Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly - Trilogy)

by Susan Dennard

  “A young man carried you home, Eleanor. A filthy young man. Do you realize the talk that could come from this?”

  It must have been Daniel who had brought me home, for Joseph could never be called “filthy.” Good. I don’t want Joseph tarnishing his reputation with swooning girls. Daniel, at least, has no reputation to tarnish.

  Mama rose and began pacing. Her feet pounded a slow rhythm that echoed miserably in my aching skull. I fell back onto the bed and draped an arm over my eyes.

  “But he helped me,” I argued wearily. “Why would the gossip be anything but grateful?”

  Mama clucked, a sound filled with condescension. “Naive little girl. Working-class men have one intention and one intention only. They want you for this.” She waved to my body and raised a single eyebrow.

  “That’s not true.” I heaved myself back up. As if any man would want me for that. Even if I were a beauty like Allison, I still knew Daniel wouldn’t want me in that way. He would never treat me as if I were … as if I were a camel.

  “How can you think that, Mama? You don’t even know the boy.”

  She paused midstride. “Do you know him?” Her voice was low, and her eyes gleamed with awareness.

  I flicked my gaze right and stared at the stripes on my wallpaper. “No, of course not.”

  Mama didn’t reply, and I wondered if she suspected. But then she sniffed, and I knew my secret was safe.

  “So … this young man,” I said, trying to sound casual. “How did you repay him?”

  Mama flicked her wrist. “Jeremy dealt with him. I could not invite him into the house.”

  “What?” My breath quickened, a combination of shame and anger growing in my chest. “You were rude to the man who rescued me, and I’m forbidden to attend the Exhibition?”

  “Exactly.” She gave me a withering glare.

  “I promised to work there,” I said through grinding teeth. A tense fire had begun to burn in my shoulders.

  Her mouth tightened. “Are you arguing with me, Eleanor? This is most unlike you.”

  I clenched the moist cotton of my nightgown. I could conjure a thousand reasons to argue, but none I could speak to Mama. Breathe, Eleanor, breathe. Raising her suspicions would not serve me well.

  I heaved my breath out in a single, long exhale. All my fury shot out with it, and I deflated back onto the bed.

  Mama’s lips twitched with satisfaction, and she resumed her pacing. “Now, about Mr. Wilcox. Tomorrow when you play croquet with him, you must do your best to hold his attention.” She droned on, but I stopped listening. I traced my fingers on the worn fabric of my linens. I was hot, and thirst raged in my throat. Mama could prattle all she liked about marriage, money, and men, but it would stay far from my mind.

  The necromancer and his pawns were still intact, a spirit wanted to kill me, and all I knew was that there was something special at the Exhibition—something the necromancer and the spirit had not yet found.

  “Are you listening?” Mama stomped to my side. “I said you are lucky to have Clarence’s affection.”

  “I don’t have his affection.”

  “You most certainly do, and stop mumbling. You are luckier than you can imagine. A handsome man like that could have any woman he desires, and you are hardly the sort of woman for whom most men pine.”

  I stopped tracing the sheet and glowered up at her. “I don’t have his affection, Mama.”

  She slapped my hands. It was a stinging reminder of who ruled this house. “Enough of this, Eleanor. He has clearly shown an interest in you. And if you continue to enchant him, an engagement—”

  “Engagement?” I asked. “Mama, I’m only sixteen!”

  “And we are out of money, Eleanor.” She hunched over me, an urgency in the hard lines of her face. “He may not be interested in you forever, and our fortune has shrunk to the point of poverty. Soon there will be nothing left. We will be on the streets! Everything depends on you—including me.”

  I shrank back, frightened by the intensity on her face and in her words. She was desperate.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I-I’ll try.”

  The wrinkles on her face relaxed. “Good,” she crooned. “For now, you need your beauty rest. I’ll take this”—she bent and lifted a frilly white parasol—“and dispose of it.”

  My jaw dropped. “What’s that?”

  “That man grabbed someone else’s, I daresay.”

  “No,” I murmured, my eyes fixed on the parasol’s white lace.

