Camille

by Tess Oliver

  Loud laughter stopped us in front of a dimly lit doorway. Dr. Bennett peered down at me. “Cami, keep your face concealed and try not to be noticed. I need to see that boy’s leg and find out more about him. He may be the perfect specimen for my observations.”

  I smiled and pulled my hood lower. “Always the man of science. Here I thought you meant to help the lad.”

  “Well¬¬-- naturally,” he stammered, “that too.

  The weak candlelight inside the public house was more welcoming than I‘d expected. There were three, crudely built tables lining the walls of the windowless drinking hole. At least a dozen people were crammed into the place. We entered unnoticed. In one corner, a man with a tattered patch over his eye strummed an almost sweet sounding tune on a fiddle. It did not take long to spot the two small boys from the cemetery. They were wrestling over a pint pot. The liquid contents splashed over one of the boy’s hands, and he quickly licked every drop from his grime covered fingers.

  Dr. Bennett and I shuffled to a bench in the darkest corner of the room and sat down. He set Dutch’s cage on the ground. The cat growled at the unfamiliar voices. A group of scruffy looking patrons huddled around the counter, their attention drawn to something.

  A red haired woman stood in the center of the room with her hands on her hips. “Come on now, Strider, you promised a dance.” She directed her plea toward the group at the counter. It was hard to tell her age. She could have been twenty or forty. Poverty always seemed to blur the line between youth and age. The cluster parted and revealed Dr. Bennett’s specimen perched on a stool with a glittering ring on his smallest finger.

  In the candlelight, his face was even more striking than in the moonlight. He was pale and filthy, yet he seemed out of place here. A faded seaman’s coat, no doubt stolen from an unsuspecting corpse, stretched tightly over his broad shoulders. He flashed a charming smile to the girl. “Give me time, sweet’eart. I’m still catching my breath.”

  Suddenly, another girl came out of the shadows and shoved the first girl to the floor. “I don’t think so, you rotten smellin’ cow.” She stepped over her sprawled victim and jumped into Strider’s lap.

  The impact nearly pitched Strider and the stool over, but he caught himself and the girl. The first girl pushed herself to her feet, spitting obscenities as she brushed off her greasy skirt. She marched toward the couple, but he put up a hand to stop her.

  Strider shifted the girl he was holding to one side and held out his free arm. “Now you know I’ve arms enough for the both of you.” The angry girl’s shoulders relaxed, and she flew to his side.

  “How’s that fair, Strider?” The question came from a thin man in a badly patched pair of trousers. “The rest of us are standing ‘ere without any sugar, and you’ve got both hands filled with honey.”

  Strider shrugged, a crooked smile inched up one cheek. “If life were fair, Jack, I’d be sitting inside a fancy townhouse in Grosvenor Square instead of this place.” He squeezed the girls closer as they showered his face, ears, and neck with kisses.

  I rolled my eyes. “Swaggering coxcomb. For a lowly thief who robs from dead people, he’s sure full of bluster.” The words spurted from the corner of my mouth. Dr. Bennett elbowed me into silence.

  The fiddler strummed a brisk tune, and a few of the patrons danced across the rough floor. The red head jumped up. “Let’s dance, Strider.”

  The other girl chimed in with the same request and shoved the redhead hard in the stomach.

  I sat forward. “This is far more entertaining than I’d expected.”

  Strider pushed them off his lap abruptly. “Tell you what, ladies, why don’t you dance with Jack and Henry over there.” He reached down and rubbed his leg. “I’m not really fit for dancing tonight.” The light was dim, but I could see that the shredded leg of his trousers was black with blood.

  Dr. Bennett leaned his head toward mine. “I’m going to order some drink to see if I can get a closer look at that leg.” Several of the more shifty looking customers were eyeing us now. “Perhaps, you should come with me,” he added.

  “My very thought.”

  Dr. Bennett picked up the cage and headed toward the man serving ale. Our shoes crunched on the filth littering the floor. Several bloodshot stares followed our steps.

  “We don’t allow no animals in here. This is a respectable place,” the barkeep grunted from behind the counter.

  Dr. Bennett tossed five shillings on the counter. The clang of coins brought everyone to attention. “Do you have something besides the ale? A bottle of good whiskey perhaps?”

