Dead Souls Volume Three (Parts 27 to 39)

by Amy Cross

  “But Edgar -”

  “Enough,” he said darkly.

  “Darling -”

  “Enough!” he shouted, before lowering his tone a little. “There is nothing to be gained from talking about such things.”

  “I think I shall retire for a short while,” she replied, rising from the sofa and making her way to the door. “You can be rather over-the-top sometimes, Edgar, do you know that? I just wish that one night could end without you trying to make some kind of grand point about your bloody war. I know it must have been wretched, but it's over and you must try to put it behind you.”

  “Stay,” he said firmly.

  “Why? So I can sit around obediently while you talk to your visitor?” Stopping at the door, she turned back to him. “This is the twentieth century, Edgar, not the eighteenth. I love you but... Please don't act as if I'm nothing more than an ornament. You're not just with me because of my ladylike appearance, my good posture and my child-bearing hips, are you?” She waited for a reply. “Are you?”

  “Of course not,” he told her. “Fine. Go upstairs, I'll be there shortly. Wait for me in the bedroom and I'll show you precisely why I'm with you.”

  “Well,” she said with a smile, briefly biting her bottom lip, “now that is more like it.”

  As Estella left the room and headed upstairs, Edgar turned to see that Nixon was smiling to himself as he sat on the sofa, still at least pretending to be reading his book.

  “What?” Edgar asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing!”

  “I know that look.”

  “It's nothing, just...” Nixon paused for a moment, before glancing over at him. “You must find a way to let go of all your anger, Edgar. That's one of the things Dr. Freud advises. Anger will eat your soul faster than fear, faster than anything.”

  “You only know of things that come from books,” Edgar replied. “Don't tell me how the real world works.”

  Rolling his eyes, Nixon looked back down at his book.

  “This visitor should have been brought to me by now,” Edgar continued, turning to look over at the door. “I'm curious to see what kind of man would come and disturb me at such an hour.”

  III

  “Oh God,” Kate said as she stepped through the main door and entered the mansion's hallway, “it's exactly the same...”

  “I beg your pardon, M'am?” Jacob asked.

  “And you,” she continued, turning to him. “You're the same too!”

  “The same as what, M'am?”

  “As the last time I saw you, before...” She paused for a moment, before turning and running her hand across the wall, as if to check that it was real. “It can't have been rebuilt so quickly. It's not possible.”

  “His Lordship is not accustomed to taking visitors at such an hour,” Jacob continued, clearly a little irritated by the intrusion. “I can see if he is still up, but it might be better if you were to return tomorrow.”

  Barely even registering Jacob's words, Kate made her way over to the foot of the staircase. Looking up, she saw all the old portraits she remembered from before, and as she turned to glance at one of the cabinets, she realized that apart from a few very minor cosmetic changes, the mansion so far seemed to be exactly the same as it had been the very first time she'd visited a few months ago...

  Or rather, as she was starting to realize with growing horror, a century in the future.

  “Do you remember me?” she asked, turning to Jacob.

  “I'm sorry, M'am?”

  “Have you ever seen me before?”

  “I believe I have not, M'am.”

  “And what's today's date?”

  “It is the morning of August the first, in the year nineteen hundred and eighteen.”

  “A whole century,” Kate muttered, making her way back to the door that led through to the main corridor. “It's not possible, I must be imagining the whole thing.”

  “Please,” Jacob continued, stepping past her, “follow me and I'll take you to His Lordship's study. I believe he and the others were still up just a few minutes ago, so it might be the case that they are willing to entertain guests.”

  “The others?” Kate asked as she followed him.

  “Just the usual gathering, Miss...” He glanced back at her. “Might I ask your name, M'am?”

  “Kate,” she replied. “Kate Langley, but...”

  Stopping suddenly, she looked around at the paintings on the wall, and for a moment she felt as if she might be about to lose her mind. On the way up from town, she'd kept telling herself that there had to be a mistake, that perhaps she was dreaming or someone was messing with her perceptions. She'd even begun to worry that she might have died on the altar and now she was in some kind of bleakly ironic afterlife. At the same time, as every second passed, she felt more and more as if somehow it was all true, as if she really had ended up traveling back in time. Either way, she knew Edgar would know the answer.

  “Sir?” Jacob said up ahead, standing at the door that led into Edgar's study, “there is a lady here to see you.”

  “A lady?”

  As soon as she heard Edgar's voice, Kate hurried along the corridor until she reached the door and looked through to see that not only was Edgar standing over by the fireplace, poking the burning logs, but James Nixon was sitting on the sofa with a book in his hands. For a moment she felt as if finally she could get some answers, but there was something unsettling about the way they were staring at her, as if neither of them recognized her.

  “Miss Kate Langley,” Jacob said, before stepping back out of the room. “I shall fetch some refreshments.”

  “Langley, huh?” Nixon said, closing his book as he got to his feet. “It's not often we get new blood on the island. I didn't know there was a ferry due today, but I'm quite sure I'd have remembered seeing you around.”

