“Yes,” Topaz agreed. At the name “Undertaker” Romney had twitched, but he didn’t speak.
“They had corpses in the cellar—a number of them. I never learned from whence they were procured.” Rose glanced at Pat again. “But Patrick has a theory.”
Pat stirred, with a very faint pop from the boiler in his thorax. “Money can accomplish much, and, Miss Topaz, your father has a great deal of money. I believe there are agencies in this city that can be bribed—back-street clinics, those that care for the indigent, even the agents over at Potter’s Field.”
“The cemetery?” Topaz couldn’t help but question.
“I suspect some of the corpses, excluding that Miss Rose currently inhabits, which met its end by murder there in the cellar, were procured just before they were supposed to go into the ground.”
“But,” Topaz objected, “she would be known, if she lived in Buffalo. She can hardly be expected to walk around this city without risk of her next of kin seeing her.”
“I was never intended to ‘walk around this city,’ Miss Hathor. The procedure merely took place here because this is Frederick Hathor’s location, as well as where the Undertaker has set up shop. My late husband, who purchased the service from them, would have taken me back to Philadelphia.” She lifted her chin. “Where he would have continued to abuse me.”
“What about the others?” Topaz questioned.
“The procedure has only been successful three times before my transfer, according to what I was able to overhear. Those three survivors were sent out of the area. Your father charges an enormous amount of money—enough, I believe, to let him procure corpses both locally and from farther afield—including across the river in Canada.”
“How?” Romney spoke unexpectedly. “How does the procedure work? Do you remember that, Miss Rose?”
She gave him a bitter smile. “I told you, I recall everything. I only wish I didn’t. Frederick Hathor traps the spirit, and the Undertaker prepares the flesh host—that’s what he calls it.” She looked down at herself. “A flesh host.”
She lifted her gaze back to Romney. “He has an English accent, like yours.”
“I was sent after him from England in an effort to forestall his activities. I’m beginning to remember it all now.”
“He used electrodes,” Rose said, and Romney flinched again. “Powered by a steam plant there in the cellar. The current has to be just right—failure to adjust it properly accounted for all his spoiled experiments, from what he said. He applies the electrodes to the pulse points and ‘jump starts’ the body. When it achieves animation, Hathor forces the spirit inside.”
Again she looked at Topaz. “I fought, and fought hard—you cannot imagine how hard. As I say, your father is a brutal man. He gave me no quarter. Once he had me imprisoned here, other laws came into effect. There is a tenacity between spirit and flesh—even foreign flesh, so it seems.”
“I know how merciless Clifford can be,” Romney said softly. “Those burns and bruises I see on you—they’re the effect of the procedure?”
“Yes.” She paled visibly. “As I say, it was incredibly painful, excruciating. But, unfortunately, successful.”
Pat said, “If he thinks he has the formula right, he will use the procedure again. We cannot allow that.”
“And,” Romney put in, “he will stop at nothing to find Rose before the wrong person sees her or she tells someone who she is.”
“Like us.” Pat grimaced—his version of a smile. “As you might expect, members of the Irish Squad are interested in this, and they can be discreet. They are also skilled at the art of investigation. I have set certain members to making inquiries around the city. The house on Humboldt Parkway will be watched, as well as the place where you were confined, Mr. Marsh.”
“Gideon. The name is actually Romney Gideon.”
Pat inclined his head. “Glad to meet you.”
“Happy to be working with you,” Romney returned.
Topaz drew a breath. “Do you think we can defeat them?”
“I do,” Pat said. “But in order to spare Miss Rose, we will have to get them dead to rights, so to say. And you, Miss Topaz, will need to prove a brave defender. Because even now your father is busy searching this city—with the power of his mind.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The house to which Pat Kelly led them on Connecticut Street looked no different from its neighbors—tall, narrow, and nondescript. But Pat said it was owned by a member of the Irish Squad, one of his fellow automatons, and it made as safe a berth as he could currently find. He dared no longer leave them at the Kilters’ for fear of bringing danger to those he loved.
