“Yes. But beyond the hedonistic aspect of Dashwood’s‘Order of the Friars of St. Francis’with worship to Bacchus and Venus, the Marquess had a fascination for demons, devil rituals and the veneration of Satan.”
“Dashwood’s group never went that far.”
“No. Dashwood and his cronies were against popery, and were all for having drunken orgies in priests' vestments, but not into devil worship, despite the group’s nickname. Our father, before he died, often said he regretted he’d allowed one of his daughters to marry Darkford. Not knowing he was a man with those proclivities.”
“As a clergyman, I imagine he would be. So, what happened? How did he end up dead in one of his rituals?”
“From what Cassie observed—”
“Cassie?” Lakehurst asked, pouncing on the name. He liked it.
Ellinbourne smiled. “Sorry, that is her family’s pet name for her. From what Cassandra observed that night, her husband was not the leader—at least not that night. Another man was, a tall man—”
Lakehurst groaned. “Like me,” he said flatly.
Ellinbourne shrugged. “I don’t know. Remember, Darkford was tall as well. She said he wore a dark red cape with a hood that shadowed his face and wore a black mask. They all did. She said this leader had a deep, husky voice, and he was the only one that seemed… normal.”
“Normal?” Lakehurst asked.
“Yes. Not drunk or drugged. The others appeared to be under the influence of something else. She didn’t think it was either alcohol or laudanum. Something else.”
“Like Mesmer’s animal magnetism? I could see that being one of Darkford’s interests.”
Ellinbourne shrugged. “I don’t know. More like the Abbé Faria’s theories and practices. All I know is what Cassandra told me. They seemed to be under the command of this one man, however that was done, and they moved as if they were sleepwalking.”
“How many were there?”
“Cassandra said she only saw four, which was surprising, as she knew his‘meetings’normally had at least twenty members plus assorted‘angels.’”
“Prostitutes.”
Ellinbourne nodded. “That night, Darkford told her to lock herself in her suite of rooms and to keep Alex with her.”
Startled, Lakehurst looked up from the coffee he’d been about to finish. “Darkford feared for her?”
Ellinbourne spread his hands out. “That would be my guess,” he said grimly.
Lakehurst set his cup down. His brow furrowed as he studied Ellinbourne. “What happened?” he asked harshly. This went beyond what he could have imagined. Knowing what was in his book, he dreaded listening, but listen, he must.
“They came for her,” Ellinbourne said. “Possibly for Alex as well; however, she’d made him take some laudanum and hid him in the priest hole that was in the corner of her sitting room behind a cabinet.”
Lakehurst shook his head and breathed in deeply. He tried to imagine her fear. The kind of fear he wrote about; but he wondered if his words could ever do justice to the terror she must have felt that night.
“Cassandra tried to fake an escape through the hidden passage that led from Darkford’s bedroom to the outside and instead hid under his bed, but somehow, she didn’t fool the leader. He dragged her out from under the bed and had two of the other men hold her while he forced her to drink some nasty potion. The next thing she remembered is being in a large cavern lit with torches along the walls. It was where Darkford and his friends conducted their meeting rituals.”
“Why didn’t she run through the passage to escape?”
“She didn’t want to leave Alex behind.”
Lakehurst nodded.
“When I learned of Darkford’s death, I journeyed to Baydon to get her and Alex and bring them to London. I visited the cave. Darkford had had the caves decorated years before, when he started his club, to resemble a cross between a ruined church, a gentlemen’s club, and a brothel. There was a stone altar with metal rings pounded into it at the ends, which is where they laid her down and tied her in place.”
Lakehurst grabbed his head between his hands. “Bloody hell,” he swore. “Like my novel.” His stomach churned against the coffee he’d drunk, acid rising in his throat.
Ellinbourne nodded. “Y-yes,” he said slowly. “Very close. But where you had a demon-possessed man with a branding iron for the devil’s mark, this man, who had her tied to the altar, had a knife to carve the sigil on her left shoulder above her breast,” Ellinbourne said grimly.
Lakehurst raised his head. “What!” he exclaimed. His loud exclamation drew heads turning in their direction. “Please tell me he was not successful.”
