Wycliff carried the limp boy to the Loburn carriage and laid him on the seat. Then Hannah climbed up into the carriage and sat next to him.
Wycliff grasped the handle of the door. “I wanted to say thank you, Miss Miles, for your assistance in this matter. I do not believe the two responsible would have been captured without you.”
Before Hannah could muster up an answer, he had closed the door and tapped the side to signal the driver to move off.
Hannah stared at the unconscious boy. “Who would have thought that the wraith could ever say thank you?”
A warm glow spread through her torso. Even stranger than his words was the effect they had on her. She kept a close eye on the boy as the carriage pulled her toward home. He murmured in his enforced sleep and Hannah reached out to stroke his brow, hoping it might soothe him somewhat.
With a gasp, the boy seized her hand and his eyes flew open. He stared at their joined hands and then up at her face.
“I’m so sorry, miss,” he whispered, his brown eyes wide.
Hannah swallowed the lump in her throat as she recalled the boy’s magical gift. He could tell with a single touch what ailed a person. She managed to form her lips into a smile. “Don’t you worry about me. We must tend to your head.”
Without another word, he slipped back into the embrace of unconsciousness.
23
The carriage had barely rolled to a stop when Sir Hugh wrenched open the door.
“Are you all right, Hannah?” He peered into the dim interior.
Hannah gestured to her charge. “I am perfectly well, but this lad has a cut to his head from a poker and an egg-shaped lump from hitting the floor. He has been drifting in and out of consciousness.”
“Let’s get him inside.” Her father reached in and gathered the slim boy in his large arms. “Sera alerted me that you had used her spell. Twice.”
Hannah followed her father up the path. “Two Afflicted were behind the murders. One is a man, a Mr Jonathon Rowley, who was infected a month ago by Lady Gabriella Ridlington. We must secure and destroy the face powder she used.”
“Poor bugger. If the curse manifests in him the way it did in the maid, he will drop by midsummer. What symptoms does he manifest?”
Mary stood on the front porch holding aloft a lantern. She stepped aside as they passed within.
“He is in the grips of addiction and it seems he arose with a strong hunger that could not be sated by the regular amount. One brain a week, shared with Lady Gabriella, has been insufficient to ease his craving. To look at him, he appears to have a fever, with bright eyes and a flush to his skin.” Hannah followed her father across the hall.
“I wonder at what point the fevered look succumbs to rot?” Sir Hugh said.
Hannah could imagine her father already anticipating the study of Mr Rowley and his slide into decline and permanent death.
Another revelation from the evening niggled at Hannah. “Mr Rowley said he had large appetites for all things and Lady Gabriella said that she infected him in order to share her appetites and its…ecstasy. This seems to confirm that those who are dangerous have a predisposition for indulging to excess.” Hannah wondered what pleasure they found in the process of killing an innocent person and devouring their warm, fresh brain. To find bliss in such a monstrous act was indeed unnatural and in this instance, she shared Viscount Wycliff’s disgust for the Afflicted.
Her father grunted. “Unfortunately, Hannah, there is a type of pleasure found in gluttony for some Afflicted. I’m sure your mother can explain it to you.”
A small front room often served as a surgery for those who sought Sir Hugh out at home. Hannah opened the door while Mary activated the mushroom lamps. Sir Hugh laid the boy on the day bed and he muttered as his mind struggled to resurface.
Hannah sent Mary to fetch warm water and cloths to clean the wound while her father examined the cut. Then she retrieved the rolled pouch that contained his needles and thread.
Her father bent over his patient. “The lad is lucky he had a tough head. He will have a rakish scar to entice the ladies when he is older.”
A half dozen stitches sealed the cut, then a bandage was wound around the youth’s head.
“The boy has a most interesting gift. He can tell what ails a person by touching them,” Hannah said as she pulled a blanket over him.
Her father looked up, excitement lighting his face. “Really? Do you think he would be interested in pursuing a career in medicine?”
Hannah bit back a smile. Sir Hugh had long sought an apprentice who was an aftermage. “He is currently a stable boy, but he may be open to a change of profession. Particularly if it means fewer people trying to bash in his skull with a poker.”
The boy awoke with a startled gasp and sat up. One hand went to the bandage wrapped around his head.
“You have stitches, but will heal,” Hannah said gently. “This is my father, Sir Hugh Miles. He is a doctor and would like to examine you, now that you are awake.”
The lad’s wide eyes drifted sideways to her father, then he nodded.
“What’s your name, lad?” Sir Hugh asked.
“Timothy, sir.” The boy’s voice was faint.
Sir Hugh peered into the lad’s wide eyes. “Do you have family we should contact, to let them know you are well?”
The lad shook his head while trying to keep his attention on the doctor. “No, sir. I’m an orphan. Lord Byrd took me in as a stable boy.”
Sir Hugh stood up and crossed his large arms. “Waste of your magic gift, if you don’t mind my saying so. Have you ever considered a career in medicine?”
The boy laughed and snatched at the blanket covering his body. A tremor ran through his thin form from the shock of his encounter. “How would a gutter rat like me ever get the book learning to do that?”
