But like Joan, I needed more armor. I looked around wildly for something else. I picked up the inkwell on Jonathon’s desk, and I plunged my finger into it, making the sign of the cross upon my forehead as if it were Ash Wednesday. From dust we were made and unto dust we would return. But not today.
“I renounce thee!” I shrieked again. Jonathon was trying to close the distance between us, and I fell to my knees before him, using the inkwell to paint a messy cross over his brow. “We renounce thee!” Our rejection caused a tremor in the room. Books rattled on their shelves. The expensive trinkets from around the world shuddered on the marble fireplace mantel. The window panes shivered.
Jonathon shook his head, as if tossing off a terrible dream. He narrowed his eyes at the hesitating, pulsing dark form. “Upon the graves of our beloved mothers,” Jonathon bellowed, “we renounce thee!”
A sudden burst of light had us blinking and wincing, and suddenly between us and the horrid, silhouetted form of congealed evil, floated the bright white forms of two beautiful women. Angels called down to the fight. I recognized one of the angels as my own. And the second one looked a great deal more like Jonathon than that thing wailing down the hall did.
“You leave our children alone,” the spirit of my mother said to the vacuous silhouette in a venomous tone. “This is the end. Your kind has failed. You cannot win against such wondrous love as this.” She turned her beaming, beautiful face upon us, and tears of amazement rolled down my cheeks.
“Did you hear that?” said the second spirit, a beautiful woman in a lavish gown, in a vicious hiss In the name of God the Father, of the Son, of the Holy Ghost. In the name of all the saints, the host of angels, and everything that is holy, get out of my house!” shrieked the spirit of Lady Denbury.
Lady Denbury was not tied to that body in the dining room at all but instead tied to her beloved son. Her spirit was resilient and made new again in the fight. The bright, transparent form of Lady Denbury lifted an elegant hand into the air and sharply backhanded the inelegant, tar-black form before her, and it splintered into a spattering mess, wet ashes upon the fine rug, nothing but ugly residue.
Jonathon seized me and stepped back so that none of the demonic muck could land upon me, all the while staring up at the ghost of the mother he’d never had time to grieve. The two ghostly women looked down at their embracing children.
“Don’t go, Mother,” Jonathon gasped, his tears flowing as freely as mine. “I never got to say good-bye, I—”
“I love you too, my darling, perfect boy,” Lady Denbury said with a dazzling smile. “And you needn’t say good-bye. I’ll always be with you.”
“I am so sorry, Mum,” Jonathon said in gasping breaths. “I should’ve done more, I should’ve saved you—” He tried to reach out and touch her, hold her.
“You’ve done everything you can,” Lady Denbury replied. “Look at all you’ve done. You’ve done more than you even know, my darling. I am so proud of you.”
“Both of you,” my mother added. “Don’t they make a perfect couple, Lady Denbury?”
“Indeed. She’s Lady Denbury now.” Jonathon’s mother smiled at me. “And I couldn’t rest happier.”
“Be well, darlings,” my mother said as she and her friend in heaven began to fade. “We’re never far, we live within you, and in any darknesses, we are with you. Never forget. Live in the light.”
“I love you,” both Jonathon and I blurted to our mothers simultaneously before they faded entirely. We swayed on our feet, breathing heavily. The study door swung open again of its own accord. There was no more screaming anywhere. Just the murmur of activity. Of cleanup. Of a battlefield victorious.
Somewhere I could hear Moriel raving as he was being led away, leveling threats and decrying the undeserving underclass. There was another loud smacking thud, and I suspected Brinkman had knocked him out again. It was admirable Brinkman hadn’t killed Moriel, really. I’m sure the government would have given him leave to do so; however, whatever secret Moriel held had something to do with someone Brinkman loved. Human beings could do amazing, nearly inhuman things for love. This was something the Society seemed keen on subverting though they seemed unable to understand it. It was not something they could overpower. That was their ultimate hubris.
I heard Mrs. Northe calling for us.
“In here,” I called into the hall with the last of my energy, allowing Jonathon to gather me up into his arms, sinking with me again onto the floor, our backs against his beautiful bookcase.
