“Are you ready?” she asked, running her eyes over his dark suit before coming to rest on the gold and silver vial.
Shrugging, he pulled the door shut behind him. “I guess we will find out if Lord Montagu suspected his brother. If Lord Rose shows up, we have failed.”
“Not necessarily. The police may not act immediately.”
“I know,” Immanuel dropped his voice, “but I am going back to Oxford in a few days, and I don’t want him running free. Even if he gets his land and money, he is not going to let me go. I know too much.”
Emmeline was about to speak when her aunt called for them to come down. At the bottom of the steps, Eliza ushered them into the cellar to wait for the queen and Lord Rose’s arrival. Two of the queen’s plain-clothed guards already stood at Prince Albert’s feet with their hands folded behind their backs. The body no longer floated in a vat of bubbling absinthe but in a bath that smelled of rain water. A tube ran from the prince consort’s wrist while another ran from his neck, below where the device left its mark three decades earlier. The blood exited his vein and ran through a series of tubes warmed by a steam bath to raise his body temperature and mimic his circulation before re-entering his body through his neck. Taking their places on either side of the monarch, Emmeline and Immanuel waited in silence for the Hawthornes to arrive. In less than a minute, the door at the top of the steps opened. Immanuel looked up, hoping it was the doctor coming down to say it had been called off, and met the flickering gaze of Alastair Rose. His heart sank at the realization that their plan hadn’t worked, but Emmeline caught his eye and tilted her head as if to remind him that Lord Rose couldn’t do anything in front of the guards.
The nobleman descended the steps with a crate tucked under his arm and a wry smile incised in his features. When he reached Emmeline’s side, he glared at Immanuel, trying to stare him down as he did on the porch the night he attacked.
Drawing in a deep breath, Immanuel smiled. There was nothing Lord Rose could do to him now. Yes, his memory terrified him and what happened in the basement in Mortimer Street irrevocably altered him, but Alastair Rose was a man and nothing more.
“Miss Jardine,” Alastair began as he turned from Immanuel and pulled the lung-like device out of its crate and placed it on the table, “remember your part in this. All you must do is assure Her Majesty that Prince Albert is all right and nothing more. Do you understand?”
Lord Rose flicked the switch that sent the machine humming to life. Emmeline ignored the urge to swallow hard and kept her eyes locked on Immanuel as the nobleman loomed beside her. He moved to grab her arm when the boards above their heads groaned with hurried steps. The door above opened, and the Hawthornes stepped inside. For days she had barely seen her aunt and uncle between preparing the body for reanimation and cleaning the house for the queen’s visit. Even if Eliza didn’t like the woman, she wouldn’t let her believe she wasn’t a fit wife with a messy house.
Before anyone could see them, Eliza tucked her chapped hands behind her back and announced, “The queen will be arriving in a moment, so please be on your best behavior.”
Emmeline knew the comment was meant for her, but she was too excited to be offended. It was still months until her coming out, yet she never thought she would meet the queen under such morbid circumstances. Somehow she had expected fanfare or pomp with her arrival, but instead the queen quietly descended the steps in mourning black, flanked by two plain guards. Everyone bowed or curtsied when the stout woman reached the bottom step and turned to face them. Under hooded lids, her sharp eyes fell upon her husband’s body in the vat, and for a second, Emmeline was certain, the queen’s eyes brightened with anticipation.
“Lord Rose, Dr. Hawthorne, who are your associates?” Queen Victoria asked, her penetrating gaze falling on Emmeline like lead.
“Please allow me to introduce, Emmeline Jardine, Your Majesty. She is one of England’s finest Spiritualist mediums. She is to be introduced into society in the spring.”
As Emmeline curtsied as fluidly and carefully as possible, her uncle added, “And this is Immanuel Winter. He will be acting as my assistant during the reanimation.”
“You are German?”
Immanuel looked up from his bow to find her eying his features, lingering on his mottled iris. “Yes, Your Majesty, from Berlin.”
