Galvanism and Ghouls

by Tilly Wallace

Seraphina wrote with a quill as she spoke, the peacock feather swaying back and forth with each word formed on paper. “Indeed. It was not our enemy’s original plan to target only the wealthy ladies of London. When Sir Ewan found the caves used by the smugglers to bring the barrels to English soil, they contained thousands of containers of face powder and snuff. If that cache had not been destroyed, they could have poisoned thousands of men and women at all levels of society.”

  Hannah’s mind extrapolated what might have happened, and a shudder ran down her spine and raised gooseflesh along her arms. “With so many men and women killed to arise as the Afflicted, there would never have been enough pickled cauliflower to keep them all sustained. Desperation might have meant thousands unable to control their hunger, who would have murdered more innocents and created a legion of the shambling secondary Afflicted.”

  The horror played out in Hannah’s mind with scenes of murder and chaos. Screams seemed to echo around the room as imaginary soldiers sought to drive back the ravenous Afflicted. Massive funeral pyres would have sprung up around the countryside as those cursed were driven into the flames. Thick black smoke would have blanketed the fields and spread despair.

  Seraphina clapped her hands and Hannah’s nightmare dispersed, to be replaced by soothing music. “Let us be thankful only two barrels of infected powder were mixed up by the smugglers. Sir Ewan prevented a most terrible fate for England, and the French ultimately failed to defeat us.”

  Hannah managed a smile as she thought of the handsome officer and lycanthrope. Would having a wolf shifter in the house be as disconcerting as living with a wraith? “We are indebted to the Highland Wolves. But now that we have our own mission, what can I do?”

  Seraphina finished her task and dropped the peacock feather quill into its elegant silver holder. “Let us divide tasks. I will continue with my study on mummification if you would run an errand to the Physic Garden. I need a number of herbs that we do not grow here.”

  An idea flowed through Hannah, one that warmed her cheeks with a slight blush. “I could call on Lord Dunkeith and ask if he could assist.”

  “An admirable idea. The garden is closed to the public and jealously guarded by the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. But you cannot call upon his lordship on your own. It wouldn’t be proper.” Her mother picked up a shaker and dusted the page with sand.

  Hannah’s daydream of wandering arm in arm through the fragrant garden with a handsome lord vanished, the image torn apart by an interloper. “I could take Timmy for an outing.”

  Seraphina laughed. “Certainly not. We are still teaching him to mind his manners around us. He is in no way fit company to call upon a lord. Take Wycliff.”

  At that moment, as though summoned by Seraphina’s call, the library door opened and the dark mood personified appeared. “Might I intrude, Lady Miles?”

  Seraphina laced her hands on her desk as though she had been expecting him. “Of course. In fact, your presence is most timely.”

  “Oh?” Viscount Wycliff stepped further into the library.

  “Hannah needs to run an errand for me to the Physic Garden and I suggested you might be persuaded to accompany her. She cannot call upon Charles Dunkeith on her own.” Her mother gestured to her, sitting on the rug like a young child.

  Wycliff turned to regard Hannah from under his dark brows. They weren’t drawn close in a frown today; instead, he wore a more open expression. “This is indeed fortuitous. I came to ask if I might use the carriage to do that very thing. My mare had quite a run yesterday and I’d like to rest her today, but I need to see the Physic Garden. A body was found close by there yesterday.”

  Hannah’s attention perked up. “A body that requires your attention? Was it the one mentioned in the newspaper that had been most horribly mutilated? That those ghastly scandal sheets are trying to link to Papa?”

  He inclined his head in her direction. “Indeed. The woman has been constructed in a manner similar to the hand and forearm I retrieved from the Thames. Doctor Husom is ascertaining for me whether the limbs belong to her or to others.”

  “Why don’t you run along, Hannah, and have Old Jim harness the horses? That will give me time to ensure I have everything on the list.” Her mother pushed herself away from the desk.

  “Of course, Mother.” Hannah closed the book on mummification.

  A hand appeared before her face, as Lord Wycliff offered to help her rise from the floor. Not wishing to offend by refusing, she placed her fingers in his and he closed them in a hot grip.

