by Alex Grecian
In the wee hours of the morning, a halt was called to the work. The doors were secured and the windows boarded up, leaving a solitary guard inside. When the last volunteer had trudged homeward, the dregs of the city crept out of the shadows and alleyways nearby. The new boards were pried from the broken windows and, ignoring the ineffectual guard, looters busied themselves clearing the store of anything that could be salvaged.
As the sun rose, the street was quiet again. Plumm’s was little more than a dark blotch on the terrain, a stripped and empty husk with no dreams or promises left on offer.
41
The library of Guildhall on Aldermanbury was turned into a makeshift ward for the injured that had been carried out of the Plumm’s wreckage. But the Print Room was reserved for two very special patients.
Nevil Hammersmith had succumbed to exhaustion and passed out after finding Walter Day. Immediately after waking up, he had taken a post at the foot of Day’s gurney and had not moved since. He was watching Timothy Pinch at work, plastering the inspector’s broken ribs, when Fiona Kingsley knocked softly on the double doors that connected the room to the library.
“How is he?”
“Sleeping peacefully,” Hammersmith said. He stood aside so she could see Day.
“Oh, hullo, Miss Kingsley.” Pinch perked up and smoothed his hair, accidentally rubbing plaster into his scalp.
“Mr Pinch. Please go on with what you were doing. I only wanted to check in on Mr Day.”
“Oh, I’m getting him fixed up proper, no worries on that front.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are. And, Nevil, how are your ears?”
“Your father looked me over just a bit ago. He says I’ve ruptured my eardrum.”
“Oh, my. Oh, Nevil, can’t you stay out of trouble?”
Hammersmith ducked his head and grinned. “It doesn’t seem so.”
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Pinch said. “His ear will heal itself, given time.”
Fiona nodded, but didn’t even look at the young doctor.
“I can hear out my other ear,” Hammersmith said. “And the ringing’s stopped now. So it’s not all bad.”
“It’s nothing,” Pinch said. “Doesn’t even require treatment.”
“That’s good,” Fiona said.
“I hope you’ve notified Mrs Day.”
“There was a great deal of confusion,” Fiona said. “So many people were injured and my father had me running round like a madwoman organizing the Hall. I meant to send somebody to fetch Claire, but I simply lost track of time and nobody else thought to send for her. When I realized, I had a boy sent right away with the message, but I’m afraid she’s going to be cross. I feel awful about it.”
“We could tell her we only found him this morning,” Hammersmith said.
Fiona smiled and brushed a stray hair out of her face. “You’d do that for me?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Hammersmith said. “Much as I’d hate Mrs Day to think we never considered her, I don’t think I could lie.”
“Of course.” Fiona’s smile disappeared and she nodded. “Good old Nevil. Well, I suppose I should go wait for her. She’ll want to know where we’re keeping Mr Day.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Pinch said. “Give me a minute to rinse my hands.” The plaster was drying in his hair, sticking it straight up at odd angles.
“Please don’t bother,” Fiona said. “I’m fine on my own.” She glanced at Hammersmith as she said it.
“Perhaps you should finish with Walter,” Hammersmith said.
“No, no, this will wait a bit,” Pinch said. “He’s not in any pain while he’s asleep, now is he? Miss Kingsley, do wait for me. I wanted to ask you something.”
“Oh, no, Mr Pinch.”
“No?”
“I mean to say there’s so much going on right now, I don’t think I could possibly answer any questions.”
“Ah.” Pinch looked round the room and ran his fingers through his hair again. “Yes, well, I seem to be running out of linens in here. Be right back.” He made a faint squeaking sound, as if someone had stepped on his toes, and hurried out of the room.
“What was that all about? There’s plenty of linens in here,” Hammersmith said.
“Oh, Nevil,” Fiona said. “Why don’t you ever ask me anything?”
“I just did. I asked you what was wrong with Pinch.”
“But you never ask me anything meaningful.”
“That’s meaningful enough, isn’t it?”
“Nevil Hammersmith, it would serve you right if I married Timothy Pinch.” Fiona spun on her heel and marched out of the room.
Hammersmith took a deep breath and frowned at the door, wondering if she planned to return and explain herself. When she didn’t, he sat back down at the foot of the bed. He didn’t understand what he had to do with Fiona and Pinch, but if she wanted to marry the young doctor, Nevil didn’t intend to get in the way.
He thought he ought to be happy that she had found someone, but something about it all sat strangely in his stomach. He wasn’t accustomed to thinking about romantic matters; they made him uncomfortable. It occurred to him that he might be lonely and he thought he might ask Fiona about that, if she was so determined that he should ask her things.
He had just made up his mind to follow her and demand an explanation when Walter Day opened his eyes. Hammersmith immediately put all thoughts of Fiona Kingsley out of his head and breathed a sigh of relief.
The things Walter Day talked about usually made some sense.
