His current darling, a Baron’s illegitimate mongrel, bonnie enough, but she lacked spirit and tended to indulge in stupefying quantities of opium. Sticking his cock in her amounted to little more than necrophilia. He silently reminded himself to make a list in his journal of the new traits he’d require and to have Harry screen the latest batch of inmates for an upgrade as soon as possible.
Breaths shot out in forceful puffs, a guttural moan building deep in his throat as he climaxed strong and lustful. One pivot of his bare backside and he’d disentangled himself and stood next to the sprawled shadow on the cot. The Asylum Keeper finished adjusting himself then retrieved his pants from around hairy ankles.
An abrupt sound of sandpaper against glass announced that someone had shoved the wooden barrier to the peephole back in its sheath. A shaft of hallway light peeped through before a saw-nosed face dominated the opening.
“Mr. Montgomery…” The nervous over-torqued voice belonged to a man living under the gun, unsure if his value outweighed his liabilities.
“I thought I told the lot of ya that I didn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“But, Boss, we got problems.”
Pants secured in place, Matthias cast a final grimace at the blithering simpleton before throwing an age-worn blanket over her gaping nakedness. “Take care.” With those parting words, he threw the lock to extricate himself from the depressing cinderblock.
Stepping out into one of many labyrinthine hallways, Matthias felt his chest swell with the power and pride of Napoleon. Here, at St. Ciaran Isis, he reigned. King and keeper, feared and respected alike.
“Boss…”
Matthias, shook prematurely from his post-coital reveling, snapped at the lazy-eyed custodian. “Wot is it, Harry?”
“There’s some dandies here—they say from the social reform board—making noise ‘bout an inspection.” He reported, anxious, as he and the Asylum Keeper walked down the progression of archways leading further into the dark mouth…of madness. “Says they’s making the rounds in Southwart. Bedlam, Newgate, Guy’s Hospital and wot not. I made ‘em wait as long as I could.”
They traversed murky shafts of light whenever they passed a door to a common room that had outside windows and natural sunshine.
“Bribe the bastards and be done wit’em. I ‘ave more important matters to attend to.” Matthias still hadn’t found much dirt to work with in the Ambrosi case, little to none, if he were truthful with himself.
“It ain’t that simple, Mr. Montgomery, sir. See…” They passed a particularly noisy common room, packed with giggling, screeching, wailing, clawing inmates…unrestrained, many with wild eyes and android movements. Matthias paused to do a peek-a-boo. Hit by the wall of body heat that cooked the crowded space, he quickly counted four cudgel-wielding wardens. Satisfied that there were adequate custodians for the room volume, he moved back into the drafty hallway.
“Go on, Harry, let’s ‘ave all of it.” Matthias prompted, knowing the imbecile had screwed up yet again.
“Dis way, I left ‘em at one of the…eh…observation suites.” The jittery Harry led the Asylum Keeper down another gloomy hallway.
Imbecile did not begin to describe him. The boy, gangly and just on the right side of twenty, deserved to be locked up in simpleton’s prison.
“And just wot the bloody ‘ell are they doing outside the observation suites, Harry?” Though Matthias was sickeningly sure he already knew.
“Well, they tricked me—”
“Ya ‘ave the sense of a bloody imbecile, go on…I’ll be wanting to git the ‘hole story for yer tombstone.”
Matthias took pleasure in the audible gasp his threat evoked from the younger man.
“They said they was ‘ere to see the ‘Show’. They seemed real excited-like when I told’em for an extra halfpence they could each ‘ave a stick to take a poke at the inactive ones. That shrewd ‘un, Greyson, even slipped me a silver piece if I’d give ‘em the grand tour.”
They came at last to a series of rectangular shaped rooms strung together like connecting cars on a train, with wall-sized windows on one side and open-air prison-bars on the other. Skittish viewers could meander along the window side and laugh or taunt the inmates to their heart’s content. Whereas, more bold visitors would in turn walk the iron bar side, and throw rocks or poke sticks at the prisoners within.
