The Iron Heart

by Leslie Dicken

  Instead, after spending nearly the entire night caressing the jewels as if they were Ella herself, he came straight for her house.

  He wanted to push her up against a wall and taste every inch of her skin.

  He couldn’t do that with her mother standing there, of course, but he might have if they’d been alone.

  Bennett threw an arm over his eyes. The room was pitch black, but he still felt the need to block out the sight of Ella. She’d approached the parlor in nothing but a thin wrap over her nightdress. Her honey hair spread over her shoulders in a twisted mess of someone who’d just awoken.

  She was adorable. She was heavenly.

  Right then and there he’d wanted to kiss her senseless.

  Bennett groaned as his flesh hardened. It ached for relief. And yet, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough. And after last night with Ella and seeing her this morning, nothing but the feel of her skin against his would satisfy him.

  He kicked the blankets off. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well get up. To lie in the bed in the dark not only wasted time, it also gave him too much time to think. To remember.

  There was something he could do. Ella seduced him last night so that he would agree to help her. She wanted him to make that protection device.

  It was a futile effort. He knew that better than anyone.

  Yet, if it would keep Ella quiet…if it would keep her and her beguiling schemes away from him…

  Yes, it wouldn’t take him long to put the damn thing together, show it to her and send her on her way. For as much as Ella tempted him, she also lured him to hell. And he had one foot in the door there already.

  Now that the killer had moved from Bennett’s district, there was no guilt in printing the details of the attacks in her paper. Girls needed to be warned. The constable wasn’t doing it. Poor Miles was such a low rank, none of the other officers cared what he thought.

  And so the next edition of The District Guardian sketched a brief description of the killer, where and when he often attacked and suggested ways to avoid being a victim.

  Ellie and Miles visited various Lundun neighborhoods, schools and even some taverns. She handed out her paper and warned the young women there to be safe in the dark, not to travel alone.

  Miles had to report for duty, so Ellie hurried the last few streets to the shop alone.

  Fear clenched her stomach as she rushed down the narrow corridors and alleys. She was just as vulnerable as any other girl. She could be snatched, taken.

  Ellie shuddered and broke into a run. Finally, she reached the side alley door of her uncle’s house and slipped inside.

  Uncle Joseph snored in the rooms to her left, but on her right, in the shop, she could hear the clanking of metal.

  Ellie inched toward the shop and peeked in the store. Wind blew across the benches, scattered papers, and rattled gears on their pegs.

  Across the room, the shop door was wide open.

  Wide open.

  Was her uncle’s memory getting so bad that he would forget to shut the door and lock it? She sighed and closed it, bolting it tight.

  Ellie picked up the strewn papers and placed them in a pile. She went to one of the dusty windows and stared out onto the darkening streets. A mist of light rain sifted through the buildings and settled onto fence posts and unicycles. Shadows crept up the walls and anchored onto her heart.

  Jenny was gone. She knew this. It had been months, yet the grief still rose to strangle her at times.

  Ellie lowered her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook. Jenny saved her in so many ways. Once literally from a dark, collapsed croft but more from her lonely life at Hilltop Hall.

  How many years had Ellie spent trying to live up to the brother she’d never met? Nothing she ever did was good enough. But her mother would not accept that David was not coming back. The woman’s guilt at causing his death forever shadowed their lives.

  Ellie’s father handled the pain of losing his son by disappearing. He was always gone on trips or out hunting or in the arms of a mistress.

  It was only Ellie. And her mother. In that big house, with only secrets and shame and sorrow between them.

  Until Jenny.

  She learned she had a cousin as a child of eight, when her mother finally gave up on keeping them apart. And once together, the girls were inseparable.

  They played for hours in the big house, out in the fields, on the roof. And on rare occasions, Ellie was allowed to go to Lundun, where every corner held a wonderful, new discovery.

