Wicked

by Shannon Drake

  “Amazing, still, even with her obvious assets!” Rupert said, eyes flashing.

  The object of their conversation suddenly came bursting out upon them, distressed, her hair tumbling down and still more beautiful than ever. “Evelyn! Please! You must find Shelby quickly. We need another conveyance, an ambulance.”

  “An ambulance?”

  “He’s alive!” Camille cried. “Barely, just barely, but he is breathing.”

  “He needs a hospital!” Evelyn said.

  Camille shook her head, flushing. “We’re taking him to the castle.”

  “Brian has said this?” Evelyn demanded, shocked.

  “Yes, yes! His condition is so dire, Evelyn. At a hospital he might pick up any number of illnesses that could destroy his chances. Please, Evelyn, get Shelby on this quickly!”

  “I’ll find your man,” Rupert volunteered, as Camille spun around, returning to the hall.

  “Thank you,” Evelyn told him. “Excuse me, Lady Lavinia…”

  She followed Camille back into the hall, but she skirted around the area where the rich and elite had danced, heading quickly up the stairs. She pushed open the door to the office, fumbling for the electric light switch. The terrarium was behind Sir John’s desk. The cobra was now sleeping.

  She walked over and read the placard on the front of the glass. Naja haje, Egyptian cobra, asp. Symbol of the Sun, dominance, strength and power and, most importantly, royalty. Part of the Uraeus, a solar disk supported by two asps. This marks the right of the power to rule, the eye of Ra, the sun god. Signifies the destruction of enemies as well as light, life and death.

  Life and death. Alex Mittleman was still alive.

  Hinges now secured the lid of the terrarium. Evelyn reached for them. Then she turned and left the office, careful to douse the lights.

  CAMILLE HAD CHOSEN to ride in the ambulance, thus Brian had done the same. It was on loan from the Metropolitan Asylums Board, and Brian had been relieved to see that it had been thoroughly cleaned. And the fellow with them—despite the fact that he hadn’t seemed much like a medical man at first—was proving to be competent. He had tended the bite with carbolic acid, the same substance that had kept Brian from dying of his own injuries in India. Equally, though it might have been a bit late, he had ordered both Brian and Camille to rinse their mouths with whiskey and drink a fair amount, as well, though it was most likely that whatever toxin they had taken in during their attempts to save Alex were already imbibed or on their way into the bloodstream.

  There was little room in the ambulance. Such carriages had not been intended as passenger vehicles, but rather provided a mattress that stretched where one would customarily find seats. There was room for a passenger by the driver’s side in this particular conveyance. Brian had taken that position while Camille and the doctor, a gentleman in private practice named Ethan Morton, rode in the cramped quarters by the patient.

  As they rode, he wondered why he hadn’t killed the cobra. Such creatures had, whether put to the task or not, killed his parents. He realized that, amazingly, he had pitied the snake. And he knew that someone there had purposely let the creature free. Alex might well have been declared dead, sent for autopsy, if not for Camille’s insistence that the fellow was still breathing. And God knows he wasn’t conscious, wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  “Long way for you in a poor seat,” the driver apologized. “Usually we just make the run from hospital to hospital, institution to institution, in these carriages. I’m sorry, My Lord.”

  “I’ve ridden in worse,” Brian assured him.

  “You know, your lass is fearing the worst. There was a time when I’d agree that the best care was in the home. But we’ve come a long way in this age! Sterilization, antiseptics! This fellow might have done as well in the hospital. Why, once rich folks feared the very sight of such a place, but I tell you, folks are actually coming to be cured these days, and not because they’re so poor they haven’t another choice.”

  “I’m sure he would have been fine. Actually, I’m not at all sure he’ll be fine. His state is still dire. But as long as he is breathing, my home is large enough to provide for him and his care.”

  “A castle! Lord Stirling, I agree, you’ve got the room!” the driver told him.

  When they reached the outer wall, the man pulled the horse to a stop. Corwin was waiting, and Shelby had apparently gone ahead with Evelyn. The gates were open.

