Beyond the Blue Light Read online

  Adding to his confusion was the fact that, despite being filthy, the girl had the accent of a high-born young woman. Though answers could be more easily got by ignoring this, it was so; and it was greatly perplexing. It made the identity of her employer impossible to contemplate. What rich man would hire a young girl to spy for him? A poor one, perhaps. But one of his own kind? He’d never seen the clandestine employ of a fine young woman accomplished for such tasks - not ever.

  Determined to solve this question, his focus became militant. The sound of the men merged, forming a solid, meditative hum. His mind turned furiously like the unremitting dials of a clock. He must unravel this mystery.

  “My lord,” a lower officer leaned in and spoke. “That young woman... Who is she?”

  The men at the table fell silent. They seemed shocked that Errol had dared to do speak. Couldn’t he tell their lord was in a bad humor? Many looked up and watched for Blackall’s reaction. Others stared deep into their bowls and kept their heads down. Blackall turned his head slowly, his look sour, but said nothing to the man, only glowered.

  “Surely,” An officer named Clogg injected. “She’s a bad omen. We ought to dispose of her.”

  “Surely not,” Errol snapped back. “We ought to keep her. She may spill some information or other. Besides, she could be of use.”

  The rest of the men sniggered crassly. But Blackall watched Clogg, his expression stoney. Surely, the man hadn’t just attempted to advise him or to give orders to his officers? Clogg’s face turned crimson and his adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he averted his eyes back into his bowl, dropping his chin. The rest of the men continued their meal, their heads hung low like scolded dogs.

  But Blackall considered their suggestions. The prospect of keeping a young woman against her will was extremely distasteful. He simply didn’t care for the trouble it would bring. Again, annoyances. A woman of fine family would have connected men searching for her. And one learned enough to find her way to the Andron would certainly... But damn his eyes! It didn’t make sense. He became overwhelmed with the thought of it all.

  “Kidd!” Blackall barked at his newest lieutenant.

  “Yes, lord,” Kidd answered, standing up rigidly at the end of the table.

  He was an awkward but efficient young man. Still a bit soft, he had potential as an officer.

  “Go and find Daveye,” Blackall growled. “And bring him to me. Make haste.”

  Kidd sped off to obey, his lanky form skidding away in jerking movements.

  Passing Kidd on his way out of the hall, a messenger passed on his way into the room. He walked swiftly up to the officer’s table, his movements refined. He was graceful in a way that none below ground were, standing out like a sore thumb amongst this transient lot. He stopped at the end of the table, took his hat off and held it to his chest respectfully. Such niceties weren’t expected down here, but messengers were required to accustom themselves to London manners. It was part of the job. Men like him spent more time above ground in fine houses than any of them. Blackall beckoned him to his side. The young man scuttled over and kneeled down breathlessly.

  “Speak,” Blackall ordered.

  “Sir,” he said, “I bring news of the girl.”

  Blackall flinched in shock, despite his usual guarded nature. How on earth could word of her capture have travelled so soon? The girl must have an employer then, a truly efficient one.

  “What do you know? Speak!” He growled.

  His tone startled the young messenger, as well as the rest of the table. Everyone at the table went silent and the messenger’s face turned deathly white.

  “Twas...twas in all the papers, sir,” he said, his voice shaking. “N-Nancy Pritchett, the young girl as was murdered... by the Ripper.”

  A wave of understanding washed over Blackall. But relief mixed with disappointed, for it’d seemed he was about to have the mystery of the strange girl’s presence explained. For now, she remained a problem he must solve. He growled inwardly, but kept his composure.

  “Well. What news do you bring?”

  “Lieutenant Kenward sends word that he has completed his inquiries,” the messenger said, regaining his composure and pulling a note out of his pocket with swift, efficient fingers. “He’s given the sum you requested to the girl’s parents.”

