“Oh, no, Maddy, she needs it more than I do. I’ll be fully healed by tomorrow. And if you had not left Allan and me alone …” My cheeks warm.
Her crooked grin returns. “I swear, Miss Annabel, I thought I heard Cook calling fer me.”
I return her smile and glance over at the tub again. It’s been ages since I’ve had a bath. And never in a tub as big as the one that’s before me now.
“We wanted to surprise you,” Maddy says, catching my look of longing. “Cook an’ Johanna an’ me. Cook hauled the tub up, an’ me an’ Johanna took turns carrying the water.”
They did this for me? I give her the biggest smile I have and then hug her. “Thank you. And please give Cook and Johanna my thanks, as well.”
Maddy returns my hug, but wiggles out of it a moment later. “Let’s get you undressed now. Water’s getting cold.” Quickly undoing my laces, she hangs my dress in the armoire. “I’ll leave you in peace now. Enjoy yer bath.”
I quickly remove the last of my undergarments as soon as the door has shut behind her. The feeling is deliciously freeing. Balancing on the edge of the tub, I put the towel on the floor beside me and step carefully into the water. A satisfied sigh escapes me. It truly is a wonderful feeling. The water rises higher, edging closer to my neck, and then I realize that I’m still wearing my scarf.
I glance quickly around the room. Mother told me never to take it off. But I’m completely alone here.
Gripping the edges of the tub, I pull myself to a sitting position and slowly unwind the linen scarf. It falls to the floor. I slide back under the water until my ears are covered, and I close my eyes. It feels as if all of my cares are floating away.
But a sudden vibration makes me open my eyes again. I lift my head to see Maddy entering the room, and water streams in every direction as I hastily sit up. There is no time to reach for my scarf, so I use my hands to try to shield myself from her.
I’m not worried about my modesty. I’m worried about the scars.
A sliver of soap is cradled in Maddy’s cupped hands, but she comes to a halt when she sees me. Her eyes trace the grotesque patchwork covering the upper part of my chest and neck. Although I have not looked at them in many years, I know the scars are still as dark and ugly as the first time I saw them when I was very young.
The true reason I never take off my scarf is now on full display.
Maddy comes over to the edge of the tub, but doesn’t stare. “I forgot to leave the soap. Would you like me to help you wash yer hair?”
I can hardly believe she’s not shrinking back in fear, or fleeing from disgust. Mother told me the scars came from an operation when I was a baby, but that we were never to speak of it. I felt such shame growing up with them. But now Maddy is acting as if she does not see them at all.
“You’re not afraid of me?” I say unbelievingly.
“Why should I be?”
“Because I’m a monster. My skin is disfigured, and I’m hideous to look at.”
“Yer not a monster. Yer my friend.”
Her simple words are so genuine. I bow my head, throat thick with tears. “I … would be truly grateful if you helped me wash my hair, Maddy. No one has ever offered before.”
She reaches into the tub and lathers up the soap. Her hands are gentle as she scrubs my hair, and then she tells me to close my eyes as she scoops water over my head to rinse away the bubbles. When she tells me I can open my eyes again, and I notice the string that held her locket is no longer around her neck.
“What happened to your necklace, Maddy?” I ask.
She glances down and absentmindedly toys with her collar. “It’s safe in the kitchen. I took it off while I hauled the water fer the tub.” She places the soap on the floor within my reach and turns to leave.
But by the door, she pauses. “I will tell no one yer secret, Miss Annabel. It’s safe with me. I promise.”
And as the door shuts quietly behind her, I cannot stop myself from thinking that now there’s one more secret for this house to keep.
Eighteen
I wake before the sun rises the next morning. Climbing out of bed, I pull on my red silk robe and reach for my scarf. But instead of wrapping it around my neck, I sit and stare at it. Pondering Maddy’s reaction to my scars—how she now knows the secret I have kept for so many years.
Gathering the scarf, I walk over to the looking glass.
There are several small scars at the base of my throat. They do not extend very far, and are fainter in color. But lower, over my heart, the skin is puckered and uneven. Dark lines create a grotesque web of flesh that’s been there for as long as I can remember.
I clench the scarf tightly as my mind fills with the memory of the first time Mother told me I must wear it. I was very young, and we were still living in England. The weather had been unbearably warm and I wanted to go swimming in the pond with the other children. But when Mother saw me removing the scarf, she pulled me from the water and marched me back to Aunt Isobel’s house. The look in her eyes frightened me as she gripped my shoulders. “You must never take off your scarf around anyone else, Annabel! Promise me! Or God will punish you for it.”
I was struck with such fear that I have heeded her words ever since.
Turning away from my reflection, I wrap the scarf securely around my neck and pad over to the armoire. There are three new dresses inside—a white one with lace detailing at the neck and sleeves, a pale yellow one with jet-black beading, and a light blue one with a separate jacket. They are all simply stitched, yet beautifully made.
