by C. J. Archer
Theo clapped him on the shoulder, bowed again to me, then strolled off. George and I returned to the carriage and waited.
A while later, Lady Preston and Adelaide climbed in alongside us. The elder sat down, her blue eyes hard and flat, her fingers rigid around the stem of her parasol.
It was Adelaide who spoke, however, her voice rising with excitement. “You will never believe what we learned about Mrs. White.”
CHAPTER 9
“Do not leave us in suspense!” I cried. “What did you learn?”
Adelaide’s face was flushed, her eyes shining as if in a fever. “Mrs. White was a nurse.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I didn’t know the particulars of how the person speaking the curse was being brought back to life, but I did know it was possible for someone with the right medical training to do it.
“She was a nurse at St. Thomas’s Hospital before she married. That’s one of the main reasons Lady Montgomery hired her. One of her girls is sickly, you see, and having a trained nurse in the house eases her mind.”
“Good lord.” George rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully.
“Her guilt is beyond doubt.” The quiet steel in Lady Preston’s voice drew our attention more than a shout would. The coldness in her eyes made me shiver.
“Agreed,” said George. “Come, Emily, let’s confront her.”
“No!” Adelaide grabbed his hand and he sat back on the seat, looking as dazed as if she’d slapped him. “She has asked for the afternoon off. I think you should wait and follow her when she leaves.”
“You’re right.” George petted her hand. “A very clever suggestion.”
“Mrs. White is not acting alone,” Lady Preston said. She did not seem to notice that George and Adelaide were still touching. Her hard gaze locked with mine. “Follow her and find out who her accomplice is. Stop them before they can do more harm to my son.”
“I will. I promise you, Lady Preston, I will not let them succeed.” If only I felt as confident as I sounded.
She blinked rapidly and her gaze softened. “I know you will, Miss Chambers. You’ve been very good to us, and to my boy.”
Lady Preston and Adelaide alighted from the coach and bid us farewell. George watched them go until they were out of sight.
Another hour passed before Mrs. White left number twelve Grosvenor Street. She walked to Oxford Street then hailed a passing omnibus that swerved out of the traffic to collect her. We followed in the carriage, stopping well back every time the omnibus let passengers off. It traveled through the suburbs at a fast clip and by the time Mrs. White finally stepped off, it was obvious she was heading to Leviticus Price’s house.
“I’m sorry, George, but it does seem like he’s involved after all.”
“Perhaps,” he said on a sigh, “but I still think Blunt is very much involved too.” He got out of the carriage and offered his hand to assist me down the step.
“As do I.”
We followed her to Price’s house, but turned our backs when the door opened, so that we would not be seen.
“Now what?” George asked. “Should we knock first or simply burst in?”
“Unless you want to break down the door, I suggest we knock.”
“Wait a moment.” He returned to the carriage and reappeared a moment later, patting his hip.
“You’ve got a pistol under your jacket?”
“Of course. Do you want the other?”
“No, thank you. I’ll leave the shooting to you. Let’s hope it won’t be necessary.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
We knocked on the front door. It was a long time before the landlady answered it and from her harried expression, she didn’t look very pleased to have visitors. I quickly placed my foot inside so that she could not slam the door in our faces.
“What do you want?” she whispered, thrusting her prominent chin at us.
“Answers,” George said.
“We are busy. Go away.” She spoke with an accent. I’d noticed it before, but this time it seemed more pronounced, as if she’d been attempting to hide it previously but decided against the ruse now.
“We know what you’re doing,” George said.
“I am standing here waiting for you to leave. That is what I am doing.”
I’d had enough. We had not come so far to walk away without answers and I refused to be intimidated. Besides, if we didn’t get answers here and now, we’d be at a dead end.
George seemed to have the same idea. He pulled out his gun.
The landlady rubbed her hands down her apron and the nostrils in her sharp nose flared. She stepped back to let us in.
George insisted on going up first. I followed close behind, turning often to see what the landlady was doing. I didn’t trust her, but she did not attempt anything untoward. At the top of the stairs, George pushed open the door to Price’s parlor.
“They have a gun!” the landlady shouted before we could speak. “I could not stop them.”
“Good lord,” George murmured, taking in the scene in the small parlor.
I gasped and clapped a hand over my mouth as bile burned my throat. Mrs. White stood over the half-naked figure of Blunt, lying on the sofa, what appeared to be a brass syringe in her hand. It was poised to plunge into his bare arm.
“What are you doing?” I cried.
“I think I know,” said George. He aimed the pistol at Mrs. White. “Don’t move.”
“No!” Blunt cried. He tried to sit up but fell back to the sofa. His face was pasty white and glistened with sweat. He was in the grip of opium withdrawal again.
“It’s not what you think,” Mrs. White said. Her hand trembled and the syringe was in danger of stabbing Blunt by accident.
“Put it down slowly,” I said.
She pulled her hand back but did not let go of the syringe.
“What’s in it? What are you injecting into him?”
“It’s a…medicine,” she said through lips stretched into a grim line. “To cure him.”
