“A medical man in Chelsea dealing with body snatchers? Surely not. This is a respectable area. What sort of doctor would perform such horrific procedures on the dead?” As soon as Hannah said the words, she realised how foolish they sounded, given that both he and she had witnessed three men attempt a resurrection challenge.
One such participant had just crossed their path while denying any knowledge of Mr Barnes. But could they believe him? And why had the hand hid under her bonnet with every evidence of fear?
10
They had a quiet journey back to Westbourne Green. Not that the trip to the Chelsea crematorium had been particularly chatty, but the silence carried a heavy air of unspoken questions. Who among her father’s acquaintances, Hannah wondered, could have been responsible for the fate of Mr Barnes, and the change that had created the animated hand?
Then she considered the crude stitches made in the wrist. No doctor of good standing made such a terrible job of closing a wound. The body snatcher had said only a medical man. That broad description covered many occupations, from barbers who removed teeth, to grooms who saw to the ailments of horses.
Lord Wycliff offered her a hand down after he reined the horse to a halt outside the stable. “I will need to interview the men who participated in the resurrection challenge, to see if one of them took possession of Mr Barnes.”
Old Jim, the family groom, took charge of the horse as Hannah moved the harnessed hand from her shoulder to her forearm. “Father and I would be fascinated to learn what process allows this appendage to function. But I do not believe it was one of his acquaintances. Members of SUSS share their research, and this is an exciting discovery unknown before today.”
“You find this”—Lord Wycliff pointed to the hand that curled his fingers inward and squatted on her forearm—“exciting?”
“When Afflicted do not take the necessary sustenance, rot begins to consume them, starting in the extremities. This hand shows no sign of decay, despite the fact that the evidence indicates Mr Barnes was consigned to the crematorium. There is more at work here than the French curse.” If anything, the hand seemed in far better condition now that he had been removed from the mismatched forearm. There was even a flush of pink to the skin, as though the severed veins were circulating blood.
They walked across the stable yard to the rear of the house. “Most women would reserve the word exciting to describe a new frock.”
“I am not most women.” While like most women, she would find a new dress exciting, surely a woman could be moved by more than fashion? It wasn’t as if the fairer sex were limited to only one interest.
“As I am discovering.” He held open the door and she entered with her unusual hawk. Another thing she found more interesting than clothing tapped on her mind. “What of the Chelsea monster, my lord? Is there a possibility that it might contain some part of Mr Barnes?”
He paused in the hallway. “If we rely on the hand as an indicator of where Barnes is, then his body is ash buried in the ground behind the crematorium. I suppose we cannot discount the possibility of some cobbled-together creature lurking nearby. I intend to patrol the area for the next few nights and see what I encounter.”
“Do be careful of the militia with their pitchforks.” She might not be fond of the man, but no one deserved to be skewered on a pitchfork because they were prowling in the dark.
He stared at her, then nodded before striding down the corridor to his study. But whether that nod meant a civil leave-taking or an assent to her request, she did not know.
“Come along, Mr Barnes’ hand. I am sorry to say it is back to your cage for you. We also need to find something else to call you. Mr Barnes’ hand doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue.” She carried the hand down the stairs to her father’s laboratory.
The workroom was empty apart from the mice going about their lives in their cages. Hannah tried to place the hand in his cage, but he clung to her arm and refused to let go.
“Can I assume from the way you are attached to me like a limpet that you do not like the cage?” She shook her arm, but the hand refused to be dislodged.
He broke one finger free to wave it back and forth in the no gesture. Hannah considered her available options. She could attempt to scrape off the hand on the side of the cage, or use the immobilisation spell to make him let go. Both ideas seemed…underhanded.
“If I promise to speak to my parents about allowing you some liberty, will you let go?”
The finger moved in an up and down direction. Then the hand leapt off her arm into the cage. Hannah unbuckled his harness and closed the lid before he decided to escape.
The family, and their lodger, met over luncheon in the small dining room. Lord Wycliff apprised her father of their failure to locate the rest of Mr Barnes, and of how the hand had pointed to the burial mounds at the rear of the crematorium.
“The ash is cleared from the crematorium on a regular basis,” her father said, “and boxed up and buried on the rear lawn. I doubt you will find much left of the poor man.”
“I shall ask Sir Manly for permission to inspect the mounds more closely and to exhume the one that makes the hand most agitated, if Miss Miles does not mind acting as its handler once more.” Lord Wycliff looked up and for once, didn’t scowl as he asked for her assistance.
Hannah swallowed a laugh. Had the serious viscount actually made a joke? “I am only too happy to assist in determining what happened to the rest of Mr Barnes. Papa, we need to discuss what to do with his hand. He does not like being confined to the cage.”
“If you wish to set him free, I can create a ward around the house so that he cannot wander the countryside,” her mother suggested.
“Yes, please.” Though given the size of the house, there were plenty of places for a hand to hide. “Perhaps you might add some way to locate him if we need to? We can’t have him leaping from the curtains to terrify passers-by.”
“I shall brew some mage silver to make a ring with which we may locate him.” Seraphina sat with an empty plate. She took her sustenance in private each morning to spare the family the sight both of her consuming her pickled cauliflower, or her unveiled face with its signs of decay.
