Boneseeker

by Brynn Chapman

  “Henry.”

  I keep pacing.

  “Henry!” Father’s hands are on my shoulders, stopping me. “Just say the word. I promise to take you at it.”

  I shake him off. “Forget that lying she-devil. Tell me; tell me about Arabella’s mother. Please, I must know.”

  Arabella’s twisted face tortures me, like a knife driven and embedded in my heart.

  I stare at him, waiting.

  “Fine. She kept Bella till she was three. She was very poor and frivolous, spent everything as fast as she earned it. Refused to marry a Holmes. It was a tryst—probably the only tryst ever had by a Holmes. Knowledge is their mistress.”

  “Forget Holmes. Continue.”

  “She couldn’t take Arabella on the traveling circuit. She frankly couldn’t afford her. I believe she loved her, in her way—but she’s a selfish creature. Her own lifestyle, in the end, was more important than keeping Arabella.”

  It will kill her. Murder any remnant of the little girl, still fighting to stay alive under the cold exterior.

  “And now me. What must she think of me?”

  “Henry. Your future is at stake. Not only your reputation, but your employ. Did you bed her?” He blasts, his careful calm finally exploding.

  I shake my head. “No. Priscilla has set her sights on me. Beneath those frills and lace is a conniving predator. Someone else has bedded her, but I must be the more likely husband. Perhaps she knew the job might force me into a false confession.”

  Father stares, his eyes searching my face. Apparently finding what he was looking for, he nods. “Then we must tell Dr. Earnest. He’s an honest sort. But the chances are grave you keep the job.”

  I nod. “Arabella. Where is she?”

  “She refused to see me. She said she will write to Violet.”

  My heart feels anesthetized. Numb and weightless. I look around the room. The reds and blues look washed and faded.

  If I lose Bella, life will lose its color.

  “Father. I know she appears cold, calculating. But under it. She’s as innocent as a child. This will…undo her.”

  “I know. Have faith. We must first deal with Priscilla. Then hopefully we will see Arabella back at the steamer. Perhaps you should talk to Priscilla, attempt to dissuade her from her plans?”

  I shake my head. “You are much too optimistic…but I shall try. I’ll go tomorrow.”

  I nod, staring out at the moon. And try my best to send my thoughts across the night. To tell Bella to hold on.

  ###

  Clark Park

  Henry

  The morning is unseasonably warm; the Indian summer sun sears Priscilla and I as we walk through the park, past the life-size statue of Charles Dickens. I open my mouth to remark on the girl at the statue’s base, but quickly close it. The girl, Little Nell, was a character from Dicken’s story, The Old Curiosity Shop.

  If it were Bella draped on my arm, her eyes would light at the instruction. Though literature was not her love, her mind thrives on every sort of information.

  In sharp contrast, I daresay if my conversation veered from the society gossip pages or Paris fashion, I would directly lose Priscilla’s attention. Indeed, her arm is wrapped so tightly through mine that I imagine a Boa Constrictor strangling its prey. I grit my teeth to maintain civility.

  We reach the open field, with very little talk. People cover every bit of the lawn, soaking up every ray of the remaining sunshine before winter descends on Philadelphia.

  “Priscilla. I think you’re a capitol girl. But we both know I have not touched you.”

  Her blue eyes turn up coyly. “Ah, Henry. In my mind, I’ve lived the act many, many times. I will be a magnificent wife and mother. We can have a brood of children, I don’t mind. Of course we’ll need a nanny, and how many servants—”

  “Imagination does not put a child in your belly.” I stop dead. Fury bubbles in my chest.

  “Why, whatever do you mean, darling?” She shifts closer, her fingers playing on my chest. “I recall every glorious moment—”

  “Stop!”

  I step out of her grasp, terrified of losing my self-control.

  A dog growls.

  “Henry?”

  Oh, no. Please, no.

  Arabella stands frozen, Newton’s leash wrapped around her hand. Her eyes leap between Priscilla and I like an animal in flight.

