BLACKDOWN (a thriller and murder mystery) (26 page)

Blackdown felt the knife he’d collected from the kitchen pressing against his chest, tucked away out of sight inside his coat. But with two pistols aimed squarely at him he had no opportunity to use it. And yet it bothered him greatly that he should even have to contemplate using it against his brother and Lord Tresham’s precious daughter.

‘You father is unaware of your involvement?’ said Blackdown to Julianne.

‘My father thinks me in danger,’ she replied.

‘You betray your own father?’ Blackdown said, shaking his head slowly. ‘How could you? Can’t you see how much he loves you? He loves you enough to put his life and reputation on the block in order to protect you.’

‘He is not my father,’ she said, her eyes narrowing, staring at Blackdown with an intensity he found unnerving.

‘What are you saying? Of course he is. Are you in the grip of madness?’

‘I was sold to him as a baby by a man who could not afford to keep me. My roots are no nobler than that of a humble potato, Thomas.’

‘That is not true…’

‘Your father arranged everything, Thomas. It was Jonathan who accidentally came across the information in his father’s study. A document signed by a man called Patrick Deale.’

‘The man who tends his wife’s grand grave? The same man that I found skulking in the bushes on the night we were attacked?’

‘The same. My real mother died giving birth to me, and my real father, having a large brood of his own and hating me for bringing about her death was about to drown me in the river. But Reverend Bole stayed his hand and took the child into safe keeping. You father discovered what had happened and, knowing Lord Tresham and his wife were childless, agreed with Deale to sell me to him on their behalf. I have seen the document, Thomas, transferring all rights to me from Deale over to your father, to do with me as he saw fit; a bill of sale. Ten pounds. I have seen it with my own eyes. He bought me, and then gave me to Lord Tresham and his wife to bring up as his own. The only stipulation by Deale was that your father provides a large and fitting monument to his dead wife’s memory.’

A dead wife Deale could never get out of his mind, a death he would never recover from, just like his father, thought Blackdown. And his father obviously saw similarities to himself in Deale’s exhibition of grief; the death of a beloved wife, the death brought on by a child, the need for revenge on the child. But why did his father go to such lengths to save the child? Did he secretly feel remorse at having effectively killed his eldest son after the death of his own wife and was trying to atone for his sins? Whatever the case, Deale, seeing how Julianne had grown up to resemble his dead wife, could not stop himself from wanting to see her, to spy on her whenever he could. For in her he plainly saw the image of his wife.

And that was why his father had not approved of the marriage between Jonathan and Julianne, for though he had saved the child he could not allow the daughter of a common man to marry his noble son. Spoiling the bloodline of Blackdown.

Blackdown shook his head of the thoughts. ‘Even if that were true, Julianne, he has loved you as his own since you were a babe-in-arms,’ said Blackdown. ‘Is this the way to treat a kind and gentle man, whose intentions were entirely noble?’

‘Noble!’ she said harshly. ‘How easy it is for your kind to wrap up your actions, no matter how despicable, as elevated and noble, the act of a gentleman. My kind, the vast majority of people in this land, we are no less a commodity to be used and abused as that of a dog. Even to be sold as puppies when the need arises. Your father and my father deserve everything we have done to them, as do all the so-called noble fools who we have deceived.’

‘So you used Lansdowne’s political contacts to concoct a story that would accuse my father of being a spy,’ said Blackdown, ‘using them also to create a storm of libel and slander that my father could not ignore, and then even employed lawyers on his behalf to fight what were in effect losing battles, for the lawyers too were dancing to your tune. You gradually crippled my father financially, stripping away his land, using it to pay Lansdowne for his involvement in your scheme.’ He stared fixedly at Jonathan. ‘Is this the way to treat a man who loved you, brother? Who gave you the very breath you waste?’