Matthias clenched his jaw tight to calm himself, preparing for a dicey situation. The social reform board was once scoffed at as disorganized and ineffective. However, the board had gained power and momentum after successfully lobbying to shut down The Marshaleas Debtor’s prison due to the inhumane treatment of its inmates. He cursed the fates for the ill luck to come under their scrutiny.
“Harry, if yer worthless bag of bones ‘is still ‘ere when I open my eye, ya be a bad smell floatin’ up from the Thames before night’s fall.”
Chapter 15
Dominic tapped his foot, patience eroding more and more with each tick of the miniature clock dangling from the silver chain at his vest pocket. Sure, it was rude of him to arrive uninvited…and further presumptuous to declare he would await an audience with the illustrious Lord and Lady…but he possessed no calling card baring his heraldry to announce himself even if he had been so inclined to warn the Prescotts’ of an impending visit.
With nothing better to do, Dom observed the room in which he sat. The over-stuffed parlor, all style and no substance, looked as if it were decorated by an extravagant mistress. A hoyden’s lair could not have out done the room in senseless excess. He banged his knee twice maneuvering around the clutter of lounging chairs, knickknack-laden tables, and the like. Dominic preferred open spaces free of obstruction. He fidgeted with his watch chain, trying not to think of the precious little room there was for him to move around, but to no avail. Clutter walled him in on all sides. He felt trapped, cornered… by encroaching madness. Memories of another time, another place flooded in unbidden.
The slimy chill of the stone caused him to shiver. He lay face-up against the stone alter, but oft-times he lay face down, depending upon who in her coven came up with the most promising new ‘technique’ to try. No one ever bothered to tie him down. Lillian kept him immobilized atop the solid block of dull grey pewter with a mere thought and wave of her hand. He struggled, sometimes for hours, against impossibly strong psychic shackles, capable of nothing but awaiting what he feared would be his final doom.
He squirmed as the cavern filled with a murky glow of firelight. The low, repetitious chant heralded the beginning of the purification ceremony—as she called them. The words were meaningless to him, they chanted in some ancient tongue no longer used for communication, but for rituals and prayer. Each member of the processional entered the low-ceilinged cavern housing the altar from a different tunnel emptying into it. They emerged from the blackness to encircle him on all sides: the priest, the witch, the druid, and the doctor. Dominic named each based on their appearance and respective approach to curing his ‘problem’.
The priest was a bald round man always draped in burlap robes and a nightmare-sized crucifix strangling his non-existent neck. The priest undulated above his fragile seven-year-old body with fervent prayers, doused him in buckets of holy water, and quoted scripture at the top of his lungs.
The witch was an ancient crone of a woman, with hanging skin and wild hair protruding out in some areas and matted to her head in others. She drew ominous symbols on the floor around him, fed him moldy spell-infused concoctions, and riddled his ears with senseless rhyming incantations.
The Druid was completely concealed beneath a black, shroud-like garment, and reminded him of the grim reaper. Together with the “Doctor”, the last to join his mother’s coven of Spiritualist fanatics, they began the campaign of-”
Dominic jerked forward—into the present—at the sound of his name. The footman before him came into focus.
“The Duke and Duchess will see you now.”
The footman led him
to another sitting room, which housed the Lord and Lady of the house. It too was mired in senseless pomp and circumstance. Dominic found himself seated opposite two of the oldest, stuffiest, tight-lipped curmudgeons the peerage had to offer. The Prescott’s of London were how Dom pictured Mother Nature and Father Time in their dotage…shoehorned into every imaginable finery. Their faces were stoic, unrelenting, and ancient.
The pair of them refused to address him until afternoon tea was served. After five minutes, a nondescript maid appeared with steaming earl grey and crumpets to set out before them on a marble table crouching nearby.
“Forgive the rude manner of my arrival, and my odd eyewear—” He added hastily as he saw the Duchess frowning a glower of disapproval. “—but I have news of an urgent nature regarding your granddaughter, Miss Eden Prescott.”
