by Ciar Cullen
Get on it, he repeated to himself a dozen times until the Jersey City train conductor blew his whistle and yelled “Final call!” for the train going back south. To Manhattan, then to points west? Or back on the train to Baltimore? One more time, the conductor yelled “Final call!” and George nearly screamed in frustration.
At the last second he leapt from the platform onto the slowly moving train, and the conductor reached out to secure his landing, although he didn’t need the help.
“Where to, sir?” he asked, withdrawing his ticket booklet.
“Straight into hell, no doubt.” George shoved five dollars at the man to be left alone and took a seat in back corner of the filthy sooty car, wondering if he had finally gone insane. Marie de Bourbon, Madam Lucifer, wanted to kill him and might be as close as New Orleans. He’d sworn to leave Phillip and Kitty in peace, and what did he do instead? Take a train right back to the first place Marie would look for him. All for a mortal woman.
He laughed as the train emerged from the Hudson tunnel, revealing dilapidated buildings and abandoned machinery left to crumble by the side of the tracks. No doubt only he could make out the carcasses of modern society in the inky dark. A carcass, that was what he’d become, too. A hollow shell, neither living nor dead, worth nothing to anyone, except perhaps the price Madam Lucifer had put on his head. Wouldn’t she be doing the world a service? One less monster draining innocents of life. One less threat to the safety of his brother.
He’d deteriorated into a laughable monster, though, drinking from criminals, resorting once to a few of the park’s fowl and night mammals. When was the last time he stooped so low? A century ago, at least. Now, with Marie no doubt a few days or weeks at most from ending his existence, he thought of his whole life, barely remembering the time before mother flew at him in a frenzy and took his soul. Had he been happy before then? Had he done anything worthwhile?
No, he’d been a worthless mortal as well. A failure, with one exception. He’d helped a mortal woman escape an asylum, and he’d pushed her onto a path she might otherwise never have taken. What had she done since? Re-indulged her dangerous drug habit? Gone back to her fantasies? Been locked up again? Or had he truly made a difference? He had to know.
Why, George? What will you do when you find out?
She’d asked him to stay a while, but he’d fled more quickly because of it. Not for his sake, but for hers. And now?
He didn’t know what to expect, what to do. But he would see her again, even if from the shadows, to make sure she was well. And then he would let Marie do her worst. It was probably far past time. He tired of running. He would stand and fight, and lose, for Marie was powerful and had a large and lethal following. George had no one. He made a mental note to write a letter to Phillip, who would no doubt take on supreme responsibility and guilt for failing to protect him. That wouldn’t do at all. Let the better brother have a few good years with a lovely wife.
The Altamont Hotel had unfortunately not changed in a week—had it only been a week? With the chill of fall starting to take hold, smoke curled from most chimneys. The night auditor nodded blandly as George signed the register under another alias and pocketed the key. This time he’d take a large suite on the top floor, still with a view of Eutaw Street below. He’d have to be a bit more careful in his approach to Lillian. It wouldn’t do to creep onto her balcony again.
George sighed and lit his pipe, stared into the fire and thought of her, hair fanned out across her pillow, white gown hugging her lovely form.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Coming and going.
The Musketeers lined up by height, wiggling in anticipation of treats and pennies, and Lillian folded her arms behind her back and paced in front of them.
Her nerves sizzled as she waited for any news of Madam Pelosi. The Orleanses’ butler had reported that Phillip, Kitty, and Annaluisa had left on a train for a destination he didn’t know. Lillian knew he lied—he knew where they had gone—but had stopped short of pleading with him. No, she’d instead sent the boys on a mission to scour the city for any sign of the trio’s whereabouts. Bess had visited the Langhan sisters to find clues, and to make gentle inquiries about the identity of the mysterious disappearance of a socialite twenty-four years earlier. They’d been no help, however; she had no doubt simply aroused the gossiping nature of Etta Langhan.
“Yes, Darby? What do you have for me?”
