Tenfold More Wicked

by Viola Carr

  Lafayette just watched, unfathomable.

  “But I see she already has. Or rather, I have.” Her stomach hollowed, desolate. “Well, it was kind of you to see me. I shan’t trouble you further—”

  “Don’t go.” He touched her shoulder to halt her. “Madam, I apologize for yesterday from the bottom of my heart. I was perfectly rude. I should have told you about meeting Lizzie, and as for the other . . .”

  “The fault was mine.” Her throat tightened. Impossible man, to warp her selfish jealousies into his failing. “I spoke cruelly, and you reacted, and that’s that. I believe we’ve endured sufficient apologies for one day.”

  “Truce, then?” A blue twinkle that made her laugh inwardly. Honestly, the man was unreasonably charming.

  “Cease-fire, at the very least.” Briskly, she dusted her skirts. “While you walk me home, and we discuss your murder case. You’ll never guess whom I ran into outside the undertaker’s.” As they returned upstairs, she told him about Brigham’s confession. “Apparently, this Dr. Silberman is the brains behind the whole thing.”

  Lafayette grabbed his hat and scarlet coat. “So that pretty rascal was lying. Well done him. Cleverer than I credited.”

  She shrugged into her cape. “Don’t despair. The poor fellow’s still languishing in love. I told him you’d protect him and he practically swooned at my feet.”

  “Perhaps I’ll torment him further, then. Could use a strapping lad to clean up after me. Likes dogs, does he?”

  “That really isn’t funny.” She arched her brows as he buckled on his pistol. “Are we expecting a fight?”

  “Always.” Lafayette fastened the front door—triple locks, no chances—and they strolled onto the sunny Embankment. Crows squawked in green leafy branches. A light breeze wafted, bringing the first clear day for a week. A skinny fellow pedaled by on a reclining aerocycle, lurching along unsteadily on flapping canvas wings.

  Self-conscious, she slipped her hand into Lafayette’s elbow. His sleeve felt smooth, overwarm.

  He glanced down, a flicker of surprise. A damp curl licked to his cheek beside his ear. “Immediately I wonder from what you’re distracting me.”

  “I might ask the same, sir. You’re running a fever. I trust you’re not ill.”

  He smiled, tolerant. “As much as I relish the prospect of your medical ministrations? No. Just a little expectant.”

  “Oh.” Dizzy laughter threatened to unbalance her. That special time of the month.

  “So what’s next? Track down this mysterious Silberman?”

  “Indeed. I checked at the College of Physicians. No Silberman is a member. If he truly is a doctor, he’s not from London. I telegraphed Edinburgh and await their reply.”

  They turned onto the Strand, leaving the river behind. The traffic thickened, rattling wheels and the boom-bang! of engines impeding conversation, and she was glad. How she wanted to relish this. Forget the case, Mr. Todd, Moriarty Quick. Savor the simple pleasure of walking in the sun with a man she liked.

  But as they passed the grassy corner of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, where law students caroused and painted ladies prowled, she couldn’t put it off any longer.

  Reluctantly, she pulled from her bag the tiny metal creature, which she’d forced into a jar. It batted the glass angrily with its wire filaments, a thwarted spider. “I tried to fix Hipp this morning, and in his works, I found this.”

  Lafayette held it to the light. “A recording node. I’ve heard of these. Amazing. So tiny. Whatever will they think of next?”

  “Fascinating, to be sure. But it means I’m under surveillance.” She squirmed. Would he make her ask?

  But he just shrugged. “I almost wish I could ease your mind, but this isn’t mine. Which begs the question: Who put it there, and why?”

  She lowered her voice. “Could it be Lady Lovelace? What if she’s watching us? Watching you?”

  “Wasting her time if she is. What would she learn? You work too hard, Hipp’s an idiot, and I’m irretrievably besotted with you?” He grinned, offhanded. “Hardly requires a secret surveillance system.”

  “That obvious, are you?”

  “Madam, I positively bleed infatuation. Hadn’t you noticed?”

  “How quaint. I thought you were just playing the village idiot.” As they approached Russell Square, a costermonger called out his wares, offering roasted chestnuts in paper cones. Their dark scent watered her mouth. She hadn’t breakfasted. Perhaps Captain Lafayette could join her. Tea and toast, just half an hour of relaxation . . .

