by J. K. Coi
“You know I only want to keep you safe.” His eyes darkened when she refused to respond. “Even before this fabricated woman I’m supposed to have kissed on the train—” he continued, despite her snort, “—I could tell there was something on your mind, something you haven’t told me.”
She bit her lip.
“After all we’ve been through, don’t do this to us now.” He reached for her.
“I’m not doing anything.” Her voice was thin and she couldn’t look him in the eye.
“You’re sending us stumbling backward into that dark place I’d hoped we were free of once and for all.”
He withdrew his hand and she winced. She wanted so much to let him hold her, to tell him her fears and let him share in her heartbreak. He would offer comfort and tell her he loved her. He would whisper encouragement to her and say that everything would be all right.
But then what?
The responsibility of standing by a wife who could never be a true mate or bear him an heir would warp their love to bitterness and resentment.
“I don’t have any notion what you mean.” Turning from him, she pressed her hand against her chest to hold in the ache.
Jasper sighed, but he didn’t force the issue—which somehow made her feel worse.
They were shrouded in tense silence once more as the hired carriage took them to a part of the city Callie had never been to. They rolled to a stop in front of a large factory. It looked as if it had been abandoned years ago. Both Patrick and the driver jumped down and Jasper assisted her out of the tiny cabin. The oversized wooden door of the building opened and Mrs. Campbell filled the entrance with her generous frame.
“Good evening, Lord Carlisle, Lady Carlisle. Oh look, Master Patrick is with you as well. How nice to see you all again. Please come in, come in.” She looked up and down the street before gesturing them forward eagerly. “The neighborhood isn’t quite what we’re used to, but we must make allowances in difficult times.”
It seemed Dr. Helmholtz hadn’t been having much luck since the fire had burned down his clinic. He’d been forced to relocate twice already in order to continue his work, and the current location certainly didn’t look suitable for the type of specialized implantation and reconstruction surgery he’d been able to perform previously. Callie supposed there must be some reason why a more appropriate facility could not be located, although she couldn’t help feeling relieved that the doctor might be restricted from performing his more radical procedures for the time being.
She followed Jasper with some trepidation, still shaken by what had happened on the steam train. She was confused, emotional, and now that the moment of reckoning was upon her, she didn’t know if she wanted to see the curt and aloof doctor at all. That might be too much for her to handle. She’d always felt little better than a white mouse in a cage when he was around.
However, his benefactress was quite another matter and, meeting her again, Callie was reminded of the shameful way she’d treated the older woman during her stay at the clinic. Mrs. Campbell had been more than kind, even when Callie had rebelled against being trapped in a hospital bed by spitting venom and bile at her—the only person around to receive it at the time.
Mrs. Campbell led them through a wide hall with high ceilings open to the iron rafters. Huge objects draped in fabric littered the available space. Many were partially visible as the material didn’t reach the floor, and Callie caught glimpses of copper-plated frames, oversized gears and metal-rimmed wheels.
The rest of the area was taken up by oversized conveyor belts and other mechanical devices she could only assume had been used in whichever manufacturing industry this building supported before it had been shut down. “If you don’t mind my asking, Mrs. Campbell, what was this building used for before you and the doctor came to be here?”
“From the remnants left behind, I’d say it was a munitions factory, my lady.” She looked over her shoulder. “I suppose we should all be grateful the war has ended. It sends cold chills down my spine every time I think of what these machines are capable of.”
They continued up a set of stairs to the second level and finally passed through another doorway and into a smaller, cozier room. It looked like it might have been an office space at one point. It featured a picture window overlooking another large, open room, which was lit by several gas lamps mounted at even intervals on the walls.
Beside her Patrick gazed through the glass. “This would have been the foreman’s office. He would have been able to keep an eye on the production floor.”
The area on the other side of the window had to be where the doctor performed his research. It was filled with tables and shelving, covered in glass beakers and tubes, microscopes, measuring instruments, and some devices Callie could only imagine uses for.
She turned to their hostess. “How have you been, Mrs. Campbell?”
The woman took her hand, wearing a pair of black gloves similar in style to Callie’s. Her grip was gentle and Callie could almost forget that she was more than just the doctor’s chatelaine, but also a former patient who had lost her hand in an accident a number of years ago and now lived with a replacement.
“We get by as best we can in the circumstances, my lady.” Her smile was genuine as always, although she seemed a tad wary and her eyes were rimmed by dark circles, accentuating the paleness of her skin. “The doctor has been able to continue with the bulk of his research, and that’s more than we expected when we first moved into this old building.”
“I find it difficult to imagine Dr. Helmholtz seeing patients in a place like this,” Jasper mused.
“It’s true he has delved more deeply into his research and accepts fewer specific cases. There are certainly restrictions, and we have less of the comforts of home.” She looked wistful and sad. Callie wished they could have done something to help after the fire. After all, she and Jasper had been the ones targeted by the traitorous spy who burned down the clinic. But General Black had insisted the War Office would find somewhere suitable for the doctor to continue his work, and if truth be told, she’d been more than a little relieved to be free of the responsibility. To be free of Dr. Helmholtz, his clinic and Manchester.