  She snorted. “Yes. This parasol is certainly not yours. It is cheap.”

  “Give it to me.” I lurched forward and ripped it from Mama’s hands. Her eyebrows flew up, and I swallowed. “Er, I-I’ll just see if there’s a name inside. Perhaps I can return it and get mine back.”

  She peered at me, disbelief clear in her eyes. “All right.” She gave me one final glare and then strode from the room.

  Once I heard the bedroom door shut, I eagerly examined the parasol. I was certain it was meant for me. I stroked the white lace and flounce. It was not something I would select, and Mama was right: the quality was lower than anything she would ever buy.

  But I didn’t care. It was lovely, and I popped it open. A slip of paper fluttered out from the folds of lace.

  Sorry you lost yours.

  Daniel

  A thrill of pleasure ran down my body, and I couldn’t stop the grin dancing on my lips. For all that Daniel hated me, maybe he liked me a little too.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Despite the leafy richness of East Fairmount Park, its flower-lined paths and sunny slopes, I could not cheer up. I simply did not want to be here playing croquet.

  Allison, Clarence, and I were with the mustached McClure twins and the Virtue Sisters. The twins showed little interest in anything but flirting with Allison. Meanwhile, the Virtue Sisters showed no mercy to poor Clarence, and they were clearly trying his patience with their incessant chatter. The end result was that I was left to myself. I didn’t mind in the least, for my humor was, to put it politely, foul.

  Despite my white lawn dress—which was supposedly meant for outdoor play—the sun roasted me. I couldn’t enjoy the beautiful blue sky or the gentle breeze. We were on a wide, flat yard surrounded by woods. The whole park covered miles and miles, but this was one of the few lawns suitable for croquet. As such, the area was crowded.

  Barely even a mile north of us was Laurel Hill Cemetery, yet here the people played, oblivious and carefree.

  Nearby, a restaurant sent a salty perfume on the breeze that made my stomach growl—it did not improve my mood to be hungry.

  Mama forbade me to attend the Exhibition after an overheating spell, yet she insisted I gallivant in the park in the midafternoon sun. I almost wanted to pass out again just to spite her.

  I smacked at my ball and watched as it rolled across the grass and passed by the nearest wicket.

  “Damn!” I cried. It was the fourth time I’d missed.

  Clarence sputtered a laugh, and I pivoted toward him. His dapper white suit and straw boat hat were at odds with his exhaustion.

  I gulped and scanned everyone’s faces. Their eyebrows were collectively high and their jaws collectively low.

  “Pardon me.” I coughed weakly. “There must be something stuck in my throat. If you’ll excuse me.” I stomped off the course, all the while continuing my cough and enhancing its severity for dramatic effect. I was determined to cough up blood if it would wipe the startled expressions off their faces.

  I would have to be more careful. It was all fine if I wanted to cuss in front of the Spirit-Hunters, but not here.

  It was Allison’s turn, and I kicked past her, stoutly avoiding her eyes. But she clutched at my arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, of course.”

  Her eyebrows drew together, and I realized she was actually concerned for me. I forced a taut smile. “Honest, Allison. I’m just hot.”

  “Then you ought to rest in the sh
ade.” She pointed with her mallet to a nearby chestnut tree.

  “Yes, I think I will. Thank you.”

  Her face lit up with a sparkling smile, and she turned back to the game.

  I moved to the wide-limbed chestnut that spread its branches over the edge of the field, grateful that Allison had suggested it. I wanted to be alone.

  My mallet swung side to side in my hands, ticking and tocking as my brain sorted through my black thoughts. What had happened yesterday with the Spirit-Hunters? Had they taken the Exhibition guidebooks? Had they discovered anything new? And where on earth had Daniel gotten that parasol?

  With my eyebrows jutting down, I gazed at the grass beneath my white patent leather boots.

  “Miss Fitt,” said Clarence.

  I snapped my head up. If I thought he’d looked unwell Wednesday, it was nothing compared to today. Not even the sun could add color to the deathly pallor of his cheeks, and his eyes were rimmed with such darkness, it looked as if he’d rubbed them with charcoal.