Madame LaFleur may not have wanted to be associated with Father, but she clearly had no qualms over accepting his money.
I choose the blue outfit, and I’m able to dress myself with little trouble. Since I’ve not yet had a chance to apply the lemon juice and rosewater to my hands to soften them, I pull on the pair of white gloves Madame LaFleur had given me. I slide two silver combs into my hair, and with one final glance in the looking glass, go down to the courtyard.
Cook and Johanna are busy with breakfast preparations, so they take little notice of me as I slip through the kitchen. I’m early for my rendezvous with Allan, and while I wait, my nerves flutter like a thousand butterflies.
Finally, the door from the kitchen opens, and I turn to greet him. “It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea,” he muses as he looks down at me, “that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee.”
He gently kisses my cheek and then takes my hand. “Come with me. I have something I want to read to you.”
The sky turns pink and gold around us as we sit on the bench. He reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper, glancing over at me uncertainly. I give him an encouraging smile.
“I’ve been working on this recently,” he says. “It’s a section I am most proud of, though it is still in rough form. Pray do not be too hasty in your criticism.”
“I would not dream of it.” I smile at him again, and he begins to read.
“When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little—a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it—you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily—until, at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the vulture eye.
“It was open—wide, wide open—and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness—all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man’s face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.
“And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but overacuteness of the sense?—now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man’s heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier
into courage.…”
Allan’s words remind me of the crier’s news at the market, and suddenly I’m rising to my feet.
“It’s very good,” I say, with only a slight tremor to my voice.
Allan stands, too. “You liked it?” He reaches for my hand, but I notice his palm is scratched.
“You’ve hurt yourself.”
He glances down. “I had not realized. It must have happened last night.”
I look at his hand again. “You were working with my father, weren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Were you with him the entire time?”
“He had need of supplies. I went to the apothecary to fetch them.”
“And the apothecary was open at such a late hour? Was Mr. Williams there?” I feel my excitement rising. “Perhaps you saw something, or heard something, that might lead to finding his murderer!”
Allan closes his eyes for a moment, and puts out a hand to steady himself.
Alarmed, I touch his cheek. “You look weary. You have been working too much. What could Father possibly need at such a late hour?”
His eyes go blank. “I don’t recall.”
“Surely, it must have been important.”
“Yes. I am certain it was.”
“You don’t remember?”
Before he can answer, Johanna’s voice interrupts us. “Miss! Where are you, miss?”
I hastily pull away from Allan, and moments later, she joins us.
“Breakfast is ready, an’ the Grandmaster was asking where you were.”
“It seems we must say our good-byes then,” Allan says.
I search his eyes for a moment, trying to read the truth in them. But there is only weariness and confusion. I remove my hand and curtsy to him. “Until next time.”
Johanna leads the way into the kitchen and I follow, casting a glance at Allan over my shoulder. He watches me leave, but the look on his face is very strange. It’s almost as if he’s remembering something.
“Your father informed me that your teacher has been dismissed, so you will be free to do as you wish until a replacement can be found,” Grand-père announces once we’ve finished breakfast.
I don’t know if I should tell him that I am already aware of the note of dismissal Mrs. Tusk received, so I simply nod. “I understand, Grand-père.”
He looks directly at the side of my face, and I glance guiltily down at the floor. Does he know what Mrs. Tusk did? My face did not bruise where she struck me, and with no evidence left behind, I thought I didn’t need to tell him about it.
“One of the staff informed me of Mrs. Tusk’s deplorable behavior.” He looks upset. “I’m sorry you had to experience such a thing, Annabel. It will not happen again.”
Impulsively, I give him a quick hug and then kiss his cheek. “It’s already forgotten. Do not be angered on my behalf, Grand-père.”
He pats my back. “I shall endeavor to be as forgiving as you are, my dear. Enjoy your day. I shall see you again at dinner.”
“Enjoy your day as well.” I give him another kiss and leave the room. On my way up the staircase, though, Maddy comes rushing down. Tears streak her face, and she lifts a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes. I put out a hand to stop her from colliding with me. “What’s wrong, Maddy? Have you received more news about your mother?”
“It’s my locket, miss. I lost it.”
“Where did you last see it?”
“I don’t know!” she wails. “Cook sent me to the market this morning, but I didn’t find it was gone until just now. I can’t remember if I put it back on last night after I hauled yer bath water.”
“Have you checked the kitchen?”
She shakes her head. “Cook and Johanna both helped me look fer it, but it’s not there.” Her eyes start to fill with tears again.
“Why don’t we go to the market?” I suggest. “We can retrace your steps from this morning. Let me go fetch my cloak.”
Maddy nods and waits for me at the bottom of the stairs as I hurry to my room and then swiftly return. We keep our eyes on the ground in search of the locket as we walk toward the marketplace, but we do not find it. Maddy fights to keep her lip from trembling when we learn that none of the vendors we question have come across the locket either.