“Moving on to other business, Lord Jessope is agreeable to attempting the exorcism on his wife,” her father said. “Do you wish to come to the Repository with me, Hannah?”
“Oh, yes. What an opportunity.” Since her conversation with her parents, they had both made more of an effort to include her in their research. An effort she much appreciated. She finally felt as though she had a purpose. “It might also be an opportunity for Timmy, if he would not be too frightened by her appearance?”
Her father was delighted to have an apprentice with a trace of magic running through his veins and a particular talent for knowing what ailed people. Hugh was more like a child with a marvellous Christmas gift he didn’t want anyone else playing with, but at the same time, he wanted Timothy to exercise his gift. The lad had much to learn academically before he would commence more rigorous medical studies. He needed to read and write proficiently first, then learn anatomy.
Hannah battled the envy that arose in her heart. If only she had been born a boy and with a magical gift such as Timothy possessed, then she might have assisted her father in a more encompassing way. She might even have risen to be his equal partner as the years progressed.
But she must not let those feelings impinge upon her work. The lad was not to blame for her deficiencies. And it had been her suggestion for the boy to reside with them and become her father’s apprentice. It was her lot in life to arrange things so that others could succeed, while she found quiet contentment in their achievements.
“Timmy has lessons this afternoon and even if he didn’t, the Repository is not an appropriate place for him,” her father said with firmness. “Besides, Lady Jessope might indeed give the lad a fright with her appearance. The reverend is going to attempt his ritual at his church in Chelsea.” Hugh finished hi
s tea with one large slurp that made Lord Wycliff arch an eyebrow.
“I have heard of the Repository of Forgotten Things from Sir Manly,” his lordship said. “Might I accompany you? I would like to verify for myself that none of the male Afflicted held there are missing their hands or other limbs.”
Silently, Hannah pleaded with her father to say no. She wasn’t ready to share a carriage with the man so soon after their outing that morning. Or after what she had endured during their investigation of the recent murders.
But her father was no clairvoyant, to hear her silent prayer. “Since you are Sir Manly’s investigator, you may as well know the full of it. Although it will be a bit cramped, since we need to transport Lady Jessope. Would you mind accompanying us on horseback?”
“Not at all.”
After the repast, Hannah fetched her bonnet, her green velvet pelisse to guard against the chill outside, and her notebook. Lady Gabriella Ridlington and her beau, Mr Jonathon Rowley, were now permanent residents of the Repository of Forgotten Things. While it was a deeply uncharitable thought, Hannah wanted to see how the two Afflicted had deteriorated without the means to satisfy their gluttonous (and murderous) hunger.
Hannah sat in the carriage across from her father while Lord Wycliff rode beside them on his fine mare.
“Quite a difference to have more bodies in the house, don’t you think, Hannah?” Sir Hugh asked as he stared out the window.
“Young Timmy was a fortuitous find, and I am sure he will grow up to be an excellent surgeon under your tutelage.” Hannah found herself staring at Lord Wycliff’s back as he sat easily in the saddle. He held the reins in one hand, the other resting on his thigh.
“And what do you think of our other new resident?” Her father followed her line of sight.
“I think Mother plays a game invisible to the rest of us.” Seraphina had suggested Hannah might like a puppy and then thrust a hellhound upon her.
“Your mother would never play with people’s lives, Hannah. Sera sees things that we cannot and her reasons will reveal themselves in the fullness of time. It is enough to know that the viscount has a part to play in whatever larger game is afoot.” Hugh leaned back against the seat, seemingly content to go along with his wife’s plans. Or perhaps a life spent together had given him a certain familiarity with how the mage manipulated events.
Hannah held in a sigh. At times she was no more than a puppet in life. When would she take control of her own destiny and step out of her mother’s shadow?
Wycliff turned and met her gaze. Black eyes bored into her and forced Hannah to retreat into the shade of the carriage’s interior. It seemed she wasn’t quite ready to step from the shadows yet. But one day…
As they passed through the Repository’s gates, the familiar tingle of magic ran over Hannah’s skin. Wycliff’s mare danced sideways as he rode her through the invisible shield that Seraphina had erected around the compound. A faint mist clung to the air within the high stone wall, as though it further obscured the house from curious eyes.
By the time Hannah and her father emerged from the carriage, Wycliff had dismounted and held his mare by the reins. The wraith stared at the solemn building. No movement came from within and it would have appeared deserted had it not been for the well-manicured lawn.
Might she suggest he move in here, instead of haunting their home? This was a far more fitting place for him to stride along corridors glaring at anyone he encountered.
He tied the mare to the hook at the back of the carriage and then joined them on the small porch.
Sir Hugh unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Hannah stepped inside and breathed in the calm silence. The stone building reminded her of a library, except here there were souls catalogued and stored, not books. As she let the solitude seep into her bones, it came with the realisation that it wasn’t quiet at all. The grandfather clock ticked as it marked off the seconds sliding past. From other directions came the shuffle of feet, the rattle of a door handle, or a stray cough.
