The Untold Tales of Dolly Williamson Page 17

  “Grab a box, sheep dip. Gas masks only filter out gas. If there is no oxygen in the room, you will still pass out," Jimmy growled as he slapped him in the back of his head.

  When Jimmy walked in, they still had not completed smelting all the gold. There were four full crates, far more than the 1,450 the counterfeit paper work showed. Then the gangster realized they would strike the new ingots first before paying off the help with the gold. The gold was in various stages, some still guineas, some cooling in molds and more in a crucible in the furnace.

  "Grab those crates," yelled Jimmy. He and Rooftop grabbed a crate by its rope handle and carried it out to the truck.

  On his way back in, Jimmy stood on the cop's neck. "Any bloke looking to be a hero will get his medal posthumously."

  “I hear ya, mate,” moaned the cop.

  The four men made the second trip from inside the shop to the back of the truck. Jimmy grabbed a handful of the gold guineas and shoved them in his pocket. After he threw the last crate onto the bed of the truck, he and Rooftop stalked over to the policemen and the workers on the ground and put a fuinea in each of their pockets. “Now you blokes may think about jumping up and taking the bag off your head… but don’t do it. Not until you don’t hear the rumble of my car boiler. Cause I’ll be looking out the window with my pistol pointed back at you and will shoot whoever moves.”

  After leaving them with that thought, Jimmy jumped into the back of the vehicle. With a hiss of steam as the bypass vented and re-pressurized the piston, the lorry and Sir Francis Chilton's gold drove away.

  * * *

  10:05 PM, Pilton Road

  Dolly waited, positioned in the driver’s seat of the steam cruiser, and Detective Burton providing back-up in the passenger seat.

  Dolly watched Rose walk across the street. It was hard to miss a woman wearing pants, let alone one striking such a confident stride, and then of course, there was the harness she rigged up to access her adventuring gear.

  “Well, that one sticks out like dog's balls. Is that Sister Rose?” asked Burton.

  "Indeed, it is. She sent me a wire-type of her discovery, the location of Angelica du Haiti at 412 Pilton Road,” replied Dolly.

  “Well, let’s get in there,” implored Burton as he went for the door of the carriage to get out.

  Dolly grabbed his arm. “We are going to give her a little time to souse out the situation.” On one hand, Dolly was being truthful. Rose was better suited to confronting the sorceress. On the other, he wanted to give Rose the time she needed to learn what she wanted from Angelica. He felt he owed her that, given that she tipped him off to the location. He would be feeling a lot more comfortable if he was sitting next to Keane. He rarely felt fear, or such a lack of control, but he was going up against an enemy who could bend people to her will and turn friend into foe. Maybe Rose would get further reasoning with her. He could give Rose five minutes before he went in to arrest Angelica.

  The senior detective observed Rose as she stopped in the road then used her goggles to look up and down the street before continuing into the house.

  Burton interrupted the silence in the car. "You know that we all think you a little batty and verging on the heretical consorting with her."

  There’s that judgment again, just like Keane. Maybe rather than conceal the truth, I should share it. Dolly opened up to the young detective. “I keep a confidential journal, mainly to check my sanity, but it also serves me if I am required to share some of the strange and fantastic things I have dealt with. Included are my notes from the St. Anthony Home for Boys.”

  "You worked the Milton affair?" replied Burton, who was the newest addition to the detective branch and not even a street constable when Dolly worked the case.

  "I did. I was a Sergeant. This was before the detective’s branch. We were pulling boys out of the rivers, all strangled, between the ages of eight and twelve. Strange thing was, no one was reporting any missing children. For months, we had nothing, and the frequency of dead boys was increasing. Finally, I had a break when we found two bodies in the same week, one on shore and a floater pulled out by a boat on the river. I had been plotting the body locations and drew a conclusion that the source had to be up stream. I figured it to be a poor house or orphanage, where there was no parent to miss the child. I canvased the city and began looking at two locations, St. Anthony being one. I interviewed Father Milton, and at the time, he seemed like a good bloke, even gave me access to his records, and everything checked out. While I'm there, I run into this young nun, and she tells me that I need to look further into Father Milton. I just assumed that she worked there so I start doing some digging and get a whole heap of pushback from the archdiocese.”