Could an automaton love? Romney asked himself that question even as he eyed the man who answered Kelly’s knock, and followed him inside. It seemed evident Kelly could experience friendship, loyalty, and protectiveness. Was love so impossible?
Their host ushered them into a sparsely furnished parlor and turned to face them. Romney examined him closely, looking for signs that he was not, in fact, human.
He had to search hard. The two mad geniuses who created the units that had eventually become the Irish Squad had done their work well and chosen only prime stock with which to work.
This specimen, whom Pat introduced as Michael O’Riley, possessed a strapping frame constructed, as Rom very well knew, of steel overlaid with a skin and scalp that had once belonged to an Irishman. In this case the skin bore a profusion of freckles. The hair—sandy blond—curled, and the eyes were blue.
“Pleased to meet you, Officer O’Riley.” Rom put out his hand. “Thank you for offering us your hospitality.”
O’Riley accepted his palm and shook it almost gingerly. He fixed his gaze on Greta, posed at Topaz’s side. Little Mrs. Kilter had insisted Topaz take the hound with her, and when she’d consulted her husband, James, he’d agreed.
“She’s chosen you,” he told Topaz. “For once in her life she should have the right to choose.”
Now O’Riley’s eyes brightened, though his expression did not change. “You have a dog.”
Rom said, “I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Not at all. I like dogs.”
“Is Sapphire here?” Topaz interrupted, not very politely. Rom could tell how tightly she was wound, could feel her fear and self-doubt—all in a woman who did not suffer uncertainty easily.
“Yes,” Pat answered. “I persuaded your brother to move lodgings over here from Pennsylvania Street, a location I did not believe safe.”
O’Riley looked at him. “From what you say, Pat, no location is safe. But this will do for the time. Miss Hathor, your brother is upstairs. His mate remains in hospital but is due to be released this afternoon.”
Topaz nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate all you’re doing for us.”
“I consider what your father and this ‘Undertaker’ are attempting to be an abomination,” O’Riley said. “They must be stopped.”
Rom looked at Kelly. “What about Rose?”
“I shall house her elsewhere.” Pat gestured at O’Riley. “We debated the wisdom of keeping you all together and decided it would make it too easy for Hathor to home in. It is risky enough now, but I knew, Miss Topaz, you would wish to speak with your brother. And I would not presume”—he paused and emitted his grinding laugh—“to separate you from Mr. Gideon.”
“Quite right.” Rom drew Topaz closer to him. Greta shot him a look from her yellow-hazel eyes but tolerated the contact.
“What happens next?” Topaz asked.
“You try to persuade your brother to join us in our fight.”
“I’m the last person he’ll want to see.”
“And the only one who can persuade him. You say that, like you, he inherited some of your father’s talent?”
“Yes.”
“I believe you will need to join forces if we are to succeed. Your father even now scours the city for Rose and for you. He uses both his inner sense and the automat
ons from his household. Before he finds you or Rose, we must procure enough evidence to warrant an arrest. Another clandestine raid will be launched on the place you call Grayson, where Mr. Gideon was imprisoned. Getting into your father’s cellar will be far more difficult, but we are hoping while his minions are otherwise engaged, and your father is occupied by you, we can seize an opportunity.”
“Occupied by me,” Topaz repeated, stunned.
“Aye,” O’Riley rejoined. “It’s our only option.”
Rom looked at Kelly. “How do you intend to protect Rose?”
Kelly grimaced. “I have a method in mind. A pure figure of speech, you understand, as in fact I have no mind.”
Both automatons laughed softly in appreciation of this dark humor.
Kelly went on. “Best you do not know my intentions—that way the knowledge cannot be wrested from you.”
Topaz exchanged incredulous looks with Romney. “How am I to shield her if I don’t know where she is?”