“Not what you were expecting, my lord?” her father said to the viscount.
Wycliff stared at a spot on the ceiling, the source of a muffled bump. “No. I thought it was a type of prison to detain those Unnaturals deemed dangerous to society.”
“Not all prisons have visible bars and guards. But I assure you, the more dangerous inmates will not be leaving by any ordinary means.” Her father tucked his hands behind his back and stood a little taller as he spoke of the prison crafted by his wife.
“So there is a possibility they could escape by non-ordinary means?” A black brow arched and his nostrils flared.
“Dark magic creates dark things, such as the Afflicted. We have done what is within our abilities to ensure they stay put, but I do not know what a determined enemy might be capable of. Do you?” Sir Hugh gestured for them to follow him.
“If these creatures are such a danger to society, perhaps there needs to be a more permanent solution?” Wycliff trod silently behind Sir Hugh.
Her father stopped with a hand on top of the newel post. “That is exactly what we are working on. You are welcome to join the next Society meeting if you have any pertinent ideas to propose.”
“This is neither the time nor place for such a discussion, gentlemen.” Hannah tugged on her father’s sleeve as she joined him on the top step. “Let us not forget the purpose of our visit here.”
Hugh patted her hand. “Quite right, Hannah. Let us ask Lady Jessope if she wishes to attempt a reunion with her Maker.”
At the bottom of the stairs, her father called out a greeting to the guard who kept vigil over the inmates. “Lady Jessope, please, Fallon,” he said.
“Certainly, Sir Hugh.” The guard rose and drew forth the rattling ring of keys. He selected a slender iron one and walked to one of the metal doors. Once unlocked, he held it open for the party.
Wycliff glanced all around him before following them into the cell.
Lady Jessope resided within, laid out on the wooden cot with her hands crossed over her chest. Her lips moved continuously as she prayed. Words whispered over dried lips. Her skin was stretched tight over her mummified form. The plain linen shift added to her eerie appearance.
Her father approached and knelt at the Afflicted woman’s bedside.
Wycliff leaned closer to Hannah. “Do they all become like this?”
“No. Lady Jessope is one of a handful of particularly devout sufferers who refuse to take the necessary sustenance. Their denial of their craving has mummified, and therefore preserved, their bodies. It is fascinating and quite the opposite of what occurs in those who succumb to their gluttonous appetites.” She wanted to step away from him, but the little cell gave nowhere else to go. At the same time, she couldn’t help but inhale him—he smelt of sun-warmed earth that reminded her of sunny days by the river spent in quiet companionship. She rather fancied he should have smelt of sulphur, not a comforting aroma that made her want to close her eyes.
“Is this not, then, a solution, rather than feeding their monstrous appetites?” His tone was low, as though they conversed in a church.
“How many of us are so devout we could deny a craving that allowed us to continue to…live, for want of a better word? Not every person is suited to a monastic life of prayer and solitude. And suffering.” Hannah couldn’t do it, as horrible as it was to contemplate. She would rather have her mother at the table pretending to drink tea than a holy relic whispering prayers and locked in a cell.
He made that rough bark in the back of his throat and stepped into the corner, as though ceding the floor.
Sir Hugh rose. “Lady Jessope agrees to attempt the ritual. We will use a bath chair to convey her to the carriage.”
The more Hannah studied Lady Jessope, the more similarities Hannah saw to pictures in books of unwrapped Egyptian mummies. Egypt kept bubbling to the top of her thoughts. She needed to know how her mother progressed with her research in that direction.
/> “May I see the others while she is conveyed above?” Wycliff asked.
Sir Hugh waved to the guard. “Show the viscount where the others are kept. Make sure you stick to the wall on the right, Lord Wycliff, and do not venture near the bars. They are most determined to reach one of us.”
11
“I will visit the other Afflicted with Lord Wycliff, Papa, while you make Lady Jessope comfortable.” Hannah waited out in the corridor while the guard collected his flintlock and found the key for the next locked door. Her father disappeared into another room to find the bath chair needed to move Lady Jessope.
The cries and moans seeped into the hall as they waited, and escalated when the door was pushed open. This was a different room from the one where the original five mad Afflicted were held. That branch of the underground labyrinth was full, and now a new area took in residents. Hannah wondered how many such cells were available in the Repository. Would there be enough if Wycliff got his way and all the Afflicted in London were rounded up and incarcerated?
Hannah couldn’t remember seeing this room on any of her previous visits to the Repository. It seemed to have sprouted a new wing specifically for Lady Gabriella and Jonathon Rowley. She was sure the door was entirely new and yet the masonry appeared decades old. When she laid a hand on the cool surface as she passed, the faint tingle of magic ran up her hand. Of course. Her mother’s handiwork.
“I demand to be set free immediately!” a familiar feminine voice called out.
Mr Rowley was in the first cell, closest to the door. He paced back and forth with his arms clasped around his middle. When he spun to face Hannah, she gasped. His skin showed the blue-green mottling of rot. His lower eyelids pulled downward under their own weight. Tufts of his thick brown hair had fallen out and exposed the skull underneath.
Galvanism and Ghouls Page 9