  The driver urged the horse forward again. Brian realized that he was afraid of the grounds, but steadfast he went on.

  “Pardon me, My Lord, but if you need help with your grounds…well, I would suggest a new gardener!”

  “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  They crossed the moat, into the courtyard. There, Brian leaped down. The doctor had opened the wide doors and Brian reached in, lifting Alex Mittleman and carrying him straight for the castle. Evelyn was waiting just within the door.

  “The west chamber is ready for him,” she said, straightening her hair.

  Brian nodded, hurrying up the stairs with his burden. Shelby waited in the room, but Brian shook his head when the man would have helped him. The bed had been covered with clean sheets, a fire burned in the hearth and clean clothes and cold water waited on a little occasional table drawn up by the bed. Brian carefully eased the unconscious man down.

  “I’ve a nightshirt for him on the back of the chair,” Evelyn murmured.

  Shelby said, “I’ll help the doctor see to him.”

  Brian nodded and turned to exit. Camille was in the doorway, wide-eyed, silent and distraught.

  “There’s nothing you can do now,” he said.

  “I’ll sit with him through the night.”

  “I can tend to him,” Evelyn said.

  “Thank you, but I want to sit with him,” Camille said firmly.

  She didn’t look at him as she spoke. The woman who had come to him the night before did not exist. This one was distant, suddenly a stranger.

  He closed the door, forcing her back. “You have to give the doctor time to get him settled,” he said.

  She blamed him, he realized. For some ungodly reason, she blamed him for what had happened. Suddenly angry, he told her, “Do what you please,” and he strode down the hall to his own quarters.

  He should have killed the damn snake! Because while it existed, this could happen again.

  DISTRAUGHT, CAMILLE KNEW that she had to wait. And she believed that Alex would be safe enough while Shelby and the doctor attended him.

  Nervously she hurried down the hall to Tristan’s room. She started to knock, then hesitated, thinking he might be asleep. She opened the door and looked in.

  He was there, in bed, his head upon the pillow. But he wasn’t sleeping.

  “Camille?” he asked, sounding a bit groggy.

  “Tristan, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Come in, come in! What’s happened?”

  He stepped out of bed in his long nightgown and bed cap, and hurried to the door to urge her inside. “Come, come. You left here so aglow, what is it?”

  “The cobra got out somehow. Tristan, Alex was bitten. He’s here now, a few doors down.”

  “He’s alive?”

  She nodded, deciding not to tell him that she had worked to suck the venom out of the wound. As had Brian Stirling, she reminded herself, and she felt a small twinge of guilt. But even if she trusted him, she wasn’t at all certain she trusted his household anymore.

  She had been so suspicious of Alex! And now, he lay near death’s door.

  “But he’s alive?” Tristan demanded.

  “Just barely,” she murmured.

  “They killed the wretched snake?” Tristan demanded.

  “No. Actually, it’s back in its terrarium.”

  She walked with agitation before the hearth. “Someone let the snake out, Tristan. They had to have done so.”

  “Oh, Camie, I don’t know.” Tristan scratched his ch
in thoughtfully. “A snake in a crowded room…It’s not as if anyone would know just who the creature would attack, right?”

  She exhaled slowly, studying him. “I supposed you’re right. Oh, Tristan! It will be so terrible if Alex dies. It will be as if—”

  “As if there were a curse, eh, lass?” Tristan demanded.

  She shook her head. “Maybe.”

  “Camille!”

  “Nothing terrible had happened at the museum, not until Brian Stirling came back to it.”

  Tristan shook his head, looking away from her. “You can’t go back there.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t go back to the museum.”

  “That’s ridiculous! There’s my job. I’ll never find anything like it again—”

  “I can take care of you, Camie!”

  “Tristan! We’ll have no more illegal doings,” she told him.

