But picking apart sense in her ramblings is pointless. There may be some truth, no truth, or a bit of truth, in all her memoirs, but who is to say which parts? I can’t say. Trying to find out is useless, yet I still want to try.
I let my fingers linger over the drawing of Jack and stare at the date and times of the tours. The orphan director would never have let us go to such sensationalistic fodder, I’m sure. And Mrs. Dobson would never allow Mina to go: too unseemly. I don’t even really want to go, but suddenly I wonder if she would. Rose.
After all, killers usually return to the scene of their crimes; do they not?
Being Mrs. Dawes was harder than I expected, but so worthwhile! Marriage agreed with Luke. He was happier than I had ever seen him. He introduced me to everyone we met, as his lovely wife. Why, he would even invent reasons to meet people just so he could introduce me. I think in a way, he was trying to distract me, and it certainly worked. I forgot for a spell why we had come to London in 1888 in the first place. I spent some time keeping house until we were kicked out for squatting. I learned to bake cake, though I had no gift for it. Luke would make me feel better by eating it, but I usually stole the better stuff from the bakery around the corner.
I had very nearly forgotten all about Sonnet. By the time I remembered and could hold the thought in my head long enough and found the energy to do something about her, she was gone again. Traveled? I doubted it. She hadn’t been here long, though as I had said before, perhaps my interference in her inner clock messed things up. But I leaned towards a different theory: that she had simply run away.
Silly coward.
It wouldn’t be that difficult to track her, but did I even have the desire anymore? I liked being Mrs. Luke Dawes. Couldn’t we just stay here and be normal? He wanted it. Part of me wanted it.
And then I dreamed, a horrid dream, and I knew my past wasn’t over. I saw Mother in her blue dress, floating in slow motion over that cliff. Her skirts billowed out around her like a parachute, but not one that could save her from the dreadful crash at the bottom. She stared at me, reproach in her dead eyes. She wasn’t proud of me. She didn’t love me any longer. I had messed everything up. She was upset at me, even in death.
She wanted me with her, I thought. Death came to me in a cornflower blue dress.
I was sure of it, and I was paralyzed with fear. I hadn’t been afraid of anything in who knows how long! What a peculiar feeling it was. Was this clammy feeling, this shaky emotion, this pit in my stomach how I made others feel? The last time I was scared was when I realized Solomon had left me at the Bodley. And that wasn’t necessarily fear… more sorrow and anger than anything.
I awoke, and I knew I had to find Sonnet and finish what I had started.
Luke was disappointed, of course, but you make sacrifices in a marriage. Of course you do. All the research and the experts say so. You give up things for those you love, and he loved me, so he didn’t fight me too hard. Besides, he didn’t like London any more than I did, and he wasn’t really serious about settling down. Luke with a gentleman’s career? A job? A respectable life? Don’t make me laugh.
We started with the doctor they left behind and his annoying Chinese wife. Sonnet and Israel had been playing house with them. Why, I’m sure I don’t know. Some sort of friendship, I suppose. I can’t imagine such a thing, but then again, I’m not very like my sister. Luke was spitting nails over how the wife had interfered anyway (if it hadn’t been for her, it’s very likely Israel would have died that night, and possibly even Sonnet), so neither of us would have felt any remorse doing her in. It turned out though that they had left as suddenly as my family. I toyed with the idea of them being Lost as well, but their neighbors claimed they went to Africa to start a hospital, and I believed them. Sounded like the type of idiotic thing philanthropists and do-gooders like to do.
Sonnet and Father had no one. But Israel… I wondered if Israel had anyone. And who had been those old men in America? The brothers? Would they know where my family could have slunk off to?
Then there was Prue, the old cooking woman. She was still here, still in 1888 with us, too old to want to travel, whether through time or across town. They had apparently left her behind. Maybe they wanted to keep her away from them, and thus, from me, but they hadn’t followed that thought through very well, had they? Instead, they left her behind with me. Not smart.
We started with Prue.
