A Hymn in the Silence

by Kelley York

  James lingers by my side. “If he is, we might find him yet.”

  “I would love to share in your optimism,” I say.

  Adelia completes her task of meticulously getting the impressions of Madeline’s teeth into the hunk of clay. Virgil sets his tools aside, rinses his hands in a nearby bucket, and steps around the table to the other draped bodies, beckoning Adelia to join him. He draws the sheet back from one of the bodies. Mrs. Brewer.

  “Look for a bite mark with clean enough edges we can compare to the ones taken from Miss Edison,” he instructs Adelia. Which appears to be easier said than done. Not all of the damage is from teeth, and many of the bite marks involved shredded flesh rather than simple puncture wounds.

  Adelia sets to investigating the children, and I see her pause as she unveils them, a flicker of sadness settling into her features. After a few moments of searching, she straightens up and looks to Virgil. “I might have found one that works.”

  Virgil doesn’t look away from his own task, studying Mrs. Brewer’s lacerated throat. “Go on, then. See if you can’t match it up to the print you took.”

  He seems to have every bit of faith she can do it without him hovering over her shoulder. After some time, Adelia speaks up again. “It’s not lining up no matter which way I turn it.”

  I glance over, curious. Virgil straightens his spine and moves to her side, dropping to a crouch to put himself eye-level with the wound on the boy’s arm. Unlike the other injuries, this is very much a single bite, something chomping down and then releasing. Virgil moves so easily and with such comfort around the dead and I cannot understand it. Has a year at university really desensitised him so much, or has he always been this way?

  “Mm. Miss Edison has quite straight teeth,” he finally says. “Whoever made this mark has canines that didn’t quite align with his premolars, and their left incisor is crooked.” He tips his head to look up at Adelia. “Well spotted.”

  Adelia offers a genuinely pleased smile. James leans over to murmur to me, “Uh-oh, is that competition I see?”

  “I’m certain Virgil still only has eyes for you,” I mutter dryly, then, louder, “Virgil, how positive are you?”

  He rises to his feet and turns to us. “As certain as one can be when they’ve not done this sort of thing before.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, thinking I really ought to have had a drink before we came here. “All right. So that confirms she wasn’t acting alone, but that means we have two possessed people carrying out a murder? That’s almost as unbelievable as her doing it by herself.”

  “Or one possessed person and one madman,” Adelia says.

  “A possibility, but what would have stopped her from attacking her companion?” I point out. “And what sort of common criminal takes a bite out of a child?”

  Adelia looks down to the little boy, touching her fingertips to the back of his hand. “The sort insane enough to have command over a possessed person.”

  That gives me pause and I turn to James. “That’s not possible, is it? Actually controlling someone under possession?” Miss Bennett has never said anything of the sort, although I can’t say the subject has ever arisen, either.

  James scrapes a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, it would make sense, wouldn’t it?” Adelia asks. “All the tales of people summoning demons to control, trapping spirits to do their bidding…”

  I cross my arms. “I can’t say if any of those stories are true, but I suppose we can’t rule any of it out.”

  “We’ve seen spirits have an effect on people before, if you’ll recall,” Virgil says. “We’ve long suspected Headmaster King was pushed over the edge by Mordaunt’s ghost.”

  Fair enough. Thinking on it too much is giving me a headache. I drop my gaze to Madeline’s body, feeling the wound in my neck aching with memory. “Maybe you ought to…ah, put her back together? It’s growing late, and I suspect you’ll be in a pinch of trouble if the coroner’s assistant returns.”

  James laughs. “Oh, we got rather distracted. We were supposed to come in and drive you out.”

  Virgil’s face twitches into a frown. “William summoned me here to assist with the bodies, did you not?”

  “To be perfectly fair, I wrote asking for your advice. I’d not meant you needed to drop everything to actually come here.”

  He gives a bit of a sniff, stepping back to Madeline’s body. “If my friends require my help, then that is where I should be.”

