For the Earl's Pleasure

by Anne Mallory

  The man who had been guarding him all this time must have been one of the ones that had been summoned.

  He stumbled through the hall and into another doorway and saw a man working on a body. The shock of blond hair on the pillow stopped him cold.

  The man leaning over the body moved slightly and Valerian could see Templing’s face. He looked completely awful. Barely alive—if he even was. The man raised a surgical knife and Valerian gripped a shovel standing at guard near the door—for cleaning up afterward, no doubt—stumbled forward, and swung it up and into the man’s head. The man fell on top of Templing and the knife skittered across the floor.

  Valerian reached down, wincing, and touched Templing. He was cold, but there was a faint heart beat at his throat. Valerian unlatched his cuffs.

  Another scream sounded and Valerian’s head whipped up. He would come back for his friend.

  He leaned down and grabbed the surgical knife from the floor using the shovel as a crutch, then straightened as fully as he could—more of a hunched-over position than anything else and shuffled back. He was almost near the door when he saw it. Two pistols in a case to the side.

  A twist of the knife in the lock broke both, but he didn’t care. He lifted the pistols, the weight like a dozen bricks in his hands. His eyesight would have to do if he needed to shoot someone down one of those long halls. As long as it wasn’t Abigail, he didn’t particularly care who he shot at the moment.

  He loaded the pistols as quickly as he could with the supplies from the case and then restarted his trek.

  Off to find Abigail. Off to end this madness.

  Off to save the one good thing he had left.

  “Sir Walter. How fortuitous that you come to be here. This building needs closing immediately. I believe that the reformers would have a fit should they see the state this jail-masquerading-as-a-hospital is in.”

  Sir Walter smiled faintly. “Very good, Miss Smart, but I do not doubt your intelligence.”

  She bit her lip. “Why?”

  “Why what, Miss Smart? Do I not doubt your intelligence?” He strayed more firmly into the light, waving the other men back. They reluctantly did so. “I have studied you too long to doubt your intelligence. So perhaps instead you are asking, why am I here?”

  “All of your talk of gently helping others.” She pointed toward the hall filled with beds that she had passed through, the moans and an occasional scream still echoing through the halls. “Congratulations. You have duped us all. What a disappointment.”

  “Oh, no, Miss Smart.” He walked forward, holding his hands out in an appealing gesture. She backed up a step, the wall at her back. “I seek to help everyone. Only by true experimentation can we glean results.”

  “So you are using those poor souls to do your experiments? To gain your exalted knowledge into the mind of man?”

  “Poor specimens now, but they served the greater good. I started out with the derelicts, the deranged upon the streets. But I found in time that I needed something a little more. People from other levels of the social masses.”

  “So you picked Lord Rainewood?”

  “Ah, yes.” He looked her over. “Lord Rainewood. A more advanced experiment, if you will.”

  “He is betrothed to your daughter.”

  An emotion other than gentle calm stole across Sir Walter’s face for the first time. “Is he?”

  “The ball—”

  “Ah, the ball. Did you know, Miss Smart, that Lord Rainewood has put off the betrothal for two years? Two years that my dear Celeste has been waiting. A diamond on display, losing her shine a month at a time.”

  Abigail blinked.

  “I couldn’t understand it. Who wouldn’t want my beautiful daughter?” He tapped his walking stick. “And then I saw him with you. And I knew.”

  “I’m sure you are mistaken,” she said as calmly as she could. “But if you believed that, why not just find another suitor who was more ready to marry?”

  “No. The Palmbury heir is the richest prize in the ton. And furthermore, once married into the family, the connection becomes untouchable.”

  A strange feeling overcame her. “You are afraid you are on the list.”

  “Very good, Miss Smart. I told you that I didn’t doubt your intelligence. I looked into your past and found out everything I could about you. Fascinating.”

