The Winter Garden

by Kara Jorgensen

  Emmeline watched as the queen ran her fingers over the membranous lid. If it was her mother in that machine, would she be able to step away and let her go? If it meant one more hug or one more long talk at bedtime, she would do anything to keep her alive, but what if she came back only to suffer from a damaged soul in a whole body? It wouldn’t be worth it to watch her struggle and succumb again, to feel the sting of death a second time. The queen’s eyes glistened, running from the bubbling box to the quartz tomb between her palms.

  “Verzeihung, bitte,” she whispered, plunging the end of her nail through the thin cover of the jar. The faint green blur drifted from the opening. It trailed along the side of the queen’s round cheek before dissolving into the aether.

  No one moved. Immanuel and James released silent sighs of relief while Eliza and Lord Rose stood frozen in surprise. Closing her eyes, Emmeline listened to the faint swish of blood rushing through the prince consort’s lifeless form. Lord Rose’s eyes burned through her breast, but she steadied her breath and kept her eyes downcast. More than anything, he wanted to strike her. She could feel it in the subtle twitch of his wrist and the curl of his lip, even if she couldn’t see them.

  “Dr. Hawthorne, please shut it off. There is nothing left to do.” Lord Rose drew in a breath, but with an icy glare, he was silenced. “You have fulfilled your contracts and are released.”

  The queen paused as something crashed to the floor above their heads. Voices cried out and heels pounded against the boards toward the cellar door. The guards tightened their circle around the queen. At the top of the steps, the door shuddered, jarring on its hinges with a clap before flying open. Grabbing Eliza by the arm, James pulled her behind him as a man darted down the stairs with two guards on his heels. When he rounded the banister, the queen’s guards threw their arms around him and pushed him back. The man with dull gold hair and wild eyes struggled in their grasp, thrashing and pushing against them as hard as he could.

  Emmeline’s pulse quickened. He came. Their plan had worked. Locking eyes with Immanuel, he reminded her to not give them away yet. Immanuel inched toward her, stepping over the wires connecting Prince Albert to the warming machine, until they met in the middle.

  “I told you not to come near me again, Alexander,” Lord Rose snapped, the veins on his neck and forehead straining as he stepped closer but retreated when his older brother swung at him.

  “Lord Rose, what is the meaning of this?”

  “I must apologize for my brother’s behavior, Your Majesty, but he has not been in his right mind since the death of his fiancée.”

  “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Alastair?” Alexander said, no longer struggling to break free. He reached into his pocket and held up a thin band of gold topped with a purple stone. “I found this in your room, just like she said.”

  Lord Rose’s chest tightened and his teeth ground together as he turned toward the woman beside him. Her owl eyes widened, and she stepped closer to the German boy, who stood at her elbow defiantly glaring at him. Alastair’s fists clenched in time with his jaw as he spotted the vial and chain hanging from Immanuel’s neck.

  “What did you do?”

  “You miserable bastard,” his brother spat. “You couldn’t leave Katherine alone, could you? She said the one who killed her called her ‘Kitty’ and had her ring. Guess what I found in your bedroom today right where she said it would be.”

  “You!”

  Emmeline’s heart pounded as he advanced on her. In one swift motion, the gauntlet was on his hand, flexing and snapping with lethal fury. He dove toward her and she braced herself for the pain, but a hand grabbed his wrist. Immanuel pressed against her as he reached over her head and held Lord Rose’s hand inches above her neck.

  Keeping his bichrome eyes on the nobleman, Immanuel summoned all of his strength and pushed him back one centimeter at a time. Suddenly, Alastair wrenched his arm away, and Immanuel stumbled forward with Emmeline teetering in front of him. He wrapped his arm around her to pull her back, but when he did, Lord Rose plunged his claws into them, catching both Immanuel and Emmeline’s arms in his viper bite.