  Once she gained her feet, he bent to retrieve the book. “Shall I return this to its shelf?”

  Hannah gestured to a low table. “No, if you could leave it on the side table, please, I’d like to continue reading it later.”

  After Hannah found Old Jim and asked him to hitch the carriage and bring it around, she headed upstairs to her bedroom. She stared at her wardrobe and contemplated her limited choices. She chose a spencer in dark grey with ornate frogging that would match her sombre grey gown. Next she donned a bonnet with the same grey grosgrain ribbon before trotting down the stairs.

  Wycliff waited for her in the yard and took her hand to help her into the carriage. Suspicion wormed its way through Hannah. Why was he being so…gentlemanly? She had grown accustomed to his rude and blunt manner. When he behaved in a civilised fashion, it was enough to make her think it must be an elaborate prank.

  Then she chastised herself for such thoughts. Perhaps this was his normal behaviour when not set upon by the world. Her parents found quiet refuge in their home. Was it at all possible that the calm environment was rubbing off on their houseguest?

  It was a quiet drive from Westbourne Green and down through Kensington to Chelsea. Hannah kept to herself and stared out the window, not wanting to bother Lord Wycliff with inane chatter.

  Though she did want to bombard him with questions about the recently discovered body. Eventually curiosity got the better of her and she simply had to voice the most pressing of them. “Might I enquire, Lord Wycliff, about the woman found yesterday? Did she possess any Afflicted limbs?”

  “None appeared ambulatory or lively like the hand. I have had a portrait drawn to aid in my search to identify her.” He spoke without looking at her, his attention fixed on the passing scenery.

  In her mind, Hannah drew a line through Afflicted limbs and moved on to her next idea. “Do you think there is a connection between the limb that crawled from the Thames and this woman?”

  Now he did turn to regard her. An odd feeling coursed through Hannah at being his sole focus. “They were both discovered not far from each other, and both bear similar surgical wounds. Beyond that, I cannot speculate until I know the results of Doctor Husom’s examination.”

  Lord Dunkeith maintained a smart town house a mere stone’s throw from the Physic Garden on the north side of Paradise Row. The carriage turned into the sweeping drive and came to a halt in front of the portico. There was no fence around the property and the lawns were scattered with large, spreading trees.

  Hannah smiled to herself as Wycliff forgot his attempts at civility and jumped down from the carriage to bang on the house’s front door. She might have known it was too good to last as she waited for the driver to drop the steps and help her down.

  The house’s glossy blue front door swung open and Wycliff disappeared inside, still without so much as a backward glance at Hannah. She waited in the tiled foyer as voices rose and fell beyond an open doorway.

  Lord Dunkeith burst out of the room. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles with such enthusiasm that heat raced over her cheeks. “Miss Miles! What an honour to have you visit my humble home.”

  Hannah bobbed at her knees. “Lord Dunkeith, thank you so much for agreeing to see us when we have arrived uninvited.”

  “Nonsense.” He beamed at her, a smile that conveyed warmth like brandy. “You and your father are the trailblazers in trying to find a cure for the Afflicted and I am most humble
d to be of service.”

  “If it is not too much trouble, my lord, my mother requires a number of herbs that might be found in the Physic Garden.” Hannah pulled the list from her reticule.

  Lord Dunkeith scanned the list. “Feverfew, goldenseal, tansy, cannabis sativa…this is quite an eclectic mix.”

  Bother. If they did not grow in the Physic Garden, could they be found anywhere in England? “Do you think we can find them all? Mother wishes to prepare an ancient spell that may be the elusive key to the cure.”

  “Oh, yes. Most definitely. The Physic Garden is only across the road…if you would stroll with me?” He held out his arm and Hannah placed her hand on his forearm.

  She glanced back to the viscount, who stood in the foyer with a familiar scowl on his face.

  “Oh, be a good sport, would you, Wycliff? There is a basket and secateurs by the door. We’ll be needing those.” Lord Dunkeith waved at the basket before leading Hannah through the front door.