  He tapped his cane again. “I realized I could kill two birds with one perfect throw. Taking care of Lord Rainewood solved all of my problems. A purebred subject to study. A new heir to the dukedom and husband to Celeste in Lord Basil. And best of all, he brought you to me.”

  She couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Oh, yes. You were the richest prize in that sense. The driving force. A chance to study you.” He stepped toward her. “Dr. Myers was kind enough years ago, over a bottle of wine, to tell me the tale of a girl who could see spirits. I had to meet you, of course.”

  Stars built in the back of her eyes. She blinked, stumbled, tried to keep herself upright.

  “I am a patient man, Miss Smart. A man interested in humans and science—a man who began with similar origins to you—needs to be in order to succeed as I have. I simply had to set the right course and let things fall into place.”

  “No.”

  “But yes. Someone who could see spirits! Why the possibilities were endless. Imagine, being able to peer into the afterlife? To speak with them. To finally understand the answers to questions that never have answers. To use for, well, anything. To become anyone. Just as your mother did.”

  “The spirit world is not as scientifically sound as you make it, Sir Walter, nor as interesting.”

  “Ah, but I need to know.” He smiled. “And you are my link. I’ve had to do my share of interfering in order to get you where I wanted you. Alas, that you have such a stubborn streak. And Lord Rainewood made things difficult.”

  “So you, you picked Lord Rainewood because of me?” She could barely get the words out, horror icing her veins.

  “His link to you was one I wished to explore, and have in a most fascinating fashion.” He looked from her to a few feet to her side. “I assume that he is here in some form, guiding you.”

  She said nothing.

  “And then there were the other reasons that I stated. Lord Basil will make a much more malleable husband. Celeste has her eye on Lord Rainewood, alas, but she will adapt.”

  “And Mr. Templing?”

  “The wrong place at the wrong time, I’m afraid, for Mr. Templing. He has been quite useful in my studies. I hadn’t expected him. My men gathered both after Mr. Brockwell did his job.”

  “Phillip is in on your scheme?”

  “Oh, heavens no. Just easily influenced. A few harmless phrases untraceable back to me—so easy to make others think ideas are their own—and he took to finding the list like a duck to water. Probably best though for him that he didn’t find it.”

  He smiled. “So many people after that one piece of paper. Your friend Mr. Penshard. If he follows in his father’s madness, perhaps I will study him someday as well. An associate of mine took on his father’s case. A fine man, Gregory, if a bit hotheaded. I would have encouraged his suit of you if I thought I could have gained access to you that way, but he is too strong willed. I would have had to use his father against him in order to control you, and unfortunately Mr. Penshard tends to think on his own.”

  Something else snapped into place. “Mrs. Browning.”

  “Ah yes, a dear, distantly related cousin. But then we are all somewhat related in society, sometimes it seems. Mrs. Browning took your case at my behest.”

  That explained so much that if the rest of what he said wasn’t so incredibly mad, she would wonder why she hadn’t thought about someone putting Mrs. Browning up to the task before.

  “How do you think to just cover our disappearances? I assume poor Mr. Campbell was also your doing?”

  “A joint venture. Mr. Campbell owes a lot of money. I was simply tak
ing the opportunity to help his creditor while also purchasing myself another useful specimen.”

  “And you’d just, what? Let the ton shrink down one by one to nothing due to your tests? What about when you want to reveal whatever knowledge these tests have gained you?”

  “Ah yes. The dilemma. But I am a man who is dedicated to the sciences. To the study of humanity. I will give up my fame in order to bring about advances for society. I will gain other advantages through the links to the other side I find through you. I do not fret that anyone will truly care about the fate of the lordling and his scathing friend in a year. In fact, it will make for delicious gossip—stirring the pot, helping the others retain their need for scandal. Our society thrives on it. We will continue to flourish, even if I need to sate my urge to pick a few test subjects from the edges.”

  “But Phillip…”

  “Ah yes, a simple matter of human motivation, as I said. I merely planted a few well-placed suggestions to dear Mr. Brockwell, and he took matters into his own hands. Delightful. I have made sure he will be rewarded. And he doesn’t even know it. Truly a successful experiment.”

