Camille

by Tess Oliver

  “If life on the streets is so contemptible, then why stay?” My tone was harsh, and the words flew out before I could stop them. The jealous ache in my head and stomach were to blame.

  Strider’s face dropped. “It’s not that simple, Camille.” He combed his wet hair back with his fingers and lifted his eyes. “I tried to earn an honest wage, but it was far too easy to take advantage of a homeless lad with no skills.” Three young boys rushed past with their caps pulled low and their collars hunched about their ears. Strider squinted through the water at them for a moment and looked back at me. “Once I spent two weeks clearing a farmer’s field with a scythe that nearly outweighed me. He promised to pay me handsomely, but sent me on my way with a moldy loaf of bread and sour milk. When I returned to ask him for more, he threatened me off his land with the very scythe I’d used to clear it. The few pence I did earn were never enough to feed me and shelter me. I had to go without one or the other. It wasn’t long before I learned that thieving paid better wages. I’ve served several short terms in prison, and now that I’m old enough, my tainted record and lack of connections keeps me unemployed.”

  A flicker of weariness in his gaze made me grab hold of the lapel of his coat. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  He looked down at my fingers wrapped around his coat then lifted his eyes to mine. “My tiny huntress, do you know what you’ve done to me?”

  My fingers tightened around the worn fabric as I looked up at his face. A crack of thunder startled me from my trance. Reluctantly, I released my hold.

  We stared out at the murky water that flowed beneath the Waterloo Bridge, and at the moment, I wanted badly to jump from it. Surely, my heavy sense of dread would sink me to the bottom. In the distance, a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the city beneath for a moment before the shadows returned.

  “Goose!” Strider shot out from our dry refuge and grabbed the arm of a boy passing by. He dragged the agitated lad back to where I stood and gave him rough shake. “Goose, you fool. It’s me, Strider.”

  Goose looked to be about ten years old. His face was clean and pink from the rain, a smattering of freckles crossed his turned up nose. Grime filled rivulets of water ran down from his cap to the shoulders of his coat.

  He stared up at Strider with surprise that quickly turned to a frown. His small fist plowed into Strider’s chest. “Where the ‘ell have you been? Everyone thought you were dead.” He glanced at me. “And all this time you’ve been holed up with this wench.”

  My mouth opened to protest but Strider held up a hand to stop me. “Never mind where I’ve been. What the hell are you doin’ here in Smithy’s territory?

  “I’ve got a nice lit’l business going. Never seen so many fine handkerchiefs in my life.”

  “Well, I hope your new business will afford you a nice coffin. No wait. You won’t need one since most of Smithy’s victims end up at the bottom of the Thames.”

  The color in Goose’s face drained. “I’m keeping my nose clear of Smithy and his gang.” He wrenched away the arm Strider held. “Besides what do you care? You ‘aven’t been round.”

  “I’m taking care of some things. I’ll be back soon, and you better keep your arse out of this neighborhood.”

  Of course, Strider had every intention of returning to his life on the streets. How could I have thought differently? Why should I have hoped differently? My own selfishness shamed me. I should be happy if he gets the chance to return to his life after this. So many possible endings for him and all I cared about was that I may never see him again.

  Goose plucked at the white shirt Strider wore beneath his coat. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a fancy lady this time. Buyin’ you all sorts of nice things.”

  “Where’s Charlie at?”

  Goose sneered at me once then shrugged. “Don’t know. Think he’s scraping dirty plates at the boarding house. They pay him with leftover food scraps. I’m not returning to that, Strider. I’m making enough out here to buy me a proper meal once a day.”

  “If you stay out here, one of those meals is going to be your last.”

  Goose lifted up on his toes and pushed his face closer to Strider’s. “At least I’ll die with a full stomach.” His words squeezed out through clenched teeth. He dropped back to his feet and tore off into the rain.

  “Goose! Damn it, get back here!” Strider pounded the wall with side of his fist. The force of it vibrated the side of the building. He stared in the direction Goose had run.

  “Is he really in that much danger?” I asked.

