by Tess Oliver
My feet felt weighted with bricks as I took a step toward Strider. I placed my hand on his raised arm, but he yanked it away, spun around, and plowed through the mystified onlookers who were more than eager to get out of his way.
Chapter 9
I did not light the fire in the hearth, deciding the frigid air soothed my nausea. Dutch circled my legs rubbing his face on my boots. I recalled little of what transpired after leaving the wax museum. The sunlight had broken through the clouds, and I remember shielding my eyes from the brightness as I floated in a daze down the street path. Somehow, I’d managed to find my way here to the safety of the marmalade room, but if someone asked me to retrace my steps home, I could not. Dr. Bennett had heard me come in, but did not leave his work to greet me, and for that, I was grateful. The last thing I wanted was to have to recount the events of the morning.
Dutch jumped into my lap and I startled. A purr rumbled in his chest, reminding me of the sound I’d heard. The transmutation was happening quickly. I rubbed my wrists remembering how on our first meeting Strider had nearly crushed them with one hand. Werewolves were powerful, but it had not been a fortnight, and his strength seemed already without limits. The two barge men had, no doubt, been hurled against the far wall.
Dr. Bennett stepped into the room. “You’re back. How did you get along at Madame Tussauds?”
I shrugged. “Nothing new to report.” There was no need to alarm him with my tale. He sat next to me on the settee. “John, remember a few months ago when you told me about a theory you had? You thought that different human characteristics may well be transferred to the werewolf. You thought a very meek, shy person may become a less virile werewolf and so on.”
“Yes, I believe so. In fact, I believe the fish cart man may support my hypothesis.” He sat in the chair across from me. His blue eyes were bloodshot from staring at slides. “From what I read about the man, he was a quiet, reserved sort of man. It was quite easy to destroy him.” He paused for a moment and swallowed. “If he had been a more aggressive man, there is no doubt he would have caught his prey that night, and young Strider would have been a victim of a different sort.”
My shoulders curled forward, and I pushed the cat from my lap. If only he had been, then I would not have known him, and we would not be facing this prospect. “So someone full of youth and energy, someone with an extreme lust for life--”
“If my theory is supported, they would be extremely lethal as a werewolf.”
“Strider was there today, at the wax museum.” My voice cracked.
“Did you talk to him? Will he come?”
I shook my head.
He leaned forward and patted my knee. “You have tried your best, Cami. I’ll go out tomorrow and see if I can convince him. A few pound notes ought to help.” He stood and walked to the window.
“And if he refuses?” All my optimism had vanished.
“Then we’ll wait until the next full moon, and we will hunt him down.” His words sounded cold, but it was obvious he wanted there to be no doubt in my mind.
I looked at him.
His face softened. “Camille, we’ll have no other choice.”
My eyes ached but I had drained them of tears for the day.
“The weather has been nice today.” Dr. Bennett pulled back the curtain and looked out the window. “Hold, Cami, what have we here? Come see.”
There was not much outside that could interest me, but I pushed out of the chair and plodded to the window.
Dr. Bennett pointed. “There, on our front stoop.”
My gaze followed his finger. Nathaniel Strider sat on our steps with his arms crossed tightly around him.
My fingers clutched Dr. Bennett’s sleeve. “You go. I don’t want to scare him away.”
The tiny crinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled. Dr. Bennett was not always astute when it came to my emotions, but my agitation was obvious. He took hold of my trembling hand and squeezed it. “I’ll go and invite him inside before he changes his mind.”Two deep voices were muffled by the window pane as I paced the rug in the sitting room. Strider’s face kept flashing through my thoughts. The terror in his eyes had shown he was not ready for this. But now, surely, he believed what I’d been telling him. I could not imagine what it felt like emotionally and physically to come to the realization that your human soul was slipping away.
