The Peculiars

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  The casket was plain pine, topped with a wreath of chrysanthemums because Mrs. Pollet said they were Arthur’s favorite flower. Mr. Beasley had asked permission to plant a sapling apple tree on the grave because Arthur had taken such care of the orchard. Lena listened as the minister in a long, dark robe read from the Bible. As the hopeful words washed over her, a movement just on the edge of the field caught Lena’s attention. A young woman, half hidden by a narrow poplar, stood perfectly still. She reminded Lena of a deer caught on the road, intent, every muscle alert to danger. Lena nudged Jimson. He frowned in her direction.

  “Look over there, by the poplar row,” she whispered.

  The young woman was tall and angular. Her hair was the color of wheat, and the wind tossed it about her face.

  Jimson hissed in her ear. “It’s her! The woman from the widow’s walk.”

  “What?” Lena jerked her head around in surprise.

  That was all it took. The woman, like that startled deer, fled. Lena watched her retreating wingless back.

  “I must have been seeing things.” Jimson ran his fingers through his hair until the curls stood out in wild peaks. “I would have sworn she had wings.” He spoke quietly so no one else at the small reception would hear him. The guests were huddled in the parlor of Zephyr House and speaking in hushed voices. “I think it was the same woman, but she was far enough away that it wouldn’t be easy to tell.”

  Lena took a bite of apple crisp drenched with clotted cream. “Remember that the wings we found were severed. She might have had wings at one time.” She licked the edge of her spoon. “She didn’t want anyone to see her. She ran as soon as she saw me looking at her.”

  “I’m going to find her and talk to her this afternoon. Do you want to come with me?” Jimson asked.

  Lena looked down at her empty plate. “I have an errand to run in town. I told my cousin I’d meet her for tea.” If Jimson saw her eyes, he’d know she was lying.

  “Lena, remember we said we wouldn’t do anything without telling the other person first? Well, I’m telling you now. I’m going to try and find her and put an end to all this speculation.”

  Lena nodded. “I’d better clear the dishes. I don’t want Mrs. Pollet to have to do anything today.” If she didn’t busy herself with a task, she was sure Jimson would be able to read her mind.

  By early afternoon Lena had managed to escape the small reception at Zephyr House and boarded a coach into Knoster. The sketchbook and a clump of feathers were stowed in a large satchel she’d found in the library. It was just before three o’clock when the coach stopped near the pier and Lena climbed out.

  The marshal was waiting on the pier, as he had promised. He was looking out to sea, his shoulders hunched and forearms resting on the worn wooden railing. Lena was able to observe him for a moment before he saw her. He was strong and handsome, but she realized for the first time that his real appeal came from the force of his charm. With the sea as background, he looked smaller, less intimidating. But then, the ocean could make anything look insignificant, she thought. The water was choppy with whitecaps, and a stiff breeze was blowing in from the west, sending the seagulls spiraling toward shore. Lena gripped her handbag tighter. It was time to tell the marshal what she knew.

  He saw Lena when she was a few feet away and turned toward her. His blue eyes looked washed out, deep-set in their tiredness. “Lena.” He tipped his bowler, then took it off his head completely before the wind sent it flying. “I’m so pleased you could join me. Shall we stroll?” Without waiting for an answer, he tucked Lena’s hand over his arm and led her into the wind.

  “As I told you, I’ll be leaving town for a few days. I confess I’ll miss having the opportunity to meet with you. You give me something to look forward to.” He cast her a sideways glance. “I’m depending on you, Lena, hoping that you have something to tell me that might help me with my investigations. There are so few people I can trust completely. I know I can trust you.”

  Lena had to lean in to catch his words before the wind swallowed them. She felt the warmth of his body, the strength of his arm, just as she felt the weight of the sketchbook and feathers in the satchel. Still, she didn’t speak.

  “I went to Cloister. You were right. Beasley’s got something going on there. Those sisters know a damn sight more than they’ll say. Pardon my French, Lena.”

  “Did you find anything, Thomas?” She spoke his name hesitantly.