  Strider nodded, dislodging the drops of water clinging to his black curls. “Smithy is ruthless when he thinks someone is poaching on his ground. He won’t kill him, but he’ll hurt him bad enough that Goose’ll wish he had.” Strider surveyed the shoreline as if he was looking for traces of the infamous Smithy. “This is my fault. Goose and Charlie counted on me to watch over ‘em.”

  I went to touch his arm, but he turned brusquely out of my reach. My stomach felt as if someone had twisted it like a rope. The day had started out so well, but now I wanted to return to last night with his head in my lap, his hair under my palm. I swallowed hard and spoke. “You can’t be responsible for those two. You would pose more danger to them than any street thug, no matter how vicious.” His shoulders stiffened again and tension filled the small space but I continued. “You must see, Strider. It would be impossible to help them right now.”

  His arms were straight down at his sides with tight fists. If I had pushed too far, it was too late now, trapped as I was between a locked door and his solid body. It felt like hours had passed, but in truth, it was only minutes. He stood silently, staring out at the rain. Then without looking back at me, he reached for and took hold of my hand and pulled me away from our shelter.

  We headed back the way we came, my fingers firmly clutched inside his, without a word spoken between us.

  After several blocks of being nearly dragged, my fingers had grown numb beneath his grasp and my soaked skirts weighed me down. I stumbled but Strider grabbed hold of my waist before my knees hit the ground. He held me against him, my back pressed against his chest long after I’d found my footing. With what seemed like reluctance, he released his hold on me.

  His hand found mine again, and we trudged toward home. For several blocks we said nothing then Strider started laughing.

  “We are soaked to the bone, and I can no longer feel my face because of the cold, and you are laughing.”

  “I was just thinking about all this. After my last stint in prison, I told myself I’d never go back. So I started stealing from dead people figuring they weren’t much as witnesses. Now look where it has gotten me. My mum used to insist that trouble followed me. I guess she was right. I should have taken my chances with the gallows at Newgate.”

  “So you’d rather swing from a rope than traipse through the pouring rain holding my hand?”

  He squeezed my hand and smiled down at me. “It’s like my mum said, trouble follows me.”

  I wrenched my hand free and crossed my arms. “Well, fine then.”

  Strider stopped me and grabbed hold of my arm to turn me toward him. Water streamed over both our faces as we stared at each other. He pressed a finger against my bottom lip which was trembling more from the look he was giving me than the frigid air. “Of course, there’s bad trouble and good trouble.” He removed his finger and kissed my forehead. “And you definitely fall into the good category.” Strider turned back and wrapped my hand around his arm. “Let’s get home before we drown out here.”

  Good trouble. I actually liked the sound of that.

  Chapter 14

  Maggie had left a bowl of clotted cream on the counter. I pulled a loaf of bread from the larder. Strider and I sat by the fire drying out and spooning the cream onto hunks of bread. Now, in front of the coals, which just began to glow with heat, we were silent. But it seemed a good silence. No anger or tension, just two people alone with t
heir thoughts and glad to be in each other’s company. At least I was happy to have his. I hoped he felt the same.

  Dr. Bennett was holed up in his lab and had been there all day. The scribbled notes he’d left on the table were now covered with our crumbs. I swiped the bread away, and we stared down at the handwriting.

  Strider pointed to the name, Von Mohl. “Who is this Vonmoll? Is he someone you know?”

  “Hardly. He’s a German botanist. He’s written a great deal about protoplasm.”

  Strider raised a dark eyebrow.

  “He hypothesized that cells, those things you see through the microscope, divide to make new cells. He also theorized that the walls around a cell allow growth…” I stopped when I realized he was staring straight at me but not hearing anything I said. “Forgive me. I’m rambling.”

  “You are like no other girl I’ve met,” he said.

  “I don’t know whether to consider that a compliment or an insult.”

  “You have to analyze everything, Camille. It’s a compliment. You are peculiar but in a very agreeable way.” He popped a chunk of bread into his mouth and looked at me warmly.

