Lillian Holmes and the Leaping Man

by Ciar Cullen

  Lillian smiled, for he had not reprimanded her for her investigation. What would it be like to talk freely of her studies, to live openly, to be alive, fully alive? Perhaps he could help her. But could she trust him?

  “Yes,” she announced. “I will be more careful.”

  ***

  “Enter,” Lillian answered Aileen’s peculiar four-tap knock, and the maid immediately walked to the armoire to pick out a dress for dinner. Lillian had spent the last hour writing at her desk, putting to paper all she knew of the Leaping Man. Her heart raced with the thought of seeing Mr. Orleans this evening. He could have a connection to the Leaping Man. The resemblance was there.

  “The sapphire, Miss?” Aileen’s voice bore the mildest tone of reproof, as if to add, “Won’t you please buy another evening dress!”

  “I take your point, Aileen. No doubt you and Miss Wheeler go on behind my back about my disregard for fashion.”

  “Never! I wouldn’t treat you so, Lil. I mean, Miss. Please, tell me you don’t think that about me.”

  Lillian took her seat before the dresser to allow the maid to fuss with her hair. She looked up and smiled. “I’m teasing.”

  To her shock, Aileen seemed to be holding back tears. No, there it was: a lone drop trickled down her freckled cheek. And Aileen’s pale blue eyes were rimmed in red to match the fiery red curls that often escaped her white cap.

  Lillian turned and took the maid’s hand. “I assure you, Aileen, I was teasing! Your position is secure here. I know how badly you need this work. You are my friend, are you not?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss. I don’t mean trouble.” She broke into sobs and covered her face.

  Lillian pulled her hands away and led her to the bed, forcing her to sit. “You must not take things to heart so.”

  “It’s not you, Miss. It’s the boys,” she managed between sobs. “They’re being turned out. Old Breuner is closing his tannery and can’t use them. It’s not only the pittance he pays them; they’ve been sleeping there. Johnnie would take them in to live with him and Paddy, but they are not allowed to have four live in the one room.” Aileen covered her mouth to stifle her sobs.

  Orphans to poverty, Lillian thought. Aileen’s parents had died of tuberculosis within a few months of one another, shortly after the birth of their youngest, Darby. I too am an orphan. Without her inheritance, she might be in the same position as Aileen. Or worse. With no skill in dressing a young lady, she would have no doubt been as good as a slave, scrubbing floors or working in the oyster cannery.

  She strode to the door and called loudly for Thomas.

  The butler appeared as quickly as his lame leg would carry him up the grand staircase. Eyes wide, he looked inside the room. “What’s the racket, Miss? I thought you saw a murderer!”

  “Clear the storage room, Thomas. Put the things in the kitchen, or anywhere you like. Put down two pallets and a stand. The room has a small window, does it not? Addie will know what to do. The remaining O’Shaunessys will be employed here, for room and board, starting this evening.”

  “Miss, you cannot mean those rapscallions… Beggin’ your pardon, Aileen, but—”

  “Let them do the work that causes your leg to hurt. It will be a boon for all involved. That is enough, Thomas.”

  The butler cursed softly and turned.

  Lillian called him back. “By the way, have you finished that collapsing spyglass I fancy?”

  “Not yet, Miss,” he replied, with a tone that said he’d prefer to finish it when pigs took flight. Then he limped and mumbled all the way down the stairs. He would not mistreat the boys, but he would likely need to replenish his whiskey stock more often.

  Aileen fell upon her with hugs, clutching at her shoulders and sobbing still. “You have a kind soul, Lillian Holmes. If there were any other way, I would turn away your offer.”

  “This is nothing, put it out of your mind. Now, hurry with my hair, for we’ve wasted a good amount of time with all this fretting.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “Aileen, one more thing. Mr. Abraham Lincoln does not enter the house. It is one thing to replace Bess’s best frock, another to answer to Addie over ruined furniture. You may keep him in the yard. When the cold weather arrives…well, we shall formulate a plan then for the hound. We both know that, while I am the lady of the house, there is one above me.”

  “Oh, you aren’t lying! I mean, yes, Miss.”

