Page 42 of The Demons of Wychwood

“Forgive my tardiness milord, it takes me longer to get dressed in the dark, you see. I shall open the door and let the General in,” the butler said.

“NO!” Kit and I roared in unison.

“Do you not recall my orders, Jenkins? The General is not welcome here. I believe he means to do us harm. Please go and ensure the ladies are safely locked in their rooms. Do not come out until the police have arrived.”

“Very good, milord.”

It was after Jenkins had gone that I realized something. The hammering on the front door had stopped and an eerie silence fell over Penhelligan Hall.

“What are we going to do?” Kit asked in an insistent whisper

“Wait here.”

I rushed into the master’s bedroom and headed for the balcony window then I gently pulled back the drapes to have a sly look at what was going on outside. The moon was behind the bank of fast-moving clouds belonging to the storm. When a silvery beam shot through, I saw just one lone riderless horse tied up in the courtyard. Where the devil was Napier?

I rushed back out to the landing to find Kit with his sword aloft. The weapon was shaking in his hands. He had not followed his late father into the military, preferring a university education in architecture. It was clear to me that my dear Christopher Havelock wasn’t cut out for this battle, and may, in fact become a hindrance.

“There’s no coach, just one horse. Quintrelle must have sent him a letter with a runner on a mail train. It’s the only way he could have gotten here so fast,” I said.

“Damn the man, where is he?”

Then we heard the distant spine-chilling sound of breaking glass. The brute had smashed a window to get into the house. I turned to Kit; his eyes were wide with fear and alarm.

“Take the sword and shield, go to the servant’s room in your suite, lock yourself in. Don’t open the door unless you hear me say honey cakes, do you understand?”

“But, but I can’t leave you to face him alone!”

I placed my hands on Kit’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “I’m a trained soldier and I’ve probably seen more action than a poncy cove that purchased his rank. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Now go on, go, I can handle him.” I kissed Kit on the lips and felt the thrill of his short stubble against my skin. I wanted more but we would have to finish this later. I was determined to end this mess now, for the sake of my sister, and this aristocrat who has swiftly become dear to me. Kit nodded reluctantly, knowing there was no argument to be had, and then he rushed into the master’s suite, closed, and locked the door.

Again, the training my old reprobate of a father gave me came to the fore. We’d had some sticky situations with a few of our break-ins and needed to be tricksy. Ferron Lazarus had grown up in a family of players who travelled from village to town entertaining for coin. He’d taught me a trick or two about using the senses to cause distractions.

Penhelligan Hall was a huge old mansion house that was not connected to the gas mains, and so, without even a lantern Napier had no light to guide him to his prey. I reckoned he came in through the kitchens at the far back of the house, so I had, say, five minutes to prepare. As was my nature, when I’d first come to the hall, I’d thought on the kinds of items my Pa would have eyeballed because he wanted to pocket them, or to use them in case of discovery. These grand houses all had back staircases for the servants, just like Wychwood. This little architectural oddity was a boon for a sneakthief.

And so, in this grand old house filled with display cabinets of knick-knacks and thingy-me-bobs, I put my plan into motion. I collected items of use, first a bowl of rose petal Pot-Pori that I sprinkled around the floor at the bottom of the main staircase. I picked up five books from a bookshelf and placed them flat at intervals on the stair treads. From a table I lifted a heavy bronze eagle statue and placed it at the top of the stairs. I picked up an empty brass urn that would be very useful indeed. And finally, from a cabinet in the drawing room I took collection of marble eggs, filling my pockets. When all was done and placed exactly where I wanted, I crouched inside the doorway of the servants back stairs with my lit candle and the door ajar. I waited and listened in the darkness for the enemy to approach.

The first sign Napier was coming was the jingle of the silver spurs on his boots. The second sign as he got closer to the entrance hall was his angered rumbling roar. “Havelock. Come down here, NOW! You are mine, boy! Mine to toy with, mine to punish, mine to claim.”

I was right; Napier was mighty pissed-off. I left the candle at the top of the hidden staircase and, quite as a mouse; I scurried down the stairs and opened the door at the bottom which led to the entrance hall. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and then outside the clouds parted and a shaft of moonlight flooded in through the front door fanlight. I saw him then. Napier was walking slowly with his hand following along the wall using the track of dado rail as he struggled in the darkness to find his way to the stairs. The moonlight vanished again, and I blinked to restore my night vision. I removed a stone egg from my pocket and then rolled it down the hall towards Napier like I was playing skittles. The hard rolling sound echoed in the huge empty hallway, and then there was a bang when it hit the skirting board.

“What? Who’s there?” Napier barked. “Jenkins is that you? Come here at once, light some bally candles, I can’t see a damn thing.”

I removed two more stone eggs from my pocket and rolled them together. Again, the sound they caused was discombobulating cos it didn’t have a direction, but swirled and echoed as the eggs travelled down the hall. One egg hit the leg of a pedestal plant stand, it wobbled and the potted fern fell, the pot smashing.

“Damn your eyes! I’ve had about enough of these games. Havelock, I know you’re here. Rupert told me of your sneaky little plan to discredit me and bar me from my home. It won’t work you know. I have more power than you believe. Now get down here and face me like a man, damnit!”

I scurried back up the servant’s stairs. I then heard the crunch of the dried leaves and petals of the Pot-Pori I’d sprinkled at the bottom of the main staircase. As soon as Napier heard the crunch under foot he paused.

“What the devil?” he said, then a moment later, “You think you’re so bloody clever, don’t you boy?”

I grinned, cos yes, I did think I was clever and I was about to be this scoundrel’s worst fucking nightmare. I picked up the brass urn, removed the lid then I moved out onto the landing. I peeked through the slats of the carved balusters of the staircase then in a hoarse whisper, I spoke into the brass urn.

“Edwaaaard.” The sound was so creepy I had to hold in a laugh. “Edwaaaard.” I said again.

“W…who’s there? Come out and show yourself, man,” Napier growled.

“Am no man. You know me Edwaaard, you know what I am.” I had to admit, my old Pa would have been proud as punch to watch this show, cos if I was in Napier’s place I would have shit my britches.

“Come out and show yourself, damn you!” Napier spat with rage as he began to climb the stairs. He stepped on a book and his foot slid from under him as the book barreled down the stairs. Napier reached out for the handrail and caught himself before he hit the step above, head first. He growled and screamed out.