Camille

by Tess Oliver

I laughed. “Still there.”

  He straightened with a sigh. “Too bad. I hear girls take a liking to a man with an eye patch.”

  “Yes, when the eye was lost in some wildly romantic fashion like a sword fight or pistol duel. Not from smacking it on the eyepiece of a microscope. And you hardly need any more help with the ladies,” I added. “Now watch.” I lowered my face slowly over the microscope and adjusted the light. I glanced up at Dr. Bennett. “Are these…?”

  Dr. Bennett nodded. “And they have multiplied at an astounding rate.”

  The shape of Strider’s cells had changed dramatically since the last time I’d looked. Strider moved his face closer. “Give me another chance. I think my eye has recovered.” The lines framing his mouth acted like parentheses around his disarming smile. Everything about him standing here in the austere atmosphere of the lab was engaging. His presence lit the room more than any dose of sunlight and beneath the warmth of his gaze, his cells were mutating into something straight from hell.

  Strider looked through the scope not knowing he was looking at his own cells. Most likely, not even knowing he had such things as cells. He pressed his face there a few moments and looked up. “All I see is black.”

  “It takes time,” I assured him. “It took me several weeks to see anything at all.”

  Dr. Bennett’s eyes widened. “I never realized that.”

  “That’s because I lied.”

  “Well, you’re very practiced at deception then, Cami. I had no idea.” Dr. Bennett removed the slide we’d been looking at and replaced it with a new one. Then he reached for a piece of paper on the shelf above his head. “After breakfast, I wonder if you two can take a trip to the apothecary’s shop. I’ve assembled a list of things I need for my study.”

  “Certainly. That is if you don’t mind, Nathaniel?”

  Strider snapped to attention. “Forgive me, I didn’t hear anything after the word breakfast.”

  “Coming up,” I said and headed to the kitchen.

  # # #

  Nathaniel Strider may have been experienced in the art of robbing corpses and seducing women, but it was clear he’d experienced little else in his life.

  “Look at those!” Strider headed straight for the colorful array of show globes along the apothecary’s counter. He began to remove the stopper of a tall one filled with a creamy blue liquid, but I grabbed his arm to stop him.

  “I’m sure they’re not meant for touching.”

  He moved instantly on to a new toy, the scale. He pushed one side down then the other as Mr. Jameson came out from the back room.

  “Please do not touch that. I have just had it calibrated.” Mr. Jameson’s shaggy blonde moustache twitched angrily as he spoke. He adjusted his eyeglasses and peered closely at Strider.

  Strider dropped his hands and pushed them in his pockets. Mr. Jameson sneered at him for another moment then turned his attention to me. “Miss Kennecott, good morning to you. Is this lad with you?”

  “Good morning, Mr. Jameson. Yes, this is Nathaniel Strider, a friend of mine.”

  Strider nodded to the man who returned the acknowledgement with a suspicious glare.

  My hand jutted forward. “I have a list from Dr. Bennett.”

  He unfolded the list and read it. “Some of these are unusual requests. I’m not sure if I have an iron or brass spring lancet. It says here no silver lancets, and those I know I have. The glass flint cup with rubber suction, I may have in back.”

  I had not scanned the list when Dr. Bennett handed it to me. As Mr. Jameson read it, a bitter taste rose in my throat. Deep down I assumed blood samples would be needed, but I’d pushed the vile thought out of my mind. Strider, still enamored with the devices on display, had apparently no idea that the top two items on the list were for bloodletting.

  “Now, these other items I have.” Mr. Jameson pulled a large wooden chest with tiny drawers out from under the counter. Strider leaned in to get a closer view. A new aroma emanated with the opening of each drawer as the apothecary pulled out the grains he required. Several of the elements required the mortar and pestle before they were weighed and filled into labeled bottles.

  “I’ll check for the phlebotomy instruments in back.”

  Phlebotomy. Even the word made me lightheaded. I sat on the bench to wait but could not convince my companion to do the same. He played with a pill sorter, which I decided he couldn’t damage. I closed my eyes for a moment and opened them to see him sliding something into his pocket.