As Jasper and Patrick continued to ask questions about the facility, Callie made her way back to the picture window and looked down into the large room. Against the back wall a half dozen partitions had been erected, separated by heavy curtains hung from metal rods. Each of the sections appeared large enough to contain a single hospital bed. In fact, as she watched, the last of the curtains—at the very back—was pulled aside and the doctor himself emerged, wearing the white coat she had come to hate so much while under his care.
It was impossible to see within the section because of the position of the curtain, but the superior range of her mechanical eye allowed her to notice other things. Like the red splatters staining the doctor’s coat. The small glimpse of a buckle and leather strap lying on the ground. It was just visible in the two-or three-inch sliver of space between the floor and the curtain.
“Are there any patients on site currently?” She asked Mrs. Campbell.
Callie hadn’t even heard her speaking to Jasper, she’d been so caught up in what was happening below, until the woman broke off mid-sentence and paused. “No, my lady. The last of the doctor’s patients was released from care before we arrived here.”
Back down in the other room, the doctor’s face was a mask of resignation and disappointment. He drew the curtain closed once more. Reaching under the hem of his lab coat, he pulled a white scarf from the pocket of his pants and wiped his hands as he walked to one of the tables. He absently stuffed the cloth into his coat pocket and shuffled through a low stack of papers before opening a large bound volume. She recognized it as a notebook, and that speculation was confirmed when he picked up an old-fashioned quill and, with a tap on the inkpot, leaned over the table to write. She could even see his handwriting, although she couldn’t read the words. Short slashe
s with few curving lines, punctuated by glaring white space.
Perhaps this was the very notebook he’d been using to document the degeneration problem?
“I’d like to speak with the doctor, Mrs. Campbell.” Her head had started pounding, the heavy thumps threatening to push her brain out her eyes and ears. She rubbed her temple in slow circles with her fingers. When the older woman didn’t respond, she glanced up and saw sharp concern on the face reflected in the glass.
For a crazy moment, Callie wished she felt comfortable confiding her anguish and insecurities in Mrs. Campbell. Perhaps saying the words aloud to another woman would somehow make it easier to tell Jasper so she could relieve herself of this heavy, heavy guilt.
“Is something amiss, my lady?”
She dropped her hand. “Only a slight headache. It was quite an interesting trip from Yorkshire.”
“Are you certain you’re all right, Callie? Why don’t we ask Mrs. Campbell to show us a room so you can rest awhile?”
Nothing would bring her to stay a night under the same roof as the doctor, never again. But she couldn’t explain that to Jasper, especially not in front of Mrs. Campbell. If he thought she was weak, he wouldn’t let her stay by his side and help with the mission. “I’m fine, really. I would rather attend to our business straight away.”
“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Campbell’s voice wavered very slightly. “Why don’t I inform the doctor of your arrival and ask Samuel to bring in some tea while you wait. If you wouldn’t mind remaining here and giving Dr. Helmholtz a few moments to make himself presentable. He has been in the laboratory all day with his research.”
“So I see.” Research. She suppressed a shiver. “Well, we’re interested in hearing all about his recent work.”
Upon Mrs. Campbell’s exit from the room, Jasper leaned close. “What are you thinking?”
She opened her mouth, but quickly shut it again. She was almost certain she knew what she’d seen, but after what happened on the train she didn’t know if she could trust her own eyes anymore. And in any case, she couldn’t be sure what it meant, even if she was right. “I don’t know, exactly. But part of me is starting to wonder if we’re here for the reasons we think we’re here.”
“You know I won’t let anything happen to you, but I do believe we need to get to the bottom of this. I wonder if Mrs. Campbell has begun to exhibit symptoms of degeneration as well?”
Frowning, she shook her head. “I don’t believe she would be affected. When I was bedridden, raving against the injustice of it all, she once told me that she wished she’d been given the same opportunity I had, but at the time she needed her operation, the doctor’s research wasn’t so advanced and her artificial implants are less efficient.”
The peaceful acceptance she’d finally found in her implants had already been shattered, and she was now expecting the other shoe to drop. She glanced at Patrick with a suspicion that whatever they learned from the doctor wouldn’t help them apprehend Captain Dunsmoor, but would most definitely mean bad news for the two of them.
Taking a seat, she folded her hands in her lap and waited. Jasper paced the length of the room, and Patrick dug into the lemon cakes brought by the footman. He’d cleaned out half the tray before looking up with a sheepish flush in his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, crumbs flying from his lips.
She chuckled and leaned forward to wipe powdered sugar from his chin before realizing how it might look. She froze, her smile cracking. Those were the actions of a parent…something she would never be. Thankfully, the door opened once again and she dropped her hand.
Dr. Helmholtz had changed clothes. He was no longer wearing the spotted lab coat, but a pair of black trousers and a rather tattered-looking smoking jacket. His dark hair was wet and slicked back from his forehead, although a thick layer of stubble still shadowed his face.
