The Russian White, page 16
What the hell was the fool thinking? The whole neighbourhood would be up in arms if he went on shouting. He reached for the window to open it and smack the Judge in the face, when he heard the Sergeant’s voice.
“Beg pardon sir. No offence, but we need to stay quiet.”
“Shut up! Hood let me in.” Bang, bang, bang! Hood covered his ears.
The Sergeant persisted. “Don’t want to give our positions away do we sir?”
“Get out of my way!” yelled Buffrey. Then, the sounds of a scuffle.
“No need for that sir,” remonstrated the Sergeant.
Bang, bang, bang! “Let me in Hood.”
More scuffles. Buffrey huffed and puffed and emitted a strange gurgle. Had the Sergeant strangled him?
He released the blind and peered out. The Sergeant and three soldiers had the Judge in a variety of arm locks. On such a big man, finding a good grip proved hard. They attempted to pull him away from the carriage. In a burst of ferocious energy, Buffrey broke free, and waddled with surprising speed towards Belgrave Square.
“Stop him!” ordered the Sergeant, and the soldiers broke rank and gave chase.
“Dam and blast him!” Hood unlocked the door and leapt out.
The soldiers caught Buffrey at the corner. They surrounded him, but Buffrey, like a caged animal, panicked, and ran at the circle, and sent two soldiers tumbling into the road.
He pushed and shoved until he reached the lamp post, which he hugged, like a shipwrecked sailor, his arms and legs twined around it for a better grip. The soldiers grabbed hold of his coat tails and pulled, but limpet like, he held on.
Hood dashed down the street, grabbed Buffrey’s shoulders and added his strength to the soldiers’. With one violent tug they pulled him loose, and the Judge lurched backwards, lost his balance, and landed on his back with his legs kicking the air.
“Grab him!” Hood ordered, and the soldiers jumped on top of him and pinned him to the ground.
Buffrey rolled and bucked, but he didn’t escape. His red face flitted from a look of surprise, to angry outrage. Dribble sputtered from his gaping mouth.
Hood restrained the urge to give him a good kicking, and bending down, hissed; “You stupid idiot. Stop this nonsense now, or I’ll stamp your brains out.”
Buffrey gulped an exclamation that made no sense and attempted to stand, but the soldiers held firm.
Hood turned to the Sergeant. “Take him to the carriage and lock him inside.”
“Very well sir.” He leant over the writhing bodies. “You heard the gentleman, back to the carriage with him.”
Hood stepped away as the men hoisted Buffrey to his feet, pinned his arms to his side, and bundled him off. Silence restored, he glanced across the Square towards the Russian Embassy.
The Chief’s carriage stood silhouetted against the white Regency house. The driver sat slumped over the reins, dozing.
A short flight of steps led up to the large black front door, lit by two lamps, one on either side, which glowed like white moons. Above the door, a crescent window shone with light from the clear beams of a crystal chandelier that sparkled in the hallway. The curve of an ornate staircase swept up to the higher floors.
Windows, overlooking the square, lined the first floor, and a white flagpole jutted at right angles to the wall from underneath the central one. The ropes hung loose and slack. The Russian flag removed, no doubt, for fear of inciting public anger.
Something moved on the pavement, close to the railings, to the right of the front door. He squinted, trying to pinpoint the spot in the dark.
Then he saw a wisp of white smoke, and his jaw clenched; the soldier, the young lad’s friend, who pretended to be on duty. A glow of red, embers from a clay pipe, and the smoke increased; a flogging, he vowed, for that young soldier tomorrow.
Then another, more worrying thought, occurred to him. Where was the dead Russian? Impossible to conceal a corpse in this crowded part of town; aggravated hostility, or whatever Buffrey called it, and murder. If The Chief’s plan failed, The Brotherhood hanged. He shuddered at the thought, then dismissed it as idle speculation. Why should they fail, discounting Buffrey’s non co-operation?
Then the Embassy door jerked open, and The Chief swept out and ran down the steps.
“Driver?” His voice echoed round the Square. The driver jumped awake and tightened the reins. The Embassy door shut with a bang, and The Chief slammed his carriage door as if in angry reply.