  Blackall took the note and dismissed the man with a nod and wave of his hand. Reading it, he was unsurprised at it’s contents, finding it contained information he’d heard dozens of times before. The men became merrier with ale, the room growing louder as they swayed and fumbled. Some stood dubiously, while others hunched comedically over their tables in conversation. But his thoughts remained fixed.

  Before long, a nervous Daveye was led into the hall. There was a sense of refinement to the man that made stood out amongst others. A sense of fine things, but also of failure and heartbreak. His face was grave and drawn. He glanced in Blackall’s direction warily, avoiding eye contact.

  Blackall stood and motioned for Daveye to follow him. He passed through the hall and down a side corridor, his cape billowing behind. Daveye followed closely, his expression wilted. The hallway was long and dark. There were guards stationed sporadically along the walls where rough iron candelabras poured waxy clumps onto the ground. Blackall stopped in front of a door, picking up a candle before they entered. Daveye followed nervously into the dark. He made to shut the door behind them, but Blackall waved his hand through the air, and the door shut on it’s own.

  Daveye swallowed hard. He’d heard tell of Blackall’s strange ways, of his black arts done down here in these loathsome, festering realms. But he’d always assumed it was superstitious nonsense designed to intimidate Blackall’s enemies. But now, he knew it was true. The candlelight fluttered below Blackall’s face, lighting his features ghoulishly. His eyes glared like pinholes. Daveye shuddered to be alone in the dark with such an envoy of Satan. Who knew what he’d made pact with to receive such powers.

  “Well?” Blackall growled.

  “Milord,” Daveye chirped, feeling his hands quiver at his sides. “The Pritchett girl, she was not, that is, her parents... have been compensated. She-”

  “I know that,” Blackall barked.

  “Yes,” Daveye replied awkwardly. “Yes, of course. A-As to the other issue. Your men continue their fervent search for that... old woman.”

  Blackall’s brow furrowed angrily, shadowed lines creeping across his face.

  “That is,” Daveye corrected respectfully. “The Madame. Madame Gurza.”

  Blackall’s shaded eyes stared like two dark holes into eternity. Daveye shuddered, finding it hard to return his gaze. He cleared his throat and tried to focus, realizing his life may depend on it.

  “We search tirelessly milord,” He said. “All of us. We do all we can. And yet, she is most pervasive.”

  Still no movement from Blackall.

  “I... I have exhausted all my contacts,” Daveye continued nervously. “All leads have been checked, most thoroughly. I assure you, sir. I-I...”

  He swallowed hard, considering his words carefully.

  “Perhaps,” he continued, nearly breathless. “Perhaps she cannot be found at this time. Perhaps it is not the time. Perhaps milord should wait. Wait until more information comes. There is only so much that can be done-”

  Blackall growled in exasperation. It was a terrifying, guttural sound. His face twisted into a bestial expression and he threw the candle. Daveye heard the candle’s back break against the ground as it extinguished, leaving them alone in the pitch black. The air was close and stifling. He was blind in the dark. His whole body shook and weakened. He waited for a blow to fall any moment. Surely, he’d feel it any time. He was nearly in tears as he spoke.

  “My lord,” He cried, his voice breaking. “Employ your arts. Consult some dweller of these realms. Surely, some would still be willing!”

  He listened to the darkness. Nothing came. His breaths became gasps.

  �
�Perhaps milord is too... adamant,” Daveye panted, turning circles in the dark. “Could you not achieve all ends on your own, without the Madame?”

  Just then, he felt a rough hand on his neck. He yelped and felt his tongue contract.

  “You shall find information that is useful to me,” Blackall’s voice grunted from the darkness. “Or the deal is off.”

  The ground beneath their feet shook. Daveye noticed it with shock, at first wondering if his knees were failing. But as he heard the door rattle, the terrible, thrilling realization came over him. Blackall’s power was truly real.

  “Milord,” Daveye cried, “If I lose your protection I shall be useful to no one. What good is a dead man?”

  “You are of little use to me already!” Blackall growled.

  Suddenly, the shaking stopped. Daveye heard footsteps in the dark. Dim light poured into the room. Blackall had exited, leaving him alone with his failing courage.

