by LENOX, KIM
“Can’t say I know the difference, not with her anyway. I’ve gone to her room three more times and knocked, to no response. I don’t wish to pester her. Neither do I wish to be held to blame for her delicate skin being torn to shreds by bare ticking.” Her brow furrowed. “What do you suppose she’s doing in there?”
Elena thought back to the night before. “You know, now that I think on it, she didn’t feel well last night. Something to do with her digestion, I believe.”
“Perhaps that’s it, then,” Mary Alice said doubtfully.
“Do you have the towels with you?”
“On my cart, in the hall.”
“Give them to me. I’ll take them in to her.”
“Really, miss?” the girl asked. “I’d be ever so relieved. I must confide I’m a bit intimidated by the countess. Not only that, but I’ve a new maid to show about, just hired today. I left her downstairs changing into her uniform, and she’s likely waiting on me now.”
“Then do go on. I’ll call on the countess.”
Elena followed Mary Alice to the hall and took possession of the towels; there they diverged in opposite directions, Mary Alice toward the service stairs and Elena toward the countess’s room, situated at the far end of the house, just across from Mrs. Hazelgreaves’s. She passed beneath the skylight, already darkened with the coming night.
At the countess’s room, she rapped on the door.
“Lady Pavlenco?” she called, but received no answer. Perhaps the countess had left Black House again, this time without anyone noticing.
With a turn of the bronze knob, she entered the countess’s room and paused. The draperies had been pulled, and the room was dark as a cave. She allowed her eyes a few moments to adjust. A few coals glowed faintly on the grate, but they had long ago burned to mostly ash.
She heard a sound, a sigh or a brush of fabric, and a few words mumbled in the countess’s voice. Words she didn’t understand. Perhaps Selene was feverish? She made her way toward the bed—and tripped over something. A large basket, woven from thick reeds. There were several scattered about, along with their lids.
A low moan came from the direction of the four-postered bed. Suddenly, it occurred to Elena that perhaps she had misinterpreted things, and that the countess might not be alone.
She knew full well the passionate relations that took place between a man and a woman—not firsthand of course, but one could not go uneducated long while working with the boldly speaking female patients of the Whitechapel infirmary.
An image of the countess and Lord Black, naked and entwined on the bed, blazed unbidden into her mind. The depth of pain she experienced just imagining such a thing stunned her.
Now that the image was in her mind, she felt compelled to make it disappear.
“Your ladyship?” Elena called in a clear voice, believing it only fair to announce herself before embarrassing anyone. No one answered.
Elena went to the end of the bed. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the even darker shadows formed by the heavy bed curtains, drawn along the sides. Yet when they did, she blinked, not believing what mere vision revealed. Indeed, the countess was not alone.
Something dark slithered toward the end of the bed.
Toward her.
Elena yelped and tossed the towels.
“Who’s there?” the countess demanded, her voice blurred by sleep.
“Snakes,” Elena gasped, veering backward until her back slammed into the wall beside the mantel. “There are snakes in your bed.”
“Miss Whitney?” The countess pushed herself up from the hazy darkness, seemingly unconcerned that no less than a score of serpents slid over and about her legs, waist and arms. Other than the snakes, there were only pale gleaming skin and dark hair. The countess did indeed sleep nude.
“What are you doing in my room?” she muttered crossly.
Elena grasped up the iron poker from beside the fire grate.
“I . . . er, assumed that since you had come to my room last night and we had such a lovely conversation, we were on sociable terms.”
A serpent wriggled out of Selene’s hair and flopped onto her bare shoulder, before falling onto her pillow and coiling away.
“You mean . . . as friends?” Selene asked with suspicion.
“Of course. As friends.”
The countess gathered up a large, exotic-looking square of cloth from the bed, and after carefully transferring several of her slithering companions to the mattress, wrapped herself toga-style.
She stood and approached Elena through the darkness. “I must seem rather eccentric to you.”
