by Kelley York
I do manage to doze along the way, but it’s a fitful, uncomfortable sort of sleep so I’m not certain how rested I feel upon waking. The carriage has brought us to the morgue, which is a significantly smaller building than the morgues of London. While the police circle round to bring the body through the gates into the yard, our carriage has stopped on the street in front to let us out.
We’ve been to morgues and funeral homes a few times before, but it was only for identification purposes, not for actually investigating the corpses. My stomach rolls at the thought.
As we head inside I ask, “How much are we looking forward to this?”
James pockets his hands and wrinkles his nose. “Terribly much.”
“Ah, have we found something that’s distasteful even to you, darling?”
“Are you asking if I’m human after all? It’s possible.” He grins.
Inside the building, a burly, balding man—likely the mortician’s assistant—greets us. After explaining who we are, he looks almost relieved.
“Does this mean we’ll be able to move those bodies out of here soon?” he asks, leading us down a hallway dimly lit with gas lamps.
I frown. “I’m afraid I don’t know. Where will they go when they leave here?”
He shrugs. “Not my concern. If they’ve no family left to claim them, and no one wishes to foot the bill for a burial, they’ll go into pauper’s graves.”
Well, that’s remarkably depressing.
The man opens a door at the end of the hall and gestures. The room within is large and chilly, likely kept cool for preservation purposes. While the morgues back home would have contained row after row of bodies, lined and stacked and some set out for viewing, this room contains maybe a dozen. A number of them belong to the Brewers.
“Have at it,” he says. “Give a shout if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” James says, sliding the handkerchief from his pocket to cover his nose and mouth as the door shuts behind us.
I do the same as we move to the Brewers’ bodies in the corner, although the smell is not as horrible as I anticipated. There’s an undercurrent of something—lemon, I think—used to combat the stench of decay. I linger a few paces behind James, eyes roaming over the shrouded bodies with uncertainty. They’re the only ones in the room who are covered, a testament to how badly they’ve been mutilated. The smaller shapes of the children are evident, and I plan to avoid them if I can help it. Instead, I draw back the sheet on one of the adults.
There is nothing to keep Mrs. Brewer modest beneath the sheet. She’s already progressed in stages of decomposition, her honey-coloured hair matted with blood. She possesses ugly claw marks across her arms and abdomen and face, and her throat is ripped wide open in a way that makes me touch a hand to my own neck with a grimace.
James draws in a slow breath. “Poor thing…”
I have to look away for a moment while an unpleasant shudder flows through me. This could have been either of us last night. Had Madeline got to James before I’d distracted her…
Christ, I hate this job.
I turn to the neighbouring table and draw back the sheet. If Mrs. Brewer was in bad shape, Mr. Brewer is almost unrecognizable.
Together, we step back and stare at the bodies, as though some answer will magically make itself known to us. What are we searching for? What are we hoping to find? How could any living creature commit such an act against an innocent family?
I say, “I don’t begin to understand what sort of insanity a person could possess that would have prompted something like this.”
Beside me, James goes perfectly still for a heartbeat before his eyes snap wide and his chin lifts. “Possession.”
My skin prickles. “Pardon?”
“The look on that girl’s face… I’ve been trying to determine where I’ve seen it before, and it was you, William.” He looks at me. “When that spirit took you over at Whisperwood. The clouded look in your eyes, the fever… Staring into your face but knowing you weren’t really there? It’s the exact same.”
Of all the things James could say, this is on the more unnerving end of the spectrum. I shiver. “So she was, what, under control of a spirit? Not acting of her own accord?”
“It makes more sense than a girl going missing and popping up again just to slaughter an entire family.”
This is not the answer I wanted to arrive at. Dizziness washes over me, that anxious, tight sensation in my chest rearing its ugly head and making it difficult to breathe. I brace my hands against the edge of the table.
“So, I murdered an innocent girl.”
James frowns. “What—no. William, don’t be foolish. She was trying to kill you!”
“Had I attacked any of you back at Whisperwood and someone killed me,” I begin, not even needing to finish it. He knows damned well he would not have forgiven anyone for that.
“I would have been devastated,” he admits, “but still—self-defence.”
I’m not certain I agree with that. If Madeline Edison was possessed, then we could have done something. We could have saved her.
Ducking my head, I take a spell to try to shake it off. It’s done, isn’t it? I must stuff my guilt deep down because there’s nothing I can do about it now. “All right. Possession, then. That would be a logical answer for her behaviour.”
James’ jaw clenches, and I think he means to lecture me because he knows I’m blaming myself. Instead he says, “The question now, then, is why and by what.”
This changes the game. Most certainly, it places the job back into our realm of expertise. I rack my brain. “If we could figure out if that missing boy was still out there, then he might have answers.” Or if he’s dead…well, another dead end. No pun intended. I study Mr. Brewer, the bite marks upon his neck. “Lady Adelia said she’s studied many unusual crime cases. She might have some insight for us, perhaps?”
James arcs an eyebrow. “We can ask her, I suppose.”