Price sat on a chair near Blunt’s head. His face was as gray as his long beard and he looked much older than the last time we’d seen him. The hands resting on the arms of the chair were paper thin and as wrinkled as dried prunes. He didn’t speak but watched the proceedings with interest.
“Cure him?” George asked. “What do you mean?”
Mrs. White seemed to be the only one capable of speaking. Or the only one with answers. “We’re going to cure him of his addiction,” she said. “It’s the latest treatment.”
“Don’t shoot her,” Blunt pleaded. He tried to get up again but flopped back into the cushions once more. He breathed heavily, and his face suddenly distorted with pain. He gripped his stomach and moaned. I expected him to throw up at any moment into the bedpan placed on the floor beside him. As awful as the sight was, I didn’t dare look away.
Mrs. White and Price exchanged unreadable glances. Then she pressed the syringe against Blunt’s arm.
“Put it down!” I shouted, taking a step forward.
Her fingers tightened around the brass cylinder. Blunt squeezed his eyes shut. His lips turned whiter and his breaths came hard and fast, puffing out his cheeks.
She wasn’t going to stop.
I was paralyzed, unsure if lunging at her would make the situation better or worse. In the end, it didn’t matter.
George pulled the trigger.
Mrs. White screamed and dropped the syringe. Price lunged for it, but he was too slow and I reached it first.
Blunt clutched his leg and howled like an animal. The sickening sound clawed at my already shredded nerves.
“You shot him!” Mrs. White’s shaking hands tore at Blunt’s blood-stained trouser leg, ripping it to shreds.
“My sofa!” the landlady cried. “You will ruin it!”
Mrs. White worked quickly to staunch the blood flow. She shouted orders at the landlady to fetch clean cloths and bandages. Price merely sat th
ere, watching. The long fingers of one hand slowly stroked his beard. The fingers of his other were wrapped around the chair arm, the knuckles stark against the dark wood grain. He did not look at us but at Blunt.
Beside me, George began to shake. “Will he, uh, be all right?” I gripped his arm, as much to steady myself as him. I wasn’t sure which of us trembled more.
Mrs. White snatched the bandages from the landlady, giving her a glare that would have made me take a step back if I’d been the object of it. The landlady didn’t move but stared at her, her eyes as fathomless as deep, cold lakes.
“Emily…” George whispered. “We should go.”
“We can’t go. We don’t have answers yet.” My grip tightened around his arm. We were so close. I would not let our fear and disgust drive us away empty-handed.
“Can I still have it?” Blunt pleaded with Mrs. White. “Please. Please, can I still have my…my medicine?” He was sobbing like a child denied a toy when all his friends were allowed to play with it.
“Not now,” she said as she efficiently wound the bandage around his leg. “Not when you’re in this state. You’ve lost too much blood. It would be too dangerous.” She glanced at Price then at us. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry.”
Tears streamed down Blunt’s cheeks and spittle foamed at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve ruined everything,” he snarled at us. “Everything!”
“Get out.” Price’s quiet voice cut through Blunt’s wails like a sharp blade.
“What’s in the syringe?” I pressed, ignoring him. “You were going to kill Blunt, weren’t you?”
“I told you,” Mrs. White said. “It was medicine to cure him. I can’t give it to him when he’s like this. Go. Go!”
“You had better do what he says,” the landlady said to us. “Nothing more will happen here. Not now.” She spoke with calm authority, and perhaps it was that which made me see her point more than hysterics could. No one was in any state to answer us and we had at least stopped them.
I took George’s hand and dragged him out of the parlor. I wanted to smuggle out the syringe before anyone remembered it anyway. The landlady followed us downstairs and opened the door. George was still shaking and I gently removed the pistol from his grip as we crossed the threshold. The landlady slammed the door in our faces.
I stared at it for several moments, trying to take in everything that had just happened.
“I can’t believe I did that.” George looked down at his shaking hands. “Can’t believe it.”
“He’ll be all right. You may have even saved him. Saved the entire Otherworld too. I’m not convinced Blunt was about to be cured of his addiction. I think Mrs. White was going to kill him so he could deliver the curse.”
I instructed the driver to go to my house at speed. I put the dueling pistol back in its velvet bed inside the wooden case and took the syringe from the pocket in my skirt folds where I’d slipped it.
“Careful,” George said. “Whatever is in that may have ended Blunt’s life, albeit temporarily. Best if we don’t touch it until we get out of the rocking coach.”
I pocketed the syringe again and drew in a deep breath, the first proper one since entering Price’s house. It didn’t stop my nerves from jangling.
“Those people are despicable,” spat George. “It seems they’re all involved. The whole rotten lot of them.”
I tipped my head back against the wall, dislodging my hat and a few hair pins. “I’m so saddened at Mrs. White’s involvement. She seemed so nice. According to Lucy, Mrs. White was an inspiring teacher.”
“Don’t be disheartened. She must have been terribly upset over her son’s death to go to such great lengths to hurt Beaufort.”
“Revenge,” I muttered. “It can do horrible things to good people.”
“At least we thwarted their plans for a little while. We have their syringe and Blunt is in no condition to be…killed and brought back to life. By the looks of Price, he couldn’t endure such an ordeal either.”
