I did some investigating in the village and discovered her husband was the victim the newspapers first reported on! (Unfortunately, her child had passed away a few months prior.)
Uncle Moldoveanu believes I’ve rushed to Hungary to assist with an urgent personal matter. P lease don’t say otherwise; I do not wish to alarm him or be punished unjustly.
Do not travel into the village again. It’s not safe. Eyes are everywhere.
—Anastasia
P.S. P lease burn this letter. I suspect the servants have a habit of acquainting themselves with personal belongings.
WALLED COURTYARD
CURTE INGRĂDITĂ
BRAN CASTLE
13 DECEMBER 1888
The afternoon after our discovery of the tunnels, Thomas and I had sent Moldoveanu an anonymous letter with directions on where to find the corpse. We hadn’t heard a thing regarding it for days. I’d no idea if he’d sent someone to check, and I hadn’t had an opportunity to sneak down there myself. More and more guards seemed to be filtering into the nearly empty academy, intent on keeping us locked in tight.
Frustrated, I sent another note. I sincerely hoped the headmaster had taken it seriously. I hated thinking of the body being left to rot. Any potential clues would be lost forever. Not to mention the thought of leaving a person in that state… If I didn’t hear anything by this evening, I swore to myself, I would drag the headmaster down into the tunnels single-handedly.
I quietly popped a piece of hard candy into my mouth, thanking whoever had played the part of Moş Nicolae in the castle for the treats. They—along with Ileana’s company between tending to her duties—had been the most pleasant part of a very long week. Anastasia still hadn’t returned from wherever she’d traveled to. Something about the rushed nature of her letter hadn’t sat well with me. What had she discovered about the Order of the Dragon? Ileana hadn’t thought Anastasia’s exit from the castle was suspicious, and I was loath to worry her by voicing my fears.
Midweek, Radu had successfully lulled Vincenzo to sleep while stuffing us to capacity with local folklore about bodies being burned to ash, then ingested. Then we’d all taken turns in Percy’s surgical theater, removing organs and learning the intricacies of death, trying to outshine our peers and secure our place in the assessment course.
During Percy’s lessons, we all feasted on the knowledge being served to us. The subtle details of murder and its many markings. How to read a body’s language for definitive proof of cause of death. I loved those lessons, and gradually felt myself becoming stronger around bodies. Though the nightmares of the Ripper murders were still lurking near the surface of my mind.
Moldoveanu’s lessons were always conducted with precision, and though I didn’t enjoy his company, he was exceptionally gifted at both anatomy and forensics. I noticed no one dared speak out of turn for fear of being expelled on the spot.
No one had spoken of Wilhelm or uttered a mention of his untimely demise after his family collected his body. It was as if time had heaved itself up from falling to its knees, and carried on as if it weren’t scraped and bruised.
Thomas and I had tried sneaking back into the tunnels at odd hours, but had been thwarted by a contingent of royal guards. Moldoveanu took our new curfew seriously, and had more guards posted throughout the halls than I imagined were at the royal court of Romania.
By the end of the week, a letter arrived for me, postmarked London. A new chambermaid had brought it to me along with news that Ileana would be tending to other duties for a while. I was sad to lose companionship at night, but the letter warmed me. I knew precisely who the sender was and couldn’t wait to tear into it after class. Radu chattered on and on about this being some unholy night. The prince cracked his knuckles, Andrei’s head drooped, yet the twins and even the brooding Cian were wholly engrossed by this particular tale. I shifted in my seat, praying for the courtyard clock to toll the hour.
“It’s rumored to have its base in Roman culture,” Radu continued. “A sacrifice is made. Then animals speak to us. Whether it’s through our language, or through theirs, no one is sure.” He shoved his glasses further up his nose and peered at the classroom. “Blasted Mr. Hale. Where is he? Did he leave class early?”
Noah fidgeted uncomfortably and raised a hand. Radu walked right past him, attention torn between the other students and his notes.