  I fidgeted with the notes on the table. “The rain has stopped,” I blurted louder than needed considering the only other person in the room was sitting a tabletop away.

  Strider rose and walked to the window. “Looks like it will be a clear sky tonight. We should sit on the front stoop and watch the stars.”

  “I’d like that.” A small noise came from the lab. Curiosity gnawed at me, but I knew never to disturb Dr. Bennett when the door was closed. I hoped and prayed that he was making progress with his study but pessimism kept sneaking its ugly head into my thoughts. I moved to the comfort of the settee, and Strider sat next to me. I rested my head against his hard shoulder and through the comfort of the fire and his nearness, I dozed off.

  Strider’s prediction came true. The navy blue sky was like rich satin and as the last bits of the Sun’s energy drifted away, the stars appeared. Taking its usual place amongst the glittering balls of light was the crescent moon, weak and dim, unable to produce its own light, instead having to steal what it could from the Sun.

  Dr. Bennett strode purposefully out of the lab, picked up a chunk of bread, balanced a cup of tea on a saucer, and shoved a handful of notes under his arm. Then he returned to his lab and shut the door behind him. But in his brief escape from work, I’d seen his face. It was stretched into a weary frown, a silent confirmation that things were not going well under the lens of his scope.

  Our stomachs full with cream covered bread, Strider and I carried the wool throw from the sitting room out to the front stoop and sat down. We sat closely so the small cover could cross both our shoulders. A nervous laugh escaped my lips as we huddled.

  “What’s so amusing?’ Strider asked as he scooted even closer to me for warmth. His leg pressed against mine.

  “I’m not sure. It just popped out. ‘Tis not every day that I sit under a blanket with a boy.”

  “Should I not sit so close?” He started to scoot away, but I grabbed his arm. It was thick and solid.

  ‘No, it’s too cold without you under here.” Heat constantly radiated off his skin. “You’re like a giant chunk of coal.”

  “I’ve been called many things but never a piece of coal.”

  “Perhaps I could have used a better description, but somehow, the air is less frigid around you.”

  “In that case. . .” He inched even closer and our shoulders touched now too. His hand poked out from our wool tent. “Look, the North star.” He pointed. “There, at the tip of the bear’s tail.”

  “A bear with a tail?”

  “Aye, Ursa Minor. The little bear was placed there next to Ursa Major, his mother.” His finger swept across the sky. “Legend says that Zeus disguised himself and raped Callisto. She bore him a son, Arcas. The goddess, Artemis was so angry she turned Callisto into a bear. When Arcas was grown, he went hunting and nearly shot his own mother. Zeus turned his illegitimate son into a bear, as well, before placing them both in the sky.”

  “Mythology is such nonsense.” I hugged my knees to my chest attempting to make myself smaller. Suddenly, I wanted to disappear under the blanket.

  He looked down at me. “Tis romantic. If everything were explained by science and logic, what a dull world it would be.”

  There was a terrible swelling in my throat and my mouth felt dry. “And if everything were explained by pure romance, what an ignorant world this would be.”

  “Camille, what have I said to upset you? Forgive me if my story offended you. It was something my brother told me late at night to console me after one of my father’s tirades.”

  I shook my head. “I’m being absurd. Your story didn’t offend me but part of it brought up a terrible memory.”

  Blindly, he searched for my hand under the cover. When he found it, he wrapped his fingers around mine. “Your father?”

  I bit my lip to keep from talking, but the words were too strong. They surged through. “I still remember the night as if it were this moment. My father had been pacing like a madman in the hallway. I’d chided him about wearing a groove in the floor.” Another inappropriate laugh escaped my lips, but it was not from the giddiness I’d felt earlier. It was from the near hysteria I felt knowing that I was about to narrate the memory in its entirety, something I had never done before. And not just to anyone but to Nathaniel Strider who was now tied to all this.