  CHAPTER 4

  Firelight

  Hours passed. Enough time, Annabelle guessed, for Blackall to enjoy a leisurely supper and converse with his associates. But while he sat in comfort, she was stuck here in dust and darkness. She’d been trying to see through the dark for so long that her eyes ached. She was sore all over from sitting on a hard chair. She shuffled her backside to and fro, trying for a comfortable position. But comfort eluded her. She daren’t stumble around in the room to search for more amenable furniture, assuming she’d likely just knock something over and anger her captors. So she leaned lamely against the desk, it’s edge protruding into her side. She hadn’t seen or heard from anyone in hours, save a scratching mouse. And she was painfully hungry.

  Just as her inward grumbling was turning to despair, the rattle of keys sounded at the door. The men’s return inspired feelings of both fear and relief. They were a rough lot, to be sure. Being in their presence was never pleasant. But perhaps they would feed her. Or at least take her out of this dark office. She held onto hope that they might even let her go.

  The door creaked open. Silhouetted in it’s frame was Mr. Blackall, deflating her hopes. He stomped inside coldly, his presence tensing her whole body. A young boy scuttled around him and set a lantern on the back table, then turned to light a fire while three officers shuffled in behind him. They took up position at the side wall, looming.

  Blackall studied her as he leaned against the hearth, staring directly into her eyes. He seemed to be trying to read something in her face. He stared for a long while, setting her on edge. Then he approached, leaning over her menacingly.

  “Stand up,” he ordered.

  She was in no position to contradict him. So, she stood feebly, steadying herself against the desk while Blackall inspected her closely. He walked around her, poking at her clothes and taking in every inch of her until she felt quite conspicuous. It was humiliating to be so filthy before strange men. So she watched him right back. She could inspect him in detail now, in better light than before. His figure was tall and assuming, and rather unkempt. His hair was unwashed and his clothing shabby. His fingernails were dirty and his hands rough. But his eyes shone intensely blue - they were quite striking, in fact. There was something behind them. Experience. Confidence. Ferocity. But something else, something she couldn’t quite identify.

  “So,” he said, his voice low and raspy, “What have you come to me for?”

  She was taken aback by the question, and terribly confused. Had he not dragged her here himself under lock and key? She searched for a reply, her brow furrowed and her lips made to speak. But she felt so unsure of herself in his presence. She’d never been questioned before, and she’d no idea what kind of a reply he expected. She’d never been in the presence of strange men at all - especially not armed, transient men. Her heart beat so hard that she seemed to be choking on her own tongue. The combination of her nerves, the peril of her situation and the embarrassing state of her frock diminished her confidence to the size of a bean.

  “I, I...”

  “Speak,” he snapped, his eyes narrowing. “And truthfully. Lies shall sink you into deep water here.”

  The men against the wall concurred his statement with a grunt. His reactions were quick and sharp. He was clearly used to dealing with people and getting what he wanted out of them, just one more of his advantages in the situation.

  “I-I’m not sure,” she replied timidly, “What you can mean, sir. Have you not brought me here yourself?”

  He gave her a scrutinizing look.

  “Don’t play games with me, love,” Blackall growled. “Nor with these men here.”

  He motioned back at his companions.

  “They’ll not stand for it, not for a second. And if you think their wrath a fearful thing, wait until you’ve seen mine.”

  The others nodded and chuckled conspiratorially. They stood like threats against the wall, their limbs as solid as tree trunks. When she glanced back at Blackall, the intensity of his gaze seemed to bore through her skull.

  “I was lost,” she replied breathlessly. “That is all. Following you was the only way to find a way out.”

  Blackall scoffed at this reply, skeptical.

  “And just how,” he said coolly, “Did a fine little lady like yourself find her way into those corridors in the first place?”

  He pronounced lady with a sarcasm that she found unnecessarily insulting. Her accent obviously gave her away as being from a higher class. She realized this man had his own ideas of who she was and why she’d been there. She began to feel trapped. Clearly, he wouldn’t accept any other explanation than the one he expected. She’d just have to improvise.

