The Body Thief

by Stephen M. Giles

  It was only after the limousine had pulled up outside Sommerset House and Milo was ushered into a walled garden and told to wait that he came back to his senses.

  “If you need anything,” said the under-butler, “just press the button above the yellow tulips. Someone will come immediately.”

  Milo smiled stiffly. “Thank you.”

  The butler bowed dutifully, then disappeared through a black iron gate.

  A tide of nerves churned in the pit of Milo’s stomach and he suddenly felt terribly alone. He found it impossible to simply sit there on the stone bench and wait for his uncle, so he decided to explore the gardens properly. Perhaps that would take his mind of where he was and who he was about to meet. Under a large trellis in the center of the patio his attention was immediately drawn to a bed of brilliant blue flowers. He crouched down, looking closely into the eye of the bloom.

  “She’s a beauty, that one,” came a rasping voice from over his shoulder. Milo looked around and saw an old man in muddy overalls, his watery eyes unblinking and rather mischievous. “I’ll bet me cotton socks you don’t know the name of that rose you’re admiring.”

  Milo took the challenge, studying the flower intently. “Well, from the shape of the head it looks like a Myriam rose…but I’ve never seen one this color before.”

  “Course not, but you’re close. This here is a hybrid, created especially for Sommerset.” He nodded briskly. “By the way, name’s Moses.”

  Milo stood up, feeling rather proud of himself. “Nice to meet you Moses—I’m Milo. Have you worked at Sommerset for a long time?”

  “Too long,” he muttered, and then pointed to the flower beds on either side of the trellis. “What about this lot then?”

  “Leanders,” said Milo confidently. “And those over by the far wall are Prominents and then Caesars and Montanas.”

  The old gardener grunted in approval. “Tell you what, there’s a special rose I reckon you’d like to see—it’s called the Phoenix rose, and the only place she grows is here at Sommerset.” He scratched at his gray whiskers and a troubled look came over his face. “They’re hidden away, of course. The master don’t like to share ’em with anyone.”

  “Why not?” asked Milo.

  “Because they are precious,” said another voice, its melodious tones sliding into Milo’s eardrums like trickles of icy water. “But for you perhaps I can make an exception.”

  The boy spun around.

  “Hello, Milo, I am your Uncle Silas.”

  Milo didn’t reply. He just stared at the ghostly figure sitting before him, his uncle’s long rakish fingers drumming upon the velvet armrests of the antique wheelchair. The frailty of the gaunt, gray face and withered body shocked the boy, but it was Silas’s thick dark hair and the glimmer in his jet-black eyes that hit Milo like a punch to the stomach. They were just like his father’s. And yet, he detected none of the warmth and laughter that rippled through his father’s ebony eyes. Instead, Milo found two dark pits staring back at him—empty and bottomless.

  The next thing Milo noticed was the massive crocodile passing along the forecourt. He blinked several times, quite convinced he was having some sort of hallucination.

  Silas laughed softly. “That is Thorn. Don’t worry, he is perfectly tame…most of the time.” Silas then turned his attention to Moses. “I want you to go and supervise the gardeners working down by the great lake. Last time those fools pruned my rosebushes it looked as if they’d used a meat ax. Hurry along.”

  Without saying a word, the gardener shuffled off toward the passageway.

  “He is half demented, the poor man,” said Silas casually. “Not to mention half blind. I should dismiss him, of course, but it’s not in my nature to be ruthless.”

  “He seemed very sane to me,” said Milo, crossing his arms.

  “Yes, well, looks can be deceiving,” said Silas lightly. “Perhaps you would like to see more of the garden?”

  “No, thank you,” said Milo shortly.

  After a few moments of painful silence, Silas escorted Milo through a corridor of gates leading to the main house. It was Milo who stopped as they passed under the last stone archway. He didn’t look at Silas. Deep inside the boy, at the very center of his being, a call was being made. Milo knew that if he did not answer it he would regret it for the rest of his life.

  It’s now or never, he told himself.

