The mere step over the threshold is like a journey cross the River Styx.
I shiver and the nurse hurries to our side. She eases a misshapen bundle into Arabella’s arms. Her chin trembles once and she swallows.
Arabella nods and we turn without another word. I tip my hat to the nurse and hurry behind her.
Bella cradles the bundle gingerly, as if not to disturb the babies of their rest.
I feel my eyes sting and the protective fury ignite.
Angry at this grim life, anger for their tiny, snuffed lives and anger at that pompous, in-need-of-a-thrashing moron for putting her through this punishment.
Bella’s breathing is ragged and she’s already ghosted down the steps, moving so fast I wonder if her feet are touching the floor.
She nods to the master of the house, and without a word, steps out the door.
The night air is a welcome relief and I gratefully suck it in; its clean smell washes away the toxic thoughts clouding my head.
Arabella hurries to the carriage. She places the bundle in Jameson’s hands with such gentle care; I have to swallow the thick tightening that’s suddenly in my throat.
Their brother’s wail drifts out through the open window as if lamenting their loss.
Jameson lumbers to the back of the carriage, depositing the corpses in a specially-designed box.
Arabella scrambles into the carriage without looking back, Newton at her heels.
I peek in the window. Head bowed, eyes closed, she could be praying beneath the hood. She bends to pick up her bag from the floor. The dog wiggles his way under her hand, nudging for affection.
Stygian is a monster. How many times has he forced her to face this—to prove her worth? To torture her for spurning his advances or to reinforce her place is home and hearth?
I’ve crafted moulages of smallpox, elephantitis, and even a woman with a horn growing out of her forehead.
Dug through troughs of dissected arms and legs to memorize the human physick.
But this—these innocents.
Their lives over before it has even begun; they’ve had no chance at all.
The carriage rattles forward but Bella will not meet my eyes, her hands aimlessly fidgeting with the dog’s collar.
Her head suddenly whips to stare at me directly, and her lips move, but no words issue forth.
“Something on your mind?”
Her head drops and she stares at her lap, appearing to wrestle with her thoughts.
“I.” Her face puckers, like the words cause her physical pain.
“Yes. I’m listening.” I sit stock-still, waiting.
“I find it very hard to put my vexations to words, Henry.”
I nod and smile, trying to ease her discomfort. She sighs. “I. Had a sister. A stillborn sister. I only found out a few years prior. Ever since…I have nightmares about her. And these calls—”
“Make them worse.” The smiles slips from my face and I reach over to grasp her hand. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
She nods, and stares out the window once again.
Chapter Four
A Master of Disguise
Outside The Mutter
Henry
I just finish mopping the blood from my waistcoat as the carriage rattles in front of the Mutter’s wrought-iron gates and Bella’s hand is on the door before it has come to a stop.
She hops out and a surprised Jameson ejects, “Miss Holmes?”
She spins. “Henry, could you be a dear and deliver the bundle to Montgomery?”
She eyes Newton who is trotting happily at her heels. “Newton, home.”
The dog whines, but obediently turns, tail between his legs to slip through the open gate.
I scramble out, trying not to let Bella out of my sight, but she’s almost at the corner. “Jameson, could you…”
The older man sighs. “Yes, Mr. Watson. You best hurry. She’s a crafty one.”
“I am well aware.”
I bound after her, but she’s managed to turn the corner into a darkened alley.
“Blast.”
I follow suite, eyes sweeping the dark street. How far could she possibly get?
I don’t see her anywhere and I feel my heart thrum in my mouth.
The dirty sideway is strewn with a few vagabonds, assorted trollops and drunken couples who nuzzle under shadowy gaslight.
My hands fidget and find my hair. Twirling it nervously. “Bella. Bella. Where are you?”
A gaggle of street-walkers flirt with a pair of Johns.
I see one alone.
Ah. They always travel in pairs, for safety.
I pick up my pace, heading toward the bustling woman.
My eyes narrow. Her dress is hiked to reveal stockings and shapely calves. Her curls are piled on her head and…my eyes flick to her boots.
A flash of recognition: my eyes snap back to the nape of her neck. A baby-blue ribbon.
My mouth pops open. Desire pumps through my veins and I allow myself the luxury of taking in her every curve.
Ten feet. Her calves look impossibly strong yet feminine.
Five feet. Her tiny, tiny waist. I envision my hands wrapping around it, pulling her flush against me.
It’s so small. She looks so fragile.
My thinking brain overrides my animal brain with a whip-snap and I hear my father’s refrain in my head. “Focus, Henry.”
I fall into step beside her, synchronizing our footfalls.
“I’m done for the night, sir.” Eyes painted black with liner flick to mine. They widen in surprise then tighten with anger.
“Henry. What are you playing at?”
“Bella, what are you playing at? And how in the world did you change so quickly?”
My mind flashes to the oversized bag on her lap in the carriage. Then to my childhood, to Holmes’s myriad of disguises. She’s learned from the master.