  She sighed. Ignoring her problems wouldn’t make them vanish. “It could be Mr. Finch she’s after.”

  “Then wouldn’t she watch his shop? No, I fear this is someone else’s work entirely.”

  “But who’d want to spy on me? I’m just a police physician . . .” Her voice trailed off. A team of brutish fellows in shirtsleeves were carrying furniture from a doorway and piling it in the street.

  “I say,” remarked Lafayette, “isn’t that your house?”

  Bewildered, Eliza picked up her skirts and ran, leaving Lafayette behind. She leapt up her steps, shoving the men aside. In the hallway, Mrs. Poole steamed indignantly, hands on stocky hips. “Doctor, thank heavens. These ruffians shoved me aside like a sack of suet. Imagine it! A frail old woman like me.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Poole, everything’s fine.” Eliza rounded on a pear-shaped fellow in a disreputably dusty coat who loitered on the steps. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  He tipped his crumpled hat. “Bailiffs, madam. Are you . . .” He checked his paperwork. “Dr. Eliza Jekyll?”

  “I most certainly am, sir.”

  The bailiff flourished an official-looking form. “You owe fifty-six pounds seven shillings and threepence to a Professor Moriarty Quick.”

  A horrid sensation of falling.

  “That little rat,” she burst out. “I’ve never done business with him in my life. It’s a malicious lie!”

  Unperturbed, the bailiff shrugged. “That’s for a court to decide.”

  Her thoughts scrambled. Quick must have bribed the bailiffs, falsified the documents. His laughing Irish lilt capered in dim Lizzie-colored memory. A preparation that’ll favor you over the other. Think on whether it’d serve you better to oblige me.

  Her stomach sank. Fifty-six pounds. More than she earned in months. She could challenge the claim in debtors’ court, of course. Take it to Chancery, even, plead that Quick’s claim was concocted. But those exorbitant lawyers’ fees . . .

  Illicit rage curdled her blood. The vermin was clever. The law dealt harshly with debtors: if she couldn’t pay, she’d be thrown in prison until she did.

  Prison. With Lizzie popping out at will. God help her.

  Agony knifed her belly, and she stifled a gasp. Her spectacles misted, a flush of fever. Evil cackles echoed left and right, and her vision doubled and refocused. Indigestion? Dropsy? Had she eaten something rotten?

  This wasn’t just Lizzie fighting. Something was terribly wrong.

  “Leave my things be, sir,” she demanded shakily. “I’ve a week to settle from service of claim. You should know that.”

  The bailiff just ignored her while his men carried her gleaming hall table into the street. Outside, spectral Lizzie popped into view, shaking the wrought-iron fence. “You rank little squeeze-arses, I’ll chew your skins off and spit ’em out!”

  Vexed, Eliza yanked the bailiff’s arm. Close up, his skin held a greenish cast, his forefingers over-sized and wet like a frog’s. “Didn’t you hear me? It’s all a mistake. You can’t take my belongings without due process!”

  “Madam, I’ve heard that every day for fifteen years. Take it up with the sheriff’s office.”

  “Don’t be so damned impertinent, sir. You know perfectly well the lady’s correct.” Lafayette had caught up at last, and roasted the bailiff on an electric glare. Behind him, Lizzie cheered and waved.

  At the sight of Lafayette—scarlet uniform,
Royal Society badge—the froggy fellow blanched, and seemed to shrink three sizes, as if he’d washed himself in too-hot water. “Only doing my job, Captain,” he muttered.

  A twinge of sympathy surprised her. Lafayette hadn’t said the word “fey.” Hadn’t glanced at the clear fluid oozing from the bailiff’s misshapen hands. He didn’t need to. The fellow knew too well the danger he was in.

  “Then do it better,” said Lafayette. “Replace those items immediately, or I’ll have you investigated for taking bribes in public office.”

  The bailiff’s green jowls wobbled, hidden gills bubbling wet. “I’m fully invested—”

  “Oh, are you an idiot? My apologies. I’ll translate into smaller words.” In a purple-crackled blur, Lafayette leveled his pistol at the man’s eyeball. “Belay my lady’s things, or I’ll shoot all three of you for the dirty thieves you are.”

  Crash! The lackeys dropped her table and backed off. Passers-by stopped to watch.

  Humph. Gratifying, to be sure, but the nasty amphibian fellow had ignored her. Whereas because Lafayette was an officer . . . and a Royal Society agent . . . and a man . . .