42
Dr Kingsley saw his daughter rush from the Print Room, her hair flying, her hands covering her face, and he was reminded of the girl she’d once been, running through the grass, her skirts flitting about her ankles. Nostalgia for those simpler times threatened to cloud his mind, but he snorted and brushed it away. The past hadn’t really been any easier, and while Fiona was indeed more complex now, at her core she was the same sweet child she had always been.
“Nurse, take over for me here,” Kingsley said.
He didn’t wait for a response, just trotted after his daughter. She was in the parlor, sitting with her back to the library. He hesitated at the threshold, wondering whether he ought to interfere, wondering how she had turned from that little girl to this beautiful woman on her own. Should someone have asked him if he was ready for that? Just as he was about to turn back, she looked up and gave him a teary smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She seemed about to say something else, but then shook her head and buried her face once more in her hands.
Kingsley patted his pockets until he found his handkerchief. He checked it for blood before handing it over to her. She didn’t look up as she took it.
“I’m such a . . .” But her voice broke and she couldn’t finish.
Kingsley pulled a chair over and sat next to her. He reached out and put his hand on the arm of her chair, there if she needed him, but not ready to intrude. He sensed that he ought to stay there, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do, so he settled on being a presence.
Fiona wiped her eyes with his handkerchief and blew her nose. She put a hand on his, and he was glad he’d stayed.
“I’m a fool, father. All this time.”
He had some idea of what she meant. “You’re not a fool. You’re a good person. And so is he. Perhaps it simply wasn’t meant to be.”
“Then there is no one else. I shall be a spinster.”
He couldn’t help it. He smiled, and she turned away from him again.
“Oh, I know you think I’m a silly little girl.”
“I’ve never in your life thought you were silly. You have taught me as much as I have taught you. And I’m not at all the person you need when there are matters of the heart to discuss. I have only felt romantic love for one person in my life.”
“You never talk like anyone else does, even at a time like this.”
“I talk like I talk.”
“Of course you do. I’m sorry. I’m just all . . .” She broke off and waved her hands in the air, but one hand fluttered back down to rest on his again.
“You have no idea how proud I am of you,” he said. But he saw that she was about to start crying again, so he felt he ought to change the subject. “You know, young Pinch seems to be quite fond of you.” He knew right away that it was the wrong thing to say.
She took her hand back.
“Damnit,” he said. “I don’t know what’s so appealing about Hammersmith. He’s a decent fellow, but he’s so focused on his work that he doesn’t even notice anything else.”
Fiona took the handkerchief away from her face and looked up at him, her eyes rimmed red and her nose moist, but a smile playing across her lips. “You think Nevil is too focused on his work? You?”
“Ah, yes. I am perhaps not the right person to point out that flaw, am I?”
“Father, I didn’t mean . . .” She looked away again.
“No, no, you’re right. Maybe that’s why the boy’s so appealing. It’s what you grew up with. You think it’s normal.”
“I don’t know what’s normal, and I don’t care what’s normal.”
“He’s what you want?”
“I don’t want to want him. Or anyone else.”
“Fiona, look at me. Have you told him how you feel?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, then all of this is for nothing. How can he know if you don’t tell him?”
“I’ve practically thrown myself in his path. I’m sorry, Father, but I have.”
“You were a child when he met you.”
“I’m not a child now.”
Kingsley smiled a sad sort of smile and looked carefully at the laces of his shoes.
“I know you still see me as a child, Father, but I’m truly not. At least three of the girls I went to school with are married already. I’m practically a spinster. I really am a grown woman.”
“Then make him see that. If he’s worth all this, then do something about it. You can’t simply bat your eyes and hope for the best. Go after what you want, Fiona, because life is too short to do otherwise. Before you know it, you’ll be old and you’ll have no idea where it all went.”
“You’re not old.”
“What makes you think I was talking about myself?”
She laughed and he smiled. He took the handkerchief from her and wiped her eyes and dabbed at her nose.
“Now come on. I need help out there, and as we’ve established, Mr Pinch is woefully inadequate.”
“Oh, Father!”
But she stood and took his arm, and together they walked back to the library. He felt the slightest bit bad for Nevil Hammersmith. The boy apparently had no idea what was going on, and if he wasn’t careful he was going to lose the best person he would ever have the opportunity to meet.
43
When Day awoke, the first thing he saw was Nevil Hammersmith sitting dutifully at the foot of the bed like an old Labrador. Hammersmith jumped up and grabbed the inspector’s hand. He seemed incapable of speech, and Day smiled.
“How long was I asleep?”
“All night. I was beginning to worry you’d never wake up.”
“Where am I? The hospital?”
“Guildhall.”
“Oh,” Day said. “Posh.”
“Indeed,” Hammersmith said. “Nothing but the best. Let me get the doctor. He was just here.”
“No need. I’m fine.”
“Well, he’ll want to see you. And not to worry, Claire knows and she’s on her way here. We all want to hear everything that’s happened with you.”
