I gasp, and he turns around instantly. “Who’s there?”
The voice is not my Father’s. It’s Edgar’s.
I stumble against the wheeled chair. Flinging out a hand to catch myself, I feel glass beneath my fingers only moments before a jar crashes to the ground. The sound ricochets around me.
“Stop!” Edgar shouts.
I knock more jars off the shelves, trying frantically to regain my footing. A sharp pop, pop, pop comes, one right after another. The room is closing in on me. It’s too hard to breathe.
I see myself being trapped in this room forever with Edgar as he slowly murders me and leaves my body to rot. I whimper at the thought. My panic is turning me into a caged animal and I blindly pull things off the shelf in a desperate attempt to break free.
I don’t hear him come up behind me, but he grabs my arm. I thrash wildly, until he reaches for my other arm and pins them at my sides. “Annabel?” he says.
“Please,” I gasp. Tears are choking me, and I cannot draw a breath. “Let me go. Please … I beg of you.”
He pulls me closer to still my body, and the gesture makes me think of how only hours ago I was embracing Allan. Wanting nothing to taint that memory, I say, “I will not scream. But you must let me go. I cannot breathe.”
He pauses a moment, then releases me. I draw in a deep breath as I try to gain control of my thoughts.
“How long have you been here?” he demands.
“Only a short time. I thought my father was down here.”
He glances over at the body on the table. “He was.”
Tears instantly fill my eyes. “Is that … is that …” I cannot say the words.
“You mean is that him?” Edgar glances back at me. “It’s not, if that’s what you were thinking.”
Relief floods through me.
“He was here, but he left me to take care of this.” Edgar waves carelessly at the body, as if it’s nothing more than a place setting. “He is the doctor, and I am the student after all. A student’s work can be quite … messy at times.”
I stare at him. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“He commits the act, and I clean up after him. It’s rather simple.”
“Are you saying my father is a murderer?”
“Bird, flying because it’s supposed to fly? Remember? We had this conversation already. Now”—he grabs my elbow—“if you will be so kind as to come with me. I have a long night of disposal ahead of me, and I should like to get back to it.”
He marches me toward the door. “Naturally, you cannot speak of this to anyone. Your father would be arrested for his crimes. Almost certainly hanged. Shame would come upon your family name, the house would be sold, the fortune lost.… And, as far as the deceased, well, I don’t think anyone will be missing her.”
I keep my eyes cast down as we walk—I do not wish to see what they have done—but as we draw closer to the table, my eyes betray me. My feet come to a sudden stop. The edges of the sack are open, exposing the lifeless body lying on the table.
It’s Mrs. Tusk.
Twenty
Edgar forces me up to my bedroom, holding on to my arm the entire way. As soon as he lets go of me, I whirl around to face him. But the door shuts just as quickly as it was opened, and I hear the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. I pound on the door, but his footsteps have already started to fade. “No!” I cry. “Let me out! Let me out!”
He does not return, and after several minutes of futile banging, I realize no one can hear me.
I move to the window. Perhaps I can climb down. But I quickly see I’m too high up. The outside wall is smooth, and offers no chance of escape. Frustrated, I clench my hands. I must tell someone what Edgar’s done!
My throat begins to tighten, and I cough several times. Then my eyes start to burn. The air is growing heavier. Almost as if a window has been opened, and a thick fog is creeping in.
And then I realize, it isn’t fog inside my bedroom—it’s smoke.
Hurrying to the door, I bang again and again. I glance around wildly, desperate for something that can break through the solid wood. My gaze falls on the bedside table and I move to pick it up, when I see something else. Something better. The button Maddy told me to use to get her attention.
I push the button until I hear feet running down the hallway. The doorknob rattles when someone tries to open it from the other side.
“Miss Annabel!” Maddy yells. “Annabel! Yer door is locked. Do you know what happened to the key? The house is on fire! We must get out!”
I put my face up close to the door. The smoke makes my eyes water. “It was taken. Can you get the keys from Cook?”
Silence greets me.
