EdwardMercer had always approached the Butler’s Room with the deferential decorumthat had been drummed into him from the moment he had arrived at Blackfriars in1908. He would knock lightly, stand back a step with his head slightlybowed and his hands behind his back. But not now—primal instinct insteadof a sense of duty made him kick the door back as hard as he could, sending itflying inwards.
‘What in God’s name!’ Mr Risler exclaimed,leaping up from his chair. He had been quietly reading a newspaper, whichhe dropped to the floor. ‘Mercer!’
Edward saw no need for a politeconversation or explanation. Mary was out there somewhere, waiting forhim. He attacked Risler with the proficiency of a top-class boxer, almostdancing on his heels as he rushed towards him. The speed of the firstpunch lifted Risler clear off his feet, sending him crashing backwards into hiswooden table. Risler yelped and tried to speak, but his mouth met withanother powerful right hook. He tumbled to the ground, curled into afoetal position and covered his face with the squeal of a helpless animal as hebraced himself for the next impact.
Every muscle in Edward’s body was focussedon this moment, channelled by his one-track thought of finding Mary. Hebent down, dragged Risler up by the collar and held his bloodied face justinches from his own. Edward could see fear and panic in Risler’s darkeyes. He could feel his beer-laced breath on his face. ‘Where isshe?’ Edward demanded.
‘Who?’ Risler whimpered. ‘Who?’
Edward let his right hand go, allowing hisleft hand to hold Risler’s dead weight, drew his right arm back and smashed itinto Risler’s face. Edward’s bloody knuckles met his nose with a horriblecrunch. ‘Where is she?’ He could see that Risler’s panic wasgrowing and his resolve was shrinking. Edward drew back his hand again,ready for the next punch.
‘Stop, please,’ he begged. ‘Itwasn’t my idea.’
Edward let Risler go and watched as hefell to his feet, like some pathetic beggar. ‘Please.’
‘Where is she?’
‘The folly,’ Risler spat.
With a jerking movement, Edward pushedRisler backwards, sending him crashing to the floor. His heart racingwildly, Edward ran at full pelt through the corridor and into thekitchen. From behind him he heard Risler calling, swearing and shouting.
‘Hey!’ Bastion screeched as Edwardploughed straight into Joan Leigh, sending an armful of crockery smashing tothe stone floor. ‘Eh! Mais, toi, qu’est-ce que tu as? Sorte dema cuisine—espèce d’imbécile!’
‘Edward!’ Joan yelled, stooping down topick up the fallen crockery, but she was talking to an open door.
Edward was oblivious to the torrent ofrain which saturated him to the skin seconds after leaving the house. Inthe diffused light from the illuminated windows on the east side of the house,Edward was just about able to make out the contours of the path. The mostdirect route to Mary would be to head to the edge of the lake then swim acrossit to the island. But Edward couldn’t swim so he needed to take theboat. When he reached the lake, he was surrounded by a blanket ofdarkness. If there had been any kind of moonlight, then it was beingshielded by the rolling black clouds above him. He was dismayed to haveto slow his pace in order to negotiate the narrow path. One wrong footand he would be in the lake. He was sure that by now Risler had raisedthe alarm. Maybe I should have knocked him out cold, Edwardthought as he ran beside the water. The only sound came from the rainthrashing down on the surface of the lake.
A low noise came from the direction of thehouse. Edward turned to see a shadowed figure standing in the light ofthe kitchen. Time was running out. He pushed his legs harder—he wasalmost at the boathouse. As he turned back, he noticed too late that thepath had taken a minor turn and his left foot fell off the path and onto aslope of wet mud.
‘Damn!’ Edward yelled, as he tried tocounteract an inevitable slide into the lake. He twisted his body andlurched to the right, reaching out to a thick clump of irises protruding fromthe bank. Clawing out with both hands, Edward managed to stabilisehimself. He pulled himself back upright and winced at the pain shootingup his leg from his foot. The boathouse is so close! Edwardslammed himself, as he hurried as best he could, trying to put minimum weighton his injured left foot.
Finally, he reached the door to theboathouse. Mercifully, it was open. When he hurried from the houseand briefly considered his rash plan, he thought he would have to kick the doorin, but with the pain searing in his foot, that would have beenimpossible. Edward shoved the door open and carefully lowered himselfinto the rowing boat. Taking the pair of oars in his hands, he used oneto push off from the side. The boat slowly glided out from the confinesof the boathouse into the thick sheets of rain; finally, it emerged fully ontothe lake and Edward was able to extend the oars into the water.
‘I’m coming, Mary,’ Edward muttered. Just a few more minutes and they would be reunited. That idea spurred himon, made him pull harder and harder on the oars.
A sudden, deafening clap of thunder madehim jump and he dropped one of the oars into the water. ‘Damn it!’ heyelled, reaching over into the freezing water.
A ferocious snap of lightening shot fromthe angry skies down into the woodland behind Blackfriars. That oneglimmer of powerful light was enough for Edward to catch something awful in hisperipheral vision. A figure in the water approaching his boat. Theframe suggested that it was Risler. He was gaining on him fast.
Edward thrust the oars into the water andbegan to heave and thrust with all his might. It terrified him that hisaggressor was protected by the joint wall of total darkness and the resonanceof the hard rain.
Edward was just a few more strokes fromreaching the island jetty when the assailant’s wet hand grasped onto the sideof the boat. Edward noticed too late and by the time he had raised hisright foot to slam down onto the grappling hand, a