“Mr. Hale is sitting right there, Professor,” Nicolae drawled. “Perhaps that veil between worlds has already thinned enough for you to misplace reality.”
Radu snapped his attention to the prince, gaze hard. “You’d all do best to stay locked in your chambers tonight. The dead will rise and seek out those foolish enough to wander outside. Spirits will inhabit those they do not feast on. Even princes are hunted.”
The remainder of class went on in much the same manner until the tolling clock finally released us from Radu’s folklore grasp. I lingered in the hallway outside our classroom, but Thomas was engaged in a mild dispute with Radu about the origin of the holiday, and it was as entertaining as waiting for a blade of grass to erupt from the ground over several days. The letter in my pocket nearly burned a hole through my skirts. I needed to read it or I’d surely combust on the spot. Thomas nodded in acknowledgment as I motioned toward the corridor.
I managed to slip outside and nestle into a corner of the castle’s walled courtyard; I had a bit of time before our next lesson began. It was the one place where I was free from the prying eyes of students, professors, and an unwanted army of men. Guards patrolled the turreted roof above but didn’t bother walking in the courtyard below.
From the comfort of my spot, I released the tension I’d wrapped myself in, one twist of my shoulders at a time.
A wishing well sat proudly in the center of the tiered cobblestone levels. It was another bit of beauty in the harsh winter world. If one were to cut a Corinthian column at its capital, it would come close to the decorative acanthus leaves embellishing the well’s outer wall. I tugged the hood of my cloak up, doing my best to retain as much body heat as I could while flurries splattered themselves across the stone. I’d taken to carrying my cloak to classes, unsure of when Moldoveanu or Radu might want to spring an outdoor lesson upon us.
I touched the envelope and smiled. From previous correspondences, I knew that Aunt Amelia and Liza were visiting my father, readying the house for the upcoming holiday. With the excitement of the murder on the train, classes, the trip to the missing woman’s house, and the mysterious deaths of Wilhelm and the young woman below the morgue, I’d nearly forgotten all about Christmas.
Thomas and I had decided that we were going to stay in Bucharest during our short two-day break—his family kept a house there—but the thought of not seeing my family was proving difficult to overcome. I’d never missed a holiday with Father. As the days had worn on, I wondered what I should do. A trip to London would be refreshing, though it’d be impossible to make one and not miss any classes. I could ill afford to fall behind, especially if I hoped to beat out my classmates for a place in the academy. Still, a wild part of me longed to forget about the academy and return home for good. My stomach churned at that idea—my peers were exceptionally gifted, and I couldn’t stop worrying about who might win those two open spots. I shoved that fear away, focusing on reading my cousin’s note once more.
Liza had mentioned previously that she and Aunt Amelia would likely stay throughout the winter, keeping Father company in the big, empty house in Belgrave Square. My heart clenched. Father struggled with all that had happened and felt immense guilt over one of the Ripper killings. In the midst of the murder spree, he had been found by the police in an East End opium den and firmly encouraged to rest at our country estate. He had only recently returned to London when he’d come across Miss Kelly during a search for laudanum. She’d claimed to know someone who might provide it to him, and Father willingly followed her to that doomed house on Miller’s Court.
He’d left Miss Mary Jane Kel
ly alive, and had no idea he’d been stalked that evening. Jack the Ripper had followed him, watching, waiting to strike.
Perhaps Thomas had been right; going back home to London wouldn’t be a terrible idea. We could keep a close watch on Father, and Uncle would be only too pleased to have us back. And yet… to leave the academy would be a failure and I’d worked too hard to run away now. I despised the headmaster, but I wanted to earn my place here. I couldn’t fathom what I’d do if neither Thomas nor myself made it in.
A new thought had my heart racing. At the end of the four weeks, what if only one of us was accepted to the academy? The mere thought of saying good-bye to Thomas stole my breath.
Without wasting another moment on sad thoughts, I tore open my cousin’s letter, eager to gobble up every morsel of her message.
