Chapter Fifty-Two

The Power of His Name
 
It was time.

Finally, after weeks of patient waiting, it was finally time to collect his deserved prize. The storm had passed, the water was cool again and St. Agnes was ready to accept, even if not ready to move on.

The story of Victor von Mallesch’s dark return would forever haunt the city. The story of the von Malleschs’ resurrection would live forever. So would the story of their fall.

Despite his mistakes, Victor had accomplished something. He had taken his father’s name out of obscurity, out of legend and brought it back into reality. The von Mallesch name would forever taint St. Agnes’ history; it would forever incite fear and blood. It would be a part of it, like a monument, eternal like time. It would always be a dark shadow over the grim city.

The proud raven was now immortal.

But not Ethel. She was dead. Suicide by her own poison. Much like her mother. Her body had been buried with no witnesses. She had left alone.

The proud raven was now invincible.

But not Victor. He had been locked away, much like his father. He never cried for innocence, though. He laughed.

The proud raven was immobile, here to stay forever.

But not Selina. She had run, never to return. Left alone as well, once again. No one knew how, no one knew to where. She had vanished.

The raven had been erased from the ashes, never to be forgotten again. It hung on the city’s skies, a menace, a reminder to the peoples of St. Agnes of what evil intent was capable of, of what revenge looked and felt like.

Chief Detective Jonathan Hazenberg smiled as he put down his cigarette with his black boot. It was a good story to tell and to remember. And in a few years it would be just that – a fascinating story of murder and madness.

He studied the powerful building in front of him – St. Agnes’ Central Bank.

He had been patient, he had been a fighter, cleverly hiding in the shadows of more prominent characters. He deserved to win.

Jonathan walked inside with a victorious step and a precious document in his hands. His steps echoed throughout the tall and spacious building. Every time his feet hit the stone floor, every granite column he passed by, he was closer and closer to his promising future.

He could finally retire. He would be rich and powerful in just a few minutes and he would finally be able to say goodbye to the wretched city. No one would ever see him again as well.

“Good morning,” he said to the man behind the counter, cheerful and excited. Everything was so close to his grasp.

“Good morning, Chief. What can I help you with?”

Jonathan smiled wide and slowly slipped the document to the man, without saying a word. The man read the paper with care and focus, his eyebrows furrowing deeply at the sight of the signature.

Victor von Mallesch. The dark name.

He took a deep breath and handed the paper back to the detective.

“I am sorry, Chief, but I’m afraid there is nothing I can do for you.”

“What?” Jonathan asked, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“I wish I could help you, Sir, I really do. You are a hero to the city and all, but I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“What are you talking about?” Jonathan repeated, his tone slightly rising and his attitude changing completely. “I am holding an official document written and signed by Victor von Mallesch himself, in which he passes on to me everything he owns. Just give me the papers to sign.”

“I’m sorry, Chief,” the man apologized again, even though his posture remained confident and calm. “But that document is worthless.”

“How can it be worthless? It’s official, it’s real, it’s signed!” It was getting harder and harder for Jonathan to hide his anger and frustration. “Just give me what is mine by right!”

“It is worthless for two very simple reasons,” the man answered, keeping his composure. “The first reason is that the fortune described here, the one that used to belong to the Skeffingtons, never actually belonged to Sir Victor. It belonged to Sir Gabriel McGrath, it was registered under that name and Sir Gabriel has the only valid authority on it.”

Jonathan tried to interrupt the young employee with a fury, but he didn’t let him, proceeding with his explanation. “The second reason is that, even if the fortune being transferred here was, in fact, Sir Victor’s to give, this paper and this signature would still be worthless. Sir Victor was deemed clinically insane days ago. The name Victor von Mallesch has no validity anymore.”

The detective took a deep breath and faked a smile.

“You don’t understand. von Mallesch and McGrath are the same person-“

“That is not what I have registered in here, Chief Hazenberg. As far as the Bank goes, Sir Gabriel’s words are more than valid and Sir Victor’s-“

“I am telling you, as the Chief Detective, Victor von Mallesch and Gabriel McGrath are the same person!”

“Unless you bring me irrefutable proof-“

Jonathan slammed his fist on the balcony.

“I’ll bring Victor here and he’ll tell you himself!”

“I am afraid that Sir Victor’s word is meaningless, as he’s been deemed clinically insane. Nothing he will say will count more than this paper. Maybe if you bring McGGrath-“

“But they’re one and the same!”

“So you say, Sir, but you show me no proof.”

“Forget it!” Jonathan yelled and walked out of the building, his fists closed in anger, his whole body shaking in deep frustration.

There was nothing he could do. If he tried to push the issue it would certainly move hidden waters and raise way too many questions.

He was still modest, but he chose to remain free.

Jonathan lit up a cigarette and couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t used to the taste of defeat and, in a very twisted way, he had lost.

He could almost hear Victor’s distant laughter.

***

“I’m sorry… Could you repeat that again?”

The bearded men sitting in her comfortable couch sighed and took a small, polite sip of the tea she had served him. When he looked back at her, he had a kind and understanding smile on his lips.

“I realize this is difficult to assimilate, Miss Preshea.”

In Preshea’s opinion, that was a severe understatement. She griped her own tea cup with more strength than necessary and it was all she could do not to let it slip through her trembling hands.

The bearded men took off his glasses and cared enough to repeat his speech one more time.

“Sir Gabriel McGrath has disappeared. He left instruction on our Bank that, if he were to go missing for more than two weeks, this document and all its contents were to be put into order, with no exceptions and with urgency.”

Preshea’s eyes had grown vague, her mind running to a faraway place, to a different time. Her heart ached.

Why was Victor doing this to her?

