Raven's Sight: A Victorian Paranormal Mystery (Raven's Shadows Book 1)

by R. L. Weeks

  I nod, but my tears continue to fall. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay.”

  He laughs through his tears. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  I part my lips.

  “Really,” he says with emphasis.

  Emmett returns with a glass of brandy. We both turn to look at him.

  “It will take the edge off,” Emmett says and gives me the drink.

  I look down at the brown liquid and swig it back with one gulp. It burns my mouth, and I cough.

  “Ugh, that tastes horrid.”

  Emmett laughs. “It tastes better the more you drink it.”

  I look up at him with incredulity. “Why would you drink something that tastes horrid?”

  He suppresses a smirk. “It’s about how it makes us feel,” he says as if he is a spokesperson for every drinker. “Look, you already seem better.”

  I roll my eyes. I hate that he’s right and change the subject. Do you want to know about Benjamin Shaw’s death or not?”

  Fifteen

  My maid, Milly, pulls at my corset strings. “Ouch!” I shout. She pulls them much tighter than Nora used to.

  “Sorry, Miss,” she says and loosens them.

  I grip my stomach and lean on the dressing table. “It’s fine. Just be careful.” I glance around the room and sigh. There is still no sign of Tom.

  He went with Emmett to stalk the factory manager after I told them about the memory. Emmett promised to stay out of sight, which relieved me. I don’t want another ghost to add to the list.

  Tom said he wanted to go with him, which I didn’t understand, considering he can’t be seen or heard. I think he just used it as an excuse to leave me after our moment.

  Milly finishes, and I look at Benjamin’s pocket watch. The memory still sends shivers down my spine. It’s almost time for the elusive dinner that I in no way want to attend, but it doesn’t look like Emmett will be coming back to save the day anytime soon.

  Milly stands back and looks at me. “You look lovely, Miss.”

  I look at my reflection in the mirror with a blank expression. I feel dead inside. I used to care about dresses, bonnets, my hair, beauty, and other superficial things. Now I just feel like a doll being dressed up.

  The dress is a dark-blue colour, the same as my eyes. I pick up my matching umbrella from the corner of the room.

  Milly smiles, making her thin cheeks seem fuller. Her tight brown curls reach her shoulders. Her innocent brown eyes are surrounded by lines. She must be only eighteen, but she looks older than her years. Her fingers are rough, and her fingernails are bloody. “Thank you, Milly.”

  Her dusty-pink lips stretch into a smile, reminding me of Tabitha. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

  I lift my skirt around my ankles, walk over to the open door, and walk down the stairs. My heels click against the floorboards as I slowly make my way to the dining room.

  Please, God, please do not let me marry that awful man.

  The chatter grows louder, and I hold my breath as I walk inside. The mahogany table is covered with a white cloth, doilies placed at each setting. I count thirteen people and sit in the only spare seat as the fourteenth guest, next to the man with the goatee.

  Inconsequential polite conversation surrounds me as maids bring in plates of food. I look down at the dish placed in front of me, and my appetite runs away faster than it takes them to fill the room with their pipe smoke.

  I cough and push the beef around my plate with my fork. No one talks to me or even addresses me. I am glad. I prefer it this way.

  “Niece,” my uncle says, breaking my invisibility. Dammit. “I have set up a great match for you.”

  Oh, no.

  He gestures to goatee man. “Aiden Blackworth.”

  Everyone claps. I can’t bring myself to offer more than a small smile. Aiden reaches down and squeezes my thigh through my dress. I squeal and jump up.

  I look around at the confused faces and over to my uncle’s angry face. “Sorry, I need to go powder my nose,” I say.

  Aiden scoffs. “Woman, eh.” He leers after me as I reach the door.

  I hurry out of the dining room. Each step hurts as the corset cuts into my waist. The air supply seems to be dropping with each passing second.

  “Miss Pride,” a voice says from behind me.

  It’s Aiden.