  The barkeep’s eyes nearly popped from his face as he eyed the money. His gaze shot to Dr. Bennett’s face and back to the five shilling gleaming in the candle light. “I’ve a bottle of whiskey in the back.” He leaned forward to sweep away the coins, but Dr. Bennett covered them with his gloved hand.

  “They are yours,” Dr. Bennett said, “as soon as you return with the bottle.”

  While Dr. Bennett bartered with the man, I peeked at Strider from under the lowered edge of my hood. His eyes were on me! Like a scared turtle, I pulled my face back into the shadows of my cloak. It was the shortest moment in time, but our eyes had locked for an instant, and I found myself wanting to look at him again. But I dared not attempt it.

  “What happened to your leg, lad? You may need to see a surgeon.” Dr. Bennett’s voice was muffled by the heavy wool around my ears, and I fought the urge to push the hood off my head.

  “Don’t trouble yourself about it, old man. But if a surgeon shows up in this flash house, I’ll be sure to ask ‘im his opinion.” His voice was edged with the pain he was no doubt suffering.

  I braved another glance at him. He stared at the ring on his pinky now. It was hard to tell whether he was contemplating his sordid deed or the worth of his prize. I studied his profile. It may have been the long sweep of his lashes, but it seemed that life in the underworld had not completely erased his innocence. He could not have been more than eighteen. Two curved lines framed the corner of his lips changing him from somber to roguish with the slightest movement of his mouth. He dropped the stolen band on the counter. It spun like a top before he caught it back up in his fist. He held tightly onto it not realizing that the thin circle of gold may very well have bought him an early grave. And suddenly following him here seemed a terrible mistake. I knew from experience that it was much easier to hunt prey that you have not met personally … or loved.

  The barkeep returned with a dust encrusted bottle. He blew the dirt and cobwebs off the label and held it close to a lantern on the wall. “Tis the finest bottle of spirits I’ve got.” He licked his lips greedily as he eyed the coins on the counter.

  Dr. Bennett pushed the money toward him and took hold of the bottle. I grew curious about his purchase. I knew he rarely drank, and if he did, it was port not whiskey. He pushed the bottle toward the boy. “This might help.”

  The lad made no move toward the bottle at first. He stared at Dr. Bennett suspiciously and then attempted to get a better look at me as I hid behind my friend’s back. I inched further out of his view.

  “My name is Dr. Bennett.” His hand shot forward.

  The boy hesitated before returning the handshake. “They call me Strider.” Once again he tried to get a look at me. Then he stared down at Dutch. “Most respectable physicians carry a leather satchel. But then we don’t see too many respectable physicians in this part of town.”

  “Cat or no cat, I know a bit about medicine. And if you don’t douse that leg with some potent alcohol, you’ll be learning to live without it soon.”

  There was no cynical response this time. I peered over Dr. Bennett’s shoulder and watched as Strider grabbed the bottle off the counter and opened it. Using the end of his dingy coat, he wiped the dust from the opening and raised the bottle in a silent toast before taking two hearty swigs as if he drank water. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his coat and bent down to pull up the leg of his trouser. D
r. Bennett had figured the perfect way to get the thief to show him his wound and help keep it from infection.

  A small crowd had collected around Strider now. The two young accomplices from the cemetery watched with anticipation as the shredded trouser leg inched up exposing a gruesome flesh wound. I was able to get a clear view of his leg as I peered around Dr. Bennett’s arm. A quiet gasp escaped my lips. There were six, deep teeth marks on each side of his calf. One of the younger boys turned around and retched onto the floor, while the other stared at the leg in horrified amazement. The red head decided to skip over for a closer look. She screamed and nearly fainted onto Strider’s lap.

  Dr. Bennett motioned with his arms. “Stand back and give him some air.” He looked at Strider then down at the leg. I knew him well enough to know that he was cataloguing dozens of details in his mind. Dr. Bennett fished his linen handkerchief from his vest pocket and lowered it to the leg.

  Strider’s hand shot out, stopping Dr. Bennett’s quest for a blood and cell sample.

  “I merely intend to wipe away some of the excess blood and debris.”

