Chapter 1
Kel Fletcher was looking down at a body lying in a pool of blood.
Good Lord! Had he killed someone? It had been a rough night, a bottle and a half of Blue Ruin and a few games of hazard that left him owing a fortune. How would he ever pay it?
Jeffries had warned him. ’Steady on Kel, old chap. Your luck’s not in tonight. Time you went home.’
But he had ignored his old friend – to his cost. The dice challenged him to hold his nerve, and Kel never could resist a challenge, so there was nothing for it but to keep playing. The pretty woman in the blue dress and ostrich feathers was hovering. If he had been ahead of the game she would have been his, and the night would have ended very differently, but it soon became obvious that there was no chance of that. She shrugged her pretty shoulders and moved on with a fleeting look of regret.
When the scores were tallied Jeffries took him by the arm as he rose from his chair, staggering slightly. ’Let’s go. I have a cab waiting. Come to my house and sleep it off.’
But he had pushed Jeffries away and stumbled out into the night. The gin and thoughts of loss of his meagre fortune to the money lenders propelled him through the streets in a mood of dark despair. Tonight his cramped rooms would feel like a tomb, but the thought of lying peacefully in one of those dark vaults beneath London became suddenly appealing. Suicide? Many had taken that way out, but Kel was no coward. He had options. Sign up on an Indiaman going east. Fortunes were being made on the subcontinent, why should he not share in the riches his countrymen were steadily looting from the Mughal princes?
No, that was not the answer. Riches were not certain, but battle was, and there was no guarantee he wouldn’t end up with his head paraded around on the end of one of those glittering Mughal swords. The grim thoughts persisted. The only way out tonight was oblivion. The half bottle of gin weighed heavily in his coat pocket. He would go home, finish the grog and then sleep it off. Tomorrow was another day. Who knew what it would bring?
Tonight the London streets were mist-locked. There were people about, but in the fog they mostly appeared as spectres, hunched forward, heads down, scurrying away into the night with a purpose. The fog swirled about his knees. Twice Kel missed his step and almost lurched into a filthy ditch. He must hold on. If he fell now he might not be able to get up. Where were the blasted link boys with their burning torches?
Then one of the spectres separated from the shadows to reveal a womanly shape with skirts of the common sort, not the elegant silhouette of a lady of class, nor the extravagantly flounced and frilled version preferred by women of another kind. A woollen shawl was tied tightly over her shoulders and around her waist, while a grey bonnet covered her head and hid her face. This one was no doxy then, probably a respectable servant on her way to market. But in the dark?
Nevertheless, the sight of another human who appeared to have a definite purpose was comforting. ‘Hey, ma’am. Are you not lost in the fog? I am.’ He belched loudly, instantly regretting the mix of gin and eel pie.
‘No, sir, I’m not lost. Come with me. I can guide you to safety.’
Despite the alcoholic haze his mind quickly registered a warning. He was being lured into a trap of some sort. To a dark alley, perhaps, where he would be stripped of his fine coat with the gold buttons, his shiny boots and the shirt with the lace cuffs. They’d never get his tight breeches off. That was a consolation. But someone would find his half-naked body in the morning, throat cut and bare skin coated with blood, the rats already nibbling at the end of his fingers. Dear God. The thought quickly sobered him.
‘I thank you, but I have no need of an escort. Just tell me where I am, if you please.’ He still had his cane, the one that contained a very sharp pincer blade. If necessary he would use it. The slight woman was no threat, but no doubt there were others lurking near and ready to take him on. Well, they would regret it.
‘Sir, won’t you let me help you? There’s a small chapel nearby. It’s dry and sheltered. God will protect you there and keep you safe.’
The woman’s voice was cultured. This was unexpected. Was she a puritan or a Quaker off to worship? Perhaps he had lost track of time and the pious were already making their way through the city to morning prayer. Her hands were neatly clasped at her waist in an attitude of simple obedience. But why was she alone? Surely he was hallucinating.
Kel weighed his options. He could continue to stumble through the labyrinth that was London, or follow this woman to chapel. If he was set upon – his purse was empty and the clothes he wore – well, they were not so fine, already the lace ruffles were a little outdated. A more austere fashion had swept the gentry, and he had often been taken to task for clinging to his wide-cuffed coat. To the devil with them. He would dress as he pleased. Kel took another swig of the gin. The clothes hanging in his armoire at his rooms would have to do. There was no money now, and he would get no more credit from his tailor.
