Chapter 12

“More than one death? What do you mean?” asked Johnny.

“That figurine her ladyship mentioned has been a source of trouble and intrigue for some time, but I will get to that in due course. Perhaps, more importantly, at least to me, is that the letter suggests her ladyship’s state of mind, which is what troubled me most after her return. She became a study in contradictions. She was at times filled with anger and rage. I would find her staring off into space with a look that surprised me. Lines of hatred that I’d never seen would crease her face. One day when I saw that expression, I asked if I could be of help. She said, ‘Stanley, I feel so violated. I’m so angry all the time! I wish I could find out what happened to them. I want to know how much they suffered. Maybe then I can let go of the rage that I feel almost constantly.’

“She got her wish. Arthur showed back up again, but a year after her return from the jungle, and much had happened during that time. She had rammed through a divorce and removed any evidence of the man by dumping all his things in the garbage. Her periods of anger had thankfully become fewer, but these were replaced by what I now considered a mystic daze.

“As to the source of her changed personality, I think the drugs her ladyship experimented with had much to do with it. She had begun to collect seeds and plants from many locations. In this, I think she found escape, enlightenment, and relief. I noted her behavioral changes and asked her about the long-term effects of her investigations on both her physical self and her mind. She told me that the majority of her experimental efforts were interesting but of little utility, with one or two exceptions. Those exceptions were what mattered and allowed her to access areas she was keen to explore, which were inaccessible in any other way. Over time, she became thoroughly convinced of two things. First, that she was reincarnated and, second, that the use of certain drugs, particularly those she had learned to prepare under the guidance of various indigenous priests and shamans, were essential to create the states of mind she required to achieve greater awareness. I was less than sanguine at this development. To me, she was charting a course between death on one side and madness on the other. I was frightened for her, but what could I do? She was a grown woman, a keen researcher, and a force in her own right. There was nothing to be done.

“The evening Arthur Blaine returned, her ladyship was at home. We found out that the gruesome revenge she had called down on Arthur, Freddy, and Lord Bromley was not just speculation but real horror visited on real people.

“As with his first appearance, Arthur arrived unexpectedly, this time in the spring rather than the dead of winter. He knocked on the door, which I opened, and there he was. Her ladyship had come out of the drawing room. She recognized him and began screaming. The man cringed. I took him by the arm and hustled him outside. He looked about as if he was going to make a run for it, but I held onto him. He must have arrived on foot, because I saw no car. To me, he looked a bit out of his mind, and I felt pity for him. Harry had heard the ruckus and came running. I told him to take the man and put him up in one of the rooms above the garage and that I would be there shortly. I had two concerns. The first was to calm her ladyship. The second was to find out the full extent of her ladyship’s revenge from one who knew.

“I opened the front door. She was still standing there, her hand to her mouth. I said, ‘That was Arthur Blaine, of course. I put him up in one of the rooms above the garage. We must know what happened. I will arrange for some food to be prepared and then go see him. Harry is looking after him for now.’

“She snapped out of her trance. ‘Very well’ was all she said and glided back into the drawing room. I went to the kitchen to get a tray made up and prepared myself to hear his story.

“I grabbed a bottle of scotch along with the food. I made my way outside to the garage and up the stairs that led to the rooms above. Arthur was sitting at a small table looking at his hands. He brightened with the sight of food and drink. He was ravenous and told me his story between bites. Here is what I remember him saying. He spoke in bursts of lucidity and tears.

“‘It was Bromley, that bastard. The trap was all his idea. He put Freddy up to it, of course. He just wanted to get Alice and me; well, Alice, actually, in the middle of nowhere, and his plan succeeded admirably. He knew she couldn’t resist the bait of a lost city in the jungle. He had to be clever, though. She wasn’t stupid, but Freddy’s account stood up to a great deal of scrutiny, because he enclosed a real letter from a sixteenth-century Ecuadorian version of Father Junipero Serra that had been buried in the Vatican stacks for ages. God knows how Bromley had gotten the document out of there, but in the end, Alice decided it was genuine and worth a gamble based on the contents. The problem, we later discovered, was that the city we searched for was nowhere near the location the priest had indicated.

“‘Instead, we found Bromley. Alice didn’t have a chance, and I could do nothing. He had hired a bunch of thugs, and we were in the middle of a jungle far from civilization. Tropics are not my forte, I can tell you — give me desert any day. We were trapped. Alice had driven him to display such cunning. He must have been consumed with paying her back, and he did so. He took her to his bed that night and every night. She screamed a lot at first, then not so much. Eventually, I figured, when in Rome, and so did Freddy. I’m not proud of what I did, but we paid the price. Did we ever pay!’

