Camille

by Tess Oliver

  His grasp loosened, and as my arms collapsed, my knees followed. Strider caught me but with a gentler grip. I rubbed feeling back into my hands.

  His long, black lashes fluttered down as he brazenly reviewed the rest of me. He straightened and placed a hand on either side of my head, effectively trapping me against the wall. “Explain.”

  His nearness made my head spin. I swallowed hard. “I—I came to tell you, you are in grave trouble.”

  He squinted hard at me and then threw his head back with laughter.

  Obviously assuming I wouldn’t run, he dropped his hands and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sweet’eart, I must tell you,” a smile punctuated his words, “I’m always in grave trouble.”

  The cold prompted me to pull my jacket tighter around my shoulders. His faded seaman’s coat hung open, a column of brass buttons framing each side of the dingy white shirt beneath. “You don’t understand.” I glanced down at his leg. His trousers bulged with some kind of wrap beneath. The leather of his shoes was worn so thin, I could see the outline of his toes. “Those teeth marks on your leg...”

  “How do you know about my leg?” His eyes narrowed. “You’re that odd, little creature from the other night, with that pompous doctor and his cat.” Now he scrutinized my face, and I shifted nervously from foot to foot. “I thought those green eyes looked familiar.”

  “The bite did not come from a dog.” The words blurted out louder than I’d expected. I pressed myself back against the wall attempting to put more distance between us. “They came from a werewolf.”

  He did not move. He blinked three times before the lines around his mouth deepened.

  “I know you must think me daft, but I assure you, I’m quite sane.”

  “And how would you know how I came about the bite?” His face moved closer. “Exactly how long ‘ave you and the doctor been following me?”

  I rolled my eyes. “And you refer to Dr. Bennett as pompous. This may well come as a puncture to your bloated head, but we were not following you at all. We were tracking a werewolf.” I put my hands on my hips. “And what kind of person steals from a dead woman, and even worse, cuts off her finger?”

  He shrugged but my words seemed to shame him. “Less chance of getting caught.” Just as Emily had surmised. “Besides, it’d been three days since I’d eaten.”

  Now I felt ashamed, but his hunger provided me with opportunity. “I promise you a warm meal if you return home with me. Dr. Bennett is expecting you. We’re just past Covent Garden.”

  Strider glanced in the direction of the main road. I hoped he wasn’t planning to run off. “What could he possibly want with me?”

  My mind rushed to find a good reason. If I didn’t think of something clever, he would surely leave, but his nearness muddled my thoughts. “Dr. Bennett wants to help you.” It was a pitiful, unconvincing response.

  “Strider!” A woman’s shriek rained down on our heads from a broken, second story window where a rag had been shoved into a missing corner of glass.

  Strider stepped back to get a better view. “Ah, Sally.” He blew a kiss up to the girl. She had wavy hair and a large bosom that nearly spilled over the window ledge.

  “I thought that was you. Who are you with, Nathaniel Strider? Where’ve you been hiding?” The girl leaned out dangerously far to get a better glimpse of me. I stepped back out of view.

  “Blasted woman, who are you talkin’ to?” It was a man’s voice. A giant, angry face joined the voice. He glowered down at Strider. “You! I’ve been waitin’ to get my ‘ands round your throat.” It seemed only the height of the window stopped the man from hurtling himself to the ground below. He disappeared from the window.

  “Where did you say you lived?” Strider asked hastily as he picked my hat up from the ground and plopped it down on my head.

  “Two blocks west of Covent Garden.”

  Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs inside the building. “What are we waiting for, lass? I’m as hungry as a wolf.” His fingers grabbed hold of my sore wrist, and he whisked me out of the alley and down the road.

  I was thankful for the thick crowd on Whitechapel, which forced us to slow our pace. The man with the angry face proved no match for Strider who pulled me along like a kite on a string. The frigid air weighed heavy on my chest. I fully expected Strider to release his hold on my wrist and dash off. But he didn’t. My offer for a warm meal had apparently worked.