  “Next week, I will give you money to buy new dresses, one day dress and one evening. You know my measurements. Bess will be thrilled to help you. You may buy yourself a little something as well, and I do owe one to Bess in addition. And some new shoes for the boys, if you can convince them to wear shoes. Yes, let us make that a house rule. The boys will have shoes.”

  “Oh! A lovely emerald silk, cut low and… This mane of black will shine against the green.”

  “Why must it be cut low? Everything you have made for me is cut low!”

  It seemed the maid was in a hurry to see her married as well. What a horrid way to find a husband, exposing one’s bosom.

  Aileen hummed as she pinned Lillian’s hair, one long lock at a time. “Mr. Orleans is quite handsome, Miss. And so is his older brother I hear from Johnnie, as far as men can be trusted in such matters. Johnnie says they have a good deal of money. More than a good deal. They own a shipyard. And it’s said that their home is filled with priceless…obj…things, especially French things.”

  “Objets d’art. How nice for the Orleans brothers. Does Johnnie also believe I should find a husband in the Orleans household?”

  Aileen flushed and dropped the subject.

  Ah, I hear Bess. And if I’m not mistaken, my Musketeers are trailing along. Hopefully Mr. Lincoln has not come inside.”

  Lillian descended to the parlor, kissed her friend and lined the boys up by height. Billy, Darby, and Paddy. They each saluted.

  “Yes, my Musketeers?”

  Paddy wiggled in excitement, barely able to contain himself, but as usual Billy would speak for the trio. “The baker Jacob Eisner says that he heard from a maid who lives near Orleans that a carriage driver saw—”

  “Stop right there. Did you forget the definition of the word hearsay?”

  Billy stared at the ceiling for rescue. Darby looked at his feet.

  Lillian paced with her hands behind her back as Uncle Sherlock did when he lectured on a topic. It felt quite right to, she thought. She made a mental note to add the practice in all appropriate situations.

  Paddy squirmed and squealed for more attention, finally raising his hand and jumping up and down.

  Lillian nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “I did the best, I really did! You promised a penny, but this is worth at least two. I followed him and another man. They’re brothers, that’s what they call each other. I followed them all evening, and they didn’t see me once, no they didn’t. What do you think of that?” He put his hands on his hips and bit his lip, anxious to tell the rest.

  “I’m concerned that you did so at night, but go on.”

  “First I asked Johnnie where fine men like them might spend their time, saying I wouldn’t mind being a fine man. Johnnie called me a loon first, but then he told me that he had no idea where they might go, perhaps to a cigar parlor.”

  Darby punched Paddy in the arm, which starting a shoving match. Lillian cleared her throat and held up three pennies.

  “So I followed them.”

  “Yes, we gathered that. Quickly, where did they go?” Lillian squatted to face him at eye level.

  Paddy closed his eyes to concentrate. “They walked so fast, Miss. All the way down to the Light Street wharfs.”

  Bess clucked. “That is too far! You’re not to go to the wharfs!”

  Lillian hushed her, and the boy shrugged.

  “And then?” Lillian prompted.

  “They went into a place with music and loud men, and I didn’t see them after that. I waited a long time, though.”


  Lillian groaned and turned to Bess. “See why I must do this myself? Details, there are no details!”

  “It’s not Paddy’s fault that men frequent harbor dens. And do you see why the boys cannot continue to do this? Paddy is only eight! How horrid would you feel if he’d been hurt?”

  Paddy shuffled his feet. “It’s not worth a penny?”

  “Of course you’ll get your penny. Now, off with all of you. Find Aileen or Thomas and see if they need help around the house. Darby and Billy, you are to stay with your sister here from now on; Thomas is preparing a room for you. If you do not behave, you will answer to Mrs. Adencourt.”

  Billy and Darby hugged Lillian’s skirts, which threw her off balance, mentally and physically. Then the boys ran outside, surely looking for mischief rather than work, and Lillian sat next to Bess.

  “I see more of your generosity at work here. The boys do love you,” her friend announced. “The Adencourts love you, too. As does Aileen. And I love you, Lil.”