The boy pulled his cap off and rubbed at his nose, stalling. “I heard they’re gone, all of them Orleanses, and the lady artist and the lady with the veils.”
“We knew that, Darby.” He looked like he might cry, so she ruffled his hair and pressed a penny into his palm. “Billy, did you do better?”
Billy toed the ground and shook his head. “Paddy stole my idea. I told him they might still be at the train station, and so he went there. It ain’t fair, is it, Miss? Him taking my idea?”
Good Lord, why didn’t I think of that? “A penny for your idea. So did you go, Paddy? Did you learn anything?”
“I didn’t see them about, but I saw the brother.” Paddy turned and punched Billy. “Wasn’t your idea, was our idea.”
“Paddy, stop that! Are you sure it was Mr. Phillip’s brother?”
“I’m sure.”
Lillian clasped her hands more tightly to stop them from shaking. George. He’d gone far away, never to be seen again. Her heart sank as she realized what Paddy had witnessed: He’d simply come back to Baltimore to say goodbye to his brother before leaving for good.
“You saw him board a train, Paddy? Do you know where it was going?”
“Is ‘board’ going or coming?”
“Going.”
“He was coming. Got off the train.”
“You are certain? He got off the train in Baltimore?”
“We’re in Baltimore, Miss Holmes.”
“Right. And being a bright boy, you followed him, didn’t you?”
Paddy rolled his eyes. “A course. I hopped the back of his cab. I’m good at that.”
“So dangerous, Paddy! Hasn’t Aileen talked to you about doing that?” Bess scolded.
Lillian sent her friend a look. “He obviously survived. So, Paddy, where did he go?”
Paddy pointed across the street and down the block. “That place, the hotel.”
“The Hotel Altamont? Are you very sure?” Paddy nodded, but she barely saw him, her vision blurring. She sat, overwhelmed with need to see him again. Why had he returned? You will not cry. This is one of the symptoms; George warned you it might happen.
Bess paid Paddy, shoed the boys away, and joined her. “You love him.”
“Of course not.”
“Yes, you do. Or something quite close to it. I have never seen that expression on your face. I am not a woman of the world, and I don’t know much about men, but I know you. And my guess is that he has come back for you. When he came to ask me to help him free you from Spring Grove, I saw a man obsessed. With you.”
“I don’t know up from down right now, Bess. My thoughts and feelings are a jumble.”
“You are different, Lil. Life is no longer a game to you. I see it. George Orleans has a hand in this change.”
“True.”
“While I don’t think it wise to trust him, I believe he might help you further. I can speak to him if you are afraid.”
Bess shook her foot, and Lillian snickered. “You would brave the jungle beast for me?”
“Stop treating me like that! It’s most unfair. I will take your pistol.”
“No, I’ll go. I am afraid to see him again, but not because I fear he’ll kill me.”
“I understand.”
Bess squeezed her hand, and Lillian realized her friend did understand.
“Take me with you, at least?”
“No. This I must do for myself.”
Within two hours Lillian had finished writing in her Journal of Important Observations, with notations about George Orleans should things go am
iss at the Hotel Altamont. She also penned notes to Addie, Thomas, and Aileen, thanking them for their love and support. A letter was addressed to Mr. Francis Pemberton, Esq., notifying him that he was no longer in the service of her estate. She did not mention her hatred of him, that she considered him the devil himself. And she copied her letter to Pemberton word for word and addressed it to a second lawyer, Bess’s cousin, Richard Wheeler, whom she’d met the previous day. He would ensure her wishes were followed.
She put on the emerald silk Aileen had purchased that very day, which had yet to be altered, fixed her own hair, and loaded her pistol. After pressing a kiss to the letter from Mr. Conan Doyle, she left her room, left the security of her home, which had indeed felt like a prison these many years, and strode up the street toward the Altamont. As she walked, she rehearsed her speech for George should he be there.