  “We’re not friends.” James scrunches up his nose, and I promptly jab him between the ribs, because Virgil is a man who takes things quite literally and I can tell by the flat expression he casts at James that he isn’t entirely sure whether or not he’s joking. James rubs at his side. “It was a jest, you miserable bastards.”

  “No cake for you,” I mumble at him.

  “I shall have my cake! And yours, and Virgil’s, since none of you are any fun.”

  Virgil seems to have brushed it off. He begins the task of returning Madeline’s organs into her body and stitching her up, although he pauses halfway through, as though debating, and flicks his gaze to Adelia. “…Would you like to try?”

  Adelia startles, glancing to us like she expects us to object. Otherwise, there isn’t a moment’s hesitation. “Certainly.”

  He graces her with a bare smile, which is about a hundred times more of a smile than he gives anyone else, and coaxes Adelia closer to place the needle in her hands. “Just follow the stitches I’ve done.”

  As they work, James leans over to me. “Do you think he’s going to throw up out of nerves? He looks pale.”

  “I think that’s just his face, James.”

  He pinches my side and I squirm with a slow smile.

  Once the pair of them have finished their task and washed up, we take our leave. The coroner’s assistant casts scathing looks in our direction as we depart, undoubtedly angry at the implied notion that the original autopsy was not performed well enough, but I pay him no mind.

  With him, Virgil has brought only one small case of belongings and his bag of medical tools, so stashing them upon the carriage is easy enough. I cannot help but dwell on the fact that it’s late, I’m tired, hungry, and in dire need of my medicine. The smell of the morgue will not leave my sinuses.

  If James notices my squirrelliness, he doesn’t comment on it. At some point during the trip he asks Virgil, “You’re sticking around, then? Are you accompanying us on our overnight excursion?”

  Virgil has busied himself attempting small-talk with Adelia. Thankfully for him, getting on the topic of crime scenes seems to do the trick. He appears sincerely interested in her opinion on all manner of things; I’m not certain I’ve ever seen him speak so much to a person before.

  To James’ question, he blinks. “Excursion?”

  “To the Brewers’,” I say, head tipping back and eyes closed as I fend off the nervous constriction building in my chest. “Are we really doing that tonight?”

  “Yes,” James responds. I feel him shift, and I suspect he’s watching me. “I can go on my own, if you’d prefer.”

  My eyes snap open. “Absolutely not. But it’s growing late, and Virgil’s been travelling all day. Perhaps it would do us good to regroup and attempt this tomorrow.”

  His brow furrows a little. I wonder if he sees it, that I’m at my limit for the day. “All right.”

  Thank God. The last thing I needed was to argue with him. I’m well aware of how cranky I am when I get like this, and I’m prone to letting my tone be far harsher than I mean it to.

  It’s pitch-dark out by the time we arrive back at Evenbury. Wakefield himself hurries down into the foyer to greet us, relief flooding his features at the sight of Adelia.

  “Good heavens, child! You could have at least told me you’d be off gallivantin
g around today! Had one of the servants not seen you leave, I’d have been worried to death.”

  Adelia takes this lecture in stride, an amused smile playing across her face as she leans up to kiss his cheek. “You were busy when I left. I apologise.”

  Wakefield sighs, but seems placated enough. He looks to James and me. “Where did you go?”

  “Lady Adelia was merely introducing us to some of the people we wanted to question,” James says easily and with a sweet smile. “They were far more receptive to our inquiries with her accompanying us.”

  Wakefield frowns, but the answer seems to work. Were we to inform him Adelia spent her evening sewing up corpses, I doubt he’d be pleased.

  Adelia pats his arm. “And we’ve a guest with us. Mr. Esher and Mr. Spencer’s colleague has arrived to help find Abraham Fletcher.”

  “Oh?” Wakefield looks up, only then just seeming to notice Virgil standing there, which is rather ridiculous given how tall Virgil is. He’s difficult to miss.

