Camille

by Tess Oliver

  It was a statement that froze my heart. “Do not think like that, Nathaniel. We will figure this out before…” I peered up at the sky and the white crescent hanging overhead.

  “Aye, before the next moon.” He sounded as convinced as I felt. “Wait. The pain in your arm. Had you been bitten as well?”

  “There were four small punctures in my arm. The skin had been broken but there was only a small amount of blood. Since I never showed signs of transmutation, Dr. Bennett concluded there had not been an exchange of fluids and therefore no contamination. For once in my life, I’d been lucky.”

  “For once? And what about the day you met me?” His long arm snaked around my shoulders, and he pulled me against him.

  The clamor of a cab rolling down the street was drowned out by the beating of his heart against my ear. Suddenly, I wished for a Vesuvius style eruption, with lava and ash to cover us, his arm round my shoulder and my face pressed against him, frozen that way for eternity like the victims of Pompeii.

  “Damn England for its lack of volcanoes,” I muttered.

  He rubbed his chin on the top of my head. ‘You’re a very odd girl, Camille. Very odd indeed.”

  Chapter 15

  “Tell me, Cami, are you planning a visit to Emily soon?” They were the first words in an otherwise still house. Dr. Bennett spoke them from the small office he’d arranged for himself. It was really more of storage place for his endless collection of books and scientific papers. Most people would see the cluttered space and think only an eccentric, disorganized man would keep such an office. But if you asked for a certain volume or subject, Dr. Bennett could go immediately to the correct stack and pull the requested book.

  He came to the door for my answer. His eyes were swollen from fatigue, and his hair looked as if he’d just stood on a windswept moor for hours.

  “I have some red paper to bring her. I could go today, I suppose, if you’ll lend me a few French chocolates. Since it’s not a visitor day, I’ll need to bribe the girl at the desk.”

  Dr. Bennett’s face showed no indication of how things were progressing. His lips turned down ever so slightly, which could have been interpreted in many ways. It was never easy to read a man of science. He bent down and retrieved a volume of Histoire Naturaelle from beneath a desk which had only three and a half legs but stood erect with the help of a stack of journals. It was the desk where he kept the pistol.

  He lifted the book he held. “I need a refresher on morphological analysis of organic structures.” He lowered the book and his eyes. “I’m afraid it’s not going as well as I’d hoped. The elements closest to silver, while not as virulent, are still poisonous to the organism.”

  “What did you need from Emily?” I asked, but I knew the answer.

  “Your father’s journal.”

  Strider stepped into the hallway with the gloss of sleep in his dark eyes and his tousled hair curled up on the collar of the borrowed white shirt. There was an almost little boy quality to the pillow messed hair, yet he was purely masculine standing there in his bare feet. “Forgive us, did we wake you?” I asked.

  He placed his hand over his stomach. “No, twas my empty belly.”

  “Breakfast is in the kitchen. But I must warn you, Dutch is down there.” I glanced at his feet. “You might want to put on your shoes.” The cat always managed to take several effective swipes at Strider’s calves and ankles. I motioned with my head. “Come, you’ll need fortification. You’re going to meet my sister.”

  Stomachs full of over salted oatmeal and leftover ham, we trudged through the mob of people bustling through Whitehall. There were no heavy clouds overhead, but dampness made the late morning dreary. I tucked three wrapped chocolates and two sheets of red paper in my coat pocket. The weather urged me to wear my beloved trousers and hat. A breeze lifted the hat off my forehead, and Strider tamped it back down.

  He laughed. “You remind me of my late Uncle Albert in that stretched out topper.”

  I peered up at him from under the drooping brim. “That’s what a girl likes to be compared to, a dead uncle.”

  “Mind you, I was quite fond of the man.”

  “That’s comforting to know.”

  “And you definitely smell better than him.”

  “Again, comforting to know.”

  Bethlem hospital loomed in the distance crowned by the pasty leftover storm clouds. The steps to the hospital were close to deserted since this was not officially a visiting day.