Naturally, Luke was dragging his feet a bit, but I promised him we weren’t going to hurt her, not as long as she cooperated anyway. “That’s the problem,” he growled. “Prue won’t cooperate with anyone.”
She’ll know where they went, I promised. They wouldn’t have left her forever without letting her know their plans. She was like their adopted grandmother. She should have been like my grandmother, but no. They’d all seen to that.
So into Sir Halloway’s home we went, where Prue was employed as a cook. Truth be told, I was getting a bit tired of slinking around like a criminal, even if I was one. I remembered my days being on stage with Solomon, and missed them sorely. I missed the audience and the way they respected me and what I could do with the knives. Now here I was, a married and respectable gentlewoman, and I was still breaking into homes and trying to put my past to rest. I just needed to finish all this business so I could start the life I was meant to live.
I just had to win, that was all.
Prue snored like an inebriated old man, but she slept light enough and jerked awake when I reached out to touch her. I didn’t want to—I don’t like touching strangers—but Luke was still being difficult over being in the house to begin with, and he was sitting in the arm chair by her bed, glowering. At me, or at Prue; I wasn’t sure. He can be a pain sometimes.
Anyway, she jerked awake like I had shot her, though I hadn’t even made contact with her blanket yet, and she stared at me with recognition in her black eyes. It was a full moon outside her window. Plus, she slept with a candle burning, whether by accident or design, I don’t know, but we could see one another well enough. She knew me. I felt pleased.
“Rose Elanora Gray,” she said, flatly.
I startled. I had never known my own middle name until then.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see you face to face. Not too happy to have been proven wrong. You,” she sniffed towards Luke, as if she wanted to acknowledge him but not let his name pass her lips. “Another one I ain’t happy to see.”
“Don’t be difficult, Prue,” Luke said. “Just talk to Rose, give her what she wants.”
“And what is that? Your sister’s head on a silver platter? Is that it? Your sister, who ain’t never done nothing to you?”
“What do you know about it?” I answered, coldly. “You’re just an old, feeble woman, and your mind is most likely full of mold. Tell me where they went.”
“Not in a month of Sundays,” Prue answered cheerfully. “Mold, indeed. Now go away before I start screaming bloody murder, and you know I will. I might have just enough love for the Gray family to let you go in peace, since you’re one of them, but I certainly won’t lie here quietly while you murder me in my bed. Now, scat, if you have a brain cell left in that wicked head!”
“Knock her out,” I instructed Luke. “We’ll take her with us.”
“I told you. I’m not hurting Prue. You want her out cold; you’ll have to do it.” He was cleaning his nails with his knife again.
“Thank you so much for the chivalry, and here I thought it was dead,” Prue snapped. “I don’t need any hitting over the head, thank you. I probably wouldn’t wake up from that, and I don’t plan on dying tonight. You want to talk to me, talk. But hand a poor old woman her slippers. It’s powerful cold tonight.”
“Tell me a story then,” I said, and unbelievably, I handed her the slippers. How did she do that? “I want to hear about Sonnet’s life.”
I think she knew why I wanted to know, to give me clues to where they might have run to, but she started to oblige. Luke
was right; Prue wasn’t stupid.
Only she didn’t start out with “Once Upon a Time” like a proper story should. That bothered me, but I kept my mouth shut for once. I know how to listen when the need serves me. She blathered something completely unhelpful about how devastated they all were when they had left me behind.
“Tell me about America,” I said. “Where she was living and working. Tell me where her favorite places where before that. Where she wanted to go. And Israel Rhode. Where is his family? Where would he go?”
She looked at me like I’d gone round the bend. “If I knew, I wouldn’t tell, not when you have revenge on your mind. Noah is a good man, and I’m sorry you don’t feel no love for him inside, but you can’t go around killing off your family members.”
“I can do whatever I like. I’m special. Aren’t I, Luke?”
He nodded. “She can control it.”
“I know,” Prue sniffed. “So could your grandmother, and it didn’t turn out too well for her.”