  Willis was planted on a bench across the field and had taken on some of his master’s appearance. I was certain neither of them had managed to sleep since I’d last seen them.

  “Are you all right?” Clarence asked. His voice was gravelly, and his eyes were sad.

  “Yes, quite.” I gave him a false grin.

  “I don’t believe you.” He approached slowly.

  “I promise, it’s just … it’s just the heat.”

  “Then I’ll keep you company in the shade.”

  I bit back my urge to groan and tossed my mallet on the ground. He winced at the thud, and then gently laid down his own.

  He folded his arms over his chest and considered me for several moments. “Have you perhaps had … have you had bad news? Have you heard something?”

  “No.” I flicked my gaze away. “I told you, it’s just the heat. I … I had a fainting spell yesterday, and I’m still not entirely myself.”

  “You fainted?” He frowned, a pinched expression that gave his skin a papery look—as if it might tear at any moment. “What are you doing here, then? You should be in bed.”

  “Mothers.” I flashed my eyebrows and turned away. Looking at him disturbed me. How could this be the same beautiful prince I’d met last Friday?

  “Wait,” I murmured, whirling to face him. “Have you had bad news?”

  He grunted and dropped his hands. “No.”

  “Don’t lie.” I advanced on him. I was certain another headless man had been found.

  Clarence stalked from me, circling around the tree trunk and away from the other players. I followed.

  “That’s why you seem sad,” I pressed. “You’ve had more bad news—Mr. Wilcox, has someone else died?”

  He stopped and rubbed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw pulsed. “You’re entirely too clever, Miss Fitt.”

  “Who was it? Another boy from the academy?”

  He nodded once. His lips and nostrils trembled, and I could see the battle he fought to keep tears away.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilcox.”

  “Then damn it, stop pestering me! This is—” His voice broke, and he blinked rapidly. “This is an incredibly difficult time for me.”

  I yanked my handkerchief from my pocket and shoved it in his hands. “Truly, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you, but I … I just knew somehow and … Does anyone else know?”

  “No.” He thrust my handkerchief back at me. “I have my own.”

  “Of course,” I murmured, stuffing it in my pocket. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” He dabbed at his eyes with his fingers. “And I expect you to not talk about it either. Not even the newspapers know. This man, Clinton Bradley, he was …” His words faded, and his eyes went distant.

  “Was what?”

  “Was my closest friend from childhood. His father, my father—we grew up together. We had …” He ground his teeth. “We had plans for the coming elections.”

  “Oh.” I knew that name—Clinton Bradley. His mother had thrown the famous séance my mother had wanted to outshine. It was truly tragic he’d met with a gruesome death. I shivered and hugged my arms to my stomach.

  “Have you heard from your brother?” Clarence asked.

  I choked and faltered back several steps. What was this change in subject?

  “Answer me.” Clarence took a single, long stride, closing all distance between us. He gripped my wrists and hauled me close. “Look at me. Look at me, Miss Fitt. Have you had any news from Elijah?”

  I stared with wide eyes. “No.”

  “Write him.” He leaned toward me, and the tree’s shadows covered his face in menacing swirls. “Write him and tell him things aren’t safe here. He must stay in New York.”

  Clarence dug his fingers into the soft flesh beneath my wrists. “Tell Elijah we’re all in danger. I-I don’t know who’s next. Tell him to stay away from Philadelphia. Tell him that!”

  “Yes.”

  “Promise.” He yanked me closer until his face was inches from mine. “Promise!”

  “Yes, yes, I promise!” My wrists burned where his fingers dug into the skin, but I was too stunned to do anything but stare.

  His eyes roved sideways and then back to my face. They were red rimmed, like angry wounds.

  He wrenched me even closer. “Something follows me! I sense it around me at night … hovering, waiting, hiding in the shadows. It means to kill me, like it did the others. But I won’t let it. I’ll do whatever it takes to stay alive—to keep my family safe! Whatever it takes!”

  My hands throbbed in time to my banging heart, and numbness crept into my fingers. All the blood was being squeezed out. What was happening to Clarence? Who was this man, and what was he capable of?