  “Darling, why, look who it is? Your dirt-partner. Isn’t that charming? You are welcome to come and visit Henry and I and the baby.” Her eyes drop to Newton. “Please, though, leave that filthy creature at home.”

  Newton growls again, his hackles rising down his spine.

  “I—I,” Arabella stammers.

  Priscilla’s eyes shine with cold vengeance. “Darling, you don’t know what you’re missing. Henry is…” she cups her belly, “such a scoundrel. But what a beautiful one, yes? Between the two of us, the baby will be breath-taking.”

  Arabella is shaking all over. Her demeanor crushed. She reminds me of a flower trampled underfoot.

  “Shut up!” I roar. “You are not fit to speak her name.”

  People turn to stare. A few nannies shuttle children out of earshot.

  Priscilla laughs. “I am not fit? Look at her.” She gestures toward the mud lining the bottom of Bella’s dress. “Really, Henry. Your lust has saved you from a very embarrassing match.”

  I step away from her, putting distance between us.

  I turn my back on Priscilla. Her words have forced Bella back; her face pinches in revulsion—reliving every taunt she’s ever endured.

  My confident, intelligent Bella stands mute.

  Newton slides his head beneath her hands and she squares her shoulders, her eyes narrowing. “I hope you will be very happy together.” She nods, “Henry.”

  She spins on her heel, leading Newton back into the fray.

  I whirl on Priscilla’s triumphant face. “I told my father you were incapable of reason.”

  Her voice drips honey, “Oh, Henry—”

  I grasp her elbow as I would a viper, and spin her around in the direction of home. “Not a word. Do not speak another word.”

  ###

  Bella

  I reach my cottage steps and hurry inside and barely manage to shut the door before the tears come.

  Well, at least I now know I am capable of tears.

  “Ha. Twice in a fortnight.”

  I release Newton from his leash, but he halts, nose raised in the air. He growls. I remove a letter from the mailbox.

  “Stop. Honestly. Go outside.” I open the door and shove him toward it; he locks his legs, whining.

  I manage to force him onto the porch, but he turns, staring at me.

  I shut the door on his face and his claws scratch a moment later.

  My eyes close as Priscilla’s words echo through my head. How I would embarrass Henry, were he to choose me.

  My disheveled reflection stares at me from across the room. I hurry over to it.

  My eyes flick across my hair, my complexion. I turn sideways, examining my body.

  Even unadorned, I am more striking than Priscilla. I’ve always known this in an empirical way, but put little stock in it. Bettering my mind was always my concern, not my appearance.

  I am a Holmes, after all.

  I haven’t the slightest idea how to beautify myself.

  “Violet. Violet would teach me how.”

  “Teach you how to what?”

  My blood turns to ice. I whirl, my heart hammering.

  A man. His face concealed by an elaborate masquerade mask. But I know to my bones, it’s Stygian.

  In my cottage.

  “How? I thought you were at the dig? And how did you get in here?”

  Images and data flash like a strobe-light through my mind. Escape routes.

  His weaknesses. In inclimate weather, he limps—his right knee. Target one.
r />   His left hand does not make a full fist. Most likely broken. Target two.

  His groin.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re on about. Why, I broke in—a common criminal.” His voice feigns innocence.

  My mind runs the scenarios. A kick to the groin. Hurl my knife.

  Will anyone believe me?

  I must not let him near me; I’m no match for his strength.

  Newton begins barking in earnest, his paws frantically scratching the wooden door. He will alert anyone nearby on the Mutter Campus

  Stygian steps closer.

  My hand pulls up my skirt, fingering the knife. His eyes light with the showing of my flesh.

  My face burns, but my eyes tick from his face to his hands to his feet. Ready to launch forward at his slightest move.

  “Our roadblock has been removed.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Please, Arabella. I saw the way you looked at Henry. He is no match for you. I, however, am the perfect match for you.”

  “You know you shouldn’t be here. I should scream.”

