by A. W. Exley
As I turned, Seth met my gaze. He frowned, a question lit in his grey eyes. What could I say? I could hardly yell out, keep everyone occupied, vermin are on the green.
I shook my head and left the tent.
Outside, the laughter and chatter dropped. Only the occasional bird call broke the silence despite the people milling around, as though even nature knew and drew away from her abandoned creatures.
"This way," Reverend Mason said and trotted on ahead.
We headed toward the cricket pitch. Women scurried the other way, dragging reluctant children. Boys, especially, just wanted to get a good look at it and maybe poke one with a stick. Men had used makeshift implements — rakes, brooms, and a croquet mallet — to keep the vermin in a rough enclosure.
"Oh, God." The words choked off in my throat.
There were two of them. I could handle two.
What I couldn't handle was that one was only a child.
Not quite ten years old, once blonde curls had tumbled around her shoulders. Now they were missing in patches, revealing bright pink circles of skull. She wore a blue smock with embroidered daisies across the front, just like my birthday cake. A mother had sat up into the night to stitch each flower into the fabric, something for her beloved child.
"Rose Linton," Reverend Mason said from my side. "She has a mother and two brothers. They live on an isolated farm about a two hour ride from the village, at the foot of the hills."
"Original or turned?" I asked the question, but the answer stood before me. The child was too well preserved to be over eight months dead. Apart from her torn hair, she looked too recent.
"She did not suffer the influenza," the vicar replied.
"The other?" The little girl was accompanied by an older man in a far worse state. His clothing was soiled and torn. One eye ball dangled from the socket. I wondered how he saw. Given they were dead, how did messages make their way around their bodies? What physically compelled them to seek us out and not slumber in the earth? Or were they truly possessed by demons who used them as shells?
"I do not recognise him. He could be a sufferer of the original pandemic, but he doesn't match any of the outstanding males."
Outstanding males. We tracked them, we had to. It gave us some way to estimate how many attacks we could expect. Every person who died in the first wave was written in my notebook and if or when they returned, I crossed them off. Once I had dispatched them back to wherever they were supposed to have gone originally.
I drew my sword and the metal sang a sweet song. The larger vermin was the more imminent problem. It took five men to hold it at bay as it snarled and lashed out. Thankfully, the men all knew to keep their distance from the grasping claws. All it took was a single cut or bite to transfer the infection that kept its dead body upright. This was at least the semblance of a fair fight. I pushed away the image of the child. I would deal with the smaller vermin once this one was laying in two pieces on the lush lawn.
"Keep the small one away while I deal with this one," I said as I retied the silk handkerchief Henry gave me so it covered the lower half of my face. Then I entered the circle of men, and they closed ranks behind me. The vermin sniffed the air and turned toward me. It raised its chin as though peering down its rotted nasal cavity at me. Through the chewed out gristle, I saw a pink glint from its pulsing brain.
"A little closer," I muttered, waiting, my blade held poised by my shoulder.
It growled and lunged. As it leapt at me, I swept out my foot to deliver a low kick, and ducked below its outreached arms. Generally speaking, I didn't like to touch them, but with so many men around I wanted this one on the ground to minimise splatter. The vermin lost what little balance it had, hitting the grass as I spun. I rose behind it and my blade sang as I struck. Its head rolled away and came to rest next to a tuft of grass. One blow, just the way I preferred it.
"See if you can find anything on the body to identify who he was," I said as I left their circle and moved to the next.
"Is it supposed to do that?" one man asked, pointing at the twitching body. Its fingers were ripping up chunks of grass.
I glanced at what I considered a normal sight. "They take a minute or two to stop. Just watch that you don't get too close until it stills."
He gulped. Another man paled before turning to throw up over his shoes.