  She bit back a laugh at the murderous look on the viscount’s face, before she turned her thoughts to more pleasant topics—like the exceptionally good company of Lord Dunkeith.

  “Have you always had an interest in potions, my lord?” They walked along the driveway to the road.

  “Ever since I was a wee boy. Apparently I made the best pot of tea as a whippersnapper. It wasn’t until a few years later that my gift for apothecary became evident and my parents realised that was how my aftermage gift manifested itself.” Lord Dunkeith pulled her to a halt before checking for traffic upon the road. Then he escorted her across to the Physic Garden.

  An eight-foot brick wall surrounded the garden and they stopped before the ornate wrought-iron gates. High above their heads, the ironwork met and held up the emblem of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries. A golden Apollo held a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other as he overcame Pestilence, represented by a wyvern.

  “A bit fanciful, isn’t it?” Lord Dunkeith said as Hannah gazed up at the emblem. “Our motto is Opiferque Per Orbem Dicor, or Throughout the world I am called the bringer of help.”

  “I cannot imagine any greater calling than relieving the suffering of others.” She glanced back to Wycliff. Could any potion allay his suffering, or was it his soul that sickened, not his body?

  Lord Dunkeith had extracted a key from his pocket and unlocked the gate. “Ladies first.”

  Hannah stepped into the garden and didn’t know which direction to take first. Lime chip paths ran between beds. Some beds held neatly contained plants; in others, shrubs attempted to escape as they climbed over the hedging. She was glad to have a guide with whom to navigate the lush growth.

  “This way first.” Lord Dunkeith gestured down one path. “I am curious as to how the Physic Garden is relevant to your investigation, Wycliff?”

  The gravel crunched behind Hannah as the viscount followed them closely. “A woman was found not far from here. She pointed in this direction before she died.”

  Lord Dunkeith stopped before a low shrub and took the secateurs from the basket in Lord Wycliff’s hands. “A coincidence, surely? If the poor soul had been on the brink of death she could have been pointing at anything. Perhaps an angel come to reap her soul. Or it might have been a mere contraction as she died and of no import at all.”

  “Or it might have been a clue,” Wycliff said as he held out the basket to receive the herbal offering.

  14

  “Who has access to this garden?” Wycliff asked. A heady aroma of both foliage and flowers drifted from the multitude of plants crammed into the gardens. A sneeze tickled at the back of his nose and he tried to shake it away.

  “Only members of the Society and, as you can see, they do not often visit.” Dunkeith gestured around them. The paths were empty and they saw only one other person, a gardener on hands and knees weeding between the bushes.

  “Is there any record of who comes here? In particular, who was here yesterday?” The sneeze was back and this time Wycliff had to avert his face as the pollen tickled his nose and had to be expelled.

  Dunkeith laughed and steered Miss Miles down another pathway. A willow hung over the path like a green veil.

  “We all hold a key. But our secretary, Mr Mossman, is an aftermage and he knows when each key is used.” He stopped at a plant that looked much like all the others and snipped off a section.

  “If you could provide his address, that would be most useful.” Wycliff held out the basket and took the next smelly offering.

  “Of course. I have his card at home and will fetch it when we return.” Dunkeith waited as Miss Miles stopped and knelt.

  She smelled a purple flower, and turned to ask Dunkeith a question about its properties with such an open smile that Wycliff frowned at the man. Why was she looking at him like that? Perhaps he was making her inhale a scent with some sort of hallucinogenic effect.

  “Are there many more herbs to collect?” he asked, to move the interview along.

  “In a hurry to be somewhere else, Wycliff?” Dunkeith helped Miss Miles to rise and they disappeared under a weeping branch of lacy foliage.

  “Yes, actually—somewhere that doesn’t smell like a cheap brothel,” he muttered under his breath as he followed.

  At last they were done, and Wycliff handed Miss Miles and her pungent basket of foliage into the carriage. “I’ll not be returning with you,” he said. “I am going to show the drawing around Chelsea.”

