The lights flared again, and Philidor faced the crowd, still smiling. ‘You have seen before your eyes, this very night, phantoms that have curled your toes with fright. But that is all they were, phantoms and wisps, shadows and night wraiths that hover between this world and the next. Now I will show you something new – a creature that exists in this world but is not from it. Who can walk, move and interact with us all, yet does not have blood in her veins to make her human. Yet I dare you to define “human” after you have met her and loved her as I do. Ladies and gentleman, may I introduce Queen Marie Antoinette.’
Antoinette stepped out onto the stage and was gathered into Philidor’s welcoming hand, before she curtsied and sat upon her golden throne. Philidor, as he had done in their only show at the Lyceum, called for volunteers. He held her hand while with the other pointed out various audience members who were permitted to voice their questions.
‘Is my son happy in heaven?’ one woman called out.
Antoinette smiled and nodded.
‘Will he return safely from his voyage?’ cried another.
Again, she smiled and nodded.
‘Does he love me?’ said a softer, lower voice, from the back of the room.
Antoinette dipped her head and shook it once.
The woman sank down into her chair with shame.
And so the questions went on, Antoinette answering each one while managing to look pleased to answer in the affirmative and pained if it was negative.
Towards the conclusion of the act, Philidor held up his hand, and Antoinette rose to stand beside him. ‘You have seen for yourself, ladies and gentlemen, images and phantoms tonight that have stimulated your senses. You have seen something of the afterlife and what happens when the dead cannot rest. But by far, it is Antoinette, with her own unearthly wisdom, who has provided you with the comfort, solace and answers you seek, and for that I ask you to applaud her.’
The audience stood as one to clap; Antoinette curtsied and left the stage. Philidor stood to receive the applause for a moment longer, then followed. He paused in the wings, waiting for silence to descend so he could move into the final stages of the show in which he would allow a selection of audience members to touch Antoinette.
But the curtain on the opposite side of the stage was flailing wildly. A man stumbled from its depths, brandishing a sword. He took a faltering step before fainting clean away.
There was a rumble that passed through the earth as real thunder erupted in the sky, and several ladies screamed.
Then Marie was beside Philidor, her scent of lavender in the air.
‘Who on earth is that?’ he cried.
‘Cavendish,’ he thought she whispered, as he strode onstage and called for calm.
The valet appeared with another attendant and lifted the prostrate body behind the curtain. It appeared the show was finished.
PART SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
His Grace William Cavendish,
5th Duke of Portland
WHEN HE AWOKE he was not alone. Although he hadn’t yet opened his eyes, he knew another pair was on him. And it wasn’t his father’s. Nor was it the valet’s. His skin goose fleshed at the sensation. Thunder crashed, and lightning flashed through his closed lids. It was still wild outside; how long had he been asleep? The hallucinations had passed, and he felt depleted. He tried to recall what had transpired, but it was as if the memory thread had been ripped from his hands by the gale outside. Another breath then, taking in the smell of old leather, tobacco and unruffled air – yes, he was in his study. His haven. He would open his eyes. One, two –
A face hovered above his. It was Elanor’s.
His throat closed over. Surely he was dreaming, hallucinating all over again.
Her eyes were a dirty green now, smeared with a fluid seeping from each corner and dribbling down her cheeks. He could not move although all his nerves, all his senses, his very organs seemed to jump up within him crying, ‘It cannot be, it cannot be.’
Her hand extended falteringly towards him, and he saw nothing but her white fingers about to touch his face. This spurred him to action. He sat up, and her hand withdrew. He shook his head once, slowly, all he was capable of under the gaze of those green eyes that were awake, moving as if alive.
It couldn’t be real. He needed to call for his valet, who would take care of the situation, clean up the dream and tell William what had happened. He had knocked his head and could feel it throbbing; he reached up to touch the gauze.
She mimicked his action, reaching up with a trembling hand to a non-existent wound on her head. With a quiet rustle of her linen dress and a gentleness that suffocated his instinct to run, she reached for his cheek again, and he submitted, registering the touch of her fingers: cold, thick, firm. It was not the touch of a living being.
‘Who … who are you? What are you?’ he stammered as he stood up, looking around and seeing the two armchairs positioned differently from usual by the mantelpiece.
She blinked and her hand dropped beside her, straight, unmoving, as if it were the stopped pendulum of a clock.
‘You look like her,’ he said, with wonder. ‘But she wasn’t real.
She was made of wax and metal, and you’re – well, you’re —’
She shrank back a step.
It seemed he had wounded her feelings. But what of it? She was a monster, she wasn’t alive, her heart wasn’t pumping blood. Yet something within him smarted at her fear, her hesitation, the green eyes that blinked tentatively to see through the dirty film enshrouding them. This had to be a dream. Surely.
‘But you’re here,’ he said, stepping forward even as she faltered backwards. ‘And you were sixteen when it happened. Do you remem- ber? The forest. But it didn’t go as we’d planned. You were —’
Her hand flew to cover her mouth.
‘When you woke up … were you in that chair, resting against the fireplace?’
She nodded, a slow movement with a sound like a brass doorhandle turning.