“Blaine broke into tears now. They stopped once he had a shot of whiskey, which I made sure he had aplenty. He gave his nose a blow and carried on.

“‘That Bromley, he was a careful file. He had Alice watched, so she couldn’t escape, but he underestimated her. In the midst of her captivity, she had found something we overlooked. Not too far from our base camp, which was set up near a river, was a series of mounds. She called them tolas. They were burial spots, and since they were untouched, she convinced us to do some excavating. That woman wasn’t going to waste an archeological opportunity, regardless of the circumstances. She sure loved a dig. She made her case to us all and convinced us that gold was the least of the treasures buried right next door, if we had a mind. I was the one who found it. Lucky that — anyone else would have missed it: a raw emerald as big as your fist, buried in the dirt. The gem was held by a carved figurine. Alice insisted the figure and the stone not be separated. I could understand that, so I convinced Bromley to leave the thing as it was. It didn’t really matter one way or the other until we got back to civilization. How the stone got to that place, I don’t know, but there it was. There were gold pieces and smaller emeralds, but the big one held my interest. Most have impurities. This one looked highly transparent. The stone might yield two or three very special pieces. Cut right and marketed well, they were worth a small fortune. Bromley, I think, had it in mind from the beginning that the find belonged to him. That idea didn’t sit well with Freddy and me. We began to argue about what should be done. There was discord in the camp. Even the hired men started getting uppity. Riches from the earth scramble the minds of men. Bromley had to order them off at gunpoint — all except two to help us. We moved our camp closer to the dig, which was a more defensible position. In our excitement, we forgot about Alice, and that was our undoing. She seemed so subdued, but she must have been plotting all the time. She saw her chance and took it. She served us drinks each night, which thrilled his lordship no end. He loved to have her ladyship do the work of a servant. She did not protest and was grand. Then one night, she slipped us something. The drug she used launched us on an express elevator to hell that lasted for days.’

“Here he broke down and blubbered some more until I shook him and gave him another drink. He got back on track.

“‘I lost my mind. I couldn’t say for how long. I just remember that I experienced such pain and fear that it’s a wonder I’m not insane. Well, maybe I am…a little. I must have been out for days. What woke me was pain. Ants were stinging and biting me all over. I scrambled to the river and dove in to get them off. I hurt so bad, all I could do was weep. I got out after the stinging stopped and started to look about. The tents were gone. Little remained of the camp other than garbage strewn about. Off to one side, I saw Freddy. Something had eaten him. I have no idea what, but whatever it was had gnawed great chunks out of his arms and legs. Bugs were feeding on what remained.’

“He began to weep some more. I shook him until he stopped.

“‘Freddy was dead. He had no eyes, just empty sockets. I looked around for Bromley…anyone, really. I found him staring at a tree trunk. I touched his shoulder, and he launched himself at me, throwing us to the ground. His face was a contorted mask of pain and rage. I screamed, and he seemed to recognize me. He stopped and got off. I knew we needed to get to a place to recover and take stock. I spoke with him and soothed him, but he was still in a bad place. He would stand in front of the odd tree and rub his hands together, over and over, like a field mouse or squirrel. I let him be and rummaged about until I found some leftover food. I’m not sure if that had been left deliberately or was simply overlooked in the scattered remains of our camp. I buried Freddy as best I could, but the river got him in the end. I spent several days nursing Bromley back into some semblance of health, when the rain began — not just any rain, but a deluge. The river rose, and we had to move to escape the flood. We became trapped on the wrong side of the river. Our situation became desperate. I cobbled together what I could, and we made our way downstream until we stumbled into a village. We collapsed there. They were humans, at least. They must have pitied us, because they gave us food and water. I caught some sickness and could go no farther. I started to waste away in a fever-driven delirium that was almost as bad as what I experienced back at the camp. I recovered, but only after months. Bromley must have regained his strength and decided to press on rather than wait for me. When I finally came to, he was gone.’

“Arthur then passed out on the table with his head in his arms. Before he did so, he gave me one last fact. Lord Bromley had made his way back to civilization, because he had left a note for Blaine at the American Express office in Quito. He wrote that he owed Arthur his life and that he was off to Europe. The postscript said that she would be paid back in kind, even if it took him all of eternity.

“I left Arthur asleep and went to tell her ladyship. I had been hoping that Lord Bromley had died in the jungle, but no such luck.

“When Arthur Blaine awoke the next morning, I informed him of the divorce. He nodded to himself. He said he expected that and would be on his way. He mumbled that he had money, so not to worry. Harry drove him to the train station, and that was the last I saw of him.

“Her ladyship’s comment was: ‘So, he’s still alive. Shit. We had best watch ourselves.’ I agreed, of course, but the question was how…”