  “They were covering for the priest?’ asked Burton.

  “That's what I thought. I can't get any further access to church records, but I did have a list of his postings at several boys’ homes. Obvious thing to do then was go to the local stations and see if there were similar murders. I saw a pattern of dead boys showing up strangled around the times and places he had been posted. Circumstantial, but a clear pattern.

  “So, I go back to St. Antony’s rectory, where Milton lives, to interview him, see if I can get him to crack. It's in the evening so I give the door a knock, figuring the padre should be home. No answer. I decide to have a look around, and I notice that nun prowling around. Now this is suspicious, a sister in her habit skulking around the rectory, and I see her go down into this cellar in the back of the house. I follow her down, and there is Father Milton, in the process of strangling a boy. I called out to him, but he doesn't even acknowledge I am in the room. I drew my pistol. In those days, I carried a Weiss brothers over and under. I took aim and gave the priest another chance to let go of the boy, but he kept choking him." Dolly rubbed his own throat now, knowing how painful that was for the boy, to be choked by powerful hands.

  “I let loose a shot that hit him square in the chest with a fifty-caliber ball, and he didn't even turn to look at me. He was focused on the nun, who was carrying on with some mumbo jumbo talk. The shot should have dropped a bull. I could see the hole in his chest, and the wall behind him sprayed with blood from the exit wound.

  “I had no idea what these two were up to, but Milton wouldn't stop so I tok two more steps closer and put a second shot point blank into his head. Bam! The shot was true, and the back of his head opened, brains and gore all over the floor, but the bastard was still grinning at the Sister.

  “With no shots left and the priest with two bullets in him and half his head missing, I went into shock. Paralyzed, just standing there, like the village idiot. The nun proceeded to conduct an exorcism. Only then did Milton finally release the boy and descend into a fit, swinging and fighting at something in the room until he burst into flames. At least, that is what I thought I saw. Like I said, I was dumbstruck when my shots did not drop him.

  “Next thing I knew, Sister Rose was pulling me out of the cellar. We both got out and the rectory was consumed in the flames along with Father Milton," finished the senior detective.

  Burton gaped at him. "If you were there, how come the story is that Sister Rose started the fire that killed Father Milton?"

  "That is just how the gossip-mongering has changed the story over time,” replied Dolly.

  "But they excommunicated her,” replied Burton.

  “From what I know, she caused too much of a stir during the papal inquisition. Those cowards booted her out to get distance from her, but she was fine with the outcome. It allowed her to focus on her war against the wicked. Adam, I’m only recounting this story so you’re totally prepared for what you might see tonight. Rose Caldwell has shown me that far more exists in this world beyond what we can see and hear, and that there are forces at work on and off Earth, intending to do harm. Do you want to know what Rose told me went on in that cellar?"

  "Hell yes. You can't tell someone something like that and not finish the tale," whispered Burton, his wool cap bunch
ed in his hands.

  “Rose Caldwell told me that Father Joseph Milton was possessed by the fallen angel Rabdos, now a demon that has the power to stop and alter the paths of the stars. He receives power from strangling humans. There is only one angel with the power to prevent him from succeeding, a seraphim called Brieus.

  “What I witnessed was Rabdos enacting his plan to change the heavens and Rose summoning Brieus to aid her. The two fought, and Milton's corrupted body was consumed in the holy flames the seraphim used to triumph over his enemy. The sickening part is the demon’s power is amplified by making an unwilling agent act against their own morality and nature.” Dolly wondered if Milton was a good man infected and turned against his better nature. If it all began with one moment where he didn’t do something overtly bad, but rather a sin of omission. Could any of us end up suffering the fate of Milton because we weren’t vigilant?

  "Bollocks!" cried Burton.