  He shook his head. “I know! I’ve learned me lesson, girl. But I don’t think you should go back.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t be here,” she murmured. “You’re better, Tristan, so much better. We can just go home—”

  She broke off, choking suddenly, aware that the idea brought tears to her eyes. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t even want to be angry. She just didn’t want to be a mockery. A pawn. Because that’s what she was, no matter what yearning and temptation had taken her into the arms of a man who now…made ridiculous announcements about marriage!

  “Home!” Tristan said.

  “Home, our little apartments, where we live!” she said, but then she shook her head. Tristan certainly appeared well enough tonight. But now Alex was here. She couldn’t desert Alex. Especially since she had decided that she didn’t trust Evelyn Prior.

  He was silent. “You can’t go back there.”

  “Where? Home?”

  “The museum!” Tristan said, shaking his head.

  “Tristan, my work is like a miracle gift.” She was suddenly sorry that she had come in. Naturally, he would have to know what had happened. All of London would know by morning. But she should have let him have the night. After all, he was still healing. And she had spoken so hastily. She couldn’t leave, not while Alex hovered between life and death!

  “Camille, now I’m telling you, lass—”

  “Tristan, I’m sorry so sorry I disturbed you tonight. I want to sit by Alex, make sure he makes it through the night. We’ll talk in the morning, all right?”

  Tristan had the most serious and somber look she could ever remember seeing on his face. She walked to him, hugging him fiercely. “Hopefully Alex will be out of the woods by morning.”

  “Camille, I’ll come and sit with you,” he said.

  “Good heavens, no! You need to be in your bed, getting some rest.”

  He stared at her for a moment. She thought that he looked guilty, but guilty of what? It was probably just her imagination. She was tired and distraught. Now she was even believing that Tristan was part of a conspiracy!

  “I can stay with you—”

  “I’ll be fine, right down the hall,” she told him. “Tristan, please, get back into bed before you wind up hurt again or ill. Please!”

  “Camie—”

  “I’m begging you!”

  He sighed, then wagged a finger at her. “I sleep light, lass. If you need me, if you need anything at all, just scream! Call my name.”

  She smiled. He wasn’t a light sleeper, and he’d been on sedatives several nights. That’s why the scraping sounds that came at night never aroused him.

  “I’ll call out for you if I need you, I swear.” She kissed his forehead, prodded him toward his bed, then tucked the covers in around him.

  “Actually, you’re looking exceptionally well, you know,” she murmured.

  He nodded. “Don’t you even think about going into that museum tomorrow, though!”

  She smiled without answering. It hadn’t been all that long ago that the museum didn’t open on Saturdays.

  “Good night,” she said.

  When she walked back down the hall, she saw that Shelby was standing guard by the door, arms crossed over his chest.

  “He’s—” she whispered.

  “Still breathing, Miss Camille. Still breathing,” he assured her. He smiled. “You go on in. The doctor is staying for the night, as well. And I’ll be right here.”

  “Thank you.”

  She went on into the room. Alex looked very young and fragile, dressed in a long white nightgown, his face pale, hair unruly. She walked toward the bed. Dr. Ethan Morton had made himself comfortable in a plushly upholstered chair and appeared to be sleeping already. When Camille walked gingerly toward the bed, though, he spoke.

  “Keep the cloths on him, if you’d be of any help. We don’t want him getting a fever. So far he’s breathing, and his pulse has gotten steadier. Keep him comfortable, and keep his forehead cool.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Me?”

  “You sucked in that venom.”

  “I’m fine. I spit it all out immediately.”

  “And are you often called upon to rescue snake-bite victims?”

  “I’ve never done such a thing before.”

  He arched a brow.

  “I read a great deal,” she told him.

  He nodded, eyeing her through half-closed lids. “It was a dangerous thing to do, young lady. If you’d had a cut in your mouth…well, you’d have the venom in you now.”

  “I feel fine, honestly. And thank you.”

  She cooled Alex’s head as instructed, longing to believe that it made a difference. And she thought it did, because every few minutes, there was a shiny glow of sweat arising, and her administrations kept it at bay.

