house. No one will have seen anything.” “Yes, I am afraid that is my fault, Fred’s been a footman of mine for thirty years.” “Do not blame yourself, sir. My point is that we still need to keep things undercover for now, and with your private investigator and bodyguard arriving tomorrow, involving a further protective force, private or public, at this juncture, would do nothing. I will speak to my department myself, acquaint them with the situation at hand, and we will proceed from there.” He looked at me with what seemed to be like a hint of a smile, his eyebrows raised. I suddenly realized that perhaps, he approved of me. “Very well. This advice is sound, but of course I will have to talk it over with the investigator when he arrives. In fact, he is coming tomorrow, posing as my lawyer. I would like you to attend our meeting. I will send for Mr. Keller as well. I believe that we all have some issues that we need to discuss.” “It would be an honor, sir. I will send a servant upstairs to attend to you; I advise that you stay in this room. Make sure someone that you trust, your most able servant, is with you at all times. I will attend to all other matters.” And then, being the polite fop I was, I bowed deeply, lowered my eyes, and closed the door on my way out. I had work to do.


 * NEW SECTION***

Chapter Twenty-One

As soon as Darren arrived, I asked to speak to him. He was short, with mousy brown hair, a demure mouth, and big eyelids, giving him a permanently exhausted, fatigued look. “Can you tell me exactly what happened this evening, Darren?” “S-sure, I’ll tell you all I can.” “Right, first off. When did you realize the door was locked and barricaded from the outside?” “When I heard the scream comin’ from up the stairs. Thought someone might be in trouble, so I tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge.” “Where was Mr. Rothschild during all this?” “Sleeping, in his room. He had done a right bit o’ paperwork, stayed up until eleven or thereabouts - then he drifted off to sleep.” “You checked on him?” “Of course, sir. He doesn’t sleep often, and when he does, I try to make sure nothing disturbs him.” “Did you stay awake this whole time?” “Yes. He often doesn’t sleep long, either, when he dozes off, and it wouldn’t be right for him to catch me sleepin’ on the job, so to speak, so I stay up until six in the morning most nights, attending on him, getting him food, books, drink, whatever he needs, and then I get to sleep through the late mornin’.” “So Mr. Rothschild never left the room, and you did not either. About when did Mr. Rothschild retire for the evening?” “Around ten.” “All right then Darren, thank you. On no account will you mention to anyone, no servants, not your family, //no one//, that you were locked in the room tonight. If anyone asks, tell them you heard the scream, the maid came and got you, and you went to go get the doctor. //Is that understood?// ” “Yes, sir. Of course.” “You may go.”

Affairs were now becoming increasingly complicated. I had, however, been able to provide Mr. Rothschild with a reasonably reliable alibi, which cleared one name off the suspect list, not that I had ever suspected him, but it was clear that the criminal //had// to be a member of the house, or at least very familiar with it. How else could this person know the servant’s schedules, schedules, and our sleeping arrangements, so well? But then again, what motive had a servant on Georgiana’s life? A grudge? Unlikely. Most of the servants had been with the family for generations. IT was possible that an outside source was attempting to kill Georgiana, and had enlisted the help of one of the servants, but in any case, there was someone unfriendly in this house. At this point, I had no one I could trust. Meanwhile, the doctor had come to see Georgiana. He looked at her warily, and after examining her, turned to me with wide eyes. Before he attempted to speak, I thrust the piece of paper Mr. Keller had given me into his hand. His eyes widened further, bulging so much that I thought they would pop out of his eye sockets. “I understand,” he whispered, his voice suddenly lost. His hands shaking, he tried to ready himself, and cleared his throat. “All that I recommend is rest and recuperation. She will not be bed-ridden long; tell her to eat heartily. I will prescribe her a new, stronger sleeping medication.” “If you do not mind, I should like to have someone examine it before I allow it to be given to her.” “Of course, I completely understand. You are her cousin, correct?” “Yes, sir.” “Good. I’m glad she has someone looking out for her interests – her uncle can become a bit distant on occasion, and she’s had a difficult month in terms of her health, what with the accident and all the excitement of moving to a new city. Take care of her.” “I will.” I marveled at the effect the note had had on this seemingly professional, calm man, and my thoughts turned back to the stranger. Who was he, and what were his plans?