  “Hello?” Allison trilled. “Clarence? Eleanor? Are you going to play?” She would circle the wide tree at any moment.

  “We’re coming,” Clarence barked over his shoulder.

  “All right,” she called, “but hurry.” Her skirts rustled, and I knew she’d trotted back to the game.

  Clarence released me. I staggered several steps backward, and my pulse echoed loudly in my ears. I rubbed at my wrists, but I couldn’t massage away the growing red welts. My hands pricked as blood soaked back into them.

  “Miss Fitt,” Clarence said, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.” He stepped toward me, but I scrambled away.

  “Stay away. Don’t touch me.”

  “Please, Miss Fitt—I’m so sorry.” He shook his head and wiped at his eyes. All of the fire had burned out. He seemed even wearier than before.

  He lifted his hands like one might do to a frightened puppy. “Please, I won’t hurt you again. I’m sorry. You’re a good sister, a good woman. I didn’t mean to lose my mind like that—I’m tired and scared. All my plans for the future are falling apart as my friends are killed. I fear for my family.” His words were tight, as if tears lurked in his chest, and his eyes were filled with pleading hope. “Please,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  I nodded hesitantly but kept my distance. Now he seemed harmless. As if he was nothing more than a man who’d suffered more than anyone should ever have to. Someone who wanted his family kept safe just as I did.

  “All right.” I swallowed. “But Willis isn’t enough protection if the Dead want you. You should speak to someone.”

  “Like who? The Spirit-Hunters?” He shook his head. “I don’t think … well, I have it on good authority that they’re not the sort of people I want protecting me.”

  “Then the police,” I said.

  “Yes … I’ve considered it.” He licked his lips. “I don’t want Mother or Allison to find out though. They don’t need to worry. And with the coming elections, I can’t attract much attention.”

  “Why do you still care about the elections? Your friends are dying!”

  “You don’t understand.” He tipped his chin up and stared down his nose at me. “I must carry on my father’s dream. It
is the duty—and the burden—of sons.” He looked away. In a low voice he added, “I refuse to be killed.”

  The intensity behind his vow was sincere. I had no doubt that his means for survival would be as desperate as his words.

  “Clarence, come on!” Allison shouted. “You’re ruining the game!”

  He gazed into the distance for a moment, and then he turned and shambled away. I waited, unwilling to follow.

  I had never imagined Clarence as dangerous—he’d almost always worn his mask of well-bred charm. Had this insanity always been there? Hidden deep within? Or was it sparked by his exhaustion and fear?

  I didn’t know, and for that matter, I didn’t want to know.

  Dark clouds flew in from the east and cut off our game. I was more than grateful to shorten my time with Clarence, but he foiled my relief on the ride home when he took a sudden detour to the Centennial Exhibition.

  “I’ve quick business,” Clarence said to Allison and me. “So please wait in the carriage, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He brandished a finger at us and then hurried into the Exhibition crowds. Willis trotted at his master’s heels.

  I watched Clarence’s boat hat bob away. Once it was out of view, I turned to Allison on the seat beside me. “What sort of business does he do?”

  “He’s a Gas Trustee.” She gazed out the window, boredom evident in the droop of her eyes and sag of her lips.

  “A what?”

  “Philadelphia Gas Works.” She slid her eyes toward me. “What our father worked with. He and some other men run the company. They’re called the Gas Trustees.”

  At those words my chest tightened. It felt as if my ribs pressed against my lungs, and I couldn’t take in a full breath.

  “Like the Gas Ring?”

  “I’ve never heard it called that.” She shifted her body to face me.

  “Well, what do you know about it?” I forced myself to stay calm, though I was desperate for answers.

  “Nothing. Papa never talked about it, and Clarence doesn’t either. Whenever I ask him about work, he says, ‘Don’t worry your pretty little head. We live like kings, don’t we? Now, would you like a new hat?’” She spoke in a deep voice, mimicking Clarence. Then she giggled and clapped her hands. “So if I ever want new clothes, I make sure to ask!”