Dispatched vermin often spark a reaction in the others. Perhaps they sense death finally reaching for them. The small one growled and yipped. Little teeth gnashed as she lunged at her captors, arms flailing as they repelled her with hoes and crooks. They exchanged uneasy glances, as though not quite believing she was dead; perhaps she was just sick and feverish? Perhaps she just needed to be put to bed and tended to, until the fever passed. This was why they looked at me with fear and revulsion, and why I bore their burden. What if the vermin weren't really dead? What sort of person could behead innocent children, women, and the elderly?
Me.
As she spun in her pen, her blonde hair twirled around her and covered the bald spots. It — I told myself. It, not she. Except I couldn't stop my gaze from seeing those perky daisies on her dress. She's just a child. A girl who probably climbed trees, stuffed yellow ducklings in her apron pocket, and tormented her older brothers. A child with a mother who might be searching the fields, calling her daughter's name.
A hand wrapped around mine and took the sword from my loose fingers.
"I've got this one," Seth said.
I did something I haven't done once since the very beginning. I turned my back on a vermin.
The snarling ended on a sharp note as the blade sang and silence fell. Still, I kept my gaze fixed on the tent with red, blue, and yellow flags tied to the guide lines.
"We need to investigate the cottage they came from," Seth spoke from behind. "I'll take Ella to Serenity House in the motor, then we'll move to horses for the ride out. Frank, pick three other men and meet us back there."
A warm, living hand settled in the small of my back and guided me across the green to the parked motorcar.
Chapter Thirteen
I sat in the gorgeous Rolls Royce and ran a finger along the polished wood of the door panel. Smoke rose up from behind the trees, as back at the green, men threw the bodies on a pyre. The fete usually closed with a large bonfire, they just didn't normally use it to dispose of slain vermin.
The motor roared into life and we shot along the road. We killed her. A child. A small bundle of hope and promise, and my sword had only moments ago separated her body from her head. I frowned when just five minutes later, Seth pulled off the road in the shades of the trees. He jumped out and came to my side.
"Come here," he said, taking my hand and pulling me from the motor.
Before I could say a word he wrapped his arms around me. I pressed my face to his shirt. Clever man, he knew exactly what my soul needed. He stroked my back with a large hand.
"Let it out, Ella, no one will see here," he whispered.
"She was just a child," I whispered before the tears began to fall. First I had turned my back on a vermin, and now I burst into tears. It had been quite an unusual day. The sobs racked my body as my tears soaked his shirt. He never said a word, nor did he try to hush me, he just stroked my hair as he held me.
I don't know how long it took while I cried out all the pain of the last nine months. Eventually, I gathered enough control to stop the flow of tears, or perhaps I simply exhausted the supply. My sobs managed to turn into hiccups.
"I'm sorry." I had ruined his shirt. He now sported quite the wet patch under my hands. "I've never failed and cried before."
He tucked a stray piece of hair back behind my ears. "Never?"
"No." There hadn't been time for tears, and when I fell into bed at night, I was too exhausted.
"No wonder you burst." A smile touched his lips, and the sight made me grace mine with my tongue. He bent his head and brushed his lips over mine, a tender gesture that nearly sparked more tears. When a
girl needs comfort, she needs more than a butterfly kiss. My flat palms curled as my fingers gripped the edge of his shirt, and I admit, I stood on tiptoes to press into him harder.
He changed his angle and deepened the kiss, sweeping me away to a world where time hung suspended, waiting for us to fulfil our need. Shivers raced down my body to my toes until Seth broke off the kiss. He stroked my cheek as his eyes searched mine.
"What set you off?"
Memory dashed cold water all over my rising desire. Words rose and fell in my throat before I could verbalise them. "The daisies on her dress. They were my mother's favourite flower. I used to pick bunches of them and put them in a vase by her bedside. How did you know?"
He dropped another light kiss on my mouth before walking me back to the motorcar. "Sometimes all it takes is the smallest thing to bring memories rushing back, and then they pull you under."
I had been so wrapped up in our war, I had forgotten about the bigger one. I wonder what memories he hid from. All of the men seemed to have returned with scars, it was just that some injuries couldn't be seen.
