Galvanism and Ghouls

by Tilly Wallace

“Are these drawings entirely accurate?” She tapped a sketch of Beth that showed her as she had been found. Hannah cast a critical eye over the surgery performed and one thing stood out in her mind.

  “Yes. The artist was most particular in ensuring a correct representation.” Lord Wycliff leaned closer and the smell of fragrant wood drifted over Hannah.

  Hannah traced a fingernail down a line of stitches where the arm was joined at the shoulder. “This is not my father’s work.”

  “How can you be so sure?” His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned in to peer at the small detail.

  She snorted. How was it not obvious? “My father is a renowned surgeon who worked diligently during the war to patch up our soldiers. While he might look like a butcher, I can assure you that he has such skill with a needle that my mother said he made a better seam than the most expensive modiste.”

  “How does this prove your father is not responsible?” He held his position, and heat flared over Hannah’s side closest to him.

  She concentrated on the drawing and tried to ignore the man radiating more heat than the coal fire. “These stitches are large and irregular, as though the person responsible is not overly familiar with stitching flesh. Father’s stitches are small and neat, even when under enemy cannon fire. He never falters, nor would he ever make such crude stitches. Smaller stitches result in cleaner scars.”

  At last he moved and his attention roamed the pictures, lingering over the lines of stitches used to patchwork multiple bodies into one. “If you think this person is no surgeon, would that also eliminate Peter Husom?”

  “Possibly, unless the crude stitches are deliberate, in which case both Doctor Husom and my father are suspects once again.” Her father had said Doctor Husom had not aged in thirty years. What secret did he conceal? Quite apart from the things he kept in his laboratory. “Doctor Husom has a limb strung out in a frame in his private laboratory, and also a cat, both awaiting his galvanism experiment.”

  The viscount moved sideways and rested a finger on the pin that marked the doctor’s residence. “He lives close to the Physic Garden and also near where Beth was found.”

  “My father also said that he has not aged in thirty years. Once Doctor Husom was Papa’s teacher and mentor.” The words did not come easily to Hannah’s tongue as she revealed a portion of the doctor’s secret.

  “He is immortal? Could he be a vampyre? Although I have seen him out and about during the day.” Wycliff grabbed a pencil from his desk and made notes on a clean sheet of paper.

  “Vampyres can endure the sunlight, but they do not like it, as it weakens them. But if he were, why undertake such butchery? Surely it would be beneath him?” Hannah was no expert on vampyres, but she thought they appreciated the beauty in life—art, poetry, and fine clothing.

  Lord Wycliff circled something on the page and then pinned it to the wall. “Or perhaps an immortal life makes a human life less valuable and he sees us as playthings.”

  There was a horrible thought. A little of Hannah’s admiration for Doctor Husom was rubbed away. Other ideas flowed through her head and she spoke them aloud. “Papa also said that Reverend Jones trained as a doctor before deciding to join the clergy. Lord Dunkeith studied with an apothecary. Whoever did this is either unused to working with a needle and human tissue, or he has no care for his patients’ appearance or scarring.”

  Wycliff tossed the pencil to the desk and stood before the wall of evidence. “There is a third option. What if whoever did this was not familiar with living tissue, such as the supposed Chelsea monster?”

  Hannah considered the possibility, but it didn’t sit right with her. People were terrified of the looming monster spotted in the shadows and who, supposedly, had been seen at the site where the body was discovered. But no one had yet seen him attack or injure anyone. If anything, he fled when discovered, as though afraid. On impulse, she burst out, “What if the monster is the result, not the cause?”

  “You think this supposed monster is a stitched-together creation, like the poor woman we found? Beth did not long survive what was done to her. I find it unlikely another such creation has existed for longer when she could not.” Dark brows pulled together.

  That was an inconvenient flaw in her hypothesis. Without knowing what the mind behind them had used to animate the limbs, there was no way to determine why one lived for longer than the other.