  "Maybe. I could be mad as a hatter, or perhaps some time in the future you will be required to call on the services of Rose Caldwell because your intellect and a fifty-caliber shot are not enough to bring justice to the realm,” finished the Detective.

  "Well, what do we have here?" said Burton.

  A steam carriage pulled up and parked in front of 412 Pilton Road. Several men exited the back of the carriage along with the driver and approached the flat. The three of them stood for a moment at the front of the house before entering the garden gate as the driver began walking up the street.

  "Two of those blokes are necronists," announced Dolly. “That fella there is Guild Master Saint-Yves, one of the leaders of the necronist guild. I met with him earlier this week on this case, and he offered to help catch Chilton’s killer. I agreed on the condition he inform me of her whereabouts and that I be on hand to arrest her.” The senior detective paused. Dolly checked his pistol, making sure all the caps were in place on the cylinder then placed the pistol back in his shoulder holster. He had made his decision at that cafe table that as much as he felt Angelica deserved to die for what she did to Keane his purpose was to bring her to justice. "Looks like tonight the scales will be removed from your eyes, Adam. Let's check in and make sure that everything in there remains civil between this cast of characters. You go around the block and find the fella who went off on his own then meet me back inside the house.”

  Friday the 16th of April 1858

  8 PM, Moya Plantation, Haiti

  Rose was no longer in London. She was channeled to a time in the past, in a place she had never been. She felt the immense power of Angelica coursing through her. Rose was the Voodoo priestess. She was Angelica, yet not in control, a passenger to see the scene play out yet feeling what Angelica felt and remembered. This wasn’t the first time Rose had this type of out-of-body experience. Her life had been plagued by visions and dreams. The difference this time was it wasn’t while she slept.

  She was sitting at the Moya plantation in the office of Don Hernando. It was hot and humid with the frogs croaking and cicada droning in the trees outside. The windows were open but no breeze provided relief from the humidity. Above her head, a belt drive ceiling fan churned the air with no affect.

  Hernando Moya finished signing the papers, and he handed them back to the solicitor.

  The solicitor notarized the papers. “Don Hernando, that is the last of the documents you wanted drawn up,” said the lawyer. He kept looking at Angelica, coveting her beauty. He likely assumed she was the house help for Don Hernando. Angelica met his gaze then looked back to her needlepoint.

  “Please keep a copy and send the original notarized and witnessed last will and testament to the London and New York office of Chilton, Chilton, Owens and Strathmore,” said Don Hernando without emotion.

  “Very well,” said the solicitor, collecting the documents, putting them in a folio then into his briefcase.

  “Watson will show you out.” Don Hernando rang a bell, and the house man came into the office.

  “Yes, Don Hernando,” said the butler.

  “Show Mr. Foubert out, Watson.”

  “Yes, Don Hernando.” Watson looked in Angelica’s direction and gave a slight bow, not too much to be noticed by Moya or Foubert, but he wanted to be certain Angelica knew the respect he had for her. Watson had been with the house since it was under Don Ernesto and Angelica used to play here as a little girl. Watson was now a free man, liberated by the French government’s decree, and Angelica had returned to her home as the witch queen of Haiti.

  The two men left. Only Angelica and Don Hernando were in the room. She dropped her needlepoint to the floor, and underneath the fabric was the Voodoo fetish of Don Hernando she was using to control him. She walked over to him, pricked his index finger with a pin and used the blood to draw a mouth on the doll. He had control of his mouth again. “You won’t get away with this. The trustee will see through those forgeries.”

  “Hernando, those documents are originals with your signature. They are now your last will and testament and precede these,” she gloated while taking the old will off his desk. At that moment, she took a match from his cigar box, struck it and lit the papers on fire, throwing them at the foot of the curtains.

  “The die is cast, my brother. You chose to go against our father’s wishes. You chose to treat me and my mother as slaves. I am resetting the scales.”

  “You don’t understand, you savage witch. There is a legal system to be contended with. The institutions handling these affairs will see right through this farce.”