The horse’s hooves beat out an irregular rhythm as the carriage turned, and then set off across the Square. As it came round the corner, The Chief opened the door and leapt out.
“Hood? Where are you?”
He stepped out of the shadows. “Here Chief.”
“We need to move. Now.”
“Sergeant?” The Doctor ran up Grosvenor Crescent.
“Sir?” The Sergeant’s strained reply evidence of Buffrey’s resistance at being pushed into the carriage.
Hood barked; “Take the Embassy.”
“Sir.” The Sergeant stepped out of the scrum, and snatched up his musket where it stood propped against the wall.
“Company,” he ordered. “Operation Ruskie.”
The soldiers leapt into formation, two abreast. Buffrey, freed from being pushed and shoved, lost his balance, fell backwards and landed for a second time that evening on his back with his legs in the air.
The Sergeant led the soldiers in a controlled run into the Square, and halted them in front of the Embassy. Hood followed, with The Chief beside him.
“Your men are not to shoot,” The Chief instructed. His drawn face gleamed white and haggard in the feeble lamplight. “Is that clear Sergeant? There are civilians in there and two British prisoners.”
“Are there soldiers sir?” asked the Sergeant.
“I didn’t see any armed personnel. Some of them may have weapons, but don’t use force unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Yes sir.”
The steady stamp of boots on stone hammered through the dark from across the Square, and Hood watched as the second company emerged from a side road.
“Very well Sergeant.” The Chief tensed, still as iron. “Move.”
“Men forward.”
The soldiers raced up the steps and battered the door with their musket butts. The second company filed down an alleyway beside the Embassy to cut off the escape route from the back.
Lights flickered at the first floor windows, and heads and shoulders, outlined in black, pressed against the glass.
The door splintered and then shattered. It twisted off its hinges and crashed to the floor. The soldiers stormed through, yelling for everybody to lie down and stay still. Screams and shouts echoed through the building. The people at the windows moved back.
Then a shot rang out.
“Blast!” The Chief leapt up the steps and, in one bound, cleared the door’s jagged remains.
Hood followed, but stepped over the debris with care, and joined The Chief in the high ornate hallway.
The Chief roared; “No bloodshed!” The clatter of running feet drowned his voice.
Chapter Twenty Nine
“There, there, Missy. Not so fast.” Peggy spilled gravy over the edge of the spoon, and it dribbled and splashed onto the carpet.
Sylvia stretched her mouth as wide as it would go, and the spoon went in, and she tipped her neck back, knocked the meat off the bowl, and swallowed it whole. More! More! And bigger spoonful’s!
“Easy does it my poppet.”
Don’t speak, feed me.
“Don’t want you choking now do we, my little angel?”
Hurry up, silly old lady, don’t waste time talking. Why did Peggy sit down? The spoon was out of reach. If she didn’t get fed, now, she’d come and get it. She tucked her elbows in, opened her mouth, reared up, and dived for the plate of meat and bread on Peggy’s lap.
Too far, still out of reach, and she flopped onto the pillows, panting from the effort. Peggy dropped the plate as she leapt out of the way. Silly, silly, old lady! That meant waiting for more food to be sent up from the kitchens. Not fair! Why did Peggy scream like a little girl?
The meat on the floor smelt strong, and close. Peggy spoon it up, but she looked scared as baby rabbits. What was the matter with her? She beckoned the old maid nearer with her long jagged fingernails. Peggy didn’t move, and when she spoke, her voice shook.
“You’re eating too fast Missy. There’s plenty of food but you mustn’t go so quick. I’m not giving you anymore until you go slower.”
Feed me, and she contorted her face into a beguiling smile of innocence. This always worked, though not today, because Peggy didn’t move.
Fear flickered in her thin little maid’s eyes, and she hated the old woman’s weakness. Why didn’t Peggy look after her like she used to, she needed food, now, because something new was happening inside her.