Dearest Cousin,
Allow me to be quite frank. Since I’ve read every novel by the immeasurably talented Jane Austen, and because I am three months older than you, I obviously have a vast amount more romantic knowledge. I don’t fancy myself a poet, but I have been flirting (quite shamelessly, I daresay) with an intriguing young magician—and escape artist—who performs with a traveling circus, and, well… I shall tell you all about that another time.
Anyway, we were discussing romance one afternoon near the pond, and he spoke of love being akin to a garden. Do not roll your eyes, Cousin. It’s not becoming. (You know I adore you!)
His advice was this: Flowers need plenty of water and sunshine to grow. Love, too, needs attention and affection, or else it slowly withers away from neglect. Once love’s gone, it’s as brittle as a dried-out leaf. You pick it up, only to discover that it’s turned to ash beneath your oncecareful touch, gone on a swift wind forever.
Do not turn your back on a love that could jump the barrier between life and death, Cousin. Like Dante’s valiant journey into darkness, Mr. Thomas Cresswell would descend into each circle of Hell if you needed him to. You are the beating heart inside his rib cage. It’s a rather macabre way of saying you complement each other—though that’s not to say you aren’t whole on your own.
Unlike my mother, I believe all women should stand on their own without needing anyone to hold them up. Surely a wife worth having is one who is secure in who she is? That is a discussion for another time, I’m sure. Back to your dearest Mr. Cresswell…
There’s something powerful in that kind of love, something that deserves to be kindled and tended to, even when its embers are flickering dangerously close to darkness. I implore you to talk with him. Then write and tell me each delicious detail. You know how much I adore a grand romance!
Do not allow your bountiful garden to turn to ash, Cousin. No one wants to stroll in the aftermath of neglect when they could be dazzled by a lush garden full of roses.
Yours,
Liza
P.S. Have you reconsidered returning to London for the holiday? It’s positively boring without you here. I swear that if Victoria or Regina attempts to boss us around during one more tea party, I will toss myself from the Tower of London. At least then Mother won’t cluck at me to practice, practice, practice for my coming-out ball. As if society would condemn me for stepping right instead of left during the waltz!
If my future husband would be appalled by such trivial matters, then he wouldn’t be worth having. He’d be the sort of dullard I should like avoiding at all costs. Imagine if I told Mother that? I shall wait until you’re home so we may have the pleasure of watching her flush devil red together. Something to look forward to.
Kisses and hugs.—L.
“Would you mind terribly if I sat out here, too?”
I glanced up at the American accent, surprised that one of my classmates was engaging me in conversation. They mostly spoke in groups and—after Thomas’s poor attempt at helping me by speaking to Radu of my constitution—accepted my role in the assessment course only when absolutely necessary. To them, I was not a threat and was hardly worthy of their notice.
Noah smiled. His features appeared as if they’d been carved from the most alluring ebony, deep and rich and beautiful. I shook my head. “Not at all. The courtyard is certainly large enough for the two of us.”
His brown eyes twinkled. “That it is.” He studied the snow that was coming down a bit more heavily, blanketing the exposed stones and statues. I watched his gaze drift up to the castle. Muscles in his back tensed as Moldoveanu appeared briefly in one of the windows, striding down the corridor. “Am I mistaken, or is the headmaster a miserable fellow?”
I laughed outright. “I daresay he’s awful in general.”
“He’s pretty good with a surgical blade, though. Guess we can’t have it all, right?” He yanked the collar of his overcoat up and swatted at the bits of ice now mingling with the flurries. They pinged and skittered against the ground, the sound an almost lulling accompaniment to the gray skies. “I’m Mr. Noah Hale, by the way. Though you already know that from class. Thought it was time I properly introduced myself.”
I nodded. “You’re from America?”
“I am. Grew up in Chicago. Have you ever been?”
“No, but I hope to travel there one day.”
“What did you think about Radu’s lesson?” Noah asked, abruptly changing topics. “About the rituals supposedly taking place tonight? Do you believe all the villagers will make a sacrifice and are convinced animals speak our language this one night?”