Sir Hugh grinned. “I have a proposition for you, Timothy. If you were my apprentice, I would pay for your education and train you as a doctor. In return, all I would ask is that you use your gift to help both my research and the unfortunates who seek me out. You would also, naturally, be a member of our household.”
The next day, a note was sent to Lord Byrd to advise him that his stable boy was under Sir Hugh’s care and would not be returning to his position in that household. Instead, Timothy settled into his new life at Westbourne Green.
In the week that followed, an expedited trial was held for Mr Rowley and Lady Gabriella Ridlington. Even her father’s influence failed to rescue her when it was revealed that she consumed the brains of servants for the pleasure of it. Necessity was understandable. Lust was not.
Both were sentenced to be interred at the Repository of Forgotten Things. For Mr Rowley, it would be a short sentence, and Sir Hugh waited for the day he would be laid out on the autopsy table. Lady Gabriella would become a nightmare creature, pacing her small cell until such time as they either discovered a cure, or she finally surrendered to death.
Seraphina was as excited to have a new thread to research as Hannah’s father was to employ his apprentice. Hannah had raised the possible relevance of the heart as the seat of the soul and the reason the Afflicted remained conscious and ambulatory without circulation. Seraphina was delighted to delve into Egyptian history and religion.
While her mother studied the magical practices of Egyptian mages, Hannah read of the practical methods they employed to tend their dead. Squinting over tiny text kept her mind from Lord Wycliff and what had happened to him during the war. Or the warmth that had bloomed through her chest when he thanked her for her assistance.
A week later, Hannah sat in the front parlour with an open book, but her mind wandered to thoughts of dogs. Or rather, puppies. She had turned a page without looking as she found her mind drifting to places that had no bearing on their research, when there was a loud and determined rap on the front door.
She placed a marker in her book and set it on the sofa. “Whoever can that be?”
She opened the door her
self, since Mary was busy elsewhere. On the porch was a most startling sight.
Viscount Wycliff stood on the doorstep, along with a modest amount of luggage. Hannah reverted to the state she had suffered from on their first meeting, and could find no words to string together. She just stared at him.
“I am accepting your mother’s invitation,” he said, bringing their staring contest to an end.
“My mother’s invitation?” Hannah turned as her father wheeled Seraphina’s bath chair out into the hall.
Seraphina gestured for the viscount to come in. “Excellent! You have chosen to accept. Hannah can show you to your rooms.”
Lord Wycliff picked up his bags and stepped around the frozen Hannah.
“Rooms?” What was going on here? Recent events had turned their quiet and orderly lives upside down, but surely not this much.
“Yes, his rooms, dearest. I suggested that it would be most convenient if Lord Wycliff were to reside here to help our research into the Afflicted. There is much to be done, and this saves both parties’ travelling back and forth from London. There is a suite on the second floor he can occupy, and an empty room on the first he can use as his personal study.”
“Viscount Wycliff is going to live here?” Surely her mother jested.
Seraphina’s veil drifted back and forth as she laughed. “You always did complain this house was too big, Hannah. As a child, you asked constantly for playmates to fill these rooms.”
She had yearned for friends to play hide and seek with in the backyard forest. Not a dark wraith who would spread gloom wherever he went.
“Sir Manly was most appreciative of your help in capturing Lady Gabriella and Mr Rowley, Miss Miles,” the wraith said. “He thought you might be of assistance in my other ongoing investigations. That is, if you do not mind widening your studies of Unnatural creatures.” For once the man didn’t frown or glare, but had an open expression on his face, as though these were his first tentative steps toward being civilised.
Hannah shut the door and stared at the viscount. She had wanted a puppy, but her mother had presented her with a hellhound.
It remained to be seen if he would be the bearer of death or a devoted guardian. As Hannah’s shock faded, she found herself relishing the prospect of finding out.
* * *
THE END
Hannah will be back with a new murder to solve in book 2:
* * *
GALVANISM AND GHOULS
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Time reveals all secrets…
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A new unnatural horror is about to rattle Hannah Miles’ quiet existence, and it’s not the short-tempered viscount prowling the hallways. Someone is creating a monster by stitching together pieces of different people. When a limb makes an escape attempt, Viscount Wycliff is called to investigate. All of London knows there is one mad scientist among them capable of creating such an ungodly monster… Sir Hugh Miles.
Hannah’s father is suspected of a most heinous crime and she is determined to clear his name, even as Wycliff works to see the murderer hang. Buried secrets that touch all their lives will be brought to the surface. One such secret belongs to Hannah and could tear her world apart.
With Hannah and Wycliff on opposing sides, can they find the real monster and will it be the hand that wields the scalpel, or the creature hiding in the dark?
* * *
GALVANISM AND GHOULS
Did you enjoy MANNERS and MONSTERS
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Thank you, Tilly
About the Author
Tilly drinks entirely too much coffee, likes to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and wishes she could talk to Jane Austen. Sometimes she imagines a world where the Bennet sisters lived near the Hellmouth. Or that might be a fanciful imagining brought on by too much caffeine.
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Also by Tilly Wallace
Manner and Monsters
Manners and Monsters
Galvanism and Ghouls
* * *
Highland Wolves
Secrets to Reveal
Kisses to Steal
Layers to Peel
Souls to Heal
Manners and Monsters, #1 Page 21