‘My father?’ burst Jonathan, his face suddenly flushing. ‘Damn my father! After mother’s death and you were sent away he poured all his venom on me. Did you think I had it easy? You were his first-born son. You were always the favourite, the one that could do no wrong. As his only remaining son you would think he would better appreciate me, but no, I never managed to attain the high standards he expected of me, never came up to the shining god that had been his eldest son before his tragic fall from grace. And he never let me forget it. He drove out whatever love I had for him and I simply took to railing against him, became everything he despised. A drunkard, a gambler, a womaniser, a wastrel – or so he thought. But Julianne loved me for what I was, and what I could eventually become. She, and only she, saw my potential for greatness. So do not talk to me of betraying my father – he betrayed me a long time ago.’

‘So you set about ruining him,’ Blackdown ventured. ‘Killing him slowly.’

‘It is rather fitting that vengeance against both our fathers married seamlessly with our plans, don’t you think?’ Julianne said.

‘You will be caught eventually,’ said Blackdown. ‘You cannot escape the government forever. They are at this moment rounding up your wealthy cronies and will soon set about finding you.’

She allowed herself a smile. Pointed at the curtains. ‘See, no one follows you. No one is going to come here. No one knows who Ravenbard is or how we are involved in this. In truth, we have been playing everyone along like pawns on a board.’

‘You can’t get away with this, Julianne,’ Blackdown warned. ‘The government will uncover everything. Their agent, Cornelius Reeve, will track you down.’

She appeared unmoved by the assertion. ‘Don’t you think it fortuitous that the government sent troops against our meeting tonight, to arrest members of the Lupercal Club and also allowing Ravenbard to escape? You would be unwise to think that Reeve will come and rescue you. Reeve works for us. True, he also works for the government, but his secret contract as a double agent with Ravenbard he finds far more lucrative. I say again, we have played everyone like pawns on a board,’ she said, a smile of smug satisfaction playing on her full lips. ‘We also knew for some time that John Strutt was a spy sent by the government to infiltrate our club. We allowed his access only when we were ready to draw the scheme to a close. And what a close! Instead of simply taking everyone’s money and disappearing, thereby incurring the wrath of powerful members who would most certainly do everything in their power to hunt us down when they learnt of our duplicity, we sent word out to Reeve that it was time to break the club once and for all and bring everything to a close. With the government smashing the meeting and arresting the members, it has only reinforced the impression that Ravenbard is a revolutionary, a revolutionary now on the run and soon to become a public enemy with a huge price on his head. No one will suspect a giant fraud. Reeve, for his part, will get public credit and reward for breaking the club and its seditious plotting; perhaps even a knighthood into the bargain. Reeve comes out of this rich and famous.

‘And as for Ravenbard, we both know he does not exist. We have been diligently laying such a complex and false trail over the years for anyone foolish enough to follow that we are convinced they will be chasing smoke for a good many years to come. They will eventually discover he has fled and been lost to the African continent and will never bring him into custody. This brings me back to the vexing question that is you…’

‘I cannot understand why you wrote the letter that pretended to be from my brother, inviting me here in the first place,’ said Blackdown. ‘Why do that if I am to be a thorn in your side? Surely you must have known I would eventually discover the truth about my brother’s so-called death and the Lupercal Club.’

‘Ah, yes, the letter,’ she said. ‘We knew you would not be able to resist your poor brother’s plea for help. But he had supposedly been dead two years, so we were careful to make it appear that the letter had been sent some time ago, had been forwarded to you via different addresses. All to make it seem real, to lure you here. You ask why I invited you. It is precisely because you have certain skills, Thomas,’ she said. ‘You first came to our attention when you captured Alex Creevy and broke up one of our valuable smuggling rings in Whitby in Yorkshire…’

‘Creevy was working for you?’