  He squeezed her hand. “I found a pretty suspicious-looking fellow in that infirmary of theirs. Of course, I wasn’t allowed to examine him, and they had some clever story about why they had a man all tucked up in one of the infirmary beds. He was a Peculiar, all right. I could positively smell it.”

  Lena shivered at his last words, and the marshal drew her arm closer. Perhaps Mr. Beasley was doing medical experiments with the help of the sisters. It was now or never, Lena thought. “I did find something at Zephyr House you might be interested in.” Her heart pounded so loudly, it was a wonder the marshal could hear her words.

  They passed an elderly couple strolling arm in arm. The marshal nodded at them, then bent his head close to Lena’s. “Wait till we get to the end. It will be more private.” They strolled to the pier’s end. “Now, what have you got for me?”

  Lena opened the satchel and drew out the small sketchbook. “I found this in the library. It’s a book of medical drawings. The ones you might be interested in are in the back, but we need to be out of the wind before I can open it.” She rummaged in the bag again. “And these feathers.” As she spoke, the wind whipped several from her hand and spun them out over the water.

  “Ah, my dear girl! We mustn’t lose the evidence!” The marshal hurried her back to the Parasol. She could hear his breathing as they walked, eager and labored, like someone who couldn’t quite catch his breath.

  The tearoom was filling up primarily with ladies seeking the comfort of afternoon tea out of the wind. The marshal and Lena chose a back table. Lena flipped the book open to the strange sketches of Annuncius syndrome and of the boy with the forked tongue. The marshal pulled out a pair of spectacles Lena had never seen him use before and bent low over the pages.

  “Hmm, Peculiars. There’s no denying it. We had a boy who tried to saw the wings off his own back about a year or two ago. He was half dead by the time we found him, died soon after. I kept the story quiet. He was the only one I’ve seen like that in my lifetime.” He looked up and folded his glasses. “You said Beasley made these sketches.”

  “Yes, I believe so.” Something was constricting her throat. She took a swallow of tea. Then she drew out the rest of the feathers, spreading them on the table. “We found these, part of a severed set of wings in the garden shed, near the incinerator.”

  “By all that’s holy!” The marshal looked as if he’d just won a prize. His mouth rode up to meet his mustache and his eyes burned. “So he’s got one out there, does he?”

  “And I think I saw the man from the train. The redheaded one who was with the nun.”

  “You have just done your country an honor, Lena Mattacascar. Even an old reprobate like Saul should be proud of you.” He ran his fingers through his mustache. “And you have proved my opinion of you: intelligent and comely.”

  Lena found she couldn’t meet his gaze. Blood was flowing to her face. The marshal reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, letting his finger rest on her cheek. “Now, I need a little more evidence than a pile of feathers. Here’s what I plan to do. I want you to ascertain just where he’s holding the Peculiars. Soon as I get back, I’ll do a raid on Beasley’s place. Four days from now, October thirty-first. Don’t worry. You’ll be protected. Don’t know what a crazy character like Beasley might do when he knows we’re onto his scheme.”

  Lena’s heart faltered at the word “raid.” “And Jimson will be protected too? He’s been helping me with gathering evidence.”

  “Jimson.” The marshal snorted. “He’s just
a boy who doesn’t know what he’s gotten into. But Jimson too, if he cooperates. This will be purely a rescue operation. We’ll get those Peculiars out of there and off to Scree before Beasley can do any more harm.”

  Lena felt the knot in her chest relax. The marshal had everything under control. Whatever Beasley was doing, he wouldn’t be allowed to hurt anyone, even if they were Peculiar.

  “I’ll get word to you as soon as I return.”

  Lena nodded, feeling certain that she had made the right choice.

  The walk up to Zephyr House was hidden in shadow when Lena returned from Knob Knoster. The sky was clear, and the poplars were silhouettes against a fading twilight. There would be frost by morning, and within a month the snows would begin in earnest. Lena pictured the marshal sweeping down like a storm on Zephyr House, pounding on the door, a small army of federal officers rushing through the corridors searching for Peculiars and their grateful cries at being rescued. She pictured Mr. Beasley, his painted eyebrows raised in mock surprise. All along he must have known it would come to this. Then she pictured the marshal offering to be her personal guide into Scree. Twenty-five or -six, she decided, was the perfect age—just old enough to give a man maturity and experience.

