by Tess Oliver
At least twenty minutes passed as I stood rigid like the gravestones behind me, waiting for a sound or sign of him. I could hear my own breathing and nothing else. There did not seem to be creatures of any kind lurking in the surrounding forest, as if the animals had sensed danger nearby and now hid in their burrows and tree stumps. I willed my feet to move closer to the trees where surely, if I wandered too far, I’d be lost.
“Strider,” I called quietly into the maze of branches. There was no reply. I don’t know when I started crying, but I swiped tears off my cheeks at a furious rate. And I had no idea what to do now. My plan had worked smoothly right up the point when Strider had left the cab. Now nothing was going as I’d hoped.
Now fear mixed with heartbreak and I couldn’t move. The atmosphere reeked of death, and I had never felt so alone in my life. I crouched down into a tight ball, unsure how it would help my situation, but somehow it made feel safer. The clouds drifted and moonlight returned. I stared up at the sky and wished I was still under the blanket with him staring up at the stars.
“Strider, please,” I whispered.
A branch snapped behind me. I jumped to my feet and twisted around.
His seaman’s coat hung open, and his chest heaved beneath the white shirt as if he’d been running for hours. He stared at me with that gaze that made every inch of me tremble. “Call me Nathaniel.”
“Nathaniel… my love.”
He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. His breathing slowed, and he was in front of me before I took my next breath. But as much as I wished for his arms to wrap around me, they did not. “Hale will leave the tomb open for two hours.”
I looked up into his face. The long sweep of his lashes gave him a boyish quality contradicting the rest of his expression which was hardened and serious.
“We best get inside then.”
“Let me go alone.” Strider glanced around. “Why did you not pay the driver to wait for you?”
I shrugged weakly. “I did.”
“Now you’re completely alone.”
“I’m never alone when you’re near.”
His hand lifted slowly, and he wrapped the white streak in my hair around his fingers. He stared at it and then at my face as if he was trying to memorize it.
“I’ll stay with you—“
“No—“
I put up my hand to cut short his protest. “Just for awhile. ‘Tis early still.”
“You are truly a stubborn girl.” He dropped the strand of hair and started walking. I followed.
I took extra long steps to keep up with his. The last thing I wanted was to lose him again and be alone in the crop of headstones and grim faced statues. The ground beneath our feet fluctuated between sticky mud and slippery moss. “Do you know where you’re going?” I asked as I struggled to keep pace with him.
“Aye,” he answered and looked back over his shoulder at me. “I know the place pretty well.” His disarming half smile had returned. I’d missed it terribly. He continued on toward the mausoleum.
My foot slipped sideways on a small slope, and I smacked my thigh on a jutting headstone. “Blasted grave marker. There sure are a bloody lot of them. They’ve got some nerve burying all these damn dead people here.” I rubbed my leg but continued to limp behind him.He laughed but continued on, as did I, but with much less confidence in my stride. At one point, I fell to my knees after tripping over a small stone pacer. “That’s it. Just get a shovel and bury me right here in the middle of this wretched graveyard.”
Strider spun around and rested his hands on his thighs as he bent forward to peer down at me. His face was close to mine. “Why don’t you climb on my back, my little ballerina, before you lose an eye or something.” He smiled again, and I decided it was worth the sharp pain in my knees to see it.
“Will it be alright, do you think? I really am having a time of it on this wet ground.”
He nodded. “I won’t be able to see that angel face of yours if you are on my back. I think it will be fine. Besides, the exercise and chill air has cooled some of my senses… for now.”
Strider turned and stooped down. I put my arms around his neck, and he swept up my legs with his arms. Heat rose in my cheeks as my legs wrapped around his waist.
“I suppose ‘tis lucky that I’m wearing trousers tonight,” I said shyly.
“I was just thinking the exact opposite.”
“Shame on you, Nathaniel Strider.” I pressed my face against the back of his neck. His hair tickled my nose, and I rubbed my face against him before peering up over his shoulder again. “Do you really think I have an angel face?”