“Concentrate on shielding your brother, Mr. Gideon, and yourself, if you can spare the energy.”
“Very well, Pat. Officer O’Riley, I’d appreciate it if you’d take me to my brother now.”
Romney caught her hands. “Best go without me. I’m the last person he’ll want to see.”
“No.” She swallowed convulsively. “I am.”
“Upstairs,” O’Riley told her, and crooked a sandy brow.
“Take Greta,” Rom said. “I don’t think you’ll get away without her.”
****
The narrow staircase creaked as Topaz followed the big automaton to the second floor. Her heart seemed to thud in time with their footsteps.
This is what you get, my girl, for your arrogance. For priding yourself on being fearless, for thinking you could take on all comers.
She should have stipulated that “all comers” did not include fellow Hathors. Persuading Sapphire—an angry Sapphire, no less—to work with her was one thing. It paled beside the prospect of facing her father down.
I can’t do this, she thought, even as they paused in front of a door and O’Riley knocked. But for Rom’s sake, I must.
The door swung open, and Sapphire’s emotions came out in a psychic blast. Greta cowered against Topaz’s side.
Sapphire looked like a wild man. His dark eyes burned, his hair—for once—was messy, and he had completely lost his usual savoir faire. When his gaze found Topaz, its heat increased by several degrees.
“What are you doing here? I was told this was a safe house.”
O’Riley answered, “Mr. Hathor, your sister wishes to speak with you. I will leave you alone.”
He beat a hasty retreat. Topaz wished she could follow.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Sapphire snapped, and tried to shut the door.
Greta whimpered, and Sapphire’s gaze flew to her. “Since when do you have a dog?”
“She belongs to a friend of Pat’s, but she’s attached herself to me. I can’t imagine why.”
“Neither can I. But if the animal likes you, I suppose you can’t be completely unredeemable. Come in.”
The room, like the parlor below, had been furnished with only the most basic necessities. Dim afternoon light bled through the window, promising more snow. It made a grim refuge—or prison.
“Sapph,” Topaz attempted to apologize once again, “I’m so sorry about the baby—”
The corners of his mouth quivered and turned down. He began to pace the limited space between the bed and the window, his expression distracted.
“I think I’m going mad. I never expected any of this, never thought I’d fall in love, didn’t imagine I’d be capable of it. We shouldn’t be able to love, Topaz—not given the way we’ve been raised. But here I am, sick with love over a little maid, of all people. One who shouldn’t mean a thing to me.”
Topaz sucked in a breath and perched on the edge of the bed, out of Sapphire’s way. Greta made herself small and pressed to Topaz’s knees.
“You knew her before, so Carly said—in a past life.”
Sapphire shot her a close look. “I don’t suppose you believe in that kind of thing.”
“Who am I to believe or disbelieve? I’ve been forced to accept a lot these past days.”
He stopped pacing long enough to glare at her. “All I know is, I need to be with her—need, more than want.”
That, Topaz did understand. “Yes,” she murmured.
He tossed his hands in the air. “As for the child—” His throat spasmed, and he fought past the emotion. “I never wanted children. Holy hell! The very notion of me, of anyone in our household, raising a child! Now I’m breaking my heart over the loss of this one.”
“Sapph, I did what I thought best by getting Carlotta out of there. Once I discovered what’s going on—you have no idea.”
“Oh, but I have.” He thrust his fingers through his dark hair, mussing it further. “I knew something was afoot even before I procured that key for you. I should have taken Carly away then. I knew what would happen once Father discovered the key had gone missing.” He shot Topaz another desperate look. “And I had a long talk with our host after I got here. He’s an automaton, did you know that? Just like your friend Kelly. At first I couldn’t even tell. Know why?”
“Why?” Topaz returned.
Sapphire leaned toward her. “Because I could feel his spirit. He has a spirit, Sis—just like you and I. It’s different, maybe, but it’s there.”