I lifted a shoulder, choosing my words with care. “I’m not sure this lesson was any stranger than the folktales regarding vampires and werewolves.”
Noah glanced at me sidelong. “How did a young woman such as yourself get involved in all this”—he motioned vaguely at the castle—“business of cadavers?”
“It was either that or embroidery and gossip,” I said, allowing humor to creep into my tone. “Honestly, I imagine the same way anyone else who came to study such subject matter did. I want to understand death and disease. I want to offer families peace during difficult times. I believe we all have a special gift to offer the world. Mine happens to be reading the dead.”
“You’re not too bad, Miss Wadsworth. No matter what anyone else says.” Noah was blunt, but I didn’t mind his straightforwardness. I found it as refreshing as the mountain air.
A clock tolled the hour, a somber reminder that this bit of levity was over. I stood, stuffing Liza’s letter into my skirt pockets, and brushed snow from my bodice where my cloak had fallen open. “Are you excited about class? We’re in the dissection room today.”
“It’s the good stuff.” Noah stood and rubbed his leather clad hands together. “We’re all getting a specimen today. Some of the boys have placed wagers on their performance.”
“Is that so?” I raised a brow. “Well, then I apologize in advance for earning the top spot.”
“You can certainly try for that top place,” Noah said. “But you’ll have to fight me for it.”
“May the best person win.”
“I love a good challenge.” Noah took my gloved hand in his and shook it. I found that the action of a young man grabbing my hand didn’t offend me one bit. It was a sign of respect, a sign that Noah now thought of me as an equal. I beamed as we made our way inside.
This was precisely what I lived for: the exploration of the dead.
The interior of a dissecting room: five students and/or teachers dissect a cadaver, c. 1900.
DISSECTION ROOM
CAMERĂ DE DISECŢIE
BRAN CASTLE
13 DECEMBER 1888
“What is the purpose of inspecting the bodies of those who die from no outward sign of trauma?”
Professor Percy stood beside the exposed brain of the specimen before him, his apron stained in rust-colored blood. His reddish hair and matching whiskers were neatly styled—so at odds with the fluids marring his wholesome features. I imagined it was how Uncle appeared when he was a young professor. The thought warmed me despite the crispness of the dissection-room air.
/> “Why carve them open when we can plainly see they’ve died of ‘natural’ causes?” he asked. “Hmm?”
Eager hands shot into the air like fireworks, exploding with the need to answer and prove themselves, ready to outshine their peers. The prince glanced around the room, sizing up the competition. There was an edge to him today. It was one of the first times I’d seen him show more than a passing spark of interest. Percy ignored them all, turning his attention on the one student who was distracted.
“Mr. Cresswell? Do you have any thoughts on the matter?”
Thomas, unsurprisingly, was a hand space away from being face-first in his cadaver, ignoring everyone and everything except for his scalpel and the cadaver. I watched the line of skin part under his blade as if it were a wave pulling back from the shore. He snatched up toothed forceps from his tray, inspected them, then went about the task of exposing the viscera, humming quietly. The tune was rather upbeat and jaunty given what he was doing. I raised a brow. Perhaps he had a bit too much passion for his work. Percy didn’t bother interrupting. He’d learned rather quickly that Thomas was a force unto himself while in the laboratory.
“Prince Nicolae?”
I forced my gaze to land back on Nicolae. He chewed his bottom lip, attention transfixed by the specimen before him. “We need to prove if they’ve died naturally. Unless we inspect them, there’s no other way of knowing for certain.”
“Partly true. Anyone else?”
Andrei swung his scalpel as if it were a sword and he the most inept defender the kingdom had ever known. Noah, distracted by Andrei’s antics, ducked away from the fool. The Bianchi twins were no better than Thomas—their gazes were wholly fixed on the bodies before them, their scalpels already making precise incisions. Cian and Erik both raised their hands, staring each other down in the process. One boy was like fire and the other ice—neither pleasant for anyone exposed to them for an extended period of time.
Hunting Prince Dracula (Stalking Jack the Ripper Book 2) Page 20