  His face turned and he looked down at me. “What’s your name, lass?

  “My name is Camille.”

  “Camille. I don’t believe I’ve ever kissed a Camille.”

  I stared down at the ground to conceal the color heating my face. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

  With a laugh, he returned his eyes to the chaos on the main road. “And the good doctor, is he your father?”

  I paused for a moment not really wanting to answer. “No, my father is dead. Dr. Bennett is my guardian.”

  “My father is dead as well.”

  “I’m sorry for you,” I said.

  “I’m not. I hated him.” His arm snaked around my waist, and he pulled me against his side to avoid a pile of broken glass on the path. His arm dropped away, but I could still feel where his fingers had touched me.

  “Is your mother gone as well?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t know for certain. Last time I saw her she was alive. I—I’ve been on my own since I was ten.” The hitch in his voice seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest.

  A change of subject seemed necessary. “I must say, you are much improved since that night in the public house.”

  “Not much keeps Nathaniel Strider off his feet,” he said confidently.

  I smiled up at him. “With the exception of every girl on Buck’s Row.”

  “Not every girl,” he corrected and then stopped suddenly. “You really ‘ave been tailing me.” He fished one of the stolen green apples from his coat and offered me a bite, which I declined. “You watched me yesterday-- in the passage way.” There was no shame in his voice. He continued walking.

  I scurried to keep up with his long strides. “I was not following you as a form of entertainment. Believe me, I have better things to do and watch.” I used a tone of disgust, but it did not seem to faze him as he lazily crunched on his fruit.

  He swallowed. “Indeed? I saw the expression on your face yesterday. You seemed rather entertained.”

  Now I stopped. I grabbed his arm. “What a monstrous arse you are! Don’t you see? I am trying to save your life.” Frustration simmered through me. How could I possibly make a boy who’d survived the daily horrors of London’s street life comprehend the level of torment he now faced?

  Strider lifted my chin with his fingers. “Settle down, girl. I didn’t mean to anger you.” He looked at me, and it felt as if his gaze had stroked my face. His eyes seemed to focus on my bottom lip, which now trembled as it always did when I felt nervous or self-conscious. His fingers dropped from my chin. “About this meal you promised.”

  Still reeling from the way he’d looked at me, it took me a moment to decipher his simple question. “The meal, of course. How does vegetable stew sound?”

  “Considering I have not had a vegetable or a stew for months, having both sounds extraordinary,” he said.

  We walked silently for a stretch and that is when I noticed every female, whether dressed in grimy broadcloth or plush velvet, stole a glimpse at him. And he made love to every girl we passed with his smile and his brown eyes.

  After several blocks, Strider pulled the second apple from his coat and headed to the entryway of an empty shop. I followed, hoping he had not changed his mind. In the lonely darkness of the abandoned steps sat an old woman. A light blue shawl hugged her frail shoulders and layers of filthy, threadbare skirts covered her legs. With closed eyes, she was huddled against the door frame. The misery in her face seemed to be a plea for God to be merciful and take her. Strider reached down and pi
cked up her gnarled hand. His touch did not startle her from her state of lethargy. He placed the apple in her hand. She stared at the fruit as if she did not recognize it. Then she lifted her bloodshot eyes in a silent thank you.

  A lump the size of the apple had formed in my throat, and I suddenly realized why every girl on the East End was smitten with Nathaniel Strider. He returned to me, and I forced a smile from beneath a veil of dread. How could this possibly end well?

  We did not speak the rest of the way. My thoughts blackened. Damn to hell the moon.

  Chapter 7

  Dutch’s yowls of protest met us at the front door. I’d completely forgotten the cat and his sensitivities. Strider glanced inside apprehensively.

  “Tis only our cat.” I stepped over the threshold and turned to look at Strider. Spatters of sunlight sprinkled through the cloud cover, softly lighting his face. He was remarkably handsome. There was an edge of innocence in his expression that belied all of the disreputable activities I’d witnessed.

