Lillian Holmes and the Leaping Man

by Ciar Cullen

  “So dramatic, George. Let me know if you need anything. I must go soothe an angry Irishwoman. Haven’t quite got the knack of that yet.”

  Lillian suppressed a relieved sigh, for as far as she could tell George’s intentions seemed good, unless he was lying to his own brother. Was he capable of that? Surely, and much more. But why had he rescued her, then? She did have some hope that she’d awake permanently from this most inconvenient nightmare.

  If only I’d gone to sleep when I should have; if only I’d never looked out my window to see the Leaping Man. But here he was, taking a seat next to the bed, wiping the perspiration from her forehead and humming a tune she didn’t recognize. No, she’d gotten something wrong. The man simply was not a murderer. He would have an explanation about her neighbor, about why he’d been about that night. But who was this Marie whom he was fixing to battle?

  She allowed herself a bit more time to clear her head and think how to approach this most odd of men. Vampire, indeed. He was no more a vampire than Madam Pelosi could speak with the dead. Still, he had somehow wounded her neck and she had to understand why her bullets bloodied him without seeming to slow him down. Perhaps he wore a suit of armor under that coat?

  A sudden violent chill took her body and stopped her train of thought. God, how long will this go on? Is this what the doctor warned me of?

  “Shhhh,” George whispered. He sat on the side of the bed and then gingerly leaned down beside her.

  Too exhausted to fight her symptoms in secret any longer, she opened her eyes. He didn’t seem surprised at all, and he smiled.

  “How long have you been listening?”

  “Long enough, I think. You take great liberties lying next to me.”

  He smiled again. “You take great liberties by occupying my bed. You must explain yourself.”

  “I, explain? I don’t understand any of this, but I will, and soon. In the meantime, I thank you for what you have done.”

  “It is my pleasure, and small payment for my error in your room. Now, sleep some more. You will need your strength.”

  “For what?”

  “Tomorrow will be terrible. After that, it will be somewhat less terrible. Then you will have a choice to make.”

  “I think you made it for me. You took me from the asylum.”

  “No, this is a choice you must make.”

  “I choose to become the first great female detective in America. Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle himself said that nothing need stop me.” Why did she feel free to say such a thing to this near stranger? It must be a symptom.

  His smile caressed her weary body and spirit. “I do believe you. And once free of this poison, I don’t believe anything can stop you, not even the evil Moriarty himself. Sleep now. I will keep vigil.”

  “The wolf guards the henhouse.”

  “We are more equal than you might believe. I wasn’t so unlike you a long time ago.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just sleep, Lil. No need to think tonight.”

  She felt a sudden jolt. “Addie and Thomas will be so frightened to learn I’m gone.”

  “They think you in the country recuperating with Bess, who convinced them that the doctor thought it would be a welcome change of scenery. I’ve arranged it. We’ll speak of that soon, though. Sleep! Turn that blasted brain off for the night!”

  He put his arm around her waist to warm her, and it worked; through every fiber of muscle, every inch of bone heat poured. Lillian rested her head against his shoulder and tried to stay awake as long as possible to feel what it was to be in his arms.

  He would leave when she was well, he’d said. That was for the best, she thought as he pressed another kiss to her head.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hidden treasures.

  “Another visitor! Oh, blazes, why did Kitty bring the Langhan sisters here?”

  Phillip cursed and drew the curtain. “Are you sure Lillian will be quiet?”

  George nodded. “Unless she begins retching and they hear it.”

  Kitty winced in apology as she ushered Etta and Agnes into the living room.

  “How lovely to see you both again so soon,” George murmured. His tone was lost on Etta, but the sharper of the sisters, Agnes, raised a brow.

  “We were so upset to hear about Lillian Holmes.” Etta seemed sincerely concerned.

  “I told you she will be fine, Etta,” Kitty said. “The doctor released her into the care of her friend, Elisabeth Wheeler, as she has no family herself. I trust she’s having a lovely time at the country house, feeling better already.”