  And as if by magic, Ellie also discovered a life of joy and wonderment and beauty. She drifted further from her mother and Hilltop Hall and closer to Jenny and the people of the city.

  For so long, the two of them shared a room, where they would whisper in the dark. They’d talk of flying and traveling, of what it would be like to lie beneath a man and have him kiss them senseless. They shared secrets and dreams, heartbreak and frustrations.

  But now there was nothing. There was no one.

  A demon from the darkest reaches of hell had robbed Ellie of nearly everything she loved. She’d find that bastard and tear at his heart, just as he did to hers.

  He’d watched her from across the street, hidden in shadows that even the rats feared to cross. Sweet satisfaction hummed in his blood.

  She had crossed the shop and closed the door he’d left open. A present. Just for her. He didn’t intend for much. Not now. No. Soon she would see that he could not be stopped. He could not be caught.

  She would sniff down wrong trails, fly off to the Greenlands and never discover the killer who stalked the city. This one would be at his mercy. She would be his greatest triumph.

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning Ellie awoke to her uncle’s laughter. She quickly dressed and descended the wooden steps to the shop’s door. Yes, he was in the shop again, carrying on like he did in the years before Jenny’s death.

  It was Lady Westerling again.

  The old woman stood near the workbench, her hands on her hips. Her white hair was in wild disarray and goggles slung down around her neck.

  “Ah, Ella!”

  The cheery greeting nudged a smile across Ellie’s lips. “Good morning, Lady Westerling.”

  “Have you eaten, my dear?”

  Ellie shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Eat then. I’d like to spend some time with you today, if I could.”

  Her uncle raised an eyebrow. “I have eaten already, so don’t worry about me.”

  A short time later, Ellie pulled on her long leather overcoat and they were out the door and into the heavy fog of the streets. Lady Westerling had brought along a Wheelcraft. It used four wheels and had two seats side-by-side. A sturdy umbrella shielded the passengers. The small engine was powered by bursts of steam from the rear.

  “This is beautiful.” Ellie ran her finger along the brass steering mechanism.

  “I’d contemplated a duo-cycle but I thought we could use the shelter today. Besides, we have much ground to cover.”

  Once settled into the Wheelcraft, Lady Westerling turned to her. “I want you to take me to the locations where these girls have been attacked. I want to see the inner alleyways and dark streets.”

  Ellie’s breath caught. She hadn’t visited those sites herself. She knew where they were but had not gone to them. That had been a mistake. The scene of the crime could provide many clues. “Yes, yes, of course.”

  And so Ellie took her down to the alley where Clara was attacked, then to Sarah’s. At Rosemary’s, Lady Westerling insisted on getting out of the Wheelcraft for a closer look at shadowy corners.

  “Even in the daylight, there’s too much darkness here.”

  Ellie followed her, nose instantly wrinkling at the odor of rotting food. This place gave her goose bumps. Perhaps it was due to the extra shadows or maybe because she knew someone had died here.

  They wandered behind a crumbling arch to the deepest corner.
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  “It must have been here.” A chill raced up Ellie’s spine. “I can feel it.”

  Lady Westerling nodded. “I feel something too.” She pointed to the wall. “What is that?”

  Ellie moved closer. Even with the lack of direct sunlight and the dimness of the alley, she could see a stain on the rock. It looked brown, no, wait, maybe a darkly tinged red.

  “Oh Lord, it’s blood.”

  Lady Westerling quickly put her goggles on and then snapped the magnifying piece over them. “Yes, indeed. It’s a bloody handprint.”

  Ellie looked again and saw an outline of a left palm and two fingers. “It must be Rosemary’s.”

  The older woman shook her head. “Are you sure? Looks too large to me.”

  Ellie forced herself to move in closer. Upon closer inspection, with her own hand stretched out near the print, the size did look to be of a man’s hand.

  The killer’s?

  She backed away, heartsick in her throat. This was too close to the reality of the monster. She wheeled around, as if he stood nearby, watching.