  “My mother said that just as no two people are alike, no two spells are the same,” Hannah said. “There is a possibility that the person responsible used magic that worked differently each time. The most obvious solution is to find the monster.” That would also, surely, prove her father innocent, since he languished in Newgate.

  Viscount Wycliff studied his map and the pins denoting sightings. “There have not been any recent sightings of the monster, but should a man be wandering the fields at night, he will encounter the militia set to watch for it. Your time might be better occupied visiting Doctor Husom’s laboratory again and ascertaining the origins of the limb you saw.”

  “Yes. I did not think to ask at the time.” Hannah chewed her lip as she tried to make sense of the trail of clues stuck to the wall. The limb hanging in its copper frame and spiderweb of wires was as good a clue to follow as any. Perhaps she could also drop a few subtle questions in order to ascertain if Doctor Husom were a vampyre, such as asking if he had anything to drink.

  “I will visit Reverend Jones and Lord Dunkeith later today. Now, if you don’t mind, Miss Miles, I have plenty to do before I interview those gentlemen.” Wycliff walked to his desk and seated himself.

  Hannah stared at his broad back and on impulse, stuck out her tongue. Despite his protestations that he followed the evidence, she suspected he sought to tighten the noose around her father’s neck. If he would not help, she would do it on her own.

  Decision made, she marched from his study. She couldn’t enact her plan until nightfall, and there was plenty to fill her day before then. Firstly, she wrote a note to Doctor Husom asking his permission to visit his laboratory again. The idea of going there alone gave her some trepidation. The man had been her father’s teacher. What power or magic halted the ageing process for him? She handed the note to a local lad to be delivered, and then tackled her other chores, tending to the creatures in the laboratory and making her notes on their condition.

  Next she searched the house for Barnes, whom she found with Timmy. The lad was in the kitchen, practicing his reading as Barnes pointed to each word. There was hope yet the hand might learn to read and spell out his story, but not in time to help her father.

  After dinner, she announced her intention to study in her bedroom and trod the stairs with growing excitement. After considering her wardrobe options, she thought the undertaking better suited to Sir Hugh’s assistant, and fetched her boy’s attire from the trunk.

  With her hair braided up under a cap, Hannah crept back down the stairs and across the yard to the stables.

  “Oh, bother,” she whispered to the horses. She hadn’t thought through this part of her plan. At best, she was an adequate rider, and only aside. She glanced down at her trousered legs. This adventure would have to be astride. How on earth did people ride with a leg to each side of a horse?

  Hannah patted the nose of the placid and stout horse that pulled the gig. “We shall have to make the best of things.”

  Tacking up the quiet horse wasn’t so difficult and Hannah allowed herself a moment of satisfaction at having done the job herself. She led the horse to the mounting block and clambered into the saddle. It felt odd to have a leg on either side and she worried she would wobble off with no pommels to grip.

  As they turned left onto the main road, Hannah kicked the horse and urged it through the uncomfortable trot into a rocking canter.

  “Oh!” she cried out at the odd motion, and clutched the front of the saddle to keep herself secure. She would simply have to keep her seat. She couldn’t walk all the way to Chelsea, that would take fa
r too long.

  As the moon rose, Hannah relied on the horse’s eyesight to spot any holes in the road as she guided him through Knightsbridge and down toward Chelsea. Small roads and lanes intersected one another as she neared the Royal Hospital.

  Halting the horse presented a new problem. The few times she had ridden sidesaddle, Hannah had never dismounted unassisted, for a groom or her father always helped her down. The best approach seemed to be holding onto the horse’s neck and lowering herself to the ground.

  Once her feet were on the dirt, she scratched the horse’s neck. “We made it. Now, I should like you to stay here while I set about finding this monster.” Hannah tied the horse’s reins to a tree with a wide canopy that would shelter the animal, and there was lush grass for it to crop.

  Now that she stood in the dark and cold, a little of her initial bravery evaporated. Perhaps this wasn’t her smartest idea. At least she wasn’t entirely alone. Chelsea was a growing area and dots of light shone from the widely spaced houses that bordered gardens and fields.