I am here to inquire about my mother because I believe you may have information on her. If you do not, will you at least tell me the whereabouts of Annaluisa? I am ready for her message. Thank you for your help.
Her stomach churned. At best, she would not betray her confused feelings for him and he would be able to tell her something. At worst, he would kill her because she knew his hand in two murders. As she took the stairs to the hotel entrance, she was no longer sure she’d weighed the equation properly.
The clerk inclined his head and smiled. “I believe I’ve seen you before, Miss. You are a resident of this neighborhood, correct?”
“Yes, I’ve walked by here many times. But today I am looking for one of your guests. A Mr. George Orleans.”
The clerk ran his finger down the register and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not, Miss. Perhaps he will check in tomorrow?”
Lillian asked him to try again, and looked with him. She caught her breath. “There! I’m very sorry, how silly. I am to see a Mr. Lestrade, not Orleans. Orleans is the cousin.”
“Ah! Wonderful. I will have the bellman deliver a message for you, if you would take a seat.”
“I’d rather go myself.”
The welcoming smile turned dour. “It’s rather late.”
“Nevertheless, I will see him now.” Go ahead, think what you like.
“The fifth floor, suite B, Miss.”
Ignoring the brand-new elevator, Lillian climbed the curved staircase, each step making her heart pound in terror of what she might find. How would he receive her?
As she reached the fifth-floor landing, she checked the empty hallway and patted her pistol secure in her waistcoat. She straightened the dagger strapped to her wrist, and willing her hand to stop shaking she knocked on the door of suite B.
“It is unlocked. Enter,” a voice called from within. George.
Perhaps he’s expecting someone? A lover? Lillian turned the handle and opened the door a few inches. “It is Miss Holmes. May I come in?”
He pulled the door open and stared at her in shock. “Good Lord, how did you find me? Why did you find me?”
He wore a simple heavy black dressing robe over his night pants, exposing a good deal of neck and chest. Barefooted and disheveled, he narrowed his eyes at her silence.
The churning in her gut changed in an instant. She feared him, but she desired him more.
Sensing that he could read could read her longing on her face, she peered past him into the room and took a deep breath. “I have my methods, Mr. Lestrade.”
“Goodness, is that the name I used?” He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “You must have been on my mind at the time. I wanted to come visit you, to see how you fared, but I also did not want to frighten you again by approaching through your window. I… I…”
He shook his head and motioned for her to enter and sit. When she hesitated, he pulled her by the hand to the settee. Only a single lamp lit the large suite. Lillian found it comforting, found it too easy to be with George again. Her speech forgotten, she took in the scent of him, spicy and exotic, and tried to pull her gaze away from his lips and sad, deep chocolate-colored eyes.
“You look forlorn, George. It is not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?” He brushed his fingers along her jaw and she clutched at them to stop his caress. She could barely think in his presence; his touch made it impossible.
“Some devil-may-care shenanigans, perhaps. Why are you not in your home? Is something amiss?”
He blew out a breath and propped his bare feet on the table. “It is not your problem. Let us just say that I am awaiting an inevitable meeting.”
“With the police?”
“How I wish. No, an old enemy who wishes to harm me. That is why you must leave. You may become a casualty in that petty war.”
“I see.” Lillian nodded. George would not share his secret life with her even though he knew hers.
“No, you don’t. You know nothing about me, except for a few facts you choose to ignore because I helped you escape the asylum.”
“That is not it.”
“I am not your savior, Lil. You look well. You look wonderful, beautiful.” He held her gaze and then lowered his eyes to her lips, to her neck. “Do not confuse me with a normal man interested in your health and happiness.”
“No, I know you are not a normal man.”
He sat up straight and pulled his hand away. So, it was all true. He was hiding something, something extraordinary. “Are you ready to confess that you are a murderer?”
“Not in the sense you mean. But I have caused great pain, suffering…and yes, death.”
“And do you enjoy causing these things?”