“Maddy?” I bang on the door again. “Maddy!”
A sound comes from the knob below my hand, and I glance down. It is a key being fitted into the lock. The door swings open, and I see Maddy there, chest heaving, eyes wide. She holds a damp cloth to her face, covering her nose. “I remembered the skeleton was at the end of the hall, Miss Annabel!” she says triumphantly.
“Good girl, Maddy.” I grab her hand and pull her toward the staircase leading to the kitchen. I can hear footsteps running through the house and someone yelling below, only now I can make out the words being shouted. “Fire! Fire!”
Maddy pulls back on my hand, forcing me to stop. “Not that way! The fire started down there. We have to use the main stairs.”
Reversing our course, we hurry down as fast as we can. When we reach the great room, Cook comes rushing toward us. Her arms are filled with silver platters. “Miss!” she says urgently. “Come with me!”
“Where’s Grand-père? Is he still in his study?”
She shakes her head. “He’s fine, miss. He was the first one to alert us to the fire. Come now, we’ve got to get you out. I tried to save what I could—”
“What about Father?”
Maddy tugs on my hand again and urges me to the door. “The Master is probably outside, Miss Annabel.”
“Where was he the last time you saw him?” She looks down at the ground and quickly shakes her head. “Cook?” I demand. “Do you know where my father is?”
“I think he was in the laboratory, miss. But you can’t—”
I push Maddy toward her. “Go! Go! I won’t leave without Father. I must find him!”
Maddy tries one last time to make me come with her, but I slip free from her grasp. “At least take this with you, Miss Annabel,” she says, handing me the wet cloth.
I take it from her and turn in the direction of the dining room. The walls are black, and I cannot stop coughing even though I’m breathing through the cloth.
My vision only seems to get worse as I keep moving. Stumbling into the kitchen, I narrowly miss stepping on a hutch that’s fallen over. Broken dishes cover the floor. Even though there are no flames, the smoke is overwhelming. I call for Father until my throat grows weak, and I make my way over to the door that leads down to the laboratory.
The knob is hot to the touch, and I don’t realize my fingers are burned until it’s too late. I pull back, but my skin is already red and blistered. Using the sleeve of my dressing gown as a buffer, I turn the knob again. When the door opens, smoke billows out.
I drop to my knees. The fire must have started in the laboratory.
“Father!” I cry weakly. “Father!” But I can no longer tell if any sound is coming out. My throat seizes up as a coughing fit overcomes me. “Father …”
His name is a whisper.
Suddenly, someone grabs my shoulder and pulls me back from the door. Then I’m lifted into the air.
“Annabel!” a voice yells into my ear. My rescuer stumbles and curses. His voice is faint, but it sounds like Allan. Catching himself, he carries me across the kitchen. He stumbles again and I almost fall from his arms. “Damn you!” he yells down at me.
I struggle to lift my head. Why is he so upset with me?
He stumbles on
ce more, and then, finally, we are free. The air outside is a soothing balm to my lungs, and he lays me on the ground.
“What were you doing down there?” he asks.
I try to speak, but can’t. Coughing again, I rub my soot-filled eyes and look up at him. Allan’s hair has come loose and the collar of his shirt is ripped.
“Why were you down there?” he says angrily.
My vision is still blurry, but his face starts to become clearer.
“Edgar?” I say hoarsely.
He pulls back abruptly. Without another word, he crosses the courtyard and then disappears through the gate that leads to the cobblestone street beyond.
I lie on the ground, drinking in the cold night air as my chest heaves, and I lose all sense of time. My hearing is muffled, but I recognize voices in the distance. “Cook! Johanna!” I call weakly. “I’m here!”
The gate opens and Johanna comes charging through it. “Miss!” she yells. She turns her head and shouts over her shoulder, “Back here! She’s back here!”
Cook immediately rushes in behind her, and when they reach me, they each put an arm around me. “Has Father been found?” I ask. “Has everyone made it out of the house?”
