The Nightmare Detective

by K Childs

  There were no windows, just a lamp on the table.

  I wanted to ask what she wanted, but my lips were swollen, my chest tight, and I worried I’d be more likely to drool the question out. Everything hurt.

  “Well now, I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up. Damn lazy, if you ask me.”

  I mustered up a glare, but didn’t give the Duchess the satisfaction of answering.

  She snorted, tapping her cigarette on the table. Ash fell on the surface. “I don’t suffer tantrums, Inspector. My men have no qualms about hitting a woman.”

  “What do you want?” I asked. Only with all my swollen muscles and dried blood and the cuts on the inside of my mouth, it came out as a slurred, ‘whaooyouwan.’

  The Duchess took a long drag of her cigarette. “I’m a reasonable person, Inspector. I want what any mother wants. A good husband, a well-behaved son, and a good marriage for him.”

  “What?” I garbled. I needed water, possibly something much stronger, if I wanted to form sentences.

  She looked at me. It was a long, hard look. I don’t know what she saw, but she sighed dramatically. “I dislike stupidity. Darrien asked you to marry him, didn’t he?”

  I shook my head. I had no idea where she had gotten such a peculiar notion. I slurred something out to that effect but from the look on her face, she had no idea what I said.

  “Do you know anything about the Montagu family?”

  I gave her a blank stare.

  She blew smoke in my face. “Of course not. I’ve hidden it well enough so no busy-bodies like yourself can hear about it from gossips.”

  I waited.

  “Montagu is an old family; we took the name during the Norman invasion. Our blood has always bred true. Do you know what that means?”

  I had a feeling she was going to tell me.

  “I’m one-quarter Sidhe. So is Darrien. We come from true Sidhe stock; descended from the High King Finvarra himself. Darrien must marry a woman of good, pure breeding to ensure that the Montagu family remains true. Do you understand?”

  I wanted to doubt her, but Lord Howard was the same: his bloodline bred true. I hadn’t studied the why of it; plenty of nobles stuck their interest in that puddle of research and frankly they were a self-indulgent bunch. My own family, no doubt, could trace back to some Sidhe ancestry, but honestly, it didn’t mean much to me.

  She tapped her pipe on the table. “Darrien has taken too much of a penchant for you.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I shook my head. I didn’t know why she was so certain of this. I wracked my brain, searching my memory. We’d spoken briefly about marriage when we’d had lunch, but that was days ago. A teasing discussion on his part.

  She growled, annoyed. “Twice, he’s asked you. You have not answered, and he will ask you again.”

  Twice? I had no idea what she was talking about now.

  She stood. “Don’t play dumb.”

  She grabbed my swollen face, bringing her own closer and staring into my puffy eyes from inches away. We froze like that for a long while. Her anger eased and she shook her head. “You don’t know. Maybe you didn’t realize what he was saying. But regardless, you will refuse him if he asks a third time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want my son marrying some common street rat. I’ve been looking into your lineage. Your family had some small name and status once. I imagine that’s where you got your magic. But your great-grandparents lost it all. You have no money, no lands… you are nothing but working class. Darrien cannot marry you. I shan’t allow it.”

  I looked at the guards, at the small grimy room. She’d kill me for it, if I refused. “S’ridiculous.”

  The Duchess pulled off her glove. “Inspector, you did me a small favour recently and in return, I offer you this warning. You will refuse him.”

  She had a small, healed wound on her hand where a knife had stabbed her. The scar was old, faded; healed over with Animancy. The kind of injury from a knife or sword slashing the palm.

  She slipped her hand back into her glove. “Now, I think I have made my point. You are free to go. I do so hate burying policemen, especially a woman furthering the cause of women’s votes, but I shan’t hesitate.”

  One of the men by the door moved forward and knelt in front of me.

  The Duchess left.

  They undid the ropes keeping me against the chair and I staggered free, shoving my way out of the men’s attempts to help me.

  I was feeling rather vulnerable and hurt right now. I didn’t want anyone else helping me stand or offering me aid.