Sylvia guessed that it must be called “strength,” that was blossoming in her body, because she hadn’t felt so physically active for years. Every mouthful of food made it grow, and it felt good. Why didn’t Peggy see that? Why did she make everything so difficult? Such frantic physical assaults, like the one she had just attempted, exhausted her. Though, she reasoned, she couldn’t have managed that before.
Sylvia glanced along the length and width of her huge body. She had started to notice it during the last few days and, with budding awareness, realised how the years of lying in bed had made her weak. Food used to be a comfort, now it was a flame of energy. She craved it, and frustration at being denied, made her frantic. Physical exertion turned happy desire into black fury when she didn’t get what she wanted, and she needed time to rebuild her stamina for a fresh assault. She shut her eyes and settled into the soft mattress.
And the wolf lay down, and watched.
There in her mind, like a “vision,” and always present. He first appeared in a dream about loneliness, and stayed, and now, every time she shut her eyes, he sat and watched. A patient companion, she loved him, and in return, like a deep understanding between two minds, he encouraged her to develop her new found strength, and enticed her, with his warm devotion, to greater acts of physical daring, and to unlock the violence she didn’t know existed in her waking life.
She opened her eyes and watched her white flesh rise and fall and ripple over her immense body as she recovered her breath.
Peggy stood at the end of the bed with a large bowl of cream meringues with, what looked like, raspberry filling. Out of reach. Fear strained her thin little face. How to entice her closer?
Sylvia shut her eyes, and the wolf stretched and stood, and then padded away, his head turned towards her, his orange eyes gazing into hers. He didn’t go far, and she gurgled with delight at his beautiful easy grace. She wanted to move like that. She needed food to achieve it.
She snapped her eyes open, reached up with one long curling fingernail, and tapped two silver bowls. Now Peggy would come closer.
“Is it happening Miss?” Her voice squeaked like mice. “Is it the “visions?” Shall I heat the bowls?”
Sylvia half-shut her eyes, opened her mouth, and snored. She watched Peggy’s confusion as she flustered about, uncertain what to do. Still too scared to come close to the bed, and that meant the meringues didn’t come closer either.
Sylvia snored with deeper, longer grunts, to convince her that she really was asleep, and this time it worked.
Peggy bent down and reappeared with a glowing taper. She shuffled in little frightened movements round the bed, her worried eyes never leaving Sylvia’s face. Closer and closer, but so slow, and the meringues wobbled in her shaking hands. She extended the trembling taper under the first silver bowl, and Sylvia moaned and rolled her head on the pillows. She didn’t know if she did this during a “vision,” but Peggy didn’t run off, so she guessed she must have seen something similar.
Peggy shuffled closer to reach the next bowl. She looked less fearful and this time, she didn’t stretch so far with the taper. She was close enough to grab.
The candlelight dimmed, as if a cloud passed before their light. A breeze, cool and fresh, slid across Sylvia’s body.
Her attention flicked from Peggy to the bedroom. The candle flames danced in the breeze, and some of them went out with little puffs of black smoke.
A strange shape emerged out of the gloom on the far wall. Like the beginnings of a “vision,” but real. Its grey indistinct form shifted and flowed like underwater reeds in moving water; though more than a shadow cast by the candlelight. Long and thin, then short and squat, as if undecided about what form to take, it slid down the wall and flowed onto the floor.
Sylvia glanced at Peggy as she waved the taper under a silver bowl. She didn’t see the manifestation unfolding behind her. The creamy scent from the meringues mixed with the exotic aroma of cinnamon. Sylvia’s intense hunger lessened as she fixed her gaze on the other side of the room.
And Peggy saw the glimmer of her Mistress’s eyes and jumped back alarmed. “It’s not fair Missy. Why do you keep making me scared? I can’t feed you when you’re like this. What do you want? I do everything I can. Why is it so different now?”
The shape moulded a new form out of itself. Four points extended down from a flat base, and stretched in long thin lines that ended in puffy balls. Two oval spheres emerged from either end of the flat base. The right one expanded into a medley of points, while the left one elongated as a brush, loaded with wet paint, might stroke a line across wet paper, and left behind a feathered image. The candles flickered again.