“All’s fine,” Cook says soothingly. “Maddy is with the Grandmaster, an’ the Master is directing Jasper an’ Thomas to put the fire out.”
Helping me to my feet, they lead me around to the front of the house. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Grand-père’s white hair.
“Grand-père!” I shout his name and pull away from Cook and Johanna. My legs are weak, but I run toward him. Tears stream down my face.
He gathers me close. “Shhhh, shhhh,” he says. “You are safe.”
“I could not find Father.… I thought he was trapped in his laboratory.”
Grand-père points to the left. “Your father is safe. See? He’s overseeing the water brigade.”
I look to where Grand-père points. Father is limping toward the far side of the house, directing Thomas and Jasper, who carry buckets of water into the house through an open window. Cook and Johanna come to stand beside me. A small pile of silver rests at Cook’s feet. Maddy joins me, and we share a brief hug.
“I’m so glad yer safe, miss,” she says. “You gave me a scare.”
“I’m fine now, Maddy. Thanks to your quick thinking.” She nods, and I turn to Grand-père. “What happened? How did the fire start?”
He shakes his head. “We cannot be sure. I’m just thankful that everyone is safe.”
Smoke billows out of a nearby window, and a black cloud of ash rises above us. “But what about the house?” I ask. “What about everything that will be lost?”
Grand-père waves his hand. “Although there’s a lot of smoke, the flames have not reached very far. Besides, things can be replaced. People cannot.” He looks down at me. “I’m so thankful you are safe, Annabel. I—”
A grimace crosses his face, and he clutches his chest. “I—”
He suddenly falls backward.
“Grand-père!” I scream. I bend down beside him and reach for his hand. “Grand-père, what’s wrong?”
His eyes are open, but they do not blink. His face still bears a grimace.
“Grand-père?” I whimper. I squeeze his fingers. There is no response. I put a hand on his chest to see the steady rise and fall, but it does not rise. “Grand-père!” I scream again. “Grand-père, no!”
Leaning over, I pat his face. “Grand-père! Grand-père! Wake up, Grand-père. You must wake up!” But he does not respond.
Maddy tries to get my attention. “Annabel. Miss. He—”
“Father!” I scream, getting to my feet. “Father, it’s Grand-père! Come quickly!” I can barely see for the tears filling my eyes. But I make my way to Father’s side.
Alarm fills his face. “Annabel, what …?”
I shake my head as the words come tumbling out of me. “Grand-père’s chest is not rising. He’s stopped breathing. You must come now, Father. Come help him.”
Father hurries to Grand-père’s side as fast as his stilted gait will allow. Bending down, he puts his ear close to Grand-père’s mouth and listens for breath. Father’s face grows paler. He starts to pound on Grand-père’s chest, and after each motion, pauses to listen again.
When he finally looks up at me, his eyes are blank. “He’s dead.”
I shake my head. Father gets to his feet and takes a step toward me, but I keep shaking my head. “It cannot be true. I know you’re a doctor. You must do something. Do something!” I hear the words rising as I say it again and again. “It cannot be true! It cannot be true! Do something, Father. Help him!”
The world suddenly comes to a stop. All I can hear is the anguish in my own voice. And that anguish is the last thing I remember.
Twenty-One
I come to when a patch of afternoon sunlight slants across my face. Sitting up, I take in everything around me. I’m safe in my own bed. Not outside watching smoke pour out of my new home. Not clutching the lifeless fingers of Grand-père. Not being carried from the depths of a smoky hell by Allan … or Edgar.
My heart lifts—it must have been a dream.
I throw aside the covers, then instantly pull back my hand as pain races through my fingers. I look down at them. They’re red and blistered.
It was not a dream after all.
Shock turns to numbness as I stare down at my hands. My chest constricts, like I’m being laced into a corset that is drawn tighter and tighter and my every breath hurts. I wait for the pain to go away, but it clings to me like a second skin, and even as I rise from the bed, I cannot shake the feeling.
