The Dark Between

by Sonia Gensler

  “No sir, we were nowhere near the lab when the fire started,” Asher said, relieved to speak truthfully.

  “Where were you, then?”

  Asher could think of nothing to say, and the silence weighed heavily upon the room. He was so damnably tired. Then the wisp of an idea tickled his brain—a lie, of course, but one that would serve some good. Strange how it had taken exhaustion and utter confusion for matters to finally fall into place.

  “Well, boy?”

  “It was Kate, sir. She tried to run away from Summerfield.”

  Thompson coughed again. “What?”

  “She is terrified,” Asher continued, emboldened now that he could speak the truth. “Earlier this week she encountered Robert Eliot in town—it was the day she and Elsie went rowing with Simon Wakeham. Mr. Eliot recognized her, and I’m afraid he tried to drag her to the police station.”

  “The brute! How could he blame her for his own foolishness?”

  “It was difficult for Kate to speak of this, but I gather he was rather rough with her. He’d pulled her into an alley to get a better look at her. She was frightened and desperate, so she … well, sir, she says she stabbed him in the thigh with a pocket-knife.”

  Mr. Thompson’s jaw dropped. “She actually stabbed him?”

  “It was by no means a mortal wound, sir. But she’s terrified of the police and has been plotting how to run away ever since. Last night I saw her sneaking out. I felt it my duty to follow. When I caught up to her she confessed the whole story.”

  “Heavens,” breathed Thompson. “Of course that’s why she was so keen to see her father’s widow. She thought the woman would shelter her.”

  “She was afraid of disappointing you, and she couldn’t imagine you’d wish to house her any longer. Mostly, however, she was afraid of being jailed for attacking a gentleman.”

  Mr. Thompson’s face crumpled. “Why didn’t the girl just come to me? I could have settled matters for her.”

  “Are you at all acquainted with Kate Poole?” Asher suppressed a smile. “You know how independent she is. It was all I could do to convince her to come back to the Gatehouse.”

  Thompson nodded sadly. “I’ll deal with Eliot. Kate need have no fear of him. But what about the old lab?” he asked. “You returned to Summerfield to find it on fire?”

  “Yes sir.” Asher relaxed a fraction. Everything after their return was easy enough to relate, since he could tell the truth. “As soon as we turned onto Summerfield Walk, we smelled the smoke and heard the fire brigade bell.”

  “Did you see anyone run from the building? Someone who might have been responsible?”

  “No sir.”

  “A body was found in the lab, burned very badly. They haven’t identified him yet, and I’m not certain they ever will.” Mr. Thompson slumped forward, rubbing his temples. “I’d lost my own key to the lab ages ago, but I secured the gardener’s and made sure the door was kept locked. I even hid the key. Now it’s gone—out of my own study.” His hands dropped as he looked at Asher. “I can’t imagine who would wish to destroy the building. Surely they weren’t aware someone was inside?”

  Asher sank back in his chair. “It’s a mystery, sir.”

  He wondered what it all meant. Elsie unconscious outside the lab, another person trapped inside and burned beyond recognition. It couldn’t have been Dr. Marshall’s doing—he would have been on his way home from the train station when the explosion happened. And he seemed to have nothing to do with the old lab anyway.

  Mr. Thompson yawned. “We are each lost in our thoughts, and I know you must be exhausted,” he said. “Get some rest, and we’ll discuss this further tomorrow.”

  Asher stood, eager to be away so he could share what he’d learned with Kate. But Thompson seemed so shriveled and forlorn. “Can I get you anything?” Asher asked awkwardly. “A cup of tea? I really think you should sit down.”

  The man sighed and hobbled over to the chair. Asher took his arm, hoping to bear some of the weight as Mr. Thompson eased down. But there was hardly any substance to the man—his bones seemed as light and frail as a bird’s. Thompson crumpled into the seat and pushed his beard into his mouth, his expression distracted as he chewed.

  Asher lingered, reluctant to leave him.