  “Who would they believe, Arabella? You? Although a Holmes, your eccentric reputation precedes you. At the very least, I can commit you to the asylum till your father arrives. Which would be weeks. I have friends at the asylum. Indeed I have friends everywhere.”

  His eyes are dark and hollow.

  I swallow. He’s right. John would fight, no doubt, but he could have me put there for a time. Till the facts were sorted in court.

  “Why, she pulled a knife on me…” he says sweetly, ambling back and forth. “I was only inquiring after her health—hearing of her public drama at the opera house.”

  “She was quite distressed. Unhinged, really.”

  Newton claws the window, slobbering, barking and biting the glass.

  “You know, patients disappear, all the time at the asylum. Poor wretched souls, they just wander off, never to be seen again…I would hate for that to happen to you. Such a terrible waste.”

  He lunges. I dodge out of the way. His fingers seize and hold the bottom of my dress. His hands instantly muddied.

  I yank and it rips.

  I fly toward the door, fumbling for the handle.

  Newton has left the window; his wild barks inches away behind the door.

  I turn the handle and it opens a crack.

  Stygian slams it shut.

  He shoves me against the door with his body, my arms spread-eagled. Bash, bashing my wrist against the wood till the knife clatters to the floor.

  I cannot move.

  His breath is at my ear. “Perhaps the asylum is best for now. I see the kind you are—its written all over your features—but still I must have you. You’re like a wicked-siren-call. I will see to my affairs, and we will depart. I care not if you marry me. You will be mine, Arabella.”

  The window shatters, a crystal implosion; shards of sparkling sunlight ride the glass across the floor.

  Newton leaps in, barking madly. He lunges, his jaws clamp down on Stygian’s leg, instantly drawing blood.

  “Ah! Vile creature!” He whirls.

  My knee connects with the soft flesh of his groin.

  His legs buckle and he falls, retching. I kick again, my boot striking his once-broken hand and he shrieks.

  I wrench open the door, falling onto the porch. I scramble down the stairs, into the sunlight.

  “Newton, come!”

  The dog barrels down the steps to my side, still snarling. I bolt toward the museum, and don’t look back.

  ###

  Earnest Estate

  Next Morn

  Henry

  Priscilla sits at the table, primly holding her burgeoning belly. Is it my imagination, or does it seem larger since just yesterday?

  I allow my eyes to take in their estate. Beautiful, but not ostentatious. Too bad Priscilla could not be more like her family home.

  Dr. Earnest arrives, and eases his bulk into the Captain’s chair at the head of the long table. He’s done well. Except for his only daughter, heaven help him.

  She smiles at me. My teeth grind together and I feel my jaw muscle ratchet and tighten so hard I hear it pop in my ear. I drop my eyes and stare at my hands, willing them still.

  “Well, Dr. Holmes, Mister Holmes. How to begin?”

  I slam my fist on the table. “It is not mine.”

  My father’s eyes roll, and he exhales, protruding his bottom lip. His stare conveys, yes, thanks for that bit of self-control.

  “Henry attests the child is not his, sir. My son has many faults, but lying is not one of them.”

  Our eyes meet. I nod. Grateful. He does believe me.

  “Well, I’m afraid it’s her word against yours, my boy.”

  “If you will not marry her, I’ll be forced to let you go, son. The museum can ill afford such scandal. We depend on benefactors for donations. You understand.”

  My insides tremble. I bite back a scream. What is to be done? I cannot marry her. Perpetual eunuch would be more tolerable.

  My gut somersaults in fear. Leaving Bella. I had almost gained her full trust. I suppress the rage and hear a ringing in my ear.

  Steady, man. Priscilla rises, making a show as if her barely-there bulge hinders her motion. Her bottom lip juts out. Tears trickle down her face. I wonder if she’s pinched herself. What a perfect actress. She belongs with Arabella’s mother.

  Her bottom lip trembles. “Henry? How can you be so cruel? Our coupling was…magical.”

  “Magical?” I roar. “If it was, you must have wholly enchanted me. As I have no memory of it!”