  I try to control my breathing. “Sorry, I will be back shortly.” I continue to walk, whilst holding my stomach, to the front door. “I need some air.”

  He follows me outside. “Stop.”

  I lean against the gate. I can hardly breathe.

  Aiden moves closer to me. His green eyes remind me of the snakes I saw in one of Grandmother’s exotic books. He draws in close, and I don’t have the energy to even move. I try to suck in breaths, panicked. I really can’t breathe.

  Aiden grabs my arm, pulls into him, and pulls up my skirt. “Please,” I say, taking a breath, “don’t.”

  He pushes his groin against me, and I slump as I gasp for air.

  Aiden is thrown off me, and I hear a loud noise. My eyelids crack open as I slump onto the ground.

  Everything becomes silent.

  Emmett pulls me to my feet and looks at my pale face.

  “My…corset…” I say in-between breaths.

  He pulls at the strings, and I feel the corset loosen. He tears the top of my dress and catches me in his arm. Tom appears next to me. “What happened?”

  Emmett lifts me up. “We need to go. Now.”

  I am pulled past the gate and down the street. There, waiting is a carriage. I turn around before I am put inside it and see the ghost of Aidan standing by my front door, looking around, confused. Crimson seeps under my gate, and the front door opens.

  Emmett pushes me inside the carriage and joins me. The horse neighs and the carriage jostles. Tom sits in front of me. He looks scared, which scares me.

  “Tom,” I ask softly, “what happened to Aidan?”

  Emmett answers for him. “I killed him. I took a brick to his head.”

  My hand covers my mouth. “They’ll think it was me.”

  Emmett looks out the window nervously. “We will be long gone soon.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “London,” he replies.

  My head feels heavy. I rest it on his arm. “Why are we going to London?”

  Emmett swallows. “That’s where our next clue is, Raven.”

  Sixteen

  “I’m worried about you,” Emmett says again. “What you told me about being on the other side with Tom and seeing Alice… It’s not good, Raven.”

  We have been travelling now for two days, and I think the restless sleep is making us both emotional.

  “I think we have more things to worry about than that.”

  Emmett stokes my cheek. “Nothing matters more than your safety.”

  “I agree,” Tom says and smiles.

  I sit back without replying. My thoughts drift to Nora. Her family lives in London but I have no idea if she is still alive.

  That thought is too much for me.

  I dismiss it.

  She has to be alive.

  “We’re here,” Emmett says.

  I lean forward. I know I shouldn’t be excited with all the bad that is happening—or perhaps that’s why I should. Either way, I have always wanted to visit the gas-lit streets of London.

  I take in London as we jostle through the busy roads, and I gawk at the many carriages pushing against each other for space. I breathe in the fetid air and look down at the piles of horse dung.

  “Do they not clean that?” I ask Emmett.

  “They pay boys to clean the streets.”

  “Not enough, it seems,” I say as I look at the dirty road.

  A man wearing a board advertising a circus is thrown from the pavement by a police officer and almost tangles in the wheels of our carriage.

  “Oh, my!”

  Emmett places his hand on my knee. “Do
not worry. He knows better than to have been on the pavement.”

  “Will he not be squashed on the road?”

  Emmett shrugs and I turn back to the road. Like me, Tom is just as taken by the streets of London, which are a far cry from home.

  A woman in a brown dress and white apron is selling fish from a barrel. A young boy is standing in the doorway, one foot crossed in front of the other, next to a man in his fifties holding a brush. We slow down, and I stick my head out for a closer look. The chatter, the growling of traffic, and the beeping and yelling from street vendors is a far cry from my small town of Cogsworth.

  We pass a group of poor Italian immigrants. They play their instruments with grace, and people stand around them, clapping after each song.

  We stop by a street locksmith. Tom walks through the door. Emmett helps me out the carriage, and I cling to him as a man knocks into me and does not even apologise. “How rude.”

  Emmett laughs. “Welcome to London, Miss Pride.”