  After a moment Thompson gazed up at him. Smiling feebly, he pulled the beard free, smoothing it against his chest. “Go on now, my boy. I’ll be fine.”

  Still uncertain, Asher made his way up the stairs, checking the corridor on the next floor before walking to Kate’s bedchamber. The room was empty, so he returned to the staircase, passing Elsie’s door along the way. He heard the murmurs of a deep voice. The police? He had hoped to speak with her first.

  Disappointed, he returned to his own room to find Kate sitting on his chair. The packet of his father’s telegrams lay in her lap.

  “Kate?”

  She bit her lip. “They were sitting on your desk for anyone to see. For all you know, he’s trying to make amends. Why haven’t you opened them?”

  “Do we have to talk about this now?” Asher rubbed his burning eyes. He knew Kate was just as weary as he was—certainly weary enough to be scattered and vulnerable—but he couldn’t bring himself to engage on that issue. “Seems there are more important matters to concern us.”

  She sighed and placed the packet on his desk. “What did you tell Mr. Thompson?”

  “Don’t be angry. I told him you’d tried to run away, that I followed you, and that you confessed your troubles with Eliot to me. He’s quite upset on your account.”

  “Really?” Her lower lip trembled. “I hadn’t expected that.”

  “He says he’ll deal with Eliot, so put that from your mind. Have you seen Elsie?”

  “The doctor’s been with her.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed. “I heard voices and feared it might be the police in her room.” He paused, his thoughts racing. “There’s something else, Kate.”

  Her body tensed. “What?” she whispered.

  “The police found a dead body in the lab—burned so badly they haven’t been able to identify it.”

  Kate stared at him. “Who could it be?”

  “I’m hoping Elsie can tell us.”

  “Why would you be so foolish as to go to the old lab?” The question exploded from Aunt Helena’s grimly clenched lips. “It was late, and you were alone. What were you thinking?”

  If the bed had swallowed her up in that moment, Elsie would have welcomed it. Aunt Helena’s face was white with anger. Or perhaps it was fear. Either way, she seemed determined to get answers, and now that the doctor had departed, Elsie could no longer avoid this confrontation. But neither could she tell the truth, not before speaking with Asher and Kate, and Aunt Helena seemed disinclined to wait. Elsie took a breath and met her aunt’s gaze. “I saw someone through my bedroom window. I thought it was Asher, and I was curious.”

  “Did you go inside the lab? Did you see who was there?”

  “The last thing I remember is standing outside and looking through the window.” The lies tumbled too easily from her lips. “I went to the door and tried to turn the handle, but it was locked. The rest I don’t remember. It’s this bump on my head—I think it’s blotted out my memory.”

  Aunt Helena stared at her for a long moment, and Elsie returned her gaze without blinking. Finally the woman’s shoulders sagged. “Perhaps it will come back to you in time. But in the end, it may be best if it does not.”

  “Maybe so.”

  My camera, Elsie thought. I must ask Kate to retrieve it.

  “You really must rest,” her aunt said briskly. “But first there are two people outside who are quite eager to see you. Are you up to it?”

  “May I have a moment first?” Elsie reached for the mirror and brush on the bedside table. “I don’t want to frighten them with my appearance.”

  “I’ll send them in shortly. You must not let them stay too long, however.” Her aunt smiled and withdrew,
closing the door softly behind her.

  Elsie studied her face in the mirror. The bruise on her forehead was an angry red, the cut just starting to scab. She brushed out her hair and tried to pull a section forward to cover the bruise. Unfortunately, it covered her eye as well. She frowned, rearranging the hair.

  The back of her neck prickled.

  She turned to the door, expecting to see her aunt. But the door was still closed. There was no one in the room but her.

  And yet she felt someone. Simon. He was in her head somehow, almost as he had been in the old lab.

  “Simon?” she whispered.

  She could almost smell him, feel his warmth as though he embraced her. If she opened her mind, would she hear his voice?

  A knock at the door made her jump. She set the brush on the table and took a deep breath. “Yes?”