  “Somehow I expected more people milling about the place,” Strider said.

  I shook my head. “Only on visitor days. Sadly, I think most people avoid the place when given the excuse and opportunity. The chocolate is our ticket into the ward. They are Sarah’s favorite.”

  “Don’t you mean chocolates? You brought three pieces, did you not?”

  “Nothing escapes you.” I pulled one of the confections from my coat. It had softened in the heat of my pocket. “Only one is for Sarah. Emily has a sweet tooth as well.” I unwrapped the candy, broke it in half, and handed Strider his portion before pushing the creamy treat into my mouth.

  “More fortification?” he asked.

  “Indeed. I must warn you that Emily’s mood can change drastically from day to day. Some days she’s cheery, and other days, she’s plagued with a melancholy that keeps her in bed.”

  Strider did not seem to know how to react to what I’d told him. He nodded and opened the front door before issuing me inside.

  “Now, Miss Camille, you know it’s not visiting …” Sarah’s reminder was cut short by the shiny wrapped confection on the palm of my hand. She plucked it off and was about to unwrap it when my companion caught her attention more than the chocolate. “Who’s this? We can’t allow no lads in the female ward. Maybe he should stay out here with me.”

  I glanced sideways at Strider. He was using his greatest weapon, his smile, on the defenseless girl. “That’s quite a sacrifice, Sarah,” I said. “But this is our cousin, Nathaniel. He has not seen Emily for five years.”

  She continued gawking at him. He didn’t have to say a word. The heart-stopping grin plastered across his face spoke for him.

  “I suppose this one time would be fine,” Sarah said not taking her eyes off Strider.

  I pulled his arm and headed to Emily’s ward before Sarah changed her mind or worse, proposed marriage to him. Fortunately, most of the other patients were outside in the wake of yesterday’s storm, and the workers had finished their morning routines.

  My knock was answered hesitantly, and Emily’s voice sounded weak. Not a good sign but we went inside. Every bone in Emily’s backbone jutted prominently through the thin material of her linen day dress and blue shawl. Shoulders hunched, her long pale hair lay in a tangled mess down her back. She continued to stare out the closed window, even after we entered. Her population of fairies and forest creatures dangled lifelessly on their strings, only stirring as we shut the door.

  “Emmie, I have your red paper,” I said quietly, “and I’ve brought a visitor.” Now I regretted having come at all. Her mood would give me little chance to ask for father’ journal. And now, I‘d brought a stranger into her room on top of it all. Admittedly, I felt ashamed of my sister in this detached state of mind.

  A few moments of silence followed before Emily turned her face away from the courtyard to look at us. Her eyes focused on Strider. Even with her face drawn in sadness, her beauty softened the stark, white walls of the room. Strider walked forward and bowed politely.

  “Nathaniel Strider. Pleased to meet you, Miss.”

  My sister rubbed the scar beneath her sleeve. Her dark gold lashes blinked several times as she surveyed her visitor. Then she looked past him to me.

  “This would explain your mood on your last visit.” She returned her gaze to the window. “I will not forgive John for his recklessness.” Emily’s words were quiet but sharp. Strider did not seem to understand her cryptic comment, and I was glad. She stood and walked
toward the side table near her bed. “Forgive me.” She poured some tea. “I should offer my guests some refreshment.”

  Strider shook his head. “No, thank you.” She handed the cup to me and I accepted, not because I wanted it, but because in this mood, she became easily irritated. Emily lowered the teapot and continued rubbing her scar, the movement and intensity growing with each passing moment.

  Strider walked to the paper sculptures and inspected them closely. “These are unbelievable. How can this be done with mere paper?” He winked at Emily. “Only someone with the magic of a fairy could do this.”

  Emily smiled. Delicate dimples creased her cheeks. He’d done it. Winning Emily’s favor was difficult and few had done it quickly, but Strider with his own magical powers of knowing precisely what to say, had won her over, even in her black mood.

