The Impossible Girl

by Lydia Kang

  CHAPTER 12

  Cora’s first thought when she woke was, My, this bed is hard as a rock and smells of swine.

  Her second thought was, Why are all these people in my bedroom staring at me?

  At which she realized, That is blue sky next to Theo’s head, and I’m lying on the street.

  Oh dear.

  “Are you all right?” Theo asked anxiously. His palm was cradling her head—and she was suddenly terrified that he might feel her wig moving.

  “I’m fine,” she said, sitting up.

  “I very much doubt that. You fainted.”

  “So I did. But I’m very well now.” A lie, because she still felt vaguely nauseated, and an unnatural torpor consumed her limbs. The sight of so many strangers staring at her was even more sickening.

  The crowd around Theo broke up with a wave of his hand. “Please, give the lady room for fresh air.” His eyes went back to Cora. “Didn’t you have anything to eat in there?”

  “Not much,” she admitted. “Please. Make them go away. I’m quite all right now.”

  The ladies and gentlemen in the crowd were thrilled to see a prostrate woman on Grand Street—how very dramatic. Theo waved them away, and soon she was standing and leaning on Theo’s arm. Something fluttered away from her gloved arm—the note from the curator.

  “Oh! We need that!” Cora said, remembering that the last thing she’d seen before she’d fainted was a line from that very note.

  Young woman with two hearts

  A passerby plucked the paper from the gutter and handed it to her. She thanked him, and Theo wrapped his arm around her waist.

  “I’ll take you home. You need to rest.”

  Theo waved down the omnibus that approached, keeping Cora clear of the four horses stamping their feet and paying the fare for them both. He kept his hand around her waist while they sat, though there was no fear that she would fall again.

  Near to Irving Place, the omnibus rattled to a stop, and Cora leaned on Theo’s arm until they reached home. Leah opened the door, her face blanching at the sight of them.

  “Oh! What’s happened, Cora? Are you ill?”

  “Fainted,” Theo said. “She needs some hot beef tea and rest.”

  Leah ushered them inside, and immediately put her sturdy arms around Cora’s waist. Theo held her arm on the right, and they went upstairs.

  “My room is this way,” Cora said, feeling nauseated again.

  “No!” Leah said, giving her a frightened look. Oh. Of course. Jacob’s clothes were probably already set out on the bed for tonight. “No, ah, I’m in the middle of airing your bedding. You’ll stay in my room for now.”

  So, into Leah’s room they went. It was smaller and plainer than Cora’s, with a narrow but comfortable mattress. On a shelf above the fireplace, Leah had propped up a small cross, a Bible, and a piece of knitted lace that had belonged to her mother back in Ireland. A wooden box held her hairpins and ribbons for Sunday Mass. There was a miniature of Cora’s mother, Elizabeth, and that was all in the way of decoration.

  Leah shooed Theo out the door and ordered him to wait in the small sitting room downstairs. She locked the door with a key and began undressing Cora.

  “I knew this corset was too tight!” Leah said. “You have to be kinder to yourself, Cora.”

  “It was hot for a September day, that’s all. And I hadn’t eaten enough. I’ll be fine.”

  “Being Jacob takes you out of practice of being a lady and being accustomed to wearing your stays. I’m certainly glad that that young Flint could help you. I owe him one of my best cream cakes,” she said.

  “Yes, he was very kind,” Cora admitted.

  “Well, then perhaps you might pay him back with some attention. He looks at you like you’re a piece of cake, let me tell you.”

  “Stop it, Leah. Now is not the time. Why don’t you just bother Alexander instead of me?”

  “He doesn’t listen to that kind of talk. Nor does he want children.”

  “Then get married yourself,” Cora said, not unkindly. “And adopt one of those poor creatures selling rags on the street. I would never stop you.”

  But Leah didn’t seem particularly keen to discuss her own matrimonial hopes. She tucked the sheets around Cora so tightly, they felt like a corset made of bed linen.

  “I’ll get you some broth and send that Mr. Flint on his way. You’d better compose a thank-you letter soon,” she said.