Once he’d entered the room, his gaze immediately locked on to her and she could feel the examination starting. He hadn’t bothered to greet them or ask after anyone’s welfare. And why would he? He cared nothing for them, only for the puzzles they posed, the things he could learn from them. From her.
Jasper pointedly moved in front of her, interrupting the doctor’s view. “Hello, Dr. Helmholtz.”
“Huh?” He moved to crane his neck around the wall that had stopped in his path, but Jasper wasn’t moving. “Lord…Carlisle, isn’t it? And of course, Lady Carlisle.” He noticed Patrick then too, who stuffed a last bite of cake into his mouth and nodded. The doctor’s gaze lingered until the young man paled visibly and swallowed hard.
“The general has sent you to assist in my research? Are you ready, then? We can get the testing started immediately.”
“Testing?”
His eyebrows lifted. “I will need to take some blood samples, and—”
Callie closed her eyes, overwhelmed by images of this man looming over her with a needle. If she’d been standing she would have keeled right over.
“Your continuing research isn’t the primary purpose for our visit. In fact, we’re here to ask you some questions about a Captain Dunsmoor.”
Jasper’s voice soaked beneath her skin and calmed her enough that she opened her eyes.
The doctor had moved subtly to the left and once again had her in his sights. “Captain Dunsmoor? Oh, oh yes. He was the heart transplant and facial rebuild.” The doctor’s face lit up and she wanted to take him by the throat and force him to acknowledge Dunsmoor as more than a procedure. He was a human being whose life had been destroyed, who had feelings and deserved respect.
But she didn’t. If she spoke she’d start screaming, and they would all be convinced she must be suffering from degeneration. Then how long before she found herself strapped down to a bed behind a curtain in the laboratory on the other side of the glass there? How long before there were more needles digging into her skin? What would be taken from her then? Which of her remaining limbs? How much more of herself could she afford to lose before she really did become a monster? Before she lost everything, even her life?
“Can you tell us what happened to the captain?” Jasper asked.
“His surgery and subsequent recovery? Or his attack on my life?”
“Start at the beginning. I’d like to know if he suffered from any complications as a result of the surgery or during his recovery and rehabilitation that might have contributed to his later actions.”
The doctor looked between her and Patrick. “I would like for you and the boy to submit to an examination before you’re done here.”
“Let’s stay on track please, Doctor.” Jasper’s tone was like a sharp sliver of ice.
Dr. Helmholtz harrumphed but continued. “The man was near death. I was required to open up his chest. The heart was riddled with shrapnel from an explosion. I had been working on a prototype for an artificial organ…it was the perfect opportunity to test it.”
The perfect opportunity. She didn’t doubt that he might have conspired to create the situation if he could have.
“Of course the operation was a success.”
“What about the work that was done to his face?” she asked.
A frown replaced his smug look of self-assurance. “My artificial dermis was still in its experimental stages when the War Office came to me with their request. There were some things I had not considered…”
“It isn’t very stable, is it?” she interrupted. “His face…changes. I’ve seen it.”
“The artificial dermis I created and grafted was absolutely perfect. However, admittedly, due to the vagaries of nature which are beyond my control…including exposure to heat and cold, damage caused by chemicals and detergents, and various other environmental contaminants, it began to degrade just like natural skin, if slightly more quickly. This seemed to cause the nanites to work overtime to repair the damage. And if the captain experienced a trauma to the face—”
“Like being punched, for instance?”
He nodded at her. “An apt exam
ple, thank you. Yes, if he were punched in the face, this nanite activity occurring just beneath the skin layer might actually look as if the very features of his face were shifting. I continue to try and perfect the design, but the science is more complicated than I expected. It continues to be a work in progress, and I haven’t used the artificial dermis on a patient since.”
Her gloved hand clenched in a tight fist. There was more happening to Captain Dunsmoor than a slight “shift” of his features as the nanites tried to repair surface damage. The man had worn two completely different faces within the space of a day. Perhaps the doctor wasn’t even aware of this development.
“Despite this one complication, the captain recovered remarkably well and was back on his feet within a relatively short period of time.” The matter-of-fact pride in his voice made her want to vomit, but she was either a very good actress, or more likely the doctor was blind to everything but his own recollections of brilliance.
“What about the nanites in his bloodstream? And in mine?” she interjected. “Is it true these are now degenerating and causing problems?”
His gaze narrowed. “Have you experienced any such symptoms?”
“She’s been just fine.” Jasper insisted, stepping closer.
She paused. “What sort of symptoms would I be looking for?”
“Callie.”
Shoulders tight, she braced herself but couldn’t look at him.
“The degeneration would start in the artificial limbs,” the doctor began. “You might notice a lag of movement between thought and reaction, or you might experience spontaneous movement of the limb or limbs. But as the condition progressed, you would also start to see changes in your biological functions.”
“Like what? How is it possible for them to have such an effect on my natural systems?” She was almost positive now that what she’d been feeling was the beginning of degeneration, and held her breath waiting to hear what else she could expect to encounter as the biomechanical organisms coursing through every part of her started to wreak more havoc.
The doctor looked down the bridge of his nose and sighed very loudly.