by Ciar Cullen
She watched George’s steady breathing, his coal-black lashes against pale skin. How beautiful he was, her love. Did he think her as beautiful? He said it rarely, but surely his insistence of being by her side constantly meant something. Upon their return he’d been an attentive lover and fallen asleep from his efforts shortly thereafter. Of course, he was her maker and took the raising of his favorite newborn, as he called her, quite seriously.
Lillian rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, listened for the first birdcalls of dawn, the first carriage wheels on the street below. They would not be long now.
“What a fucking mess!” George had cursed as they left the mansion. She’d created a good deal of that mess by corresponding with Mr. Doyle at all, and now they had to find a way to thwart the society’s membership before their probing added to an already trying time. And if somehow it came out that George had killed two of their members…
It made no sense, no sense at all. Lillian’s head reeled. Too many coincidences, all surrounding her with their threats, closing in on her, whispering that her life would always be such.
No doubt George badly wanted to leave Baltimore now, but with Phillip off rallying the troops he’d feel stuck. Lil’s own optimism toward asking Mr. Doyle to help her find her child and mother was dashed. Although she had not given up all hope, she almost longed for a time when the truth was hidden beneath her fantasies, when dear Bess chattered on about silly things, when the worst that would happen in a day was that Musketeers would get into a scrape and she would have to rescue them. She understood, just a little, some of the brooding despair she’d first encountered in George. This was not an easy life. There was no easy life.
No, it will not do to brood. Lillian got up and stood before her dresser, silently promising her daughter Jane that she was not forgotten. She reached into the drawer for her bottle of medicine—and slammed it quickly shut at the rustling of the covers behind her.
“Penny for your thoughts,” George said. He was propped on one elbow and motioned her back to bed with a finger. She prayed that he was not about to lecture her, but his dawning smirk seemed to counter any such intention.
“You, sir,” she said, taken again by the beauty of those dark brown eyes, “should be dressed and ready to take on the challenges of the day. Hear the birds? We’ve much to plan.”
“You, madam, should remove that ridiculous gown and come walking quite slowly, quite provocatively, toward me.”
“You, sir, are insatiable.”
“I suggest you not throw stones. I have not met a wilder creature in several hundred—”
“George!”
She rushed toward him and beat him about the head with a pillow, but he just laughed and pulled her in for a kiss. “I knew I could get you over here.”
She leaned into his arms and wondered what would become of them.
“I have something for you, Lil,” he said, releasing her and rising to retrieve a tiny oval box from his coat pocket. “I bought it before perching on your roof to watch over you. Shame on you for letting me sit out in the damned fresh air all evening.”
She laughed. “I do not feel sorry for you at all. You didn’t trust me.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Yes, with good reason, I suppose, but I was certain you would follow me and didn’t mind very much.”
He held out the velvet box but said nothing.
Her heart thrummed offbeat. Don’t be silly, Lillian! She tried to sound lighthearted but felt anything else as she said, “It is not my birthday.”
“I was present at your new birthday, so consider it a late gift.”
Lillian pulled the scarlet ribbon from the box and opened it. Inside lay a stunning ruby ring, with pearls, set in gold.
“I thought the color would be good for you. Not quite blood-red… I didn’t want to be cliché.”
“It’s lovely, George. I’m not sure what to say.”
“That will do. Aren’t you going to wear it?”
Lillian hesitated, wondering what it meant to give a woman a ring when you hadn’t proposed marriage. Bess would come in very handy at this moment to counsel her on the protocol.
She placed it on her right ring finger and stretched out her hand. “It’s stunning.”
George nodded, eyes hooded, and smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
Then her languid lover vanished. He popped out of bed and pulled on his trousers, his back to her. Dressing quickly he said, “You are right, we have much planning to do. I dearly wish Phillip were back to help, but we’ll have to deal with this blasted Society business sooner rather than later.”
