The keepers, p.1
The Keepers, page 1
THE KEEPERS
By
H. L. Chandler
Beyond Wings Publisher
Thriller, light horror
COPYRIGHT
All rights reserved
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Copyright © 2004 by Louise Chandler Guffy
Previously Published with Wings ePress, Inc.
Edited by: Marilyn Kapp
Copy Edited by: Dianne Hamilton
Senior Editor: Dianne Hamilton
Managing Editor: Leslie Hodges
Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens
Cover Artist: mpmann
Published In the United States Of America
Republished by Beyond Wings Publisher, 2026.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Epilogue
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Further Reading: A Mountain of Doubt
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About the Author
Prologue
London, England—June 6, 1865
Nelly Milton lay on a smooth marble slab, her mind foggy and dazed. She had a vague memory of the tingling chill that had raced across her shoulders when they first touched the icy stone. The sensation had brought a dim awareness that quickly faded. Now the hard surface, warmed by her body, was no longer cold.
Nelly’s head rolled to one side. Her eyelids fluttered and, heavy as weighted gates, finally lifted. It took several minutes to focus and even then, a gauze-like, misty fog clouded her eyes. She made a feeble attempt to move but her arms and legs were stiff and unresponsive. Confused, and searching for the reason, Nelly gazed down the length of her right arm. At the wrist was a twisted binding of red velvet and her mind, fuzzy as her vision, sent a hazy signal to cease the struggle; ‘for lor’ if it wasn’t silly when a body was hand and foot tied down.’
The restraining velvet ropes stirred the first tinge of true fear. Still... mightn’t it be a dream? ‘Oh, glory yes. That must be the way of it.’ In a few seconds, the scary nightmare would stop and she’d come wide-awake to find Robert beside her; both of them rosy with sleep under a white muslin sheet that smelled of mown hay and bright sunshine. Then, from his cradle in the corner, Christopher would cry; hungry for her breast as he had been the whole six months of his precious life. Nelly swallowed and lay waiting. Waiting with every nerve now honed to exquisite sharpness. Waiting for the dark eerie scene to fade.
It did not.
She was in the centre of a large cavern. A line of blazing sconces hung against the grey stone walls. The light shed by the flames turned the chamber to a flickering orange, red, and black. To her bewildered senses, now further crazed by an awful growing dread, it appeared the antechamber of hell. Several feet out from the wall stood a half circle of ten chairs: high-backed, Tudor-style upholstered in rich red velvet. The chairs stood empty suggesting a coming judgment, and all of Nelly’s past sins crowded in upon her.
Every minute Nelly became more aware, while a swirling black panic threatened to sweep away any sensible thoughts. She clenched her teeth and shook her head, which, indeed, was all she could move. ‘Get hold on yourself, Nell,’ she scolded. A head filled with feathers never gained anything; she'd have to think straight. Some terrible thing has happened, but Robert will know and won’t he just cause a proper dust-up! That’s the right road now, think of Robert and how he’ll be a hunting, turn the city end over end, he will. Still, it didn’t mean lying stiff as a bundle of stays, not even trying to work free.
Nelly strained and jerked against the velvet ropes; they held fast. Nelly was strong and healthy, she never failed in any task she undertook, but now fear sapped that strength. Being helplessly bound on the marble platform forced tears of despair and frustration to slip down her smooth, round cheeks. She kept a kerchief in the pocket of her everyday blue cotton dress. Her wet trickling tears made her wish for it.
Suddenly her back stiffened as if some nasty and clammy thing were sliding down between her shoulder blades. She was not wearing her own clothes. Her arms and shoulders were bare; the black silk began at the curve of her full, milk-swollen breast and covered to her trembling ankles. An elegant, indecent shroud. Shame and panic took her by turns. Her feet, free of the rough, round-toed shoes, tingled in their vulnerable state. Oh God, she promised, never again would she wish for fine or fancy clothes. The coarse cheap cloth of her dress and the heavy, chafing shoes were blessing enough.
Her exposed condition, like a fierce wind, blew away the last clouds leaving her mind raw and alive to the horror of her situation. An unbidden scream ripped from her throat and slammed against the stone and mortar walls that echoed back the depths of her fear. Then, another cry rang in the cavern piercing Nelly’s lingering scream.
Christopher’s warm, lusty crying rolled out in heavy waves freezing Nelly’s heart. Instantly an all-consuming terror sent icy blood pounding through her veins. She jerked her head to the left twisting to see over the corner of the marble slab. In the hollowed out, cradle-like, middle of a low stone Christopher waved his tiny fists and pumped his chubby knees up and down. Nelly wildly bucked and fought against the bonds. A prickling sweat popped out from her crown to her soles, every inch of her skin was set burning as if it were being jabbed with a million red-hot needles.