  I motioned him inside with my head. “Surely, you’re not afraid of a cat?” Although, I had to admit, the unearthly sounds coming from under the coat rack where Dutch now hid were far from inviting.

  “Would you like to hang up your coat?” I asked as I removed my own.

  He shrugged the seaman’s coat higher on his shoulders. “Thank you, no.” His eyes flitted around the room with great curiosity. I wondered if he’d ever stood in a house like this. Dr. Bennett, like my father, had been a gentlemen’s son and had inherited enough money to live his life comfortably as an academic.

  Strider looked down at his trousers and shoes then up at me. He fidgeted with his sleeves, his uneasiness growing with each moment. It was the first time I’d seen him without that shell of self-confidence. I worried he might still make a dash for it.

  “We live a very ordinary existence.” I assured him. “You needn’t feel out of place.”

  He nodded silently and followed me downstairs to the kitchen.

  I pointed to a stool where Dr. Bennett often perched while I cooked. “Sit here near the stove to warm yourself. The kettle is warm. I’ll pour some tea.”

  He surveyed the kitchen. “I always thought fancy houses had servants to make tea.”

  I was pleased that he was speaking again. “I suppose so. Maggie comes in twice a week to clean, but Dr. Bennett prefers not to have a lot of people in the house.”

  His eyes opened wide.

  I put up my hand. “Not you. He will be very pleased to see you.”

  He raked his long, unruly hair back with his fingers. “Right. The good doctor intends to save me from being eaten by a wolf or beast of some kind.”

  “You’re not much of a listener.” I lifted a filled teacup from the table. “You are in no danger of being eaten by a wolf.” I wished that that truly had been the extent of his danger.

  Rather than taking the handle, he wrapped his fingers around the entire porcelain cup. He put his lips to hot liquid and yanked them away. Hot tea splashed across his lap. He jumped up and the delicate cup crashed to the ground. Immediately, Strider crouched down to retrieve the broken glass pieces.

  “Don’t cut yourself,” I warned too late.

  He stood with a handful of jagged porcelain mixed with a good deal of blood. I grabbed hold of his wrist and shook the shards into the tin waste bucket under the table.

  Still holding his wrist, I dragged him to the wash basin and plunged his hand into the cool water, which instantly colored red from the blood. I drew the clean handkerchief from my pocket and wrapped it snuggly around the cuts on his palm to stop the bleeding. His hand felt large and rough in mine. My fingers lightly brushed his as I finished swathing his palm.

  “Tis not as bad as it looks,” I said flustered by his regained silence. He was so close, I could feel his breath on my cheek. I became very aware of my own breath now as I peeked up at his face. He looked incredibly vulnerable, nothing like the boy I’d been following the last two days. Our eyes met. He looked at me for a long moment before wrenching his hand free from my grasp.

  “I shouldn’t have com ‘ere,” he said. He took several steps backward.

  “’Tis only a cup.” I struggled to keep the desperation out of my voice. “Let me fix you some food.”

  He stopped his retreat and appeared torn between escaping back to the streets and filling his stomach with what was probably his first warm meal in months.

  “Please, Strider, stay.” I took a step toward him.

  “Nathaniel,” he said. “Call me, Nathaniel.” His breath stealing gaze made me quickly comply.

  “Nathaniel.” His name tumbled off my lips, and an argument erupted in my head. Send him on his way, I thought. He will bring nothing but heartache. But the other half of my mind confidently assured me that it was too late.

  Dr. Bennett called down the stairwell. “Cami, are you down there?”

  Strider’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice. I tried to reassure him with a smile.

  “Dr. Bennett, please come down. We have company.”

  Footsteps resounded down the narrow passage. Dr. Bennett’s brow rose with surprise and a grin erupted below. He walked straight up to Strider, stopping as he noticed his injured hand.

  “Aah, Mr. Strider, we are pleased to have you.”

  Strider bowed awkwardly, his discomfort still heavy. “I—I was just leaving, sir.”

  He turned to look at me. “Only wanted to see Miss Camille, ‘ere, home safely.”