“Lady Prescott.” The duchess corrected dourly, as she rested her tea cup. “Despite my son’s decision to forsake his legacy and pollute our line with common American stock, any child of his and grandchild of ours will be given the title he or she is due. I will assume by your mentioning only the young lady that she is the sole offspring of his union with that…person?”
“Miss…eh, Lady Prescott has not appraised me of any siblings. No.” Dominic cringed, not holding out much hope of their welcoming Eden into the fold. He got the distinct impression that the mere reminder of their ruined pedigree annoyed them. “Lady Prescott’s parents, your eldest son and his wife, have both passed on…Mrs. Prescott fairly recently. And of course, you’re aware of your other granddaughter’s death in childbirth…Lady Millicent St. James—”
The Duke puffed up to twice his minuscule size. “Conte Ambrosi, we do not require an outline of the Prescott family tree. Please do us the courtesy of being brief. What is the exact nature of this…visit?”
“Of course. Lady Prescott was most recently residing with the St. James’ on their country estate, which borders my own. In her grief, she suffered a near fatal accident and was rescued by my brother.” Dominic rushed on, fearing they would fall asleep or kick him out before he’d gotten to the meat of the matter. “She has since recovered full health, but as I am unmarried and so is she, she cannot continue to reside at my estate. Nor can she reside with St. James, as he too is now unwed. I have come on Lady Prescott’s behave as she is not acquainted with either of you and has been in much grief and mourning…so much so that I fear her mind has been affected—”
Dominic broke off at the Duchess’ horrified gasp. “Prescott! You mustn’t allow it.” She seized her husband’s arm for comfort.
“There, there, dear.” Dominic watched the Duke pat his wife on her stiff, overstuffed shoulder pad, placating, before turning back to address him. “Conte Ambrosi, if you mean to suggest the Duchess and I take in this…addlebrained woman…simply because she is my son’s beget, then let me relieve you of any such notion. Did you think to appeal to our sympathies?”
Certainly not, Dom thought, any idiot could see that would be an utter waste of energy. He’d never seen two more indifferent, uncaring individuals.
“Thinking, having lost our beloved son, we would be grateful to play nursemaid to his simpleton brat? Charles was dead to us the moment he stepped off English soil. The fact of his physical death is of little consequence. Since Charles was wise enough to amass a fortune in trade wealth before his death, the girl is hardly destitute. I would suggest that you extend a bit of her funds and apply a place for her at Bedlam. Now then, the Duchess and I find this turn of events most distressing. We must kindly ask you to leave.”
Gladly. Dominic did not wait for the footman to see him to the door. Agitated more than he preferred to admit, he hailed a hack instead of shimmering to his brother’s Southwart office front.
* * *
Eden lazed in her nightly steam bath, warm moist haze vaporized off the water in waves and billows, reminding her of a hot spring she’d once visited with her parents. Slippery smooth porcelain squeaked against the wet naked skin of her bottom every time she adjusted her seat. The combined warmth of the water on her partially submerged torso and the steam on her exposed parts settled in her body. She felt boneless and languid, as if she herself had liquefied along with the water in the tub. Eden lay with her head pillowed on the back rim, slim pale neck exposed in the moonlight. Her loose ashen tresses dangled over the back rim and pooled on the floor. She’d had Nellie instruct a manservant to lug the tub nearer the window so she could bath by moonlight instead of lighting the lanterns.
The sweet aroma of peaches and pomegranate bath oils filled her nostrils, drugging her into a sensation-driven semi-conscious state. Lashes fluttered closed, Eden hummed a catchy ditty from her days in the schoolroom. She let the weight of her life’s many sorrows sink unnoticed to the bottom of the porcelain-confined ocean, forgotten, if only temporarily.
Her thoughts drifted to another such night that had also found her lounging in the bath…a bath that had ended quite scandalously with an impromptu massage. She re-lived, the sensuous glide of his strong capable hands against the smooth wet skin of her feet, and calves. Eden’s thoughts turned to the giver of the forbidden pleasure she enjoyed that not-long-ago evening. Dominic.
