Chapter 3. Greenhill Grove Manor
Bert guided a small group of men toward the towering, intricate doors and pushed them open to reveal the vast interior of Greenhill Grove Manor. As they crossed the threshold, Bert halted for a moment, taking in the scene before him. The grand hall was alive with energy as men and women, dressed in elegant yet sombre black suits and dresses, darted about. They huddled in clusters, their faces animated and voices rising in a cacophony of excitement and urgency. The air was thick with anticipation, a palpable hum that seemed to vibrate through the polished marble floors and echo off the high, ornate ceilings.
Then, a woman with raven-black hair, neatly tied back in a pristine bun, entered the main hall. Her piercing blue eyes surveyed the room with a sharp gaze as she moved forward with an air of grace. Her elegant full black dress swished softly with each step. As she approached Bert and his group with an air of authority, Bert cleared his throat. "Miss Starrick," he acknowledged, nodding respectfully. Her eyes scanned him with keen scrutiny. "Your report?" she inquired, her voice smooth and sweet yet carrying an undertone of command. "Explosives were planted on the train and its carriages, as per your orders," Bert replied, his voice steady. "I didn't witness the destruction, but with that amount of dynamite, I doubt there's anything left of it."
Miss Starrick closed her eyes momentarily; a cold smile curved her lips. "Excellent," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Then the reports were accurate. So many dead little Assassins," she added, releasing a high-pitched laugh filled with a disturbing sense of joy. Bert's brow furrowed in confusion and unease. "Little Assassins?" he questioned, his voice tinged with dismay. "Oh yes," the woman replied, her laughter subsiding as she composed herself. "My scout reported that the train was headed for London Bridge Station. It became apparent that it was intended as an escape route for our enemies, a possibility should any survive our initial wave of attacks. So, he waited until they boarded, and then he lit the fuses." She erupted into laughter once more. "The Frye fool unknowingly herded the little brats onto a death trap. Isn't that marvellous?" She exclaimed, her laughter echoing through the hall. The Templars in the entryway joined, creating a chilling chorus.
Bert's eyes were wide; his heart pounded in his chest as a wave of nausea threatened to overtake him. The children too? He couldn't comprehend the horror of it. No one had uttered a word about murdering the children...
A tall, muscular man with cold, piercing eyes and grey hair walked forward with a deliberate gait, his formidable presence demanding attention. He halted beside Miss Starrick, whose eyes gleamed with a cunning light. A sly smile curved her lips as she turned toward him, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Aah, Hunter," she purred, her words sharp and deliberate, "do you see now? Your methods would have dragged on endlessly... we've obliterated an entire generation of Assassins in one foul swoop."
Bert observed the tall man's stoic expression, hoping it indicated disapproval of such ruthless actions committed towards children. However, the stranger's response dashed those hopes: "I have to disagree, Miss Annie. There's nothing quite like witnessing the fear in the eyes of an Assassin who knows their time is up. It's exhilarating," Hunter replied, his voice tinged with a dark thrill.
Annie Starrick regarded Hunter, her eyes narrowing slightly as she huffed. "Oh, come now, there will be other finger bones for you to collect. Go and have a look through the charred corpses; I'm sure you'll find a few." Hunter let out a resigned sigh, his tone casual as he responded, "You misunderstand, Miss. They aren't really trophies if I don't do the deed myself. I'll stick to my own methods." Annie scoffed, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "Oh, Hunter, you are such a bore. Come with me; it's time to visit my pet..." She turned her attention back to Bert, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. "Bert, you are dismissed for the evening. Go drink to our victory with your pals; you've certainly earned it."
Annie Starrick turned and walked away. Her tall, imposing companion following in her wake. Bert watched their retreating figures, a deep sense of shame settling over him like a heavy cloak.
What have I done...
2 days later.
With his leg on the mend, Jacob resolved to contact Evie to inform her of the disastrous events that had occurred. As he navigated the bustling streets, a mix of confusion and anxiety gnawed at him. He wondered why he hadn't heard from his sister since her departure. The city's sights and sounds seemed to close in on him, amplifying his troubled thoughts. Shaking himself free from the mental fog, Jacob posted the letter and turned just as Effie nearly collided with him. He took a cautious step back; his eyes narrowed as he regarded her with suspicion, his senses immediately heightened.
Effie exhaled a sigh of relief. Her voice urgent yet tinged with desperation, she said, "Thank the heavens I found you," her eyes darting around the crowded street. "I need to speak with you, guv, but not here... it's not safe. Let's head to your lodgings and I'll—" Jacob cut her off abruptly, his tone a low growl. "We are going nowhere until you give me a reason to trust you."
Hurt flashed across Effie's face, her features softening as she replied quietly, "If you trust me enough to come to Agnes' place, then I'll explain everything to you there." Her voice was a gentle plea as she cautiously placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Please, Jacob. I've always - and forever will be your friend... we need to get off the streets. It's not safe to be talking here." Despite his instincts warning him of potential deceit, Jacob quickly concluded that if this was indeed a trap, it meant they had Agnes, and he would not abandon her to the mercy of the wolves. Determined, he decided to follow Effie, resolving to rely on his sharpened senses to alert him to any lurking danger. Recent events had honed his instincts to a razor's edge, and he knew he had to trust them now more than ever.
