Camille

by Tess Oliver

  I decided a warm plate of eggs cooked loosely, the way Dr. Bennett liked them, would help soften the front page news. Dutch circled my legs while I worked. Finally, I tossed him the bacon scraps I’d saved yesterday morning. The cat pounced on the pink meat as if it had caught some wild prey and scurried off to its favorite place beneath the kitchen table. The coffee smelled comforting, and I poured myself a hot cup and balanced the bitterness with cream.

  With Dutch close at my heels, I carried the plates to the small sitting room. It was my favorite room in the townhouse. The walls were once covered with faded green wallpaper, which I peeled off one day to discover orange paint. Together with the toasty brown color of the wood floor, I’d decided to call it the marmalade room. We ate most of our meals at a card table next to the hearth. Some days we’d sit sipping milk with vanilla and read or debate, forgetting completely about our midnight excursions. I filled the grate, lit the fire, and went to call Dr. Bennett to the table.

  He sat in the exact position I’d left him. “Come before the eggs get cold,” I called from the doorway.

  “I knew that boy would be a great specimen.” He drew his eye away from the microscope and waved me closer.

  “We should hurry. I left Dutch alone with a plate of eggs,” I said as I walked to the microscope. It had taken a while, but I’d become quite adept at peering through the lens. For the longest time, all I saw was black, and I pretended to see things so as not to disappoint him. My face pressed against the cold metal of the eyepiece. There was a cluster of odd shaped cells.

  I pulled my eye away and looked at Dr. Bennett. “They don’t look like anything you’ve shown me before.”

  “Precisely. These are blood cells from the bite. Not only are the shapes of these cells changing, but if you looked again in a few moments, you would see they are dividing rapidly.”

  “But what does it all mean?”

  “I have never been able to study a human who is going through the first transformation. That lad could help us, and in turn, we may be able to help him. But we need to bring him here.”

  “Bring him here? A werewolf?” Fragments of the memory of my father’s death splintered free. A cold sweat broke out on my skin and the room swayed.

  The stool scraped across the floor of the lab. “Cami, my dear, I’ve upset you.” Dr. Bennett placed a hand under my elbow and guided me to the stool.

  The dizziness had not cleared completely, but I no longer felt as if I would swoon. “Forgive me, John, but have you lost your senses?”

  “Not at all. Let’s go to the sitting room. Some food and a warm fire will do you good, and I can explain myself better.”

  The glow in the hearth dried the sweat from my face and arms. Dr. Bennett cut his eggs into six portions as he always did. After only one bite, he pushed away his plate and sat back in his chair. “I’m really too anxious to eat this morning.” He searched around for something. “Did you not buy a paper?”

  “I did.” The frown on my face must have been plain to see.

  Dr. Bennett stared down at his hands. “I see.”

  I reached across the table and placed my hand over his. “You had no choice, John. He would have killed others. Better to be dead than a murderous beast. Right?”

  He squeezed my hand, and I sat back. Dr. Bennett poured cream into his coffee and stirred it three times like always. “All the more reason to find this boy, Strider.”

  I took a sip of my own lukewarm coffee. “Yes, bring the next murderous beast here, by all means.”

  He leaned forward. “Hear me out, Camille. I’ve been looking at the lad’s cells all morning. I am convinced he is not completely altered…yet.”

  “But it’s dangerous.”

  He took one bite of his egg and swallowed. “Who is this staid, dull girl sitting across from me? Where is your sense of adventure, Camille?”

  “I am the same impulsive and silly girl. I just prefer not to bring a werewolf into our home.” I stared down at my cup. The cream had produced an iridescent sheen on the surface.

  My gaze lifted. Dr. Bennett had that I can read your thoughts look on his face. It was not always easy living with a genius. “Sometimes, you ask too much of me.”

  “Courage has never eluded you before, Camille. Stop convincing yourself otherwise.”