Even though she knew his secret, one or two of them anyway—she did not delude herself into thinking she’d solved the complex puzzle that was Dominic Ambrosi— She wondered just what he looked like under the shades? Her research in the library had turned up only general definitions, no pictures or detailed explanation of his…condition. Were they freakish? Scarred? In the visions, his eyes were always shadowed or vaguely lit so that his expression was piercing, but his eyes weren’t completely visible. But, since her overactive mind’s eye did not appear to be receding in strength or frequency, she’d spent the remainder of the day sketching some of the strange images her mind had conjured up.
A smile spread across Eden’s mellowed face when she sensed the presence. It entered the room from the far wall and approached her from behind. She knew she should be outraged, scandalized, swooning from shock or screaming for the maid, but Eden could evoked no such reaction to the approaching entity…other than eager anticipation.
* * *
The crescent moon winked mischievously against a backdrop of star-studded sky by the time Dominic traversed the dusty threshold of Cael’s office. His was the only storefront in the square still open for business.
“I thought you never tarried into the evening.” Dom spoke as soon as he heard the door shut behind him.
“Just waiting up to hear your explanation for why you disappeared last night.”
“How did you-” He turned at his brother’s words, his surprise quickly dimmed into muted resignation. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
“You may find this shocking, Dom, but you’re rather predictable.” Cael’s mouth turned up briefly before he grew serious again. “It’s about her, of course. So, what is she up to now?”
He exhaled a heavy sigh. “Eden and Kathleen had a visitor yesterday…Matthias Montgomery. He frightened her out of her wits and even set Kathleen on edge. I fear he may have gotten a whiff of Stephan, though Ethan thinks he could just as well be after me. Either way, the situation is volatile and dangerous for the three of us.”
“I wouldn’t worry over-much about Montgomery. I happen to know that his facility is due to come under scrutiny by the social reform board soon. If nothing else, he’ll be too preoccupied to bother us again…if we’re lucky, the board will put him out of our hair forever. But wait—” A dark gold brow arched over fascinated amber eyes as if he’d just remembered some scintillating tidbit. “The three of us. You, Stephan and…who’s the third?”
“The woman admitted to me that she…sees things, hears voices.” Dom knew it hadn’t slipped his brother’s notice that he’d called her by her Christian name a moment ago. “Which is partially my fault, I suppose. She can somehow sense me when I am invisible…and I…shimmered in front of her.”
Domini
c heard rather than saw his brother tense at this revelation. He continued on quickly before Cael asked him for details of the occasion. “I had thought to send her packing to her relatives before she becomes too embroiled but one glimpse of the Prescotts has disavowed me of the notion.”
Cael arched both brows. “That bad, were they?”
“Worse.” He grimaced at the memory. “They suggested I apply for her a place at Bedlam.”
“I thought as much.” His brother stated, shrugging his shoulders matter-of-factly.
Surprised, Dom frowned at him. “You knew?”
“No, just suspected.” He admitted, “If she would rather kill herself, than reach out to them…that alone speaks volumes about their character.”
Dom hadn’t thought of it quite like that before, however having met them, he conceded. “The pair of them would’ve driven her around the bend within a week…that is, if they were even willing to accept her into their hollow household.”
“If you’re being sarcastic, the word is hallowed.”
“I wasn’t. The place is hollow, devoid of emotion. It reminded me of a mausoleum, for all its warmth and gaiety. She could not be happy there.”
“You’re worried about her happiness? I thought this was a safety issue.”
“It was…is.” Dominic paced, knowing he’d said too much but beyond caring. He needed a sounding board for his feelings. Ethan, the brother that usually provided the service had voluntarily abandoned him. He would make do with Cael in his absence.
“What else?” He pressed.
“Does there have to be something else?”
“Don’t be coy, Dom. What’s got you so harassed?”
He felt his brother’s hand rest on his shoulder, and stilled. “I’m attracted to her. She is…affecting me.”
Dominic's Nemesis Page 10