Renegade

by Amy Carol Reeves

  “What are you doing, Max?” I whispered tearfully in the darkness.

  He spun me around so that my face was inches from his.

  “Terrible, terrible, wonderful things. I am offering you something extraordinary, but I will let you die—I will kill you, Arabella—before I will let you live forsaking the gifts I offer. Do not make me do that.”

  The look in his eyes frightened me.

  He kissed my tear-streaked cheek, moving his lips up my jawline to my ear. “We have a jolly fun time ahead,” he whispered. I shuddered. “A bloody jolly fun time.”

  I felt another great tear slide down my cheek and my emotions threatened to overwhelm me. A phantom memory of my mother’s good-sense governess advice rose within me: One task at a time, Abbie. Simply focus on the immediate task.

  That was all I could do.

  I closed my eyes. “As I’ve said, leave Grandmother and everyone I love alone. Don’t go into Grandmother’s house again.”

  “Of course.” He bowed a bit. I knew Christina and Grandmother were another means for him to control me.

  When I surrendered completely, when I stopped struggling, he let me go, took out his pocket watch.

  “Confession time is over. Shall we rejoin the land of the living?”

  As quickly as he had pulled me into the Cathedral and confessional, he pulled me out into the blinding light of the street.

  “Goodbye, love.” And by the time my eyes had adjusted to the blinding light of morning, he was gone.

  My heart pounded and the envelope he had given me weighed heavy in my coat pocket. Quickly, I tore it open, finding a map with specific directions to the Orkney town of Bromwell, as well as directions through an archipelago of rocky, uninhabited islands to the place where Seraphina lived.

  Dizziness swept over me, and I leaned into the cool shadows of the cathedral to keep from fainting. My time with Max had been overwhelming, and I couldn’t trust him. I knew that he wanted me, but I also wondered why he seemed so certain that I would slay this creature. Was this a further test? Another way for him to determine my competence as his immortal partner? And what was he planning? I thought of the graveyard murders. Who was Simon’s follower? Had Max recruited others into his schemes?

  I began to walk wearily down Kensington High Street, attempting to narrow and focus all of these thoughts. But above all, I knew that I had to get to the Orkney Islands.

  Twenty-one

  I was halfway down High Kensington Street, my mind racing with how to secure tickets to Bromwell and what to pack. I had no idea how to fight the creature, and, beyond what the visions had shown me, I had no certain knowledge of how she would act.

  Fight.

  Kill.

  I hated those words. I thought of all the memories, all the nightmares I had had this year about killing the Conclave. If I had the opportunity, I knew that I would kill Max in a minute for what he’d done to my mother, and to assure that he could kill no more. And yet, if Max’s story about Seraphina was true, she was as much a victim of the Conclave as anyone else. Her mystery puzzled me entirely.

  A hand grabbed my shoulder. Hard.

  Startled, I turned to find Simon, his carriage stopped in the street immediately behind me.

  “Dear God, Abbie, are you quite all right? I arrived at Lady Westfield’s just now and she said that you had left with Dr. Bartlett’s nephew. I have sent my driver all over the place in the past hour, looking for you—”

  “I know William’s whereabouts.” I pulled out the envelope. “That place I saw, according to Max, was in the Orkney Islands. It looks from the map to be near the south islands, just over the waters from the mainland, from Caithness.”

  Simon gave instructions to the driver to take us back to our neighborhood and pulled me quickly into the carriage. “Max—where is he?” he asked as I took my place on the carriage seat.

  “Gone. But we need to leave London as soon as possible.” As the carriage lurched forward, I told him everything about what Max had said of the lamia’s origins.

  Simon’s eyes veiled a bit. “How can you trust him in all this? How do you know this isn’t some sort of trap?”