  “Who cares?” crowed Lizzie, a flash of red skirts beneath the steps. “Getting us what we want, ain’t he? Caught in a lie, you fat fuck. Sheriff’s office, my arse.”

  Lafayette flicked a glance at her door. “Go on, back to where you found it. Good lads. Not a scratch, mind.”

  “You heard him.” The bailiff sounded resigned.

  His men obeyed, and triumphantly, Eliza snatched the paperwork away. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. You can tell your friend Professor Quick”—she salted the name with sarcasm—“that I’ll see him in court.”

  “In a dark alley, more like,” muttered Lizzie. The bailiff and his men shambled away, and she spat after them, cursing. “Hope that crackbrain Todd really is watching us. He’ll slit your pudgy throat, frog man. And Moriarty friggin’ Quick’s, and all . . .”

  For once, Eliza’s respect for due process seemed foolish and naive. Her lovely furniture knocked about by idiots. Ugly boots trampling her carpets. Her housekeeper manhandled. That thieving Irishman deserved harsher justice. Didn’t he?

  Oblivious, Lafayette powered down his pistol, hiss-flick! “That was unpleasant.”

  “Thank you for your help, Captain. What despicable fellows. I’m sure I can take it from here.” Eliza kept her voice light. He meant well. But the idea of needing his help—his very presence, forever popping up at her side whenever she felt vulnerable—bristled her hackles. “My lady,” he’d said. As if he claimed her.

  “So who’s this Professor Quick?” Concern lit his face. It looked genuine. What expression of his didn’t?

  She sighed, and explained about Quick’s harassment. “I expect I’m the victim of a scam,” she finished. “But what can I do, other than fight it in court?”

  “Did he threaten you?” Matter-of-fact, grim. “Physically, I mean. You could report him for assault.”

  “Not exactly.” Memory flickered, a blurred cinematograph of Quick at the Cockatrice. He’d grabbed Lizzie, laughed . . .

  “Could he be responsible for sabotaging your pet? Likely that’s some misdemeanor they could arrest him for.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted, recalling poor Hipp lying in pieces upstairs. “He claimed to be an old acquaintance of Mr. Finch’s, and to know something of my, er, medicines.”

  “Ah.” Lafayette grimaced in sympathy. “A pity. Anything I can do?”

  Her belly heated. How tempting, to set the Royal on Moriarty Quick . . . But this didn’t add up. If Quick merely wanted money, why falsify such a large claim, so easily challenged? He could simply have blackmailed her in private, risk-free.

  No, Quick didn’t want money. He wanted attention. He wanted not to be ignored.

  At her side, Lizzie grinned like a hungry eel. “Why, then, we’ll give ’im just that. Only he won’t enjoy my attention so much as he thinks.”

  Eliza managed a smile. “I believe I can deal with it.”

  “I’m sure you can,” said Lafayette, “but—”

  “Peace, Captain. You can’t imprison everyone who looks at me the wrong way.” Or murder them, she nearly added. No, that’s Mr. Todd’s job.

  Lafayette grinned. “Actually, I can. Perquisite of the badge.”

  And now she couldn’t meet his eye.

  “Well,” he added, “I’m sure your affairs are in perfect order. If ever you should need a loan, I can put you in touch.”

  She flushed. He meant a gift. A second son, to be sure, but he’d made his own fortune in India. Fifty-six pounds would be nothing. But the air twanged taut like wire with what he hadn’t said.

  Quick’s vexatious lawsuit, her dearth of employment, her refusal to share in Mr. Hyde’s ill-gotten gains. All her financial worries would vanish—if she agreed to be Lafayette’s wife.

  Her courage quailed. How easy, to reject responsibility and ambition. To allow oneself to be taken care of, like a child . . . or a pet. But the very idea stung her teeth hollow. “You’re very kind, but I’m sure I can solve my own problems. Did I tell you I found Dalziel’s face? The painted version, I mean, from that picture torn down from the safe. The killer cut the face out and stuffed it down Dalziel’s throat.”

  “You don’t say. What on earth for?”

  “I intend to find out. We must re-examine the dinner guests, find this Dr. Silberman. Any one of them could be next.”

  “Silberman it is.” Lafayette studied his fingernails. “I’ve business with my brother this afternoon. Sure you wouldn’t care to meet him?”

