TWENTY-FIVE
The screams cut off abruptly, and the entire hall burst into motion. No one was armed, but the homes of the aristocracy are always lousy with weaponry. Chessie raced away, outpacing me quickly on her long legs, and tore a sabre from the wall in passing. Then I saw that I had been wrong. Quincey was armed. He sprinted past me, his revolver in hand, though I could not imagine where he had been hiding it. Or, more concerningly, why. I grabbed the knife from its sheath at my calf, half-aware of the hypocrisy, and a larger one from the buffet and joined the dash, pulling my crucifix from between my breasts.
To my relief, the screams began again. Two small, shrill voices. The Harker boys were still alive, then. But I did not hear my brother.
‘Geoff!’ I called. ‘Geoffrey!’
I reach