  “I nearly forgot.” I handed her the sheets of paper and the chocolate.

  “No letter from John?” I was surprised she’d asked when normally his letters seemed to hold no interest for her.

  “No letter today. The idea to visit you was unplanned.”

  Emily folded the red sheets and slid them into a drawer along with the candy. “So I was an afterthought.” Bravo. With one comment I’d undone what Strider had accomplished. Her mood darkened again, and my hopes of seeing father’s journal fell with it.

  “Why don’t you open the window so Nathaniel can see them awake?”

  For a moment, it seemed she might take my suggestion. She walked to the window but sat down in the chair and continued with her infernal scratching. “Not today.”

  “Perhaps, they can bring you something for your arm,” Strider suggested. “It seems to irritate you terribly.”

  Emily peered up at me, a faint, wicked smile on her lips. She looked at him. “’Tis only an old scar. It will stop soon,” she said.

  Suddenly, my own irritation grew. I did not want to stay any longer watching the theatrics of my sister. Strider shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

  I flew to my sister’s feet, kneeled in front of her, and grabbed her hand before she scratched herself raw. It felt icy cold. I rubbed it between my own hands. “Emily, the journal, we must have the journal.” Face to face, we exchanged a look that could only be transferred between two sisters with many bonds between them. Emily’s eyes were a glassy blue. “Please,” I mouthed to her.

  She placed her free, equally chilled hand on my cheek. Her expression was pure pity, and I pulled my face away.

  “Do not look at me like that. You’ve given up on life but I haven’t. Give me the damn journal, Emily. He was my father too.”

  A slightly hysterical sound escaped her lips. “There is nothing in there that will help you. I’ve read the entire book.”

  I shot to my feet. “You know nothing of science. You can’t possibly understand what it says.”

  A knock at the door startled us all. “Go away, Virginia. I want no more of your wretched tonics.” It was the loudest I’d heard my sister speak in years.

  The door opened anyway. Emily stood with closed fists. Dr. Bennett stepped inside and removed his hat.

  “John, what on earth brought you here?” I asked.

  Nervously running his fingers around the brim of his gray top hat, he nodded to Strider and to me then looked at Emily. “Hello, Emily.”

  Emily did not say a word but sat back down and faced out the window.

  “Don’t be so impolite, Emily. You forget, John is your guardian.” She had never angered me so much as this morning. Still, it was an extremely unexpected visit. Dr. Bennett had not visited Emily in over a year.

  “Camille, please do not fret about it. I’d like to talk to Emily privately. Why don’t you say your farewells and head home.”

  The visit had started badly and beside the one bright moment when Strider had made Emily smile, it deteriorated quickly. I walked over and kissed Emily on the cheek. She did not acknowledge me. Strider and I left the room and the hospital and nearly sprinted to the bridge.

  “John never visits Emily. They’ve barely spoken in three years.”

  Strider took hold of my arm to slow my frenetic pace. “Your sister didn’t look pleased to see him. Were they close at one time?”

  “We were a family. The night my father died, Emily and I clung to each other in the dark for several hours, my father’s lifeless body blocking the stairs from the kitchen. The front door burst open, and we could hear Dr. Bennett shouting my father’s name as he raced through the house. We heard others with him. We were too frightened to scream. A young policeman with a lantern found my father’s body and the two terrified girls huddled under the table with a pistol.”

  I stopped for a moment and stared down the cloudy stretch of water that snaked through the city. Heavy boat traffic and yesterday’s rain storm swirled the silt from the bottom to the turbulent surface.

  “Dr. Bennett knew what had happened. My father had written him that morning pleading for him to come. But he’d been lecturing all day and had not read the message until it was too late. The authorities would never have believed the truth. So John concocted a story about the years of abuse we’d suffered at the hand of my father, and how, in the end, we’d had to defend ourselves with a gun. Emily and I had no choice but to go along with the tale.”