“Unless you have a better idea. We’re not anatomists, so this might have been a fruitless trip.”
“You’ve got me there.”
I replace the shrouds over Mr. and Mrs. Brewer with a sense of relief at not having to look at them anymore. “Then let’s be gone. This place is unpleasant.”
As I turn to go, James catches me by the elbow to draw my attention back to him. “Are you all right, William?”
Am I? I’ve been worse, certainly. “Ask me that again once we’re out of here.”
He squeezes briefly, the smile on his face an attempt to be comforting. “Let’s go, then.”
The carriage is still waiting for us outside, and I’m grateful for some peace and quiet during the trip back. Yet even in the silence, even in the calm, the nervous itching inside of my chest becomes all-encompassing and too much to bear.
“James, please,” is all I murmur. He knows me well enough by now. Indeed, he does not even ask, merely produces the laudanum from his pocket.
It isn’t an immediate fix, but to know the relief is coming does help. I take James’ hand in mine, squeezing it tight, infinitely grateful for him and his endless patience. His lips press to my forehead, and that in and of itself is a gesture that helps to soothe me.
Upon returning to Lord Wakefield’s, my stomach is a mess of protesting growls and hunger pangs. I can hear James’ now and again, too. We ought to be just in time for lunch, so there’s that. James even mumbles as he disembarks the carriage, “I’m going to eat everything in sight.”
My medicine has had the opportunity to kick in during our journey, which leaves me blissfully relaxed and wanting a nap more than food now. I offer James a lazy smile. “You usually do, darling.”
Foss greets us in the foyer, thin mouth curved down in its usual serious manner. “Welcome back, gentlemen. How did your adventure go?”
James pockets
his hands. “I think we’re getting a bit closer to finding an answer.”
He tsks. “I worry you two are overthinking this. You’ve found the culprit, what more is there to find?”
I frown. “The how and the why are rather important, are they not?”
“Miss Edison is dead, regrettably. I doubt any answers will make anyone feel any better about that fact. However…” He beckons us, thankfully, toward the dining room, which hopefully means toward food. “Lord Wakefield is immensely pleased with your progress. He’s holding a gathering tonight in your honour.”
James pauses. “Pardon?”
“A party,” Foss says. “Of course, if you both are not fully convinced the mystery is solved, perhaps it will be a good opportunity for you to meet and speak with more of the townspeople?”
Joy. I’m not the sort for parties. Oh, I love the idea of them. I love the dancing and the music, in particular, but it’s the whole people bit I find distasteful.
James purses his lips, eyes sliding to the side to watch me, and I suspect he’s thinking this is utterly ridiculous. “Of course.”
Foss claps his hands together. “Wonderful. Everyone will be here, and they’re undoubtedly looking forward to meeting you.”
Somehow, I doubt everyone will be here. Likely, just the upper echelon. I’m far too medicated to care much at the moment, so I just roll my gaze briefly ceilingward. “Lovely.”
James swallows a laugh and keeps his voice low. “I’m sure there will be plenty of drink to get you through.”
Never as much fun when I’m drinking alone, though that never stops me. Medicated enough or drunk enough, I can put on quite a charming front.
Besides, I know well why James does not drink. It came about a few months after we began living together, one of the first times I found myself well into my cups after a job and, regrettably, a little persistent in wanting James to enjoy it with me. Bless him, he’d been so patient with my ineptitude, and he’d finally taken my hands in his and leaned in until our foreheads touched as he whispered, What if I’m like him when I drink?
That simple sentence had sobered me immediately, pierced to the quick of my heart to let guilt bleed right out. Never had I considered such a thing would cross his mind and, of course, I tried to reassure him. He is not his uncle. He is a good man with a good heart, and his uncle—that foul, disgusting, monster of a human being—had a dark soul and no morals.
Since then, I’ve not pressed him on the matter. Perhaps it’s something he’ll come to terms with someday. If not, that’s all right, too.
Even now, he has a smile upon his face. “One of us has to keep our wits about us.”
Foss pauses before the double doors to the dining room. “Lord Wakefield is attending to some business this afternoon to prepare for tonight, so he will not be joining you.” He pushes open the doors, revealing a fine spread of food, and Lady Adelia seated there, already enjoying her meal, looking lovely in a blue dress, a few spirals of her neatly done hair purposely left cascading down the back of her neck. Just the person we wanted to speak to without her father present.
She lifts her head at the sight of us. “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
“Good afternoon, Lady Adelia,” I say, having a seat. “Glad to have you joining us.”
“There are whispers you’ve solved the case,” she says, peering at us curiously.
“Whispers are often slivers of truth blown out of proportion.” The food is already on the table, and we waste no time in beginning to serve ourselves, not inclined to wait for a servant to do it for us. “We’ve found a lead, but there are still a number of unanswered questions.”
“Questions such as…?”
“How much did your father tell you?” James asks.
“That it was Madeline Edison who killed the Brewers…and that she attacked the two of you.” Her eyes dart to my bandaged throat.
I nod. “All true. Miss Edison, we believe, was under possession at the time she committed the murders.”