Ah, yes. “And I must take advantage of this time to look for Jane. Who knows how many days we have left in Baltimore.”
“Jane? Oh, I see.” George walked back and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Yes, we will discuss what to do about Jane as well. I must go home for a bit, but I’ll return this afternoon and we’ll chart out a plan. Yes?”
“Of course.”
George left in such a hurry that Lillian didn’t have time to thank him again for the ring. She rushed to her drawer and took a deep swig of her medicine, to calm the confusion, and then sat on her bed and stared at the gift. What exactly did it mean? What exactly did any of it mean?
After only moments, George broke back through her door, face grim, motioning for her to come downstairs. “I’m so sorry, love. There is terrible news.”
“Tell me!” Lillian commanded.
“It’s Aileen. Constable Moran is downstairs. It seems…it seems the Devil has struck again.”
“What?” Lillian could barely hear through the sudden buzzing in her ears. “What are you saying about Aileen?”
“I’m so sorry, Lil.” He pulled her close, and her legs felt as if they would give out.
In a fog, she let George lead her down the stairs to the parlor where Johnnie Moran cradled the lifeless body of her friend and maid of five years. Aileen O’Shaunessy’s normally rosy cheeks were white, and her hair hung limply over a bloodied dress. Lillian rushed to Aileen’s side to feel for a pulse, hoping that she could offer the girl the same chance she herself had been given when at death’s door. Circumspection be damned, she would—
“No, I checked,” George whispered.
Lillian hugged Johnnie and wept with him, wiping quickly at her tears so that he could not see that she cried blood. He was not processing much, however, and seemed in severe shock. She could not even get from him where the body had been found.
George pulled her to her feet and held her closely. “We must find the boys. They cannot see this.”
“Oh God, what will become of them!” Lillian turned to Johnnie. “Where are the children, Johnnie?”
He still looked as if he didn’t recognize her. “They took Abraham outside.”
“I’ll see to them, Lil.” George had to shake her shoulder to get her to look up. “I’ll take them to my home for the nonce, until we can figure out the best way to break it to them. Will you be all right here until I return? Will you?”
“Who did this?” Johnnie wailed. “A demon did this! My Aileen, my Aileen!” He rocked her limp form in his arms and stared at Lillian. “Who did this, Miss Holmes? The person who killed the gypsy—it is the same person. I will kill him myself, I swear!”
“I will help you,” George said before leaving the house.
“Where did you find her?” Lillian asked again.
“In your rose garden. I saw her last night…alive…so beautiful. I was going to ask her to marry me, but I could not for some reason. I wanted the perfect time, the perfect words. I waited. I waited! If I would have acted we might have spent the night in one another’s arms and she would be safe. I came early today, hoping to take her for a nice breakfast. I shouldn’t have left her!”
Lillian wanted to ride far away and curl up with her medicine, hide in the park and be alone. “It is not your fault, Johnnie! Do not do this to yourself. But we must call
for the police and the undertaker.”
“I am the police, miss. I didn’t protect her. God help me—”
“The children must not see or hear of this just yet. Do you understand? You must be strong. Your brother, her two brothers—we must break it to them gently, but we must also handle it with care and speed.”
He nodded, but Lillian was sure he understood nothing of what she’d said. “‘It’? My Aileen is nothing but a thing now.”
She turned to find someone to help her, but Addie and Thomas were in Chicago. Aileen normally would be the one to send a note through the boys, but now… Lillian began to weep again. Her home would become a morgue if Marie de Bourbon wasn’t stopped.
She wiped her tears for a second time and stood, staring at the awful, unreal scene. Guilt and resolution melded within her. She had brought this devil into her home, through her love for George, and she would exterminate the witch. She would learn all she could from George and Phillip, learn how to build an army to fight this abomination. And she would not fail. Just as she would not fail in finding her daughter.