  Virgil takes the prompt and steps forward, extending a hand. Once polite introductions are made, Adelia manages to get us all excused to head upstairs. A servant sees Virgil and his luggage off to another guest room, and James slips into my room right behind me.

  No sooner are we alone and I’ve undone my tie than James steps up behind me, arms around my middle and face tucked against my throat. “Hello, pretty.”

  Normally, such an affectionate gesture would serve to calm me. And I do lean into it for a moment, but I feel I’m about to crawl out of my skin and I cannot for the life of me get comfortable. I make a soft noise, reaching back to touch my fingers to his jaw before I slip free from his grasp to begin undressing for bed. “I imagine tomorrow will be another long day.”

  “Undoubtedly.” From the periphery of my gaze, I spot him reaching into his pocket.

  Damn it all, I can’t help it; the moment I realise what he’s reaching for, my posture straightens and relief edges in to stamp down my nervousness. I abandon my shirt and waistcoat upon the settee and turn to him. The smile he gives me along with my medicine is sympathetic.

  “Better?”

  A tricky question, isn’t it? A nagging sense of shame goes down right along with the laudanum. I duck my head to rest it against James’ shoulder. “Yes, thank you.”

  His fingers slide through my hair, reassuring. “Just remember, once this is over… Holiday.”

  “Holiday,” I repeat with a sigh, shoulders slumping beneath that gentle petting. Spending a week or two alone with James in some French villa? That sounds heavenly. “You should go and get some rest, darling.”

  “Yes, sir.” He ducks his head to steal a warm, sweet kiss from me before he takes his leave. As much as I would like him to stay until I fall asleep, I know myself enough to be well aware that I’ll not be sleeping for a bit yet.

  For now, it’s simply a waiting game for the laudanum to take hold and to banish this insufferable restless itching in my bones.

  I’m up as early as I ever am but remain in bed, lethargic and unwilling to rise just yet. Habit has me reaching to the empty spot beside me, aching for James’ familiar, snoring figure to be sprawled out all over three quarters of the bed, and heave a sigh when, of course, he isn’t there.

  I almost debate going back to sleep when a knock at the door makes me pause. I don’t think James would knock, so I drag myself slowly up to sitting, shoving a hand through my hair. “One moment.”

  “It’s just me,” Virgil calls.

  Ah. Yes, I’d forgotten he was here. If it’s just him, though, I’ll slouch back against the pillows. “Come in.”

  Virgil lets himself in, already tidily dressed for the day, which almost makes me laugh. That’s usually me, isn’t it? As much as I hate mornings, I’m typically up and dressed early unless James sweet-talks me into remaining in bed. I don’t know what’s got into me the last few months that maintaining my schedule has grown so difficult.

  “Good morning, Virgil. Sleep well?”

  “Better than I have in ages, actually.” Virgil surveys my room, although I suspect it looks just like his, and he has a seat only once I’ve beckoned to the chair near the window. “Home is much draughtier than this. Not to mention the quality of the beds is much nicer.”

  I contemplate teasing him about the company being better, too, but decide against it. I won’t pretend to know if Virgil’s apparent interest in Adelia is anything more than two like-minds seeking companionship or if it’s something more, and I’ll not make him self-conscious over it, either. “Speaking of home… Shouldn’t you be busy with school right now?”

  Virgil’s expression falls flat, unreadable, though his eyes drop, and he plucks at the arm of the chair. “I’m no longer attending medical school.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “It’s a long story.” He sighs when I only watch him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate. “Do you have any idea how many students there are studying in the medical field and anatomy these days?”

  “I…cannot say I do, no.”

  “Well, there are a lot. Enough that there aren’t enough bodies to go around for studying. Of course, the larger schools can afford the higher costs and get first pick of cadavers, and so my school often went without. I can’t count how many days I attended class and all we had were old Greek texts and diagrams to look over. Performing necropsies on dogs and pigs is no substitute for the real thing.”