We were bloody and drenched in sweat, ink, and water, our clothes torn and besmirched. Bruised, battered, alive. Grieving. Joyous. Relieved. Exhausted. Alive. Jonathon tore his black silk cravat and made a bandage for my wrist.
Suddenly there were shouts and screams once more. Did I rejoice too soon? I smelled smoke. And burning flesh.
The dining room was on fire.
Brinkman popped a sweaty, smeared face into the study, standing wide-eyed at the threshold. “The corpse. The corpse of Lady Denbury… It...”
“Went up in flames,” I finished. “The spirits will have their revenge. Let them combust the body. It’s part of resolution…”
“My men are instituting a bucket brigade from your rear well, Lord Denbury,” Brinkman said. “We’ll do what we can to save the building. You’ve a haven at a safe distance, yes? We should evacuate you and your friends from the estate at last.”
Jonathon nodded. “Up the earthen corridor behind the library. A cottage.”
“Go on then, quickly.” Brinkman shooed all of us into the hall and toward the library. I saw my four friends going on ahead, with Reverend Blessing carrying Maggie’s corpse in his strong arms. The sight made tears spring forth again. Nathaniel and Lavinia directed them toward the library, and they disappeared into the next rooms.
“Do hurry,” Brinkman insisted. “After all we’ve been through, I’d hate for a lowly fire to take you down. I’ll join you once I see to it the men are at work with the well.”
“Thank you, Mister Brinkman, for everything,” Jonathon called. Brinkman batted a hand in the air and ran off.
Jonathon Whitby, Lord Denbury, III, paused in the middle of his corridor, watching flames licking out into the hall from Rosecrest’s lovely dining room. Jonathon stared at the flames of destruction. “Sometimes,” he murmured in a haunted, sad voice that was elder than his years, “some things are best left to burn.”
He grabbed me by the arm, and we darted toward safety.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jonathon and I jogged up the earthen corridor, coughing. The increasing smoke would present a problem indeed if we didn’t keep moving.
My whole body ached as we finally climbed the stairs into the cottage. The rest of our compatriots had all found places to collapse ahead of us, draped on the edges of the bed or leaning bent against fine furniture that our sooty, bloody, bedraggled forms looked so at odds with.
Someone had opened the front door to the night, to the forest. Everything outside was still, save for the night sounds of insects and birds. So quiet. Peaceful. We did not turn on more than the one lamp at the entrance. We did not want to see the sharp details of what the night had done to any of us. What it had taken from us.
Jonathon brought a wet towel moistened from an outside water basin over to me and washed the inked cross from my forehead and then his own.
Reverend Blessing had laid out Maggie’s body upon the bay window where the moonlight upon her face made her lovely face even lovelier and turned the garish pools of blood all over her dress into grayscale. Mrs. Northe had Maggie’s head in her lap, at work in the moonlight, removing the blood from her face, neck, arms, and hands with silken kerchiefs.
I knelt upon the divan, and Jonathon drew close. As he sat I collapsed onto his lap, resting my head in his gentle hands that were shaking so hard. But he stroked my hair anyway. Wherever we landed, we wept. Silently. For a long time.
Finally, Mrs. Northe stirred, gest
uring Reverend Blessing over to her side. “Reverend, I’d like to pray with you here, over my niece, if you would be so kind.” I’d never heard her speech so gentle, so tired, so grieved.
I rose and moved with him; kneeling before the bay window bier, we prayed over her, said thanks for her, her bravery, and sacrifice. We asked for forgiveness of all of our sins that led to her death, Mrs. Northe having a most difficult time with the guilt of it.
I simply took Evelyn’s hand, and she held it. I was well aware it could have easily been me upon those cushions with hands folded over my still breast. I might have done the same, trying to buy us time, but I’d never have thought to do what she did, not so boldly. With great sadness I realized she probably hadn’t gotten my letter. I was a fool not to have sent it sooner.
Death brings such guilt to the living, illuminating all the things undone and unsaid. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve such a death. And yet we didn’t deserve such a sacrifice. But if she hadn’t done what she did, likely casualties would have been higher. She may have had no choice.