  “Oh, Leah,” Cora said, closing her eyes.

  Leah marched out and returned in a minute with the portable writing table that had belonged to Charlotte. Cora preferred to write in the sitting room downstairs.

  “There you go. I’ll be by in a few minutes with a hot drink. And you can write later. It’s the ladylike thing to do. Write somethin’ romantic!”

  After a few minutes, Leah returned with a hearty beef tea and a few soda crackers. Charlotte’s jewelry had fetched enough at the pawnbroker’s to provide food for a week or so, as long as they were tight on spending elsewhere. When Leah gathered the tray, she kept the door open with her elbow.

  “Mr. Flint would like to say goodbye.”

  “I thought he’d already left!”

  “He refused, until he saw that you were better and did not need to call for the doctor.”

  Cora’s eyes widened. “Goodness, we don’t want that. Send him in.”

  She propped herself up in bed and smoothed her wig. Theo entered, hat in hand.

  “You do look better,” he said, relief relaxing his face.

  “I don’t really need to be in bed. But what Leah says, goes, in this household. At least when it comes to invalids.”

  “You should listen to her advice, then,” he said, kindly. He handed her Duncan’s list. “Here. You should keep this.”

  Cora nodded but didn’t unfold it. Theo laughed.

  “Can you believe this list? As if we can snap our fingers and procure these items at a market for him. Fish girl! Does he mean a mermaid? He’d be better off asking your wax-figure-maker friend to create such a myth.”

  “Yes,” Cora said, trying to keep her voice light. “Ridiculous.”

  “And then again, with this two-hearted girl. It’s too fantastic to believe.”

  Cora couldn’t hide her frown, but she nodded anyway. “But you mentioned it—her—before. Jacob told me you had. Where did you hear of the notion? It’s not possible, after all.” She tucked her trembling hands beneath the bedsheets.

  “Duncan brought it up, but he wasn’t the first. Said he’d heard or read of a small-time doctor in Brooklyn—Grier, I think the name was. Apparently, he claimed to have examined the girl. Some exotic heritage, to explain the finding. Chinese? Maybe I was dreaming.” Theo smiled, a little too brightly. He looked elsewhere, as if trying to bring Cora’s attention to the wall, or the mantel.

  “I should rest,” she said, curtly.

  This time Theo nodded. “Should I send for Jacob? Is he sleeping in this house somewhere?”

  “No,” she lied. “He’s out today. I don’t know where.”

  “Well, perhaps I’ll see him tonight. Goodbye, Miss Lee.”

  “Goodbye . . . Theo.” She wanted to say, And you may call me Cora. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not now. There were shadows chasing her, and now was not the time to lower her guard.

  Cora slept the rest of the day and night. She didn’t realize how tired her body had been until the next morning, when she awoke close to noon. She felt restored, and was immediately keen on doing some rounds at the cemeteries to scout for new bodies. Even if she couldn’t procure one with a particularly interesting finding worthy of the Grand Anatomical Museum, the university still needed bodies for dissection and would likely want to increase the number of articulated skeletons for study. The school was young, and it was matriculating more students than ever. She’d tended to focus on the strange, as they brought in the most money, but now was not the time to be particular. She had no more jewels she could sell witho
ut looking inappropriate at events.

  Resting on the edge of the bed was Leah’s writing desk. Perhaps she ought to send Theo a letter asking that they write or speak at least once a day, to check in if there was any news. And to thank him, of course, for helping her.

  She reached for the wooden desk. It was cleverly made, with holes in the top for the ink bottle, pounce pot, and pen, plus a hinged top that concealed paper, a few cheap envelopes, a penknife, extra ink, string, and sealing wax. Cora lifted the lid and found that it was nearly empty of paper already. But Leah had been saving old bits of sealing wax, to melt down and reuse, thrifty as she was. A few old seals were broken into pieces, crowding a small well, and she picked up one fragment. It was ruby wax, stamped with the impression of a rose.