  The door opened slowly and Kate peered around the edge. “May we come in?”

  Elsie forced a smile. “Of course.”

  Asher followed Kate through the door and placed a second chair next to Elsie’s bed. The two sat, both looking quite pale with weariness. Their bright eyes, however, were expectant.

  Asher leaned forward. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better than I look,” Elsie murmured, lightly touching the bruise on her forehead. “What did you learn in Dr. Marshall’s rooms?” She was stalling, but she hardly knew what to say when her thoughts were such a jumble.

  “We read through his files,” Asher said, glancing at Kate. “It’s not him. He’s collected a great deal of anecdotal evidence, and he’s thought about using electrical shocks to access the subliminal self. But his notes made it clear he’d never put someone’s life in danger to do it.”

  “So it was all for nothing,” Elsie said.

  “We want to know what happened with you,” said Kate impatiently.

  Elsie swallowed hard. It would be so easy to tell them what she’d told her aunt, to simply plead that she couldn’t remember. Neither of them had especially liked Simon, and she could already imagine Asher’s condescending smile when he learned the terrible things the man had done. And then there was Tec—how could she explain his involvement to Kate? She’d already mourned his death.

  “I’m sorry … my head aches so.”

  Kate took a breath. “Elsie, they found a body in the old lab.”

  “What?” Her stomach convulsed. “Who is it?”

  “It’s burned so badly, we may never know,” said Asher.

  Elsie pressed a hand to her mouth.

  Simon is dead.

  Just now … had she felt his spirit?

  Her other encounters with the dead had been a slow fall into cold, dark terror. This had been different. Warmth and comfort instead of fear.

  Was this what Simon had felt when haunted by his Amy—an abiding presence so tender and reassuring that he never could forget? Never let go? Elsie’s head began to throb. She had prompted his death, she had goaded Tec into setting the lab on fire, and yet Simon’s spirit was warm and forgiving. That was what she had felt, wasn’t it? A loving presence?

  Kate put a hand on her arm. “Elsie?”

  “I …” Elsie’s throat thickened as tears pooled in her eyes.

  “Go on.” Kate’s voice was gentle, trusting.

  “The body in the old lab,” Elsie sobbed. “It’s Simon Wakeham.”

  They stared at her in pained silence.

  Finally Asher spoke. “How?”

  “It’s my fault. He wanted me to help him contact his lost love. He did so many terrible things, hurt so many people, all because he was trying to find a way to her.” Sobs were racking her body, and she could barely draw sufficient air into her lungs. “I found him in the lab—I was terribly afraid. But I can’t … I mean I don’t—” She nearly choked on the words. “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry. It’s my fault he’s dead.”

  Chapter 40

  Once Mrs. Thompson was fetched, Kate quietly ushered Asher out of the room. In truth, she was relieved to close the door on the spectacle of Elsie’s tears. She could muster no proper response to the girl’s confusion, nor any comforting words to soothe her sobbing. Foremost on her mind was the need to understand, but Elsie was in no shape for further questions.

  “Come to my room,” said Kate. “We need to talk about this.”

  Asher frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Do you really think anyone cares right now?”

  Nevertheless, Kate left the door open a few inches. Indicating the desk chair for him to sit, she perched on the edge of her bed. “You were right about Simon Wakeham.”

  He shook his head. “There was a time when I wanted to be right, but now … I’m not so sure. Elsie could have died.”

  “It must have been Wakeham who caught Billy searching out details for Martineau’s séance. He pressured Billy to find a poor soul for his experiment. But when Billy tried to use this information for blackmail, he silenced him. That’s what it looks like, right? And all for the love of a dead woman. It all fits, I suppose. And yet … I can’t quite believe him capable.”

  “You know I didn’t like him, but it wasn’t because I thought him a bad person.” The chair creaked as Asher slumped back. “He was concerned with what happens to us after death. In fact, he seemed quite keen to prove that something essential remains even when the physical body has died.” He paused to rub his eyes. “I suppose that’s what these ‘experiments’ were truly about.”