The front door creaked open. I raced to the window and smacked the glass with my forehead. No sign of Strider. Dr. Bennett had convinced him to come inside. My stomach cramped with twitching nerves. I fell back into my favorite chair and tucked my hands between my knees to stop them from shaking. I sucked in a deep breath, held it, and marveled at my own transformation into a ridiculous ninny.
Dutch’s tail shot straight up in the air, and the hair on the cat’s back bristled. Its amber eyes bulged with fury.
Footsteps descended the steps to the kitchen. I stacked the books on the table in alphabetical order by author and added coal to the grate for a fire. After ten minutes, I’d run out of tasks to keep busy. I could stand it no longer. I checked my reflection in the glass of the mantle clock. The white strand had come loose from the ribbon at the back of my head. I tucked it behind my ear, pinched my cheeks, and headed to the kitchen.
Soundlessly, I descended the stairs to the kitchen and poked my head into the room.
Strider sat on the same stool, his elbows on the table, and his forehead resting on his hands. Dr. Bennett stood behind him with a hand on his shoulder. Sensing my presence, he looked up.
“Ah, Camille,” Dr. Bennett said.
At the sound of my name, Strider’s head shot up. He hopped off the stool, knocking it sideways. He stared at me as if I was on fire.
“Camille,” Dr. Bennett continued as if there had been no reaction to my presence, “Mr. Strider needs our help, and we haven’t a moment to waste.”
I walked into the room. Strider moved back a step.
“Camille is my scientist’s assistant and a very good cook.” Dr. Bennett winked at me. “I think we should start with a warm meal. And I’m sure Mr. Strider would relish a hot bath.”
The look on Strider’s face conveyed anything but relish. My presence seemed to make him terribly uncomfortable. I fathomed it had to do with the incident at the museum. I had seen him in the early stages of transformation and he knew it. Or perhaps, he just didn’t care for me. This thought depressed me as I trudged back upstairs to start a bath.
I’d spent twenty minutes chopping carrots and potatoes for a stew when Dr. Bennett called me upstairs. He stood outside the bathing room door holding a pair of trousers and a white linen shirt. “I know these are not the most fashionable for a young man, but do you think they will fit him?”
“You are both tall and thin. I suppose they’ll fit,” I answered. “You might bring out his clothes, and I’ll throw them in the copper to wash.”
“Good thought,” he said and rapped lightly on the door before opening it.
I had no right to but I glanced inside. Strider’s black hair stuck wet to his shoulders. He leaned forward and I saw was his broad, bare back. It was scarred with strap marks. My hand flew to my mouth, and I tumbled out of the doorway and down the hall.
I returned to the kitchen and lit a fire under the huge copper pot hardly paying attention to my task. On the first night, he was merely a common thief, but as the many facets of Nathaniel Strider were revealed, it became obvious that he was much more. No doubt, he’d survived some of the worst life offered. And none of it compared to what he faced now.
“He would not part with the coat but here’s the rest.” Dr. Bennett held the dirty pile of clothing at arm’s length as he crossed the room to the kettle and plunged them into the water. He returned to the cooking table and stared down at my work for a moment. “Those potatoes look fresh. They should be quite tasty in a stew.” The light tone in his voice sounded forced. He pulled up the stool and sat down. “My God, Cami, I hope we don’t regret this.
” Out came the solemn tone he’d been hiding.
I swept up the pile of vegetables into my apron and threw them into a pot on the stove. Hot water splashed the front of my apron. “Blasted.” I dropped the lid on with a clamor. “Too late for regrets, John. Like it or not, this has begun.” I scooped some flour from the crock and half of the powder slipped to the floor. “Bloody hell,” I cursed and threw the rest of it to the ground, scoop and all. “This is entirely the Queen’s fault.”
Dr. Bennett lifted a brow. “Cami, we can hardly blame Her Majesty for your clumsiness.”
