Sheer Madness

by Laura Strickland

  “You asked me to act as receptionist for those who come to you for spiritual guidance, not—not be involved in your experiments. I think I would find that much more interesting.”

  “Yes?” Still steering her toward the grand staircase, he cocked his head. “That would require you to work with young Danson.”

  “I’ve not met him.” Topaz remembered how Sapphire had described the man: nouveau riche. But this city was filled with the newly prosperous—and the devastatingly poor. For her part, Topaz knew which she preferred.

  But such thoughts wouldn’t get her into the cellar.

  Her father went on, with some emphasis. “It would also require absolute confidentiality on your part.” He laid his finger against the side of his nose. “You couldn’t breathe a word of what Danson and I share to anyone—including your mother or brother.”

  That distracted Topaz for an instant. What could her father possibly be about that he wouldn’t share with his wife? And which required corpses…

  “You can certainly rely on my discretion.” Her father didn’t know half of what she got up to and never would. And she would readily sell her conscience for Romney Marsh’s sake.

  She paused at the foot of the stairs and considered that fact. She loved her brother and the other members of her family—even this man at her side in a way too complex for her to unravel. She also cared deeply for certain members of her community—Patrick Kelly included. But she couldn’t say she would abandon her principles for any one of them.

  So how could she in just a few short days bond with Romney Marsh to such a deeper extent? A man she had never actually met, had never seen more clearly than as a hazy, transparent image hanging in the air. But what an image! And what a spirit he had that whispered to her, claimed her, set up a level of need she fully realized only now that he was gone.

  She looked her father in the eye. “I would very much like to be part of this new project.”

  “Then I will introduce you to Danson. He will, of course, have to agree about including you.”

  “Of course.”

  Frederick smiled. “He will be here this afternoon, Daughter. You can meet him then.”

  ****

  Romney. Romney Marsh.

  The call came like lightning arcing through water, spearing the black void into which Romney had dispersed. Very like droplets of water in a vast sea, the particles of energy from which he was composed had nearly been assimilated by the darkness.

  But now desire pulled at them, aroused and drew them together. Someone called him. He had a reason to be.

  Separate pricks of light, well-scattered, moved in the blackness of oblivion, and the nothingness abruptly became the cellar of Frederick Hathor’s mansion. One bit of energy joined another, gathering strength as they combined. Not destroyed, he existed yet.

  He existed for her.

  A bright picture flooded his consciousness: a woman armed with a stiletto fighting naked in the cold breeze from an open window. Long black hair swirled about her and brushed against her generous white curves; strength commanded her every line and danger glittered in amber eyes, set aslant in her face.

  Topaz.

  Recalling her, longing consumed him. He remembered little of his identity or how he’d come here, scattered. Dead. Not dead.

  But he knew he needed to be with her, drawn as irresistibly as iron to a lodestone.

  He became aware suddenly that other spirits accompanied him here—a horde of them. He could feel their emotions: grief and fear, anxiety, eagerness and longing that matched his own. They all wanted something, had all—like him—been drawn to this place. Now some could not get away again.

  Could he? Where was “away”? Where did he belong, save with Topaz? How could he escape and return to her?

  Determined for it, he gathered himself, strove to answer her call. But he had barely condensed before a greater call descended upon him. With a rush of horror and dismay he recognized it.

  Not dead, no: and that being so, he had still a connection to his body. That drew him now with irresistible force. He had no power to resist and, gathered into a glowing net of energy, his spirit flew abruptly backward, like water down a chute, until he found himself sailing, sailing, sailing to a place he did not want to be.

  With a perceptible pop he reentered his body, and pain descended on him like a hammer.

  He opened his eyes and began to scream.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I need to get into the cellar.”

  Topaz burst into her brother’s room soon after first light and delivered the words without preamble. Outside, a combination of sleet and snow hissed down. She saw that Sapphire had drawn his drapes against the weather and the room lay steeped in gloom.

