by LENOX, KIM
What a wonderful picture he had just painted—so simple, yet perfect. He suddenly realized he was astoundingly envious of the counterfeit Dr. Phillip Whitney he had created.
“You know I still don’t have any of my memories from before.”
“I’m very sorry for that.”
He was sorry. He had admittedly brought a certain amount of misery upon her. But considering the alternative, he wouldn’t change a thing.
“What if the memories never come back?” Her voice reflected a faint desperation. “Life is so short, Lord Black. Can’t you see? It’s important that my new memories be ones of importance. I’d like to be someone my mother and father would have been proud of.”
“You already are.”
She shook her head in apparent frustration, as if he did not understand. “Did my father, by chance, leave me any sort of inheritance?”
His smile faded. He had feared she would ask him that. He could see her mind working, trying to figure out some way to be independent of his governance. He pulled his hand free, leaving the handkerchief in hers.
“Yes, of course, but no more than a widow’s pension. Certainly not enough to support you through three years of medical school, and five years of hospital practice. Your father was devoted to you, Elena, but just as devoted to his cause. One doesn’t become rich running a free hospital in Africa.”
The light flickered out in her eyes, and he hated himself for being the one to extinguish it. But he refused to set her free, alone, into this world. Not yet.
“You’re right, of course,” she said quietly.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Nurse Whitney!” shouted a female voice. “Nurse Whitney! Over here.”
Elena searched for the source of the voice, admittedly relieved by the interruption. Yes, Lord Black had given her the answers she sought, but they weren’t exactly what she’d hoped to hear.
The crowd split just long enough for her to see a young woman waving a gloved hand and leaning on a single crutch.
“Lizzy!”
Relief overwhelmed her, and she jumped off the ledge and set off across the street, pausing only to beckon to Archer that he should follow as well. He did so, his gaze dark and somehow possessive—something that confused her, given the serious guardian-ward discussion they’d had only moments before.
As she drew nearer, Lizzy called out, “Hullo, you. What a surprise. You live over ’ere?”
“No, but I followed the crowd.”
She wouldn’t let the girl know how worried she’d been about her. Really, they didn’t know each other all that well, and Elena didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “And you, Lizzy. Weren’t you staying with Mrs. Eddowes over on Shoe Lane? Don’t tell me you came all this way on crutches.”
Lizzy chuckled. “One of me mates let me ride along on the back of ’is cart, but I haven’t seen ’im in a good while. Not sure how I’ll get back.”
“How’s your leg?”
“Better than y’sterday, I’ll tell y’ that.” The girl glanced at Lord Black, who loomed above them a few paces to the side. She leaned closer. “Who’s ’at gent you’re with?”
“Just someone I know,” Elena acknowledged quietly.
“Now I know why you ain’t with the good doctor. I’d take the devil over a saint any day meself. O’ course, that’s what got me into most of me life’s predicaments.” She grinned.
Elena’s cheeks burned, and she prayed his lordship hadn’t overheard.
She quickly changed the subject. “Did Mrs. Eddowes find a place for the two of you to stay last night?”
Lizzy nodded. “Oh miss, she got me in a real nice place. Real nice place indeed, and they’re holding me bed for tonight as well.”
“And what of Mrs. Eddowes?” Elena decided not to mention what Mrs. Scott had told her about Catherine being drunk and getting arrested.
“I haven’t seen ’er since last night.” Lizzy’s grin faded. “She told me it was too early for a wandering soul like ’er to be locked up inside. They lock them doors at eight o’clock sharp, y’ see, to keep the riffraff out, and they don’t unlock ’em again until eight the next morning.”
“A reasonable policy, I think.”
The girl nodded, and as she did so, her red curls bobbed. “Yes, indeed. I slept right sound, I did, without a worry in the world. Kate told me she’d meet up with her old man and stay the night with ’im.”
Lizzy smiled again, but an edge of wistfulness mellowed her brightness. She was certainly a brave soul, and still very much on her own. Elena feared it was only a matter of time before she was forced to seek the protection of any man who would have her.
Lizzy put a hand on Elena’s arm. “She told me what you done for us miss, the way you gave ’er the coins and insisted I stay in a safe place. Thank you ever so much.”
Lord Black’s lips quirked downward in disapproval.
Elena didn’t care. She’d done the right thing, at least in this instance. “You’re very welcome, Lizzy.”
“I was sure I’d see ’er ’ere.” Her eyes scanned the crowd. “She’s usually wherever the party is, ’at one.”
“I’m sure she’ll show up,” Elena reassured her, hoping the same.
“I suppose that since you’re ’ere, you ’eard about those women who were murdered last night?”
“I did. I was hoping that beast had been swallowed up by a big black hole.”
The set of Archer’s jaw grew rigid. She wondered what could have turned his mood so downward. He flicked open his coat and tugged his timepiece from his vest. “Miss Whitney, I regret to interrupt.”
“Yes, your lor—” Elena caught herself. It wouldn’t do to reveal his aristocratic status to Lizzy, or anyone else on the street, She cleared her throat. “Sir?”
“As I told you before, I’ve an afternoon appointment.”