  Chills crept down her spine, buzzed in her gut.

  “We-we should go.”

  Lady Westerling patted her arm. “Yes, we’ll go again another day.”

  They climbed in the vehicle and the old woman pulled a note from a knapsack. “I understand if you don’t have the energy today, my dear, but I received a note requesting your presence at your earliest convenience.”

  “A note? From whom?”

  She set the paper on Ellie’s lap. “Read for yourself.”

  Lady Westerling,

  I feel confident that by now Miss Wilder has told you of the incidents in Lundun, as well as her attempt to have me aid her in some manner. On your next contact with Miss Wilder, will you please ask her to come to Barrington Manor? You are welcome too, of course. I only ask that the two of you arrive at some point past the three o’clock afternoon hour, yet before darkness falls.

  Signed,

  Bennett Pierce, Lord Barrington

  Speechless, Ellie gazed at the old woman next to her.

  Lady Westerling lifted the pocket watch necklace and glanced at the time. “It is now nearly four. Shall we go today or have you had enough for one afternoon?”

  “You have visitors, my lord.” The butler’s voice echoed through the speak-pipes Bennett had installed in his main rooms shortly after his father’s death.

  “I’ll be there in a moment,” he replied then set down the pliers he was using on the clockwork arm. Just a few more adjustments and it would be ready for use.

  Ready for use. What good did that do when he still did not have access to the rest of the body it belonged to? Things had gone so wrong when all he set out to do was make it right.

  He growled. The death of two women and the attack on two others weighed on his soul.

  He’d reserved his spot in Hell.

  He pushed away from the workbench and stood. Shoulders straightened, neck cracked. The mask of control set firmly upon his face.

  Bennett knew who his visitors were. Not too many people arrived unannounced these days. He’d not appear shaken in front of them.

  He found them waiting in the front parlor. The older woman was poking at a gear-and-wheel sculpture on his wall. But Ellie was examining the clockwork bug that sat on the table. It was turned over in her hand and she moved its legs to see the inner-workings.

  “Ladies.”

  Ella glanced up and sharpened her gaze on him. He could see it immediately, the hushed longing. As she scanned the length of him, taking in his worn trousers and oil-stained shirt, color rose up her neck to blossom on her cheeks.

  That blush robbed his brain of thought. This woman would be the end of him.

  “We-we have your note.” Ella pulled it from somewhere in her plain, blue frock and waved it at him.

  Lady Westerling finally turned to face him. “We presume you have something to show us.”

  Bennett sighed. “That I do. Please follow me.”

  He led them to the gearlift and allowed Ella to push the buttons. His mouth curled as he watched her carefully trace her fingers over the lever which shut the door. She was impressed by craft, by ingenuity, by clever design.

  “This is mighty lovely,” the older woman said, looking around her, “but I could have taken the steps. I’m not as weak as you think.”

  He laughed. “No one believes you are weak. Truth is, I’ve not gotten much sleep today and I could use the rest.”

  “Hmph.”

  Ella smiled at this exchange but did not offer an opinion. She looked wearier today, her face slightly paler, shadows dark beneath her eyes.

  They walked in silence through the room with his inventions until they reached his workshop. Ella gave a small intake of breath as they stepped inside the small room. He knew not why.

  She was a mystery. Always.

  Finally, with the two women staring at him, waiting, he pulled out a box. “I presume, Lady Westerling, that Miss Wilder has told you of the recent death in District Four.”

  The woman lowered her head. “Yes. As well as the attacks on other young women.”

  “I see. So you also know that she asked me to create something to deter this killer.”

  Ella’s eyes lit up. “Oh, tell me you have.”

  Bennett reached into the box and retrieved a small black cylinder. It easily fit in the palm of his hand. At the top was a red switch.

  Ella moved closer. He could smell her now, that heavenly scent of lavender and soft woman.