  When she pushed open the door, she could hear chatter coming from the dining room. She returned the satchel to her bedroom, then walked into the dining room with her scarf still wrapped around the neck of her dark wool jacket.

  “Lena, you’ve made it back in time for supper. I hope your cousin is well,” Mr. Beasley said. Lena nodded.

  Jimson caught her eye and winked. On his right sat Edwin Pollet, stiffly formal, and across from Jimson was the round little minister who had presided over the funeral. And to his left, Leticia Pollet sat in somber black.

  “The Crimptons are serving dinner tonight to give Leticia a rest. Come have a seat, Lena. In the midst of all this sorrow, I’ve a piece of good news to share.”

  Bewildered, Lena unwound her scarf and removed her jacket, then accepted the chair next to Mr. Beasley. On his other side, Milo was appreciating a glass of good wine. When she had left, they had just finished a funeral; now Mr. Beasley looked as if he would burst with excitement, and Jimson kept watching her as if he had something important to say. The knot re-formed in Lena’s stomach as she looked from Jimson to Mr. Beasley.

  “I’ve made a discovery that may change the future of air travel. Titantum! It has a greater strength-to-weight ratio of any other known metal. In other words, anything fabricated from titantum will be incredibly strong, and sufficiently light!”

  Jimson leaned toward Lena. “The boilers! We can make the boilers from titantum! You can make the entire ship from titantum!”

  “If we can keep the metal uncontaminated during the welding process.”

  The minister looked slightly befuddled and even more confused when Leticia Pollet stood and proposed a toast to titantum and Mr. Beasley’s incredible discovery. It must have been the strangest funeral reception he had ever taken part in. The Crimptons brought in fish and baked ham. Leticia alternated between guest at the table and running out to the kitchen to help with the next course. In his excitement, Mr. Beasley shouted at Edwin Pollet about the undiscovered wonders of steam-powered flying machines. Surprisingly, the minister had once conducted a service in a dirigible and was able to entertain them all with the story.

  This is probably just the type of reception Arthur Pollet would have enjoyed, Lena thought. Then her thoughts drifted to the marshal, and her contentment vanished. Who knew what suffering might be going on in other rooms of this house while they enjoyed themselves around the table? She studied Jimson’s animated face. She would tell him tonight and confess what she’d done. He’d applaud her courage and initiative.

  “And did you hear, Lena, that we are to be graced with a visit from Jimson’s fiancée?” Mr. Beasley was looking in her direction, his cheeks rosy from wine, one eyebrow painted slightly higher than the other.

  Lena snapped back to the conversation. She looked at Jimson, who seemed to have shrunken just the slightest bit. “Pansy’s coming?”

  “Day after tomorrow. She arrives on the one o’clock coach.”

  The dinner lasted well into the evening, after which Mr. Beasley proposed cigars in his study for the men. Lena was left with Leticia and Mrs. Crimpton. The two were talking, over tea and cakes, about people Lena had never met. She excused herself to wash dishes in the kitchen. She dropped her gloves on the counter, ran the hot water, and hoped that Jimson would appear before long. Even in the warm kitchen she could feel the cold seeping in around the windows. Outside, the moon glittered, hard and bright as a penny.

  She was drying the last cup and saucer when Jimson came into the kitchen, trailing a waft of cigar smoke. “I didn’t find her.”

  “Who—Pansy?”

  “What are you talking about?” He leaned in closer. “The wingless lady. I went to the south wing of the house and searched. Most of the doors were locked. But I did find something I should tell you about.”

  Lena took her time folding a dishtowel, laying it just so on the counter. She would tell Jimson everything as soon as he was done.

  He dropped his voice. “I tried every door on the first floor. Those that weren’t locked opened to rooms that were empty or looked like they’d not been used in years.”

  They were sitting at the scarred old kitchen table now. Lena had wrapped her gloveless hands around a mug of hot tea, but still she felt chilled to the core.