Stopping in front of the looking glass, I search my face for signs of grief. Of pain. Surely, my eyes should be filled with tears and my heart aching from the loss of Grand-père. But there is nothing. Nothing but this tightness that wraps around my chest and constricts my lungs, becoming one with me, matching every breath I take and every move I make. This thing has slipped beneath my skin like a second person. This thing is the reason why I do not cry. Why I go through the motions of dressing myself in a simple gown. Why I pull on neat white gloves over aching fingers with barely a whimper. This thing propels me to go downstairs even though I should rage and yell and ask the heavens why Grand-père would be taken from me like this. Why the only person to truly understand me in this house could be gone in the blink of an eye. It makes me act as though I do not care. It’s why I am unfeeling.
True horror washes over me then. And I realize, I’m just like my father. Coldness and callousness are my birthright. They are in my blood.
I wander downstairs in a haze of disbelief and find myself in the great room. The scent of smoke still lingers in the air. Outside the dining room doors, Cook has set up tables with platters of food piled upon them. I pour myself a cup of tea and take it to the courtyard.
The larder appears to have sustained the most damage in the kitchen—everything is burned and covered in ash—while in the corner near the door that leads to Father’s laboratory, a beam from the ceiling has partially fallen. The courtyard door is standing open to let in fresh air, and I have to step carefully as I make my way over to it.
Once I’m outside, I sit down on the bench where Maddy and I had our picnic and stare down into my tea. My mind is impossibly full, yet impossibly blank. How can I be so cold? So unfeeling? Why can I not grieve for Grand-père?
I hear the sound of a cane tapping on the ground, but I don’t look up. Edgar saunters over and takes a seat beside me. “Rough time of it last night?”
I stay silent.
“I must say, I was rather hoping for a thank-you.”
“A thank-you?” I am in no mood to be dealing with him right now.
“I saved your life.”
Fury boils inside of me. “You’re the reason why I was trapped during the fire! How dare you lock me in like that!”
He sighs dramatically. “You interrupted my work. What choice did I have?”
He glances down at his nails and begins to pick at one of them. “Besides, I carried you out, didn’t I? I could have just left you down there to burn.”
My fury goes cold. “Perhaps you should have.”
“Pardon?” He leans toward me. “I could not quite hear that.”
“I said, perhaps you should have left me there.”
“Poor, poor Annabel.” His voice is mocking. “Was your sleep interrupted by the fire? Did you have bad dreams?”
My own voice is as sharp as glass. I barely recognize it. “Grand-père died last night. His heart stopped from the excitement.”
Edgar waves a hand dismissively. “It was his time, then. He was rather old.…”
Anger boils in my blood again, red-hot, and the sharp crack of my hand against his cheek echoes around us. “How can you say such a thing?” I seethe.
Edgar looks momentarily stunned. Then his expression turns to amusement. “Bravo. I didn’t know you had it in you.” He gives me a polite clap and smiles broadly. “Felt good, didn’t it?”
I ignore his baiting tone. “Grand-père was honest and trustworthy and loyal. He should have lived a long life. Much longer than he was allowed.”
“Are you implying that I am none of those things?”
“You are a murderer.”
“Not true.” He taps his cane against the side of the bench. “Your father is the murderer. I am merely his assistant.”
Edgar’s verbal parrying frustrates me, and I have no further desire to be in his company. Turning away from him, I stare at the horizon. The sun is sinking and night will soon start to fall. “Why are you here, Edgar?” I say abruptly. “What do you want?”
“The weather is growing colder, and you have something that belongs to me. I need it returned.”
I turn to face him again. “Something of yours? I have nothing of yours.”
Edgar taps his shoulder with his cane. “My coat? I was most gentlemanly and lent it to you.”
He’s right. I do have his coat. The morning I helped Maddy’s mother, I dropped it in the back of the armoire as soon as I returned to my room so I would not have to see it and be reminded of what happened. Now I find myself wishing it had burned in the fire. “Wait here,” I say stiffly, leaving my cup of tea behind. “I’ll retrieve it for you.”
Of Monsters and Madness Page 13