  It was at this point that I burst full force into tears. Simon was correct—I couldn’t trust Max at all. “I don’t know, Simon. I don’t know. And it all does seem like madness. But I think it’s likely that it’s true. My visions have never been misleading in the past.” Then, before I could stop myself, the true root of my anguish came out. “William was terrible, awful in fact.” I wiped my nose on a handkerchief Simon silently handed to me. “And yet my life feels shattered without him. Absolutely shattered.”

  Simon remained silent, but when I looked up in the curtained darkness of the carriage, I clearly saw Simon’s own anguish. I saw jealousy in his expression; I thought of our time together the night before. In spite of his reserve, he cared about me, loved me. Now that I felt certain of Simon’s love, it was as if my heart had come to be balanced precariously on a thin bough, seriously in danger of falling. His compassion and goodness extended enough that I knew he would follow me on this mad journey, helping me to rescue my prodigal love. Last autumn, that terrible autumn, I had questioned Simon’s capacity to feel, to love; but now I knew he could feel. And he could love—that realization had come to me sudden and unbidden. Like an icy blast.

  As if Simon could read my thoughts, he embraced me, pulled me to him, and I felt the strength of our bond even more painfully. Whether or not Simon was my love, he was a brother—my friend in a way that William never could be. While Simon didn’t care if William fell off the face of the earth, I knew that he would go to the ends of the earth to make me happy.

  “I will go with you, on this journey, even if it is one of madness,” he whispered against my hair. His words, as always, came out soft as down.

  Although Max had not forbidden me to bring Simon on the journey, I felt vaguely guilty for looping him into it. Yet Simon was already part of this. I knew, beyond a doubt, that my chance of surviving and saving William would be much stronger with a partner.

  In whispered breaths, we discussed our plans. Simon would immediately go about securing tickets. I needed to pack my bags. Simon would arrive at Grandmother’s house later with an excuse to take me from her for a few days. I knew of Grandmother’s fondness for Simon, and I knew that he could persuade her of anything.

  I also needed to warn Christina. She might have arrived at Grandmother’s house to begin our search for William, and I worried that, like Simon, she would panic upon hearing that I’d left the house with “Dr. Bartlett’s nephew.”

  The moment Simon’s carriage reached Grandmother’s house, I stepped out, holding his gloved hand in my own.

  “Thank you, Simon,” I said, squeezing his hand.

  He said nothing, and a bit of his old shadowed expression returned.

  His heart rests upon a bough, too.

  Twenty-two

  Grandmother’s house was quiet when I went inside. Ellen was running errands, and Grandmother was on a shopping excursion with Lady Violet. Richard had just returned home from his trip, but I would never have known it—he looked perfectly composed, as if he had been occupied by his household duties all morning. When he let me into the house, he told me that I had a visitor waiting for me in the parlor. For a moment I panicked, worried that my visitor might be Max yet again, but I felt instant relief when I saw that it was Christina. I was surprised to see Hugo as well, seated tall by her skirts. Grandmother must have taken Jupe with her, for the pug would have never allowed another dog in our house.

  “It’s so pitiful, Abbie,” Christina said. “He howls nonstop every time I leave home. He has done this ever since William disappeared. So, for the last two days, I have simply brought him with me.”

  I knelt down. When I was on my knees, the dog towered above me. He leaned over, licking my
face while I petted him.

  “I apologize for not arriving earlier,” Christina said quickly. “I have taken in two more friends just this morning … ”

  But I cut her off, telling her all that had occurred. That I knew where William was, and that Simon and I were going to bring him home.

  As disbelief and shock registered in her luminous eyes, she fell into a coughing fit. It was only then I noticed that her normally pale face was flushed and her eyes seemed even larger than usual. I remembered William mentioning once that Christina had had a health condition since childhood, which sometimes flared. And in spite of her paleness, when I touched her cheek she seemed to burn with fever.

  I called for Richard to bring her some tea.

  “Oh dear,” she said after recovering from the spell. “The lamia … the portrait. This seems impossible. Are you certain it is not a trap?”

  “No, I cannot be sure. But Simon and I are going nonetheless. For whatever might meet us there.”

