“Sir, you could not have anticipated—”
“No, I should have foreseen that Lord Rose would try to find another venue through which he could complete our commission from the queen. You and your family’s heirloom were exactly the sort of thing he was looking for.”
“Dr. Hawthorne, I have told you everything about what happened to me and your niece, but you still have not told me what this commission is. What could Lord Rose want with a potion that could save a life? He does not seem like a man who would save anyone but himself.”
The doctor sighed. The boy had the right to know. “Alastair wants to use the elixir to bring Prince Albert back from the dead.”
“Back from the dead?” Immanuel opened his mouth to speak but closed it as his mind combed through what he knew of British history. “But he died decades ago. You would have been a child at the time, and Prince Albert would be nothing more than bones now.”
“My father took care of that. Let me start from the beginning.” Taking a key from his pocket, the doctor unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and withdrew a folio of papers tanned with age and crinkled where they jutted from the edge of the leather case. He flipped through the pages until he found a long sheet written in clear, uniform script and signed at the bottom by the queen. “A year before his death, Prince Albert and Queen Victoria sensed he was taking a turn for the worse. For years he had suffered from a debilitating affliction of the stomach and bowels, but in 1860, he grew weak and was in severe pain. My father was a prominent Harley Street physician, who had treated several members of the royal family before, but what lured the queen to him was his work with the Spiritualists. With the help of a medium named Charles Leopold, he studied death and conducted experiments to find a quantifiable soul. The queen came to them when no other doctor was able to help her husband. He was too weak to undergo exploratory procedures, but my father and Leopold concluded the only way to stave off death would be to sever his soul from his body, treat his condition, and put his soul back in.
“It sounded simple enough, but my father realized through his experiments that if the body began to decay after death, there was no way to reestablish a connection with the soul. You may not know this, but the soul is at least partly electrical and attaches to the body through reciprocal charges binding them together. For a year, I barely saw my father as he worked tirelessly with Leopold to create the perfect formula that would not only preserve the prince consort but could be reversed to allow him to be reanimated. Traditional methods like formaldehyde permanently altered the tissue, but by the time the queen called them to a meeting at the palace, he had figured out a preservative that could be reversed even if he wasn’t yet sure how to do so completely. By the winter of 1861, Queen Victoria was despondent over his failing condition. She had lost her mother earlier that year, and Albert’s impending death was more than she could handle. If they were to save him, it would have to be soon.
“All of their equipment was moved from London to Windsor Castle where Albert had been staying. He was rapidly deteriorating, but my father believed his death was not a certainty. If it had happened a few decades later, he probably could have recuperated, but at the time, he was wasting away. My father always told me that if Prince Albert had died, the queen and the country would have crumbled, but to know that he would be revived in the future, gave her enough hope to go on. On December fourteenth, Prince Albert spent time with each of his children and his wife before he was submerged in a cistern of chemicals and his soul was extracted from his body and deposited in a jar for safekeeping. From that point on, she dressed like a widow and would do so until he returned.”
Immanuel’s heart skipped out of rhythm as he saw Lord Rose in his devil’s mask drawing out the jar from his metal ribs, studying the translucent, glittering shadow captured inside it. For thirty years, Prince Albert had been trapped in a manmade purgatory. The pain that coursed through his body when the device sucked out his soul hurt more than anything he had ever felt. What was the difference between being tortured in a dungeon and being confined to a glass cage?
“And what did the prince think of what was to be done to him?” he asked, steadying his voice with a hard swallow.
“I do not know. My father never discussed that. I would assume he went along with it to appease his wife and in hopes he would be cured.”
“How did you and Lord Rose get involved?”
“A few years after Prince Albert was put in Limbo, my father figured out how to reverse the chemicals and bring his body out of its suspended state, but he had a change of heart. He realized the ramifications of such a discovery and feared it could be used to create eternal life. If every monarch used the technology he and Leopold created, regimes would never change, monarchies would transform into dictatorships, and progress would cease. The moral ramifications were too much for him, so he decided to pretend he had never found the answer. Unfortunately, his contract with the queen stipulated he could not work on anything that did not pertain to reviving Prince Albert. Because he was no longer allowed to practice medicine, he was given the position of Coroner to the Queen, which gave him access to all the corpses he could need and kept him under the crown’s watch. My father did not anticipate that the queen would outlive him, and as per the contract, I inherited my father’s burden five years ago.”