“What are you talking about?” My blood ran cold. What grandmother? Who?
“Carolina’s mother. You don’t know about her? No, I guess you wouldn’t. She died in a mental institution, or at least that’s what we all assume. After a while, she got so bad she couldn’t even travel anymore, on purpose or by accident, like the rest of us. She was just completely lost. Didn’t know who she was. Was never homicidal like her granddaughter though.” Here she glared at me like I was a naughty child.
Could I believe her? Was she really telling the truth about my grandmother? Was I not so very special then? Was there just something different about the Grays? Then why couldn’t Sonnet control her traveling? Unless she simply hadn’t figured it out yet. She was a bit dull.
“Did the traveling make her worse?” Luke asked, softly. Concerned. Concerned for me and my mind, I suppose. He put down his knife.
Prue didn’t answer; she just looked at him. Then she nodded, slightly. Did they think I didn’t see? Did they think I was so stupid? Something inside me snapped.
“I’m not getting worse! I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!” I yelled. I picked up Prue’s water glass that was near the arm chair and threw it with all my might at the wall. It shattered and the water dripped down the wall, like blood.
Luke sprang up from the arm chair in alarm. Not alarm that I had gone off on one of my fits of temper, but alarm that I had been so loud in a house we were not supposed to be in. Prue looked triumphant, damn her.
We heard a shout from another part of the house, and then footsteps. I had gone and awoken half the household. No matter. I had gotten some kind of information, though not the kind I had come for.
“In here! Help! Burglars!” Prue shouted, as the footsteps came closer.
“What happened to her grandmother?” Luke asked Prue, as we climbed out the window like thieves. “Please tell me!”
“She died alone, I suppose,” I heard Prue answer, as I dropped to the ground. “She never got her mind back, poor thing. Didn’t know any of her loved ones, not even her own daughter. It wasn’t her fault, poor thing. Poor Nora.”
22
The coincidence about Nora is almost more than I can bear. I want to shake it off, this dreadful feeling there may be more truth to Rose’s tale than I originally thought, but I’m not ready to make that leap. So, there are suddenly two women in my life with the name of Nora. So what? It’s not as though it’s an uncommon name. Two women named Hildegard in my life suddenly; now that would warrant some alarm.
Even if my Nora is Rose’s Nora, there is still no reason for anxiety. After all, she’s the appropriate age to be Rose’s grandmother, and besides, if they met at the hospital, then it’s no small wonder Rose includes her into her delusions.
Right?
Even so, I want to talk to Nora again. First thing in the morning, as soon as I check in with Miss Helmes, I’m going to speak to her and find out what she may know about Rose. My mind made up, I settle back down into bed and check on my candle. My torch had died recently, and my lantern is out of oil, so I’ve resorted to old fashioned lighting. It should feel romantic and warm and cozy; instead it feels as though it doesn’t light up a single corner and my flat is dark and cold and a bit fearsome. I have forced Hamlet to abandon his midnight wanderings and confine himself to my bed. He lies obediently at my feet, washing himself. He makes me sneeze, but I love his company. It gets so lonely here at night. Sometimes I even miss the orphanage. I am unused to silence; it unnerves me, even after a year of living alone. I miss the noisiness of the other orphans, the routine, the structure, the predictability, the chaos. Even the quiet days had their noises: the clink of dishes, the humming of the girls, the doors opening and closing. Here, in my flat, it’s silence all the time. Some people would love that, but not me. I think that’s why I don’t mind Bedlam so much. The noise agrees with me.
I wonder if Mina would live with me. Not here, of course, but someplace nicer. We could study medicine together and walk to work together. Her mother would hate it, of course, but Mina would be game; I’m sure of it. I’ll have to ask her what she thinks. Most girls lived with their parents until they married, but Mina is a modern woman, and she’s in no hurry to marry, as far as I can see. It’s not a bad idea, not bad at all. A lot of modern girls are getting their own places these days. It’s very chic. Mina loves chic.
