Page 41 of The Book of Lost Stories

Stunned by Radiant Love

‘I saw all – I understand all!’ cried Robert de Mondial, fervently clasping Drusilla in his arms.

‘I had thought you a willing conspirator, yet now I perceive that you are just as much a victim of Sir Lemuel as my poor sister was!’

Death or Dishonour by ORLANDO brOWNE

Alys staggered, then regaining her balance stopped dead with astonishment, taking in what had so recently been the scene of a positive orgy. She fervently hoped it was not about to be the scene of another, with herself cast in the central role.

The very air in the underground chamber seemed heavy with some noxious perfume that sent the senses reeling, and it was hot, for many braziers burned behind screens of thin alabaster, illuminating with a hellish glow their lewd carvings.

The ceiling was tented with red silk and the walls hung with tapestries, while couches, cushions and indecent sculptures were scattered, seemingly at random.

The room held only three occupants, all of whom had dispensed with their masks. George Rivers lay on a couch in a pose of abandonment, his eyes half-shut and a sheen of perspiration on his pasty face. A glass had fallen from his hand and lay on the thick rug by his side.

Nat, a taper in his hand, was in the act of lighting a lamp below what looked very like an ancient altar, except that the subject cast into dull relief by the dim flame was that of a bull. Before it lay a long and strangely ominous slab of smooth, flat-surfaced stone on which rested a curved knife.

Alys was quite transfixed with a sort of horrified fascination, until Lord Chase stood up and moved into the centre of the room before the altar, his glittering eyes fixed on her, and let his robe fall open, displaying a naked white body in a state of some excitement.

She would have recoiled, except that one of the men behind her gave her another push forwards. Under the concealing white robe, she took a firm grip on the pistol: she would shoot Chase before she let him get an inch nearer to her than he was now!

‘Bring her here,’ Chase commanded, but before the men behind her could seize her again, she had whirled round and backed away, bringing out the gun and holding it steadily.

They stopped, the laughter and ribald comments stilled suddenly on their lips.

George, she saw out of the corner of her eye, had sat up and was staring at her as if she was a nightmare born of laudanum.

Could she hope for any help from that quarter?

It was worth the attempt, and she pulled off the mask and shouted, ‘George!’

‘Good God, it is Miss Weston!’ he exclaimed, jarred into a state of near sobriety and getting unsteadily to his feet. ‘I am not dreaming. It is my wife’s friend!’

‘It is indeed,’ Nat said. ‘Thanks to you, I have managed to lure her here alone, as you see.’

‘But you cannot mean …’ He looked from Chase to Nat incredulously. ‘She is not some doxy plucked from the streets. You cannot do this!’

‘You dare to say “cannot” to the Master?’ thundered Chase, stepping towards him menacingly. ‘What of your oath to the Brethren? This sacrifice will mean I have boundless power. I will be invincible. Do you not understand that?’

‘Nat,’ George said, ‘tell me this is some ghastly nightmare. We cannot do this! Let me escort Miss Weston out of this place, for—’

Faster than a snake striking, Chase snatched up the knife and plunged it into George’s body. His victim half-turned towards Alys, his expression astonished. Then he slumped to the ground and lay still.

There was silence. Then Alys raised her pistol to arm’s length and coolly shot Lord Chase.

At least, that was her intention. However, she had never fired a pistol before and the shot instead went wide, ricocheted off the wall and sent a statue of Eros crashing down, most appropriately, on to Lord Chase’s head.

Behind her there was a sudden scuffle and then Rayven staggered into the room and gazed about him wildly until he spotted Alys.

His bruised and bloody face was a mask of almost berserk rage, but Alys thought she had never seen a more welcome sight and made no resistance when he snatched her to him, holding her in a fierce embrace that temporarily stopped her breathing.

‘Nat!’ she said warningly, when his grip momentarily slackened, seeing her cousin suddenly move, but in flight, dropping the taper he was still holding and vanishing behind the altar.

‘There must be another way out,’ she said, ‘and I’ve shot Lord Chase.’

‘No, you only tried to shoot him. He seems to have been felled by Love,’ Lord Rayven said, removing the pistol that she had been pressing into his ribcage and shoving it into his pocket.

‘He stabbed George. George was trying to help me,’ she shuddered.

‘Serle,’ Harry said, slightly breathlessly, coming into the chamber, ‘they have got away – and look!’

Unobserved, the dropped taper had set fire to the rug and now a line of flames ran greedily along it and up the tapestry hangings. Beyond them, Chase was slowly crawling like some loathsome insect.

‘I’ll get him, sir!’ Jarvis said.

‘No need,’ Harry replied. ‘Half the neighbourhood is up in arms over the missing girl, which is what delayed us, Serle. She escaped, thanks to Miss Weston, and the mob has come with the intention of freeing her and – from the sound of it – burning down Templeshore and anyone in it!’

Indeed, from above there did seem to be a great deal of clamour. ‘Come, we had better go back down the passage,’ Rayven said, his arm still around Alys. ‘The fire is spreading.’

‘But George!’

‘Dead as a herring, miss,’ Jarvis said cheerfully. ‘You’ve only to look at his face.’

‘Oh, yes!’ She felt an insane desire to giggle rise to her lips. Then the floor seemed to suddenly rise to greet her …

‘I never faint!’ she said indignantly, swung up into Lord Rayven’s arms. ‘And you are not fit to carry me anywhere, my lord. Pray put me down.’

‘For once, let me behave like a hero, Miss Weston!’

‘But—’

‘But me no buts,’ he snapped, and strode off down the passage. He seemed to have made a miraculous recovery.

She felt that one of her own heroines would have emerged from the temple into the ring of torchlight on her own two feet, or perhaps hand in hand with the hero, but certainly not carried by him like some helpless creature.

Yet his lordship seemed very set on it …

and actually it was rather pleasant to be held so closely in his arms and know herself safe again.

A ragged cheer went up as they came out and, as he bore her away, she saw the whole of Templeshore House lit up from within by a red glow.

*

‘Harry,’ Lord Rayven said, ‘you had best drive us back in the curricle and Jarvis can take my horse, which is tied up somewhere nearby.’

‘I’ll find it, sir,’ Jarvis said, and the two men walked off ahead of them towards the gate.

Once out of sight of the crowd, Alys said, ‘I think perhaps you should put me down now, Lord Rayven. I am sure I am no lightweight, and you cannot be entirely recovered from your injury.’

‘Serle.’

‘I cannot possibly call you by your first name,’ she protested. ‘What would people think?’

‘That we are engaged?’ he suggested, obeying her instruction to put her down, but then instantly sweeping her off her feet into another bone-crushing embrace.

‘But we are not,’ she said, fending him off as much as she was able. ‘I think the blow on your head has had an adverse effect on your mind, my lord.’

‘Serle . And you have had an adverse effect on my good sense since the moment we met.’ He cupped her face in his hands and stared down at her. ‘I find you infuriating, independent, outspoken, stubborn, sure of your opinions … most emphatically not the sort of wife I was looking for.’

‘Come to that, I am not looking for a husband at all,’ she said indignantly. ‘I—’

‘I know your views on matrimony and I am prepared to sign my soul to the Devil and consign myself to living under the cat’s foot for the rest of my life, if you will only say you will marry me!’ he said, and silenced her with a long kiss.