  Lillian’s stomach churned, for she knew what Bess was saying: Don’t put yourself in harm’s way. You are falling back into your fantasy world. Dr. Schneider’s words, the Jackal’s words, Addie’s words, and now Bess.

  “I love you as well.”

  “It’s not appropriate to follow a man—” Bess suddenly sighed, knowing that propriety was the last thing Lillian cared about. “Lil…”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you been taking your medicine? When did you last visit with Doctor Schneider?” Her lips twitched with nervousness.

  “I am fine, Bess.”

  “Your eyes… I am sorry, Lil, but your eyes do not look fine. In moments we are to go to the Orleans function. I do not think it is wise to do so. I will stay here with you and send a note.”

  “I am fine! You are dying to go and chat with Kitty and the rest. What makes you say such nonsense?” But, oh God, her friend would give up what she craved most because she feared for Lillian’s sanity? Lillian vowed to meet with the doctor again. This slow weaning from her medicine would kill her. In fact, she’d inadvertently doubled her dose, having forgotten today she’d already taken it. But what would it truly hurt? Dr. Schneider had stressed that she should lessen use gradually, after all.

  Bess was staring at her. “Moreover, I don’t understand your particular interest in Mr. Phillip Orleans. Although handsome, he seemed otherwise uninteresting to you. Why did you change your mind? Why have the boys follow him? Why would you follow him? He is no match for either of us when he is engaged to Kitty Tw—”

  “Because he looks ever so like the Leaping Man.”

  Bess put her hand on Lillian’s arm. “The Leaping Man, Lil?” she whispered. “Is that from one of your books? We should perhaps chat with Addie…”

  Lillian stared into Bess’s concerned blue eyes and sighed. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to have a real partner, a real Dr. Watson to believe her. But she lived in a secret world where nothing was safe to share. They wouldn’t believe the truth if she told them. She hardly believed the memory herself.

  “Yes, Bess,” she said. “It is a story from one of my books. I thought to have Miss Twamley paint a likeness to go with my favorite story, that is all. Phillip Orleans would make a fine protagonist. And perhaps he would sit for his betrothed.” Though I am interested in meeting the brother if he is truly taller and even more handsome…

  Bess looked doubtful, and Lillian knew her friend struggled with whether or not to pretend all was fine. “A painting of a character from a story?” she said at last. “I suppose that is acceptable. But you mustn’t follow the man anywhere, Lil. It’s simply not done—and it’s not safe. Neither for you nor the Musketeers.”

  “When I choose to go, he will not know it is me. I will disguise myself as a boy. I will dress you in the same fashion, and even your father would not recognize you.”

  “Me!”

  “All right, I will do it alone.” What am I putting her through? I’d be best alone, anyway. Perhaps I was meant to be always alone.

  “Do you think that thieves and cutthroats only accost girls?”

  “I have a pistol, Bess.”

  “I try to forget that. Please don’t mention it again. I’ve only been as far as the train station. I’m not allowed… I can’t walk very far, and I don’t have the money for…” She stared at nothing, twisted her handkerchief and wiggled her foot.

  “You can walk far,” Lillian said. “You choose not to, because you care more about the stares of strangers than fulfilling your desires. Please do not do this to yourself, Elisabeth. It is a crime against your own person. Even if you do not wish to follow Mr. Orleans you should—”

  “I cannot go, and you will not go alone. I insist. Or…or, I will tell Thomas.”

  “Balderdash.”

  Bess held up her palm. “May I die a hatless old maid. I will tell him your plan. It is bad enough that you have tried to deceive us all, and often done so. You are far too clever. I know you ride that blasted steambike—”

  “Steam-powered velocipede.”

  “—at night. I will love you no matter how you dress, no matter how many men you turn away, no matter how many invitations lay unopened on your desk. But you are asking too much. You are asking me not to care about you.”

  “I understand, Bess. But if you don’t want me following anyone, will you at least help me uncover the truth about the Orleanses tonight? I do feel there is something odd about Phillip, and I cannot wait to meet the brother. I do so hope he is there. Perhaps you can speak with Kitty and learn all about him. How would that be? Then no one need head into the harbor district at midnight.”

  Bess’s face brightened and she rose, clapping her hands together. “I would be thrilled to help in that manner!”