The look Adelia gives us can only be described as patient. “Possession.”
“That’s what I said.” I pick up my glass to have a drink. “Now our goal is to find out what, precisely, possessed her so we can be rid of it lest it repeat the process with another unwitting victim.”
“What makes you so certain it’s possession?”
“Because James has seen it before.”
Her gaze swings to James, who shrugs. “It’s…a certain vacancy to the eyes, and she felt feverish to the touch. She also had some incredible strength and seemed to not feel pain.”
I don’t particularly care to get into the details of how James knows what he knows, so I’m quick to add on before Adelia can question it. “Suffice it to say, it’s our best guess right now. We’re also looking into whether Miss Edison’s companion, the boy she was thought to have run off with, is still alive or if she killed him, too. Which…actually brings us to you.”
Adelia blinks. “Me?”
“You study unusual crime cases, yes? I had hoped you might be able to offer some insight.” I smile.
She seems to consider that. “Do you have specifics?”
It feels awkward to explain the state of the bodies to anyone, let alone the daughter of a Lord, but I picture Miss Bennett giving me the most unimpressed look if she were here to see my hesitation. “Whoever attacked the Brewers mangled their bodies quite viciously. Bite marks everywhere, tore into their torsos with their bare hands. Mrs. Brewer’s throat was ripped into by teeth—which is precisely what Miss Edison tried to do to me last night.”
Adelia doesn’t so much as flinch at the description. “What do you want to know from me, then?”
“Is there a way to determine if the murders were committed by only one assailant, or if she had an accomplice?”
Her eyes drop half-closed as she thinks. “Ideally, one would be able to confirm the alibi of the one suspected. Failing that, you said there were bite marks. Those could be compared to Miss Edison’s teeth to see if they match up.”
“You can do that?” I suppose it makes sense. If one could determine the sort of animal that caused an injury, then…
“I cannot, no. One more intimate with the human body might be able to. There’s quite a difference in reading about techniques and ideas in books and actually applying them.”
Well, there goes that idea. If the coroner here had any knowledge of such a process, surely he’d have done it already, but…
I pause and tip my head toward James. “I say…”
James, who has been busy stuffing food down his gullet, pauses to look at me. “Hm?”
I scarcely resist the urge to dust a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps a letter to Virgil is in order. He may know of someone who can help.”
His face immediately wrinkles. “Must we?”
Not that James minds Virgil, but I think he still views him as a voice of authority, despite that we’re no longer in school. Virgil is, however, one of the few people I’ve found myself calling a friend outside of Whisperwood. Alexander and Prichard are good fellows, but they are more James’ friends than mine.
Virgil and I… We’re similar in our awkwardness, I suppose. He’s one of the only men I’ve ever met who takes things more seriously than I do. More than that, he’s sharp, and he’s always been fascinated to hear from me about our work. “I’m certain he’d be happy to come and lecture you over something.”
James sniffles. “No, thank you.”
“Who is Virgil?” Adelia asks.
“An acquaintance from school,” I say with a smile. “His father is a physician, and he seemed to be following in those footsteps. He may have some advice.”
“He’s a pain, is what he is,” James laments.
“He’s no more a pain than you are.”
“I’m cert
ain Father would be happy to allow a companion of yours to stay here, even if he’s insistent everything is solved.”
Virgil ought to be in the middle of a term at university, so I doubt he’ll drop everything to show up himself, but… “I’ll speak with your father about it. I suspect tomorrow we’ll be returning to the house again. If you’d like to accompany us, you might glean a little more information.”
Adelia scrutinises me, as though trying to determine whether or not I’m toying with her. “I might.”
“It would be appreciated,” I say in all seriousness. Then I look down to my plate and blink in confusion when I find it far emptier than it should be considering I’ve only had a few small bites.
James asks, “What’s wrong?”
I frown. “I apparently ate more than I thought I did.”
He reaches over and slowly takes another forkful of food from my plate. “That’s a shame.”
“James Edward Spencer, I will remove that hand from your person!” I give his arm a slap. He recoils with a pitiful whimper.
“But I’m still hungry and you weren’t eating!”
“I was talking,” I say, scooting my place from him. “You have a table full of food.”
A pout takes over his face. “Yours always tastes better.”
I give him a glare, almost slipping by saying at least give me a kiss first, just barely catching myself. Instead, I scoop food onto my fork and take a bite, never breaking eye contact with him.
“How long have you two known each other, exactly?” Adelia asks. I’d almost forgotten we weren’t alone.
“Since our third year at public school. So, more than three years now.” I flash a sugary sweet smile at James, whose pout deepens.
“What drove you to work together in this…unique line of work?”
While my attention is upon her again, I’m well aware of James attempting to steal more of my food, but I pretend not to notice. If he’s entertained, it isn’t hurting me any, and given that there is plenty to eat, it doesn’t really bother me. “James lost a friend there. We were…caught up in some things that required us to have dealings with the spirits there. After graduating, James insisted we continue it as a profession.”