‘Very much so. Your meddling, and Creevy’s infernal duplicity, deprived us of a great deal, and threatened to expose everything we’d worked for. Some of the weapons we were stockpiling, with which to bolster the legitimacy of our plans to our supporters, fell into the government’s hands thanks to you. Fortunately they could not be traced to us, and Creevy did not know enough to point anyone in our direction. Jonathan was all set to have you executed, lest you were let loose on another of our operations. But I saw an opportunity and stayed his hand. Why not bring him down to Somerset, I said, get him out of harm’s way? And when he’s here, why not try to recruit him as a member of the team? I set you a test, Thomas and you have passed with flying colours.’

‘A test? You’re deranged,’ said Blackdown. ‘What makes you think I will ever want to join you?’

‘You have made it quite clear that you won’t,’ said Julianne. ‘That is regrettable. I had hoped you might be swayed, given the way the government has treated you for all your efforts, stripping you of your rank, and this disgrace added to the insufferable insults and cold shoulder you have had to bear from your father. You have not had it easy. A man like you deserves far more. You have skills we could still use, Thomas. Just think on it, the three of us; think what we might achieve together.’

‘Never,’ said Blackdown defiantly.

She sighed, looked at Jonathan and shook her head resignedly.

‘I told you we should have killed him straight away instead of playing these damned games!’ said Jonathan. ‘He might be intelligent and quick-witted, capable with a weapon, but he is too short-sighted for his own good. He has been trampled upon by all and sundry and still he will not defy his father or his country. He will never join us, Julianne.’ He stepped forward and placed a gun to Blackdown’s temple. ‘Let me finish him off now. He’s the only one who can point the finger at us.’

‘I ask you to reconsider,’ said Julianne softly, with a touch of genuine tenderness that Jonathan immediately snatched upon.

‘What is going on, Julianne?’ he asked. ‘Why waste your time on him?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Do you love him, is that it? Has he insinuated himself into your heart?’

‘Of course not!’ snapped Julianne. ‘You talk rot!’

‘Even now I find I cannot better you,’ said Jonathan to his brother. ‘Even now my only true love has had her mind turned by you!’ He pressed the gun harder against Blackdown’s temple. ‘It is time to put this thing to bed,’ he growled. ‘We have to leave now.’

Julianne said, ‘You have had all the chances you are going to get, Thomas. It is regrettable, but you will have to die, you do understand, don’t you?’

‘I’m afraid Blackdown Manor is to suffer a devastating fire tonight,’ explained Jonathan, pointing to a cabinet; it was puddled with lamp oil. ‘This entire room and the rooms beyond have been thoroughly doused in lamp oil and will go up in flames at the slightest touch of a lighted taper. Your father will die in his bed; his servants will die also, currently locked in various rooms upstairs. So too, tragically, will Julianne, who will have been by your father’s side, a fact that will be attested to by Reverend Bole. He will come round from his clout on the head to see Blackdown Manor afire. An accident or deliberate arson? Bole saw me but thinks it is you who knocked him unconscious. But we have further ensured the full finger of blame will land on you, for your body will be found beside him, a bullet through your head. For here lies a man who has first killed his father and then taken his own life. A man maddened, seeking revenge on a father who wronged him and denied him his inheritance.

‘So you see, Thomas,’ he continued, ‘no one will ever find us or suspect our part in things, for I am already considered dead and gone, and Julianne will have died in the fire – one of the servants even now has been forced to wear one of Julianne’s gowns and a few pieces of jewellery just in case enough of her body remains to be identified. But it is doubtful. I imagine there will not be a lot left of anything once the fire has run through this place and brought it down. No one will think to blame or chase two ghosts!’ Jonathan Blackdown laughed hollowly and aimed the pistol directly at his brother’s forehead. ‘If you must say a prayer, say it now, for your time is up.’

Thomas Blackdown gazed intently at his brother, rose from his seat and got down onto his knees to pray. He brought his hands up to his chest, clasped them in prayer and bowed his head.

‘Hurry and do the deed!’ Julianne urged. ‘Do not keep him hanging on so.’