“Don’t worry, Maddy,” I reassure her as we finally turn back. “We will not stop looking until it’s found.”
When we return home, I decide to check my bedroom to see if it was misplaced there when Maddy was inside. But I pause when my eye falls on the book still sitting on my desk—The Anatomy of Humane Bodies.
When I first read it, something in the entry for typhus had bothered me. Now, as I read through the passage again, I understand what it was.
The disease of Typhus; more commonly known as jail fever; is capable of afflicting the mind as well as the body. Head pain, delirium, and stupor are noted symptoms as well as nausea, arm and leg pain, body fever, and red sores. These sores can lead to rotting flesh and gangrenous limbs. Believed to be caused by rats, the best prevention is to keep one’s home and property as free from vermin as possible. Once the disease has spread, there is no known cure.
Father’s symptoms do not fit the description. He’s not plagued by delirium and stupor, but by ill temper. He does not walk around in a fog or forget who he is. And he does not suffer red sores and rotting flesh. If Father truly does not have typhus, then why did Grand-père purposely mislead me?
Nineteen
I volunteer to search further for Maddy’s locket, but when evening comes, I still have not found it. And thoughts of Grand-père’s deception weigh heavily on my mind. I go to his study and find him at the desk. “I have something I need to discuss with you, Grand-père. Do you have a moment?”
He looks up. “This sounds quite serious. Is something the matter?”
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. Am I really about to ask him if he’s been deceiving me? “Forgive me for contradicting you, but a passage in one of my medical books describes typhus in great detail, and Father does not seem to have the symptoms. I thought you said that’s the disease he suffers from.”
Grand-père clears his throat and glances down at the papers in front of him. “It’s a complicated matter. One that your father should be discussing with you instead of me.”
“But, Grand-père, Father does not have any time for me. He rarely joins us for meals, and even then—”
He holds up one hand to stop me. “I know you’ve had your frustrations with him, so I will tell you this.… Markus was a brilliant doctor. But he was also a brilliant scientist. When he was younger, he tried to combine the two, and the results were not what he expected. He did, indeed, contract typhus while in France, though. The scientific community there did not understand the work he was doing, and he was sentenced to six months of prison labor. That’s where he contracted the disease.”
Grand-père falls silent. “Your father created a serum that he thought would cure him. Although it helped with some of the minor symptoms of the disease, it did not work entirely. Ever since, it has been his life’s work to perfect that serum. But I fear his failures have only made matters worse. Truth be told, my dear, that’s why I came to live here with him. I saw how the failures weighed upon him, and I thought I could help.”
Grand-père gives me a gentle smile. “Forgive me, I’m sure you were not looking for a history lesson. Was there anything else you wanted to ask me?”
“No, Grand-père. There’s nothing more.” I curtsy, and then find myself hugging him. “Thank you for telling me the truth about Father. Sleep well.”
He returns my hug. “Ahem. Yes. Well, then, sleep well.”
Eventually, I succumb to sleep, though my head is full of dark dreams, and when the clock outside my door chimes three, I’m suddenly awakened.
I lie still, trying to determine what has woken me. Something tells me that the answers lie downstairs in Father’s laboratory.
My dressing g
own floats around my feet as I move silently through the house. A full moon lights my path. The kitchen is empty when I finally enter, while the door to the laboratory stands open. The key still hangs in the lock. Gathering my courage, I take a step, and go through the door.
The air in the stairwell is increasingly cold, and a familiar scent teases the edges of my memories. When I reach the bottom, I find the door there is open as well. I creep silently closer.
The operating theater is dark—only a single candle burns on the table—and I slowly enter. The smell is stronger inside the room, acidic and tangy, and my mind races as I try to place it. I feel my eyes widen when recognition finally comes.
Blood.
I blindly step back and bump into something. Reaching behind me, my fingers encounter two large wheels and a handle connected to them, then the seat of a chair. It’s some sort of wheeled contraption.
A faint shuffling sound comes from outside the room, and I freeze. Someone is coming down the stairs.
My heart speeds up. Father. He’s coming this way.
I scramble to hide behind the wheeled chair and try desperately to slow my shallow breathing. Something frantic pulses at the base of my neck, and I pray that the darkness will hide me. I do not want to be found like this.
A figure enters the room and walks slowly toward the table. He drags a burlap sack, and with a grunt, he hauls it up onto the table.
A lifeless arm suddenly flops out of the sack.
I bite down hard on my thumb so I don’t scream.
I don’t know what to do. I cannot be discovered! Father has already shown how angry he becomes when I displease him. If he were to find out what I’ve witnessed, who knows what he might do?
Something rolls off the table and he curses. His back is turned to me as he bends to retrieve the object, and I know I must make my escape.
I slowly stand. But just as I take my first step, he holds up the retrieved item.
It’s a cane.
Of Monsters and Madness Page 12