“Aye.”
I rested my chin on his shoulder.
“But you talk like a bloody sailor.”
“You sound like Dr. Bennett.” For a moment, I wondered if John still slept where I’d left him in the marmalade room.
“It’s what I like best about you.” His heavy steps never faltered even with a burden on his back and the unsteady ground below.
“What’s that? The angel face or sounding like a bloody sailor?”
“Both.”
The creamy pink marble exterior of the Hampton family mausoleum resembled a small gothic mansion. It stood on its own small hill surrounded by a spear topped iron fence and several statues with sullen expressions. Strider dropped me to my feet in front of it. We stared at the building for a moment.
“Ironic, is it not? These people are dead, and they are housed in a miniature marble palace where half of the people in London live their lives on empty stairwells and one room lodging houses.” Strider picked up a stone and pitched it at the marble façade. It ricocheted off and clinked against the angel statue which had tears carved in its lifeless face.
“These statues are terribly depressing. When I die, I want someone to carve a laughing angel for my headstone.”
He smiled for a moment, then his shoulders dropped, and he stared at the ground. And I wanted to kick myself for bringing up death. I could only blame my sudden giddiness on standing in a deserted cemetery under a full moon with him.
Strider pushed open the small gate and walked into the tiny yard. The heavy door to the tomb stood ajar. It was exactly what I’d hoped for, layered in the same stone as the walls and reinforced with a black iron embellishment. He stopped. I stood close at his back both for warmth and for that same comfort I felt whenever I was near him.
“I’ve never spent the night in a burial vault. Somehow it seems less than inviting.” He peered through the opening into the chamber.
“I suppose that’s why they only put dead people inside. No complaints from the tenants.”
Suddenly he reached back and seized my hand. “Will you stay with me for a short while, Camille?”
“Of course.” I pulled my hand from his and retrieved two candles and matches from my pocket. The other pocket held a chunk of bread and cheese wrapped in a handkerchief. I held it up to him. “I know how hungry you get.”
He took the candles and bread from me and sidled past the open door and into the tomb. I was close at his heels.
We stood in the frigid darkness for a moment. The air smelled as if all the oxygen molecules had been removed and replaced with the pungent dust of decay. The shadows of monuments and graves lay in neat order throughout the cavernous vault.
I reached for Strider’s arm. “It’s so quiet in here.” My soft words echoed off the marble interior.
Strider pulled me next to him. “Tis a good thing, is it not? After all they are all supposed to be dead.”
“I suppose you’re right.” An involuntary shiver raced up my back. “Light the candles. This infernal darkness makes me want to jump from my skin.”
Normally, candlelight added a warm glow to any room, but in a burial vault, the flames had difficulty enough staying lit let alone providing any comfort. But the light did allow a better view of the tomb. Blue and white tiled arches adorned the entrance to several smaller chambers jutting off the main room
where we stood. In the center, lay a white marble sculpture of a bearded man laying prostate across the top of an ornate sarcophagus.
“The family patriarch, no doubt,” I said.
“They are a rich family to be sure. Shipbuilding, I think.”
One of the many recesses in the thick walls contained a stone bench. We sat down on it, and Strider pulled my hand into his. Mine was like ice and his like hot coals.
“Do not stay long, Camille.” He stared down at our entwined fingers. “I just need you here a few more minutes, to breathe in the scent of you one last…”
“Don’t say last time, Nathaniel. This will be over in the morning. My plan will work.”
He squeezed my fingers and I winced. He released them immediately and stood, scrubbing his fingers through his long hair. The he pounded his fist on the wall of the tomb. The resulting thud did not echo across the chamber but was absorbed instead by the thickness of the wall. Then I heard a cracking sound like ice thawing between rocks.
Strider stared at the wall and then his fist. He opened and closed his hand as though it pained him, but not from the thwack he’d given the wall, from something much deeper.
My hand shook along with my knees as I lifted the candle near to the wall. A thin crack had snaked its way across the smooth marble.