  “Emily and I sat on the pink damask sofa of our drawing room. The rag doll my mother made me the Christmas before her death was tucked into my lap. Moonlight flooded through the window. Its unearthly glow made the roses on the wallpaper seem real enough to pick. My sister and I’d spent many evenings in that same room, snug and content. But that evening, though the hearth blazed, a chill filled the room. And all the time, my father’s heavy, anxious footsteps echoed through the house. Then he entered the drawing room, our comfortable family meeting place. He knelt in front of us. I will never forget the anguish in his face. His lips were tight and bloodless, and his cheek twitched convulsively.”

  Momentarily my voice was lost behind a sob. Strider squeezed my hand. I swallowed hard to bring the words to the surface. “My sweets, my loves, he’d called us, still unable to control the spasm in his face. He drew out a small pistol and handed it to me. It was so cold and heavy. You’re the strong one, he assured me.” Another sob crept out. “I need you to hide somewhere in the house. If the beast finds you, use this gun, he’d said. The word beast kept charging through my mind. I remember a violent shaking starting at my shoulders and making its way to my hands. I had to grasp the pistol tightly to keep it from bouncing to the floor. Father leaned forward and kissed us both on the cheeks before rushing out of the room. Emily looked as if she had turned to a pillar of salt. One breath and I could have collapsed her into a shower of white grains over the plush cushions. I grabbed her hand and pulled her down the stairway into the deserted kitchen.”

  Strider released my hand and lifted his thumb to wipe a tear from my cheek. He leaned over and kissed the wetness on my face then lowered his hand to find mine again.

  “What a peculiar site I must have been with a floppy doll tucked under my arm and a pistol hanging from the fingers of that same arm. We ducked under the preparation table where the cook plucked feathers from geese and twisted flour and water into bread. My sister’s shallow breaths echoed through the blackness.” I stopped for a moment to slow my own breath. It left behind clouds of vapor in the cold night air. “The clock in the drawing room clanged, and we both shot up and bumped our heads on the solid wood above. Emily cried uncontrollably, and I squeezed my eyes shut hoping when I opened them I’d wake from the nightmare. But it was all too real. A noise came from my father’s room, a sound that made every inch of me shudder. I had to hold my breath to keep from retching.” I peered up at Strider.

  He stared straight ahead now absorbing the details of my horrid story. But
the worst was yet to come. He must have sensed my hesitation. “I want to hear all of it, Camille.” The words shot out as if there was uncertainty behind them. His hand tightened around my fingers and I gasped in pain. He released them instantly but didn’t say anything else.

  Beneath the warm cover, I hugged myself tightly. “A hideous roar filled the stairwell, and a repellant odor oozed down the stairwell. Then I saw her, my doll, in the middle of the floor where I’d dropped her. I scooted out of our hiding spot, grabbing the doll just as a terrible clamor exploded through the kitchen. It was a sound that made thunder seem like a whisper. I froze with my doll and the pistol. Someone pulled the gun from my hand. There was a terrible pain in my arm followed by a blast that lit the room as if lightning had broken through the walls. An agonizing moan rolled through the darkness. Then silence. It did not take long to recognize that the silhouette on the floor was my father.”

  Strider did not say a word. My head felt lighter as if I’d removed bricks of lead from it. Absently, I had moved even closer to him, so close I nearly sat on his thigh. His face was turned down as he seemed to contemplate our shoes poking out from the cover.

  Then his voice floated up. “Bloody coward. Why did he not take his own life rather than endanger the lives of his daughters?”

  His words were like a sharp slap. Never had I considered that as an option. Never had I thought of my father as being anything but splendid. Never had I considered him a coward. And yet, Strider’s reaction, his offered proposal of how things might have been handled differently rang painfully true. But I had to defend my father’s honor.

  “My father was the smartest, bravest man I knew,” I said weakly. “And that night I discovered that I was not the strong one.”

  Strider twisted around and faced me. His skin had paled. “You could have been killed. You and your sister. And he would have been completely to blame. You were not weak. You faced your own death rather than kill the father you loved.” His brown eyes looked nearly black, but there was more there than repulsion for my father’s actions. “I will not go like a coward.”