He was still alive, she knew that. He wasn’t even that far away, locked somewhere deep in the city – the Hospice. Preshea knew he wasn’t insane. Or maybe he was, maybe he had always been and she just never wanted to believe it. Maybe all the mad events that had taken place recently had helped him descent into insanity. Maybe all the cruel events that had happened since he was a child did it.

Maybe he got it from his mother. Grace and her mother, even Ethel, they had always been told to hang closer to the other side than others.

Maybe he was just too tired. She knew she was.

She hadn’t gone to visit him. She couldn’t find the strength to do it. She hadn’t said goodbye to Selina and she hadn’t heard from her again. She hadn’t attended to Ethel’s funeral, she wasn’t strong enough.

Yet, she felt the cold and painful pull of the gravity of guilt. She knew she was the only one who could’ve done any of those things.

The siblings had no one else, other than themselves. And they had lost each other long ago.

In her mind, she tried to convince herself that Victor really was dead. It would make her mourning of him that much easier. She tried to convince herself that he was far away and she grieved for him.

The love of her life was gone. He would never return.

He never had, to begin with.

She couldn’t save him. She couldn’t save any of them. She had failed.

Now, after days upon days of grief and pain, after she had carefully woven a new reality for herself, one where Victor had never come back to St. Agnes, this man sat in front of her, in her living room, bringing him back into her life once again.

“Sir McGrath was very precise and clear in his instructions,” he continued, studying her closely. “In case of his disappearance, his newly acquired fortune, the one still bearing the name of Skeffington Empire, was to be passed on to the one called Preshea Eudora Carwin.” He smiled wide at her. “It seems to me, my lady, that he has made you quite the powerful woman. You are beyond rich.”

“It… It can’t be…” she whispered.

How could he do this to her?

“Seeing as you have no blood connection to Sir Gabriel McGrath, may I ask why do you think he conceded you such grand a gift?”

She shuddered. It certainly was no gift to her.

“I have no idea,” she replied, with all honesty.

“Seems like he deeply cherished you,” the man smiled again. He put his glasses back on his face and looked at the document again. “Sir Gabriel also left further instructions.”

Preshea finally returned her distant gaze to him, afraid of what was to come.

“He left all his personal possessions, the fortune his late father, Sir Silas McGrath, left him to ones called Beatrice LaFontaine and Ethel Stephens. In their absence, it would be passed on to you as well.” He finally took off his glasses again. “We searched everywhere we could and we couldn’t find a trace of either lady. As requested by Sir Gabriel, all his possessions are passed on to you as well.”

Preshea concentrated her attention on her lap. She couldn’t stop the tears that fell down her eyes.

The bearded man stood up and bowed at her, not deeming it necessary to obtain a response from her or to be accompanied to the door.

“We will be waiting for you to come and sign the due papers, Miss Preshea.”

“I don’t want it,” she said, getting up from her chair abruptly. “I don’t want any of it.”

He turned to her, a small look of comprehension featuring on his wise face. “It is your right to deny his wishes, Miss Preshea. But I must inform you, if you don’t accept the offer, all of this fortune will be given to the city of St. Agnes.” He sighed and smiled tenderly at her. “Somehow, I feel like that would be Sir Gabriel’s last desire.”

She looked determined, her tear stricken face giving her the appearance of a miserable warrior.

“He seemed very much invested in you, my dear lady. It would be a disservice to him to deny him his will, don’t you think? I should think he thought of you as a friend.”

She avoided his gaze, a hint of embarrassment and regret tainting her delicate features.

“It’s… wrong. The things he’s giving me… They were not his and they are certainly not mine.”

“They were acquired within the most legal procedures. That I can guarantee. Besides, they’re yours now. You can do with them whatever your heart desires.”

When she looked at him again, she did it with clear eyes, like she had been finally struck with a deep understanding, like she could see what was right in front of her for the first time.

“Maybe he trusted you to do the right thing,” he smiled again, walking towards the door without further ceremony.

Preshea walked towards her window, whispering, “Maybe he did.”

Tears fell down her cheeks again and she didn’t bother to wipe them away. They belonged there now. She would be mourning forever.

***

Lenora Skeffington knew she was ruined. She knew her family was ruined.

The news of her lost empire had struck her deeply, but it was nothing compared to the news of her lost husband.

Weeks had passed and yet, she couldn’t forget.

That was the thing about Lenora, her heaviest curse, her deepest flaw – no matter how much she tried, she just couldn’t forget.

She tore her eyes away from the sight of the dark city, walking away from her tall windows. Everything was lost. Everything was doomed.

How had he let this happen?

How had she let this happen? How blind had she been?

How had it come to this?

Lenora walked through her favorite chamber – the drawing room. She missed the music more than anything.

In her hands, clutched deeply into her chest was the portrait of the lost love of her life. The one she only truly understood once it was gone.

Those who want everything, lose most of it. She knew this better than anyone.

She rested the ancient portrait on top of the wooden cabinet, putting it right next to another portrait that had always been there, always present in her life.

Lenora looked at both pictures and felt the sting of tears burning her eyes.

So much was never supposed to have happened.

She tenderly rested her fingers on one of them. Longing and regret consumed every fiber of her being.

“You were the man of my life,” she whispered.

She eyed the picture of William von Mallesch and then she gazed at the picture of Amos Skeffington. She felt unending love for both of them. They had both deceived her. They were both gone. She was left alone, left with nothing.

“Oh, my love…” she sighed, tears already illustrating her pain. “It was never supposed to have gone this way.”

Lenora fell to her knees, her eyes never leaving both portraits, agony hugging her heart with viciousness.

“You shouldn’t have had to die.”