  I shudder a little at the thought. Virgil has a much stronger stomach than I do. “And post-mortems are what you’ve found yourself interested in?”

  He shakes his head. “What father does as a physician is important, don’t get me wrong. But he’s not a surgeon, and the medical field is changing. Rapidly. I’ve no interest in prescribing medicine and herbs for ailments that I’d be better served studying myself to find new, improved cures for.”

  “So, you felt school was wasting your time, in other words. Fair enough. But what are you doing now?”

  His fingers still, a muscle twitching in his jaw from clenching his teeth. “I met a surgeon that has taken me under their wing. We are…studying on our own.”

  Peculiar. If his school can’t secure bodies for scientific purposes, then how in the world would Virgil be doing it on his—

  Oh.

  Oh.

  I damned near lurch out of bed, eyes wide. “Virgil, please tell me you haven’t got yourself mixed up in body-snatching.”

  His face colours. “Keep your voice down. And no, I haven’t. I mean, not—not exactly.” He runs his hands over his face. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m listening. Intently.”

  I’ve never seen Virgil look so uncomfortable in a situation, shoulders hunched, face flushed, mouth downturned. “I’m not doing any body-snatching. However, the bodies brought to me—well. I don’t always know where they come from.”

  “Bloody hell, Virgil! You do know how much trouble you’ll be in if you get caught?”

  “Please. It’s not as though the schools are procuring bodies by entirely legal means, either. And you’re hardly one to lecture me about things that could get me in trouble.”

  Reflex has me quickly spitting back, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” It earns me a most unimpressed look and sets a nervous fire in my belly.

  Virgil knows about James and me. Of course he does. Unspoken, but there. After Whisperwood, there was no way he, Prichard, and Alexander could not have known, especially when we proceeded to live and work together post-graduation.

  It does not mean Virgil and I have ever spoken of it. I wouldn’t even begin to know how to or where to begin. I’m ashamed of many things in my life and myself, but my love for James is not one of them. No, my reflex to remain so tight-lipped stems from the desperate desire to protect James. To protect us. An unfair thing, perhaps, to presume Virgil would
ever turn us out for our relationship, but it’s not something I’ve wanted to risk.

  Now I feel rather silly when he’s staring at me like that, with a flat expression that clearly reads, Really, William? “You needn’t insult my intelligence. As an aside, I meant to inquire in one of my letters and couldn’t figure out how to word it, but…”

  “But?”

  He taps his fingers against the arm of the chair. “Your laudanum use.”

  Ah. Hell.

  “What of it?”

  “You are still using it, aren’t you?”

  There’s no sense in lying; I wouldn’t put it past him to have already asked James about it anyway. Still, I stamp down the immediate surge of defensiveness the topic stirs within me. “You know I am.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “And…? Are you maintaining it well enough?”

  There’s a dangerous question if I ever heard one. How do I begin to answer it? I’m trying? Some days, I feel I’m managing it quite well. Other days, I find myself silently begging James to let his guard down, just for a bit, so I might sneak an extra dose when he isn’t looking. The immediate swell of shame makes me look away from Virgil. “I’m doing fine. Thank you for your concern.”

  That raised brow morphs into a frown, as though he knows I’m lying and just exactly how much I’m lying about. “William…”

  “I’m doing my best. What more do you want me to say? James doles out my medication and I’ve not bought any on my own.”

  “I recall one of your letters from your fourth year saying you were attempting to quit completely. I don’t believe you ever told me what happened with that.”

  “Because I hadn’t thought it anyone’s business.” The venom in my voice makes me wince. I don’t mean to lash out, I don’t mean to dismiss his care so flippantly, but the words press against the inside of my ribs, desperate to drive him as far away from this topic as possible.

  Not that his expression reflects if any of this is bothering him or not. Save for a brief tick at the corner of his mouth that might be akin to a sympathetic smile, his face remains unchanged. “If you’re struggling with this again…”