“So Lord Rose is related to Charles Leopold?”
The doctor shook his head. “No, and I have no idea how Alastair Rose became involved with the Spiritualist society since he is not a medium. Leopold never had a son. I did not know Alastair was his heir until after he died. With Charles Leopold’s blessing, he rose to head of the London branch without question.”
Alastair Rose had to have something to gain from all of this. He wouldn’t have bloodied his hands for glory. “How does Lord Rose profit from reviving him?”
“The contract states that upon the successful completion of the project, we will be granted baronies, land, and a small fortune. You can see why Lord Rose would like to finish before the queen dies.” James pulled off his glasses and laid them on his desk before running his hands over his face. In the flickering glow of the gas lamps, the creases around his eyes and the grey at his temples were unmistakable. “Her Majesty’s project has torn apart my life and strained my marriage. I want nothing to do with this, yet my wife wants me to complete it just so we can have some semblance of a normal life. She does not care that if this technology is used by others, I will go down in history as a monster, but now, she will finally get her way.” He sighed. “Tomorrow, I will send word that I am ready to conduct the reanimation after Christmas.”
“Dr. Hawthorne, you do not have to do this.”
“With only your word that Lord Rose is Spring-heeled Jack and your tormenter, no court will convict him, and I have nothing to tie him to Katherine Waters if he really is Jack and not a copycat. It is the only way he will leave you and Emmeline alone, and hopefully, he will quit the Spiritualist society once he has an estate. I do not want my niece around him, but if we tell her to stay away from him, she will only want to be with him more.”
Two clocks chimed downstairs, beckoning the early hours of a new day. “You should go to bed, Mr. Winter. There is no sense in staying up when there is nothing more to be done tonight.”
How could he be expected to simply go to bed after learning all of this? To protect them, the doctor would have to go against his own morals and what he and his father had resisted for thirty years. Immanuel’s heart sunk. All of this, all of these lives in ruin, had been caused by the selfish desire to thwart nature. He reached the door but lingered as his hand trembled against the doorjamb. There was one thing he had to know.
“Dr. Hawthorne, what— what did the machine that removed the soul look like?”
“I never saw it myself, but my father said it was big enough to take up an entire wall with all the turbines and mechanisms needed to generate enough electricity.”
“Ah. Good night, sir,” he whis
pered as he slipped out and down the hall.
Chapter Twenty-Five:
Hope for Happiness
Sallow rain battered the window of Adam’s study, congealing and sliding down to the sill where it crystallized like peridot. He stared at the pane with the pen poised above his ledger, slowly dripping ink from the nib. Finish the books, and you can leave. Finish and you can leave, he repeated to himself, but as Adam stared at the jumble of numbers, he could not bring himself to add them up even if it would free him from the self-imposed confines of his house. At the crack of dawn, he had wanted to set out for Wimpole Street to check on Immanuel, but Hadley had suggested he allow the poor man the chance to sleep in and have some breakfast before he entertained a visitor. His sister was right, and to occupy his mind before he left, he decided to balance the books for her toy company. Closing the ledger, Adam sighed. He couldn’t do this right now. How could he think about profits and losses without knowing what state his friend was in? His friend. The world would call them friends, yet behind closed doors and in their minds, they were so much more. Somehow the right word didn’t exist for what they were.
The stillness of the house was punctuated by the ticking of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall. Sticking his head out the door, he was pleased to find that it was half past eleven, enough time to give Immanuel a chance to be up and about when he arrived. As he climbed the steps to his bedroom, Adam Fenice stopped mid-step at the sound of a gentle rapping on the front door. Retreating, he smoothed his jacket and hair before cracking open the door to meet the bichrome gaze of Immanuel Winter. The tainted soot and sulfurous snow lazily whirled past him, ruffling the curls hanging at the edge of his forehead. With a shiver, he rubbed his arms and shrugged his scarf closer to his chin.