He seemed to seriously contemplate her question, his brow furrowed. “Enjoy? Why, I suppose I have enjoyed it, yes. I’ve always thought of it as more of a need, as you have needed your ‘medicine.’ But at times I’ve gone far past need into enjoyment. At most times, in fact. I…”
“You are enjoying it less. Is that correct?”
He nodded. “Something like that. I’m tired, Lil. You…you remind me so much of myself when I was…younger. I wasn’t so ordinary, ever. I didn’t fit in like Phillip did. People didn’t warm to me. They thought me daft at times. Excessive, brash, impulsive, even irrational. Nothing, and no one, held my attention for more than an hour. But it was better than what I have become. That is why I’m allowing my enemy to find me.”
“How old are you, George? You said I remind you of yourself when you were younger, but in truth, we look about the same age. That is far from reality, is it not?”
He hooded his eyes and shrugged with a deep sigh. “It is a painful topic, and one that defies logic. Please don’t trouble yourself over it. In any case, this life is nearly over.”
“You would give up? After convincing me to push on and live my life to the fullest?”
“There’s nothing left for me. I have no family except Phillip, and I’ll no longer put his happiness at risk. I have no friends. I’m tired and bored and more than a bit angry at myself for how I’ve wasted my life.”
“I don’t see how we are different now. Except that you are not following your advice to me. You are not choosing to live.”
“For what? You can’t understand, and I am not able to make you understand. Please leave, Lil, before it’s too late. I came back to make sure you were sound. I don’t want to have gone to all that trouble merely to have you killed at the Hotel Altamont.”
“You came back for me, and yet…”
“Yes, and yet. It cannot be.”
Can I love a man who hates himself? It doesn’t matter, he does not want me.
“Then I will leave you. May I ask if you know the whereabouts of my mother, or failing that, the name of someone who might lead me to her?”
George smiled, and Lillian’s heart broke. She knew she’d not be likely to see that beautiful smile again.
“You are formidable, Miss Holmes.” He threw his arm around her and pulled her in for what felt like a brotherly hug. She wanted to slap him, it felt so awful.
“My mother�
��s name and whereabouts, please?”
“I don’t know. But Madam Annaluisa Pelosi does. Unfortunately, it seems she has fled Baltimore with Phil and Kitty, and I’m not sure where they went. Likely back to New Orleans. I’ll wager that they will return before long, and you’ll be able to question Annaluisa in person. She was willing to help once. I’m sure she will again.”
“Then I won’t trouble you any longer.”
Lillian wanted to stand, tried to stand, but she couldn’t make her muscles respond. George seemed to note her hesitation. He turned her chin so that she faced him, and angled his face an inch from hers. His breath sent a chill across her soul, his deep eyes turned midnight black. He put his hand around her neck and sent ice-cold shivers down her back with the rub of his thumb.
“I am your worst enemy, Lil. If I did not care for you… If I did not want you so badly I’d consider living this bleak life a while longer, I would ask you to stay.”
“Ask me,” she whispered. “Can we not feel bleak together? I would dearly love your help now.”
“Eventually I would be the death of you.”
“I do not believe it. You have had every opportunity to kill me.”
“You cannot know what you’re saying.”
She closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his. He resisted for a heart-stopping second, and then he fell into her with a hunger she didn’t know possible. As he claimed her mouth again and again, she heard herself moaning and the quiet hiss of her name from his lips. His skin was cold, so cold, and his eyes so dark, she felt as if she were freezing into his world inch by inch as he tossed aside her hat and loosened her chignon. He clutched her hair in one hand and yanked her head back so that he could kiss her neck.
If she’d ever dreamed of passion before, the memory disappeared beneath his demanding lips. A nick at her neck and she gasped, sensations pouring through her whole body, pooling in hot-cold spirals to her womb.
He groaned and pressed his lips to hers again, but he now tasted of blood, of her blood. Tangy. When she reached her hand to her neck, he whimpered and pushed it behind her back.