  “We did not call on the Holmes residence as we hardly know Lillian, so we stopped at the Wheeler residence. No one was about!”

  George willed himself to silence, as Kitty was handling things well enough. But the busybodies had to go!

  He noticed Agnes examining him and turned toward her. Hell, she’s a physician, George. She’ll smell a rat. Hit it face on, then.

  “Dr. Langhan, it is a pity Lillian was not taken to the new hospital—Johns Hopkins, is it? You could have cared for her then.”

  “Dr. Schneider is…adequate. I do not make asylum visits, but I suppose he takes that duty on out of necessity.”

  “Ah, I see. Perhaps you could grant a second opinion when she returns from the country.” Competitive bitch. What a stroke of luck. She doesn’t like him at all.

  “I would not interfere with Dr. Schneider’s treatment of his patient, although I do think a female physician can understand some of what might be troublesome to a female patient. In my opinion, those in my profession are quick to judge women as frail and nervous when in fact they may simply be going through a normal life stage or some sadness associated with a failed marriage or lost pregnancy. You see—”

  “Agnes! This is not a lecture hall,” Etta chided and pulled at her sister’s arm. “We must go if we are to make the art auction, which is why we came.” She turned to Kitty. “More of Theodore Robinson’s paintings. You should come with us. All the right people will be there.”

  “Oh, yes! Let’s hurry.” Kitty ushered the women to the door with a backward glance over her shoulder that sent daggers through George.

  Phillip sat down and ran his hand through his hair. “Who is next? The new mayor? Why have they all descended upon us?”

  “Yes, it’s getting tricky. Hopefully they’ve all believed the tale. If the Wheelers decide to join their daughter at their own country home we’ll have a problem. But I think I persuaded them that Lillian needed solitude. Have we thought of everyone?”

  “I’ve not met Dr. Schneider, but it seems to me he’ll become aware rather quickly that his patient escaped from a supposedly secure institution. What are you going to do about that, Georgy?”

  “I could kill him, I suppose. That seems a bit rash. I put off that troublesome detail a bit too long, didn’t I? And there’s evidently some greedy solicitor unlikely to overlook the parts of my story that do not make sense.”

  “Parts? The entire thing. You should have just left.”

  “You’ve seen her state. She wouldn’t have survived the week in that place.”

  “So, you’ll kill indiscriminately for centuries, but somehow you’ll turn your life upside down to save this one woman? She is not your type, and if she were you would have turned her already. What are you up to, George?”

  He had no idea.

  “What is the worst the solicitor and the doctor can do?” George mused. “Go to visit Lillian, hear some new tale from Bess, go on a chase that will send him in circles? How far is it to Sandy Point?”

  Phillip shrugged. “Several hours or so by carriage? I’m not sure. I think you have a day or two at most before he makes some report to the police.”

  “Two days…” Only two days to help her get well and get her back to Bess’s care? “Time always seemed the one commodity we had.”

  “Their lives are measured in days and minutes. You are reminded of that now. I feel it whenever I�
��m with Kitty.”

  “That is different. She is your fiancée. And you have the option of extending her short life. I envy you, Phillip.”

  “What do you envy, George? Is there more to this than undoing an injustice? You’ve known her two days.”

  “Don’t be stupid. In another three days I’ll be on my way and I won’t even think about her.”

  “Who’s stupid, brother?”

  “Ah, there is the retching I warned her about. The end of this phase of her nightmare is near.”

  “Two days. Take her to the seaside, and for God’s sake do not bite her again. Or we’ll start this whole mess over.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  But he had thought of it, nearly nonstop. He blamed his brother for leading him down this dull, dull path of righteousness. Phillip always was soft where George was sharp, forgiving and amiable considering all he’d endured. Never mind, George thought. Once Lillian joined her friend, he could leave his brother’s benign habits behind and go wherever the wind and the smell of blood took him, take Marie de Bourbon on a useless merry chase.