“There is always the landlady and they could get another syringe. Oh, George, what shall we do now?”
George swapped seats and settled beside me. His presence was a comfort and I felt so glad to have him at my side. “At least we know who is involved now. Beaufort’s killer can be brought to justice.”
I shivered. “We must tell Lord and Lady Preston. Perhaps their investigators can work on Blunt and Mrs. White and find enough evidence to bring them to trial. But only after we reverse their curse on the Otherworld. If Lord Preston acts too soon, we’re unlikely to get their co-operation.”
“You think they’ll co-operate now?”
“Perhaps. We need to find something to blackmail them with. Something they want more than revenge on Jacob. And we must find it soon.”
We thought about that for a moment, but neither of us had any suggestions. “I’m not sorry that Blunt is involved,” George said. “He’s a despicable character and deserves whatever he gets. Even the occasional bullet wound.”
“Good lord, George, you’re positively bloodthirsty.”
He suddenly went quite pale and bent over double. His hat tumbled onto the floor and he did not pick it up. “Then why do I want to throw up?” he mumbled into his knees.
I removed my glove and pressed my hand to the back of his neck. He groaned but did not vomit, thank goodness. “Better?” I asked after a moment.
“Much. My apologies, Emily.”
“No need to apologize. It was a rather gruesome sight.”
“I hope they get him to a hospital soon,” he said, straightening.
Blunt had indeed lost a lot of blood by the time we left, but Mrs. White had bound the wound tightly. He should be all right.
“What was Price’s role in all this, do you think?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Difficult to say. He didn’t seem to be participating in the proceedings at all.”
“He looked quite ill, didn’t he?”
George nodded, thoughtful. Neither of us spoke for the remainder of the journey.
***
When we finally arrived at my house, Lucy had luncheon waiting for us. George and I gave Celia and Cara the edited version of the morning’s events. There was no reason to alarm either of them when they could do nothing about it. Celia in particular would be unbearable if she knew a pistol had been fired.
“So it has come to an end?” She eyed me closely, her boiled eggs forgotten. It would seem she didn’t quite believe we had found our villain.
“Almost,” I said. “We’ll report what we know to Lord Preston, but not until after we stop them destroying the Otherworld. As to how we will do that…” I shrugged.
She seemed satisfied with that answer and continued eating. George and Cara ate heartily too, but I merely picked at my eggs and bacon.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Celia said. “We picked up your gown this morning.”
“It’s beautiful,” Cara gushed. “All that satin and lace…I wish I could have a gown like that.”
“One day you will,” I said. “There will be balls aplenty for you when you’re older.”
“You sound positively parental, Emily,” George teased.
“Indeed she does.” Celia smiled at me. “She’s grown up so fast. Soon she shall be married and have children of her own.” She sniffed.
“Good lord, Celia, stop marrying me off.”
“No, I won’t stop. It’s my greatest wish to see you settled. Besides, it may not be as far away as all that. Mr. Hyde is quite taken with you. It’s obvious in the way he looks at you.”
I blushed fiercely and concentrated on my plate to hide my embarrassment.
Cara made a miffed sound through her nose and set her fork down on her plate with a loud clank. When I raised my eyebrows at her she said, “Celia hasn’t seen the way Mr. Beaufort looks at you, but I have.”
“Enough,” Celia said sharply. “Cara, are you finished? If so, you’re free to the leav
e the table. Emily, I suggest you try on your gown in case there are any last minute alterations. It’s too late to take it back to the dressmaker, but I can probably manage. Mr. Culvert, will you excuse us?”
“Of course. I’ll wait in the drawing room. I need to sit quietly and think anyway.”
I had just finished trying on my dress and was making my way into the drawing room to see George when a fierce pounding threatened to knock down the front door. Since Lucy was helping Celia adjust my gown in the small parlor out the back, I opened it. Price’s landlady stood there, her broad brimmed hat pulled low over her eyes. She glanced nervously over her shoulder.
“Shut the door,” she said, pushing past me. “I don’t think I was followed, but it is best to be cautious.”
“Uh…what are you doing here?”
“Helping you.”
“Helping us? How?”
“Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?”
I led her into the drawing room and George rose out of the armchair. “Good lord!” he said upon seeing her.
“We haven’t been formally introduced,” I said. “I am Emily Chambers and this is Mr. Culvert.”
“Mrs. Stanley,” she said, looking at her surroundings rather than at us. Our house was a little larger than her own, but our furniture just as old and worn, except for our new sofa, of course.
“So how can you help us?”
“First of all, you must know that Mr. Price is innocent, as am I.”
“I think you’d better explain everything to us,” George said. “Starting from the beginning.”
“Very well.” She sat on the edge of the chair and crossed her feet at the ankles, her reticule in her lap. She had not removed her hat or gloves and looked poised to run off at any moment like a skittish cat. “That woman and Blunt want to destroy the Otherworld. I hate her. She is the devil. Pure evil. You have delayed them, thank God.”
George held up his hand for silence. “How about the very beginning, Mrs. Stanley?”
She drew a breath and let it out slowly. “That Mrs. White is behind it all. Her real name is Seymour. Her son killed himself and she blames your spirit friend for his death.”