‘Sir? Just follow me. It’s not far.’
Her shapely form was a little less clear now as she moved ahead of him. There was no reason to follow her to some cold chapel where he might be forced to listen to a prayer meeting with a priest droning through an unintelligible sermon. A cheap inn with the familiar stench of beer-swill and tripe and onions simmering on the cooking fire, that would have definitely suited him better. On the other hand he was tired, and still not sure exactly where he was. If the chapel had wide pews he might find a quiet corner to sleep off his drunken stupor until morning.
A rough stone arch marked the entrance to the chapel. Although the interior was dim it was strangely warm, and as he followed the woman inside he felt an immediate sense of relief. Here was shelter, enfolding him in comfort and safety. An oil lamp on the altar gave just enough light for Kel to make out his surroundings: heavy oak pews, a simple altar with unlit candles. The dark corners suggested shadowy carved figures, and the tall windows might have been lit with brilliant colours in the daylight. The chapel was ancient, perhaps a relic from a pontifical age, or even earlier. The arch, he noted rather pointlessly, was distinctly Roman.
Kel sank gratefully into one of the pews and pulled the flask from his pocket, but the gin was liquid fire and it scorched his innards. Quickly, he stoppered it and put it away.
Without so much as another word the woman fell to her knees before the altar. In the dim light he could see little more of her than he had in the fog. She remained on her knees for some time and he soon began to fall into a fitful doze. Kel had no recollection later of how long he might have slept, but he woke with a hand shaking his shoulder.
Now it seemed the fog had entered the chapel, for everything was softly focussed. He tried to stand, hoping to get his head above the miasma, but his legs would not respond and it was then that he became aware of the body lying next to him on the floor. The body was familiar, but not so the steadily widening pool of blood. He bent low, trying to get a look at the face of the man lying so deathly still. Then the truth hit him like one of boxer Jackson’s punches. The body before him was none other than himself.
Strangely, once the initial shock was over Kel was able to think calmly, and he began to feel a welcome sense of peace. Was he dead? How had it happened? But the events of the evening had been absorbed like smoke into the shadowy world.
If this was death it was not at all how Kel imagined it to be. It was gentle and welcoming, not sudden all-enveloping blackness. Were the God-botherer’s right then? He had always dismissed religion as a lot of poxy nonsense spouted by people who sought to control society with inflexible rules, but now he might have to reassess his ideas.
The pool of blood was still widening. Soon it would stop; he’d seen enough death on the battlefield to know that when the heart stopped beating the blood stopped flowing.
Now he noticed that he, the one looking down on the body, was still wearing his jacket and the white shirt with the lace cuffs. His cravat had gone, so there must have been a struggle. Was he a ghost? Would he now just walk away and haunt the streets of London for a dismal, befogged eternity? Immediately after this thought he was aware of a great crowd moving towards him, coming to gather him into their midst and carry him with them. London ghosts. Yes. They were there alright, hovering in dark doorways, waiting in lanes, sitting on the banks of the Thames watching their bodies float by. They were reaching out for him to join them, to become just another shape constantly forming, dissolving, and reforming in the mists. The strange woman who had led him there got up from her knees and followed them, disappearing slowly into the night. Was he meant to go with her?
To Hell with that. I’m not ready to go.
Someone was leaning over him, at least over his body, loosening his shirt, looking for the wound. It was Bill Barnes, his so-called valet. Good old Bill; they’d stayed together through thick and thin, once a captain and his sergeant, now brothers born of slaughter. What would Barnes do without him? Find a comfy little woman with an inn or a bakery and settle down? Probably. Suddenly that seemed like a wonderful alternative. An uncomplicated life, with children perhaps, and simple pleasures.
Kel tried to speak to him, but Barnes too was soon swallowed by the mist.
Well, there’s no help for it. I must go with that shadowy crowd.
A pity. There was so much left to be done. The thought struck him that he had little in the way of worldly goods, but if he did, he’d gladly give it all away for another attempt at setting things right.
Then Kel felt as if he’d been doused with iced water and he became sharply aware of his physical surroundings. He was lying on the cold stone floor of a chapel and someone had lit candles. They were almost burnt to the sockets, but there was enough light to see the figure standing near. Not Barnes now, someone taller and leaner, with fiery red eyes.
Oh, so that’s how it’s to be. The Devil himself has come for me.
The Devil Diamond is now out on Amazon, including Kindle Unlimited.