  Resolved to move the inevitable parting forward, he took the stairs two at a time to check on Lillian. She’d washed her face in the basin and sat on the edge of the bed, dabbing her cheeks with a cloth.

  “You look dreadful, Miss Holmes.”

  “I’ve you to thank for that, I suppose, Mr. Orleans.”

  “You have your morphine and laudanum habit to thank. The worst should be over now, at least physically. I take it you have a severe craving for a dram of some elixir? That will hopefully lessen as well.”

  “How long?” Her hands shook as she folded the washcloth. “I want to crawl from my body.”

  “You want to scream and cry and pound the walls. But you are free—it has left your body.” He paused. “When did you start? The longer you have been addicted, the worse the sentence.”

  Lillian shook her head and straightened her dressing gown, borrowed from Kitty. It hung loosely, and she looked like a frail china doll.

  “It is truly none of my business; you are correct.” But tell me anyway. I want to know it all, and I don’t know why.

  Lillian nodded. “I will wash, and if Miss Twamley would be so kind as to loan me a dress and shoes I’ll be on my way. You have been a great help.”

  “Oh, Lil, so formal. Haven’t we shared a bed at least twice? Or thrice, if you count the asylum.”

  “A few minutes in a sickbed does not an assignation make, Mr. Orleans. I want to leave.”

  “You aren’t ready. You must rest and eat. You’ll need money, which I can provide, and your own clothes.”

  “How will I get… Aileen. We must ask my maid Aileen to help. She is a loyal friend.”

  George nodded. “What is the best way to contact her?”

  “Your man to one of the Musketeers, her little brothers who now reside in my home.”

  How had she fallen into such an addiction? Lillian’s home sounded bright, her days so full of life. “So many who care for you. You have no doubt recruited them into your…investigations?” It only made sense. She was clearly fashioning her own Baker Street Irregulars.

  Lillian sat up straight and stared into his eyes. It stirred both the best and worst in him. His veins sang with the promise of a meal; his groin throbbed with the promise of satisfaction. But his heart also ached at what he could never have. More. Of what, he couldn’t say, for it was something he hadn’t had in his long life. But more, more of her.

  “You mock me. It does not matter.”

  But her expression said it mattered a great deal, another blow to an already beaten down heart and soul. He moved quickly to fix the erroneous assumption. “Not at all. If my goal were to become a great sleuth, I would also recruit those who seemed…invisible.”

  He smiled at the memory of the motley crew descending upon her. “I saw you once, from a hotel window. The details don’t matter, but you seemed happy to see those boys. At least, I assume it was them. They were accompanied by a rather large hound.”

  “Mr. Abraham Lincoln…” She trailed off, a note of fear in her voice. “You watched me from a window? Why?”

  Damnation. “A complete coincidence, I assure you. I saw a lovely woman, a true beauty. A stranger who no doubt lived a rather ordinary life with a wealthy husband.” He shrugged. “I was wrong. You are lovely, but you are not ordinary.”

  “Nor are you ordinary, Mr. Orleans.” She combed her fingers through her long hair, and the movements of her delicate hands and her words tugged at him. “Did I not also see you from a window? Did you not climb through one only a few nights ago?”

  “Lillian, concentrate on your health. You needn’t worry about your safety. I came to Spring Grove to help you. Surely you know that if I meant you harm I have had ample opportunity to wreak havoc.”

  “Yes, at least that is what I keep telling myself. But…you are the Leaping Man.”

  The Leaping Man? Ah, he understood. He wasn’t ready, though, not for either the truth or a lie. “I visited one of your neighbors. Unfortunately, that same night, her brother met his untimely end at his own hand. I can only plead guilty to the assignation, not the death.”

  Leave it be, my dear.

  “There might or might not have been an assignation, but there was undoubtedly a murder. I know of no other man who can leap from two stories without killing himself—or does your brother possess equal talents?”

  “No,” George whispered. “Phillip would not hurt a flea if he could avoid it.” Certainly leave him be, Lillian. I have ruined too much for him.