  The Hawthornes watched in horror as Immanuel and Emmeline buckled against the electricity coursing through their bodies. Blood trickled from their wounds when their bodies pulled away from the metal fangs before being drawn back to the hissing current. With a final shudder, they sunk under the weight of their bodies and collapsed. As they hit the ground, a sickening crack like breaking ice came from the ribs of the machine. Lord Rose turned in time to see the light within it glow brighter before exploding out, showering the room in shards of quartz. Emmeline and Immanuel gasped, their bodies shaking and their eyes bulging open as the electricity dissipated and their souls settled back into their flesh.

  “Seize him!” the queen’s guard cried.

  Alastair Rose looked at the stairs and down the hall, but James and Eliza blocked his path. The guards were advancing, drawing nearer with pistols and clubs drawn. His pulse quickened. There was no where left to go. They would capture him and take him to prison where he would surely hang once they found out what he had done. He drew in a constrained breath. How dare they. He stared down at the metal and leather glove around his hand. Plunging the tines into his ribs, he met Immanuel’s gaze and pulled the trigger. His eyes rolled back in his skull as his body bucked and thrashed against the current, relishing the single moment of ecstasy before pain took over and the world went dark.

  With a disjointed lurch, Lord Rose slumped to the floor at Immanuel’s feet, pulling the machine down with him. The remaining jar shattered, spilling the electrolyte solution across his lifeless body. As Immanuel pulled Emmeline to her feet, they watched as a shadow slipped from the machine. It billowed from between the brass ribs before dissolving into the darkness of the empty hall. Immanuel closed his eyes, holding Emmeline close as a soft sob broke from her lips. It was over. It was finally over.

  Chapter Thirty-Six:

  The Future Awaits

  Tucking the last of his hand-me-down clothing into his bag, Immanuel sighed. His entire room was packed into the cloth duffel apart from the top hat from Adam, which would be on his head when he left. Immanuel dropped onto the edge of his bed and smoothed the quilted coverlet. It had been a long time since he felt like he had a family, and the Hawthornes and Fenices were as close as he could ever get in England. If he wasn’t so near to finishing his courses, he would have stayed in London, but in a few months, he would be back for good. Slinging the bag onto his back, he walked into the hall and resolutely shut the door behind him. At the base of the stairs, the Hawthornes were waiting to see him off, and even Emmeline seemed sad to see him go. Her owl eyes sagged as her lips curled into a reluctant smile upon seeing him.

  “Do you have everything packed?” Eliza asked. “Do you have your money for the train?”

  Immanuel patted his pocket as he slipped on his coat and met their doleful eyes. Nothing at Oxford would be as good as what he had in Wimpole Street. “Yes, I believe so. Dr. Hawthorne, Mrs. Hawthorne, you have been so kind to me. I owe you my life, and I do not know how I could ever repay you.”

  “My boy, we are even. You and Emmeline helped us get our lives back.”

  James Hawthorne smiled to himself, taking in Immanuel’s thin form. The night he saw him huddled on the porch swaddled in rags, he never would have guessed how the young man he saved would have transformed. When he first arrived, he was barely more than flesh and wounds, but now, as he stood before him with his scarred eye and wide grin, something warm bloomed in the doctor’s chest. Maybe this is how he would feel if he had a child to be proud of. He was about to send the one he nursed back to health out into the world, and he couldn’t be happier with the bright young man he turned out to be.

  Shaking Immanuel’s hand, he said, “You must write to us often. We would like to know how you are doing.”

  “Yes, and I do not want to only receive news from my father. I want to he
ar from you how you are getting on,” Eliza added as she straightened his cockeyed scarf. “We will miss you, Immanuel.”

  “I will miss all of you, too. I promise I will write, Mrs. Hawthorne.” Turning his attention to Emmeline, who kept her eyes on her shoes or out the window for most of their conversation, he brought her hand to his lips and bowed. “You will tell me how the season goes, won’t you?”

  Emmeline scoffed, her lip curling into a grin. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she would miss him, but at least part of her soul was going back to Oxford. “I will try, but I may be in demand and have no time for writing letters.”