  She wasn’t sure how one hunted a monster and she had little to protect herself with except a few of her mother’s spells in her pockets. Another pocket held a miniature glow mushroom, but she didn’t want to activate it and attract the attention of the armed men who patrolled the night, keeping the residents safe.

  The peacock-feather ring on her smallest finger tingled, and Hannah caressed it with her thumb. Her mother would know she had escaped from the house. She only hoped she would be allowed the latitude to investigate.

  A bird fluttered to a branch nearby and cocked its head at Hannah. A coincidence, or a spy for the mage?

  “I will be careful, and yes, I will let you know the instant I feel unsafe,” Hannah said to the bird. If it were her mother eavesdropping, that should satisfy her maternal urges.

  Hannah gave the horse one last pat, more to reassure herself than the beast, before she slipped across the road to the tree-dotted field. Did the monster roam the area looking for victims, or was it seeking dark spots to hide the failed experiments?

  She decided on a path dictated by the surrounding trees. With one in sight, she walked to it and rested against its bark while she chose the next tree. The moon tried to shine down but clouds drifted across its face, obscuring its features like a heavily veiled woman. Only the occasional shaft of dull silver managed to penetrate the growing clouds.

  Time drifted by as the night grew chillier and stars played hide and seek behind the clouds. Hannah’s feet began to ache in her slightly too-large boots and she wondered how far she had walked.

  Just as she was halfway to the protective branches of the next stand of trees, a larger shape detached itself from the shadows and moved through the grass.

  “There’s someone over here!” an unseen voice yelled.

  Blast! The militia had spotted the prey at the same time as Hannah. To add to the growing cloud cover, mist decided to roll in off the Thames and wash over the ground. The weather conspired with the night to hold tight to its secrets.

  More voices called out, muffled by the thickness of the air. Time had run out for Hannah to learn all she could about the creature. Was it man or monster? It certainly couldn’t be her father, unless Sir Hugh had escaped his prison cell. This was an opportunity she couldn’t lose. She stopped to survey her surroundings. Where had the shape gone? The surrounding fog was so thick one could lose sight of a barn in daylight. It turned the evening into a nightmare landscape full of hidden terrors.

  Hannah tripped over a large rock. As she threw out her hands to steady herself against it, a voice screeched in her mind that something was amiss. The rock was warm, despite the chill bite in the air, and somewhat softer than expected. She studied its pitted grey sides to try to determine what pulled at her mind.

  Then the rock groaned and changed. It rose up out of the ground and sprouted limbs. The watery moonlight was blocked as it towered above her. Before her stood a monstrous man. A creature of misshapen clay, as though a blind person had tried to fashion a man from the description of another.

  Hannah reached into her pocket and pulled out the mushroom. She tapped the cap and a soft yellow light came from her hand. The creature drew in a sharp breath and recoiled.

  “I’ll not hurt you. I want to help,” she whispered. How odd that it should fear her, when it was easily twice her size and built like an oak.

  She held out the light and curiosity overrode fear. The first thing she ascertained was the rise and fall of its chest. It either breathed and drew air into its lungs, or it pretended to breathe, which didn’t seem likely. Only the Afflicted adopted the pretence to appear alive in social gatherings. The creature bore a jagged line that ran from his throat down his chest, to disappear under its torn and dirty shirt, as though the unknown surgeon had autopsied the poor fellow and pulled open his chest. As Hannah inspected the flesh that was uncovered, she found similar crude workmanship at its exposed wrists.

  “Who did this to you?” she asked in a gentle tone, as though it were an injured kitten and not a seven-foot-tall behemoth.

  She stepped forward and the creature took a step back.

  “Watch out, lad!” a man yelled from behind.

  “It does not mean us any harm,” she called. Honestly, men assumed anything bigger than they were must be a threat. The militia had chased the creature through the night, but it had run from them. Despite the rumours, she had seen no evidence of violence from it.