  Earnest’s face is puce with mortification.

  Priscilla reaches me, her fingers playing in my hair. I bite down on my lip and taste the blood.

  “Priscilla, my dear. Would you please give us a moment alone?”

  Her father is aghast at her public affection.

  Priscilla’s eyes narrow and I almost hear the feline howl building behind those pouty lips.

  “Only a moment, my dear.”

  She curtseys and huffs into the neighboring parlor.

  Dr. Earnest’s bushy white brows waggle like fishing lures above his deep set eyes. “I must say Dr. Watson, I’m very much disappointed. I was so certain of your family’s tradition of honor—”

  “Please, stay your tongue doctor.” Red tints father’s face from his neckline to his hairline. “I believe Henry.”

  “What?” Earnest roars.

  Bang!

  A gunshot. Then something large crashes in the parlor.

  We all rush to the door. I see Father’s hand readjust on his walking stick.

  I fling open the door and stop short. My jaw drops.

  “No, my pet! I vill not have it!”

  A young man with dark, curly hair grips Priscilla’s shoulders, a pistol hanging half-clutched in his fingers.

  “Pierre. What are you doing?” Earnest bellows. “What is the meaning of this? Unhand my daughter!”

  The handsome man is dressed in stable gear. A hand to their elaborate coach house?

  His finger juts toward her belly. “Ze child is mine. I will not have zis…person, touching her. Raising my child. I will not stand for it.”

  Priscilla’s eyes roll back in her head, and father lunges to catch her, easing her down to the floor.

  I wonder if she’s feigning. I squeeze my fists together, quivering with rage.

  Dr. Earnest’s face darkens from pink to purple, and he extracts a handkerchief to pat his forehead. His eyes dart back and forth from Pricilla to me like a metronome.

  For a moment, I fear he too, will collapse. But he blinks rapidly, clearing his throat.

  Relief weakens my legs and I step forward so not to give way. I spread my fingers on the doorframe, leaning on it for support.

  “Dr. Watson, is she well?” Earnest and Pierre inquire at the same time. />
  “Just a fainting spell. She will be fine.”

  Earnest whirls on the young man, who, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. “I will deal with you later.”

  Earnest turns back with a sheepish nod. “I expect you and Henry are discrete men.”

  My father stands. “Of the utmost.”

  “Henry. You shouldn’t delay in getting back to the ship.” He stares around the room, trying to skip over Pierre. “The museum recently acquired an automobile. Feel free to drive it back to the steamer and collect your thoughts. For your trouble.”

  ###

  Bella

  I arrange the wig on my head and chance a glance behind me. The Philadelphia night is foul and my eyes water as I approach the sausage plant.

  I finger the letter. I read it directly after securing lodging after my scuffle with Stygian.

  It was brief and scribbled in a masculine hand.

  I think I found something. I heard you’re in town. Who didn’t hear about the other night? Come when you can, scrapper.

  Yours,

  Jimmy

  Jimmy has been a most useful spy these past few months, keeping me abreast of the comings and goings of the plant. I think of Henry’s teasing, how he is sweet on me…

  And banish the thought. No time for pain for even Henry at this moment.

  The soot-covered façade somehow makes the building look old and sad. Thunder rumbles overhead and the first drops of rain strike the bowler hat I’ve donned.

  I hurry to the side entrance and rap twice.

  I struggle to stay still. To try to appear non-descript, but my heart is racing and sweat trickles down my nape from beneath the wig. I glance up and down the dirty alleyway.

  Hurry, Jimmy.

  Finally, his face appears through the filthy pane.

  He looks past me, up and down the side street as well. “Come inside.”

  He walks to the door which leads into the factory and locks it. The room has an undefinable smell; acrid but somehow appetizing. My stomach lurches uneasily.

  “What is it, Jim? I am to depart in just a few hours’ time?”

  “Well, I have two things—but I must admit our arrangement doesn’t seem fair. I mean a few coins for all my trouble?”