A low chuckle came from beneath the oversized hood. It sounded like wind washing across a gravestone. I am Death. I know these things.
Famine leapt into the tense moment, his voice squeaky with anxiety. It’s really for the best, Doctor.
What if they never catch the killer? Alastair asked, rising to his feet. There was a ruffle of unease amongst the three more vocal horsemen. None of them offered an answer. I see. This might prove a permanent exile. He shook his head. I must decline, gentlemen. I give you my word I have nothing to do with the murders. If you leave me to my work, then all will be well.
We cannot accept that, War retorted. Too much is at stake.
If you do not do as we ask, we will be forced to take action.
Alastair took a step toward his tormentors. War held his ground. Famine and Pestilence shied back in their seats. Death watched impassively.
A trickle of sweat swarmed down Alastair’s back. Dare I make the threat? He studied each one in turn. Let me be plain. If you attempt to close my clinic, I will bring this matter to public view.
What do you mean? Famine asked.
I will tell London about our existence.
Good God, you can’t, War spouted, surging to his feet. The unsheathed sword fell from his lap and landed with a clatter at Alastair’s boots: a dark omen. Picking it up, the doctor dipped the blade toward the floor, resisting the temptation to use it.
That’s my counteroffer, gentlemen. You leave me to my work and all will be well. You interfere in my life, and I will deliver my own version of the Apocalypse to your doorstep.
Pestilence’s mouth fell open. Famine continued to fidget with his robes, looking nervously at the others. Alastair suspected War was glaring at him, though he couldn’t be sure.
Death, however, gave a nod that signaled respect, followed by an eerie chuckle. A worthy threat, the robed figure said.
No, a promise, Alastair said. He wheeled on his feet and marched away. Once he reached the anteroom, the steward claimed the sword and set it aside.
Your coat and hat, Doctor, he said pleasantly, handing over the items.
Thank you. Alastair’s heart thudded in his throat. Were they so arrogant as to believe I would abandon my patients just to appease them?
The sound of raised voices. Death’s chilly laughter reached them. Alastair suppressed a shudder.
Ronald put a hand on his arm and whispered, Well played, Doctor. You’re the first to decline their offer. You set them on their ears.
Alastair stared at him. I’m not the only one they’d bullied?
Of course not. Once you see a little evil, you’re inclined to see a lot.
Alastair couldn’t hold back the smile. You’re a wise man, Ronald.
Thank you, Doctor. Have a good evening, sir.
I shall try.
Given the peculiar nature of the evening, Alastair was not the least surprised when a carriage pulled next to him a block away from No. 43. He tensed, preparing for a fight.
Surely they wouldn’t kidnap me off the street?
The door opened and a voice called out. In you go, my friend.
It was Keats. Alastair remained on guard. It could be any one of his kind in illusion. He peered into the depths of the carriage and heaved a sigh of relief. Keats was alone and he sensed no one en mirage.
Alastair pulled himself inside and shut the door. As the carriage lurched forward immediately, he steadied himself on the bench seat. His coat slid toward the floor and Keats caught it, placing it across his own lap. Alastair nodded his gratitude.
What were they tonight? Keats asked, his face barely visible in the dim light coming through the carriage window. Robin Hood and his Merry Men, or something else equally ridiculous?
Nothing so entertaining. They appeared as the Four Horsemen.
What gall, Keats replied, shaking his head. So what was their bait?
I thought you knew.
I was not aware of all the details—just that they wanted to pressure you into leaving the city.
They offered me a holiday from London of undetermined length, preferably to the States, all expenses paid. I could even take along a lady of my choice, Alastair said crisply.
Ah, of course. Hoping you’d be too busy touring and fornicating to think about the poor wretches you left behind,
Keats said, resentment laced around every word. I hope you didn’t accept their ludicrous offer.
No, I made a counter proposal.
Such as?
If they continue to pressure me, I will tell the world about our kind.
Keats’ mouth fell open. Good lord. You don’t play Poker, do you?
No.
You should. You’d easily win every hand with the ability to bluff like that.
I’m not a gambler, Alastair replied tartly.
Pull the other one, my friend. You’re more of a gambler than I am, and that’s saying a great deal. To have the gall to challenge The Conclave takes brass.
Alastair gave a curt nod. Keats was right; he’d gambled, and so far, he’d won. Death seemed quite certain there would be more murders, and that the police have their eye upon me.
Are you the killer? Keats asked nonchalantly.
Alastair blinked in shock. How dare you ask that!
Are you?
No!
Well, I was obliged to inquire.
Sometimes you go too far, Keats.
I’m curious—what did Death’s voice sound like?
Alastair resurrected the memory. Like polished silver, but underneath…
Like Lucifer himself? Keats asked, leaning forward.
His description jarred Alastair out of his reverie. You have it precisely.
Livingston, his friend announced. Apparently, he’s taken Abernathy’s place.
You mean the Abernathy whose Death Rite we attended? I didn’t know he was one of The Conclave.
You don’t realize a lot, my oblivious friend.
Alastair had to give him that. He’d ignored the lot of them, hoping they’d return the favor. Who are the others?
