The Kingdom of Night (Book 3)

Seven - Hearts On Your Sleeve

Emma

I heard my parents talking in low worried voices behind closed doors for days after George's news. He'd caught a conversation about the Essence Machine, a terrifying name if I'd ever heard one, between two German passengers on the train to Belgium. I commended him for that bit of spying, but all the same, I'd fretted about what could have happened had he been caught.

     That particular day, I left eavesdropping for another time, drifting in and out of the empty rooms and avoiding the maid, the footman, and our butler. I found Grandmama in the parlour, a large leather-bound book on her frail knees. She was running her hand over it, so distractedly I had a feeling she had no idea she was doing it. An Elemental History, it was called. Mum had told me some of it, at least ours, but I was so curious I sat down next to Grandmama and gently touched her arm.

     'Oh, Emmy.' Grandmama startled, a hand flying to her heart. 'You scared me, just sitting there.'

    'Sorry, Grandmama.' I folded my hands. She had a healthy heart, but a bad scare could be enough to make it give out. 'I was only curious about that.'

     'Oh, this?' She flattened her palm on the cover. 'I haven't looked at it in a very long time. This is the first edition, you know. Published in 1914, given to me by a close friend of mine.'

     'May I see?' I asked, and she nodded, sliding it off her legs and onto mine. I opened the cover, noticing a graceful looping handwritten note on the endpaper.

     To my beloved Emma–may this serve as a tribute to all we have done, and not a dark chapter in our pasts. Your strength brought us through those days, and I hope it will continue to. Yours, A. Kingsley.

     'Kingsley?' I said. 'Not Grandfather?'

     'Grandfather was angry about Kingsley's gift,' Grandmama admitted with a sigh. 'Arthur–Kingsley to you–was one of my closest friends. Before your grandfather married me, he was one of my suitors, and yet I rejected him. But he never stopped loving me, not even in his last moments.' 

     'Grandfather didn't like you getting gifts and letters from another man?'

     'Not in the slightest. I believe he felt inadequate when it came to Kingsley. Arthur was the heir to quite a large estate, you see, and was expected to marry well. His father expected nothing less. And I, with the dormant bloodline of the Earl of Dorchester, was made his perfect target.'

     'Mum told me that has something to do with Huntley too,' I said after a heavy silence, and Grandmama nodded gravely. 'Am I allowed to ask what he was like?'

     'He was a terrifying man. One I am grateful you never have to meet the likes of. I believe it was pure luck that brought me here. Huntley nearly had me in his clutches. All of which, of course, is in the chapter dealing with the Huntley years.' Grandmama shuddered.

     I turned the pages until I found the chapter she mentioned. It was titled Anarchy and Tyranny, 1860-1890. On the title page was a photo of the man himself, standing against a dark background. His suit and hair nearly blended into it, leaving only his pale face and hauntingly evil eyes, floating in a sea of black. Underneath were two words that said it all–Benedict Huntley.

     On the next page was another photo, this time of a handsome dark-haired man with intelligent grey eyes looking off into the distance. He wore the high collar and long coat of a Victorian gentleman, and two fingers pinched his bearded chin, like he was deep in thought. Harry Wellington, read the caption. Head of the Order of Advanced Elementals, 1840-1887.