Ahead, two policemen walking their beat cross the road, heading directly toward us.
She grabs my arm, tucking me into the alley’s cranny.
She pushes her body against mine and I instinctively return the favor.
“Henry,” she chastises.
I hear the footsteps. She grabs the rim of my hat, tilting my head to hers, hiding my face. Our lips are inches apart. Her breath puffs hot against my chin.
“Bella.” My voice sounds gruff.
I’m certain it sounds thick with anger, but that could not be further from the truth.
“Just bloody hold still till they pass. Pretend you desire me.”
I almost laugh aloud at this irony, but quickly assume the position as the footsteps halt, linger and shuffle, then proceed to walk on.
She backs up, giving me space and spins away, peering ‘round the corner.
“They have gone. I must go. Go back to the Mutter, Henry.”
The rage returns. “Are you mad? I am not going anywhere.”
She stamps her foot. “You are so very frustrating. Fine. Here.” She jams the bag into my hand. “For the love of mercy put something on so your face isn’t screaming, ‘I-don’t-belong-here.’”
I rifle through the contents and slide on a battered bowler and a scarf. She eyes me, evaluating, and proceeds to stoop and scoop a handful of mud which she promptly flings across my boots.
“Hey!”
“There. Not perfect, but it shall have to do. Time is of the essence.”
We’re walking down the street again and the only sound is the slur of drunken voices and songs emitting from the corner pub.
A tall man turns onto the street and Bella misses a step.
The man’s physique forcibly reminds me of Stygian, but as I look closer, I confirm his clothes too shabby and his demeanor too meek.
Still, she too, was thrown by his appearance. A revelation hits.
“You are following Stygian, aren’t you?”
Arabella purse
s her lips then exhales. “No, that would have been a happy coincidence,” she says wryly. “But he is up to something. I think he had another reason to send me on the call tonight, aside from torturing me, that is. I believe he wanted me occupied and away from The Mutter.”
Ahead looms a factory, a brothel and a church.
“Please be the church,” I mutter.
I see her lip twitch as she fights a smile but she doesn’t respond.
I follow as she veers toward the factory, where a ramshackle sign proclaims, ‘Bane’s Meats’.
She ducks around the side of the building to where a door stands ajar and a sliver of light cuts the darkness of the alley.
A young, fresh-faced man of just-eighteen appears at the door. His eyes light upon seeing Arabella. “Hello, beautiful.”
“Allo, Jimmy.” Arabella’s cockney is impeccable. I fight my jaw and manage to prevent its gaping. “Did you find what we discussed?”
Jimmy registers my presence and scowls. “Who’s he?”
“E’s just me brother, never fear. Streets ain’t safe nowadays. He insisted on coming.”
Jimmy straightens his tie. “Alright then.” He slides a long folder from beneath his jacket and presses it into Bella’s palm, letting his fingers linger on hers.
She gently extracts them. “Thank you. I’ll be sure you get the money. Be careful, now, and keep your ear to the ground.”
Bella turns to me, but is whirled back by his grasp. “I’d much rather have a romp with you. You can keep the money.”
“Perhaps another time.” Bella slides her hand away but gives him a smile that would scorch any man’s soul.
I unclench my jaw. When we’re out of earshot, I whisper pointing to the envelope. “What is it?”
“An inventory list for the meat company. For the prior three months.”
“Why?” I prompt.
She quickens her pace. “We haven’t the time now. Later.”
“I shall hold you to that. Has Stygian mentioned if you are approved for the expedition?”
Bella shakes her head. “No. Not a word. I shall have to wait for the committee to decide my fate.”
The Mutter is two blocks away and Bella halts so quickly I step twice before I can stop.
“I will duck in here and change Henry. I will see you tomorrow.”
And before I can protest, she is gone.
###
Arabella
I stare out my cottage window. Anxiety twists in my gut and can no longer stay still. I pace as my stomach churns—too many changes, too much hanging in the balance. I detest change. The rhythm of routine soothes me.
I force myself to halt and take a deep breath.
Math problems scribble and erase in my mind, calming my wits. Their never-changing nature an anchor for my mind.
I close my eyes and press my head against the cold window pane.
Calculations and written words appear and disappear like cognitive fireflies in my mind; but they scatter as Stygian’s scowling face appears.
I ruminate, murmuring the inventory list over and over like a chant. The one ingredient’s use escapes me.
My mind is normally photographic with text; I may bring up a page just as I saw it, almost automatically.
However, when I think on this particular ingredient—I merely get blurry flashes. I stamp my foot in frustration.
I wish fervently for my father’s mammoth library. I recall the smell of leather and pipe-smoke, and deeply associate their presence with books.
I could only bring so many volumes on the vessel from England.
I remember there is a comprehensive compilation in the Mutter…in the study between Stygian and Earnest’s rooms.
In my childhood, John and his family were forever the balance of my life. I visualize my two influences as scales, tipped one way or the other. John’s family, warm and social, and my life with father—a whirlwind of science and study and silence.