  “What does it do? My, it looks simple, the lines and casing are so much cleaner and smoother than what I came up with.”

  She ran a finger down the black hard case. “Does a knife poke out? A small blast of acid?”

  Bennett cleared his throat. “Acid?”

  Her green stare cast a dagger or two. “Well, this monster deserves worse.”

  “Show us, Lord Barrington.” Lady Westerling stood with her arms crossed and white eyebrows raised.

  “Indeed,” Ella chimed in.

  “Very well, I suggest you stand back.”

  They looked at each other but retreated until their backs hit the edge of the wooden table. Bennett, too, took a few steps back so that they were on opposite sides of the room.

  “Ready?”

  They nodded, both with eyebrows drawn and heads tilted eagerly.

  He held the cylinder in his hand and pushed the red sliding lever at the top. A piecing screech blew from the small device.

  The women immediately covered their ears.

  Bennett slid the lever and the blast ceased.

  At once, he could see the dissatisfaction boiling in Ella’s eyes. She stormed over to him and snatched the object from his hand.

  “This is what you made? Something to create noise?”

  “Yes. You asked for a deterrent. This is exactly that.”

  “So a girl should just walk down every alley and blast this as she goes.”

  Bennett watched her eyes, where the ire danced like a banshee.

  “She can switch it on when she is seized. It will frighten the attacker and also draw others to her aid.”

  “He will just snatch it from her and toss it away.”

  “And how would something you have in mind be any different?”

  Ella took his prototype and stabbed it against her arm. “With something sharp on it, it could actually injure him. If her aim were good enough, she could hit his jugular and kill the beast.”

  Bennett flinched. Gut clenched. No. He wanted to end this madness, but not by those means.

  “Ella, I have shown you the method he uses. He grabs them from behind, binds their arms immediately with his own. They have no way of wounding him with anything in their hand. Their best hope is to call attention to the situation.”

  “Show me.” It was Lady Westerling. “Show me how he grabs them.”

  He glanced at Ella. Dear Lord, could he do it to her again? He wanted
nothing more than to touch her, to press her delicious body against him. But not like this.

  “Go on.” Ella swung around so that her back was to him. “Show her what you showed me.”

  He swallowed. “Very well, hold my device in your hand, but don’t set until I’ve got you.”

  She nodded.

  Bennett drew in a deep breath. Without warning he snatched Ella’s wrists, yanked her back to his chest, then hooked one arm to hold her in place.

  She struggled and he shook her arms until the canister dropped from her hands and rolled toward Lady Westerling.

  He did not let go.

  Conflicting sensations assaulted him, battered in his body like a steam engine out of control.

  Fire flared through his veins as he inhaled her delicious scent. Her softness pressed against him. A sweet and glorious heaven.

  Yet, nightmares rose from the trenches of his memory. Fear and terror struck at his heart. Visions of women in a death grip caused bile to churn in his gut.

  For one brief second, the two merged and it was Ella caught in the clutches of a killer.

  No!

  Bennett pushed away from her. He stumbled back into one of the work tables. The clockwork arm teetered then fell from its stand. It landed on the wood below with a thud.

  Bloody hell.

  His pulse raged, stomach coiled. His chest heaved with crazed breaths. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  He was going mad. And everything else was going to hell.

  “Lord Barrington, are you unwell?” Lady Westerling started toward him. “You look both flushed and pale.”

  He shook his head, gulped in some air. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a moment.”

  Ella picked up the fallen noise device. “I almost pushed it.” Her voice was calm, as if the last few moments never occurred. “I still think that with something sharp on the end, a girl could stab at him.”

  Bennett swallowed, then stood upright. “And enrage him further?”

  “Maybe he’d let her go.”

  Unbelievable. Ella Wilder had to be the most stubborn woman he had ever met. This persistence was unending. It must be driven by something deep, something raw. He wanted to know, but not at the cost of his own secrets.