  “What can I do? How can I help?”

  I bit my lip, thinking of her long history with my family. I needed to gather as much information as possible. I needed to know all that she knew of the portrait.

  Richard brought Christina some steaming tea and after seating herself and taking a few sips, she regained her breath and composure.

  “Do you feel well enough to come upstairs with me to see the portrait?” I asked as she finished the tea.

  “Please tell me all that you know about it,” I said as we stood in my closet, staring at the lamia portrait. Christina had not seen it since it came into my possession; in fact, she had not seen it in all the years that had passed since it was in Gabriel’s studio. She crouched down, put on her spectacles, and brought the lamp even closer to the painting. I saw marvel and amazement on her face, as if she were deciphering the most exquisite hieroglyphics.

  “I don’t know very much about it at all,” she finally said. She stood up, still staring at the portrait but removing her spectacles and furrowing her brows a bit. “I can tell you that your mother chose the portrait subject—the lamia—and she directed much in the portrait’s style and arrangement. But I think you already knew that. It is so much more daring and poignant than my brother’s other portraits. It has been so long since I have seen it, and I forgot its intensities. The hues, your mother’s expression. Extraordinary.”

  Once again this raised questions in my mind. Did my mother know of the existence of the real lamia? Had she actually seen the creature, or did she have visions of it, like my own? I once again looked to the painting as some sort of message. As always, my mother’s cryptic nature presented itself before me.

  “I know nothing about Caroline’s reasons for choosing the lamia as a subject. But Abbie … ” Christina looked at me through the dimness. “If this is true, if this creature is real as Max has described her, I tremble to think of what you are up against. It might be very much like slaying a dragon.”

  I had already thought of that.

  “Then if I am to slay a dragon,” I replied, “I shall need a sword, as well as my knife.” If this creature had William and refused to surrender him—or even if she had already killed him—destroying her would be paramount. Simon and I should be able to secure weaponry somehow on our route; he was resourceful, and he had unlimited funds.

  “If she was indeed a woman at one point, you shall have one advantage.” Christina smiled darkly. “You might think like her a bit.”

  I shuddered, wondering how much of a beast I would be by the end of this ordeal. And I hardly knew what to say; I might be going into battle with an opponent that I couldn’t possibly understand.

  Christina continued. “But then again, if Max’s story is true, Seraphina has no problem taking the elixir. She probably doesn’t have the same moral considerations that you have. Also, we can’t be certain what Max has told her about you, but if she does know that you have been invited to join the Conclave, she will already have a vendetta against you. You have everything she has must long for.”

  I hardly knew how to respond.

  One year ago, I would have thought my current situation unbelievable. But since that time I had had to face an immortal brotherhood, and now it seemed I was going on a wild journey where, like St. George, I must slay a dragon. This was not the life I had chosen, the path I had sought out. I wanted to be like Dr. Anderson, a physician in a hospital like Whitechapel or New Hospital. I thought of how the Conclave’s existence had brought so many more fathoms of trouble to England than, surely, Queen Elizabeth had ever intended when she sanctioned the group. Now it fell upon my shoulders, and Simon’s, to weed through the mess they had left behind. To sort it out and restore order.

  “Abbie.” Christina’s voice interrupted my thoughts. She put both of her palms upon my cheeks. “You are Gabriel Rossetti’s daughter. As such, you are my niece, and as dear to me as William is. If something happens to both of you … it will be as if I had lost my own children. I cannot bear that.”

  “I know,” I said soberly, not speaking my thought of that moment: that if I died, she would also be dead. As would so many others. Max would no longer need to keep her alive to control me.

  She wiped a tear from her face, saying crisply, “At least take Hugo. He might offer a little protection.”

  Before Christina left, I asked her to speak to Dr. Anderson, to let her know that I would return at a later point but that there were family responsibilities I must attend to. This was the truth. I did not want Dr. Anderson to think that I had abandoned my work at New Hospital.