  The bench nearly turned over as I jumped off it and flew to his side. I held out my hand without a word. Reluctantly, he retrieved the stolen bottle from his pocket. “Not that he would miss it. The place is filled with ‘em.”

  He strolled to the end of the counter and lifted his hand to touch the next instrument. “What’s this for?” he asked.

  “It’s a pill silverer,” I said. My answer took a moment to register. “Christ! Don’t touch that!”

  He lifted his hands up in the air as if he’d been caught stealing. Now he scowled at me. “When I was seven, my mum sent me to a school run by nuns. Sister Collins was as wide as she was tall. She was so sour, I was convinced that she drank acid from a rusty iron cup at tea time.”

  “Your point?” I asked.

  “I’d rather be standing ‘ere with her right now.”

  “Forgive me,” I felt a blush of humiliation rise in my cheeks. “I’m not usually such a shrew. I guess I’m not used to having a companion on my errands.” I looked at the shiny brass dome on the pill silverer. “Especially a companion who must stay far away from silver.” I added.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Silver is poison to you now. It would be safer for you to reach your hand into a scalding pot of oil then touch the silver powder in that bowl.”

  He looked at me in disbelief, but within moments, the spirit had drained from his expression.

  Mr. Jameson returned with the instruments requested. I paid and we left the apothecary. Strider had not touched or stolen anything else. At least not that I knew of. I didn’t need to look at him to sense that his mood had darkened.

  Sunlight streamed from the crystal sky. “Tis a nice enough day. Let’s take an excursion to Covent Garden. I’ve a few coins left, and we could buy some pears.”

  My suggestion lightened his step. “I ‘aven’t been to the Garden in a long while.” He smiled down at me. “Least not with someone who had coins in their pocket.”

  “But I’ll bet that didn’t stop you from tasting the fruit on the stands.”

  He shrugged. “Having the money to buy things is really just a formality.” Something up ahead caught his attention. A young shoe-black was crouched behind his box pressed against the wall of a building staring up at a tall, well-dressed man whose boot he’d apparently just shined.

  The man lifted his foot and stuck it in the lad’s face. “I’ll not give you anything. My dog could do a better job cleaning my boots with his tongue,” the man snarled.

  Strider stopped suddenly, and the man backed up into him. He turned around and shoved Strider. “Out of my way!”

  I stepped back, my heart racing as I waited for Strider’s reaction. His body stiffened, but he kept his tightly clenched fists down to his side. “Sorry, mate,” he said through clenched teeth.

  The man squinted at Strider’s face before finally having the good sense to turn and leave, but not without nearly falling headlong over the shoe-black’s box in his urgency to depart. I moved closer to Strider. Heat radiated off of him.

  I placed a hand on his arm. It pulsed with power. “Strider,” I whispered. “Nathaniel.”

  His breathing slowed and his gaze softened as his eyes met mine. He leaned forward and handed the boy a sovereign. The shoe-black’s eyes widened as he peered at the treasure on his palm. Strider reached down and patted the boy’s cap.

  We resumed our walk. “How did you--”

  “I didn’t survive this long on the streets by onl
y stealing from dead people. Besides, that bloke deserved to be separated from his sovereign. The way I look at it, he’s lucky that’s all I took from him.”

  His last words sent a shiver through me.

  Chapter 11

  Strider’s long legs gave him a distinct advantage as we walked. I was near to skipping in order to keep up. He seemed to sense my struggle and slowed his pace. “That’s a bonny dress you’re wearing.”

  This morning I tried in vain to convince myself that my only reason for choosing a dress was because the day looked to be quite sunny, and I did not need the warmth of trousers. But I knew it was a lie. “I did not wear it because of anything you said,” I insisted. “It was too warm for trousers today.”

  The morning sky was clear, but a chill clung to the air. Strider pulled his coat shut against the cold. “Aye, it’s warm indeed.”

  “It is early still.”