  A rose. Odd. She couldn’t remember receiving any letters with roses on the seal. She rifled through the other pieces and found another that fitted the fragment. And another. Soon, she had one full seal that had been broken cleanly into four bits. The image was of a shield with a rose above it.

  It was the seal of her mother’s family, the Cutters.

  Charlotte hadn’t corresponded with them since before they moved to the island. She looked at the seal. It didn’t seem aged or crumbling enough to be that old.

  Cora pushed the desk aside and crept out of bed, testing herself first to make sure she wasn’t dizzy. She looked about Leah’s room. There was nothing unusual that she could see. A wooden comb with two broken teeth; a pitcher and ewer, cracked but serviceable. One dress hung off a nail, awaiting mending while she wore the other. Only her nicest black dress was hung behind a curtain. An extra hat and gloves perched atop a lidded basket full of underthings and folded muslin petticoats.

  Cora delved into the basket: nothing out of the ordinary. She checked under the edge of the thin mattress, and there a ridge of papers scraped against her fingertips. She lifted the bedding to find a package of papers bound with a cord.

  They were letters, all in the same hand, and all addressed to Leah. The seals had been torn off—the very ones in the writing box, with the same shade of ruby wax. She opened the top envelope.

  August 1, 1850

  Miss O’Toole,

  Enclosed please find the funds you have requested. Again, I should very much like one of our personal physicians to examine Miss Lee, seeing how gravely ill she seems, so that she may receive the proper care. To be sure, the examination would be absolutely private and discreet. No doubt her condition is unusual in nature, but I believe many of the physicians below Fulton Street to be quacks. Father is not inclined to send more money until she is properly evaluated. I should be concerned if she refuses, as your letters have not been forthright with her own explanation of the symptoms.

  Sincerely,

  Suzette Cutter

  Cora couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.

  Leah, of all people, had contacted the family after all this time, after their cruelty toward Charlotte and her mother, after everything Charlotte had done to keep them away from Cora.

  Cora’s anger was so fulminant, she couldn’t speak. She could hardly breathe. She went to the chair by her dressing table and picked it up, raised it above her head, ready to throw it against the wall.

  They knew.

  Leah. How could you?

  Cora tried to grasp control of her anger. She slammed the chair down instead of through the window, and grunted in anguish. Faintly, she heard Leah exclaim at the noise from the kitchen downstairs.

  Suzette Cutter! That was the very lady Cora had formally met at Castle Garden. The one who’d been staring at her at the museum, who seemed angry with her. Well, it all made sense now. Leah had been begging for money, on Cora’s behalf. But where had the money disappeared to? How could Leah have done such a horrific thing, to expose her so? The worst of it was the humiliation. Charlotte had explicitly begged Leah and Cora never to contact the Cutters, after being cast off.

  Cora didn’t bother to dress herself, just snatched the letters in her hand and flew down the stairs barefoot. Leah was in the kitchen, scrubbing a pot with sand and a touch of lye, her hands bright pink from the causticity.

  “What was that noise?” she asked, looking up with surprise. Her eyes lit upon the bundle of letters in Cora’s hand, and she dropped the pot. It clanged to the floor. “Oh, Cora.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh no.”

  “What is this, Leah? How could you have written to them without my consent? How could you?” Her hand holding the letters shook. It took every effort not to shout and let her neighbors hear her words. “They know I’m not Jacob, then. And you lied to me. I trusted you, Leah. All these years, I trusted you!”

  Leah opened her eyes; they were pink rimmed. She put down the pot and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “I had to! We had some money put by, from Charlotte, but it ran out last year. What you bring in doesn’t make up for it. We needed it for food. For your dresses, for the hacks.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I’d looked at the books in the last few months. It was tight, I know, but was it really so bad? I could have tried to double up on jobs, scouted the other cemeteries farther north.”

  “You were already working so hard, miss.”

  “But to speak to that family? After they cast us off—”

  “Aye, cast us off, but always with money. It was Charlotte’s wish to move here so we could raise you as a proper lady, away from that Dr. Grier. But that meant no more Cutter money. And now Charlotte ain’t here, ain’t she? And you, being proud, and not accepting help from Alexander either. It was that, or I quit, and I won’t quit.”