I wondered what had happened in Chicago right before she left. I wondered if she had dreams like I did. She’d shared with me, once, that the demon had visited her dreams. What if she knew it was all as inevitable as I had known? Somehow that gave me comfort, as her actions seemed far too calculated to have been inspiration in the moment.
Mrs. Northe had promised there would be death. But even the most clairvoyant, if too close to the truth, couldn’t see it. Not precisely.
“I should have known, I should have seen. It should have been me.” Those words she kept repeating numbly in different variations. I shook my head at her.
“That does no good, Evelyn,” Blessing murmured. “Accept the facts as they lie. As you live, give thanks for her life. Pray for her undying soul, that will be rewarded in heaven for such selfless acts.”
Mrs. Northe nodded and just kept stroking Maggie’s hair. That was a comfort, the idea of her reward. I hoped in heaven, for Maggie, there would be lots of balls and pretty dresses and exquisite company, that she’d have no need for gossip or intrigue, merely be loved and cherished by heavenly hosts until I’d see her again in some future day and thank her soul myself. I moved back to rest in Jonathon’s arms.
After some time, Brinkman banged upon the iron door from the other side, making us all jump. He called out to us to let him in.
“Most of the wing was saved,” Brinkman said as he entered, mopping a sweaty brow. “Thank goodness for stone frames between wings. But you’ll need a new dining room, Lord Denbury. I’m off to Scotland Yard, friends,” Brinkman said, crossing the cottage in a few stern strides. “I’ll fill out the reports and keep your further involvement to a minimum. I’ll push for an immediate trial.”
“Shouldn’t you rest, Mister Brinkman?” I asked.
“Not until I have my satisfaction,” he said gravely. “Those wicked bastards have my son. My child. My only joy in this goddamn world. I’d rip out all their throats with my bare hands if I thought I could still find him without their knowledge.”
There was a terrible silence in the room at this still unfinished business.
“Let us know how we can help,” Mrs. Northe said gently.
“Thank you,” Brinkman said, burying his pain. He glanced at Maggie’s body. “I take it you knew her. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“We’ll be praying for your son,” I offered. Brinkman managed a slight smile.
“Thank you. Ladies, you were very brave. I doubt the men hidden in those walls waiting for the signal could’ve done all you did. If it were up to me, I’d have the queen award you a medal, but I doubt we’ll be allowed to talk much about this, if any of it, ever again,” he said with bitterness. “I’ll follow up with Knowles about the properties to make sure any lands and assets seized by the Society are returned to proper owners. This is your estate. You’ve a grateful family who have been ferried off to the station that would like to return Rosecrest to you.”
Jonathon nodded. Brinkman bowed slightly and stormed off. I heard a cry urging on a fast horse. Hoofbeats pounded off and faded into silence. For poor Brinkman, this was just one ongoing nightmare. Suddenly I felt very lucky. I had my joy in this room with me. Maggie’s body notwithstanding.
I glanced from Mrs. Northe to Jonathon, to the tall form across the room of Reverend Blessing, dark skin gleaming in the moonlight as he remained in prayerful watch over Maggie’s eternal rest, to the brave entwined couple of Nathaniel and Lavinia who had risen to the ultimate challenge. Lavinia was already fast asleep on Nathaniel’s shoulder.
I had everyone I needed right here, except Father. Mother lived on in my heart, having always shown herself when I needed her most. Love was like that, taking the form of angels when faced with devils.
As the cottage had neither amenities nor staff, it was not a place we could weather the night. The appetite we’d all lost during the battle returned with painful awareness. But we couldn’t be seen like we were. Nathaniel gently roused Lavinia, and we each did as best we could to put ourselves together. We hid our bloodstained clothes under cloaks and rode into Greenwich proper in Nathaniel’s fine carriage. All of us were able to fit as Lavinia chose to ride up above with Nathaniel driving. At the back of the carriage, laid out upon clean boards and swathed in thick layers of black fabric, Margaret Hathorn’s corpse made the journey back with us.