  “Back away, lad. Let us deal with it,” a familiar voice called.

  Lord Wycliff had discovered her whereabouts.

  “No. You stay back,” she called over her shoulder, keeping her attention on the living thing before her. Or was it living?

  The creature emitted a low-pitched whine and clawed at its throat.

  Hannah lifted the light. What wouldn’t she give to conduct a thorough examination under bright sunlight. How many scars did the creature’s body bear, on the inside and out? “Can you speak?”

  Yellow eyes stared down at her and a single tear formed at the corner of its eye.

  “Speak,” it mumbled, as though its tongue didn’t belong to its mouth. The monster reached out a hand toward her.

  The men behind her shouted and a shot whizzed past Hannah and thudded into its flesh.

  “Hold your fire, you imbecile!” Wycliff shouted. “I will see to it that you are court martialed for firing so close to that boy.”

  The creature pulled at its shoulder, where a dark stain spread over its shirt. The action exposed a tattoo that appeared to be some sort of barrel with a rope coming out of it that formed a heart. There was a word inside. She peered closer…something starting with M?

  The creature cried out again. As it spun away, something fluttered from its grasp. In only a few steps, its retreating form was swallowed by the enveloping dark and mist.

  Hannah peered down to find what had fallen from the creature’s hand. Scanning the ground with the help of the glow mushroom, she found a large white daisy.

  The creature had offered her a flower.

  Hannah picked it up.

  “You should not have come out here unaccompanied, Miss Miles.” Wycliff loomed out of the dark to appear next to her, as men ran through the night to pursue the creature.

  “You gave me the distinct impression you did not require my assistance. So I thought to conduct my own investigation.” She twirled the daisy between her fingers.

  “You are fortunate I spotted the lad riding off on one of your father’s horses. Are you unharmed?” Lord Wycliff asked.

  “I do not think it meant any harm. It had picked a flower for me.” She held out the daisy.

  Lord Wycliff took off his overcoat and draped it over Hannah’s shoulders. “Did you recognise him?”

  “No. I can confirm he is not the madman, only the sad culmination of someone else’s mad work.” She inhaled the warm aroma that clung to the wool of the coat.

  What demented mind thought t
o piece together a human? Hannah recalled her father’s words about the experiment he had once tried, and the Afflicted woman assaulted by memories of the hand sewn to her body. Was the monster tormented by the things remembered by its disparate parts?

  “Let’s get you back to the house and warmed up. You are damp from the mist, and shaking.” Lord Wycliff placed a hand at her back and steered her toward the road.

  On impulse she leaned into him and, for once, his unnaturally high temperature gave her comfort, rather than annoyance.

  22

  No doubt due to the hours spent stalking the fields around Chelsea, Hannah slept like the dead. The actual dead who slumbered undisturbed for eternity in their tombs, not the undead who attended parties and balls and danced all night.

  She arose later than the rest of the household and found the dining room deserted. The tea was lukewarm and the toast damp and limp. She chewed without tasting as loneliness crept through her bones and chilled her body. Without her father’s large presence to fill the house, it seemed empty, both physically and in spirit. At least she had found the monster and could confirm that what the people feared was not her father.

  Something scratched and niggled at the back of her mind when she considered the monster’s appearance. A memory tried to wriggle free, but it couldn’t break out of the tired mist pressing on her.

  The ring on her finger tingled in a silent summoning.

  “Time to face Mother,” she whispered as she pushed her plate away.

  Hannah opened the library door to find Lord Wycliff standing by the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back. Wearing his customary black coat, a charcoal grey waistcoat, and a sombre expression, he appeared to be a mourner at a funeral.

  If he could mourn anything.

  Lady Miles sat in her bath chair next to the sofa.

  “Good morning, Mother. As you can see, I am unharmed by my excursion last night and I have learned crucial information that might free Papa.” Hannah crossed to her mother and ignored the dark presence.