Rushing to the door to find help, Lillian had the fleeting and contrary intuition that Mr. Conan Doyle might be useful somehow. That was, if he weren’t already dead from having a fleeting acquaintance with her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
A sad goodbye and tender hello.
The short religious service over, the mourners, especially the children, flocked to Lillian’s side as if she would have some solace to offer. Johnnie Moran stayed kneeling at the graveside, praying and talking to his beloved as the priest left. The gravedigger leaned impatiently on his shovel.
If Lillian thought George inhuman at times, that feeling dissipated when her lover went back to the heartbroken constable and knelt with him, a comforting arm around his shoulders, waiting for the man to finish his goodbyes. Of course, George had seen—and caused—enough death in his lifetime for a thousand men. How would Lil herself ever get used to it? How many people would she outlive? The children clutching at her skirts, Kitty Twamley, who now leaned on Phillip’s shoulder… How did Phillip remain so pleasant, so gay, knowing his beloved would wither before him?
Lillian leaned over to ruffle Paddy Moran’s hair and wiped the boy’s tearstained cheeks. He sucked his thumb, a habit she’d typically scold him for, but what other comfort could she give these children who’d now lost sister and mother, as Aileen had been to all three, even Johnnie’s brothers? Well, she would have to become their mother, and they would all stay in her home, and she would offer the same to Johnnie, who needed the care of a mother now as well. Phillip and Kitty had wanted to help, too, and for once Lillian would take them up on an offer. And her house was now guarded by someone who had perhaps a slim chance against Marie de Bourbon.
George had described Chauncey Sullivan perfectly: a giant man with arms like tree trunks, a frightening countenance, and a bewilderingly mild personality; once a cannibal, now a sworn foe of those he considered evil, at the top of which list was Marie de Bourbon. He would fight to the death to defend innocents from her. At least, that was what he had promised George and Phillip.
Along with Sullivan, Phillip had secured only one more combatant, Chauncey’s lover Phoebe, a slim Negress who was evidently steadfast in her devotion. While the couple now resided with the Orleans brothers, they would appear at odd times during the day, strolling down the street or alley near Lillian’s home, but they were eyes everywhere, watching, guarding.
“Shouldn’t they be more circumspect?” Lillian had asked George and Phillip.
Phillip shrugged. “I am almost sorry I brought them here. I cannot shake the feeling that Chauncey knew I was coming to retrieve him and has his own motives.”
“What do we care, Phil?” George said. “As long as he targets Marie, his motives hardly matter.”
Lillian hadn’t added that she felt a chill whenever Sullivan was near, but she’d pointed out, “They say so little.” George had watched her very carefully these past few days, and she didn’t want to give him reason to examine her every move. A deep shame mixed with panic swept through her. He will take my pills away.
They had all been interviewed in depth by a Lieutenant Worthington, who, with Johnnie Moran, saw the unmistakable link to Annaluisa’s murder. That a pattern had formed, they were sure; exactly what had happened to the women they seemed to have no clue. Johnnie wanted revenge, badly. In the lucid moments he had between fits of overwhelming grief, he spoke of nothing but finding the perpetrator.
At least they were all on the same side, Lillian thought, although the mortals could not share the full complexities of the story.
Kitty gathered Darby into her arms and took Billy by the hand, and Lillian picked up Paddy, and the two women led the boys to the carriage and away from the gentle slope that now swallowed the remains of Aileen. George pulled Johnnie to his feet and encouraged him to follow after. Lillian watched them approach, silhouettes against the sun that climbed higher in the morning sky. Then she saw a figure in the distance.
“My God!” she said, her nerves on fire, wiping away a new round of tears to make sure she wasn’t imagining that the woman shaded under a wide nearby oak was her friend.
No, it was true. There was the awkward stance Bess used to hide her disfigurement, the frilly bonnet, the full figure. She had come. For Aileen, no doubt, but she had come. No one else save the vampires, the boys, Kitty and the priest had cared enough to attend. Of course, Bess and Aileen had been friends. Although separated by circumstance, they had chatted on about frocks and men, teased Lillian about her appearance.