“It will not hold me.” Strider returned to the bench and rested his forearms on his thighs.
“Tis a hairline crack nothing more.” My voice wavered along with the flame as I resumed my seat next to him.
He raised a fist in the air. “Twas only my fist, nothing more. Camille, it will not hold me.” Strider jumped to his feet. “You must go now. Before it’s too late.” He glanced at the sliver of an opening. “Blast that damn cab driver to hell.” Now his gaze returned to me, and my heart began to break into a thousand splinters. “Go now, Camille, run from this place as fast as you can.”
I bit my lip to keep from erupting into shoulder wracking sobs. My legs wobbled beneath me, and I wondered how I would be able to run at all. I lowered the candle to the bench and opened my mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. “No more words. Just the sound of your voice makes my chest ache in agony.”
The tears came like a river. I stared down at my mud caked boots and shuffled toward the door. I was near enough to the opening that I could smell the bitter moss on the trees outside when he grabbed my arm and spun me around and against him. His arms held me like a vice, and I wondered if he would crush the life from me, and it occurred to me that I didn’t care as long as I died in his arms. Just when I thought my ribs might collapse under the pressure, he released me and lowered his fists to his side. His lips covered mine, and my fingers clutched at his shirt to keep from falling backward.
The kiss ended and I felt as if he had dragged all the breath from my lungs. Strider stared down at me with glittering eyes. “Go.”
Chapter 23
A viscous mist seeped up from the grounds as I slid into the night air. A faint metallic clicking sound was the only noise. Wavering lantern light swung back and forth in the distance. No doubt, Hale, was coming to lock up the tomb. I stopped outside the tomb, my mind scrambling to figure out what was wrong. All was going as planned. The tomb would soon be locked. I would run toward the nearest main road and hide out in a stairwell for the night. In the morning-- a pistol! The incongruent sound I’d heard as I stepped from the chamber was familiar and completely right in the setting, but not tonight. Then Strider’s words crept out of my memory. I will not go like a coward. I shot back into the vault, my pulse pounding in my throat.
Strider had the pistol pressed firmly beneath his chin. I lunged for it and a shot rang out. The twanging sound of a bullet glancing off a wall and returning struck my ears before the stinging pain hit my side. I screamed, grabbed my side, and doubled over. Warm liquid seeped from my skin. A horrible roar filled the stone room then stopped. Strider lifted me in his arms and carried me to the bench.
“It only grazed me,” I assured him. “The bullet didn’t enter.”
Having to see for himself, he gently removed my hand and lifted my shirt. His finger lightly brushed the skin around the wound. I shivered under his touch. He removed his black neck scarf and pressed it against the wound.
“You crazy girl. Why did you stop me?”
I pressed my palm against his cheek. The black stubble felt good against my hand. “You said you did not want to go a coward.”
He dragged his face down. “That’s why I took the pistol.”
“You’re not getting off that easily, Nathaniel Strider. You are going to see this through to the end. And in the morning, you’re going to walk out of this place and kiss me like you have never done before.”
He sat back on the bench, leaned back against the smooth wall, and closed his eyes reminding me of the first night I’d seen him in the public house. It seemed such a long time ago. So much had passed between us in thirty days, it felt as if I’d known him forever.
I lifted my hand from my flesh wound. The bleeding had subsided, a result of the cold air, no doubt. I sat forward holding my side. “Where’s the gun?” I asked realizing that in the chaos, I’d lost track of it.
Without opening his eyes or sitting forward, Strider lifted the hand farthest from me. The pistol dangled from his finger. I reached for it, but he lifted it higher.
“Hand me it, Nathaniel.”
“I’d rather not.”
I shrank back like a cat and jumped for it, but his reflexes were too fast. I felt a warm rush of blood beneath my shirt. I pressed my hand against my side. “Now look what you’ve done. I’m bleeding again.”