  “Is there something wrong, Milo?” said Silas.

  Milo cleared his throat. “I don’t like you, Uncle Silas,” he said softly. “I know that’s not a nice thing to say, especially to someone who’s dying—but it’s just how I feel. Well, I just thought you should know.”

  “I admire your honesty,” said Silas calmly. “My only request is that you judge me not by reputation, but rather, by your own observation. Milo, you know my time is very limited.” He watched his nephew closely. “I hope you will try and understand how very much I want to get to know you and your cousins.” Silas smiled softly. “So please, Milo, can you show even a little mercy to a sick old man?”

  “How much mercy did you show my parents?”

  Passing by his uncle, Milo walked toward the house without a backward glance.

  ***

  “Don’t just stand there, you lazy girl, get in here and help me!”

  Standing in the middle of her elegant bedroom suite, Isabella eyed the maid with considerable fury. After all, she had been left to unpack her luggage without assistance. Not only that, the cup of chilled lemon water and the slice of freshly baked sourdough she ordered had not arrived.

  “And where are my refreshments?” she demanded to know as the rather timid-looking girl entered the bedroom.

  “Refreshments?”

  “My lemon water!” she snapped. “My sourdough!”

  Kneeling down in front of a large circle of matching luggage, Isabella unzipped one of the bigger cases and threw it open. “Nothing is where it should be!” she roared. “I told Svanhildur to pack all of my formal clothes in this bag, but, of course, she has not. What an unprofessional dwarf she is!”

  Isabella buried her head in the suitcase, thrusting her hands deep into the stack of neatly packed clothes and then stopped, glaring up at the servant girl.

  “Why are you just standing there?” she hissed.

  “Well, um, you see—I’m Adele,” said the girl faintly. “I saw you arriving from the window and—”

  “How wonderful for you,” said Isabella curtly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Adele, but Sommerset House has dozens of maids, and I cannot be expected to remember everyone’s name. I shall just call you girl and you shall call me Miss Isabella, is that clear?”

  Adele laughed nervously. “I’m not a maid,” she said. “I’m Adele Fester-Winterbottom, your cousin.”

  With remarkable speed Isabella jumped to her feet, smoothed down her dress, tightened the ribbon holding her hair in place, and lunged at her newly discovered cousin, wrapping her arms around Adele and squeezing her with all the enthusiasm of a professional wrestler.

  “Oh, cousin, it is so wonderful to finally meet you!” she gushed loudly.

  “Yes…” gasped Adele, who was finding it somewhat difficult to breathe. “It’s nice to meet you too, Isabella.”

  Releasing her grip, Isabella stood back and took a good look at her cousin—what a sad-looking creature! She would be no competition at all.

  “I already feel like we are sisters, don’t you?” said Isabella. “Not that we look alike, of course—you are so pale and then there is your hair.” She reached out and felt the frizzy tips of Adele’s flaming red hair. “Oh, you poor thing!” she said mournfully. “Are you teased awfully at school?”

  Adele felt the blood rush to her freckled cheeks. She wanted to melt into the floor and disappear. “No,” she mumbled. “In fact, some of my friends really like m
y hair…”

  “Oh, you are funny, cousin,” said Isabella, laughing. “Now tell me, have you met our uncle yet?”

  Adele nodded her head.

  “Isn’t he the sweetest man you have ever met in your life?”

  “You think Uncle Silas is sweet?”

  “Oh, yes,” declared Isabella. “He could not have been kinder to me—he is so warm and cuddly…and Thorn is just the cutest little crocodile I ever saw!” She smiled at Adele. “Don’t you agree, cousin?”

  “Well…I guess,” she said somewhat doubtfully.

  “But enough about dear Uncle Silas,” said Isabella, clapping her hands. “Tell me all about yourself, and do not leave anything out. I want to know everything about you!”

  Adele looked at her cousin, in her pretty dress with her perfect skin and silky hair and her polished manners—she would never be able to win over Uncle Silas against someone that perfect. It was stupid to even try.