  She located Sapphire still abed, snuggled beneath his velvet coverlet, his dark hair mussed on the pillow.

  “Do you never knock?” he greeted her in complaint.

  “I have no time for niceties—this is important.”

  “Well, for God’s sake come in and shut the door.”

  Topaz frowned and complied. As she stepped in, her eye caught movement on the pillow beside her brother’s: a small, fair head as mussed as his. His companion ducked down quickly, pulling the cover over her head, but Topaz didn’t need to see her in order to guess her identity.

  Carlotta, the little maid to whom Sapphire had taken such an unfortunate fancy.

  Her mission momentarily forgotten, Topaz gestured wildly. “Are you mad? Do you want to get her in trouble? You know Mother will dismiss her at once if she finds out.”

  “She won’t find out. I trust you.”

  “What if somebody other than I had come walking in, say another servant?”

  “Everyone else knocks, including the servants.” Sapphire stretched luxuriantly, displaying absolutely no concern. “The servants probably know anyway; they know everything. Isn’t that right, my dove?”

  Carlotta’s tumbled head reappeared, cheeks flushed with either embarrassment or the warmth beneath the covers. She gave Topaz an uncertain look.

  “Sorry, miss. I’d get up, miss, but I haven’t any clothes.”

  “Never mind, stay where you are.” A sudden thought made Topaz ask, “Is it true what he says? Do the servants here know everything? Do you know how to get into the cellar?”

  “Can’t be done.” Sapphire answered before Carlotta could. “So far as I know, Father has the only key.”

  “I am aware of that. Where does he keep it?”

  Sapphire shrugged. “Close to him, I should imagine. On his person during the day.”

  “And at night?”

  “I’d guess in his study. Carly, do you know?”

  Carlotta shook her head. She truly was a pretty little thing, Topaz thought—especially out of her maid’s uniform. Delicately boned, she proved that Sapphire ascribed to his father’s taste in beauty. Carlotta looked much as their mother had when young—Topaz had seen her portrait—only Dahlia had rich brown hair instead of blonde.

  “We are not allowed to clean the master’s study. Only the steam units go in there—just one or two of them.”

  “And the cellar? Who cleans there?”

  “No one, miss. At least none of us does. Those same two steamies are allowed.”

  Topaz wondered if she might successfully question steamies. Any in which her father placed trust would be sanctioned against speaking.

  “What’s so important about the cellar?” Sapphire inquired.

  Topaz bent and picked up Carlotta’s gray uniform from the floor. “Here, put this on and go about your duties before you get in trouble.”

  They waited while the girl dressed, Topaz with her gaze firmly turned away, Sapphire watching lazily, his eyes half narrowed.

  As soon as the maid slipped out of the room, Topaz hissed, “Are you really that selfish, Sapphire?”

  “Yes, entirely. You should know that about me by now.”

  Annoyed, Topaz perched on the foot of his bed. “
Can you spare no thought for her?”

  “I assure you I spare her plenty of thought, sister—near round the clock.”

  “Are you determined to ruin her?”

  “That had not—for all your protestations—crossed my mind.”

  “Well, it should. Mother will go all proper if she discovers this and toss the girl out on her ear. You know and I know what often happens to young girls dismissed from service.”

  “They go astray. But as you seem to see it, Carly’s already gone astray here in my bed.”

  “That won’t save her on the streets.” All too many of the streetwalkers whom Topaz schooled in self-defense had started out in service. A maid dismissed without a reference stood little chance of getting taken on elsewhere; situations weren’t plentiful, with all the steamies about. Mechanicals didn’t demand so much as a pittance in salary and never needed sleep. Indeed, those in Frederick Hathor’s house shut down merely to conserve energy.

  “Do you truly think I’d see her come to harm?” Sapphire’s dark eyes flashed.

  “I don’t know, do I? What if she comes up carrying your child?”