  I limped out of the little room and I was in a basement that belonged somewhere in the East End, by my reckoning.

  It was nearing dawn outside; mist eddied around the street and rain came sluicing from the shingles, drenching me in downpour.

  I stood in the freezing water, letting it soak through the burning pain and wash blood from my face and numb my hurt flesh.

  One of my guards cleared his throat and pointed down the end of the street when I turned. “There’s a car for you, miss.”

  I spat bloody water on the ground and trudged toward the car. My boots felt filled with rocks, rubbing blisters on my feet; my knuckles were bruised and cracked with blood.

  I felt like a washer’s rag, used up, squeezed dry, twisted and deformed.

  The car was a taxi.

  I slid in and rattled off the Duke’s current hideout.

  “God Almighty, what happened to you?” Ben caught me on the steps to the hotel. He grabbed my arms, his gaze travelling down my appearance when I hissed and drew out of the embrace.

  “Uchess.” I shoved past him and limped into the hotel. “Hishkey?”

  “What happened to your voice?”

  “Hiskey?” I enunciated more delicately, stressing the desire for alcohol by miming the action.

  “Oh, Whiskey. I should say. Rose, your hand!”

  I pulled my hand away before he could mother-hen me, miming the action of a drink again.

  Ben got the picture and pestered me up the stairs, clattering in front of me and opening the doors.

  I ended up sitting on a comfortable chaise in front of the fireplace.

  He came back with a bottle and a small pour of the liquid.

  I took the bottle out of his hand and uncorked it, filling the glass proper and draining it in a long gulp. The alcohol hit my tongue in a liquid flame. I had cuts and bruises everywhere; my whole body was an open wound, and my mouth filled with nicks and a gash on my tongue the alcohol found quick smart.

  I filled another glass from the bottle and splashed a little on my hand.

  I swore, but since no one could understand it, I think I got away with it.

  I was on my fifth glass when the Duke joined us. The alcohol was warming but hadn’t hit full-force yet.

  He wore a silk robe and nothing else. Hair tousled with sleep, he looked rather attractive. It was rather improper, but after his mother’s idea of warning me away, I was starting to think the family was nuts.

  “What the devil happened to her?”

  “I don’t know, she can barely speak.”

  “Uchess,” I hissed. I waved at Ben. “Baanagge?”

  “Upchester?” they both asked.

  I sighed, and took off my coat and stood, swaying as I made it into the kitchen and found a tea towel by the stove.

  I returned to the chaise, the world swimming in and out, rocking as if I were on a ship.

  I sat down and started wrapping the towel around my hand.

  “No, no, not like that. Sergeant, help me get her to the bed.”

  Bed sounded wonderful.

  I stood up, trying to push them out of my way and failing. I ended up getting carried into the Duke’s bedroom. The irony was not lost on me and I chuckled.

  They laid me down, and Darrien turned to Ben. “I need some hot water and two clean towels.”


  Ben nodded. “Right away.”

  The sheets were warm and clean. I couldn’t smell anything, but they were soft under my fingers and I closed my eyes.

  I opened them again when the Duke pulled off my boots and socks. He unfastened my belt and started on my pants. I caught him before he could pull them off, glaring. A few drinks did not make me a wanton woman.

  He sighed. “Rose, take your clothing off. I need to get to your flesh if I’m to heal you. You’ve got broken ribs, torn tendons, two of your toes are broken, and you’re running a fever. I need to get the swelling down.”

  I pulled the sheet over my body and then started struggling with the buttons.

  Warmth spread in my gut, giving me a pleasant sensation and easing the worst of the pain.

  Undoing buttons and pants is rather hard with only one working hand. Darrien growled and pulled the sheet away, stripping me while I protested weakly. “I’ve seen a woman in her underthings, Rose.”

  He pulled my pants off, then made short work of my shirt.

  He left my shift, what little modesty a wet shift gave, and then started on my hand.