My thoughts turn back to Rose. I wonder if she’s hiding out in the old hospital. In order to say why I think it’s a possibility, I’d have to tell someone about my night there, and I’m not about to do that. For one thing, it’s completely against the law for me to have been there in the first place, and I wouldn’t put it past Miss Helmes to can me over it; for another, I can’t be sure about anything that happened. I can’t chalk it up to imagination—it was far too real—but there was something supernatural about it. Mostly I just want to forget about it, I certainly am not going to go back.
I could drop some kind of a hint to Sam though. Maybe he could check. If they are as close as he claims, she might not attempt to scare the living daylights out of him. I could admit to him that I went back there that night, for the diary, and I could simply say I felt like someone was watching me. I could mention her name on the wall. He’d believe me. The more I learn about Rose and her violent ways, the more I don’t really want her wandering around society. I don’t exactly want to lock her back up where I’d ironically have to take care of her, empty her bedpan, tuck her in at night, read her Ethan Frome, but I don’t want her in the outside world either. As a nurse, I have a duty to my patients.
My candle is burnt nearly all the way. I watch it flicker, waver, lose its luster. I feel the heat leave even before I see the flame go out. The cold envelopes me faster than the dark.
********************
Nora is in a mood this morning. She hasn’t spoken a word to me; in fact, she acts like I’m not even in the room. It’s highly irritating. I usually have patience with my patients, but she’s wearing me out. Plus, I didn’t sleep very well—I dreamt of Rose chasing me through White Chapel, and I couldn’t run fast enough because of my cursed ball gown. I woke up when I ran into Jack the Ripper, literally ran into him. I think I looked straight into his eyes, but then I woke, and the whole dream was fuzzy and blurry around the edges. I couldn’t remember what he looked like in my dream, but I had a funny feeling I knew him at the time. Try as I might, I couldn’t manifest his looks after I woke. I only remember he smelled like blood, the way my hands smelled when I scrubbed the not-stew off the wall that day. I blow my hair out of my eyes with an impatient puff of breath. I haven’t braided it since yesterday afternoon with Mina; she taught me how to set it at night so that it falls in waves, and I’ve pinned one side back with my one and only sparkly clip. The side that isn’t pinned tickles my face. It’s irksome.
“Nora? Come on, dear. Won’t you talk to me? I have to go check on the other patients now. I wish you’d talk to me. Tell me about your friends here.” Nothing. A
different tactic then. “Tell me about the Grays.”
She startles. Just a bit, but I saw it: the tremor in her hands, the blink of her eyes.
“Do you remember them? Was your daughter Carolina Gray?” I come closer, and sit down. I had found her all alone at the big dining table. “Do you remember your daughter?”
“No,” Nora finally speaks, and her voice is shaky, like she hasn’t used it in too long. “I don’t remember anyone.”
“Do you remember Rose? From not so long ago, not like Carolina. From the hospital?”
“I don’t remember anyone,” she repeats, hollowly. “Not anyone. I don’t remember me.”
How unbearably sad. I blink back a tear and swallow the lump in my throat. I hate crying; it gives me a headache and once I start, I can’t stop for ages.
“Well, I remember you,” I say, brightly. “I remember how much you don’t like Ethan Frome and would like to switch to Pride and Prejudice. Now, tuck your feet in, and I’ll read to you a bit.”
“Don’t you have chores?” She sounds a bit more cheerful now. I’m still trying to place her accent.
“Nothing that can’t wait. Here we go. ‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife…’ “
********************
I don’t like thinking about what Prue told me about my grandmother. It gives me the creeps that she was like me and that it didn’t go so well for her, not in the long run. Perhaps she abused her powers? Perhaps she wasn’t quite as adept as I at turning the tide? Who knew? I wouldn’t waste time wondering about it. I needed another plan to track Sonnet and my father. Luke and I wasted time, wandering through London, in case they were hiding in plain sight, laughing at us. It seemed as though wretched Emme’s family had disappeared with my own, too.
Shadows Falling: The Lost #2 Page 17