  “Do you suppose I’d abandon her even then?”

  “It happens, even when men say they care.”

  Sapphire pushed himself up in the bed, revealing a well-muscled, naked torso. “And you want me to sit here discussing my deepest feelings?”

  “No, I want you to give Carlotta up before she pays the price for this liaison.”

  Sapphire froze for a moment, a curious look coming to his face. Then he said, “You know, Topaz, I don’t think I can. I’ve been with a lot of women. They’re something of a habit with me.”

  “Yes?”

  “Yes. But Carlotta puts them all in the shade and relegates the habit to oblivion. If they were a habit—well, she’s an addiction. I simply can’t resist the taste of her on my tongue. I don’t suppose you’d understand.”

  “I might.” Topaz suspected if she ever once tasted Romney Marsh—the real Romney Marsh—she would never free herself from wanting him.

  She wanted him now, damn it.

  “Why Carlotta, of all women?”

  “Cursed if I know.”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  Sapphire twitched beneath his blankets. “What’s love? I doubt if you, I, or any of the Hathors know.”

  “Father loves Mother.”

  Sapphire gave a dark laugh. “Is that what you call it? He wraps her in cotton wool and treats her as if she’s brainless. The woman hasn’t made a decision in years. A fine example to set before us. And effective. Ruby’s marriage is a farce, and as for Pearl—she’s in love with her husband’s money, nothing more.”

  “So what do you feel for Carlotta?”

  “Desire, as I’ve said. A surprising amount of tenderness. If she—as you so delicately put it—came up carrying my child, I’d stand by her.”

  “Marriage, you mean?”

  He shrugged again. “Why not?”

  “If you want Mother to flip her wig. To say nothing of Father.”

  “Yes well, sister, I care little for what they think. And if you’re talking about the class difference—”

  “I’m not, but they will.”

  “I care nothing for that either.”

  “Father will cut you off.”

  “Money, you mean? Let him. It’s dirty money; you know that, don’t you?”

  Topaz pointed out with a touch of irony, “It allows you to live comfortably, sleep till noon, and dabble in all your special interests. Marry your little Carlotta and you’ll have to find—and keep—a job.”

  Sapphire sat up in one swift movement, his expression suddenly serious. “You have no idea of what I’m capable. I’m this close to leaving here already, losing myself somewhere on the west side, and never resurfacing.”

  “You wouldn’t do that. You won’t leave me here alone.”

  “Come with me. There’s enough gypsy in our blood to let us survive anywhere. And the smell of corruption is starting to taint my soul.”

  Topaz leaned closer. “Do you have any idea what Father and Danson Clifford are up to in the cellar?” Sometimes Sapphire just knew things as if he had some occult sense.

  “Why are you so interested in the cellar all of a sudden?”

  Topaz lowered her voice. “You remember that spirit I thought was in my room?”

  “The stray? Yes.”

  “He wasn’t a stray. And I—” Topaz hesitated. “I connected with him on a significant level. But last night he went into the cellar and…I’ve lost him.”

  Sapphire began to laugh, low and wicked. “Regular men not good enough for you, sister? You have to choose those like Kelly and disembodied spirits?”

  “This is serious. I want him back, Sapphire. I need him.”

  “Ah. The way I need Carly?”

  “I don’t know, do I? Maybe. Will you help me?”

  “Get into the cellar? Pointless. If he were there, he’d be able to come out again.”

  “Unless Father and Clifford have some contraption there, some device for trapping spirits. What if they’re experimenting with capturing the spirits of the departed at the moment of death or something? Sapphire, there are corpses down there.”

  Sapphire did not appear as surprised as Topaz felt he should. “Yes? How do you know?”

  “Romney told me.”

  “Romney! Your spirit?” Sapphire considered it. “Can you communicate with him?”

  “Not now. I have to find him, Sapph—free him, get him back.”