‘Your foot was against it?’
She nodded again.
William turned to look at the mantelpiece, and the impish wooden figures grinned at him wickedly.
There came a knock on the door, and the valet entered. ‘You’re up, sir. Well, that’s pleasing. I wonder if —’ But his mouth slackened as he glimpsed the shape in the gloom.
William turned to see Elanor now seated in her armchair. She had not made a sound.
‘Forgive me, sir, I did not know you had … company.’ The valet’s hands shook slightly around a silver tray bearing bread and cheese.
‘Help me,’ William croaked.
‘What would you like me to do, sir?’ the valet asked, placing the tray on the buffet and looking quickly in Elanor’s direction again.
‘Remove me from this place,’ said William. He tried to step towards the door but found his legs contained no strength.
The valet took his arm. ‘Let me escort you, sir. And what is to be done with …’
William averted his face. ‘Give her orders, I don’t want to see her again tonight.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the valet replied.
‘Tell her! Tell her now!’
‘You, stay where you are, madam,’ said the valet, voice raised as he escorted William to the door. ‘I will return once I have the duke settled.’ He ushered William through the door and made to continue down the hallway.
‘Shut it,’ said William hoarsely, and his hand fumbled for the valet’s and squeezed it hard. ‘For goodness sake, she’ll be upon us as we sleep.’ He tottered on the spot as the valet returned to shut the door firmly.
‘She won’t get out, sir. She can’t.’
‘She’s real, she must be, you saw her, didn’t you?’ said William, and leant on the valet’s arm as they began the walk down the corridor. ‘She’d not a, not a —’
‘She’s not a ghost, I saw her.’
‘You locked her in, didn’t you? Am I safe?’<
br />
‘The door can only be locked from the inside, sir, and you watched me shut it tight. She can’t escape, she’s not —’
‘You must tell the cook to put more chickens on. Immediately, you understand? That hideous show and its crowd have left their stench behind.’
‘Yes, sir, just as soon as I have you settled I’ll —’
‘I can scarcely believe it myself. My dream now a nightmare. She touched me! She actually reached out to touch me. Her fingers are so cold, but my skin still burns from her touch. Oh dreadful, dreadful day, what have I done?’
The rain beat down upon the roof like the grim roll of a drum.
‘If you’ll pardon my saying so —’
‘It was the lightning, I’m sure of it. Hit the tower, charged straight down the chimney and – Did you hear that? That, that … moan?’
The valet patted his arm. ‘It’s just the wind, sir, just the wind.’
‘Oh, what has become of her?’ William said, and then a little softer as they arrived at his bedchamber door, ‘and what has become of me?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Marie
AFTER THE PERFORMANCE she went straight to her bedchamber to write a letter to the duke, her script oversized and looser than usual in her hurry. With no need for an envelope, she just folded the page in half and pressed down upon the seam. Then she walked to his study. This action could jeopardise the whole arrangement, but she would not stand for being confined by his whims any further. She had completed the commission; the show had begun. Her candle wavered with the pace of her stride and seemed to burn the brighter in sympathy with her cause.
This letter formally requested permission for Regington to visit Welbeck.
At the study she knocked once then waited by the door. Nothing. The duke may not have been roused from his stupor yet. Another growl of thunder, and her flame flared bravely. The valet must have put him straight to bed.
But then, on the edge of her hearing … a high-pitched wheeze, like a pair of dusty bellows being opened. Then silence.
She leant closer to the door. There came a thud, then another, interspersed with a scraping sound as if something heavy was being dragged across the floorboards from the far side of the study towards her. As it drew closer, she distinguished short, halting steps that reminded her of an invalid’s shuffling feet.
Who would make such a noise? She pulled back from the door, eyes still upon it as if by will alone she could see through. What would make such a noise? Surely it wasn’t the duke, unless he had been injured by his fainting spell.
She paused, her hand creasing the letter. A marble of fear lodged in her throat as the footsteps reached a crescendo then stopped on the other side of the door. The paper softened in her damp hold. What was she afraid of? The sight of the guillotine alone had made some of the bravest shake in their boots, but not her. She had endured. She could face this man who dared treat her as inferior, but even so … Her courage faltered. The man was a lunatic. What if he came at her with that sword?
The silence from behind the door had taken root and grown, stretching up to fill the frame with foreboding. Perhaps he was waiting for her to speak. The letter was now a soft ball in her hand. She smoothed her skirts and knocked again, inadvertently reaching for her throat as the doorknob turned with a squeak, paused, then turned again.
Stepping forward, she held the candle in one hand while the other lightly opened the door further. There was no resistance. She heard a soft tread. The room was dimly lit, and she saw a figure retreat to the corner.
Marie shut the door behind her and leant against it while her eyes adjusted. Her breathing rasped in her ears. Whoever was in the corner did not move.
‘Your Grace?’ she ventured, but even as she said his name she knew that it was no man who hid in the shadows. Something twinged at the edge of her consciousness. There was something not right or wholesome or –
Whoever it was, they were afraid. Trying to hide. She had the advantage, and she would use it.