  “Courage is a fickle friend. One day it’s there for you, and the next it has disappeared like a snowflake on hot coals.” That I knew first hand.

  Dr. Bennett stood from his chair and walked to the window. “What if we could help this boy, Strider?” He walked over and put his hands on the back of my chair. “We must think of him in purely scientific terms. No emotional attachment. He will be a specimen to study, and in the long run, if we can save him…”

  I twisted back and looked up at him. “And if we can’t? What right do we have to make him a specimen?” I stood now and began clearing the plates that we’d barely touched. My hunger had diminished without a bite. “And what will we tell him? Pardon us, but we need to poke you with needles to find out whether you’re a full-fledged shape-shifter or merely stuck at some hideous stage between human and beast.”

  He looked at me with thoughtful blue eyes. “We tell him that without us, his fate is sealed, and he has less than a month to live.” He walked to the table and nonchalantly picked up the cups as if he’d just recited the recipe for gingerbread.

  My insides churned as if someone had taken an eggbeater to them. As outlandish as the whole scheme was, it brought with it the hope of ending our midnight hunts. “Am I really staid like old Mrs. Bruner next door?”

  “Not quite. That type of starched composure takes years of practice.”

  We carried the plates down to the kitchen. “Today is visiting day at Bethlem. Tomorrow, I’ll make a trip to Buck’s Row and look for our finger-slicing, grave robber. Perhaps I can convince him that he needs our help.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Chapter 4

  “Do not forget your parcel,” Dr. Bennett called from his lab and stuck his head out into the hallway. “I have a letter for your sister.” He outstretched his hand, and I grabbed the wax sealed missive from it. As always, Emily’s name was written hastily on the front with an oversized E. I had no idea what his letters to Emily contained. He never spoke about the contents, and she never read them in my presence.

  “Are you walking to Bethlem?”

  “The paper, where did I lay it last?” I leaned over the umbrella stand and found the stack of sugar and Cobb paper tucked behind it. I grabbed the twine that held it in a bundle and plucked it from its hiding spot. “Yes, I’m walking. The fog has lifted, and the view from Westminster Bridge should be splendid. Besides, it’s too early for visiting hours.”

  “Be careful. The carriage traffic is heavy at this hour.”

  “I hadn’t actually planned to walk down the center of the road.”

  “Such an amusing girl.” He disappeared back into his lab.

  The dawn mist had lifted leaving behind a crisp, blue sky and a glacial breeze. My shoulders inched up closer to my ears. My eyes watered from the cold, blurring the silhouette of the parliament building. Barges meandered beneath the squat arches, producing long turrets of smoke that snaked up before scattering in the gusty morning air. The crystal view was well worth the walk, but for most of the journey, I kept my face down to shield it from the biting wind.

  Bethlem Hospital, with its magnificent dome and columns, looked as imposing as Westminster. But in the parliament building, self-important men flew through the halls in long, black coats making decisions about critical matters. Here, at the hospital, curables and incurables shambled through the halls in white gowns trying to decide whether or not they mattered. Even though it was visiting day, the place was near to deserted.

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  “Sarah, it’s me, Camille. I’m here to see Emily.”

  Sarah lifted her plump frame from the chair and glanced over her desk. “It is y
ou. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”

  “Is my sister back in her room?” I had no interest in discussing my wardrobe.

  She waved her hand toward the hallway that led to the female ward. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.” She laughed. “That is if she recognizes you.”

  I pretended to be amused and headed to Emily’s room. One worker pushed a carpet sweeper around the feet of the patients who lingered on the varnished benches, while another watered the green plants cascading from the sconces on the wall. Not many years back, the floor would have been covered with filth rather than an immaculate rug, patients would have been shackled to the walls rather than moving freely about, and the only thing green would have been the porridge served at supper.

  My fingers rapped lightly on the door.

  “Come in.”

  I sighed with relief when the voice on the other side sounded cheery.