  “Very well.” She clutched the basket on her lap as he closed the door and signalled Old Jim to drive on.

  Wycliff had spent the previous day stopping pedestrians and showing them the sketch of the woman’s face. Today he walked the streets once more, stopping everyone in his path to show the drawing in the hope that someone would recognise her. Many of the people took the opportunity to harangue him about the monster roaming the fields at night, as though he were personally responsible for it.

  Every time he showed the sketch and someone shook their head, it reinforced his dread that he pursued a false trail. The woman might not even be from London. Since she had supposedly been pointing at the Physic Garden, he had begun with the assumption she might be local.

  The day had lengthened into afternoon when he pressed the drawing under the nose of a man selling vegetables in the market.

  “She looks familiar.”

  Wycliff was so used to hearing no and sorry that the words failed to register for a moment. “You know her?”

  The man scratched his head and screwed up his face. “Think so. Looks like Charlie Warren’s girl, Beth.”

  It was the advancement that made the miles he’d walked, wearing away the soles of his boots, worthwhile. “Where would I find this Charlie Warren?”

  The street vendor waved back along the road. “Chelsea Bun Shop. He’s one of the bakers.”

  Wycliff nodded his thanks and hurried along the road. At least Easter had passed and the winding queues for the spiced buns had gone. Even so, the Chelsea Bun Shop still drew a large crowd eager to sample the baked goods that bore the shop’s name. The shop was still busy with many patrons. The interior was an odd homage to events over the last hundred years since the shop opened in 1711. A toy man wedged inside a bottle sat under a portrait of the Duke William. Models of soldiers in old-fashioned uniforms guarded the corners.

  Patrons sat at small, round tables and nibbled their buns, accompanied by hot chocolate. Chatter filled the room and the noise pushed against Wycliff as he made his way to the counter and glared at the shop girl in her white apron. “Where would I find Charlie?”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth opened and closed. Then she swallowed and gestured over her shoulder. “In back, milord.”

  He walked around the counter while the lass called fruitlessly, “You can’t go through there, sir!”

  The temperature in the working part of the bakery would have suited one of the levels of hell. Ovens lined one wall, fed by fuel underneath their scorched brick interiors. Gaping
mouths had offerings given or taken by long-handled paddles.

  “I must speak with Charlie,” Wycliff announced. “Is he here?”

  “Who wants to know?” A man in an apron covered in brown stains looked over as he slid a steaming loaf from a paddle to a tray to cool.

  Wycliff held aloft the drawing. “I’m trying to identify this woman, who was found in the fields the other day.”

  “That’s my Beth.” A broad gent wiped his hands on his apron and approached, his gaze fixed on the drawing. “Is she all right? Where is she? She’s been missing for over a week now and no one has seen hide nor hair of her.”

  Sweat trickled down between Wycliff’s shoulder blades, partly due to heat and partly due to the news he now had to deliver. “I am sorry to say she is dead, sir. I am trying to determine what fate befell her.”

  The man went as white as though he had fallen into the flour. He whispered, “No,” before keeling over backward. A faint flour cloud rose from the impact as his colleagues rushed to help.

  War had taught Wycliff not to assume how a man would react to news of this kind based on his physical appearance. The largest man could fall like a tree while insubstantial saplings held their ground. While he waited for the man to revive, he reviewed what little he knew. The woman had gone missing, therefore it was safe to assume she had not died of injury or sickness. She had a family who missed her, making it unlikely that her cadaver had been sold to a medical school.

  The question he most wanted answered was, how had she ended up looking like a surgery practice doll?

  Two men helped Charlie over to a stool by a window, where he leaned on the sill. Wycliff gave him the sketch and he clutched the paper in his hands. Tears meandered over his cheeks and one fell onto the page. “What happened to her?”

  Wycliff rested his shoulder on the wall and let the fresh breeze cool the sweat on his brow. “I was hoping you could help me determine that. She was found in a field not far from the Physic Garden two mornings ago. No one knew her identity, and I have spent yesterday and today showing that drawing in the neighbourhood. When did you see her last?”