  Behind him, a steamer horn blared through the morning air, and when Immanuel glanced out the window, he found Adam waiting in his future brother-in-law’s red car. Shouldering his bag, he gave the Hawthornes a final good-bye before slipping into the cold. His eyes burned as he slid into the backseat beside Adam, but at least he would be there to see him off at Paddington Station. A gloved hand curled around his, squeezing it gently.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but I will miss them and you.”

  “I will miss you too. I bought these for you,” Adam said as he pulled a sprig of forget-me-nots tied with a blue ribbon from his pocket. “They remind me of you, and I thought you could wear them like you did when we went to the theatre.”

  “Thank you, Adam, they are beautiful.” Immanuel sniffed and blinked away the tears threatening to come as Adam slipped the boutonniere into the lapel of his coat. “You know, this is the first time I have had something that felt like it was mine since I came here. I feel like family, but I don’t know if I still will be after being away for a few months.”

  Adam inched closer and slipped his arm around Immanuel’s shoulders. Lord Sorrell’s driver was too preoccupied with not hitting pedestrians to watch them. “You are family to me and definitely to Hadley. She already has a wedding invitation with your name on it and a contract in the works for you to rent her room once you are settled in town. She would have let you stay there without one, but I said we had to make it look legitimate in case anyone ever asked.”

  “You must thank her for me and Lord Sorrell, too. I wish I could have spent more time with you before I left.” Immanuel smiled and rested his head against Adam’s cheek. “Dinner was great last night, but you know what I mean. April seems like an eternity.”

  “Well, it just so happens that I decided to take a holiday in February and Oxford seems like a good place to go during the dreary months.”

  Immanuel’s eyes lit up. “Really? You will love it. I could take you to the libraries and show you around the museums. You can even see the walrus Professor Martin and I assembled.” He stopped, the fire ebbing as reality surfaced in cruel bursts. “Adam, what if you find you no longer care for me by then?”

  How could he say that? Holding Immanuel’s arms, Adam stared into his wetted eyes and whispered, “I have never felt this way about anyone. You have awoken something in me, something I tried very hard to hide, but I can’t anymore. The world is not kind to people like us, yet there is nothing I want more than to be with you. Months ago, I never would have imagined I would be saying this. I hated myself, I hated the façade I put on every day, and then, suddenly, I stumbled across you. You were bruised and battered, barely alive, but I wanted to know you.” He rubbed his wrist and swallowed hard. “When Lord Rose attacked you, I was so afraid you would die. Finally, I realized how much you meant to me. Don’t ever think I won’t care for you, Immanuel. You have irrevocably changed me, and I am looking forward to our future adventures more than anything.”

  Sliding behind the driver’s seat, Adam and Immanuel sunk down below where London’s prying eyes could reach. Immanuel drew his companion close and pressed his lips to his, relishing the familiar scent of his lavender cologne and the subtle spice of tea on his breath. These simple moments of intimacy were what he would miss most. The light scratch of Adam’s mustache against his lips or the security of their fingers laced together would be what he longed for during those days where his classes took their toll and all he wanted was Adam’s companionship.

  Pulling away, they straightened up and brushed the creases from their coats as the station came into view. That would have to be their good-bye kiss, but pulling off Adam’s glove, he slipped their fingers together. Immanuel pressed his palm to Adam’s as if it were their bodies, flesh on flesh with warmth and the gentle hum of electricity between them. With a smile, Adam brought Immanuel’s hand to his lips before donning his glove and opening the steamer door for him.

  Beyond Paddington Station, the future awaited, and while it was as unclear as his mottled eye, at least through the fog, he knew Adam would be waiting for him.

  Epilogue

  Footsteps echoed in the tile and brick hall of the mortuary. The night porter glanced up from his post at the desk, but the room was empty apart from the sputtering gas lamp in far corner. His pulse quickened. A place like this was bound to be haunted, yet every time he thought it was a ghost, it turned out to be porter from one of the hospitals dropping off more bodies or a janitor making his rounds. Turning his attention back to his copy of The Strand, the porter tried to put the rhythmic clacking of shoes from his mind, and as suddenly as they appeared, they stopped.