  We passed two young women walking arm and arm, dressed smartly in jewel toned velvet and cashmere shawls. One of the lady’s parasols dropped just as we passed. Strider rushed to her, picked it up, and returned it to the owner with a smile and a bow. The blush on the lady’s cheeks convinced me that she had dropped it on purpose. They giggled behind gloved hands as they continued on their way.

  “Dr. Bennett seems like a respectable sort. But it’s odd that he lets you travel the streets alone so much.”

  “He trusts me.”

  “But what about all the untrustworthy people in the streets? If I had not been at Tussaud’s yesterday…”

  “I’ve never had trouble like that before. Besides, I never would have gone there if I hadn’t been looking for you.”

  His face dropped down, and we walked in silence for a few moments. “Your lifestyle is quite different than most girls at your station and age. That you must admit.”

  “I admit nothing. Dr. Bennett has been an excellent guardian. And if growing up reading science books and professional papers rather than sipping lemonade and poking a needle through fabric is abnormal, then I’m happy to be so.” I stopped him and pointed across the street. We waited for a cab and an omnibus to rush past and walked on. “And you, Nathaniel Strider, you are not exactly a candidate for conformity.”

  We stopped and faced each other. “Yes, but my situation is quite different than yours, and I am a man.”

  “I can handle myself just as well as any man?”

  He stared at my face without saying anything. A side of his mouth turned up. He lifted his finger and touched my bottom lip, barely making contact with it. “Did you know that when you’re angry your bottom lip shakes?”

  I kept my expression stern, but my legs felt like currant jelly. I caught my traitorous lower lip with my teeth and walked on.

  A crush of laborers and customers circulated around the stalls of Covent Garden. Pots filled with imported flowers and hampers of fruit made the air rich with fragrance.

  One of the flower women jumped up from her crouch and held a shabby bouquet in front of Strider’s face. “You look like a lad who likes to buy flowers for his girl.” She winked at me.

  “This girl?” Strider motioned to me with his head. “Why, there is no flower fine enough to compliment her sweetness.”

  “You’re a sweet one yourself, laddie,” the woman said and returned to her position on the pavement.

  “How do you do that?” I asked.

  “Do what?” He picked up a red geranium that had fallen from a pot.

  “Charm every girl you…”

  Before I could finish, he reached forward and tucked the blossom behind my ear. Twice his fingers brushed my cheek, and I realized I was holding my breath until he had finished fashioning it in my hair. “Now, what were you asking?”

  “Never mind.” His talent was so effortless; he didn’t seem to realize he possessed it. I tapped the petals of the flower. “I thought no flower was fine enough.”

  “Well, except if it is free.” He put out his arm for me to take. “How did you get that unusual streak of white in your hair?”

  It was a question I had not expected. I considered making up a fake story, but then he and I were connected now in this incomprehensible situation, and he should know. “It happened when I was ten. My father was a research scientist like Dr. Bennett. He was an expert in cellular biology studying transmutation.”

  “Your father was a transportation expert in celery?”

  “Yes, he studied at Oxford and learned how to move green, stalky vegetables across London.” I pulled him to a stop. “My father spent his life looking for a way to stop humans from becoming werewolves.” A long, black curl had landed on his face, and before I could stop myself, I was reaching up to push it back. His breath picked up speed, or at least I imagined it had.

  “You mean like me?” he asked. His words were quiet, but I heard him clearly over the clamor of barrows and voices.

  “My father’s experiments took a horrible turn. Somehow he contaminated his own blood with that of a werewolf.” All the moisture dried from my mouth and speaking became a chore. I had never told the story aloud to anyone. I’d gone over it again and again in my head but never aloud. Not even with Emily. Of course there was no need to tell it to my sister. She’d witnessed the entire event first hand. The cold clamminess that washed over my skin whenever I thought of it swept over me now.

  Obviously sensing my distress, Strider placed his fingers over my lips. “Say no more.” He picked up my hand and led me to a sunny corner. We leaned against the building and watched as a man sorted flowers.