Nodding, she motioned for one of the guards to come closer. In his hands was a black velvet bag as tall as a lamp and as round. The queen peeled the fabric away to reveal a quartz container identical to the one Lord Rose had in his lethal machine but inside was a sliver of green. When she drew near, it danced and flashed, condensing for a moment before dulling to a diffuse powder.
“Dr. Hawthorne, please remind me of how we shall proceed.”
Immanuel watched the doctor beside him. The man had been the first kind face he saw upon being freed, but within a few days, he seemed to age ten years. While Eliza came alive at the prospect of no longer being under the queen’s control, he sagged under the enormity of his task. He wasn’t doing his duty to the crown, he was fighting a war against a power he never signed up for, and it was taking its toll. The grey strands were no longer content at his temples but wove through his sideburns and across his forehead. From skipping meals to prepare the prince consort, his face was drawn and creased around his mouth and eyes, which had lost their vigor. It was killing him, yet he did it to save his niece and a stranger. What plagued Immanuel most was the thought that even going against his principles and reviving the monarch still wouldn’t stop Lord Rose.
“The body has been soaking in an emulsion for the past week to remove any foreign compounds left by the preservative. When we are ready, I will remove the circulation tubes, and Lord Rose will assemble his machine. In theory, his heart will restart when his soul and the current enter his body. After he awakes, I will deal with any immediate complications before he is transferred to the royal physicians.”
“Very good. Miss Jardine, please speak to my husband and tell him of what is to transpire.”
The guard stepped forward with the jar, holding it out for her to take. The idea of dashing it to the floor flashed through her mind, but being tried for treason wasn’t worth it. Taking a calming breath, Emmeline cleared her mind and held it close. Everything outside her vision darkened and the mechanical hum of her uncle’s machinery died away. In the gloom, a tall figure rose before her, as thin as if he was imprinted on lace. There was barely any color left in his cheeks or hair, but his tired eyes met hers without hesitation. The words floated between them in the void, not whispered or spoken but merely heard.
Let me go.
But why? She has waited thirty years to see you again.
I am not what I once was, and I never will be.
Don’t you want to be with her?
For decades, I could have been, but without life, I have degraded. Tell her, if she loves me, she will let me go.
She will not believe me. What can I say for her to know it is you?
The broad face of the man entrapped in the tomb of glass and steel flickered before dissolving. Emmeline’s eyes burned as the basement came back into view and her ears filled with the chug of gears and hissing of tubes. All eyes were on her, waiting for her to play her part before the real action could begin.
“Well, did you tell him?”
“I couldn’t, Your Majesty. He told me that he wants you to let him go.” Keeping her eyes locked on the doleful light, she continued, “Thirty years in here has put too much strain on him. Coming back will not get you want you want. Nothing can. He is gone whether or not his body is whole and his soul is in your hands.” Emmeline handed the jar back to the guard and raised her gaze to meet the queen, who stared back mute. Her wide eyes glistened as her gloved hand reached to cover her gaping mouth. “I did not think you would believe me, so he told me that as he was dying, you whispered something in his ear.”
“And?” she asked, her voice tight with tears.
“Ein
Kuss.”
“A kiss,” Immanuel echoed.
“Please, Your Majesty, he is suffering. Look, look at his soul. You can barely see it anymore,” Emmeline said before she could stop herself. “It wasn’t always like this. At first it was bright and strong, but look at what this has done to him. His body is not him. This is him.”
Alastair Rose glared at the girl beside him. How dare she. How dare she keep him from what he wanted. “Your Majesty, please ignore her. I am certain she is mis—”
“Silence!” the monarch snapped. Her eyes softened as she stepped forward and laid her hand on the glass coffin over her husband’s face. Taking the jar from her guard’s hand, Queen Victoria stared into the green patch as if willing it to condense. “Oh, Bertie, what have I done?”
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 hear 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.
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