“Hush now. Oh hushabye, Christy. Your mum is here.” Nelly spoke through lips dry as winter leaves.
Christopher paused a moment but then, without the comfort of her lifting arms, set forth another howling insistent cry. Despite her panic Nelly’s body instinctively responded; wet circles widened on the tight black silk stretched across her breast. In a frenzied surge, Nelly lunged and strained to break free while only Christopher’s small voice kept the madness at bay.
Finally, limp and drained, Nelly fell back against the hateful stone with a strangling, bitter sob. Caught in a ring of blazing blue-white fear, her heart pounded on near to bursting. The flesh on her bones shriveled to a quivering helpless mass leaving only mind and tongue capable of movement.
“Our Father in Heaven, look down upon us in mercy. Hear us, Oh Lord, in this our hour of need...”
WHEN ROBERT ARRIVED at the mansion on Grosvenor Square, the sun’s last rays were staining the glass of the tall oriel window a pinkish gold. He stood a minute studying the grey stone building. Its high roof and massive chimneys thrusting hard and dark against the lavender sky. An abode of the rich, another symbol of their wealth. A familiar bile tasting film clung to the back of his throat. Robert longed for a good strong drink of whiskey, the sort that went down smooth and filled a man’s belly with strength, not the cheap watered swill served at Dinker’s Tavern. He was sick to death of being poor; it was an accident of birth and he had lived twenty-five long years choking on bitterness. Had he sprung to life in the womb of a noblewoman there would be no need of standing here now. Entering life under poverty’s curse the chance for escape came, if at all, once in a lifetime.
Robert arched his eyebrow, a caustic laugh tumbling from his finely shaped lips. Yes, once in a lifetime. Every sixty-nine years to be exact. Then to only one man, or so Sir Chester Stanhope claimed. Should the old toady be wrong Robert had already decided to kill him. He would not be played for the fool. Not by anyone. Robert settled the silk top hat firmly on his head and, giving a downward tug to his white waistcoat, started up the wide stone stairs. A new, blue velvet coat lay smoothly across Robert’s broad shoulders and tapered sufficiently to fit his slender waist; for the first time, he was properly clad. Chester’s tailor was a churlish snob, yet Robert did concede the man knew his trade.
A tight-l ipped manservant opened the heavy carved walnut door and viewed Robert with a haughty, pained expression. Robert brushed past him into the polished black and white marble-floored centre hall. He whipped off his top hat, slinging it toward the servant. He’d had enough of people looking down their noses. Still, the richness of the great mahogany staircase, the obviously fine paintings lining the paneled walls and the shimmer of the delicate crystal candleholders put a dent in his anger-induced courage.
“This way, please.” The words carried the hint of a smirk.
Robert was ushered to a set of doors, which slid back to reveal a large drawing room. A thick wine-dark carpet covered the middle of the floor. Heavy velvet drapes hung across two tall windows, shutting out the night. Robert had never been in so grand a room. The ten men gathered there turned toward him. The expressions on their faces, seen through a haze of cigar smoke, ranged from mild amusement to hard assessment. Soundlessly the doors closed behind him and Robert forced his most charming, confident smile.
“Robert, m’boy.” Chester set his brandy glass on the long table backing a rose, satin covered Queen Anne couch and, hand extended came to greet Robert.
Sir Chester Stanhope was as round and bounding with robust health as a country squire. Everything about his corpulent person bespoke a life in want of nothing. Chester was Robert’s sponsor at this meeting and proudly steered him round making introductions.
“Ah, MacDermott.” Chester clapped his chunky hand to the shoulder of a tall red-bearded man. “This is young Milton. The fellow who after tonight will be overseer of my newest woolen mill. For a bit at any rate, until he gets his feet under him. Well, go on. Ask him what you will. I vow he’ll not disappoint you in his character or spirit.”
MacDermott’s pale green eyes glimmered like sun-struck waters and a slow smile appeared in the depths of his bristling whiskers. “I have nay questions, Stanhope. I can see by the look of the lad ye’ve made a wise choice.”
As they moved away toward a group of three others Robert leant near Chester. “You think he finds me acceptable, then?”
Chester stopped and frowned. “Of course he does! Exactly as the others do. Haven’t I told you how we’ve been over the record of your life from top to bottom and back again?”
Robert nodded.
“Well, now, be a stout fellow and carry through this night as I’ve instructed and every dream and wish you ever had will be yours for the taking.”
Upon hearing the promise again, Robert trembled. At his sides, his hands clenched and unclenched in eagerness. Perhaps he should have investigated these men as they had done him, but his position did not allow it. They had everything. He had nothing. Nothing except a ravenous hunger and raging desire to gain his rightful place in life. For the past week, a small niggling voice kept insisting that things had their price. He stilled it with the harsh truth. He would make the payment. No matter how dear.