  Warmth and light spread from his touch; a pleasant, gentle sensation ran up my arm. Tingles and tiny electric zaps that hurt, but in a good way.

  The glow was a dull orange, lighting up my fingertips with firelight. I watched, drunkenly fascinated, as the wound closed over; dried blood still caked my fingers, but the hole was closed.

  Exhaustion raced along my senses and I lay still, resting my head on the pillows.

  I intended to close my eyes for a few seconds.

  Darkness sucked me under—a gentle darkness, punctured by the glow of a warm orange light that travelled through my body. Glittering soft and warm in the night that closed over my

  eyelids.

  I didn’t enter the Dreamscape—the bed was warded—but instead I ended up floating in a pleasant nothingness.

  I woke hours later to the sound of men shouting.

  My body shook with exhaustion and hurt. On my right hand, my fingers trembled but moved on their own. They felt tight, like the muscle had been overused. It was a small price to pay for having use back.

  My legs were like jelly when I tried to stand; I fell down rather unexpectedly and the shouting in the other room stopped.

  I was struggling back to my feet, slower this time, when the door opened.

  Darrien strode in, fully dressed.

  “You should sit down. Ben is ordering you some breakfast.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Almost lunch.”

  “Professor Hardigan?”

  “He’s in the parlour. Sit down, you’re exhausted. Major healing takes a toll on the body.”

  I’d been running across half of London. Every muscle was stiff, sore, and my nose felt swollen still.

  “How’s the head?”

  “Sore.”

  “You drank almost a full bottle of bourbon last night. I won’t do much for hangovers.”

  I gave a small smile and winced. My mouth was still full of cuts. “Thank you.”

  “Whatever for?” he said.

  “You didn’t have to do anything.”

  He gave me a rather affronted look. Then, with a deep breath asked, “What happened?”

  “Your mother.”

  “What?”

  “Your mother happened. She hired some men to abduct me. Most of this came from them, they were hardly gentlemen.” I draped the sheet around me, noticing it was stained with blood and muck.

  “Why on earth did she…?”

  “She was terribly concerned that you were going to propose to me.” I shook my head, slipping my dirty shirt over my nakedness and grabbing my pants by the foot of the bed.

  The Duke turned around. “I am so sorry. I wasn’t expecting her to take action to stop me.”

  I pulled my pants on and brushed the front of them. My white shirt was covered in blood and my pants were hardly better. Still damp and muddy at the ends. “That is hardly the main problem in this scenario, Darrien. Your mother kidnapped me and had me beaten.”

  He helped me stand again and I straightened up, no longer swaying.

  I made it out of the bedroom and then sat down in the parlour. Hardigan and Ben sat around a small tray of sandwiches and I helped myself to a ham and cheese cut.

  “Ben, I didn’t get a chance to introduce you to Professor Hardigan properly.”

  “We made acquaintance last night.”

  “Yes, about that, sorry for the disruption and untoward appearance.” I ate the sandwich in two bites. I was starving.

  “I think I speak for all of us when I say that it is hardly necessary for you to apologise for what happened,” Darrien snapped. He sat down beside me.

  I leaned back into the plush couch. I wanted to sleep for a few days. I didn’t have the luxury. “Has professor Hardigan explained what he is carrying?”

  “An enchanted sword to slay dragons,” Ben said. “Yes, we’ve checked his notes and the study on it, it seems to be in order. I believe it will kill our beast.”

  Finally, some good news.

  “We need to formulate a plan,” Ben murmured then.

  “The hell we do! We need to have a discussion,” Darrien pointed between the two of us.

  “Return with the Duke to the apartments,” I instructed. “I need to check a few things before I join you. Expect me in the afternoon.”

  Darrien’s mouth shut with a snap. He was not happy about being ignored, but I wasn’t happy about being worked over like a piece of bread.

  Ben stood and I saw my coat on the chaise. I grabbed it, shrugging back in. The fire had warmed and dried most of it.

  I took another sandwich and stood. “Keep out of trouble.”