  “Just before I was ready to give up and move on, I heard a dreadful banging. I opened a door into a laboratory filled with test tubes and instruments. There were two long padded tables with manacles on each end. They must hold the hands and feet. It looked like an operating room.”

  Lena gripped the mug more tightly. “What was the banging?” She wasn’t sure she wanted the answer and had a strong impulse to cover her ears.

  “In the middle of the room was your red-haired man. He was wearing a mask and heating something that he gripped with iron tongs, and then he would bang away at it. His shirt was off and sweat was pouring down. I don’t think he saw me. It was like a scene out of a horror story. Did you ever read Shelley’s Frankenstein?”

  “Of course I’ve read Frankenstein. But what was he doing?”

  “I don’t know, but the worst of it was all the surgical tools laid out.” Jimson shuddered. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Beasley.”

  “You can’t!” Lena almost knocked over her mug of tea. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  She recounted her meetings with the marshal, describing his suspicions that Mr. Beasley was experimenting with Peculiars, and the marshal’s desire to free them. “After we found the wings, I couldn’t wait any longer. I showed him the sketchbook and told him about the lady you saw with wings.”

  But Jimson didn’t praise her ingenuity. Instead, his face grew very white. “You what? You told him without us talking to Mr. Beasley first? I thought we had a deal—we’d talk to each other before we did anything.”

  At first Lena cowered under his disapproval. Then she felt a spark of anger ignite, and the flames filled her until her body shook. “It’s better than doing nothing, Jimson Quiggley. I can’t stand by and let him hurt people, even if they are unnatural. What good would it do asking someone who is in the business of deception? He’s lied to us from the beginning. At least I did something!” She pushed away from the table.

  The more she raised her voice, the quieter Jimson’s became. “You have to give Mr. Beasley a chance. I admit it looks bad, but you can’t turn on someone without hearing his side of the story. Now I’ve got three days to sort this mess out.”

  “What do you mean you have three days?” Lena grabbed her gloves and balled them in her fists. Her voice was loud and rough.

  “Well, I can’t very well trust you!” Jimson slammed the kitchen door, and the blast of cold air caught Lena full in the face.

  WHEN PANSY DEMPLE ARRI
VED AT ZEPHYR HOUSE, SHE CAME in a Cuthbert coach, which dropped her right at the front steps. Lena had been working and saw the arrival from the library window. She hadn’t spoken to Jimson since their argument in the kitchen. All morning he’d picked in the apple orchard with Milo, and neither of them had appeared at lunch. When the coach arrived, Mr. Beasley stuck his head in the library door and invited her to come greet Pansy. Lena was not in the mood to greet anyone but put her work down and followed Mr. Beasley.

  The first frost had killed the potted flowers on the steps. Their blackened leaves drooped sadly. If Arthur Pollet had been there, Lena thought, they would have been replaced already with stouthearted golden chrysanthemums. This was a bleak welcome for any guest. The air was sharp, and Lena paused on the front steps, glad for the warmth of her winter tweed jacket over her gray skirt. Her breath exhaled in a puff of white.

  Jimson was helping Pansy from the coach, as Mr. Beasley hovered nearby. She extended a small white-gloved hand. Her jacket and skirt were pale blue and tailored. A small veiled hat rested on a cluster of bright yellow curls. She stepped onto the gravel drive with a dainty booted foot, a foot so small it barely protruded from beneath the ruffled hem of her skirt. Lena folded her arms across her chest, hiding her hands in her armpits. She looked down at her ink-stained gray skirt and saw feet that stuck out like two reptiles’ snouts beneath the hem. It was going to be a very tiresome day.

  “Lena, come and meet Pansy. Pansy, Lena is my other librarian.” Mr. Beasley smiled up at Lena as she stood frozen on the steps. There was no recourse but to descend the steps, hoping she wouldn’t trip over her own large feet, and meet Pansy Demple face-to-face.

  “I am charmed to meet you.” A dimple winked fetchingly in one cheek, below eyes like violets.

  “It’s nice to meet you as well.”

  Jimson, Lena noticed, did not catch her eye; in fact, he was doing everything he could to avoid her glance.