  Emily smiled. She was thinner, which made her round, blue eyes look like saucers in her small face. Her pale yellow hair was twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck. With her starched white shift and fair skin, she nearly vanished into the whitewashed walls of the room.

  “I haven’t woken them yet.” My sister walked to her window. “We were waiting for you.”

  She drew back the curtain and pushed the window open a crack allowing in enough breeze to blow life across the room. Hundreds of blue wings twittered on the backs of paper fairies as they clung to the delicate chains circling the room, and we were no longer standing in a place called Bedlam. We were in a mystical forest, Emily’s forest of sugar paper creatures.

  “You’re wearing a dress.”

  “Why does everyone feel the need to state the obvious this morning?” I tossed the bundle of colored paper onto her bed and placed Dr. Bennett’s letter on top.

  “It seems rather odd, that’s all. But you should wear dresses more often. It makes you look more mature.”

  My sister Emily had been born eleven minutes before me, and she’d convinced herself that those few extra moments gave her the imperious rights of older sister.

  “I’ll keep your advice in mind.”

  She rolled her eyes at my sarcastic tone, picked up the pack of papers, and pocketed the letter. “Could you not find red?”

  I shook my head. “Not even from the book binder. Why don’t you make her hair brown? I brought some coffee colors.”

  Emily walked to her dresser and lifted a delicate paper sculpture from the top drawer. “Her name is Aidan which means little, fiery one. Brown hair will not do.”

  I flopped onto the bed. “Fine. I will look for red. If only I had such immense things to worry about.”

  “Forgive me for being a nuisance,” Emily said and tucked the hairless fairy back into the drawer. “There was an incident last night, wasn’t there? I nearly scratched myself raw.” She pushed back her sleeve and showed me her forearm. Her crescent shaped scar was surrounded by red skin. After my father’s death, she had carved a quarter moon into her forearm with a knife. She’d done the same to mine, and I’d let her because she was the older sister, and even though I was considered the strong one, she made all the decisions. We had rubbed the cuts together to show our never ending devotion to each other. But that promise had ended when she’d abandoned me for this place.

  “Dr. Bennett handled it.” I rarely spoke of our midnight hunts with Emily. “Are you reading anything new?”

  Emily adjusted several of the fairies so their wings would get the full effect of the morning breeze. “I picked up one dreadful novel after another and couldn’t finish any of them. So I’m reading Austen again.”

  “Perhaps I’ll bring you enough paper to sculpt yourself a Mr. Darcy.”

  “A paper man. How romantic. And when I tire of him, I can just crumple him into a huge ball.” Emily sat on the bed next to me, pulled free my white hunk of hair, and weaved it into a tight plait. “What’s the matter, Cami? Was it very bad last night?”

  I rested my head on her bone thin shoulder. “There was a victim last night, a mere bite, so we’re quite sure he survived. John thinks he could provide us with answers.” I lifted my head and glanced at the nightstand where my father’s journal had been locked away for years.

  “What kind of answers?”

  I stood and walked to the pitcher of water on her dresser. “Answers to how the universe began, Emily, what do you think? A cure, Dr. Bennett is searching for a cure.” The water cooled my dry throat. I had not meant to be rude, but occasionally, I became angry that I was out there in the ugly world, and she was in here hiding from it.

  “Who was this victim?” Emily asked.

  I shrugged and tapped one of the fairies with my finger. The blue winged sprite twirled around as if dancing. “Some lad who lives on the streets. Makes money by stealing from dead people.”

  “Less chance of being caught, I suppose. Is he young?”

  “Seventeen or eighteen perhaps.”

  Emily untied her new bundle of paper and sifted through the assortment. “Do you think it wise to get to know this victim? After all you will probably be faced with--”

  “Killing him,” I finished for her. “Dr. Bennett has been stalled with his study. He needs more evidence. And since we don’t have father’s journal…”

  Emily was practiced at ignoring things she didn’t want to hear. She continued categorizing the squares into piles according to color and size. My mention of the journal swept past her unheeded. Nothing would make her part with father’s journal.