My foot plowed through the powdery mess on the floor, and it covered my shoe. “Not this. I mean him.” I pointed upstairs. “If the monarchy would take care to feed all its people, then Strider would not have been robbing a corpse, and he would not have been bitten, and he would not be sitting upstairs in our bath.”
Dr. Bennett smiled. “I admire your logic, convoluted as it is. You do have a point. Unfortunately, it does not help our situation. He is an interesting young man. And though he’s lived in the streets for a good portion of his life, he is a charming lad with a great deal of thought in his head. Which, of course, makes this all the more difficult.”
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell. We both stood. He had donned his dirty coat over the crisp trousers and shirt. His hair still dripped and dark stubble shadowed his jaw, but he cleaned up splendidly. So splendidly in fact, I had a hard time not staring.
“Sup will be on the table soon,” I said to break the silence.
Strider nodded with a shy grin. “Hope you’re not going to too much trouble on my account.”
“Trouble? Nonsense.” I lifted the pot lid and stirred. “I make this stew three times a week at least.”
Dr. Bennett tore off a chunk from the loaf of bread sitting on the table. “You must be hungry, Mr. Strider. What time was your last meal?” He handed the bread to him.
“I think it was around noon—Tuesday last.”
My stirring spoon splashed into the stew pot with a clang. “Tuesday?” I asked.
“Aye, Tuesday.” His answer was plain and matter of fact with no edge of self-pity, although I felt plenty of sorrow, especially when I thought how hollow my stomach felt if I skipped just one meal. I couldn’t imagine the pain and weakness that would accompany such a lack of food. How does one sleep with such emptiness?
Dr. Bennett placed his hand on my arm, a silent signal telling me not to pry any further.
“Mr. Strider, why don’t we head to the sitting room and wait for supper.”
Strider nodded and followed him to the stairs. His foot on the first step, he looked at me over his shoulder for a moment, then turned back. Once they’d left, I sat down hard on the stool and stared at the pot on the stove. The lid vibrated over the fragrant steam.
Suddenly, Dutch scrambled down the steps hissing wildly before scurrying under the kitchen table like a field mouse hiding in its burrow. I reached under to stroke the animal, but it swiped at me with an angry paw. A claw snagged my palm. I yanked my hand away and pressed it against me to stop the blood. Dutch’s hiss subsided into a low growl. The copper with Strider’s clothes had begun to rattle with heat. Nothing would be the same now. What had we done?
I carried in a plate piled high with steaming stew for our guest. The marmalade room was strangely silent as I walked in to place the food on the table.
“Camille, why did you not tell me about your encounter at the wax museum?”
I glanced at Strider and then peered up at Dr. Bennett. “It was nothing really. I did not see the need to worry you.”
“Forgive me,” Strider spoke. “I was sure you’d told him. Especially with…”
I pulled a fork from my apron and laid it next to his plate. “If the incident was the cause of you coming here today, then I’m pleased it happened.”
Strider did not reply but stared at his plate for a long moment before picking up the fork. For a person who had not eaten in three days, he ate with a great deal of composure. “This is a plateful, to be sure,” he said between bites. “Tis very good.”
“It is not often we have visitors,” Dr. Bennett said. “I believe I will fetch a bottle of port to go with the fine meal.” After divulging the humiliating state of our social life, he left the room in pursuit of wine.
“If you would trade those unflattering trousers and that topper for dresses like you wore today, visitors would be lined up at the front door,” Strider said without looking up from his plate. A bit of food and the confident, cocky lad had returned.
I plunged the fork into my stew. “Yes, that is what I need. More attention like I received today.” I shoved a potato chunk into my mouth only to discover, too late, that it was still very hot. My eyes watered as I forced myself to chew and swallow it.
He handed me my glass of water. “You found some unwanted attention today, but it seems you’re hiding in boy’s clothing to keep away wanted attention as well.”
His words stung mostly because they rang true more than I liked to believe. “And what is wanted attention? A kiss from Nathaniel Strider? I hardly think anything given out that freely is anything worth wanting.”