  At some point she began to doze, leaning upon her arm, which rested on his chest. She woke with a jerk when she heard a rumbling. At first, panic seized her. His lungs were giving out. But that wasn’t the case. He was restless, and his lips were moving. She glanced at Dr. Morton, but the man appeared to be sleeping. She touched Alex’s cheek. It wasn’t hot.

  “Alex, it’s all right. You’re going to be all right,” she murmured.

  “He keeps them,” Alex said, his head tossing. “Keeps them…keeps them in the crypt. The crypt…dangerous….”

  “What, Alex? What is dangerous?”

  “Asps…in the crypt.” His eyes suddenly opened fully upon hers. “Cobras…in the crypt. And when he’s ready…he’ll kill. He’ll kill us all.”

  His eyes closed again. Camille sat in icy silence, shaken into deep fear by his wild comments. She glanced at Dr. Morton. His eyes remained closed. She leaned closer to Alex.

  “What are you saying, Alex?” she asked softly.

  He tossed and twisted again. She bit into her lower lip, praying that she wasn’t making him worse. But she was, of course.

  His eyes opened again, wide. She didn’t think that he was actually seeing her face. Then he stared into her eyes. His fingers flailed on the sheets.

  “The beast!” he exploded in a whisper. “The Beast of Carlyle. Beware the beast! He has a bitter plan. He wants vengeance. He wants to kill us all!”

  Then his eyes closed, his fingers went still and it was as if he had never spoken.

  From somewhere, a clock chimed the hour of three. Dr. Morton let out a snore and twisted in his chair. Then all was silent.

  BRIAN LAY AWAKE, listening. But that night there were no strange noises to awaken him and draw him down the stairs to the crypts. Ajax slept peacefully by the hearth. He swore to himself in the darkness, remembering that he was having someone in to clean and oil the hinges.

  The evening had certainly ended in disaster. Again he wondered why he hadn’t killed the asp in a fury. Maybe he had realized that the animal was just that, and though its defenses were lethal to human beings, it had been cornered and was probably far more terrified than the elite who had fled at the very mention of its existence. Bu
t how had the creature come to be among the company?

  Alex Mittleman’s lack of riches had made him a likely suspect, but now he was stricken. He had nearly died that night, the same way Lord and Lady Stirling had met their demise.

  Brian halfway rose and sent a fist into his pillow. Then there was Lord Wimbly, who apparently had gambling debts. But would such a man risk so much? And Aubrey? Aubrey was the main man to handle the asp at the museum, but there wasn’t a soul among those who worked there who hadn’t been to Egypt, except for Camille. Those who had been in the desert, and in the cities and towns along the Nile, had experience with the Egyptian cobra.

  He gritted his teeth, concentrating. Maybe Sir Hunter, the great adventurer? But even Brian had to admit that his main issue with Hunter was the man’s apparent interest in Camille.

  He still had no real indication of who the guilty party might be, but he believed now that whoever it was had information that he did not—knowledge his father had apparently discovered just before his death. There was a piece of tremendous value that had not been catalogued, that existed somewhere. And if it wasn’t at the museum, then it was among the relics and artifacts below.

  He had kept the grounds a jungle, and they were known to be inhabited by wolves. He had allowed doctors onto the property, but only because it had been necessary. Other than that, Evelyn had brought in a few local women from time to time to help with the cleaning. Only those he truly trusted with his life had real access to the estate, despite its rambling size—Shelby, Corwin and Evelyn. And among them, only Evelyn had been in Egypt.

  None of this was a conspiracy he was solely creating out of loss, bitterness and anger. That had become evident when the fellow they had followed at the bar was killed. Oddly enough, that rascal Tristan had proved to be an asset. Except now, what should have been simple, cut-and-dried, was complicated. He had allowed Camille and her guardian in because he had intended to make use of both of them, not counting on his own feelings in the matter.

  But now….

  He rose, causing Ajax to leap to his feet, as well. The great wolfhound looked at him, wagging his tail, waiting.