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A week later, Dorian was sitting in the conservatory of the country estate of the Duke of Manhound. He had grown paranoid as of late and decided that a change of scenery would be the best thing to rid him of the nagging feeling of being followed. Wherever he went he imagined seeing the haunting face of James Vane in random windows or doorways.
Lady Helena was describing some philosophical treaty, as well as politics and the state of the Stock Exchange. Dorian had difficulty concentrating upon what she was saying. The tea was served with a selection of moist sandwiches and fruity cakes. His thoughts were drawn again to the window and the forest surrounding the estate. Despite the absurdity of it all, he was quite certain that he had seen a shape hiding behind a large oak tree in the distance. A gardener of some sort, certainly. It was only his imagination that Sibyl Vane’s brother had followed him out to the country and was now stalking around the trees, waiting for the opportunity to kill him.
In his distracted state he had to be prompted multiple times to respond when the Duke invited Dorian to join his shooting party. They would be hunting for quail. Dorian thought it would make a good distraction and it certainly couldn’t hurt to be armed with a gun and cartridges. Shortly thereafter, the two men were afield and striding through the undergrowth engaged in conversation.
Dorian was quite familiar with the Duke and he thought it proper to address him by his first name. “Herbert, how do you find the sport this year?”
“Scarce at best, Dorian. The game is quite sparse this year and I am not sure why. Perhaps the quail have all gone off to the open fields or moved to new ground on the other side of the forest.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Surely you have heard of the attacks occurring in the area? It is likely some feral pack of Bulldogs or some sort, but they have frightened away most of the animals. The Duchess has halted her daily rides. She is quite convinced that her prize mare will be set upon and devoured. The servants and gardeners all avoid the woods at night.”
Suddenly there was a terrified yell and a single shot rang out from deep within the woods. The trees were suddenly filled with snarling and all manner of disturbing sounds. The head-keeper began shouting and organized the beaters into a group.
The men entered the woods together to search for the source of the commotion. Everyone else in the party was ordered to stay back. After an age, the men emerged dragging a bloody, savaged body between them.
A crowd formed with Sir Beamish at the head. They could see the question on his face as he approached. “What on earth could have killed this man in such a way? If it was a Bulldog he might have hit it. Surely, that shot didn’t come from anyone in our line.”
Dorian looked on in horror. The head-keeper called a halt to the day’s hunt and a groundskeeper ran to notify the local constable. Some poor peasant had met their end in the most gruesome of fashions. The scene filled Dorian with a sense of dread and he decided to pack his things at once. He would take the night-express back into town. He could not spend another night in this accursed place.
Back in his room, Dorian was lying down when a knock came at the door. His valet answered and announced that it was the head-keeper who wished to see him. Dorian frowned. “Please do come in Henderson. Have you come about the terrible accident this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dorian picked up his leathered checkbook and jeweled writing pen. “Tell me, was the poor fellow married or had he any dependents? I feel terrible and should like to pay for any necessary arrangements.”
“That’s the worrisome bit, sir. We don’t righ’ly know who he is. T’is why I came to you.”
“Whatever do you mean? He isn’t one of your men?”
“No, sir. Never seen his face a’fore. Looks ta’me like some sorta’ sailor.”
The pen dropped from Dorian’s hand. “A sailor? Did you say a sailor?”
“Yessir. With both arms tattooed, real rough-like and that sort.”
“Was there anything else on him that would give you his name?”
“No sir. He was only carryin’ so’ money an’ a five-shot revolver.”
“You must take me to the body at once!”
“Yes sir, if’n you like. He’s in an empty stable roun’ back. I’ll take your Lordship there.”
Dorian struggled to mask his apprehension as they walked towards the stables. Upon reaching the door he held up a hand indicating that he would go in alone. The stables were darkened and damp, with a window in the corner providing light enough to see by. The body was wrapped in some sacking in the corner of the stall. Dorian came closer to inspect it. The coarse shirt and blue trousers of the man were ripped to shreds and covered with blood and dirt. Dorian shuddered and looked away from the exposed organs and ragged flesh. Flies buzzed around the corpse and the smell of the voided bowels was nearly unbearable. Determined, Dorian clutched his lace handkerchief to his mouth and pulled away the fabric covering the victim’s face. He staggered with relief and a great release of tension rushed from his shoulders. The body was that of James Vane. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he exited the stables, for he knew he was once again safe. The men waiting outside no doubt misinterpreted his crying as tears of sorrow.
Chapter 21.