He swallowed and leaned his face close to mine. The scent of sandalwood soap radiated from his freshly washed skin. The lines around his mouth deepened. “Tis the wanting that makes a kiss worthwhile.” He looked at my lips and then dropped his gaze to his plate. I sucked my bottom lip in between my teeth to keep it from trembling.
I pretended to concentrate on my stew, but every bite tasted like paper and stuck in my throat. I’d never sat at a table to eat with a boy, and this was not just any boy. Every inch of me reacted to his presence. If I closed my eyes, I’d be able to visualize every detail of his face.
The silence verged on uncomfortable until he spoke again. “I came near to tearing them apart with my ‘ands.” His tone had fallen to a near whisper. He dropped his fork and tightened his fingers into a fist. “I don’t know how it happened. Through the din of the crowd, I heard this tiny scream. As small and distant as it was, it was like thunder in my head.” He looked up at me. Some of the blood had drained from his face making the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced. “I knew it was you. I don’t know how or why, but I knew it was you.”
I was torn between throwing myself into his arms and racing from the room. Instead, I dropped my fork and steadied my hands in my lap.
He stared down at his plate. His shoulders relaxed slightly, but my heart still raced.
“I could feel every beat of my pulse as if my veins had come to the surface. And there was this power, this rage. It surged like a flood.”
It took all my courage to reach up and touch his arm, but he pulled it away and shook his head. “Then I saw your face”, he lifted his eyes again, “that incredible face. You looked at me but you weren’t frightened. You even touched me. How could she not be afraid, I asked myself?” The anguish in his expression made my throat tighten. “Because you’d been telling me the bloody truth all along.”
“Dr. Bennett is a brilliant scientist. He’ll help you.” It was all I could think to say, but the words sounded like childish prattle.
“Did I hear someone mention my name?” Dr. Bennett returned with the bottle of port. He sat at the table seemingly unaware of the tension now circulating the room. He opened the bottle, and I decided I needed a glass as well.
Chapter 10
“John, you will surely grow a hump on your back the way you sit staring into that microscope day and night.”
Dr. Bennett lifted his head and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “You may be right, Cami. However, I don’t think I’d make a good cathedral bell ringer. I really don’t care for heights.” He reached for a new box of slides. “Our visitor hasn’t woken yet. I’m sure he rarely gets a good night’s rest.”
“How do they survive?”
After laying the new slides out on parchment, he began labeling each one. “Who’s that, Camil
le?”
“The poor. How do they get on without food in their belly or a place to lay their heads?”
The sound of a throat clearing drew our attention to the doorway. Strider stood there in Dr. Bennett’s white shirt and trousers.
“Did you sleep well?” Dr. Bennett asked.
He nodded. “Like someone clobbered me over the head.”
I smiled. “Come in, Mr. Strider. This is the science lab.”
“Only if you promise to stop calling me Mr. Strider. It’s Nathaniel.”
I motioned him inside. “Well then, Nathaniel.”
He wandered in and surveyed the room with curiosity. The oddities on the back wall caught his attention, and he headed straight to them. The jar containing a preserved pig fetus seemed of particular interest. He lifted it and shook it, watching the rubbery specimen bounce off the walls of the jar.
“Is that a microscope?” Strider asked as he walked to where Dr. Bennett sat. “I’ve seen one of those in a book.”
Dr. Bennett scooted back. “Have a look. You’ll be astonished at what you see.”
Strider approached the brass instrument as if it might explode.
“Just place your eye over the eyepiece like this.” Dr. Bennett modeled the technique.
Strider hovered over the scope and slammed his eye on it before jumping back with a hand over the squinting eye. “That bloody thing is dangerous.”
I moved to the microscope. “You may be the first person in England to injure himself on a microscope.”
Strider lowered his face to mine and lifted the eyelid open with his fingers. “Do I still ‘ave an eye?”