  As she turned toward the door she hesitated a moment, but she did not turn back. Lillian knew her friend realized she’d been fooled again, that this was only the prelude of investigations yet to come. She only prayed Bess would forgive her for the necessity of her actions and her lies.

  Or, perhaps it was time to ask the doctor for help. Eventually she would lose everyone she cared about.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A Dangerous Woman

  “So, Madam Pelosi, what brings you to Charm City? The oysters? The scum floating on the harbor? The fascinating society? I understand you are still practicing the dark arts to lure in your victims.”

  “Some things never change, George. Your wit hasn’t improved. But it’s good to see you, too.”

  George laughed and kissed the ridiculously attired would-be gypsy on the cheek. “Because it’s about to pour, Phillip went to fetch Kitty and her dull friends in a cab. They should be here soon. So we have a moment to chat.”

  Annaluisa sat next to George and pulled his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s talk about Kitty. This concerns me, Georgy. I have not seen such an arrangement ever end happily, have you? And Phillip shows a bit of disregard for his own kind by trusting her to stay silent.”

  “While I don’t welcome the scrutiny of mortals, I believe that Kitty may be trusted. Her love for Phillip is strong.”

  “Obviously.” Annaluisa paused. “To answer your initial question, I left New Orleans because the voodoo priestesses there are making it increasingly uncomfortable for our kind. While their magic is absurd, they do have a solid grasp of how to kill us. And you’ve been there enough to know how indiscreet the House can be—Jean’s high opinion of his talents leaves him vulnerable, in my opinion. He should be more circumspect.”

  “I’m sure he has the power to take down any opposition—why should he care?”

  “Your isolation has made you a bit naïve. If a handful of women have the knowledge to kill us, do you not think that knowledge will eventually spread? Our numbers are so great…how long before the legends of our kind are no longer legends to them, and the mortal masses declare war on our kind?”

  “While I do love my fortune and my peace, I truly do not give a damn what happe
ns to our kind. Let them destroy us all. It will not be for a while. Are you actually worried about this, Anna? Don’t you sometimes wish for the end? Of course you do, why do I ask? You’re nearly as old as I am. The thought of a few Caribbean ladies with wooden stakes hardly sends terror through my veins.”

  “No? Not even when they speak of a monster they call Madam Lucifer? It cannot be a coincidence.”

  George schooled his features so that no emotion would show, but her unexpected mention of Marie set his nerves sizzling. Could Annaluisa be trusted? She was a vampire, true, and an old friend, but Marie de Bourbon had tainted even his own mother. And Annaluisa had a decided appetite for intrigue and politics, making a habit of visiting as many houses as she could to maintain cordial relations. “Unlikely a coincidence, but the woman is in Europe. This tale of her in New Orleans smacks of folklore, fairytales to scare children.”

  “There is more. The rumor is that there is a price on your head, Georgy. A high one.”

  “What price? Who circulates this rumor? Who of any House lacks for riches? That is not motivation. Ridiculous.” He forced himself to lower his tense shoulders. This was worse than he’d imagined.

  “Not riches. Power. She’s offered great power—her own blood, built of thousands of victims, including many, many vampires. No one is stronger.”

  “She is revolting, her practices anathema. But as vile as she is, even she wouldn’t relinquish that power simply to see me suffer. I don’t believe it. Although I sometimes wish I’d eaten more of my own kind to acquire that kind of force.”

  Annaluisa arched a brow to call him a liar. “Not even you have the stomach for that.” George sighed in agreement.

  “What is the saying about a woman scorned? You were lovers, were you not?”

  “She was Phillip’s wife. You have the wrong brother.”

  Annaluisa arched a heavily etched brow and fussed with her gold bangles. “Hardly. As I recall, you once left my bed to rush into hers. Did it never occur to you that she might love you? Something to do with that handsome face, perhaps?”

  George rubbed his chin, weighing what she said, wondering if he could accept this accomplished trickster’s words at face value. “I doubt it. I believe it is much simpler. She wouldn’t be the first to come to loathe their maker—and her husband’s maker.” But he wondered. Had she loved him?