  “There’s not much to tell,” said Adele meekly. “I’m very boring, really.”

  “Oh, I am sure there is a lot to tell,” said Isabella gazing wide-eyed at her cousin. “I already know about that awful business with your mother and those killer birds. She sounds completely insane!” She smiled at her cousin, failing to notice the humiliation on Adele’s face. “What about your father—what is he like?”

  “He is very kind,” said Adele softly. “He restores damaged books and he has been teaching me—”

  “How interesting!” interrupted Isabella. “Now, what do you know of our other cousin—Milo Winterbottom?”

  Adele did not get the chance to answer, because Fremantle, a very tall servant with a tiny head, entered the bedroom carrying a gleaming silver tray. With great care he placed the tray on a side table next to the young ladies.

  “I hope the snack is to your satisfaction,” he said in a slow flat drawl.

  “So do I,” snapped Isabella, lunging at the sourdough like she had not eaten in weeks. “That will be all, servant.”

  Before Fremantle could gather his tray and leave, a frantic-looking chambermaid by the name of Hannah Spoon hurried into the bedroom carrying a set of hand towels and stood nervously in front of Isabella.

  “They have been warmed just like you asked, Miss.”

  “Let me feel them,” she mumbled, her cheeks bloated with bread. “That’s much better. You may put them in the bathroom, and then you can unpack my cases and place my clothes in the closet in alphabetical order according to color.”

  “Yes, Miss Winterbottom.”

  “Oh, and you with the funny head,” said Isabella, snapping her fingers at Fremantle. “You may help her with the unpacking.”

  Before Fremantle had a chance to object, Isabella had grabbed Adele by the hand and disappeared down the lengthy corridor of the eastern wing.

  ***

  In a cloistered piazza at the western end of the garden, Silas and Thorn moved along a path lined with Sweet Brier roses. Thorn lifted his head and emitted a low growl as Moses passed them, shuffling across the patio, carrying a cardboard box full of potted tulip bulbs.

  “How are the Phoenix roses?” said Silas. “Have they opened yet?”

  “Nearly open,” muttered Moses, not stopping to address his master formally.

  “Wait,” said Silas firmly.

  Moses stopped in his tracks.

  “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” said Silas, moving along the path toward the old gardener, “that I do not want any trouble while my nephew and nieces are here.”

  “I don’t make trouble,” said Moses gruffly.

  “Indeed,” said Silas. “Just make sure you don’t.” He pulled up in front of Moses, turning his chair sharply to face him. “After all, I haven’t much time left, and a great deal depends on this visit. By the way, how is your boy Ezra doing at St. Bernadette’s—I trust the nurses are taking excellent care of him?”

  The old gardener’s body stiffened as if the words were a spell that had cast him in granite.

  Silas smiled coolly. “Are we clear, Moses?”

  A long minute ticked over before Moses finally grunted, indicating that he understood. He then shuffled quickly across the terrace, disappearing into the greenhouse.

  8

  Under One Roof

  Isabella and Adele passed through the vaulted French doors and entered the sun-filled morning room, sitting down by the large windows.

  “It’s a beautiful room, isn’t it?” said Isabella, leaning back in the chair and sighing deeply. “I don’t suppose you have ever been in a house as grand as Sommerset?”

  Adele shook her head. “I didn’t know they made houses this big.”

  “Oh, cousin!” said Isabella brightly. “Compared to some of my friends in London this house is small. My friend Gilda Gettysburg’s house in Kent is three times the size of Sommerset.”

  Adele looked uncertainly at her cousin.

  “Do you…do you have a lot of money, Isabella?” she said shyly.

  “What a thing to ask!” declared Isabella, but she laughed and looked rather delighted by the question. Then the smile vanished and she was suddenly very serious. “But you have asked and I will answer. Yes, it is true, my father has a great deal of money. It is like I was telling Uncle Silas, I have more money than I know what to do with.”

  Adele gasped. “You told him that?”