“Immanuel, get inside before you catch your death!” Adam cried as he pulled his companion in by the arm and shut out the cold. “Did you walk all the way from Wimpole Street? You shouldn’t have walked here after what happened yesterday. You are in much too fragile of a state to be walking through snow and murk like that.”
A smile played on the German’s lips at Adam’s fussing. “Don’t worry, I did not walk. Dr. Hawthorne gave me the day off to recuperate, so he dropped me off on his way to a crime scene. Apparently, Jack struck again last night after he decided to pay me a visit. They found the body this morning.”
“Good lord. Who was it this time?”
“I don’t know.” He unwound his scarf and wrapped it around the arm of the iron coat rack, revealing a veil of gauze encircling his neck. “It was a woman though, like the first time.”
“Do— do you know who he is?”
“The man who attacked me was the same man who kidnapped me. He went after me to tie up some loose ends. At least now that he knows it will not work, he probably will not come after me again.” He smiled bitterly. “Thank the lord for small miracles.”
Adam swallowed hard, unconsciously rubbing his wrist. “You must be freezing. Let me put the kettle on.”
Leading Immanuel into the parlor, his eyes fell on the dwindling fire in the hearth. As his companion settled into an armchair, Adam knelt before the grate. The flames had died away, leaving only the fading embers to warm the room. With the bellows in his hands, he mechanically stoked the fire and added more wood until the fire swelled, but his mind was on the man who had grabbed Immanuel by the neck the night before. He had seen his companion in a grave state only days after his escape, yet what happened finally became real when the man appeared on the porch. His faceless tormentor existed. He had a name, he had a life, and he was still in the city. Somehow, he had found Immanuel, and Adam was powerless to stop him. Adam’s chest tightened as anger and fear wrapped around his ribs and set his heart pulsing to a frantic pace.
“What is the name of the man who hurt you?”
Immanuel froze at the sight of Adam’s face. His eyes had hardened, darkening with a single-minded resolution he had not seen in him before. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to do anything rash. You have seen what he is capable of. There is no way you could survive if he went after you.”
With an effervescent grin, Adam dismissively waved his hand, but the manicured smile died away when he saw the fear in his friend’s eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I—”
“I am serious, Adam. I will not tell you who he is if you are going to foolishly endanger your life.” His hazy eye glistened, and Mr. Fenice blurred into smears of red and dove grey, rippling with each blink. As Adam stood, he caught his hand and held it tight. When their gazes met, Immanuel mutely urged him to squelch his temper. “You saw what happened when I stepped out of line. I could not bear to know I was the source of your destruction. What would I do without you?”
Wrapping his other hand around Immanuel’s, the redhead softened and curled his lips into a faint smile. If it had not been for the window behind them, he would have stooped down and kissed him, but that would have to wait. “I promise I will not do anything to the man,” he paused, “unless you tell me to.”
Immanuel scratched his neck over the bandage and bit his lip but knew he had to tell him even if he still worried he may try something drastic. “His name is Lord Rose. He is the head of the London Spiritualist Society.”
“That man Miss Jardine has been spending time with?” Adam asked with wide eyes as he took the adjacent chair. “Does she know?”
He shook his head. “No, but I told Dr. Hawthorne last night about what happened with Lord Rose. Surprisingly, he believed me. I did not expect him to, but he did not seem to trust him even before I told him about how he found me at Oxford.”
“What are you going to do about Emmeline? You cannot let her go off with that lunatic.”
“I know, I know. Dr. Hawthorne does not want me to say anything yet, but maybe she would listen to me if I presented the right evidence. After all, he kidnapped her too.” Immanuel chewed on his lip and sighed. “The thing is, I do not know if she will believe me. Last night, she came in after you left and asked me how we were connected. I told her about what happened in Oxford, and she finally remembered me after I covered the side of my face. Are the Hawthornes invited to spend Christmas at your sister’s fiancé’s house?”
“I believe so.”
