The Black Lotus (Night Flower) (37 page)

Chapter 40:

Melissa walked into her room and sat down on her bed. The return from the party had been quiet; she had barely noticed her mother’s conversation, lost as she was in contemplation of the night’s events. Once she had passed the front door, she had excused herself and headed for her room. The change of venue did not help. Over and over, she remembered Emily’s fingers pressing the brooch into her hand. Drawing her hand across her eyes, she tried not to relive the horror of what had happened next. It hadn’t felt like sleep or faint. The darkness had stolen up on her and she had felt drained, altered, her skin had crawled as the darkness swamped her. Gasping, she opened her eyes and tried to still her breathing. She could the brooch within her pocket, the weight of it at odds with its size. Slowly, she drew the lotus brooch from her skirts and stared down at it. The flower was exquisitely worked, the enamel smooth and bright. It was beautiful. On the left hand side of the bloom, a small gold catch drew her attention. Carefully she undid it. Inside the locket lay two small ovals, much as you would find on any other locket. Swallowing nervously, she examined the ovals before her. On the right hand oval, she could see a small cameo of herself. The picture was perfect, as though her reflection had been captured by the artist. Hesitantly, she ran her gaze across the second oval. The oval was empty, a blank canvas waiting for another’s picture. With a small cry, she dropped the brooch and scuttled up the bed to huddle in a ball of terrified misery against the headboard.

She did not know how long she sat there; clinging to the headboard in fear, trying to find some distance between her and the brooch that ruined her life. Her door swung open and she glanced up, straight at her brother.

“Melly?” He took in her stance, the tears and he crossed the room in a flash. “What the devil happened?” His arms wrapped around her a
nd she hugged him, crying into his chest as though her heart would break. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No..”  She whimpered, trying to contain the sobs that were overpowering her. “It’s just..” She stopped; unable to lie once more to the brother she loved. “I can’t tell you,”

“Melissa,” His hand stroked her hair gently, setting off a fresh storm of weeping. “Please what is it?” He pulled away slightly and stared down at her face. “You can tell me.” He paused, “Is it about Lestrade?” Melissa looked up at him, tears running tracks through the lead powder. “I’m so sorry I had to beat him like that.” He caught hold of her hands and squeezed them. “I didn’t want.”

“Marcus, I know what you had to do.” Melissa finally spoke, her voice cracked by grief and horror. “It’s not your fault, never think that. You’ve been wonderful.” She seized hold of her handkerchief and blew her nose. Her head began to ache as she continued to cry, the emotion blocking her nose and throat. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re my brother and I love you.” The lotus on the floor dominated her thoughts, its presence a malignant force on her mind.

“Melly“ He hugged her again, his familiar embrace sending a fresh wave of misery through her body. “I’m not going anywhere, at least not just yet.” Rocking her gently, he tried to calm her, yet the tears kept coming. “What happened Melly? Please tell me?”

She shook her head, the desire to tell so strong, that she did not trust herself to speak. Gulping another breath of air, she tried to calm down. She felt her tears soak into his shirt.

“Melissa please?” His
voice broke slightly as he felt her sobs ripple through her body. “What is it?” She pulled back from him and lay face down on the bed. Helplessly, he looked down at her. “I’m getting Mother,” He announced finally, pulling away from the bed.

“No!” Shaken out of her despair, Melissa sat up and seized his arm. “You can’t tell mother.”

“Melly, if you can’t tell me what’s going on,” Detaching his arm from hers, he walked toward the door. “Then maybe you’ll tell Mother.” He reached the door and looked back at her. “Well?” His fingers depressed the door handle and he opened the door.

Melissa took a deep breath. “You won’t believe me Marcus,” He let the door close and turned back to face her.

“Why don’t you try me?” He returned to the bed and sat down.

Melissa bit her lip as she stared at her brother. She wanted to tell him, needed to tell him. The horrifying turn that her life had taken, needed bringing into the light. Marcus may not fully understand but she trusted him, even if he did not know what to do, he would have advice or comfort. She cleared her throat and took a breath, wondering how she would start this lunatic tale. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, expectant and encouraging as she tried to formulate the words. Whether she would have told him was a mystery she never solved, for at the precise moment she began to speak, a scream echoed from downstairs.

“What the devil?” Marcus got up and raced for the door, Melissa followed close behind, her emotional breakdown forgotten in the rush of adrenaline. They reached the upper landing and began to race down the stairs.

“Wait,” Marcus called as they reached the first landing. “The lamps are out.” Melissa glanced sideways and picked a candle from the nearest table. Handing it to Marcus, she followed him down into the hall. At the foot of the stairs, the crumpled form of the upper housemaid Alice lay in grim stillness. “Melissa go upstairs,” Marcus ordered, stepping into the hall and reaching for a cane from the stand by the stairs.

“No!” She moved forward, staying close to him.

“Don’t argue,” He seized her arm and propelled back towards the stairs. “Go to my room, take one of my pistols and wait there.” She staggered backward and began to climb the staircase, reluctant to leave her brother in the dark hallway. Marcus moved deeper into the hall, watching the shadows carefully as he traversed the familiar space. Glancing back over his shoulder, he motioned her upward. “Go,” With a heavy heart she raced up the stairs and dashed across the landing.