  After Christina kissed my cheek and descended the stairs, I began throwing everything into my small luggage bag. Hugo lay on my floor, sad and mournful. I packed an extra change of clothes, and then carefully placed the bowie knife in my bag. But I felt immensely troubled leaving Grandmother. Christina, at least, realized that she was in danger. Seeing Max in Grandmother’s parlor had alarmed me; Grandmother had no idea that he was a killer. Because of this, I feared greatly for her.

  Simon’s perplexing statement about Grandmother’s butler Richard returned to my mind. On the night when I’d been forced to confront the Conclave, I had feared for Grandmother’s safety. Simon, the next morning, had slipped Richard some money, which Richard had refused.

  “You obviously don’t know your butler well … ” Simon had said to me.

  Grandmother always discouraged me from going into the kitchen—something about well-bred ladies not lingering among servants. Another nonsensical Kensington rule. But she was still out with Violet, and her rules didn’t matter, especially now that I was trying to save her life from the psychopathic killer she had let into the parlor.

  When I reached the kitchen on the first floor where Richard was preparing dinner, I realized how long it had been since I had been in the room. Paint peeled in many places, and I saw that some remnants of ancient wallpaper near the back door had become so faded, the floral designs were barely discernible. Grease markings spotted the high ceiling. Nevertheless, in spite of the woeful lack of updates, Richard kept the kitchen clean—the floor swept and the counters impeccably wiped. Something in a large pot on the stove smelled wonderful, and the pork, roasting on a spit over the roaring fireplace, smelled excellent. I almost wished that I had an appetite, but I had too much before me, too much on my mind to think of eating.

  Richard was wearing an apron, his sleeves rolled nearly past his elbows as he sliced carrots and potatoes on a chopping board. He had several dried herbs, including thyme and rosemary, sitting on the counter ready for use.

  He raised his eyebrows, surprised at the sight of me. “Miss Sharp, are you in need of something?”

  I smiled. “No, I’m not hungry.” I took a seat upon a chair near the counter while he meticulously chopped leeks and onions. It felt a bit awkward. I played with a ring on one of my fingers and made a hideous attempt to appear casual.r />
  “I feel as if I know so very little about you, Richard.”

  Richard remained quiet as he began slicing the carrots in perfect orange circles. But I saw something tense in his jaw.

  “Truthfully, I am not very interesting, Miss Sharp.”

  “Oh, I’m not sure about that,” I said quickly.

  He caught my eye and I saw a knowing glint. “What would you like to know?” he asked cheerfully, dumping the carrot and potato pieces into the boiling pot on the stove. He returned to the leeks and onions.

  I had a feeling that I would have to tread carefully as I went about this. Richard needed to know that he could trust me.

  “Do you have family, Richard?”

  He paused, then began dicing the dried rosemary and thyme. “I have one niece. The only daughter of my only brother. My brother and his wife are both deceased now. The young lady is married and has a child, and they live in Chatham. Her husband works in the dockyards there, and she embroiders dresses for ladies. So, when I am not here, I am usually with them, taking their infant Thomas on long walks. He is almost one year old now, so there is much adventure to be found on our excursions.”

  I liked this image of Richard, of his life apart from working as Grandmother’s butler. I liked seeing him in a grandfather’s role. I asked him several more questions about his niece and great-nephew.

  But as we talked, I felt myself becoming impatient. I had not yet heard from Simon, and it was now one o’clock. At any moment he might come to the door, and we would have to leave immediately.

  I cleared my throat and decided to simply plunge forward. “I’ll speak candidly, Richard. I’m in a bit of a muddle at the moment.”

  Richard glanced up from his vegetables at me, but he said nothing. I waited. I would have to be more specific.

  “My friends—Dr. Siddal and Dr. St. John and I—were involved last autumn in something, a situation that I do not want to bring you into, but one that could be dangerous for you and for Grandmother.”