  “Want ya shoes shined, Mister?” a young boy asks. He cannot be much older than nine and

  carries a box on his shoulders. His soft features are covered with polish, as are his hands.

  “Not today,” Emmett says, and the boy darts through the oncoming crowd of people.

  I cling to Emmett’s arm. “It is quite busy.”

  Emmett smiles warmly. I seldom see that smile. “You will be fine, Raven. We have much to see.” His voice sounds so certain that I don’t question him. His calmness has a good effect on me.

  I walk past the railway station and am shocked when I see orphans lined up against the wall. “Where are they taking them?” I ask.

  “It is some new migration scheme where they send the children from crowded cities to other countries, like Australia,” he explains.

  I marvel at the station. I have never seen one before, or a train.

  Tom shudders. “I hate that everyone is just walking through me.”

  I offer him a sympathetic look. Sometimes I wish I could just hold his hand so he knows he’s not alone. My mind drifts back to when I was on the other side and I was holding his hand…

  “Careful,” Emmett says, pulling me back. A carriage narrowly misses me. “You need to watch where you’re going.”

  I catch my breath. “Where are we going?”

  “Benjamin’s flat,” he replies. “That’s where he died, and you said the shadow men were there. There must be some clue that we can find to link him to the murders.” He lowers his voice, not wanting to be overheard. “Aidan, who I…you know,” he says and drags a finger across his neck, “was helping your uncle. Alice’s baby would have had everything to with this, but there is no record of the child being born. We can’t link anything to Alice.”

  I bite my lip. “Do you think the child is still alive?”

  Emmett puffs his pipe as we walk. “I’m certain of it. We just need to figure out who it is because whoever it is, they’re the one taking the children now.”

  Tom exhales loudly. “Why children?”

  “I know, Tom,” I say, earning a look from Emmett.

  We arrive at an impressive building. It’s smaller than our mansion by half but is nothing to turn your nose up at. “Is this where we’re staying?”

  Emmett smiles down at me. “Yes, it is, Miss Pride.”

  Seventeen

  We walk down the gas-lit streets of London. It is quite beautiful at night, except for the smog that lays thick in the air. Tom decided to stay back at the house, which we found out Emmett owns. It turns out that he, too, has his fingers in many pies.

  Emmett holds out his arm for me. I take gladly. “I am sorry you had to do what you did,” I say and lower my voice to whisper. “You know, kill for me.”

  He lowers his head. “He left me no choice. He was about to hurt you.”

  I huddle closer to him. “It is still a burden to carry. Know that I carry it with you.”

  He glances sideways at me. “You are too kind, my sweet Raven.”

  My heart lurches. My sweet Raven.

  I shake my head and concentrate on the task ahead. I have much more important things to focus on than romances. I am the only one who can save the poor children and help Tom move on.

  Oh, Tom.

  My poor Tom. He is alone on the other side, and his only company is me.

  Emmett stops on the familiar street. “We are here.”

  The flat is still there, but the butcher’s shop is closed and looks like it hasn’t been touched in forty years. Flies buzz inside, and the windows are so full of grime that my stomach churns at the thought of going in there.

  “Ew,” I say.

  Emmett sighs. “I know.”

  I look around. The street is emptier than I thought it would be. “Can I ask you something?”

  Emmett stokes my arm. “Of course.”

  My curiosity gets the best of me. “Why do all this for me?”

  He furrows his brows. “I am doing this to help the children.”

  “Why?” I ask. “You don’t seem to care about them.”

  He clenches his jaw. “I do, in my own way. I empathise with them.”

  “Why?”

  He sucks in a deep breath. “Because I was an orphan like them. I have grown up in hardships, but I found my way in life. I believe with the right help, they can become successful too.”

  I smile. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

  He smirks. “I couldn’t have you think even higher of me than you already did. You’d fall head over heels for me.”