Opening the door to Marcus’ bedroom, she raced inside, shutting and bolting the door behind her. Without even taking a breath she headed for his dresser and pulled out the top drawer. Nestled within the shallow space was a mahogany box, polished to a high sheen and monogrammed with Marcus’ initials. Undoing the clasps, she opened the case to reveal Marcus’ duelling pistols. She seized both and laid them flat on the dresser top, before retrieving the powder and shot. Forcing herself to slow down, she loaded both guns and returned to the locked door. For a long moment, she stared at the door, listening intently for any sounds from downstairs. Silence had descended on the house, both comforting and terrifying. No matter how hard she listened, few sounds from the floor below reached her ears. For several minutes Melissa stood by the door, straining to hear through the sound of her heart pounding in her chest. As the silence lengthened, dark thoughts flooded her mind. What if something terrible had happened? What if Marcus had… She shook her head, trying to obliterate the dark thoughts. Yet the thoughts stayed, plaguing her mind with visions of her brother wounded and alone in the dark.

“Damn it Marcus,” She swore, “I’m not letting you get hurt,” She gritted her teeth and reached for the handle. With a decisive click, she unlocked the door and walked out onto the landing.

It was quiet on the dimly lit upper hallway. The portraits on the walls were in shadow, only briefly seen in the light from a few candles. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the landing and headed for her mother’s bedroom. Light from the candles bounced off the barrels of the pistols as she reached her mother’s door. Depressing the handle, she walked into the room. The room was dark, her mother’s bed shrouded in shadow.

“Mama?” She whispered, leaving the door wide open as she crossed the room to the bed. “Mama?” Her knees bumped against the frame and she stopped. Us
ing the dim light from the door she reached for the bedside candle and lit it, throwing warm, welcoming light across the room. Her mother’s bed was empty and it had clearly not been slept in. Fear clenched about her heart and she backed off, reaching for the candle as she did so. With a cluck of annoyance, she realised that she was still carrying two pistols. Looking down, she weighed up the options. Two pistols were better than one, but if she had no light shooting would be a problem. After a moment’s indecision, she tucked one of the pistols into a pocket and then reached down for the candle. Carrying the candle and one of the pistols, she headed back out onto the landing and moved towards the stairs. Stopping at the top of the steps, she listened intently. No sound drifted up the stairs. Swallowing nervously, Melissa began to walk downstairs into the darkened hallway.

As she reached the ground floor she stopped, the still form of Alice still lay at the foot of the stairs and she avoided looking at. Listening intently, she tried to work out where her brother had gone. In the dark vastness of the ground floor, there were no sounds to be heard. Wondering where the rest of the servants had gone, she finally stepped into the middle of the hall and looked around. Each of the doors that led from the hallway was open. Choosing a corridor at random, she walked down it, looking for her brother and anyone else.

“Marcus,” She reached the first door and opened it, letting herself into the library. The stacks of books loomed over her, only partially lit by the candle she held.

“Marcus,” She called again, moving between the stacks carefully. “Are you here?”

Moving around the library slowly, she glanced into each shadowy corner before returning to the corridor and moving on. As she walked deeper into the house, she felt fear clench at her heart. Where was her brother? She reached the next door and pushed it open quietly. Stepping through the door, she gave a little yelp as a hand snaked about her wrist and dragged her to the side.

“God’s teeth Melissa, I told you to stay upstairs.” Her brother hissed as he dragged her to one side. “Just for once can’t you do as you’re told?”

“I couldn’t stay up there alone,” She whispered back, “Mother’s not in her room and I can’t find any of the servants.”

Marcus sighed and nodded. “Alright, but hand me one of those pistols.” Melissa passed over a pistol and took hold of the remaining one. “Let’s go.”

They headed back out into the corridor and Marcus directed her back to the hallway. “I’ve already been down here, there’s no sign of anyone. Come on.”

Arriving back in the hallway, they chose the route to the parlour and slowly moved down it, listened all the while. After a time, they reached the morning room and pushed open the door.

“Mother!” Melissa pushed past her brother to run to the crumpled form on the floor. Lydia De Vire lay on the hearth rug, her hair bloody from a blow to the head. “Marcus!” her brother rushed forward and knelt down beside her.

“What the devil is going on?” He dropped his pistol and picked up his mother. He placed her into one of the chairs and stared at the damage with a wince. “Fetch me some brandy,”

Melissa stood and rushed to the sideboard and pulled out a decanter of brandy. Turning back to the room, she shouted a warning as a
man wielding a poker rushed out from behind the door. Marcus turned and avoided the blow that was aimed squarely at his head. With a grunt, he rolled to the side and stood. The man came on and, as he light bounced off his features, Melissa saw that it was Montjoy. Marcus dove away from another blow and attempted to wrest the poker away from his attacker. Melissa let go of the brandy decanter and raised her pistol. As the older man rushed forward, Melissa fired. The ball sailed true and slammed into his upper shoulder. As the shot hit, Montjoy dropped the poker and it clattered to the ground.

Marcus glanced at his sister in surprised appreciation, but his words of congratulation turned to a shout of surprise as Montjoy continued to advance. The rake chuckled at the look on Marcus’ face. Melissa stared at Montjoy in shock and a terrible sense of foreboding settled across her. She could see blood from the wound, but there wasn’t nearly enough of it. Her mind flashed back to cut she had seen on Justin’s hand and how fast it had appeared to heal. Now, watching Montjoy walk towards her brother, she felt the sickening sensation of dread seep through her bones. Could Montjoy have obtained a lotus? She remembered the meeting on the road the other night, remembered that he seemed well.

I pinked him so well that he needed a surgeon.

Marcus’ words echoed through her mind and she stared at Montjoy in fresh horror. Someone, perhaps John, had given him a lotus. He must have used it, for how else could he have been on the road as though nothing had ever happened.