The memory of Stygian’s hand on my cheek and his breath on my neck stays me. I fight the compulsion to act. To go and find the book this moment.
“Be reasonable.”
I hear John’s voice warning against my impulsive nature. Father and I were much too similar—he often encouraging my little jaunts as ‘brilliant’.
I pace faster and step onto the porch, whistling for Newton once again. The Mutter’s black bricks appear more foreboding in the night. I check my watch. Newton has been gone for over an hour.
“That isn’t like him at all.”
A tickle of worry bids me rub my arms. I permit them to wrap around my waist. That dog, all my dogs, mean so very much to me. They lavish me in love, asking for little in return.
Quite the opposite of my experience with humans. Who seem to take, take, take and are rarely satisfied.
I cup my hands and whistle again and scan the courtyard. No one. Quiet and still as the cemetery across the street.
“Newton, come!”
I pause, listening for the tinkle of his silver bell. Nothing.
“Blast that dog.”
I turn to grasp my boots but a bark stays my hand. Newton is bounding across the lawn, dragging…I squint.
Dragging a very long bone. “Come Newton.”
Intuition, like the whispery touch of a spider, prickles up my spine.
His claws click on the wooden steps as he hurries inside to hide his treasure.
I quickly shut the door and lock it and stare. I walk to the kitchen and return with a bit of meat. He drops the bone, wagging his tail.
I stoop and hold it in my hands, tracing the ridges. The end that is intact is slanted. “That is most definitely a femur.”
The other end is cracked off. I spin the bone to peer inside and I stoop and hold it in my hands, tracing the ridges.
I walk to the fireplace and snatch my monocle from the mantle, hastily jamming it over my eye.
I suck in my breath.
The compact bone in the center is one-fourth full. The walls suddenly seem to be lurching toward me and are squeezing my last bit of breath.
“It’s human.”
My mind races back to the list of ingredients from the factory.
I return to the door and fling it open, jamming the bone beneath Newton’s nose. “Find.”
His tail tucks between his legs and he whines. “Newton, I said, Find!”
He pads off the porch and I follow, already certain of where he will take me.
Chapter Five
Bone Lessons
Mutter’s Catacomb of Hallways
Next Morn
Henry
Even in broad daylight the Mutter manages to cast an eerie atmosphere. My eyes flick across the glass cases; the first filled with humans skulls showing a smattering of mankind’s pestilences and in the second, three fully erected skeletons are wired and stand at eternal attention.
I cock my head and note that the man’s skeleton rests a bony hand, bracingly upon the child’s shoulder. I purse my lips.
Perhaps Bella does have a tiny, tiny sense of humor.
I have no reason to be wandering the Mutter. I am supposed to be unpacking. When father arrives and happens on my belongings, piled in the center of my cottage there will be a minor skirmish.
I walk further down the hall and my paltry collection of moulages now sit behind their own glass encasement for the world to view. I experience a fleeting prideful moment before the crush of further responsibilities smothers it.
I need to begin again—I have many more to sculpt before the team departs to search for the rest of the body. But a nagging need refuses to leave me; I must see her before I begin.
She was once in my every thought. Till I departed for boarding school.
With every year, every girl, every ball, I hoped her hold on me would lessen. And it had.
Before arriving at the Mutter, I only thought of her several times a week, rather than a
day.
Images of all my crumpled letters, overflowing my bin at school, taunt and remind me…she never really vacated my mind. She just moved to the back corner, waiting impatiently to re-introduce herself.
I walk past the display of shrunken heads and realize, “I am utterly lost.”
Nothing looks familiar; I haven’t yet memorized the Mutter’s catacombs.
And then I hear it. A woman’s voice humming, Let Me Call You Sweetheart.
It’s her. I swallow and follow the sound.
It’s surprisingly close to pitch-perfect.
I stand outside the door, collecting myself.
As I turn inside, I feel my smile falter. “What the deuce?”
Arabella’s eyes are wide. “Henry?” She stares around the room, looking embarrassed and stands to brush off her pants. A few tiny bones sprinkle to the floor and she bends to scoop them into her palm.
The room is a veritable stable, albeit, a frozen one.
My eyes skim left: badger, bobcat and a bear, rearing on skeletal hind legs are the welcoming committee. Even without flesh I’m able to identify them.
I walk toward her, passing a deer, elk and…“Is that a bloody alligator?”
She smiles timidly. “Yes.”
“How? Why?”
She launches. “I was corresponding with an anthropologist and he explained the only real way to distinguish between animal and human bones would be to study and re-assemble them so I’ve been collecting them since I arrived—”
“How did you obtain them?”
“Many ways. Hunters, the police inspector. Once they heard what I was doing everyone has been ever-so-helpful and—”
“And those?” My finger points behind her to another freakish scene of animal-suspended-animation.
She shrugs. “Taxidermied ones. Jeremy has been helping me. And a friend from town.”
I try to picture any other female assisting Bella and almost laugh. “I assume this friend is a male?”
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