  “You are horrible. He will live with the guilt.”

  “I’m sure he will get by it in time. I will study him most judiciously while he does. He is interested in Miss Penshard and I will encourage the match.” He smiled. “I am not an evil man, Miss Smart.”

  “No?” She looked around the room.

  “No. You will be well kept. I will study you, of course. Find out how this delightful world of spirits works.” He looked eager. “Dr. Myers has explained much, but he can’t tell me the specifics, the hows and whys.”

  “Did he tell you that he tried to rid me of my ability?”

  “I told him under no circumstances would that be allowed.”

  “Oh?” The thought that even if she didn’t survive, she could make Myers regret his own part as well was too keen. “He tried to rid me of it just a day past.” Sir Walter’s eyes narrowed. “Methinks you need to have a talk with your friend. He doesn’t much sound like he is following your orders.”

  “I see. Thank you, Miss Smart.”

  “And if I lose the ability?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “It would be unfortunate, but a dissection might help to understand the root cause. There would still be some good to come.”

  She opened her mouth, but nothing emerged. Her breath too caught in her throat.

  A loud thud sounded and two of the men fell to the ground.

  “I think not.” Valerian limped around the corner carrying a shovel and two pistols.

  “Ah, Lord Rainewood. So good of you to join us,” Sir Walter said calmly.

  Valerian stared at him for a long moment. Then he raised one of the pistols in his hand.

  “Are you going to shoot me, Lord Rainewood?” Sir Walter asked, as if this too were a social experiment he was conducting.

  Valerian took aim and fired. Abigail gasped as Evans went down with a ball firmly embedded in his leg. “That was for what you almost did to Abigail. Don’t make me shoot higher.”

  Sir Walter watched his lackey writhe in pain. “A most inauspicious beginning. Are you going to shoot me now, Lord Rainewood?”

  “I haven’t decided.” Valerian cocked his head. “I’d like to choose the most painful method of dispatching you.”

  The other pistol didn’t waver, even though he had to prop himself up against the wall with his hip.

  “I was thinking that trying you in the courts—creating a public ordeal that the masses could gobble in order to stir their need for scandal—might be just the method.”

  Sir Walter watched him. “Touché, Lord Rainewood. You think they would believe you over me?”

  “Are you trying to convince me to put a bullet in you instead? I am amenable to that solution.”

  “Surely a man of your standing can see a more beneficial trade?”

  “Can I? I thought I heard something about how useless I was. Surely you can’t want to do business with someone as worthless as I?”

  Sir Walter smiled slightly. “You always did have potential. Wasted potential, but potential nevertheless.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Your brother dying squashed that potential. I wonder if we could have resurrected it? Had I thought about taking you under my wing earlier…but your father is a determined man.”

  “Stop speaking,” Valerian said calmly, though his eyes were angry.

  “Ah, but conversation is truly the vehicle we use to understand.”

  Valerian watched Evans push himself back against the wall, still writhing. He kept his pistol steady and trained. “I don’t seek to understand you, Malcolm. I couldn’t care less about you. All I want is for you to pay for your crimes. For what you did to Abigail.”

  “Ah! Marvelous.” He looked between them. “Once I let go of my need for you as the duke’s heir, the pair of you truly became a delight to watch.”

  “And you are becoming irritating.” Valerian motioned with the pistol. “Get moving.”

  “To the courts, then? I should think this should prove a most interesting trial should you actually make it out of the building.”

  Valerian’s eyes narrowed on the man.

  “Valerian—”

  “I know, Abigail. I won’t shoot him yet.” He raised his voice. “Unless he does something to you, then I will shoot off body parts at will.”

  They began walking down the hall, and some of the patients quieted as Sir Walter passed. Terrified.

  He walked steadily in front of them, with a certainty that bespoke confidence that he would overcome.