  I search his expression and burst out laughing when I realise he is joking. “I honestly didn’t think you knew how to joke,” I tease. “Really. I thought you were incapable.”

  He playfully nudges me. “You know, most women wouldn’t be laughing outside a murder house.”

  “It’s pretty normal to me now. I mean, I’m surrounded by so much death. Plus,” I put a finger up, “I’m not most women.”

  He gazes down at me intently. “No, you certainly are not.”

  We share a smile before I turn back to the shop. “I guess you want me to go into the memory.”

  He hesitates. “I do, but I’m worried that what happened last time may happen again.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I wish Tom had come.”

  Emmett raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “Because I enjoy his company,” I say, answering honestly.

  “I see,” he says and turns back to the shop. “Well, he’s not, and all you have is me. Sorry.”

  I pull his arm. “You’re enough,” I say. “I just mean in case I go back on the other side. He helped me last time.”

  His eye twitches. “Do you want to go back and get him?”

  I look at my reflection in the grimy window. “No,” I say. “We’ve come this far.”

  Emmett lifts my chin up with his thumb. “If anything bad happens, Raven, you leave the memory. Okay? You find a way back to me.”

  “I will find a way back to you,” I say, taking a deep breath. The words feel comforting.

  Back to you.

  I touch the shop window and picture Benjamin firmly in my mind. I push my mind to find him, to find a memory of him. “Please,” I say aloud.

  I push even harder to connect with a memory of Benjamin Shaw. When I open my eyes again, everything has changed.

  It’s daytime, and the butcher’s shop is bustling with customers. I see a little boy darting in and out of the customers and over to the back door.

  I follow him.

  My gaze stays focused on the back of his head. He throws open the door and races up the stairs. I struggle to keep up. We reach the top of the stairs, and I go inside the flat from Shaw’s memory of his suicide. For a moment, panic seizes me for the boy. If this was the murder house, was the boy a victim of Benjamin?

  My fears are laid to rest as we enter.

  A woman with wild black hair hurries to the boy and cuddles her son, who cannot be much ol
der than ten.

  He looks at her with cold eyes as she pecks kisses on his forehead. “I love you,” she says.

  He does not reply.

  They are a poor family; I can tell from the boy’s brown clothes that look scratchy at best.

  The woman turns away and walks over to her husband, who is drinking and looks like he has been drinking all day. He is the man from the portrait that I saw in Benjamin’s last memory. Is this Benjamin’s father?

  I turn my attention back to the boy. I can feel his energy and thoughts. He is angry.

  I concentrate as best I can and direct all my energy into hearing him.

  When I have big enough hands, I will throttle her.

  I jump as his thought slices through the air.

  What a thing for a ten-year-old to say.

  I turn when I hear a loud thud and gasp as I watch the woman’s husband hit her.

  The man, who has a bulging stomach, balding head, sunken eyes, and yellow skin, pounds the face of the wild-haired woman. The boy watches with a worrying curiosity. He looks upon her bruises with dead eyes and turns back.

  If he only hit her hard enough, we could eat her flesh.

  I jolt as another of the boy’s thoughts slice through the air.

  The boy is Benjamin Shaw, I realise, and he wants to kill his own mother.

  I play with the idea of helping her but remind myself that I am in a memory and this has already happened, but it doesn’t make watching it any easier.

  I cry and scream as the woman is punched again and knocked to the floor. Blood sprays the floorboards. She begs him to stop or at least not let the boy watch.

  Does she realise that he likes to watch?

  Hit her harder, he thinks.

  I look down and see a portrait in a small silver frame. It’s of Benjamin as a boy. I reach down and am surprised to find that I can touch it. I lift it up and place it into my pocket.

  A cold hand grabs my wrist, and I am pulled from the memory. Instead of waking up in Emmett’s arms, I am shocked to find myself in a church basement.

  It’s empty except for a woman with golden hair. She is standing with her back to me.

  I swallow hard. “Can you see me?”

  She slowly turns.

  “Yes.”