  “I, I got lost sir,” she lied.

  At that, Mr. Blackall grabbed her by the hair and pulled. He twisted her neck upwards and brought his face right down to hers. She squealed involuntarily.

  “I’ll brook no lyin’ from ya, miss,” he hissed, “You lie once more an it’ll bring trouble on ya. The kind pampered little chits like you never imagined in the whole of their life.”

  His breath smelled faintly of beer. It masked the dank smell of this place momentarily as his face bent over hers. Her neck burned where he pulled her hair. He held her head at a painful angle, so that her neck was bent all the way back. He glared down at her hatefully, his teeth borne. She said nothing, only whimpered at the pain. She’d no idea what to say, for she’d tried truth and lies alike.

  “It’s clear you’re from a fine house,” Blackall said, tensing his grip, “But that won’t save your skin down here.”

  He released her and she fell backwards into the chair. She grasped the back of her neck, rubbing the most painful area. One of the men against the wall held a mug of ale. As she sat reeling, he threw it in her face. She gasped at the impact of the bitter liquid, scandalized by their behavior. The men burst into uproarious laughter as she sputtered and spit. She was beginning to feel quite angry, for they’d no reason to do such a thing. Other, of course, than innate barbarism. But dread was rising up in her. For they were expecting a story she didn’t have.

  She wiped the ale out of her eyes with a sleeve. It came back black from the dust on her face. Using both sleeves and her withered handkerchief, she wiped herself daintily, wracking her brain for a plan. Her thoughts ran frantically round the situation. What could she tell them? What did they wish to hear? It was true she’d been lost, but that wasn’t the reason she’d ended up down in those strange tunnels. This man Blackall seemed to have an acute sense of the truth. Perhaps she should just tell him the truth, if not all of it. Her handkerchief trembled in her unsteady hands as she watched him pace.

  “Someone kidnapped me,” she said, breathing deeply to calm herself. “They struck me and brought me to that place. I woke up there alone. When they didn’t return, I wandered into the corridors, and got lost.”

  But Blackall’s expression had already changed. He was staring at her, his eyes wide with shock. He looked out of sorts, like a man out of his mind or an inmate from an asylum. The r
oom fell silent. She grew afraid, for she’d no idea if he was angry. Or if he might strike her. She looked to the other men. They seemed equally confused by their master’s behavior, for he just stood over her staring.

  Blackall turned away to the fire. It illuminated his silhouette as he stood, deep in thought. Then, after several moments of silence, he turned and addressed his men. His voice was less forceful than before, but still stern.

  “Out, all of ya,” he said.

  The men glanced at each other confusedly, but none were willing to disobey their master. So they sidled out of the room begrudgingly as if their fun had been spoilt.

  Once they’d gone, Blackall turned and focused his eyes back on her. He held her in his gaze as the fire crackled behind, his look wide-eyed and unreadable. But she couldn’t seem to hold his gaze for long. She dropped hers down to the floor, tucking her hands beneath the folds of her skirt to mask their trembling.

  “Look at me,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

  She dragged her eyes upward shyly. Her chest pounded. She couldn’t hold his gaze. It was so fearsome that it made her pulse rush. His countenance felt like a thousand-year oak tree towering over her. And surely, it was not ladylike to stare at a man.

  “I said, look at me,” he demanded.

  The severity had reentered his voice, startling her into obedience. So she looked up and found herself caught in a gaze that seemed to drink her in. His eyes reflected firelight as he studied her. There was almost an expression of alarm as he watched her, a fear in his eyes that confused her. His look was so intense that she shook beneath it. She wished anything might happen, if it would break the silence and lift his focus from her. For it seemed he could see straight through her.

  “Sir,” she murmured, her voice a tiny gasp.

  The sound broke his concentration, and his eyes drifted away, slowing her heartbeat somewhat. He sat down at the desk, his assuming form out of place behind such a small, muted thing.