  “Oh, yes, cousin. It was obvious he invited us here to pick an heir,” said Isabella matter-of-factly, “and I told him that I had no interest in Sommerset. The only reason I have come here is to visit my sick uncle and to meet you and poor little Milo.”

  A small bud of hope began to spring up inside Adele. Perhaps she did have a chance of winning Silas’s favor—especially if Isabella wasn’t in the race.

  Leaning over, Isabella patted her cousin tenderly on the arm. “You are hoping that Uncle Silas will pick you—am I right, cousin?” Seeing the shocked expression on Adele’s face, she smiled. “It’s all right, cousin, you can trust me. We are family, after all.”

  For reasons she could not fully understand, Adele found herself nodding, surrendering to the warmth and understanding in Isabella’s radiant blue eyes.

  “That’s why I’m here,” she said softly. “The truth is, my mother wants—”

  Adele stopped, the shame overwhelming her. How could she share the horrible truth about the professor’s threats with someone like Isabella, whose life was so perfect? Adele was certain that in her cousin’s world, mothers were not vile creatures who would throw their children away if they failed to please them.

  “Yes, Adele, go on. What about your mother?”

  Adele cleared her throat. “My mother…tries her best, but we are always in debt. If we had even a little of Uncle Silas’s money, it would make our lives so much easier.” Her eyes dropped down to the floor. “So much happier.”

  “Of course it would,” said Isabella with certainty. “And I will tell you the truth, cousin—I do not believe Uncle Silas could find a more deserving heir than you.”

  “Really?” Great waves of relief washed through Adele.

  “Of course I do! In fact, I will do anything I can to help you in your quest,” she promised, kissing her cousin on the cheek. “In fact, I am going to make it my mission to see that you become the next mistress of Sommerset.” She smiled. “You just leave it to me.”

  “There you are, girls!” said Mrs. Hammer, puffing madly in the doorway. “I’ve been looking all over the house for you two. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” The housekeeper turned around, giving a wave. “Come on now, they won’t bite.”

  From behind Mrs. Hammer’s broad black skirt Milo emerged, sliding sideways into the morning room like a crab.

  “This is Milo Winterbottom,” announced Mrs. Hammer grandly.

  In a single mov
e Isabella jumped to her feet and rushed toward the boy, hugging him violently.

  “It is wonderful to meet you, Milo!” she declared loudly. “I have prayed for you often over the years, cousin. Oh, it breaks my heart to think how horrible your life has been, you poor little creature. All alone in the world!”

  “I am not alone,” Milo corrected her, his face still squashed into her shoulder. “I have my grandfather.”

  “Well, of course you do!” said Isabella, releasing her cousin. She stood back, beaming at him madly. “You are a short little thing, aren’t you? Well, never mind that, none of us is perfect.”

  Adele gave Milo a reassuring smile.

  “I’m Adele,” she said softly. “Nice to meet you, Milo.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Milo, shaking her hand.

  “The three of us are going to have such fun, Milo,” continued Isabella. “Just you wait—this will be the most wonderful adventure we ever had!”

  “I’m sure it will,” agreed Milo. But he didn’t believe it for a second.

  ***

  Dr. Capon fastened the latch on his medical bag and sat down next to his patient.

  “The news is not good,” he said gently. “The illness is progressing faster than I anticipated. Your heart is very weak.”

  Silas opened his eyes slowly and offered the doctor a thin smile. “Indeed,” he said faintly. “How long do I have?”

  “That’s hard to say,” said the doctor stiffly. “If you get plenty of rest and take care not to excite yourself…well, who knows?”

  “The truth, Doctor.”

  “A month. Less, perhaps.”

  “I see.”

  “You must not give up, Silas; people in your condition have been known to live far longer than it was ever thought possible.”

  “Tell me, Doctor—do you believe in life after death?”

  “Oh, well…yes, I suppose I do,” answered the doctor, shifting in his chair rather awkwardly. “Not that one can ever know for sure, of course. It’s all a matter of faith, as they say.” He looked at Silas curiously. “Do you, Silas?”