We went to the nearest inn, a modest establishment, and took over a shadowed corner of the public rooms and ate everything they could lay out for us. Something about the looks on our faces did not invite any comment. It was late, after all. And we were a bedraggled, strange set of compatriots that thankfully no one took exception to. Surely we looked as haunted and as at the precipice of death as we felt.
The gentlemen took turns driving back to London, all of us dozing in and out. That night, in Jonathon’s flat, the whole motley crew remained gathered. None of us could bear to be alone or separated because our collective trauma made us stronger.
I cried myself nearly sick. Nothing else would do. The anguish I felt was only matched by a wave of hatred for myself, guilt threatening to drag me under into a mental state that I wondered if I could recover from after the progressive stages of grief. I’d been stronger when I had been trying to soothe Mrs. Northe. Now that reality was truly setting in, I was coming undone.
Someone dying in your arms is something no one can prepare you for.
It is the most terrible thing in the world.
It is the most incredible thing in the world.
Because never are you so aware of your own fragility, of that precarious moment between life and death. One moment here. The next, gone. A fleeting, breathless moment gives over to no breath ever again.
It was eerie, it didn’t feel real, it felt like a thousand knives in my heart and in my eyes, replaying her final moment. Her fine, amazing, brave, incredible final moments. Here I thought I was brave and she was weak. I was a fool, and she was a savior.
I threw up everything that was in my stomach and cried every tear that could be cried and still they came. Jonathon just continued to bring me water and hold me tighter. But he couldn’t hold this away. Sometimes we cried together, for my tears granted permission for his.
Seeing his reanimate mother had to have been one of the worst possible sights a person could ever see. The fact he retained his sanity was a miracle. I was grateful I’d encountered my dead mother again as a ghost, a beautiful spirit helping me from the beyond. Poor Jonathon had been first confronted with his mother’s desecration, and I would do anything to have taken that sight away. At least her spirit had won out and helped us, managing to redeem that dreadful blasphemy into a transcendent truth.
Our pain was so severe and so specific, we just held on to each other, knowing we were all we had, companions who had been through every level of personal hell, together, miraculously still alive to speak of it. Though I wondered if we’d ever speak of it again. I wanted
to forget everything but the feel of his arms holding me as the sensation made life bearable.
Jonathon just held me until it was inappropriate for him to be in the same room with me any longer. It was only a mere hour or so before dawn. Lavinia and Nathaniel were curled up somewhere, recovering on their own time and terms.
At some point sleep claimed me until I was roused by something bright and cold hovering at the foot of the guest room bed.
Maggie floated before me.
I couldn’t be sure if it was real or a dream, but I was very glad to see her spirit, in whatever way it wished to see me.
“Hello, my friend,” I whispered. The tears came again. “I don’t deserve you.”
“Me?” Maggie scoffed. “The friend that almost had you killed back in New York? Of course you did. You do. This was my penance, Natalie.”
“No, Maggie—”
“It was, Natalie. It was foretold. Your mother has been very kind to me. She’s been showing me the ways of this place, this in-between area where I’m still watching the world but above it. The Angel Walk, she calls it, as she fancies herself your guardian angel.”
“She is,” I stammered through my tears.
“There are two walks,” Maggie’s ghost said excitedly. “The angels walk a path. And so do the devils. That’s the path the Society was trying to carve open. From here you can see where things have come and where things may go. One life to the next, one body, one soul to the next… So many possibilities.” Her voice was filled with a beautiful wonderment. “When you and I meet again someday, I’d like to think we will be better friends.”
“We will be,” I said through renewed tears. She was staring at me with such calm, such care, such love, the sort of warmth I always imagined an angel or Jesus might look upon me with, a look that knew of terrible suffering, temptation, and pain but chose to stare lovingly instead. “I promise you. If whatever or whoever I am is too blind to see the woman you’re capable of being, shake me out of it.”
“I think you’ll know, next time,” Maggie said. “If there’s such a thing as past lives, well, we will have learned in the next one.”
The Double Life of Incorporate Things (Magic Most Foul) Page 24