He held the door open. "We should get going, or Frank will wonder where we are. Besides, we must check the cottage before dark falls."
The Silver Ghost ate up the road, and the brisk pace dried the tears from my skin. By the time we stopped in front of Serenity House, I was feeling human again, and not like a shuffling creature that left its soul in the grave.
Warrens held open the door for me. "Lovely to see you, Miss."
He treated me like always, never a ripple of suspicion crossed his face, and yet he saw me riding up front, staying in the motor when we deposited them for the dinner party. Questions swirled in my brain but failed to form, like figures in the fog that step close, but retreat before you can make them out. Inside, I stood in the entrance with the expensive marble tiles under my feet, and looked down at my skirt and blouse. Never my favourite attire for slaying. "Would there be a pair of pants I could borrow?"
A wicked smile curled on Seth's lips and my stomach flip-flopped. "We'll find your something more appropriate for a hunt."
"If I might interrupt, your grace, some of your clothing from your youth is still stored in chests upstairs. I think perhaps at age twelve, you were a similar build to Miss Cowie?"
I snorted. I couldn't help it, there was something about the image of Seth as a gangly youth with little muscle. Which lead me to wonder when he started shaving. Did he have a smooth cheek until he hit twenty, or was he one of those lads who could grow an impressive moustache by the time he hit thirteen?
He raised an eyebrow at me. "If you think that will be suitable, Warrens, thank you."
"I'm sure we can procure something by the time the horses are saddled, your grace." The butler nodded and disappeared on silent feet.
I followed Seth to his study and occupied myself by reading the spines of the books he kept close to hand. They were an eclectic mix: from poetry and novels, to treatises on war and poverty. In only a few short minutes, Warrens knocked on the door and entered with a pair of pants, a shirt, and boots dangling from his fingers. The boots had a high gloss that any mirror would envy, and the clothing looked freshly laundered. Did they wash Seth's old clothing, or had he kept a change to hand just for me? More questions drifted into the mist clogging up my mind.
I took the clothes and thanked the butler.
"I won't be long," I said to Seth, and waited for him to leave before stripping off and quickly redressing.
When I emerged, Warrens stood in the hall. "This way, Miss."
He led me through darkened corridors lined with paintings of Seth's ancestors. We took a right hand turn, and he opened a door to the outside. Beyond was the corridor where I had dined with the other servants just a few nights ago. I glanced around, but none of the working men paid me any attention.
Seth, Frank, and three others waited with a group of horses. A pack of dogs sat at their feet, tails wagging at the excitement of a run. Frank winked and handed me the bridle of a bay. Her coat was the colour of dark cocoa, and a wide white blaze swept down her nose. She nudged my hand, and I rubbed her head before Seth legged me up and handed up the katana.
Six of us rode out and headed toward the remote cottage where little Rose Linton had once played. What would we find? A mother distraught that her daughter was missing, or a slaughtered family? As much as I prayed for the former, I feared we would find the latter. Despite being a few hours from the village, she would have raised the alarm for help to search for Rose, if she were able. If the mother were already dead, it saved me from explaining what happened to her beloved daughter.
We rode in silence. The beagles snuffled at the undergrowth, dashing back and forth in search of a scent. The horses were immune to the fast animals underfoot and instinctively knew not to step on one. Once the duke had held lavish house parties. They would ride to the hounds over the fields, looking to chase out a fox. Now we could very well flush out an old retainer or a house guest from the undergrowth.
Doubts ate at me as we rode. Seth stirred something inside me, a blossoming warmth I stubbornly clung to after a long winter. To be the village slayer, I had to freeze my emotions. I turned my soul into a frozen pond. Being with Seth was like the coming thaw, and my edges started to melt. But what would he find if he gazed into the depths of the still water? Was I poisoned by the work I did? He fought and killed in a noble war for freedom, I slaughtered what many saw as the innocent.