“Well, yes. The snakes . . .” Elena laughed nervously, keeping one eye on the bed. The whole scene was so surreal. “Very uncommon.”
“I adore them.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
A serpent undulated across the floor toward them, barely visible against the carpet. Elena skipped aside, clasping the poker against herself. Obviously the snakes were pets. She didn’t think it would go over very well if she were to smite one to bits.
“I didn’t always.” Selene bent down to scoop up the creature. “Asps used to terrify me, but I learned long ago to embrace that which frightens me most. It’s made me stronger.” She smiled. “Besides they are a symbol of royalty.”
“Oh, yes?”
“Here, touch Xerxes along his back with your finger.”
The countess held Xerxes out for her. His narrow little body sagged between her hands. Elena didn’t really want to touch him, but neither did she wish to appear the ninny. And curse her impulsivity, if she hadn’t gone and gotten that tattoo on her wrist! It made no sense that she would bear the permanent image of a serpent on her skin, yet refuse the challenge to touch one.
Gingerly she ran her fingertip over the smooth obsidian scales. “What a surprise. He’s cool and dry. I’d imagined him to be slimy. Is he . . . poisonous?”
“Deadly.” Selene smiled, revealing her straight white teeth.
Elena froze.
“Just don’t make any sudden movements, or start screaming or anything ridiculous like that and you’ll be fine.” She shrugged. “And if he does bite you, from all that I’ve been told, it’s not such a bad way to go.”
Elena swallowed hard. “I feel very reassured.”
“Here, let me put him around your neck.”
Before Elena could decline, Selene had brought Xerxes around her shoulders. She quickly lifted her hair so he would not become entangled.
“There,” announced the countess, sounding pleased.
“He’s . . . he’s not so bad.” Elena stared down, out of the corner of her eye. Xerxes’s narrow forked tongue darted out to touch her chin.
“Oh, look, he’s given you a kiss. He likes you,” Selene cooed. A broad smile lit her face. In the next moment, the smile disappeared and her eyes flashed. “Now give him back.”
Moments later, Elena escaped into the hallway and pulled the door soundly shut behind her.
She glanced between the pointed tips of her shoes to be sure nothing slithered out from beneath the door. Seeing nothing, she sagged against the wall in relief.
Lord, she had never met anyone as bizarre as the countess! She had finally extricated herself by saying she could not keep Mrs. Hazelgreaves waiting for supper, which was hardly a lie. Her elderly companion grew rather terse when she’d gone too long between afternoon tea and her evening meal. Crossing the carpeted hall, she knocked and waited, but received no answer. An outlandish image flashed through her mind, that of a naked Mrs. Hazelgreaves smiling and writhing languidly on a bed of snakes. Lord, but she wasn’t ready for another revelation of that sort! Likely Mrs. Hazelgreaves had already summoned the footmen to carry her down.
Elena hurried down the stairs, imagining she saw snakes everywhere from the corner of her eye, dangling from the chandeliers and encircling the banisters. How would she ever sleep tonight? Should she tell anyone?
Just as she wa
s about to enter the dining room she heard female voices. Mary Alice and a companion housemaid made their way down the hall—a housemaid whose curly red hair peeked out from beneath her white cap, and who limped over a crutch.
“Lizzy!” she exclaimed, astounded and shocked.
Lizzy grinned, lurching forward. “I didn’t want to say anythin’. I wasn’t sure if you lived ’ere. And, look! You do.”
Mary Alice hurried along after her, frowning suspiciously. “The two of you know each other?”
Elena grasped the girl’s hand in greeting. Lizzy fairly quivered with excitement.
“What are you doing here, Lizzy?”
“That man who was wi’ you this afternoon—his lordship I am told—came back to find me after you’d gone. ’E told me the position was mine if I wanted it. Blimey! If I wanted it?” She pressed a hand against her flushed cheek. “Next thing I know ’e put me in a carriage and sent me off. I can’t believe me good fortune.”