  “What's happening?” she asked, hurrying past him and making her way over to Edgar. “What is all this?”

  Edgar stared at her.

  “What have you done?” she shouted.

  “Steady,” Nixon replied. “You can't just come barging in here in the early hours of the morning and start making a fuss.”

  Turning back to the fire for a moment, Edgar used the poker to shift one of the logs, before heading back over to the sofa. Stopping a few feet from Kate, he watched her for a moment, as if he was studying her and trying to understand her a little better.

  “What have you done to me?” she asked.

  “I'm sorry,” he replied finally, “but I have no idea who you are.”

  “Edgar, this has to be your doing!”

  “My doing?” he asked, clearly confused. “I 'm sorry, I really don't know what you're talking about. You're making no sense at all. It's almost as if a mad woman has stumbled into my home.” Stepping toward her, he held out his right hand. “Let us start at the beginning. My name is Baron Edgar Le Compte of Thaxos, and this other gentleman is my good friend Mister James Nixon.”

  “Not Baron Nixon or Sir Nixon,” Nixon muttered with a shrug. “Just Mister Nixon. Rather boring, don't you think?”

  “I know what you're doing,” Kate continued, refusing to shake Edgar's hand. “This is some kind of sick joke, isn't it? I knew you weren't dead, I knew you were up to something!”

  “Dead?” Edgar asked. “I'm sorry, I think you might have me confused with someone else.”

  “That'd be a first,” Nixon muttered with a smile.

  “Make it stop!” Kate hissed, stepping toward Edgar. “I don't know if you think this is funny, or you think I've done something and I deserve to be tortured, but I'm telling you... Stop it!”

  “I really don't -”

  “Now!” she shouted, pushing him back a step. “Edgar, I'm serious!”

  “Hang on,” Nixon said, getting to his feet, “I really don't think -”

  “It's alright,” Edgar replied, his eyes fixed on Kate. He paused for a moment. “What
was your name again? Langley?”

  “Don't play games with me, Edgar,” she said firmly.

  “Miss. Langley, no-one has ever walked into my house and talked to me in such a manner, and I must warn you that you're very lucky to still be in possession of your head. Do you have any idea who I am and where you are?”

  “Are you in on this too?” she asked, turning to Nixon. “When did the pair of you suddenly become so pally again? What about Alice?”

  “Who?” Nixon asked.

  “Alice. The woman you...”

  She paused, seeing the blank expression in his eyes.

  “The woman I what?” he asked. “I'm sorry, I don't think I know an Alice.”

  “This is insane,” Kate continued. “What about Doctor Young? Where is he?”

  “Who?” Nixon asked again.

  “What about Madeleine?”

  “Oh, she's upstairs,” Nixon continued, “sulking again.”

  “It's a game,” Kate replied, heading over to the sofa and staring at Nixon for a moment. She couldn't help but notice that he, like Edgar, seemed younger somehow, and also different: whereas Nixon had always seemed slightly on-edge and jittery, now he was positively relaxed. “This is a game,” she continued, turning back to Edgar, “and you're trying to drive me mad. Is that it? Are you punishing me for something? Were you planning this while you were pretending to be dead?”

  Edgar stared at her.

  “Nixon,” he said finally, “I think I should like to speak to this woman alone for a few minutes.”

  “But she's so amusing!”

  “Leave us.”

  Sighing, Nixon took his book and headed over to the door at the far end of the room.

  “I don't get why I can't join in on the fun,” he muttered as he headed out. “I so rarely get to take part in the hunt.”

  Left alone with Edgar, Kate waited for him to say something, but he seemed more intent on studying her. He headed over to the fireplace and threw on another log, before making his way around the room, seemingly keen to look at Kate from every angle. She turned to keep facing him, until finally he stopped by the drinks cabinet in the far corner.

  “Brandy?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Let me tell you something,” he continued, pouring himself a glass. “No-one has ever barged into my home like this, much less a human. In normal circumstances, you would be dead by now or I'd have taken you down to the basement. I don't tolerate this kind of disrespect, but there is something about you...” After taking a sip of brandy, he made his way back across the room and stopped just a few feet from her. “To come up here in this manner,” he continued, “you must either be incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Judging by the light in your eyes, I don't think you're stupid.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “Doing what?”

  “Pretending you don't know me!”

  “Where are we supposed to have met before?”

  “Here! Right here, but...” She glanced around, spotting various small aspects of the study that seemed different to how she remembered them. “In the future,” she continued, turning back to him. “I mean, not the future, the present.”

  “This is the present,” he replied.

  “This is the past!”

  “From whose perspective?”

  “From everyone's!”

  “I see.” He took another sip. “Allow me to see if I understand correctly. You seem to be under the impression that we have met before, and yet this meeting apparently took place at a time that, for me, is in the future, and yet for you is in the past?”

  “I'm not playing your game,” she told him.

  “This is no game. Exactly how far into the future do you think you come from?”

  “Edgar...”

  “Humor me.”

  “About a hundred years,” she told him. “If this is really supposed to be 1918, anyway.”