  “Excuse me.”

  The porter lurched back when his eyes met the hard gaze of a woman in black. His heart pounded in his throat, but as she drew back her widow’s veil, he was relieved to find she was as solid as he was.

  The woman was like no one he had ever seen. Beneath her hat and veil, her polished bronze hair curled in tight ringlets like spooled wire, and despite the winter cold, her skin was sun-kissed and glowing. Her full lips and high cheekbones rivaled that of his wife, but his amorous musings were cut short by her pale green eyes.

  “Ma’am, the morgue is closed.”

  As if she didn’t hear him, she said, “I am here to claim my husband.”

  There was something about her, some force behind her gaze that repelled any rejection or rebuff before he could utter it. The porter fumbled for the ledger, feeling her eyes upon him, and turned to the latest entries. “Name?”

  “Lord Alastair Rose.”

  “Right this way, Lady Rose.”

  Leaving her in the viewing room, the porter shuddered. He wove through the rows of bodies until he reached the one that matched the number in the ledger. The body had been brought in two days ago during his shift. It had been surprising to see Dr. Hawthorne dropping off a body, usually he was collecting one or one was being delivered to him by a policeman for a post-mortem examination. As he rolled the body into the room, he watched as her eyes never left the form beneath the sheet. The porter folded the cloth back to the dead man’s shoulders.

  “That is him,” she said, flatter than he expected. “May we have some privacy?”

  The porter blinked and back out of the room. “Of course, Lady Rose. If you require anything, I will be right outside the door.”

  When the door clicked shut behind her, she grabbed the edge of the sheet and threw it back, revealing her husband’s pale corpse. Even after five years, nothing had changed. His dark blonde hair and muscular form were just as they had been when she left for the continent, but as her eyes trailed lower, they lingered on the purpled, mottled patches on his torso where his flesh was littered with three-pronged wounds. On his breast was an identical wound but unlike the others was surrounded by pristine skin. Tracing her hand across his brow, she brushed his hair from his forehead. She could have loved him once, if he had accepted her. They were so alike, but the ambition that brought them together severed them just as quickly.

  “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Claudia Rose tugged the glove from her hand and ran her palm over the cold skin of his abdomen. “How curious.”

  The hair on her neck rose as a swath of cold air pressed against her. She turned toward the door, thinking the porter had intruded, when she found a shadow blocking he
r path. The mass undulated, condensing and dissolving until it disappeared.

  “Claudia!” hissed a sooty breath at her ear.

  Before she could react, the specter shot through her, chilling her and taking her breath away. At the end of her nose, the mass coagulated. The shadows rolled and churned until they formed the nebulous outline of a face. He loomed over her, drawing so close that her breath scattered the particles of his familiar chin and lips. With a wave of her hand, the face drifted apart like smoke. Taking a step into the hall, she found the porter waiting.

  “Where would you like us to send the body for burial, ma’am?”

  “There will not be a burial.”

  “So we should send him to Surrey for cremation?”

  Claudia Rose slipped the fine leather glove over her hand, watching the black mass shift at the edge of her vision. “Donate him. Let him be of use for once.”

  The porter opened his mouth, but the words deserted him.

  Claudia Rose sauntered down the hall, her heels clicking in time with the swish of her black silk gown and the whir of her husband’s shade at her side. They had work to do.

  Here is a preview of The Earl and the Artificer (Ingenious Mechanical Devices #3):

  Chapter One:

  The Ninth Earl

  Elbow-deep in steamer engine innards and covered in grease was not how Hadley Sorrell expected her honeymoon to begin. The wedding and journey to Dorset had been surprisingly smooth, but their luck never lasted. She should have expected the steamer to pop and belch smoke in the middle of the road. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched her husband stare off, his grey eyes locked on the rolling waves as they lapped against the piebald coast in the distance.