He glanced at her through the corner of his eye. ‘He has taken a hold of you, Julianne,’ he said. ‘You have let him soften your mind. And I will take as long as I please over the matter!’

‘Do it!’ she said shrilly, punching him on the shoulder.

‘Do not think to scream orders at me!’ he returned, the gun barrel wavering as his head spun briefly round to confront her.

It was all Blackdown needed.

One hand whipped inside his coat and grabbed the knife, the other reached up and grasped Jonathan’s wrist, forcing it upwards. The gun went off, the explosion deafeningly close to his ear. The bullet screamed by him harmlessly, puncturing the ceiling, a shower of white plaster raining down. Blackdown lunged out with the knife, narrowly missing Jonathan’s midriff, the long blade sinking into his flailing arm instead. Jonathan cried out in pain, dropping the discharged pistol and lashing out at Blackdown’s head with the butt of the second gun he carried. It made contact with his skull and, already unbalanced by being on his knees and unable to stand as fast as he would have liked, Blackdown reeled backwards under the blow and all but collapsed to the floor.

‘Kill him, Jonathan!’ he heard Julianne scream, vaguely aware of her form dashing in defence to her partner’s side. Blackdown felt a punch crash into his face as she instinctively lashed out with her fist. ‘You fool!’ she shouted.

Jonathan pushed her away. ‘Get you back, out of the way, woman!’ he demanded, cocking the second pistol and swinging his arm round to point it at Blackdown. ‘I can handle this!’

But Blackdown rose to his feet, lashed out a hand and caught hold of Julianne’s arm. In a moment he had hauled her towards him, spinning her round to face Jonathan, pinning her arm behind her, the knife at her throat. Jonathan held out his pistol, but Julianne was now shielding him.

‘You idiot!’ Jonathan shouted at her. ‘You damned idiot!’

‘Throw down the gun, Jonathan,’ Blackdown said firmly, the keen edge of the knife hovering close to Julianne’s bare throat.

‘Shoot him!’ she demanded.

But Jonathan could not risk firing without hitting her. His jaw stiffened as he sized up the situation. ‘It seems you have brought us to a stalemate, brother,’ he said.

‘It seems so,’ said Blackdown. ‘Drop the gun.’

‘Or what, you’ll slit her throat? I think not.’

The knife touched Julianne’s pale skin and indented it. It drew a line of blood.

‘Don’t bet on it, Jonathan,’ he replied coldly.

Jonathan backed away slowly. Towards the door. He took the lamp from off the cabinet.

‘Where are you going?’ said Julianne, her voice wavering.

‘I’m sorry, Julianne, but he has left me with no choice,’ he said.

He pulled the trigger and Julianne was sent reeling backwards against Blackdown, a splash of scarlet flowering at her shoulder. She screamed, dropping to her knees as Blackdown tried to support her. Jonathan threw the lamp down onto the oil-soaked carpet and instantly it went up in flames, the fire racing in front of him to run up a chair leg. Blackdown dragged Julianne backwards, out of the flame’s reach, but as he leapt forward to reach for Jonathan the fire reared up suddenly into a white wall of flickering fury. Through the blaze he saw Jonathan race to the door, opening it just in time as more flames engulfed the room, ravenously feeding off the spilt oil.

‘He betrayed me!’ Julianne screeched, getting to her feet, staring at the shattered bone of her shoulder. Blood gushed down her body. She tottered towards the door that Blackdown had used to enter the room but was prevented from exiting by a new river of fire that ran quickly in front of her.

‘Not that way!’ Blackdown shouted, the heat already prickling his skin. He moved to try and save her, but saw the hem of her dress, soaked with oil from the carpet, take light. In but a couple of seconds her dress had become a sheet of flame. She screamed, trying to beat the fire out with her bare hands as Blackdown attempted to make his way through the wall of fire that now separated them. ‘Julianne!’ he yelled. ‘Julianne!’