  “Fascinating.” He took another sip of brandy. “I have honestly never heard of anyone traveling in time, I never even considered that such a thing was possible. Not in this manner, at least, but at the same time I can see from the look in your eyes that you truly believe what you're saying. Setting aside for a moment the possibility that you're a lunatic...”

  He took a step toward her.

  She instinctively stepped back.

  “Please,” he said, taking another step forward, “I won't hurt you, I just need to be sure.” He stepped closer still, and for a moment he seemed to be taking note of her scent. “You come from somewhere far off,” he said finally, “somewhere unlike any other place I have encountered. You also...” He paused again. “You have certain scents that indicate... Nixon. You appear to have spent time with James Nixon.”

  “We worked together for a while.”

  “On what?”

  “On a...” She paused. “Does it matter?”

  “I imagine it does,” he continued, “since he clearly has no recollection of ever having met you before.”

  “That's because you're both in on this together,” she replied. “I know you, Edgar. I know that something like this is typical for you. Whatever point you're trying to prove, I really wish you'd just say it in words instead of putting on this ridiculous charade.” She paused, staring into his eyes and seeing his expression of utter bemusement, and for a moment she found herself genuinely believing that he knew nothing about her situation. “Edgar,” she said finally, “if I've ever meant anything to you, if we've ever been even the slightest of friends, I'm begging you... Stop all of this and just tell me what you want.”

  “You mean something to me?” he asked.

  “Edgar...”

  “In the future, I mean. You seem to be under the impression that an appeal to my better side might actually have a chance of working. Very few people have ever tried such an approach.”

  “I know you,” she continued. “Ever since the first night we met -”

  “This is the first night we met.”

  She shook her head.

  “It is,” he replied, “at least from my point of view. Perhaps from yours, though, things are different.”

  “You're not going to let this go, are you?” she asked. “You're locked into some kind of sick game, some kind of charade, and you're going to see it through to the bitter end...”

  “How can I persuade you that I'm being honest?” he replied. “Please, Miss Langley, for the first time in my life I find myself actually caring about a human's opinion. It's quite clear that in some manner, you and I have a connection. Tell me, how did such a preposterous situation come about? I'm fascinated by the idea that I could come to care about you.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but at the last moment she held back as she realized that he seemed genuine, as if he truly had no idea.

  “Edgar,” she said finally, “I... I mean, you...”

  She paused.

  “Edgar!” a female voice called out suddenly. “Where are you? I've been waiting all -”

  Turning, Kate saw a familiar face appear at the door, but it took a moment before she realized that she was staring at a younger version of Estella.

  “Oh,” Estella said, forcing a faint smile, “I didn't know there was a woman here.”

  “What are you doing here?” Kate asked.

  Seemingly confused, Estella turned to Edgar.

  “Please,” he told her, “don't be concerned. I was just speaking to Miss Langley, but she will be on her way again soon.”

  “Sure,” Estella replied nervously, glancing over at Kate. “I just... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, I just had no idea that...”

  “Miss Langley,” Edgar continued, heading over to Estella and taking her hand, “I'd like you to meet Estella, my fiance.”

  “Have you ever seen such a beautiful ring?” Estella asked, with a hint of embarrassed shyness as she held her hand out so that Kate could see the diamond. “Isn't it beautiful?”

  IV<
br />
  “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

  Standing in the doorway that led to Madeleine's bedroom, Nixon watched with concern as she slipped into the black cloak she wore whenever she was going out.

  “Who's the visitor?” she asked pointedly, refusing to look at him as she made her way to the full-length mirror in the corner.

  “Madeleine, please -”

  “Is it someone new for Edgar to get his teeth into?” she continued, her voice filled with nervous tension. She took a moment to fix her hair. “I do hope so.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  “None of your business.”

  He watched for a moment as she straightened her dress, and then finally she turned to him.

  “He can't keep me here,” she said firmly, with tears in her eyes.

  “He's not trying to keep you here.”

  “Yes he is. With every look, with every sigh and silence, he's letting me know that he doesn't approve of what I'm doing. Well, I don't care! He's my brother, not my father. Just because he inherited this place -”

  “He cares about you.”

  “Then why does he treat me like trash?” she sneered, hurrying back over to her bed and grabbing the bag she's already filled with a change of clothes.

  “Running away won't fix anything,” Nixon pointed out.

  “I'm not running away,” she muttered, hauling the bag over her shoulder. “God, I'm not that much of a child. Besides, I have nowhere to run to, remember? My darling brother controls the purse strings. I'm just going out for a few hours, that's all, and -”

  “To meet him?”

  “To get away from this infernal house!”

  “I know what you're up to,” Nixon continued, “and it's only going to end in tears. There's a reason why the species don't mix.”

  “Don't be so terribly old-fashioned,” she replied with a force smile as she made her way to the door and stopped in front of him. “Besides, Edgar has a human pet, so why shouldn't I? Now are you going to let me go, or are you going to try to force me to stay? I hope you haven't forgotten the last time we brawled, Nixon. I see to recall that you came off worst.”