“You spoke of this night as being a test of sorts, yet you haven’t explained what that test might be. I think it more likely I should pass with a bit of explanation.”
Robert fought to keep the hostility from his voice. He still suspected they might be toying with him, some cruel game for the amusement of the bored and jaded rich.
Chester guided him toward a rosewood table in the corner where a silver tray held bottles of whiskey, brandy, and other liquors sparkling in the candlelight.
“You could do with a drink, Robert. What will it be?”
Robert indicated the whiskey in the square, cut-glass bottle. As Chester poured the drink, his jovial manner disappeared. His jaw swelled like the pink, scraped rump of a butchered sow. He splashed a scant swallow of the deep gold liquid into a small glass and handed it to Robert.
“Drink it slowly, there will be no more for you until this night is over. A man must be in full possession of all his faculties to become a member of this chosen group.”
Robert swallowed a sip of the whiskey and it was, as he knew it would be, smooth and bracing, like smoky honey laced with fire. The taste of it confirmed the certainty that he could never again settle for less.
“I understand.” Robert nodded and tried to sound as wise and worldly as the other men in the room looked.
“I doubt that, Robert. However, your understanding is not needed. Your desire and ambition led us to you, but your unquestioning obedience will be the deciding factor. Look around, these men possess more power than the crowned heads of Europe, or leaders of any nation. There, talking with MacDermott now, that is Hermann Steiner, ever hear of him? No, of course not. Yet, should you mention that name to the Chancellor of Prussia I’d wager you’d receive a marked reaction. Not that he’d for a minute admit Steiner’s contribution. Still, Bismarck well knows the thanks he owes Hermann.” Chester’s laugh was dry as sand and as grating.
“A unified Germany suits our purpose as well. I’ll wager it won’t be five years before Hermann achieves this goal. The fellow is most remarkable. Not a word of this outside The Group, mind you, but a meeting will be arranged at Ems between King William and the French ambassador. A report of what takes place will be sent back to Bismarck. Oh, I tell you, Hermann’s inventiveness is boundless! By that time, Hermann will have Otto’s complete trust. When he suggests a few changes to the report and that it be released to the press there’s not a doubt Otto will be quick to follow Hermann’s instructions. The revised content of the report should in turn outrage the French sufficiently to attack.”
“But to bring about a Franco-Prussian war... and by forged documents... surely that’s madness. What if Bismarck refuses, or supposing Hermann talks him into it and Prussia loses such a war?”
“Never you mind, Robert. Tonight is for listening and learning. This is by way of an introduction to the members and their work. Now, Alvaro Diaz he’s there standing next to Leland Kellerman. I’m sure our friend the third Napoleon thought it his own idea when he made Maximilian Emperor of Mexico last year. But that won’t last long. France will be quick to withdraw in the face of a united neighbor to the north. I should like to see Maximilian’s face when he finds the limb sawed off behind him. Oh, I tell you we are on the brink of great things. While Diaz is busy in Mexico, Leland Kellerman is creating some interesting situations in America.
“The assassination of Lincoln two months ago was a stroke of brilliance. Now he’s bringing a group together in one of the southern states that will make a mark in the future. Oh, nothing spectacular, still these little bands are useful. Actually, it should be MacDermott’s doing seeing Kellerman has decided to call it a clan. Haven’t heard the full name yet, though I gather it’ll be something, something, clan. Spelled with a ‘K’. Rather clever of Kellerman, wouldn’t you say? Putting his mark on it that way?” Chester’s round face glowed with excitement.
Robert stared at Kellerman; he was a man who commanded attention. Tall, raven-haired, and extremely handsome, except for the deep valley of a scar slashing down the right side of his face. The small amount of whiskey in Robert’s stomach boiled, he desperately wanted to believe what Chester was saying, but it sounded so fantastic.
“Steady, m’boy. You seem to have gone a bit off colour. Possibly you fear you’ve stumbled into a den of madmen.”
Robert managed to shake his head and give a weak smile. Chester patted his shoulder.
“Oh, I know how it is at first. However, it will come clear. Actually, it’s most simple. The world moves by directives from an unseen realm. Those of us lucky enough to be chosen as agents are greatly rewarded. And the cream on the pudding is the extended lifetime in which to enjoy it. I say, doesn’t that have the sound of something worth any sacrifice?”
The empty glass in Robert’s hand was warm and slick with sweat. Now... he thought, as he carefully set the glass down on the rosewood table... now, we come to the nub of the thing. “Suppose I believe you, that this is possible, and do whatever you ask. What security is there that I’ll be rewarded in this manner?”
As Robert spoke, Terrance MacDermott stepped to his side and poured a glass of claret from the warming carafe.
“So, you’ve come to the quid pro quo of the thing have you?” He cast a half smile at Chester. “I canna’ say I’m surprised, Stanhope. It’s very like you to leave something this important to the last minute.”