She fell from sight, sinking into the fire that burnt fiercely all around her. He knew he couldn’t do anything that would save her now. He closed his eyes briefly against the pitiful gurgling of her scorched throat, till she fell silent. When he next opened them he could not make out her form at all within the inferno. He looked towards the door Jonathan had taken, flames racing up the architrave and bubbling and blistering the paint. He raced for it, shielding his eyes as he leapt through a scorching sheet of fire. He fell through the open door, slapping out flames that had taken hold on his coat sleeve. The fire was determined to follow him, he thought, aware of the puddles of lamp oil spilled on the floor of the next room that would soon catch alight. In moments this room, too, would be engulfed.

He was desperate to chase after his brother, but he knew the servants and his father were locked helplessly upstairs and if he didn’t do something now it would be too late to save them. He ran through the house, coughing on the smoke that had already found its way into his lungs, and bound up the many stairs that led to the first floor landing.

He pounded on his father’s locked door. ‘Father! Father!’ he shouted desperately. Then he heard terrified voices from further down the corridor. Tracing their origin he called to the people trapped within. ‘Stand back, I will try to break down the door!’

It was harder than he’d imagined, the mahogany door withstanding numerous poundings with his shoulder. Eventually it gave way and two women all but fell out of the room onto the corridor. One of them, the youngest and forced to dress in Julianne’s cotton gown and jewellery cried out her thanks and said urgently, ‘There are two more locked away in the next room!’

Blackdown nodded. He saw smoke beginning to crawl insidiously up the stairs and filter through to the corridor. ‘Make your way downstairs, quickly! You do not have much time left! The house is on fire!’

This panicked them even more and the bolted down the corridor screaming in terror. Blackdown turned from them and set about the next door. His bruised shoulder caused him a great deal of pain as he tried to break down the door. It resisted briefly but the lock broke and the door swung open. An old woman and an old man tottered out gratefully. He told them to follow the others.

‘There is smoke!’ said the old man fearfully.

Blackdown was dismayed to see how fast the fire was taking hold. ‘Run for your lives!’ he cried. ‘Get out of the house now!’

They did as they were told, Blackdown watching them scuttle to the end of the corridor and down the stairs.

He raced to his father’s bedroom door and this time sent his boot smashing against the lock. Thankfully, after a couple of meaty attempts with the sole of his boot, the lock shattered. But the smoke was already creeping down the corridor and beginning to sting his eyes. He had no idea how far the flames had spread or if they’d cut off his escape route.

His father was propped up in bed on pillows, his face deathly white and still, his dry mouth hanging open. Blackdown thought he was dead. But as he approached, the old man’s eyes opened and stared at him uncertainly, as if trying to focus.

‘Jonathan?’ he said, his voice a faint echo of what it once was.

‘It’s Thomas, father,’ he said. ‘I have to get you out of here. The house is on fire…’

‘Thomas…’ he said weakly. To Blackdown’s surprise, his father held out a wizened, trembling hand. Blackdown took it. It felt cold to the touch, the fingers almost brittle. ‘Thomas, I am soon to die...’

‘We have to leave, father,’ he urged.

His father shook his head. ‘I cannot leave this room, Thomas,’ he said. ‘Not at this time.’ His eyes looked up to the wall. Blackdown followed his ardent gaze. The object that snared his attention was the portrait of his mother gazing down serenely on the pair of them. ‘If I am to die it will be here, with my beloved wife’s memory all around me.’

‘I cannot let you stay, father,’ he said, reaching up to cradle his father’s scrawny neck, making an attempt to lift him from his pillows.

The man resisted feebly. ‘I am already a dead man, Thomas. But before I go I have to tell you something…’

Blackdown’s eyes began to fill with tears, partly due to the smoke, but partly due to his helplessness; he knew that he could never carry the sick old man from the room in time. ‘I’m listening, father,’ he said.