Lizzy was off the streets! Of course, she was only one of thousands who deserved better, but the relief Elena felt was immeasurable. And she couldn’t quiet the voice inside her head that shouted in absolute delight that his lordship had brought Lizzy to Black House to please her.
She asked the women, “Are you aware, has his lordship returned from the East Side?”
Mary Alice shook her head. “No, miss, not that I’ve seen or heard.”
“ ’Is lordship,” Lizzy sighed dreamily. “I shall be f’rever indebted to ’im. If only Kate Eddowes could see me now.”
Mary Alice glanced over her shoulder. “We’d best be about our business before Mr. Jarvis finds us here rubbing shoulders with Miss Whitney.” She eyed Lizzy with queenly hauteur. “It’s not allowed, you know.”
Lizzy’s head bobbed. “Right.”
“I’m very happy for you, Lizzy.”
“Thank y’, Nurse Whitney.”
As they moved past, Mary Alice leaned in and muttered, “She’s a bit street-rough. We’ll have to work on her speech and manners.”
“Thank you for welcoming Lizzy to the staff, Mary Alice. I’ll just go in now and see if Mrs. Hazelgreaves has come down for supper.”
Mary Alice shook her head. “I forgot to tell you, she won’t be. She’s a bit beneath the weather.”
Elena remembered how they’d parted that morning in Lord Black’s study. She had rather shocked her elderly companion with her announcement about medical school. “Are you certain she’s not . . .”
“Not what, miss?”
Elena winced. “Avoiding me. I may have upset her earlier today.”
“Why, just this afternoon she told me what a delight you are. And she couldn’t stop going on about his lordship being the perfect gentleman. She had only pleasant things to say.” She cocked her head. “Rather unlike herself, now that I think back on it.”
“Perhaps I should go up to check on her.”
“I’ve already put her to bed with one of her tonics. I’m certain she’d welcome a visit in the morning.”
“All right,” Elena reluctantly agreed. Of late she’d heard far too much mention of Mrs. Hazelgreaves’s “tonics.” She’d address the situation with Dr. Harcourt when she returned to the hospital tomorrow morning. “I suppose I’ll take my meal in my room, then, and catch up on my reading.”
“Very well. Miss Harper and I will inform the kitchen. Oh, and were you able to speak with the countess?”
“Yes.” Snakes! “Ah—I gave her the towels, and as for the rest, such as the bed linens, I would leave them outside her door, and allow her to replace them at her leisure.”
Elena returned to the stairs, and grasped up her skirt to ascend, feeling as if she could float right up. She had just received the most wonderful and unexpected gift, and she was so excited, she’d almost forgotten about the countess and her snakes.
She recalled Lord Black’s expression that afternoon as her hansom had rolled away. He had appeared so stern, so guarded.
To think that in the next moment he had pressed back into the crowd to find Lizzy.
How could she ever thank him?
Hours later, Leeson pulled the weighty draperies along their brass rail, blocking out the fathomless night sky.
“My lord, I’ve left your daily correspondence on your dressing table.”
He crossed the room, and with a few jabs of the poker quickly roused the fire.
Archer emerged from his dressing closet, tying a pair of flannel trousers at his waist. “Anything interesting?”
“Not that I recall. Just the last of the ledger statements. And scads of calling cards and letters of introduction from people who wish to make your acquaintance. Mr. Jasper asked if you will be at home to accept callers one afternoon soon.”
Archer frowned. What an awful idea. If not for Elena, no one but his barristers and bankers would even know he was in residence.
“I suppose we must do that eventually.” Archer needed to visit with Mrs. Hazelgreaves. Many of the world’s rarest jewels were displayed in private and highly exclusive venues. Perhaps Elena, and he, for that matter, could indeed be spared the discomfort of a large formal event, and they could entertain potential suitors on a smaller scale.
Lord Black’s secretary circled the room, retrieving whatever articles of clothing his immortal employer had strewn off as he’d passed through on his way to the bath. “Will you return to the city tonight?”
“Yes.” Archer sifted through the stack. “Before midnight.”