“Oh, is it Kingsley? The doctor, I mean.”
“His assistant was plastering your ribs. But of course Kingsley’s here. He’s tending some of the others who were hurt, but now you’re awake I imagine he’ll take over your treatment himself.”
“Hold off, would you, Nevil? Don’t fetch anyone just yet. In fact . . .” Day struggled to sit up. “Keep everyone out. Do those doors lock?”
“I don’t . . . Well, let me . . .” Nevil hurried to the double doors that connected the room to the library beyond it, but they opened outward and there was no way to barricade them properly. He shook his head and returned to the side of the bed.
“Where’s my cane?”
“On the chair over there,” Hammersmith said. “You drew the sword on me, you know.”
“But I didn’t kill you, which is not only a huge relief, but it means I can trust myself around you. I don’t know that I could guarantee the same about anyone else at the moment.”
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“To be honest, I don’t know,” Day said. “Not entirely. You must think I’m mad.”
“Yes, of course I do. A complete nutter.”
Day broke into laughter. He couldn’t help himself. After all he’d been through, the constant stress and anxiety, it was good to know he could depend on Nevil Hammersmith to be utterly honest. Pain lanced through his torso, and he clutched his stomach.
“You’re not supposed to move,” Hammersmith said. “Doctor’s orders. You’re busted up a bit inside from the fall.”
“How bad?”
“Fractured ribs.”
“Lucky I’m not dead.” Day gritted his teeth and took a shallow breath.
“I think what happened when you fell, you hit a table and the table collapsed under you. Could be worse, though. One chap out there . . .” He nodded in the direction of the library. “He’s got to have his arm off.” He made a sawing motion with his hand.
Day waited until he had caught his breath and waved Hammersmith closer to him so they could speak quietly. “All right,” he said, “so maybe I am mad. Who wouldn’t be? I barely remember anything of the past year, but it’s coming back to me in bits and pieces, and more and more with every passing minute. I remember snatches of conversations I had with that creature, things that he told me.”
“Jack, you mean?”
“Yes. Jack.”
“So you’ve been with him this whole time, while everyone’s been tearing their hair out searching for you?”
“Not the whole time. But, yes, most of it.”
“How have you survived?”
“Because of something I think he wants me to do. It’s why you’ve got to keep everyone away. And, Nevil, it’s why you’ve got to help me get out of here right away.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Jack wants me to kill someone close to me.”
44
Leland Carlyle retreated to his club. Not the secret society, not the underground chambers of the Karstphanomen, but rather the gentlemen’s club he frequented while in the city. There he could rest and think, free from the concerns of family and business. He had nearly killed someone that morning, had gone to a coffeehouse specifically to murder a young woman, and the fact that he might even entertain such a notion shook him to his core.
He handed over his hat and coat and retired to the public room, where he took a seat by the fire. He sank into a wide leather chair, ordered a Scotch and soda, and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of quiet privilege that he no longer felt he deserved.
He had always been able to rationalize the activities of the Karstphanomen. Murder was not the order of the day for that group of men. They championed justice. They taught murderers a valuable lesson about the cost of a human life. But today Carlyle had reduced himself to acting like a common killer.
He wondered when he had lost track of the line that separated the civilized man from the predator. And he wondered when he had crossed that line.
More, he had hired mercenaries to act on behalf of
the Karstphanomen. But he had done so at the bidding of the members, and so he didn’t feel personally responsible for that miscalculation. He realized they had done it from fear, from a sense of self-preservation. But he understood now that the Karstphanomen could not be personally responsible for murder or they were no better than the men they judged. What they had done flew in the face of everything they professed to believe in, everything they had set themselves against.
They had invited judgment upon themselves.
“Sir?”
Carlyle opened his eyes, a smile at the ready, thinking his drink had arrived. But the valet, Potter-Pirbright, was standing at the side of his chair with a look of concern draped over his normally receptive features. He was holding Carlyle’s hat and coat.
“What is it?”
“Your guests are causing a minor sensation, if you don’t mind my saying. It might be best to ask them to move along. Or perhaps the gentleman has an errand elsewhere.”
“I believe you’re mistaken,” Carlyle said. “I have no guests.”
“My apologies, sir.”
“No need. A mistake, that’s all.”
“Indeed.” But Potter-Pirbright didn’t move from the side of the chair.
“Was there something else?”
“They arrived at your heels, sir, and have not stirred from the front of this establishment since you entered.”
“I told you, they’re nothing to do with me.”
“As you say.”
“Then what is it, man?”
“They are disturbing some of the others, sir. In particular, the young lady wearing trousers has caused a bit of a stir with some of the older gentlemen of the club. Those of us in the younger generation are more open-minded, I’m sure.” (Potter-Pirbright was eighty years old if he was a day.) “If she would stop leering at everyone who enters, perhaps her presence would be more easily overlooked.”