Hastings, Stinton and Cartwright. Hastings is ebullient, full of himself. Of the Horsemen, I’d say he’d choose War,
Keats said.
Alastair nodded. It fits. Famine was trying to make peace.
That would be Stinton. And Cartwright is…a bit silly.
Pestilence, Alastair muttered. Now he knew what manner of men hid behind the illusions, though not by sight. A thought occurred to him. Were any of them at Abernathy’s Death Rite?
Livingston was.
Alastair recalled the faces. The strange man who stood next to Lord Wescomb?
That was him. Supposedly quite brilliant.
The one who can read Latin. I don’t remember hearing his name before.
He appeared about four months ago and remained rather circumspect, at least in the beginning. However, with the murders in the East End, he’s taken a more definitive role in our community.
Apparently, others of our kind are being offered a free trip as well.
From what I’ve heard, five have accepted their offer. Three are out of the country already; the other two leave tomorrow, Keats replied.
Sounds filtered into the carriage. Alastair leaned toward the window and studied the landscape. They were passing St. Paul’s.
I trust Miss Lassiter is safe at the boarding house.
Keats arched an eyebrow. Yes, after I repeatedly had my way with her despite her vigorous protests.
Alastair deserved that one. I apologize, Keats. I know you to be a decent fellow and—
You assumed the worse, however, or you wouldn’t have felt compelled to issue the warning.
Alastair gave a conciliatory nod. Again, I apologize.
A brusque nod. She asked me to help find her missing paramour.
I have that in hand, Alastair retorted. Why did she ask you, of all people?
Really? What do you intend to do?
I will send Davy scurrying about. He knows all the nooks and crannies and will put the word out.
A good start. I shall put the word out as well. I know a few people here and there who might be able to give us news of the man.
I doubt he is lolling about the brothels or the gambling dens.
Keats gave him a sharp look. Alastair sighed. Well, whatever you wish. I suspect it is important we find him, if nothing more than for Jacynda’s future.
Keats’ brow wrinkled. How so?
Given her bouts of nausea, followed by her raging appetite, I fear the missing fellow has planted his seed, and then taken to his heels when faced with the reality of supporting a family.
Bastard, Keats murmured.
Alastair blinked. He’d expected a more frivolous answer. I would appreciate you not mentioning my speculations to Jacynda if you see her. I can only imagine how upset she is.
Keats nodded. I’ll do what I can. Perhaps between the two of us, we can persuade the fellow to take his lumps and do the right thing.
Alastair stared at him. I say, Keats, are you well? I never expected you to be so…mature about this.
His friend leaned closer, frowning. I may be a ne’er-do-well in your eyes, Alastair, but I am an honorable one. Getting under a woman’s skirts and leaving her the burden is hardly what a gentleman would do. My father was just such a scoundrel.
Fortunately, my mother’s family made him do the right thing…at gunpoint.
Oh…dear, Alastair murmured.
Keats jammed himself against the seat and fell silent, his arms crossed over his chest. Feeling awkward, Alastair gazed out the window. They were on Whitechapel High Street now. He heard the unmistakable cacophony of a dance hall in full furor. The scent of fresh blood on the night air told him they were near one of the slaughterhouses.
The carriage halted at New Castle Street. Alastair stepped out, digging in his pockets to produce what few coins he possessed.
Don’t bother, I’ll take care of it, Keats said, exiting. He handed Alastair his coat. Oh, and Jacynda wants to see your clinic.
Alastair sighed and lowered his voice. It may not be there for long, what with the financial problems.
I’m sure all that will work out, Keats replied lightly. He handed over Alastair’s coat and whispered, Check the inner pocket.
He tapped his hat and hopped back into the carriage.
Under the first gas lamp, Alastair retrieved a piece of paper and a thick envelope from the pocket. The note was in Lady Sephora’s fine hand.
To aid those who have no other champion but yourself.
The Wescombs had found a way to help him and, given the bulk of the envelope, done so in a most generous fashion. He tucked the paper away, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. Despite the machinations of The Conclave, his clinic would remain in business.
I know you’re there, Cynda said. She searched around the parlor’s floor, gingerly lifting newspapers and peering underneath. She made sure to keep her voice low so Mildred wouldn’t hear her. From the clank of pans in the kitchen, she was probably safe. Come on out. Don’t be shy.
Nothing happened. Cynda refilled the cup of tea, setting it and the saucer some distance from her. Still nothing. She leaned over and added a teaspoon of sugar, mixing it in. No paper rustled.
Tough customer, huh? Upping the ante, she placed the scone plate with its myriad of crumbs next to the cup and saucer. You might as well come out. I’m not going to throw anything at you.
First one blue leg, then another gradually inched out from under one of the piles of newsprint. The spider, now the size of a chubby mouse, studied her soberly. Its feet were unclad. That was an improvement.
Why the change in attitude? it asked.
I figure you’re part of my life now, so we might as well get along. If you don’t scare me, I won’t hit you. How’s that for a bargain?
Very practical, it said. She couldn’t quite place the accent, but it sounded more British than American. In an odd way, that made sense.