  I arrived back in my own digs around late noon. Mrs. Davies saw me stepping out of the cab and hurried to usher me indoors. “You are a frightful mess, Miss Beaumont. Did this happen at the funeral?”

  “Funeral?” I asked, alarmed.

  She made a small excited noise I didn’t understand and gripped my arm. “Get inside, oh, hurry.”

  I dropped my bag at the entrance and let her hurry me toward the kitchen. “What funeral?”

  “Well, Mrs. Beaumont called, said she wasn’t able to catch you on the phone at your work and would I please take a message for you.” Mrs. Davies handed me a small note with her neat, retired school teacher handwriting on it.

  Rose,

  Charlie’s funeral will be held this Wednesday at noon, in the Eastwick Church. Wake at Stuart’s house.

  Agatha Beaumont

  I looked at the time on the little mantle that Mrs. Davies kept in the kitchen. I’d missed the funeral.

  “If you hurry, you might make the wake, dearie.” Mrs. Davies took my suddenly trembling arm and pushed me toward the stairs. “I’ll call a cab.”

  I followed her instruction and raced up the steps; every part of me was sore and worn out. I was cream spread thin across a pail of milk.

  I washed my face and arms of dried blood in the sink, combed my messy hair and put on my Sunday best.

  I pulled my hair into a bun and pinned it viciously, rubbing dirt, dust, blood, and finding myself red and trembling under it all.

  I was so busy trying to keep Darrien Montagu alive, I had missed my cousin’s funeral.

  Shame and guilt swirled in my stomach and I secured a scarf around my neck. I wasn’t smelling fresh, so I sprayed a bit of perfume on my wrists and neck. I tucked my handkerchief in my sleeve for good measure.

  “Hurry up, Inspector!” Mrs. Davies called from the hall. “The cab is here.”

  I burst into the hall, struggling into my shoes, and pressed the Duke’s residence into her palm. “Mrs. Davies, you are a treasure. Might I beg a favour? Can you ring my man Ben at this residence and let him know where I am? He’s serving escort to Darrien Montagu.”

 
“Yes, yes, I’ll ring right away, now get out the door!”

  I gave her hand a small, emotional squeeze and did as she bid.

  The cab was clean and had a side mirror that I used to adjust my cloche and re-pin my hair. I scrubbed off a stubborn fleck of blood on my upper lip, smoothed down my skirt, and fixed the buttons on my shirt. I didn’t look so flustered and unkempt now.

  I ought to have taken flowers, but Charlie hated flowers. I doubted death made her any more enamoured of them.

  Instead I settled for watching the traffic and wondering if we could go any faster. I didn’t ask because the streets were awash with cabs and folk making to and fro. I did not want an accident on my conscience.

  We made good time across the city to Islington.

  I was glad they weren’t having the wake at a pub. The Beaumont family was a mess enough without a bar full of others to see us drinking.

  Charlotte had better connections from her mother’s family, but my uncle had not inherited much of the family fortune, what little of it there might have been after our grandfather had squandered most of it away in slow horses and fast women.

  Willow Bridge Road was crowded, full of cabs lining both sides of the street. I paid the driver and stepped out at the small brown house that Charlotte’s little brother, Stuart, called home.

  A measure of terror settled in my gut. I was certainly not prepared for this. I needed sleep. I needed food and to be alone. I hadn’t caught a damn minute’s break all week, and last night had spilled into today in terms of nightmares.

  My hands shook as I raised them to the door.

  The door swung open, revealing my father’s stern face. His eyes widened.

  We hadn’t spoken since last Christmas. And today, like all family gatherings, would probably be no different. “You’re late.”

  “Your grasp of the obvious is astounding, sir.”

  His mouth firmed into a thin white line before he grabbed my arm and yanked me inside. It wouldn’t do for me not to show up at all. Better late and apologetic than missing.

  The house was crowded with the Beaumont family. Gertrude, Charlie’s mother, was weeping uncontrollably on the chaise. I needed a stiff drink before I could pay my respects, poor woman.