  We continued over the bridge to home. “We would not have survived without Dr. Bennett. Then without explanation, Emily pulled away from us, both John and me. It was not long after that that she moved into Bethlem.” I’d never told anyone even a part of the story, but now Strider had heard it all. I’d known him such a short while, and we were from such different worlds. Yet, I felt a connection with him that was so solid that once broken, I would surely break with it. “I hope I have not bored you with all the tawdry details of my life.”

  “Not at all.” He picked up my hand and secured it around his arm. I tightened my fingers. “Do you think Dr. Bennett went to your sister for the journal?”

  “I suppose but if Emily won’t give it up to me, she certainly won’t give it to him.” I stopped. “But we’ll move on without it. There’s time.” How ridiculous that phrase was starting to sound knowing how quickly the month raced by.

  The walk and the strange morning had tired me, and I was pleased to reach the front steps of the townhouse.

  “My stomach is as empty as a church in the middle of Sodom.” Strider held the door for me, and I swept past him.

  I laughed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard that saying before.”

  “I’m sure you ‘aven’t since I just invented it.”

  I removed my coat and hung it on the hook. He removed his, something he always did reluctantly as if removing the garment might wash away any memories he had of his brother.

  “To the kitchen, then. I think there is some bread and cheese in the larder.”

  I read a paper on smallpox inoculations Dr. Bennett had left on the sitting room table while Strider tore off chunks of bread and cheese and ate. For the first several days, he’d eaten slowly, like a small child with a small stomach. But now he was hungry all the time. A quiet surrounded us but it was a comfortable, satisfied silence.

  “It says here that in ancient times to make people immune to smallpox, they would powder up smallpox scabs and blow them up people’s noses.”

  Strider cleared his throat loudly. I peered up from the paper. He held up a piece of the cheese.

  “Forgive me. I forgot you were still eating.” I returned to the paper. “In India they took the actual infectious material from the lesions and inoculated people.” A large piece of bread landed on the paper.

  I picked it up and plopped it into my mouth. “I think I will have a piece of that cheese, after all.”

  A piece of cheese followed the same arc though the air and onto the paper in front of me. It was saltier than I liked. “Now, I’ll have to make tea to wash the taste from my mouth.”

  The front door closed. “John’s home. He’ll want some as
well.” I stood. Dr. Bennett met me in the doorway. His face was pale, and his eyes were flat with anguish. “My God, John, are you not well? Come in and sit.” I reached for his hand and saw what he held. Father’s journal.

  “Camille, I need to speak with you.” Tiny hairs stood up on the back of my neck as he spoke, and my mind raced to the journal. What could he have found inside? Was there no hope for a cure?

  Dr. Bennett glanced politely at Strider who took the hint and left the room. Deep down I wanted him to stay. My gaze followed him out the door.

  “Sit, Camille.” Dr. Bennett pulled out a chair for me. His mouth was stretched tightly, and it seemed he might retch right there on the table in front of us.

  I leaned forward. “John, what is it? Is it Emily? The journal?” My mind was racing with the dreadful possibilities of what he might tell me, but never did I see what was coming.

  Chapter 16

  Dr. Bennett’s long, white fingers drummed the textured brown leather cover of Father’s journal as he placed it on the table and laid his hand atop it. The book looked as new as the day Father bought it. Emily and I had sucked on the hard sugar candies he’d given us and watched as he’d removed it from the brown paper. Even though it had been six years, it looked as sleek as it did on that day when he’d placed it in Emily’s care and the pistol in mine.

  My hand covered Dr. Bennett’s. It was trembling. “Please, John, tell me, what is the matter?”

  He nodded. “I’m trying to decide where to begin.” His other hand came up and sandwiched mine between his. “Camille, you know that I love you as I would a daughter.”

  “Of course. Emily, as well.”

  “Yes, Emily too.” He reached up and pulled the collar away from his neck as though it had grown too tight. His forehead shined with small beads of sweat. “Cami, what I’m about to tell you, I pray that it will not change our relationship too drastically.”