  Invisible walls closed in around her. Meeting his family made it real. How close were the brothers? Did this François know about Remy’s curse? About her? “I couldn’t possibly impose—”

  “He asks after you, you know. He’s dubbed you my Mythical Mistress of Mystery. Which,” Lafayette added airily, “rather paints me into a corner where denials are concerned. If I say, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, François, she isn’t mythical,’ then he says—”

  “Yes,” she cut in coolly, “I see the potential for your feeble schoolboy hilarities. But not today, I’m afraid. I must seek Mr. Finch’s advice. Perhaps this Quick can be dissuaded with common sense.”

  The falsehood clanged, harsh discord. Lizzie’s rash eagerness to act boiled Eliza’s blood, made her reckless in turn. Lafayette was no fool. Surely, he’d call her on her lies, ask what she was truly planning.

  But he just made an elegant bow. “Another time, then. I’ll call this evening if I’m able. Good day, Doctor.”

  “Good day, Captain.” She watched him go, perplexed. His generous resourcefulness impressed and maddened her at the same time. She needed to fight her own battles. If she wedded, it’d be because she wanted to. Not because it was expedient or cheap. And certainly not on a girlish whim.

  Besides, in the dark depths of her heart, she’d a niggling idea about exactly how to deal with Moriarty Quick.

  Aye, we most certainly do.

  A DANGEROUS FELONY

  I DID WARN YOU, DEAR GIRL,” REMARKED MARCELLUS Finch sadly, tipping powder into the silver hopper of his pill machine. Midday sun glared, and the coal fire glowed, overheating the pharmacy to sweating.

  “He approached me,” Eliza protested. “Twice. Then this morning, he takes my furniture! Those odious bailiffs wouldn’t listen to a word. It was only fortunate that Captain Lafayette happened to pass by.” Impatiently, she wiped perspiration from her cheek. She’d wanted to quiz Finch about that angry pink remedy, but it hardly seemed the time. “This Professor Quick. Is he a colleague of yours?”

  Zealously, Finch yanked the machine’s handle, stamping a new row of pills in a cloud of funny-smelling dust. “Pah! Quick’s no professor. Haven’t seen the sneaky charlatan for years. Bad circus act, I’ve always said so. Snake oil, flim-flam, blue-sky concoctions. As likely to kill you as cure.”

  “He told me he specializes in u
northodox pharmaceuticals.”

  “Dark alchemy, he means. Nose-poking where noses shouldn’t poke, say what?”

  “Like that exploding hallucinogen?” She’d sent to Finch by courier those tissue samples from Dalziel’s corpse, to help identify the substance. So far, no luck. “I thought alchemy didn’t differentiate between good and evil.”

  “It doesn’t. But the flow of life force is directional, eh? The Worshipful Company of Alchemists—long since disbanded, and good thing, too, the persnickety old fools. Honestly, all that trouble about galvanism and homicidal body-snatchers and the proper Latin word for ‘electric shock.’ Anyhow, back in the day, the guild mandated rules.” Finch popped a misshapen pill into his mouth and crunched. “Oh, that’s foul. A pinch more caterpillar brains. Hand me that nutcracker, would you? Like any science,” he continued, bashing a pile of dried grubs to dust, “we’ve basic laws that can’t be fooled with. Up versus down, light versus its absence. Subvert those, it gets messy, doesn’t it? Can open, worms wriggling all over the joint, say what?”

  On the wall, the obligatory portrait of the Philosopher—imperious and arrogant, at the height of his near-miraculous powers—glared down in tacit disapproval. She resisted a bright urge to tear it down and stamp on it.

  “But how did Quick find out about me?”

  Finch poked a finger into his mouth. Withdrew it stained blue, and frowned at it, cross-eyed. “Trust me, dear girl: you don’t want to know. Quick has loathsome ways.”

  Her rebellious flesh crawled, and she squirmed, overheating. Shut up, Lizzie. Keep out of this. We’re doing it my way. She pulled out her remedy—that gleaming pink poison—and gulped. Her heart rate jumped, her vision swimming. It didn’t help. She swallowed more, gasping at the chill in her gullet.

  “I say, don’t gobble that! I said one drop only.”

  Unnatural suspicion slithered in her veins. “Why? What does it do? To whom else have you given this?”