  “I have to say I’ve never known you to act like this. Have you actually seen him?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Clearly?”

  “I can see him and see through him—I know it sounds crazy.”

  “Good-looking fellow, is he? Your usual type?”

  “I don’t have a type.”

  “You most certainly have: fair-haired, not overly tall, blue eyes, and classic features.”

  Topaz squirmed uncomfortably. “I can’t tell what color his eyes are.” She knew there was nothing typical about her attraction to Romney. “None of that matters. Will you or will you not help me?”

  “How can I possibly help?”

  “Make an excuse to get into Father’s study. Say you’re looking for a book or something, and while you’re there you can search for the key.”

  “A book? Me?”

  “I know you read. Why do you insist on playing the dilettante?”

  “We all play at something, Topaz—even you with your stiletto and your highly honed fighting skills.” He sat back and examined her coolly. “What will you give me if I help you?”

  “My undying love?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “We’ve already established the love of a Hathor isn’t worth much.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Your silence where Carly’s concerned, for a start. And a little less criticism of our relationship.”

  “That’s two things.”

  “Your silence, then.”

  “Agreed. You’ll search for the key tonight?”

  “I will. But let me know if your straying spirit comes back to you. I wouldn’t like to be caught in the act.”

  “Good. And meanwhile I’ve told Father I’m interested in working with him on his latest project.”

  Sapphire’s brows soared. “The one that involves the corpses? He’s been trying to get you on side for years. You truly must be enamored, to agree now.”

  “I’m supposed to meet his partner this afternoon.” Topaz laid her hand on Sapphire’s arm. “Sapph, you really don’t know what they’re up to?”

  “Sister, I wouldn’t even like to guess.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Danson, I would like you to meet my daughter, Topaz. Topaz, this is Danson Clifford.”

  Topaz lifted her gaze to the face of the man opposite and froze in surprise. She didn’t know what she’d expected of her father’s new assoc
iate: not this.

  Unmarried, her mother had said of him, and extremely wealthy. She’d mentioned nothing about his appearance, and Topaz could see why. If she had to choose a word to describe Danson Clifford, it would be “nondescript.”

  Neither tall nor short, neither particularly well nor poorly dressed; he didn’t look like a man with money, though she knew her father wouldn’t associate with him if he weren’t.

  Mousy brown hair lay limp around a dome-shaped skull. A pale complexion argued he might well spend a lot of time in cellars. Eyes of a watery gray peered through wire-rimmed spectacles that perched on a thin, sharp nose. What nature had added to the nose she’d subtracted from the chin, the weakness of which contrasted with a prominent Adam’s apple.

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hathor.”

  A second shock passed through Topaz; this one tingled. His voice, very soft and cultured, bore a now-familiar accent.

  “You’re from England,” she said in surprise. The second time in mere days she’d encountered such an accent. What were the odds?

  “Yes. Like so many others, I’ve decided to avail myself of the opportunities offered by this brave, new world.”

  “From what part of England do you hail, Mr. Clifford?”

  “East Anglia—the Fens. Most people on this side of the pond have not heard of it.”

  He spoke in a tone so hushed Topaz had to lean close to hear. When she did she caught a hint of his scent, an odd combination of mustiness and decay. A slow shiver traveled up her spine, and she drew back again.

  Her father spoke. “Topaz has expressed an interest in assisting us with our new project, Danson. She has suitable talents—admittedly undeveloped as yet—and might prove useful, if you have no objections.”

  “To your daughter? How could I object?” Danson smiled, revealing slightly pointed teeth.

  He looks like a rabid animal, Topaz thought. Or a hare beset by some other strange disease.

  “Keep it in the family, eh?” Danson went on. “Family members never betray secrets.”

  “Secrets?” Topaz echoed. “I wish you would tell me, Mr. Clifford, just what this new project entails. My father has hinted at just enough to keep me intrigued.”

  “My daughter, like all my children, becomes bored easily.”