  “I believe that. And two nights ago? Why did you come if not to cause me harm? What are these marks upon my neck? They were not made by a knife.”

  “You do not remember our kiss? I am sorry, Lil, as I thought we were of like mind. A little nibble upon the neck is part of my romantic repertoire; no doubt you found that distasteful. Phillip tells me I’m quite egotistical about my power over women. I did not expect to be shot, however.”

  “You seem none the worse for wear. Explain that away, Mr. Orleans.”

  “You are as poor a shot as I am a reader of a lady’s interest in me. A few nicks, a bit of blood, and now I am fine. Dear Miss Holmes, I am trying to right the horror I put you through. I am leaving this fine city as soon as that is accomplished.”

  She nodded and scooped her limp hair into a bundle. “I have solved a crime perpetrated by you, and thus you are fleeing before I can turn you in to the authorities?”

  He did not answer that. “I am leaving for good. I am off to explore other parts of the world, and to leave my brother and his soon-to-be bride in peace. You have witnessed the effect I have on them.”

  Lillian fussed with her hair a bit more. “What of the late mayor? Would you also claim to have had an assignation with one of his household—or maybe with him? It seems you are a dangerous lover.”

  He sniffed out a chuckle and choked back unwelcome grief. “So, that is what you think of me? I will not try to dissuade you from that opinion. It does not matter. More I cannot say. Surely my word means nothing to you, but I give it nonetheless. I will not harm you, and I will leave this city, not to return in your lifetime.”

  “And when will you leave?” she whispered to the view out the window.

  He sighed and ignored the sadness in her voice, lest he grab onto it and create a new fantasy of being with her.

  “Are you well enough to eat a biscuit and take a few sips of tea? I believe it’s time for us to try to fatten you up. I will get a message to Aileen to bring some of your things, and then I will take you to Sandy Point myself.”

  “Thank you.” She wouldn’t look at him now. Not at all.

  “Perhaps a warm bath would be welcome. I will have one prepared and then send up some food. Goodnight, Miss Holmes.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Orleans. Oh, may I ask one more thing?”

  Here it comes. Careful, George.

  “Was I imagining
that you claimed to be a vampire? I am certain I heard you say that.”

  “A vampire?” George laughed. “Oh my, you’ve had a difficult few days. Wait until I tell Phillip that one!”

  He left the room quickly. But as George shut the door behind him, he felt as if he shut it on the first glimmer of life he’d felt for eons.

  Best to throw away that key, Georgy boy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Into the country.

  Lillian glanced out the window of the carriage, having trouble distinguishing their location in the darkness.

  George Orleans was a poor traveling companion. He’d spoken precious few words in the hours since they left his home. He’d explained they would travel at night to avoid anyone seeing her, but she thought he was the one on the lam, as Mr. Pinkerton would likely say.

  She’d failed miserably. The Leaping Man was to be her first case, and although Providence had threaded him deeply into her life, she’d yet to get to the heart of the matter—although she felt fairly certain he had a hand in two murders. Also, he hadn’t become a proper nemesis. He’d caused her enough trouble; that much was true. But he’d also done what she couldn’t do for herself, what Dr. Schneider hadn’t been able to do. She had no morphine or laudanum in her blood. The shaking had subsided, her appetite had returned, and she only thought of reaching for a pill or bottle every half-hour or so. George had assured her those fits of longing would eventually subside, as long as she kept her focus on the future.

  In a way, she owed him so much. And now he would leave.

  “Eight years,” she whispered.

  “Pardon?”

  “You asked me how long. I started taking the pills for my nerves when I was sixteen.”

  He turned to face her, but she could barely make out his features in the darkness, as he’d not allowed any illumination inside the carriage. She’d supposed he wanted to sleep.

  “It’s not my concern.”

  Her heart dropped at his tone. Now she was a nuisance, so anxious was he to be on his way to see the mysteries of the world. Just another woman in a second-story room.

  She jumped when he spoke again, much more loudly. “Sixteen? Oh, I am so very sorry.”