Chapter Twenty-Two

I knew I had to get to the police station to explain what had happened. I dozed for a few hours, as I knew not many people would be there so early in the morning. When I awoke, my head was spinning so much that I couldn’t think, and my eyelids were drooping so heavily that it was hard to see where I was going. I changed quickly into my rough, plainclothes disguise and left the house by the servant’s entrance. Winding through the streets of my adopted city, I marveled at how normal everyone else’s lives seemed to be. It was in the early hours of the morning, and people were drinking, laughing, or sleeping, without a care in the world. How could they stand it? What was it like to not have something to reach for, to work on, to think about? It was like stepping into oblivion, and in my immature heart, I wished that the affliction of normalcy, of peace, would never befall me. What a strange boy I was. When I got to the station, it was only about five o’clock in the morning. I wished fervently that the super was there, although I believed it to be unlikely; I desperately needed someone to talk to. To my surprise, when I knocked on the door of his office, expecting no answer, a tired voice said, “Come in.” “Sir, what on earth are you doing here? I didn’t expect that you’d be in.” “Well, affairs change when a certain Mr. Rothschild calls the police commissioner and tells him that a dangerous incident had occurred at his house and that we should contact our detective on the inside to find out what’s going on. All of a sudden, he’s quite eager to come up with a sensible plan. That your doing?” “Well, I think he’s feeling a bit kindly towards me at the moment – his niece isn’t dead.” “Well, that’s a bonus. Anyway, here I am, so tell me what the hell’s going on.”

So, I explained. It took a while, but he didn’t interrupt, only asked a few simple questions here and there. His dark brown eyes, almost black, were focused intently on me. I felt like they were burning through my skin, but I couldn’t tell if he was merely interested, or incredibly judgmental. At the end, he was silent for a few moments. “Damn it all.” “What, sir?” “This is going to get infernally entangled. What with all you people undercover, running around the house, trying to catch someone who knows the terrain. And who the hell does this Keller think he is, anyways? Disappearing like that, without the simplest explanation. We need to have a talk with him, figure out who he is. From what you’ve told me, he sounds like he belongs to a group of Croatian mercenaries – probably one of the bigger groups, with the better training.” “How do you figure that?” “The red kerchief is their mark. Been that way for hundreds of years. Very proud of themselves, makes them instantly recognizable, but they’re still very secretive. You may know their country of origin and that they’re extremely deadly, but you will never find out their names, or what family they come from, or how old they are. And most of all, you will never discover their weaknesses.” “How come I haven’t heard of them before?” “Kept pretty hush-hush. They’re so good that some of the most powerful and influential people in the world hire them, making them pretty hard to jail. They go wherever they please and fight for any cause – as long as the money’s good enough. WE can’t really bring them in, because we never have enough evidence to convict them of the murders they’ve committed, and because they’ve serviced so many high up people. If we tried to put them in the doghouse, they’d call in an old favor from someone they’d helped, and they’d be out in a second. I’m not surprised Rothschild hired this man; he’s probably the best. Who knows, he may have served for kings and queens across Europe. In any case, we will never know. They always show the national police forces up, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it, except try to learn from him and to get him to share as much information as possible. It’s a good sign that he said he would be working with you – means that he’ll keep you in the know.” “But if he’s so recognizable, how’s he going to get around the house? Before, Georgiana told me that he was going to be disguised as a footman.” “Oh, did I forget to mention that? They’re masters of disguise. You won’t be able to tell who he is, the next time I see him.” “That’s impossible. I told you, he had a grotesque scar, and he wasn’t disguised when he came to rescue Georgiana.” “Probably because he didn’t have time, or because he didn’t care. From what you’ve told me about this man, he had all the time in the world – he’s been watching you. Which means something far more interesting.” “What’s that?” “If he didn’t care, he’s reckless. And perhaps that is his weakness.” “But what about the scar – “ “Perhaps that is a disguise as well. In any case, with his skill, he would still be able to hide it. Perhaps he only wants us to think he is a Croatian mercenary, and in fact he is from somewhere entirely different. I don’t know. What I do know is that you will not be able to read him, and that you will never know more than he wants you to.” “God, this is an awful situation.” “No, not entirely. He might be the only person with the skills to save her. I hate to admit it, but it’s probably true. But Danny, be careful.” “I know.” “No, I mean exceptionally careful. From what you’ve told me, this man is skilled. But he is also only there for the money. Which means that if he gets an higher offer from another bidder, she’ll be dead, you’ll be betrayed, and everything you’ve ever worked on will have failed.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

And with those words ringing in my head, I returned to the house. I slept through much of the late morning, but woke up, partly to visit Georgiana, and to get ready for the meeting I was to have with Mr. Rothschild, the PI, and, God willing, Mr. Keller. When I went in to see her, she was sleeping, laying flat on her back in her magnificent four-poster bed. Her face looked oddly calm, a blank slate, her hair down around her soldiers. I could see a light dusting of freckles on her nose. She was very still and did not move. After about an hour I left her there, but not before leaving a rose I had bought in the market on her bedside table. When I went down to lunch, dressed in my best, I saw that the PI had already arrived. Standing in the hallway, staring through the detailed glass doors, I could see Mr. Rothschild laughing with a man whose back was turned to me. He was tall, but there was no touch of grey in his hair, and his animated gestures suggested someone of a younger age. The butler opened the doors and announced my name. The man turned around. It was James.