  “Hernando, it is that very legal system that I plan to wield against you far more easily than the magic I just used to draft up those papers.” It felt to Rose as if it was her saying the words, but it was indeed Angelica. This had already happened.

  “Come, brother. Come out from behind your big desk and kneel before me.” The curtains began to smolder at the flames from the burning documents.

  Hernando gave every effort to resist. He was sweating and physically struggling against himself. His feet moved as if he wore shoes of lead. Hernando whelped in pain, but slowly moved closer to Angelica as she re-arranged pins in the cloth doll.

  Rose felt the satisfaction of wielding power over this man who had started a string of horrors. First, when her brother showed up for the funeral, she and her mother were locked away in their rooms. She never was given the chance for a proper goodbye. When the doors opened days later, slavers came and took her and her mother away as slaves. Rose was plunged into the fear and pain of Angelica’s two years as a slave, cutting sugar cane in the mosquito-infested fields, living in endless fear and abuse. The mix of her memories, Angelica’s memories, and the experience of the events she was witnessing gave Rose a sick feeling of uncertainty and anxiety, unsure what was her, what was Angelic,a what was now and what was then. She wondered if this was how Preston felt during his possessions.

  “Unbutton your shirt. Take it off,” ordered Angelica.

  Don Hernando unbuttoned his vest, shirt cuffs and shirt as commanded. He threw the clothing to the side, his eyes filled with fear and shock as he watched his body do unthinkable things no matter how hard he resisted.

  “You know, Hernando, this is all your doing. If you hadn’t disowned me as your sister and sold me off to that plantation, I would have grown up here as a privileged Catholic girl, with the guilt of being half-black and profiting from the work of slaves. Instead, my fate was to live as a slave and a savage in the jungle, and yours will be worse than damnation.”

  She walked over to her needlepoint bag and pulled out a spirit siphon, like those Rose had found in Moya and Chilton and a clear glass ball. “Do you have any idea what I am about to do, Hernando?” she asked as she held up the perfect glass orb and the primitive spirit siphon.

  At that moment, Rose realized she could tap into Angelica’s feelings and memories as well as her senses.

  “No, please don’t hurt me. You just said that it was your fate to go to the jungle … to become so powerful. I be
g your forgiveness and pity,” whimpered Hernando.

  Angelica moved in front of the overweight hairy man, soaked in the sweat of fear and no longer the picture of a haughty Portuguese sugar magnate. “Hernando, do you know where you went wrong?

  “I did not honor our father’s wishes… I did not honor our family… You were family” said the Don.

  “You’re still begging, even in your answer,” Rose heard Angelica speak to him. “No, your mistake was that you only saw my mother in me, never our father. You were blind to the half of me that is Moya and more than name. I have the Moya patience, intellect and determination, maybe more than you, and that is why father wanted me to have my birthright. I imagine it took you some time to plan. How long did it take you?

  Hernando just looked up at her, gulping short breaths.

  “How long? I asked,” she repeated.

  “The decision to send you away was a rash one. I did it and consulted with no one. Later, when Chilton asked about you, it was a few months to cover up the evidence of my transgression,” answered Hernando.

  “And your brother’s part?” asked Angelica.

  The situation was surreal for Rose. Her point of view was that of Angelica’s, and she could feel her feeling sense what she sensed, but at the same time, experienced her own feelings as an observer, and she felt terrified for Hernando.

  “It—it was easy to convince Emilio. He’s so lazy and greedy. He was all for me doing what I could to grow and protect his inheritance,” shared Hernando.

  “Your selfish choice took two years of my life as a slave, then a month of running through the jungle to find the Village of the Falls. I did not know if the village was real or just a slave myth, but I decided I would rather die in the jungle looking for it then spend one more day cutting sugar cane,” replied the queen.

  “I’m so sorry. I see you are a Moya. You have our father’s determination.”

  “Never mind your simpering. How did you convince the English bankers?” asked Angelica.