Tea, Lycanthropy and Other Virtues

Chapter Twenty-Eight

William Wordsworth Baines watched the girl sleep curled up around her brother in the opposite corner of the carriage. She seemed so insignificant, the daughter of the woman who had been promised to him. He snarled, then readjusted his hat. Constance could have been his daughter. Now there was a thought, how different things would be. But he was still strong, healthy, the last of his biological family but the head of an even greater one. There was still time for him to fulfill his calling and pass on his legacy. She seemed insignificant now, but he would give her significance.

He wondered, not for the first time, why it was the weaker, lesser sex who were the gifted ones. Why was it not passed from father to son instead of father to daughter—well, except in Constance's case—her worthless father had nothing to do with the greatness of their continuing mission. So maybe things were changing, or maybe the sovereign Lord had intervened. And what was it his own father had told him when a young Baines had asked him this very question? Excalibur is a great sword, but it is still just a sword. Would it have been great if Arthur hadn't wielded it? Is it the weapon, or the man who uses it that is truly the hero? And that's what he was, the hero. The last of his line, the last chance England had for redemption.

It's up to you now, son, his father had said on his deathbed. Do not let the family name down.

He wouldn't.

He was going to take it to heights undreamt. And wasn't it just the way of God to take the plans of men and mold them into something even greater? Constance had been the first step in a carefully wrought strategy, one years in the making. Her murder by the insufferable Hugh Connor was meant to show England how truly monstrous the supernatural set was. It was supposed to open their eyes and sew suspicion. A powerful lord attacking and killing a sweet, innocent, village girl—well, one had only to look at their neighbor France to see how powerful class warfare could be. But she'd survived, which meant that there was either something terribly wrong with Connor or there was something terribly right with Constance and it was probably too much to hope for the former. Still, he hadn't been sure until he'd seen her at Westminster. He'd been worried the second step in his plan was going to be bungled, that she was there to stop it, but she obviously didn't understand what she was. Which meant her own mother hadn't taught her duty.

"Disgusting," he muttered under his breath, the carriage lurching angrily as if it, too, could sense Beatrice's deception. No matter, he would teach her. He would wield her in such a way that England would call him savior.

But if the Lord above had given him Constance, he had to be sure he was using her in the right way. He thought he knew what her gift was, but he couldn't be certain. Soon, they would perform the rite and he would know for sure. If he was correct in his suspicions, he was going to use her to set the supernatural upon London. He would make her the Lord's swift judgment, and when his mighty wrath was at last quelled, William would use her to rid the country of their blight for good. He would return England to the folds of the Catholic Church and take his place at the right hand of the King. Who knew, with Papal backing, he might take the crown himself.

Ah, yes, excitement fluttered inside him. Thank you Heavenly Father, I see now. God's retribution had to extend all the way up. The monarchy had to be cleansed. After all, they were the ones who had broken with the church and led the country astray. Even if it was centuries before, it was this break that had made one allowance after another to the werewolves, and the vampires and whatever else roamed the darkness, until at last they had stepped from the shadows and joined society. And once the monarchs had monsters fighting their wars for them, there was no continent they hadn't conquered, all the while spreading their rotten deception across the world. The royals had given the monsters land and titles while the old families, whose job it had been to hunt them and keep the country safe, drifted to the margins. Fall in line with this new tolerance or lose your estates. And so many of the old families had given in, welcoming the beasts into their inner circles and even homes. 

Righteous anger pumped through his veins. It would stop with him. William Baines would rid this country, and then the world, of the supernaturals and he was going to use this girl to do it.

Her brother whimpered in his sleep. Baines's lip curled. The boy was weak. His father would have tolerated nothing like that. He took a deep, calming breath. Train a child up in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not part from it. It wasn't the child's fault no one had trained him properly, but Baines could fix that. After all, if Simon was going to be part of his family, he would have to fall in line. There wasn't room for anything but greatness and obedience here. And he could make them great, both of them, Constance and her brother. He didn't love the idea of welcoming Beatrice into the fold, although...

He tapped his lip thoughtfully. When she sees her daughter lifted, she will be so grateful.

He imagined his former betrothed, wracked with shame over her own betrayal, on her knees before him, begging for forgiveness. He would give it to her, of course. God dictated he do so and he would be a gracious Lord, even to her. After all, it was because of her he had Constance now, and everything that was going to come after. He studied Constance. Her gifts would be so much more useful to him than Beatrice's, anyway. And the girl was young, not as lovely as Mary perhaps, but pretty in her own way. He smiled.

She would be his sword, and he would be her salvation. Hunger filled him, but he restrained himself. Soon Baines, soon all of your devotion and patience will be paid in full, and what glory it shall be. He closed his eyes in reverence. Yes, what glory.