  “He was more interested in Dr. Marshall’s research than he let on,” Kate said. “When my father died and Marshall refused to endanger anyone else’s life, Wakeham must have decided to take matters into his own hands.”

  “And in the end it killed him.” Asher sighed. “This isn’t going to be easy for Elsie.”

  “She may remember more in time.”

  “And how would it help us if she did? Are you prepared to share all this with the Thompsons? With the police? Wakeham is dead. He can’t hurt anyone else.”

  “I still want to know.”

  “You’re torturing yourself, Kate. You already know who killed Billy and Tec. There was nothing you could do to prevent what happened,” he added gently.

  “Then why do I feel as though I’ve failed them?”

  He studied her for a moment. “You are the most maddeningly independent soul I’ve ever known. But when you let someone be a friend, you turn fiercely protective.” He smiled. “I’ve seen how you care for Elsie, and I admire it. I know you were loyal to Billy and Tec. But they were just as independent as you, Kate, and their choices led them into danger. You can’t hold yourself responsible for that.”

  Kate started to protest, but the shadows under Asher’s eyes made her pause. “You look tired.”

  “I’m exhausted. We both need rest.” He stood. “We’ll talk more later, but we mustn’t push Elsie too hard.”

  “I know, I know.” With a groan Kate rose from the bed to meet him at the door. Without thinking, she reached out to rub a dark smudge from his cheek. He flinched slightly but did not push her hand away.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. “Just a bit of soot.”

  He looked down, his lashes hiding his eyes. “Thanks, Kate.”

  The room felt very empty once he’d gone.

  The next morning Mrs. Thompson brought a selection of heavy volumes to Kate’s room. “Why don’t you read to Elsie? That way you can visit with her in a restful way.”

  Kate picked Dickens’s Bleak House because its title page featured a drawing that reminded her of Castle End. She’d hardly made it through the first paragraph, however, before she lost her footing.

  London. Michaelmas Term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln’s Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets, as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill.

  Kate closed the book. “I won pri
zes for reading back in school, but this may be too much for me.”

  “You don’t have to read, Kate. We could just talk.”

  “You’re supposed to be resting. I’ll push on until we find the house and learn what makes it so bleak. There’s a chilling sketch of it opposite the title page.”

  There was no house, however. Just a lawsuit that apparently had dragged on for centuries. By the fifth page she was sounding out words without comprehending them, but she doggedly pressed on until she reached a dreary woman named Lady Dedlock.

  “I say I am afraid,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn, who has risen hastily, “that Lady Dedlock is ill.”

  “Faint,” my Lady murmurs, with white lips, “only that; but it is like the faintness of death. Don’t speak to me. Ring, and take me to my room!”

  “Please … just stop,” Elsie said.

  Kate glanced at her over the book. “Are you ill? You’ve gone pale.”

  Elsie shook her head, but her eyes filled with tears. Kate pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “Here. It’s clean.”

  Elsie wiped her eyes. Then she refolded the handkerchief, smoothing the edges carefully. “Thank you.”

  “Were you thinking of Simon Wakeham?”

  Elsie sniffled. “I’m so confused.”

  “Of course you are.” Kate softened her tone. “You have a head injury. And you cared for him, didn’t you?”

  After a moment Elsie nodded.

  “He seemed a fine gentleman … at first, anyway. I could see why you might take a shine to him. But I do wonder how you fell so deeply for him, and so quickly.”

  “My heart acts independently of my head.” Elsie turned to stare at the ceiling, her brow furrowed. “I never told you why I ran away to London, although Asher must have guessed it. I’m sure he saw him at the British Museum, before he ran away.”

  “Before who ran away?”

  “My art tutor—my only friend at Peverel Place. He was my …” She trailed off, biting her lip. “He’s the one who taught me how to use a camera, you see. I thought I loved him, but it was all foolishness. Deep down I knew his passion did not match my own. But as I said, I am led by my heart.”