  “’Tis a foolish endeavor, to be sure. There is no stopping the cycle.”

  “Spoken with the confidence of a true expert, Emily.” I fingered some of her creations. “Tell me, who supplies you with all this unfaltering knowledge. Is it little Ciara here?” I traveled along the chain and pointed out several. “Or, mayhap, it was Fayette or Elgar.” I glanced at her and saw that color had flooded into her cheeks. I dropped my hand. “Forgive me, Em, but you have no idea what it is like.”

  She walked to her dresser, pulled out a shawl, and threw it around her shoulders. “I have some idea, Camille. But don’t forget, you’re the strong one.”

  Her last words stung as they were meant to, and only she and I knew the reason why.

  My sister grabbed hold of my hand. Her skin felt clammy. “I could use a little exercise,” she said. “Let’s take a turn round the ward.”

  Two nurses swept past us. “Is it Frances again?” Emily called to them as they rushed on.

  “Aye,” one of the nurses called back over her shoulder.

  “Poor Frances,” Emily sighed. “She is always convinced that she is choking on her food. She hardly ever eats for fear that she will die from it. She’s grown terribly thin.”

  I peeked over at my sister who was literally skin wrapped over bones and wondered what she might consider to be terribly thin. “Why don’t they feed her soup?” I asked. “It would be difficult to choke on broth.”

  She shook her head. “You would think. But Frances sputtered and coughed the entire time they spooned it into her.”

  “Perhaps it’s not in her head. Perhaps she has some unseen malady that does not allow her to swallow properly.”

  Emily squeezed my hand and directed me to a bench in front of a large window. “Perhaps. But I think it is more likely that she is deranged.”

  Sunlight streamed in through the window and onto Emily’s face. We were twins, but we looked nothing alike. She was the fair-haired beauty, and I was the dark-haired exotic, a phrase my father drummed up for me so I would not feel left out when people marveled at Emily’s appearance. The bench we sat on reminded me of the park bench we rested on the day she told me she could no longer function outside of the hospital walls. “Deranged? Is that the category you’ve placed yourself in now?”

  “Not deranged, just inappropriately suited for normal life.”

  I laughed. “If you are referring to life outside these walls as normal, you�
��ve been holed up here too long.”

  The large door at the end of the hall swung open and a young man walked through carrying a small table. Emily released my hand and smoothed a few stray hairs back from her forehead. A grin erupted at the side of her mouth. The man approached us.

  “Will this do, Miss?” he asked.

  “That is perfect, Samuel,” Emily answered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

  He smiled. “I’ll put it in your room.”

  Emily stared up at him with her disarming, blue gaze, and Samuel nearly fell backwards with the table. “Under the window would be perfect.”

  “Right away, Miss.” He hurried off.

  “What was that about?” I asked.

  “Oh, that. I needed a table to work on.” The blush diffused from her cheeks.

  “Em, I’m not talking about the table. I’m talking about the man.”

  She shrugged. “I see no need to live a completely solitary existence. Besides, Samuel brings me anything I ask for.”

  I jumped to my feet. “At what price? Emily, I’m shocked.”

  “Really? Don’t be.” She stood and wrapped her arm through mine, and we walked toward her room.

  Chapter 5

  It was only October but autumn was scooting away on brisk breezes. I opted for trousers again since they provided more protection from the cold and because I’d be traveling to the East End alone. I reached for my lucky hat, the John Bull topper I’d found in Hyde Park, and pulled it low over my brow. It was a look that would have made Emily cringe. The visit yesterday with my sister had stirred my thoughts all day. I told myself I should be happy about her rather unseemly relationship with the hospital worker. But envy left a bitter taste in my mouth. She’d been concealed within the walls of Bethlem, rarely even stirring out of doors, and she’d formed an attachment. While her beauty could have afforded her a much better suitor in the outside world, she’d managed to find affection within the limited population around her.