Gravely, Topaz said, “I’m beginning to learn everything has spirit—everything alive, that is. In fact, it’s not so much that people have spirits as that spirits have bodies, like houses. And”—she lowered her voice—“as Father must long have known, those houses can be changed.”
Sapphire blinked at her. Greta whined, an eerie sound in the quiet room.
“And when the house is changed without permission of the resident spirit,” she concluded, “that’s a frightful sin. I won’t ask you to forgive me, Sapph—only help us stop Father and Clifford. Please.”
Doubt flickered in his dark eyes. “You think even the two of us together can defeat Frederick Hathor?”
“I don’t know. But I’m willing to fight—to try.”
For a moment more he contemplated her. She felt his spirit reach out and touch hers—a force full of his restless energy, his undulating darkness, much more powerful than she could have imagined.
“Very well, then,” he said at last. “But I warn you—if it comes down to it, I’ll protect Carly above all others.”
Just as Topaz would protect Rom. “I understand,” she told him. “Do we have a deal?”
“Yes, and may all the gods have mercy on us.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“I hope Pat Kelly knows what he’s doing,” Topaz fretted. She shivered and pressed closer to Rom in the dark. Greta, as Rom well knew, already lay sprawled across Topaz’s lap. At least the big animal gave off some warmth. “I mean,” Topaz breathed in Rom’s ear, “a cemetery—really?”
“Pat Kelly has very decided notions,” Rom agreed. Admittedly the scheme would be more comfortable accomplished in July rather than January. “He seems to feel hiding us here at Forest Lawn amid a horde of other spirits will confound your father.” He hesitated and added, “Can you feel them?”
“Yes.” She shifted still more uneasily. “And I can feel Sapphire, all the way from the other side of the graveyard. The spirits—those that aren’t acquiescent—seem to be flocking to him.”
“Acquiescent?” Rom repeated, though he didn’t actually want to know what she meant.
“Most of the bodies here are empty, the spirits long flown. The newer graves have spirits hanging around them—some quiet and content with the state of things, some confused and searching. Those are the ones heading for Sapphire.”
“None for you?”
“Some for me too.” She shivered again, a bone-deep shudder this time. “I hate all this. Talk to me, distract me. Te
ll me what you’ve remembered about yourself.”
He drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her, to lend warmth. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“Well, then, I’ll tell you all I remember so far. I was born in Romney Marsh, East Sussex. My family extends back to the first settlers who came from Denmark in ancient times.”
She turned her head in an effort to see his face. “Beowulf-ancient?”
“Yes. Fancy you knowing about Beowulf.”
“My father procured tutors for us. So—perhaps pursuing monsters is in your blood.”
He laughed almost silently. “Perhaps.”
“Go on.”
“Since early days, those of my blood have been involved somehow with the Crown—stewards to the reigning monarch or some such thing. When the time came I took service with Victoria and got assigned to the most difficult and nebulous cases. The Undertaker’s vile operations came to our attention, and I was told to investigate.”
“So Clifford has always known who you are, that you were after him.”
“Yes. When he took flight from England, I followed him across the Atlantic to New York City and then to the Niagara Frontier. That’s where things became murky. I don’t remember how he captured me. I do remember a bit of being taken to Grayson. I fought and struggled, ultimately to no avail.”
“His henchmen—how many were there? Who were they?”
“Now I think on it, I believe they were all mechanicals except for Cecil Crittendon, the man who runs Grayson. Hard to tell how many, given my state of mind.”
“I wonder if they were my father’s mechanicals—if he’s been involved from the first.”
“Oh, he’s been involved.” Rom’s voice became distant even to his ears. “Now that I think on it, I believe he was there at times during my questioning, though he was careful not to let me see him.”
Topaz moved in violent protest. “During the torture, you mean.” When Rom didn’t speak, she went on, “I felt some of what was done to you there at the end. It was terrible, obviously enough to fracture you, split body from spirit.”
“And I came to you.”
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