  Pounding footsteps came from below. Reinforcements. And not ones for their side.

  Abigail was just thinking on how they were going to figure a way out of this mire when one of the patients suddenly lunged up with a yell and plunged a pair of surgical scissors into Sir Walter’s back. The patient tumbled from the bed and lay still upon the floor.

  All cries ceased for an eerie moment, and then another patient—one who had looked comatose-vaulted from bed with a war cry and undid the straps of the man next to him. And the man after that. Bedlam reigned as the cries started again, in increased intensity as one man after another was freed. They ran in all directions, a good number rushing the men who had appeared down the hall to help Sir Walter.

  Sir Walter’s eyes were disbelieving. He reached behind him and felt the protruding steel. Valerian pulled Abigail back.

  “Well, I hadn’t quite accounted for that.” He said it so calmly, that for a second she didn’t think he was truly hurt. He looked at her, head tipped, eyes calm. “Do not tell Celeste.”

  Then he tipped forward and fell to the floor in a heap, the large metal handles appearing on an island of spreading red across the cloth at his back.

  The action seemed to take the wind right from Valerian’s sails. She reached for him as he began to collapse. She got her hands beneath his armpits and nearly buckled under his weight, even as thin as he’d become.

  She gripped the pistol in one hand and looked around as well as she could while trying to balance him. “Valerian. I need you to help me get you outside. Just a little ways more. We don’t know who is still here inside.”

  She half dragged, half helped him down the hall of crazed patients, some of whom were fighting the men, the other portion doing insane things like crawling on the beds, or rubbing the walls. She somehow steered Valerian through the madness, down the stairs, and into the street. Luckily no one followed them out, though she kept the pistol cocked and ready.

  She hailed the waiting hack as soon as she was near enough for the driver to see. He jumped from his perch and helped her load Valerian inside.

  The carriage started to move and fingers touched her face—real fingers, firm and gorgeous. “Abby, I 1—” The fingers slipped from her skin and dropped to the floor.

  She panicked for a moment before she found his pulse, strong beneath her fingers. She
breathed a sigh of relief and held back the tears that threatened.

  Ten minutes later she ascended the walk and knocked on Stagen’s door.

  Chapter 23

  Abigail strode into the ribbon store, Telly lurking behind her. Telly had been acting strangely for the last few days. But then, everyone in the household had. Mrs. Browning had made quite a scene when Abigail had informed the woman that her services would no longer be required.

  Her mother hadn’t said anything in the negative, allowing Abigail to handle it. A tentative salvo in their blooming relationship. Abigail just hoped it continued.

  She could barely see the outlines of four spirit women chatting in the corner. They were all vague shapes now. Even Aunt Effie was a mere shimmer.

  Valerian had been holed up in his home, recuperating under strict orders from the duke, and Templing had been rescued and was recovering as well. The ton had been talking nonstop about both men and about poor Sir Walter who had been in a tragic carriage accident. Gossip was ripe with what would happen to the betrothal.

  She desperately wanted to speak with Valerian about Sir Walter and what had happened in the asylum. To apologize for putting him in that situation because of her. But every time she had sent a note it had come back unopened.

  All of her fears reared. Did he blame her? Had he reverted back to the old Valerian? The one who wanted nothing to do with her other than as a taunting target? What if the man he had been as a spirit was as fake and fleeting as the spirits who now flickered in and out of her vision?

  Two society women entered the shop and Abigail ducked her head, her bonnet hiding her face. She didn’t feel like chatting with anyone at the moment. It was likely to be all talk about Valerian and what would happen with his betrothal. The two women walked to the basket of ribbons a few down from where she stood.

  “Have you heard?”

  “It’s delicious.”

  “The Smarts aren’t really the Smarts after all. Fakes, pretenders, common bourgeoisie.” The last was said with the relish of a light French accent.

  Abigail froze, her hand clutching the black-and-white striped ribbon in her hand.