Quite apart from the state of my soul, I had no right to be amongst this company. My presence here was paid for by the blade on my back and the new duke's assumption I was quality. Well, he was half right. Alice and Frank played some game, assuming breeding meant nothing, but at this level, breeding was everything. I was riding toward a tumble if I continued on this path. I glanced sideways at Seth. Was it time to confess me humble origins, or should I bask in his sun just a little longer?
A little longer, my cold heart whispered.
"Do you think we will find vermin at the cottage, crawling over the floor like plague rats?" I needed to fill the silence before my treacherous tongue blurted out the wrong thing. Seth threw me a glance and his jaw tightened.
"Did I say something wrong?" It puzzled me. He seemed to be angry at something, but I had no idea what.
He pulled his horse to a walk and stared off into the distance. His shoulders went rigid, and his fingers worked at his reins. As the field widened and embraced the horizon, the other men spread out.
Seth took a deep breath and then blew it out. "Sorry, it's just that phrase. The War Office decreed they are to be referred to as the turned. Calling them ‘vermin’ strips them of their humanity. My father succumbed to the virus and was butchered like an oxen on our front lawn."
I chewed my lip to hold in the words that flew to my tongue. I knew the story. The old duke had risen from his mausoleum and tried to return to the house where he once reigned. The butler had been out front practicing his golf swing and dealt to his former master with the best weapon at hand — the 9-iron in his hand. On hearing it, my first thoughts were for the scullery maids. At least they didn't have to clean up the mess. Imagine if he had lumbered into the house and been dispatched in the library or parlour, covered in expensive carpets. Not a comment I could blurt out though.
"It makes it easier, to call them vermin," I said.
His steady gaze turned to me, as his brows knitted in a deep frown. "What do you mean, easier?"
"Looking back on your life, how much of it have you spent here amongst these people?" We were neighbours of sorts, and I only met the young heir once while he was on holiday from Eton. Little wonder he didn't recognise the scamp playing with the dogs at the stable. As heir, he was cosseted and given an expensive education elsewhere.
"What difference does it make to you?" Those penetrating eyes searched my face.
I grasped for the words to explain the pain we all endured, while trying to vaguely stick to my story of being a
noble girl sent from London. "How many victims of the virus did you know intimately, apart from your father?"
His gaze narrowed and then he looked away to follow the progress of a dog bounding through the long grass. I reached out, touching his arm as we rode.
"For the people who live here, these are their friends, lovers, and family. To be able to continue, they need to remove the humanity from the shells they encounter. The people they loved and laughed with are gone. We call these husks vermin so we can carry out what must be done. Otherwise, we would be overrun, or the entire village would be dead."
"Is that why they call on you? Because you have no association here?"
Oh, bugger. We were in a wide-open field, but I suddenly felt cornered. The truth was the opposite. The villagers knew me, trusted me, and I bore their burden. The words couldn't form in my throat. There was so much to say, but this didn't seem like the appropriate time. "Perhaps."
He blew out a long sigh and flashed a brief, sad smile. "I'm removed from this place, even as it is supposed to be under my care and guardianship. I went off to war and never thought about the estate at all. I never wanted this." He spread his arm out, encompassing more than the few men, scattered dogs, and expanse of paddocks. "I chose a frontline position to make a name of my own, not to carry one that bore centuries of expectation."
I didn't know what to say, so I punched him gently in the arm. "Bad luck, old chap. You're stuck with us now."
He smiled. That one that made my stomach plummet to my feet with a sudden whoosh and all rational thought fled my person.
Those grey eyes stay locked on my face. "I can cope with being stuck with you."
Oh. Damn.
"There it is," Frank yelled and pointed between the trees.
Excellent timing Frank, before I do something stupid, like fall off the horse while being all doe-eyed at the duke.
Nestled into a hill was a gorgeous cottage with white washed dab walls and a thatched roof. At the front, a riotous garden spilled colour in splashes and swirls like a Monet painting. To one side, a large vegetable patch contained a harvest waiting to be picked and preserved for winter. Chickens spilled from the single level barn and scratched through both gardens, looking for worms.