  Cora reached for a nearby chair and pulled herself into it. She needed her strength to think. She took in Leah’s words, letting them reside within her for several minutes. Finally, she looked at Leah, who hadn’t moved from where she stood, eyes cast down.

  “Leah, what did you say about me? About why I was ill?”

  Leah again covered her face with her hands. But Cora needed to hear her say it. She simply waited, until Leah finally inhaled enough courage and said it so quietly, only God and Cora might hear.

  “I told them the truth.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Her family knew.

  “They believed you?” Cora asked.

  “No, they didn’t. Because Charlotte never mentioned it. I told them Charlotte said you were a boy so they couldn’t find you someday—’twas done out of anger and resentment. So I . . . Oh, forgive me, miss. But I found your birth records. Dr. Grier had kept diaries with all his work. It took me more than a year to find out where they were. I wasn’t allowed to take the diaries, of course, but I told them where it was writ down. Before that, they’d sent a little money, but after the diaries proved you had a true ailment . . . they sent more.”

  “Where are these diaries of Dr. Grier? They need to be destroyed,” Cora said, standing. “Help me get dressed. I need to find them, now.”

  Leah followed her upstairs to her room, where she pulled off her nightgown and put on a chemise, and Leah bustled about, gathering her petticoats and corset.

  “At the University of the City of New York. His family had a connection there, and they promised to keep them in their library after he died.”

  The diaries might be difficult to find. The school was packing and moving to its new building. They might be lost; they might not. But if she could destroy the proof, it would be easier to dispel the rumor Dr. Grier had been spreading all these years. And lately, with those possessed of curious anomalies dying unexpected deaths, and Duncan’s horrific wish list, it was absolutely necessary to obliterate the rumor. Which meant two visits today.

  Once her wig was on, her dress perfectly buttoned in place, and a decent meal in her stomach so she wouldn’t repeat the catastrophe of yesterday morning, she was ready.

  “Where are you going? To the medical school? They wouldn’t allow me inside, miss. I had to pay to even ask about the papers. They won’t let a lady in such a
place!”

  “Yes, they will,” Cora said, heading out the door.

  But before she stepped a toe into the archives, she needed to ask for a favor.

  It was late afternoon when she approached the boardinghouse that Jacob had left only a few mornings ago. The street was noisy with day workers spilling from the buildings, ravenous for beef and beer. Cora stood before the front door, swelled her breath, and knocked.

  The landlady answered, looking like a wizened grandmother. She gathered a shawl over her shoulders.

  Cora curtsied. “May I speak to Theodore Flint, please?”

  “I’ll ring him for you. No ladies allowed in the boardinghouse, I’m afraid.”

  Cora nodded.

  The landlady shut the door, and a few minutes later, Theo opened it. His face lit with astonishment and a smile. The landlady craned her neck, trying to listen to them. Theo stepped outside and closed the door so they could speak on the sidewalk.

  “Miss Lee! What are you doing here? How are you feeling?” He must have just washed up; his hair was wetly slicked back, and he smelled of store-bought soap.

  “I’m very well, thank you. I just needed a meal, and some rest. And the curator—he talked on so, I hardly had a moment to eat.”

  “Ah, so I can blame him for your malady. Excellent.” His smile softened. “I am very glad you are better.”

  “I am,” Cora said. “But I am here to ask a favor. Seeing that you are almost a doctor, would you . . . could you be so kind as to provide an attestation to this fact?”

  Theo leaned against the door. “I don’t understand. A note? To say that you’re healthy?”

  “Yes. You see, I have some relations who believe I am unwell.” Cora was overgesticulating, so she threaded her fingers together and held them down. “They know nothing of me. They think I spend my days lying abed, drinking drafts all the while.” She smiled as charmingly as she could. “They want to foist a doctor upon me, and it’s quite unnecessary. But if you could write a note to say that I am quite healthy—I would be most grateful.”

  “Of course. I should be happy to write an attestation. But I’m not yet a physician—”