  Heat from the sun comforted me and I relaxed. I could not make sense of my thoughts. The anguish that overcame me when I thought too hard about my father’s death seemed to be overshadowed by the possibilities I now faced. The tragic ending to my father’s story could easily repeat itself, only, for the time being, the boy standing next to me had no idea how this might end. Up to this point, Dr. Bennett and I had been rather elusive about our plans. And suddenly, it dawned on me that I had very likely lured Nathaniel Strider to his death.

  A costermonger strolled past with a barrow of oranges. Strider bent forward to breathe in the fragrance. “I seem to remember something about buying fruit.” he said

  His smile obliterated my dismal thoughts. “Indeed.” I pushed off the wall and as I did, a flash of red caught my eye. “Red paper.” I hurried across the path to a table covered with a wide variety of flowers. A man grouped them by color and length before wrapping them in red paper. “Pardon me, I would like to purchase two pieces of this.” I touched the paper on the table which was wet with the moisture of fresh cut flowers. The man looked at me suspiciously. I pulled out

  my coin purse. “I will pay you two shilling.” He eyed the coins on my palm, reached under the table into a basket, and retrieved two pieces of red paper.

  We walked away leaving behind a very puzzled flower laborer.

  “Most girls prefer the flowers,” Strider said.

  “It is for my sister, Emily. She is an extraordinary artist.”

  “Your sister? Where does she live? Is she older than you?”

  “Emily is my twin, although she was born first so she considers herself to be older. She lives--” I paused, embarrassed to tell him, “---she lives at Bethlem Hospital…for now.”

  “Bedlam? The lunatic asylum?”

  “Emily is not a lunatic. She just does not care for living in society, and I’m sorry I told you.” I rushed on ahead of him.

  He caught up and took hold of my arm. “Forgive me.”

  I stopped and faced him. He needn’t have apologized with words. His incredible face made it impossible for me to stay angry at him. Part of me wanted to reveal the tragic end to my story. It would help explain Emily’s seclusion and reveal the seriousness of his situation. But standing next to him, I could feel sparks of energy radiating from him. His existence was miserable, yet none of the misery showed. There was no need for him to know at this moment.

  “I ‘aven’t fo
rgotten that you promised me some pears. I can see a cart filled with them over there.” He took hold of the bag from the apothecary. “I’ll carry that. You pick the fruit.”

  “Mind you, I’ve plenty of money so don’t pick any fruit yourself.” I said.

  “Yes, Sister Collins.”

  “I’m beginning to think Sister Collins deserved sainthood for putting up with you, Nathaniel Strider.”

  He smiled. “Sainthood? Only if they’re giving sainthood for being scurrilous.”

  I busied myself picking the ripest pears I could find. My companion wandered off. I paid the man and searched for the black head of hair and found him moments later by a barrow of apples. He strolled toward me with a grin of guilt on his face. The fruit seller began yelling. Strider raced to me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me along. We did not stop until we were well out of view of the street stalls, by which point, I was sucking in breaths as if all the oxygen had been removed from the air.

  “Blasted, Nathaniel, I told you I had money.”

  “But you were over near the pears.” He plucked the apple from the apothecary’s bag, and we both stared wide eyed as the spring lancet came out as well, impaled into the side of the fruit. He pulled the lancet out and held it up for closer inspection. “Does this have something to do with me?”

  My heart rate had finally slowed. I nodded.

  He dropped both the lancet and the apple back into the bag.”Don’t really feel like apple anymore,” he said. He reached into his trouser and pulled out a branch of green grapes.

  “Is there anything else hidden on you?’ I asked.

  He held out his arms. “You can search me if you like.”

  My cheeks warmed. “No, I’ll take your word for it. What does it matter now? They are painting my name on a chair in hell as we speak.”

  We headed home eating grapes. “Hell won’t be so bad, you know. After all, I’ll be there to keep you company.”

  “Splendid.” I pushed a grape into my mouth.

  “But do you really think they’ll let us use chairs?”

  We laughed the rest of the way home. And I wondered how I was going to keep my heart from being crushed.