Chapter 5

Holmes arrived home late, tired but satisfied. He not only had a better idea of the illuminati's plan, but his research in the library had turned up a clue. A clue that fitted in nicely with the unwelcome, be-gloved visitor. Yes, it had been a productive, if inordinately long day. As Holmes relaxed he realised there was no sign of Hove - or indeed the much needed maps. Well it was late, maybe Brighton had done the sensible thing and gone to bed.

Holmes yawned, that now seemed a capital idea, he would retire as well. Ned walked to the front door and securely bolted it. Weary of the day, he trudged up the stairs to his lonely bedroom.

Things were much more active at the manse. Clarice had withdrawn and prepared to leave the vicarage. She would have already left had she known her destination, but she had no defined plans. She had expected guidance but even when she concentrated none was forthcoming. She relaxed and turned her attention to the coupling of the two young lovers. Their mutual lust was impressive, they had explored and penetrated each other for hours, but their enthusiasm was undiminished.

Mary knelt on all fours while William ploughed her furrow with glee. His left hand steadied himself against her buttock whilst his right dug long fingers into her rear passage. Clarice marvelled at how quickly the innocents became debauched, it was a testament to Satan's power. She felt her own quim contract at the very thought of her masters name, idly she wondered what her reward would be. The obscene details that filled her head encouraged her to rub her thighs together in appreciation.

She dimly realised, through a curtain of desire, that the room was becoming light. How could it be dawn so soon, had she really gazed on at the fornicators for so very long? A shaft of sunlight crept between the window shade and the frame; its presence answered her question. She had! A loud rapping sounded from downstairs. The sensual couple ignored it resolutely and continued their love making at a pace. When the rap sounded again Clarice decided to investigate.

She opened the door to a smirking Dashwood.

"How are things progressing? Is our Reverend initiated in the carnal arts?" He asked.

"More than initiated, immersed I would say. Both him and his housekeeper..." Clarice replied.

"Housekeeper? Was that strictly necessary?"

"As I have said before. I have my needs!" Clarice snapped.

"Indeed, but we do not want to create a fuss in the village." Dashwood growled.

"Do not forget who I am! I am the re-incarnation..."

"I apologise profusely. Please accept my humble apologies." Dashwood urgently added.

"Accepted, do not forget again. I may not be so amenable." Clarice warned.

Dashwood nodded, he then followed Clarice into the manse. As he walked, dark thoughts ran through him. 'I shall delight in personally removing her delusions of grandeur once this pretence is over. Remove them I will, with relish and delight; should she want it or not.' When Clarice turned, Dashwood beamed a sycophantic smile.

They sat in the study, Clarice behind the Reverend's polished desk and Dashwood schoolboy-like before it.

"Do you think the Reverend will do as you direct?"

"Once he has had his fill of Mary he may." Clarice replied.

"Now is the time to find out, I want him to summon his detective here."

"Why do we want to encourage this investigator?"

"The illuminati requires it. That is enough." Dashwood replied, his annoyance showing.

"As maybe. What if I do not agree?"

"Do you agree?"

"I see no reason to object."

"Then let us get it done, now that you have decided, my lady."

Clarice smiled widely at Dashwood's apparent deference.

"Now we have established who is in command."

"Quite so." Dashwood nodded. He made a mental note that Clarice needed disposing of sooner rather than later.

Holmes woke after an unusually peaceful night. Humming merrily he started down the stairs. He stopped humming when he heard an odd rustling against the door. Cautiously Ned edged towards the door and unbolted it - carefully. Slowly he opened it. He jumped as Brighton's body slumped into the hallway.

"Good god! Brighton! Are you all right?"

Brighton looked up at Holmes from the floor.

"I have the maps..." Brighton stuttered.

"To the devil with the maps. What has happened to you?" Holmes knelt, and supported Brighton's swaying head.

"I was accosted Holmes, accosted by a man I followed..." Hove coughed, spluttering a little blood onto his white collar.

"Let me get you to a chair old man, that and a snifter should sort you out."

Minutes later Hove sat swallowing a large slug of whisky, his hands trembled slightly less. Ned gazed down at him with concern.

"Are you able to tell me now my friend?" Ned asked, kindly.

"I shall relate my tale, but there are details I will tell no living soul. On this you will have to bear with me Holmes."

"Of course Brighton, tell me what you will."

As Holmes listened to Brighton's story, he wondered at both his friend's state and his reluctance to tell his whole tale. Ned could not understand what would affect Hove so deeply. He was a man of spunk normally, not one to be so easily cowered.

Then as Hove related the attack in the park, it occurred to him. The substances he read about could account for Hove being immobilised, and his omission was clearly related to something unspeakable that had occurred during his immobility. Ned's eyes narrowed and hardened.

"This man with the gloves, can you describe him?" Holmes asked.

"Germanic, square templed with a deep lantern jaw."