She stepped away from the door and raised the candle, advancing further into the room. ‘It’s Madame Tussaud – I wanted an audience with His Grace …’ She stopped as the flickering light fell fully upon her creation. What words to use? What turns of phrase to convey the frantic galloping of her heart like a wild horse that urged her to flee? It was monstrous but it was beautiful. She was alive but she was dead. She was afraid – while Marie, now that the first bolt of fear had been delivered, was mesmerised.
‘It’s you,’ Marie said. A heartbeat later, ‘Do you … can you speak?’
Elanor shook her head, once, and Marie thought she heard that wheeze again, as if mechanical joints flexed beneath the wax surface.
‘I made you,’ whispered Marie. ‘And now you …’
Elanor stepped out of the shadows, and Marie, as if meeting her own child, stepped towards her. The girl held her hand over her heart and beat upon it with her clenched fist.
‘Alive,’ Marie said. ‘You are alive! I gave you breath and now … life! But – Can I touch your hand?’
Elanor reached for Marie’s hand and clasped it tight. Marie registered the strange touch in texture and form of the skin. The creature pressed her hand so that Marie’s small joints began to fold in upon themselves.
‘I know you must be afraid,’ said Marie, and gently laid her hand over the top of the girl’s. ‘But I’m here now and I will look after you.’
The pressure lessened but the grip did not.
Marie swallowed. ‘You are not dead.’ She stroked the back of that hand. So smooth. So cold. ‘You are alive, but you’ve changed. You are beautiful, my dear, but you do not know it yet. Has His Grace seen you?’
The girl nodded.
‘And he has left you?’
Another nod.
‘You must forgive him. He suffered a fall then a great shock tonight, and may take some time yet to recover. But I will do all that I can to help you. Now let us sit and —’
The door opened, and Marie protectively stepped towards it to shield her creation from sight.
‘How did you get in here?’ the valet asked, sidling in and shutting it behind him.
‘It was unlocked.’ It was useless to try and stop the valet from seeing. She must be ready with an explanation.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I came to deliver a message to the duke and found I was invited in,’ said Marie. ‘I have been making the acquaintance of the new house guest.’ She turned to see Elanor now seated in the armchair by the fireplace. How swift on her feet she was.
‘Oh the commission,’ the valet said. ‘It really is most life like but I thought it was only for the duke’s exclusive entertainment. I didn’t know your tastes were —’
‘Another mistaken assumption. His Grace has seemingly abandoned her. It is late and she is a young woman who is confused and tired.’ Marie stood before Elanor’s chair. ‘And like any young woman, she needs rest and looking after. Have you a bedchamber made up?’
‘What a ridiculous proposition.’
‘I’m sure the duke is not so heartless as to keep her sitting here all night.’
‘I have not received any specific instruction from His Grace other than to keep the door shut.’
‘Well, I think it will benefit everyone concerned if I take responsibility,’ said Marie. ‘I am the one who knows her needs, and she needs to be laid to rest properly.’
‘It is impossible for the commission to be moved from here.’ The valet’s eyes shifted between Marie and the girl.
‘Where do you propose she sleeps, then?’ Did he know about the shrine underground?
‘In what it arrived in,’ he said, pointing to the far side of the room. ‘The coffin.’
‘That is not the response of a gentleman,’ said Marie, feeling Elanor’s anxiety from where she stood. ‘Or one who aspires to be.’
‘What are you suggesting? The duke’s wishes, in this regard, must be adhered to. He want
s it to be kept here, in the coffin with the door shut.’
She must let him think that she was aiding him, was on his side. ‘Please do not trouble yourself about it, not now that you have me to assist. Imagine if His Grace discovers that your carelessness has ruined his commission.’ She dropped her voice. ‘Then all of your plans would be spoiled. Forever.’
The valet paused. ‘But it’s a wax doll, it —’
‘Look at what is before you. She moves without interference from us!’ Marie glanced at Elanor again, seated silently in the chair. Hard to fathom how quickly she had moved, how her hand pressed hers in such distress, how those eyes looked so haunted.
The valet stared at Marie for a long moment. ‘Are you trying to make me believe that this … this thing is real? I have no time for it.’
His impertinence made her temper flare and cast aside her earlier tactic. ‘Do not presume because we have an agreement that you can challenge me in this regard,’ she said smartly. He needed to leave immediately before she herself fell into a swoon in the shock of it all. She looked down at her hand, where Elanor had pressed it so tightly. It was not throbbing and was not discoloured, and yet she had been so sure just a moment ago that it was.
‘This is no trickery with smoke and projections – this is science and engineering combined with the supernatural or real magic or whatever it pleases you to call it, monsieur.’ Yes, she had said it. It was true. What she had seen, had felt, had experienced was so very real.
‘Then the thing you have made is an abomination, and the magistrate or the priest should be called to take it away at once. It’s not the natural order of things, even for one of the duke’s fancies.’
‘You said yourself you are not fit to judge another’s desires,’ Marie shot back. Her tiredness was allowing cracks in her composure for impatience to seep through. She was struggling to keep up the presence of mind that enabled her to maintain authority over him.
‘That was before —’
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