“Do go on, then.” She waved him off with a gloved hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find myself home.”
His dark eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t think of it.”
Elena knew she shouldn’t protest. He’d been amazingly patient with her, more than she’d ever expected. She had found Lizzy, and felt certain Mrs. Eddowes was safe as well. There was no other reason for her to remain, and the crowd did grow quite out of hand.
Elena opened her bag. “Lizzy, I want to give you—”
Lizzy held up a hand and leaned on her crutch. “No, miss. You already done enough for me.”
“How will you get back to the boardinghouse?”
“I’ve got around all this time without your charity, Nurse Whitney,” she answered softly. “And I imagine I will this day as well.”
Down the street the speeches had begun, one man taking a turn after the other, calling for the resignation of various public officials who were apparently held by many to blame for the lack of arrest.
Archer took a few steps toward the less populated end of the street and waited for her. He unexpectedly took her breath away, standing so tall and darkly handsome, his hair, and his knee-length coat rippling in the breeze.
“Very well, Lizzy,” Elena said reluctantly. “Please try to stay off your leg, and do come by the infirmary if your pain worsens.”
“I will, Nurse Whitney. Be safe yourself.” Lizzy waved, before turning to hobble down the sidewalk.
Elena joined Lord Black, and they walked toward a row of hansoms for hire. “I hate to leave her.”
“You can’t save them all.”
“I’d be happy with just one.”
Archer surveyed the hansoms and appeared to choose the one that appeared most reputable. He walked forward and spoke with the driver. Helping Elena up into the cab, he shut the door behind her.
She leaned out the open window. “You’re not coming?”
“I’ve got my appointment.”
“He could drop you there. I could wait for you.”
“Not this time. I will see you later
this evening at Black House.”
He signaled to the driver, and the carriage clattered into motion.
Elena sat back in the seat and pondered her mysterious guardian. Where was he going? What business did he attend to? She still felt as if she knew nothing about him.
She sank lower into the seat, clasping her bag against her chest. He was so handsome, he made her heart hurt. Why couldn’t he be the one for her, her heart secretly pined? For the first time, she wondered if he was a spy. Yes, a spy in the service of Her Majesty herself.
Really, if medicine didn’t work out for her, she ought to become an authoress of romantic novels. Sometimes she came up with the most entertaining notions.
Twilight fell as Archer stepped down from the hansom. He gave the driver a crown and, before striding across the train yard, instructed him to wait. His boots crunched against the gravel.
Two black, unmarked locomotive engines and four passenger cars sat on the third, and most distant, track, their windows covered by dark curtains. Seven guards, dressed in nondescript suits and all exceedingly well muscled and armed, stood at various vantage points. One of them held a leash, at the end of which wandered a small Skye terrier.
As Archer approached, one of the guards stepped down from the rear platform.
“Your name, sir?” he asked.
“Black.”
The man glanced toward the train. A curtain moved, and a hand motioned from within.
He gave Archer a curt nod. “Do go on, your lordship.”
Archer grasped the handrail and climbed the metal stairs. The railcar door opened from inside, and another steely-eyed Foot Guard welcomed him.
“Your lordship.”
Archer stepped into a fully furnished saloon, its rich crimson walls illuminated by a number of table lamps. Gargantuan arrangements of primroses and violets covered several side tables, scenting the air. Two more Foot Guards stood at the opposite end of the car.
The woman he had come to see sat upon a small couch, her round face a pensive portrait above the froth of lace at her throat. A walking cane leaned against the cushions beside her.
“Your Majesty.” Archer approached, extending his upturned hand.
“Black.” The queen placed hers over his palm, and he bent to kiss her fingers. While her eyes revealed only the slightest glimmer of fascination, he felt the rush of excitement race through her.
With a wave of her hand, the Foot Guards vacated the room.
“Please, please sit. Thank you for returning to London in such haste.”
“I am honored to be of service.” He seated himself into a gold-brocade-covered chair. “I had not expected your summons, knowing you were at Balmoral. Will you go on to Buckingham from here?”
“No, dear immortal. Bertie sees to all the necessary London appearances. I came only to see you, and indeed, shall return this very night.” She chuckled faintly. “If you desire to see me again, you shall come to Scotland.”
“Perhaps one day.”
Victoria nodded, her dry smile an indication she realized he would never present himself for holiday at her beloved castle in the Highlands.
She said, “Once again—thank you for answering my summons. It’s not that we do not appreciate the enthusiasm of the younger Guard, but we believe our situation deserves attention from the highest levels of your organization.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Be frank with me, Black, as we have always been with each other, and tell me what sort of monster walks amongst my subjects?”
Archer chose his words carefully. Though the Amaranthines enjoyed a beneficial relationship with the Crown, and had since William the Conquerer, only so much could be revealed.
He answered, “I can tell you only that this particular soul has been marked for Reclamation. That, in and of itself, testifies to the excess of evil within him.”
“But this”—Her Majesty’s lips turned downward in distaste—“Jack the Ripper, as he has chosen to call himself, is different, is he not?”
“He proves a challenge.”