  Slowly, Strider released his hand, and Dr. Bennett gently wiped off a good amount of blood. I peered up at Strider’s face. He was biting his bottom lip the same way he had in the cemetery. Sweat trickled down his face, and he grew paler by the moment.

  “Enough!” Strider blurted. He upturned the bottle of whiskey, and the liquid cascaded over the bite marks. A yell seemed to catch in his throat before he collapsed forward off the stool into Dr. Bennett’s arms.

  Dr. Bennett held the limp boy over one arm and removed his black neck cloth with the other. He handed it to me over his shoulder. “There’s a barrel with rainwater outside the door. Soak this well. The lad’s burning up.”

  The alleyway had filled completely with a dense fog. The icy water soaked through my gloves and my fingers ached. By the time I’d stepped back inside with the dripping piece of cloth, Dr. Bennett had Strider laid out on the bench we’d sat on earlier. His long legs hung off the end of the splintered wood.

  Dr. Bennett examined the injury with the eyeglass he kept tucked in his pocket. The onlookers, including the two girls, stood back watching the whole scene. The red head kneaded her skirts with her fingers, and the other girl covered her face as if trying to avoid breathing in something foul. A fever in this neighborhood usually meant some dreaded, contagious sickness.

  I knelt down next to Strider’s head and pushed my hood back but not completely clear from my head. Long black lashes shadowed his ashen cheeks. The sheen of fever covered his face. I placed the cold wet cloth over his forehead. His brown eyes shot open. He jumped to his feet then sat down hard on the bench. I peered up at him as I reached around for the cloth. His fever glazed stare fell on my face. I swallowed hard.

  “Who the bloody hell are you?” he asked.

  Dr. Bennett stood and rubbed his chin from the swift kick he’d received when Strider shot up. “Mr. Strider, your injury is worse than you might think. If you let me help you--”

  “I don’t need your help.” His head rested back against the rough, mold stained wall as he scanned the crowd from beneath heavy lids. “Goose, Charlie, get me out of ‘ere.” His two young companions raced to him. Dr. Bennett and I stepped out of the way, and with some effort, the boys helped their sick friend stand and hobble out the door.

  Dr. Bennett returned to the barkeep. “Does the boy have a real name? Where does he live?”

  The man didn’t answer. Dr. Bennett reached in his pocket, pulled out three shilling, and held it out on his gloved palm.

  “Strider’s his real name. Nathaniel Strider, I think. Doesn’t have a permanent home. No family that I know of.” The man stared down now at the black glove. “Far as I know, he sleeps in stairwells and on front stoops.”

  Dr. Bennett dropped the coins onto the counter. One rolled off and the man dove for it as if it were a priceless jewel. I picked up Dutch’s cage. The cat had curled itself into a tight ball; a striped paw shielded its face from the cold draft coming in through the door. I followed Dr. Bennett into the damp night air and trudged beside him back to Whitechapel Road.

  “I will need you to do your best investigative work this week, Cami. Keep an eye on that boy.”

  “I wonder, John, if it is wise to follow him. Becoming acquainted with him in human form may impair our judgment when the time comes.” The night had been draining, but the swirl of dread in my chest and head weakened my spirit even more.

  “Don’t you see, Cami? This lad might provide us with some insight.” He stopped, took hold of my shoulders, and turned me to face him. The weak glow of the street lamps could not hide the glint of anticipation in his eyes. “Your father was close to ending this cycle of mutation. I’m convinced of it. But without his journal…” He picked up my hand. “I must move forward on my own.”

  I nodded silently, not really in agreement, but in surrender.

  Dr. Bennett hired the only cab in sight. As we climbed inside, he continued, but I truly did not want to hear more. “Those teeth marks are deep enough to trigger some cellular changes. The lad has no idea the trouble he’s in. That is, if he survives till the next full moon.”

  I stared out the window at the blurred cityscape and held up my hand. “Please, John, I can listen no more tonight.” I despised being rude to him, but the events of the evening topped with the mention of my father had filled me with an unshakeable melancholy. I could not even pretend, as I often did, that the night had been staged. My bizarre life was all too real.