As the pair neared Agnes's small house, Jacob heightened his senses to their utmost limits. Every rustle of leaves and distant chirp was scrutinized; his eyes keenly observed the shadows cast by the sun against the wooden exterior. Approaching the modest door, he paused, taking in the familiar sounds of Agnes bustling inside—her movements lively and reassuring. With a last, thorough glance at the quiet surroundings, Jacob stepped into the cosy confines of the small home.
The moment the door creaked open, Agnes spun around from her position at the stove. Her face lit up as she saw Jacob enter. "Oh, thank the stars you're alright," she exclaimed, her voice a blend of relief and maternal care as she fluttered about him like a protective mother hen. Without giving him a moment to respond, she bustled towards the kettle, her mind set on making him a comforting cup of tea. Feeling a wave of relief wash over him, Jacob was now certain there was no ambush awaiting him. He turned to Effie with sincerity in his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't trust you before," he admitted.
Effie nodded graciously, accepting his apology. "You had your reasons," she acknowledged, her expression shifting to one of sombre reflection. "Now for my news: Bert showed up here a few days ago. He was desperate, begging to undo a grievous wrong. When I mentioned the rumours of your survival, I saw relief flood his eyes. I couldn't tell him where you were, so he asked me to find you and either deliver his message or bring you back so he could explain himself... though, given the situation, that might not be wise," she said, her voice trailing into uncertainty.
A shiver clawed its way down Jacob's spine. "What message?" he demanded, his voice taut with unease.
Effie's complexion turned pale; her eyes filled with a mixture of dread and compassion. "He's sitting in the back room," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "I cannot bear to repeat what he told me. Please, Jacob, show him mercy if you can…"
Jacob stepped into the parlour, his gaze sharpening as it fell upon Bert, who sat by the crackling fireplace. Bert's eyes, reflecting the flickering flames, held a tinge of remorse. In a low, gravelly tone, the burly man murmured, "I'm glad you're here." Without waiting for further attempt at pleasantries, Jacob strode over and took a seat in the aged leather armchair directly across from Bert. In a cold tone, he asked, "What's going on, Bert? I suspect you knew about the massacre of my order before I did and believe me, I'm out of patience." His accusation lingered heavily in the tense atmosphere.
Bert met Jacob's steely gaze; his own eyes clouded with despair and guilt. "I've done you all wrong, Jacob. I allowed my anger to overtake me, and it drove me to betray you all," he confessed, his voice thick with regret. Slowly, with deliberate calm, Jacob produced a pistol from the inner lining of his coat and set it on the arm of his chair. His hand rested firmly on the grip, as if the cold metal could channel the simmering fury inside him. "So, there was a Judas within our own ranks," he stated, his tone both bitter and accusing.
Bert's confession spilled out in a desperate rush. "Aye, I turned on you. I bent ears and spun tales to other Rooks, getting them to do the same. I let that rich bitch and her group glean every scrap of information about you lot. It's all on me… everything… even the children..." His voice faltered, breaking under the weight of his own admissions.
Jacob's eyes cut through Bert like shards of ice; his stare a mirror of deathly cold determination. The anger inside him threatened to spill over, gripping him as tightly as his hand tightened around the arm of the chair.
Noticing the deadly seriousness etched onto his friend's face, Bert pleaded softly, "Before you end me here, let me try to make amends by telling you what I know. At least let me die knowing I've shared something that can fix my mistakes." His voice trembled, laced with a hint of resignation.
Jacob remained silent; the intensity of his glare a silent command for Bert to continue. "You've probably guessed it's yer old friend's back in the mix," Bert continued cautiously. "They're being led by a right cold bitch. Goes by the name Miss Annie Starrick."
"Starrick?" Jacob interrupted suddenly. His disbelief was tangible. "You're lying. Starrick's line ended two years ago."
Bert lowered his gaze. His voice barely rose above a whisper as he confessed, "No, it didn't. She's Crawford's half-sister and has adopted the family name for herself, along with some grand title. I tried to dig deeper, but they caught on to me nosing around, so I fled here seeking Effie's forgiveness and help." Leaning forward as he retrieved the pistol from the arm of his chair, Jacob's eyes locked onto it. He turned the weapon over in his hands as if weighing his next move. "Is there anything else?" he asked coldly.
Bert seemed unruffled by the looming threat. "Her base is at Greenhill Grove Manor. She's planning a grand party next week, announcing her power to the rest of her order. She loves a proper party, that one... that's it, Jacob. I wish I could tell you more. I'm ready to meet my maker. Do what you've got to do." With that, he turned back to the dance of the flames, his face masked in sorrow. The room was momentarily filled with deafening silence.
Jacob slowly withdrew his pistol and stood, his voice heavy with quiet anguish. "You should live with this guilt," he said softly, the hurt in his tone unmistakable. "Live every day knowing that the words you spat out led to the deaths of innocent children—children you once knew and played with." Bert swivelled to face his friend, his defeated expression etched deeply with sorrow. "But it's worse than that, Jacob. The explosives planted on the train—that... that was me. I killed them."
Effie and Agnes were startled by the abrupt swing of the kitchen door. Jacob entered, pain etched in his features as he moved purposefully towards the front exit. "Jacob," Effie's voice trembled, but her attention was swiftly captured by the sight of his blood-stained blade leaving a menacing crimson trail as it dripped on the floor with each step. The realization dawned on her, and she turned to Agnes, seeking solace in a tight embrace. A deep ache settled in Effie's heart as she grieved for her friends, now plunged into the dark depths of sorrow, mourning a loss that would forever leave its mark on their souls.