Her brow went up. “Even for you?”
“Some souls take more time and skill to Reclaim than others. The more deteriorated they are, the less defined trace they leave behind for us to follow. It does not help matters that he has chosen London, a crowded city of millions, for his hunting grounds. The density of population, and the resultant complexities of poverty and pollution, only add dimension to the challenge.”
“What motivates him to kill these women in particular? Each one has been a lost soul. A prostitute.”
“Make no mistake. The Ripper’s intended victims are not only these four women, but an entire city, and indeed, the world. The killer feels no remorse for the savagery he inflicts, and revels in the attention he receives, though vanity does not inspire his killings. He is, quite simply, a vampire of emotion—he feeds off the fear his killings produce. If allowed to continue unchecked, he will grow infinitely stronger from it.”
“Which elevates him to a level of concern for your organization.”
“Indeed.”
The queen worked a bracelet on her wrist, one that concealed a small portrait of her beloved husband, Prince Albert, who had died almost thirty years before, and for whom she had never ceased to grieve.
“Are the efforts of our authorities meaningless?”
“Not at all. Deteriorated souls aren’t perfect in their madness. They make blunders, and are sometimes captured and Reclaimed because of them. It is imperative the Home Office continue their investigations, especially in this case where the villain seems so intent on taunting them. He likes to give clues. We cannot discount their importance.”
“Please know that any resource will be made available to you. You have only to ask. The prime minister is with me on this.”
“I prefer, as ever, to work alone.”
Her hands balled into fists against her skirt. “I hate feeling helpless. I hate that this beast terrorizes the streets of my kingdom. Do whatever you must to Reclaim him, Lord Black, and send the bastard to hell.”
“I am certain I want that even more badly than you, Your Majesty.”
“Very well, then. I suppose I must release you and allow you to do what you do best. I must admit I feel reassured for having seen you.”
Archer stood. “I will inform you of any developments.”
He bowed, as if to make his leave.
“Wait. Please,” the queen called softly, biting into her bottom lip with uncharacteristic anxiety. She lifted both hands and beckoned him forward. He went to her. After she fumbled in the cushion of the chair, he felt the press of parchment against his palm.
“Please, Lord Black. Take it.”
He looked down on her in compassion. Though an eternity of time had passed, he remembered the raw wound of grief, and the pain of carrying on through time alone.
In a low voice he said, “You know I cannot play courier. My authority extends only to those corrupt mortal souls who threaten the existence of the Amaranthine race. All others are beyond my domain.”
“Can you tell me nothing of him?”
“Only that he is at peace, and wishes the same for you.”
She nodded, tears heavy against her lashes. She blinked them away. “I wish for nothing but to be with him again.”
He squeezed her hands. “When it is time.”
He left her then. His last image of the queen was of her clasping a handwritten message of undying love against her breast, in that moment, not the world’s most powerful monarch, but a grieving widow.
Chapter Nine
“Miss Whitney, have you seen the countess today?” Mary Alice asked as she arranged a small stack of clean towels beside the basin.
“No, I haven’t.” Elena looked away from the skirt she’d worn to the East End that afternoon. She’d hung the garment behind the door on a wood hanger and had just finished sponging its hem clean. “I know she left the house last night, but after that I’ve not been aware of her com
ings and goings. Why do you ask?”
Honestly, she’d tried to forget the countess and their odd exchange the night before. She still wasn’t sure of the woman’s relationship with his lordship, and wondered if she’d ever know. Despite the time she’d spent with Lord Black that afternoon, she didn’t feel as if she knew him any better than before. Everything and everyone associated with him remained hidden behind a wall of impenetrable mystery.
The more she thought about it, her silly idea that he was an agent for the Crown wasn’t all that ridiculous. She went to the basin and poured water to wash her hands.
Mary Alice supplied a fresh towel. “Well, miss, this morning she returned from wherever she’d been all night. She stormed up the stairs and ordered a pot of ‘strong Turkish tea’ be brought immediately to her room.”
“But no books?”
“Pardon, miss? Books?” Mary Alice’s frown revealed her confusion.
“Oh . . . nothing.”
“So I hurried to bring her tea, only to find she’d thrown every piece of linen out of her room. The bed sheets, the towels, everything, out her door and into a pile in the hall.”
“Did she say why?”
“Oh, yes. She was very forthcoming,” Mary Alice responded with the mildest edge of sarcasm. “She told me—no, more like shouted—that she’d be using only high quality linens on account of her skin being so delicate.”
Elena chuckled, glancing pointedly at the towel in her hand. “What kind of linens have we been using?”
“Linens woven out of rubbish, apparently. So right away, the housekeeper, wanting to please his lordship’s guest, sends out to Harrods for the highest quality everything, and two hours later, once it’s all been delivered, I go up to make over her chamber.”
“And?”
Mary Alice’s cheeks flushed. “When I knock at the door she shouts for me to go away.”
Elena shrugged. “The countess does seem to be a woman of extreme passions and temperament. Still, perhaps we should give her the benefit of the doubt. Did she shout in an angry sort of way, or could she have been overwrought?”
