“Hang on a minute,” Mornaday objected. “Where is Veronica? It isn’t like her to be out of the thick of things.”
“But this isn’t the thick of things, is it?” Stoker asked pleasantly. “Surely the climax of our adventure will come at Plumfield.”
“You mean she’s gone ahead and left you to do the heavy lifting?” Mornaday guffawed. “J. J. is en route there as well. Women!”
Stoker made a noncommittal noise that might have been agreement, and after another brief silence there came the deep, protesting groan of ancient machinery as it was coaxed to life. “This really was the most advanced technology of its time when it was installed,” Wilfred was explaining to Mornaday as the lift jerked into motion. We moved slowly down, down, down into the depths of Plumtree’s until we came to a shuddering stop. The plinth must have been on wheels, for there came a few deep thuds—wooden blocks being kicked aside, I imagined—and then the casket began to roll. There was a rough bump as it was conveyed onto the train, then the rattle of chains as the plinth was secured.
“Right as rain,” Wilfred called happily. “Tight as a parson’s arse, as my father used to say.”
I stifled a snort of laughter—the things men will say when they believe themselves alone is endlessly astonishing—and Stoker swiftly covered it with a cough.
“Everything all right there, Mr. Templeton-Vane?” Wilfred called.
“Just a frog,” Stoker assured him.
Another pause and then Mornaday, with a note of surprise. “Aren’t you coming, Stoker?”
“I will follow,” Stoker told him vaguely. “Someone must function as rearguard.”
“Better you than me, old son,” Mornaday said, and I could hear the grin in his voice. “But it is best for the professionals to be at the sharp end of the action, and I shouldn’t like for you to get in the way when I bring in a murderer.”
Stoker gave a low growl and Mornaday laughed in response. “See you on the other side, Templeton-Vane!”
What followed was a pair of raps upon the casket. Just twice, the two short knocks being the signal Stoker and I had devised so that I should know when we were to be parted and I was consigned to the care of Mornaday and Wilfred. We had agreed that Julius Elyot would remain with Stoker. They would travel to Plumfield by road, arriving perhaps a quarter of an hour after our little train—enough time to execute a flanking manoeuvre and close the trap behind Eliza. She would require a wagon and a pair of porters to remove the casket from Plumfield. When I sprang out at her in surprise, she would no doubt then mean to flee, only to find her way blocked by Stoker with Mornaday on hand to apprehend her. Mornaday had long since proven himself trustworthy, but if he knew I lay in the casket, he might well be distracted, thus potentially giving away my presence when Eliza Elyot made her appearance.
Ifshe made an appearance, I reflected grimly. There was always the possibility that she had not seen J. J.’s piece in theHarbinger, or—having seen it—she may well have intuited a trap and come prepared to meet with peril. A criminal is a canny creature, I had often observed, with a capacity to smell danger in the air. But I would not entertain such thoughts; I could not. I must keep myself focused upon the matter at hand, although the potential for calamity was perhaps greater than any other endeavour we had undertaken. To fail was unthinkable.
Stoker must have moved away during my reverie, for there was amurmured exchange of masculine voices and then the deep, basso profundo growl of the steam engine as it was stoked to life. I heard the scrape of the coal shovel and the roar of the fire. The little train shook with the effort of moving away from the mortuary, but after several minutes and a good deal of swearing by Wilfred, it began to inch forwards.
“We are away!” Wilfred cried happily.
Mornaday said nothing, but I heard the steady scrape of the shovel as he fed coal to the engine. We moved faster down the line, gaining speed as we left the mortuary behind and turned towards the west and Plumfield. The journey was even more harrowing than the first, for the Stygian darkness of the previous trip was nothing compared to the complete absence of light within the casket. There was an odd sensation of weightlessness as we were borne along; I felt insubstantial as a feather, drifting between worlds until at last, with a long, grinding shriek of brakes, we slackened speed to approach the little platform at Plumfield.
“Here we are,” Wilfred called as the train rolled to a stop. “Jump off just there and make certain I’ve stopped where I ought, please.”
“A little forwards,” Mornaday shouted.
“Right you are,” Wilfred shouted back, but the words were cut off sharply, and I heard Mornaday’s exclamation of horror as a tremendous thud shook the train.
“Plumtree!” Mornaday’s voice was distant now, and I realised we were moving away from the station, back in the direction of the mortuary.
Suddenly, we were gaining speed again, and I understood with dreadful and certain clarity exactly what had happened. So it was no surprise to me some minutes later when the tarpaulin was untied and the silk shroud removed and a voice spoke to me through the glass.
“At last!” Eliza Elyot proclaimed.
CHAPTER
29
Some women, when faced with a murderous madwoman who has mistaken one for the object of her scientific obsession, might succumb to hysterics. But I was made of sterner stuff. In the short time between the sound of what I could only presume was Wilfred Plumtree’s unconscious body hitting the floor of the train to Eliza Elyot’s tearing away of my shroud, I realised the necessity of maintaining the fiction that I was the Beauty. That element of surprise was my only advantage in a confrontation with her, and I was deeply aware of the fact that it was not only my own safety that rested in my slender hands.
From the shouts behind us, I had deduced that Mornaday had been left behind on the platform and that Plumtree was still aboard, wounded or perhaps worse. My every instinct was to rise up and throw myself into battle, attacking Eliza and taking her unawares. In the meantime, as we steamed our way back through the darkness to Plumtree’s, I considered the circumstances. J. J. was at Plumfield—although Mornaday’s shouts would no doubt have roused her attention and even now they were most likely in pursuit. But the tunnel was black as a devil’s heart, and the way was unfamiliar. It would be only too easy for them to mistake a turning and find themselves plunged into a maze of impenetrable gloom. Icould not depend upon them for assistance, and, I reflected bitterly, Stoker was even now en route to Plumfield with Julius Elyot. He would arrive at the graveyard without knowing Eliza had anticipated our arrival and somehow concealed herself in the tunnel, leaping aboard and incapacitating young Wilfred to seize control of the little train. She had timed it perfectly, waiting until Mornaday had jumped off, leaving herself only Wilfred to deal with.
Poor Wilfred! I could not contemplate his current state with anything like equanimity. If he still lived, I owed it to him to give him whatever protection I could, and I vowed that stalwart young man would come to no further harm on my watch.
As such thoughts raced through my mind, I felt the train slowing once more. I had expected Eliza to return us to Plumtree’s, but it suddenly occurred to me that she might have secured another spot to remove the casket, an eventuality that struck horror into my heart. It would be difficult enough for anyone to trace us from the mortuary, but if Eliza had some other lair, I would have no one to rely on but myself. I shuddered to think what might become of young Wilfred if much time passed before he was discovered.
I had to know where we were bound, and as Eliza must be working the controls, I ventured a glimpse, opening my eyes slowly. To my astonishment, I met Wilfred’s gaze. He was holding his head, blood pouring through his fingers, shock writ upon his features. He was ghastly pale, and what little colour remained drained straight away as he looked at me.