His gaze snagged upon something.
“Leeson, do you remember this one?” He lifted an envelope.
As a matter of course, Leeson opened all his correspondence—everything but those missives that bore the triangular seal of the Primordials. This envelope, smaller than those in the remainder of the pile, had gone unopened.
Leeson’s eye squinted. “No sir. Odd, that one must have got by me.”
Archer stared at his name, written in a heavy, dark script above Black House’s address, yet there were no other markings. Something jabbed at his memory—something vicious and ugly. Taking up his letter opener from the desk, Archer slit the envelope along its upper crease.
Jack’s vile scent spilled out like a plague. With a curse, Archer reflexively crushed the envelope in his hand.
“What is it, your lordship?” Leeson considered him with concern from the far side of the room, over the pile of garments in his arms.
Archer wanted to shout. To curse. But alone. In a hushed tone, he answered, “It is nothing. You may go.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll just take these downstairs, then, for the laundress to tend to. Are you hungry? Would you like something sent up from the kitchen?”
“Not tonight.”
Archer waited until his secretary pulled the door closed before spreading the envelope flat on the wooden surface of his desk.
He had received a letter from his bloody target.
Jack the Ripper had Transcended. But this was unparalleled. He had never received a direct communication from any of the souls he hunted, even those who crossed over into that dangerous, supernatural state. The rules of the game had changed and become infinitely more dangerous. But when did it happen? How strong had Jack become?
With a growl he opened the letter.
Black.
Welcome to London. Did you enjoy the two lovely presents I left for you?
Your ward is a lovely girl. I have heard she prepares for an occupation in medicine? I could teach her a thing or two about human anatomy, as I have recently become an expert on the subject . . . haha! Perhaps I shall call upon her and offer a lesson when I return from my brief journey?
Until then.
Elena started up from the pillows, breaking free of the unsettling dream. She’d been running along a dark, fog-laden street. She had been frightened. Terrified. Suddenly, all the lampposts had transformed from metal and glass into black trees with blazing limbs. Someone had been pursuing her—someone whose heavy fo
otsteps matched the rapid beat of her heart.
Thankfully something had awakened her. The close of a door? Voices?
From her place on the window seat she peered toward the mantel clock. Eleven o’clock. She lowered the text she’d been reading from where it lay on her lap, to the cushion beside her and went to her door.
Opening it, she caught a glimpse of Mr. Leeson, his arms piled with clothing, going in the direction of the servants’ staircase. Just down the hall from her room, light gleamed from beneath the door of his lordship’s private apartment.
She exhaled, a bit nervous now.
She’d purposefully tried to stay awake until his lordship returned. She had to thank him for giving Lizzy the housemaid position. She might not have the opportunity to speak with him in the morning before departing for her shift at the hospital.
She ensured that the buttons on her dressing gown were all properly fastened, and ran her fingers lightly through her hair.
A moment later, she knocked on his door.
“Come in,” he shouted tersely.
She froze, having fully anticipated he would come to the door, where she could briefly offer her thanks and make a quick retreat to her room.
In the next second, the door flew inward. “Leeson—”
Elena stepped back.
His lordship towered above her, his broad shoulders preventing any view of the room beyond. He wore no shirt—only a pair of loosely tied trousers, low across his sculpted hips. Obviously he had just bathed. His hair was damp, and she could smell the soap on his skin.
“No, not Leeson,” she answered breathlessly. “It’s only me.”
“Hello . . . only you.” He didn’t appear very pleased to see her. His gaze was intense, and the set of his jaw rigid.
“I—I wished to speak with you about something.”
“Good. I wish to speak with you as well.”
Before she could respond, he turned from her. Dry of mouth, she watched him go, taking in the sight of his well-turned shoulders and his corded back. His hair clung to his skin, a rich, damp curtain. Had she ever seen anything so beautiful? She’d seen statues and artwork, but Lord Black was vibrant and alive, and his leonine grace profoundly distracting.