“Maybe I can talk to her then. I do not think she will be visiting the Spiritualist society until after Christmas anyway.” The house was silent apart from the crackling of the fire and the ticking of an unseen clock. “Is your sister home?”
Adam cleared his throat. “No, she is at Lady Dorset’s dealing with wedding business. Linens, flowers, food, things of that nature.”
“Is she looking forward to the wedding?” he replied, resisting the urge to scratch his stitches.
“Not really. She wants to marry Lord Sorrell, but all the planning and fussing over flowers and linen really is not her—” His eyes widened as they fell on the growing red blotch on the side of his companion’s neck. “Immanuel, your neck is bleeding!”
Touching the wad of gauze, he drew his hand away only to find his fingertips covered in a thin coating of fresh blood. “May I use your lavatory? If you have any gauze, I can clean myself up.”
He nodded and quickly led Immanuel up the stairs. On the third level, he walked him to the door across from his bedroom. The bathroom was nearly pitch black without any windows, but when Adam flipped on the gas lamps, he found a cozy room fitted with a cast iron tub and pristine porcelain fixtures against striped, green wallpaper. As Immanuel washed his hands, his host darted out of the room. After peeling off his jacket and removing his borrowed tie to keep from ruining more of the doctor’s clothing, he unwound the gauze from his neck. Using a clean portion of cotton, he gingerly wicked and wiped away the blood around the stitches.
“I found some dressings in Hadley’s workshop. I hope it is enough,” Adam said, his voice pointed with worry, as he bustled in with a roll of gauze and a pair of scissors. “How bad is it?”
Immanuel inspected his wound
in the mirror and confirmed the blood was dripping from the corner of a loosened scab. “Not very. I’m just a bleeder.” Taking the fabric and scissors from his companion’s hand, he cut a swath and folded it against the wound. “Would you be willing to wrap the other piece around my neck for me?”
He nodded and carefully tethered the wad of to his throat, but as he tied and tucked the end under, a stirring of guilt tugged at his stomach when his fingertips lingered on the delicate flesh. “I’m sorry for fighting with you yesterday.”
“It’s all right. I was angry, but I understand the need for discretion in public. It is just that I was really looking forward to being with you.”
As Immanuel reached to retrieve his tie, Adam put his hand over his. The words worked free of his mouth, silencing his righteous conscience. “We can now. It will be a while before Hadley gets home.”
“Really?”
When the German’s face lit up with a hopeful smile, Adam nodded and trailed the edge of his hand across Immanuel’s cheek. This man with his thin face and cracked cheek had been the reason he cried for the first time in a decade. A young man he had scarcely known a month had affected him more than his brother had after a short lifetime together. Looking into Immanuel’s eyes, he saw the possibility of happiness and a place where he could lay his soul bare. No one had held him so wholly. With a kiss, he had bewitched him into betraying the façade he built up to please the world. There was no way he could convince himself he could change and love the prescribed sex. No woman would ever make him feel like he did around Immanuel. Matilda Meriwether had moved on and so had he.
A shudder of electricity passed through him as he brushed against his companion’s cool lips before pressing against them, drawing him into an embrace. The moment their bodies touched, Immanuel latched on, wrapping his thin arms around his neck and into his hair to keep the redhead close. As Adam coaxed Immanuel’s lips to part and deepened the kiss, the taller man tried to steady himself, but his legs faltered. His heart pounded with sudden panic, yet it only made his flesh pulse at each point he and Adam’s bodies met. Before he could put his hands out to break his fall, Adam’s arms tightened around his waist and supported his frame against the bathroom wall. Energy hummed and raced between the two men, enlivening their nerves and tugging every hair on end. Immanuel drew in a trembling breath when his companion’s tongue grazed his lip, inhaling the fragrance of his pomade and lavender cologne. Resting his head against the wall, Immanuel smiled and met Adam’s gaze as he broke from his lips. His light eyes ran over his friend’s ashen face, which had flushed from exertion, to his shaking hands as they twitched against the nape of his neck.
The Ingenious Mechanical Devices Box Set Page 45