  I mouthed the words please stay to Strider, but he only smiled weakly in response.

  Our gazes broke apart, and it felt like a cord between us snapped.

  Dr. Bennett stepped closer to him. “Much obliged, Mr. Strider. But please, for your troubles, won’t you dine with us?”

  “My leg hasn’t caused me any trouble. And I have to meet some people—about—

  about a …” His words trailed off as he raced to the stairs.

  “Nathaniel.” I called after him but it was no use. The front door slammed shut. I grabbed a loaf of bread from the larder, ran upstairs, fell out onto the stoop, and flew down the steps. The long tails of Strider’s coat flapped behind him as he ran away.

  “Nathaniel!” I shouted between breaths, thinking that my pursuit was useless and that, surely, he considered me a nuisance. Then he stopped. Slowly, he twisted back to face me.

  I gulped breaths of icy air as I rushed to catch up to him. “I promised you a meal.” My hand shot forward with the bread. “It’s not warm but please take it.”

  There was an edge of embarrassment in his expression. “I’m no beggar.”

  I shook my head. “I know you’re not. But I promised you a meal. You’re not going to make me break my promise, Nathaniel. Are you?”

  I placed the loaf in his hand. He stared down at it. A flood of hunger washed across his beautiful face making my chest tighten. I wanted to help him so badly now, I could feel the despair of him leaving in the tips of my hair. “Please reconsider,” I said so quietly I wasn’t completely sure I’d spoken aloud.

  He picked up my wrist with his wrapped hand, pressed my fingers to his lips, and released it. My shoulders sagged as I watched him walk away.

  I raised the fingers he’d kissed to my own lips then cursed myself for being so ridiculous in thinking that I’d made an impression on him. Nathaniel Strider treated every girl with the same captivating charm. Yet somehow, in those last few moments, he managed to make me feel as if I was the only girl in the world.

  He was further away now, but I could still see the confident set of his broad shoulders, and the ends of his black hair curled up on the collar of his coat. His long gait was accented with a slight swagger. I drew my gaze away. It was too late to turn back. Somehow I had to convince Nathaniel Strider that he needed me.

  The front door stood ajar as I returned home. “John?” I called as I stepped inside.

  “In the kitchen, Camille.”

  I plodded dow
n the stairs. Dr. Bennett had the tin waste basket on the table. He reached in with his handkerchief and pulled out a chunk of blood-covered porcelain. “I noticed you had wrapped the boy’s hand, so I decided to search the trash for a cell ….” He stopped suddenly and his face shot up. His complexion paled.

  “What is it?”

  “Camille, did you cut yourself, as well?”

  “No. I don’t think so. The blood is all his.”

  Before I could finish my sentence, he laid the glass filled handkerchief on the table and rushed over to grab my hands. He inspected them thoroughly on both sides. Dr. Bennett sighed as he dropped my hands. “Thank heavens. What could I possibly be thinking of exposing you to such danger?”

  “I don’t understand.” Then I comprehended his alarm. “An exchange of blood…” My words fell off to a whisper.

  Dr. Bennett sat on the stool and stared down at the broken pieces of porcelain. “This experiment is over, Camille. You were right. It’s far too dangerous.”

  I stepped in front of him. “No! We can’t stop now. If we do, he has no chance.”

  Dr. Bennett put his hand on my shoulder. Whenever he was upset about something, the skin on his face seemed to tighten. Now it looked like glass. “Cami, we both know it’s too late for the lad. And we both know how this will have to end.” The somber tone of his words and the dreadful message felt like black wool around my heart.

  My tongue was dry, and the swelling in my throat made it hard to speak. “No, John, we started this plan, and we will finish it. Strider is not just a specimen. He is a human.”

  His brow wrinkled causing his eyeglasses to jut forward on his nose. “Camille, you have not already formed an attachment to Mr. Strider?” He shook his head. “I should’ve known better. Getting personally involved with this boy, this boy whose life will surely come to a grisly end.”