“Is it the food? Are you after something different, to calm you perhaps? I can send something new up from the kitchens.”
Sylvia grunted, exasperated by Peggy’s whittling noise.
“Why do you keep staring like that Missy? Is something the matter with your eyes? What is it? Is it the candles? Do you want a candle for your “vision?” Let me fetch one.”
Peggy bobbed down and up, down and up, fussing like pecking hens. Sylvia fumed; get out of my way. The silly old woman obscured her view, and her mounting frustration erupted into a furious burst of strength. She lashed out, and her nails sliced through Peggy’s cheek and tore the thin flesh. A sliver of curling skin dangled from her longest nail. Annie screamed, dropped the plate of meringues, and fell to the floor. The meringues plopped onto Sylvia’s stomach, and she scooped up a handful and crammed them into her mouth. The sweet creamy stickiness made her strong.
She braced her elbows and heaved her upper body higher. Now she had an uninterrupted view of the bedroom, and her heartbeat quickened as the “vision” materialised against the far wall.
The wolf sat on its haunches and watched. Sylvia clicked her tongue to beckon it nearer, and the candles flickered, and the wolf stood beside the bed, and then sat.
She gurgled with pleasure and lay down and reached out to stroke him, yet her fingers felt only air.
She closed her eyes and reached out again, and her hand stroked through soft fur. She traced her fingertips round the edge of its ears, and ran her hand over the firm neck. Her fingers probed the coarse fur along his back, and the skin felt tight and hard over toned muscle. The shoulders rose and fell with the rhythm of his panting.
She opened her eyes and her hand stroked air.
Her mind whirled and bright lights flashed behind her eyes. She fell backwards and felt sick. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, and the wolf appeared as if from a fog and trotted away, and she followed.
Red and green and purple lights blazed and rolled and pitched and settled into a block of pure white light that dazzled her. The whiteness blinded, and then its intensity diminished, and she saw grey clouds, and felt the soft warmth of long green grass between her toes.
She was on a hillside, with the wolf lying beside her. Below, a muddy track ran along a valley floor and disappeared into a grove of trees. She gurgled with pleasure. This was the first time a companion had accompanied her on a “vision,” and she rejoiced that it was the wolf. Or had he led her? She wasn’t sure.
Then the wolf’s ears pricked alert, and he sat up. She listened, and heard far away, the rhythmic trundling of carriage wheels as they rolled over uneven ground.
Six carriages rounded the shoulder of the hill, each one pulled by four horses, and behind them came mounted soldiers in red uniforms. They swept past in a flurry of jingling harnesses and snorting horses, and disappeared into the trees.
The wolf stood and ran to follow. She leapt to keep up, and the hill and the grass and the sky shuddered and tipped and rolled and split into jagged shapes, so that she didn’t know if she flew or fell. The wolf never wavered, and through the whirling movement he remained her steady guide.
Her feet scraped against sharp objects, and the swirling colours settled and turned solid, and she saw the grey sky and, in front of her, Parklands. The gravel on the drive in front of Parklands dug into her feet. The wolf watched with her, panting.
The carriages rolled up to the huge front door, and halted, and the mounted soldiers lined up beside them. The drivers jumped down and opened the carriage doors. A tall man in a top hat walked up and down and shouted, and out of the carriages stepped white-faced people who shielded their eyes against the light, and stumbled towards the House. Two of them didn’t walk very well, and the drivers gathered round to give them support.
The man in the top hat followed the white-faced people into the House, and the door shut behind him with a deep clunk.
Parklands melted like hot butter, and she fell backwards through light and colour and felt the familiar warmth of her sheets, and the lumpy softness of her mattress. She opened her eyes and her mouth, and waited for the first spoonful of food. Nothing happened. Was Peggy still on the floor?
She huffed and grumbled to attract her attention. Time to feed, and she hit the mattress with the palms of her hand. Candlelight flickered and shadows weaved strange shapes across the walls. Where was she?
She pushed upwards on her elbows. The silver bowls swung on their chains, and the candles burned with steady flames. Everything usual, as normal except, no Peggy.