  Chapter 3

  Sunlight seeped beneath the hem of my drapes far too early. We’d arrived home several hours before dawn, and I’d fallen heavy headed into bed. Amazingly, I’d slept without nightmares. In fact the hollowness in my stomach brought images of Manchester pudding and currant jelly with mutton. It was that same hunger that urged me from my downy covers into the cold air of my bedroom. Dr. Bennett would already be at work in his lab, and he would need breakfast as well.

  The water in the ewer stand refreshed my face and arms. My trousers from the night before were still draped over the foot of my bed. I reached for them and threw them over the back of my chair. It had been a long while since I’d pulled a dress over my head. Some time ago, I’d convinced myself that buttery silk gowns were meant for girls with a social life, not for girls who lurked in midnight shadows hunting werewolves. Besides, my boyish disguise had allowed me to venture out alone. Most days, Dr. Bennett never strayed from the house, content only in his lab hovering over his microscope or seated in his favorite chair poring over his books. He hated the outside world and strangers. Only our midnight hunts lured him from home. From my wardrobe, I pulled out a green day dress in hopes that a change of costume would boost my spirits.

  I stopped in front of the full-length cheval glass, a possession from my earlier life, and tied my dark hair up with a ribbon. A thick, white lock of hair framed the left side of my face, a constant reminder of my past.

  I pinched my cheeks for color, a habit I’d learned from my mother. I had been named after her, and although she died when I was six, I remembered a round freckle near her mouth, the distinctive smell of lavender, and remarkably soft hands. Often she’d spoken in what I later learned was French. Dr. Bennett, my father’s closest friend at the time, was the only one who could speak it with her. My father’s face would scrunch up small and red whenever they excluded him from the conversation. Several years after my mother’s death, my father and Dr. Bennett had had a terrible fight. Their roaring voices boomed from the study in our house. John stormed out and did not return until the dreadful night of my father’s death.

  The reflection staring back at me looked foreign in feminine attire. The feel of the soft cotton floating around my legs made me smile.

  Dr. Bennett hunched his shoulders over the lab table as he stared into the eyepiece of his microscope. Absorbed in his work, he did not hear me walk into the lab. The long rows of shelves lining the
back wall of the room were filled with jars of oddities I’d always tried my best not to look at. Other than that, it was a room I enjoyed. There was a primitively built cot of wood and canvas strategically placed near a window to take advantage of the natural light. Very often, I would find Dr. Bennett fast asleep there with a book on his chest and his glasses still propped on his nose. The stacks of books in the corner had been my school mates growing up, and like school mates, some were dull and some were intriguing.

  I peered over Dr. Bennett’s shoulder at the slides he’d prepared. They were cell smears from his handkerchief. “I’ll fry some eggs. Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

  He didn’t look up from his work but nodded. “Fine, fine, Cami,” he answered absently. His work would engross him so deeply; he often didn’t know I was in the room.

  I smiled. “Coffee it is then.”

  “Cami, run down to the corner to pick up a paper.” He glanced up for a moment, then refocused on the thin plates of glass in front of him. “You’re wearing a dress. Very nice.” His face shot up. “Is everything all right?”

  I held out my arms and looked down at the green stripes of my skirt. “Everything is fine. I just thought I’d surprise Emily.” It was a lie. I hadn’t really given my sister a thought when I put on the dress.

  “I daresay she will be shocked when she sees you.” He refocused on his work. “You know, I think I would prefer coffee instead of tea this morning.”

  I smiled and left the lab. My mantle hung on a hook near the door. I flung it around my shoulders and tromped down the three front steps to the wet pavement. The newsboy shouted the headline before I reached him.

  “Mysterious death of the fish cart man. Read all about it!” The boy pulled a paper from his shoulder bag and handed it to me. I paid him and tucked the newspaper under my arm. I didn’t need to see the picture or the details. The death was not a mystery to Dr. Bennett and me.

  We relied on London newspapers to keep us abreast of mysterious dog attacks and possible targets. Unfortunately, most lycanthropes traveled the smaller towns and farmlands outside of London. The remoteness and lack of population in these places made it easy for them to thrive without being caught. The fish cart man was most likely bitten by one of these outsiders. Dr. Bennett and I did not have the time and resources to focus on the rogue beasts prowling beyond the city limits.