He did not move his head, but his heavy dark lashes fluttered open a moment as he peered down at my hand. He closed his eyes again. “You shouldn’t have pounced off the bench like that.” A long sigh flowed from his lips. “God, Camille, we’re a sorry lot, aren’t we?”
I sank back against the wall next to him. The stone was shockingly cold.
His hand moved to cover mine. We sat there slouched against the wall of the chamber, lost in our own thoughts. What a scrambled haze my mind was in tonight I thought as I leapt from the bench clutching my side. “Your friend, Hale, he was headed this way earlier!”
Strider shot up from the bench as well. His tall figure flashed past me, and he was at the door first. He began pounding on it. The door creaked and shuddered as if it might splinter beneath the force of his fist, but it did not budge. He yelled to Hale, and I hollered with him, but there was no reply.
After several minutes of Strider pounding and kicking the door, he turned and stared down at me. His expression fell somewhere between now what and bloody hell.
“I believe I was right.” I smiled up at him. “It will hold you . . . and me as well.” My voice sounded amazingly light considering I was frightened out of my wits.
Strider scrubbed his face hard with his hands and began pacing wildly. “Tis hot as Hades inside here.” He yanked off his beloved sailor’s coat and tossed it on the floor.
I watched him pace and inched toward the gun he’d left lying on the bench. His anguish made him forget the pistol. I was able to grab it and tuck it beneath my cloak. As if he’d sensed my actions, he spun around quickly.
His breath heaved beneath his white shirt, and tiny beads of sweat rolled down his neck and across the hollow at the base of his throat. “Camille, give me the pistol.” He stepped closer, and I gasped at the amount of heat radiating around him.
If the candle had blown out I was sure I’d see the air surrounding him glowing red. My feet took two tiny steps backward. The back of my knees hit the bench.
“You know I can take if from you, Camille.”
I shook my head. “Not without hurting me.” I peered up at him. “And I know you won’t do that, Nathaniel.” For a moment it looked as though he might wrestle it from me. His hands opened and closed, and it seemed as if I could hear the blood pulsing through his veins.
“You must
kill me, Camille. If I come at you, promise me, you’ll kill me.”
His words slammed against me. I nodded. I had no idea if I would be able to do it, but at this point, I needed to assure him of it. He turned, walked to the adjacent wall, and pulled his shirt off over his head. He pressed his skin against the cold marble and closed his eyes. “Tis as if someone has placed hot coals beneath me skin.”
He was exquisitely beautiful from head to toe and I could not take my eyes from him. There was no mistaking why he’d become the heartbreak of the East End and now of the West End. Every inch of him was magnificent. And for a moment I’d forgotten what he was about to become. I glanced around for a hiding place knowing full well that it would be impossible to hide from his acute senses.
Still leaning against the cooling marble, Strider seemed to slip into his own world and hardly noticed my presence. The transformation was taking hold of him. I scurried to the far end of the vault and into the furthest recess, where according to the monument, a Marybeth Hampton lay at rest. Her sarcophagus had been delicately adorned by an endless vine of roses and frail doves. The inscribed dates showed that she was twenty, only four years older than me, when she died, and I momentarily wondered how she’d died. No doubt, it was something far less dreadful than what I faced now.
I reached under my cloak for the pistol and crouched between the stone sarcophagus and the solid wall of the chamber and realized with a violent shudder that it was all happening again. Only this time I didn’t have the comfort of my sister nearby. This time I was completely alone, and if no one in the Hampton family succumbed to any disease or accident in the near future, it was entirely possible that I would die at the hands of the boy I loved, and my corpse would rot right here amongst the stone monuments, never to be discovered again.
There was no sound coming from the other end of the mausoleum. The love of my life was somewhere in the main chamber transforming into a murderous beast, and thanks to my brilliant planning, I was his only prey. The pistol felt heavy in my shaky hand. I knew little about the weapon and could only assume that a bullet remained in the chamber. It mattered little anyhow. I could not shoot my own father. If it hadn’t been for Emily, I would have been torn to shreds by him. I had little faith that I would be able to shoot Strider.