That was so long ago, Lil thought. Or so it seemed. Had it only been weeks past that Bess had rejected their friendship, angry at the loss of trust?
She glanced at George, unsure what to do. They were better off alone, he’d said more than once. Even if Bess wanted to renew their friendship, Lillian would be putting her at risk. She would also be putting the secrecy of all vampires at risk.
George followed her glance and straightened in surprise. When he came to her side, he leaned in and whispered, “I know how you have missed her, but that is part of our life. Still, it is your choice. You know the dangers. If she will have you as a friend, you have much to consider.”
“Are you saying this to test me?” Lillian asked. “I cannot ignore her. I cannot. Will you command me to walk away?”
“I have never commanded you, Lillian,” he whispered.
“No? I suppose not. So I will see her, George.”
George smiled sadly and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I know. That is one of the things I admire in you. That loyalty is one of the things that made me…come to care for you.”
Out of habit, Lillian straightened her bonnet before approaching Bess lest she be chastised. She swept quickly up the grassy hill, knowing that Bess might flee, but that she had to approach decisively or lose nerve.
When she was several feet away, she saw Bess’s tears. Lillian took a few more steps, but her friend held out a warning hand.
“It was so good of you to come, Miss Wheeler,” Lillian said. She was horrified that her voice shook, and she wanted to reach into her bag for medicine to calm herself. This matter needed steadiness.
“Aileen was a friend, Miss Holmes.”
Bess’s chin quivered, and Lillian thought she’d scream if things were to stay so formal. But she did not say so. “Indeed. She loved you well.”
“How did she die, Lil? I could find nothing in the paper that I believed. She was as healthy as…healthier than us both.”
“A terrible accident.”
“Do you know that your left brow arches when you lie? In all of these years I never told you, as it gave me one small advantage where otherwise I would have none.”
“Did I lie much?”
Bess sniffed out a tired laugh. “No, no, I cannot say you did. Only when you thanked me for my opinion in clothing.” She sighed. “I see you and George are still…connected. I
suppose I shall leave, then.”
“George?” Lillian repeated. “Is that why you severed our friendship? I have room in my heart for you both!”
“Partly,” Bess agreed. “But what is the point of a friendship in which truth is a stranger?”
Lillian felt heat rise to her cheeks, though she knew she appeared as pale as ever to her old friend. She had no answer for Bess, either, for the truth must remain hidden. Secrets, secrets, always secrets.
“I suppose you have not found your child yet?” Bess wiped at her tears and shifted her weight off of her bad foot.
“No. And I would have your help if you could find a way to forgive me. I would have you back, Bess. I would do anything. You can’t know how I love you.”
“You would do anything?” Bess asked.
“Nearly anything. Anything within my power! You saved my life by running to George for help. You were my Watson. You were…are…a wonderful woman. I never deserved such a friendship. I suppose I do not deserve it now.”
Bess straightened and stared proudly into Lillian’s eyes. “You look unwell, Lil. This new life does not so much agree with you, I think.” Then she turned and made her way carefully down the hill toward the path to the entrance of the cemetery.
A voice whispered through Lillian, so faint she might have not heard it for the surrounding stillness. Always keep secrets. Stay safe, and ride at night so others cannot see you. They want your destruction, they mean you harm. Stay quiet, be still.
“Stop!” she cried aloud, to silence the voices. But Bess stopped as well, and turned, nearly tripping as her bad foot gave her issue in the damp uneven grass.
Lillian closed the gap and pulled her old friend into an embrace. When she heard the beating of Bess’s heart, the rush of blood through her veins, she pushed down the pull it had on her.
“I trust my left brow will remain even now, Bess. You will hate me, and you will flee, but you will have the truth even if you don’t believe it.”
Bess pushed her away in order to see her face. “You are like George, like Phillip. You are not like me now.”