‘I need you to forgive me, Thomas,’ he said. ‘I have been too proud, too unforgiving of you and too foolish…’ He coughed and blood-infused saliva dribbled down his chin. Blackdown wiped it away. ‘I should not have banished you,’ he continued. ‘It was wicked of me. Your mother would never have sanctioned such a thing. She loved you perhaps more than she loved me. Jonathan is dead because of my selfishness. I have ruined everything and brought down this house. Your mother would have been so angry with me. Reverend Bole has told me how you tried to defend this house against attack, and put your own life in danger in doing so. You that I have treated so badly coming selflessly to the house’s rescue. So I have spoken with Cornelius Reeve and he has reversed my will. The house, what is left of my fortune, it will all fall to you when I am dead…’ His eyes closed. ‘I can smell smoke…’ he said quietly, releasing Thomas’s hand. ‘Where is that smell coming from…?’

‘The house…’ he began, but thought it best not to say anything more. The old man looked like he was falling asleep.

‘Forgive me, Thomas,’ he said, almost in a whisper. ‘Please try to forgive me… I am not at heart a cruel man, though you must think me cruel.’

Blackdown squeezed his eyes closed, dislodging a solitary tear. ‘I forgive you,’ he said, his fingers tightening around his father’s enfeebled hand.

He looked to the door. Gossamer tendrils of smoke probed finger-like around the doorframe. Blackdown groaned, realising he could not leave his father here to burn alive.

He took up a cushion, sucked in a deep breath and placed it over his father’s face. He pressed down, hard, with grim determination. The old man sensed something was wrong almost immediately, heaved out a grunt and began to struggle, his fingers clawing weakly at the cushion for what seemed an eternity before eventually falling still on the bed covers. Blackdown held the cushion there a moment longer, afraid of looking into his father’s face. But when he took the cushion away his father was at peace.

So now he had killed both parents, he thought bleakly. His mother’s image stared at him. Did he see accusation or forgiveness in her eyes?

But there was no time to waste. He bound over to the door. The corridor outside was filled with smoke, and a shivering glow at the top of the stairs showed him that the fire had really taken hold and was almost upon him. The ground floor would be well on its way to being totally consumed, he thought, putting his arm over his nose and mouth and coughing into his sleeve. He braved the smoke-filled corridor and found his worst fears to be true; he was trapped at the top of the stairs by the hungry fire with no way down.

He hurriedly retraced his steps back to his father’s bedroom, slammed the door shut on the smoke and dashed over to the windows. Ripping back the curtains he fumbled with the window catch. It was stiff with age and neglect. He sent his elbow into the panes of glass, punched a hole through the window and leant outside. A welcome cool breeze brushed his cheeks as he looked down to the ground, quite a distance away; anyone foolish enough to jump would break more than a few bones in their body, if not their neck.

There was a lead drainpipe to his right. He might just be able to reach it. Blackdown stepped onto the window ledge, stretched out his arm. But the pipe was a foot or so away from his twitching fingers. He eased himself further out onto the narrowest of ledges, the old stone crumbling under his boots and threatening to give way.

He leapt towards the drainpipe.

His hands struggled to find purchase on the smooth metal and he felt himself half-sliding, half-falling down the pipe until he brought himself to a stop, clinging onto the pipe for dear life. He began to ease himself down.

Voices called out to him from below, the servants having gathered on the lawn beneath the window. Blackdown was now scrambling down the drainpipe. There was the sound of splintering glass as flames spewed out of the lower windows. Blackdown urged everyone to fall back, away from the house.

To his horror he heard the squeak of nails being pulled from the old stone; felt the drainpipe give an alarming judder as it came away from the wall. He looked down. It was too far to jump, he thought, trying to lower himself down without dislodging the fragile pipe further. But it was no use; the pipe gave a metallic groan and gave way. Blackdown tumbled through the air the last few feet to the ground.

The last thing he was aware of was the line of stone flags beneath the ground floor windows were rushing up alarmingly fast towards him. He closed his eyes and tried to shield his head as he crashed helplessly to the ground.