She rose from the bed, laced on her boots, and walked softly across the floor to collect her wrap. The night air would be damp and the wrap would come in handy for concealment. Once again she placed Billy’s knife in her pocket. There was nothing else she wished to take with her.
She crept down the stairs, avoiding the creaky step third from the bottom. Letting herself out the side door, she walked south, past Summerfield Hall … only to find herself staring at an empty patch of grass.
The bicycle was gone.
“Damnation,” she muttered.
It would take nearly half an hour to walk to Castle End, and she would have to make her way along the Backs, which she knew were dark and sinister at night. It was bad enough on a bicycle. And yet she had no choice. Eliot could come for her tomorrow.
The night sky was cloudy, but the faint gas lamps gave off just enough light. When a horse approached or a group of men walked in her direction, she stepped into the shadows. Fortunately, few people were on the road this late at night, and those she did encounter took little notice of a small figure wrapped in a shawl, walking in the shadows and doing her best to keep invisible.
More people—men and ragged boys—milled about the cottages on Castle End, muttering and laughing in clusters. She kept her head down and her pace lively. When a boy called out to her, she continued as if she hadn’t heard him.
Tec’s door was shut but not bolted. She swung the door open and breathed in the fumes of bacon and boiled cod. A lamp and matches stood on a table near the door. Once the flame was lit, she looked about the room. The view did not reassure. Fish-and-chips wrappers, greasy and cold, lay strewn about the floor. Quilts that in the past would have been neatly folded in a corner had been left in rumpled piles near the stove. Tec’s wool cap, always on the nail by the door when he was home, was gone.
It looked more like a stranger had been squatting in the cottage. Tec usually kept his living space orderly, if not entirely clean. Perhaps something was wrong with him. For whatever reason, he would have to be terribly distracted to allow this disorder. Someone had been in the cottage recently—there were hot coals in the stove. Perhaps if she waited he eventually would come home.
She went to the table and checked the drawer. The bundle of tools still lay there exactly as she’d left them. She looked around the room again before shoving the bundle into her free pocket. It hung awkwardly at her side, overbalancing the pocket with the knife.
She wasn’t stealing. She was merely keeping the tools safe until Tec was in his right mind.
Kate glanced at the chair near the stove, where Elsie had the vision of Billy. After a moment she stepped toward the chair and eased herself into it. Could it be possible to fall to that other realm like Elsie? Would she hear Billy’s voice? She sat tensely, opening her mind to the possibility.
Nothing happened.
She slumped in the chair. Poor Billy, clever enough to launch a blackmail scheme but still too much of a child to carry it out safely. If only he’d told her more about it, she might have stopped him.
She tried to remember the details Elsie had given. Billy found some papers, and they gave him an idea for a scheme. They must have been incriminating in some way, or why else take them? He’d hidden them, but hadn’t said where.
Billy didn’t have a home. He didn’t have a permanent place to kip other than Tec’s house.
Could he have hidden those papers here? Tec hadn’t mentioned it, but then again, Billy might have kept it from him. He’d promised to share the proceeds with Kate—no one else. Her gaze moved from the ragged quilts on the floor to the sooty windows. Where would he hide papers so that neither Tec nor the other boys would find them?
She stood and walked about the cottage, imagining possible hidey-holes. The cabinets and larder shelves were rather obvious, but she checked them anyway, to no avail. The walls were bare and smooth—no possible hiding places there. She studied the seams on all the quilts and the undersides of the chairs and table. Plenty of dust and fluff, but no papers. Before she could search the wood floor for loose boards, she had to collect the scattered fish-and-chips wrappers and toss them into the stove. Once the floor was cleared, she walked up and down each board, testing for weak spots. The floor sagged, but the boards were nailed tight. Could Billy have hidden the pages somewhere outdoors? That certainly didn’t seem the ideal way to preserve paper for a blackmail scheme.
She stood at the center of the room and swiveled slowly, trying to view each corner, patch of wall, and piece of furniture as a thief might. Where might a precious thing be well hidden? Her eyes alighted on the blue-and-white vase. The shelf was so high that none of the boys could reach it, and how many times had she heard Tec say that he would thrash anyone who dared touch the vase?
She dragged the chair to the wall and climbed up to retrieve it. Once she’d safely brought it down, she sat and peered inside.
A roll of papers was tucked within.
Taking a breath to calm herself, she pulled out the roll. Then she placed the vase on the floor and spread the papers flat on her lap. The top page had been torn from a journal and was covered in neat handwriting.
We have tried everything—dream manipulation, mesmerism, transcendence through meditation, and when that didn’t work, transcendence through narcotics. Stanton insisted we always test on ourselves—that we should bear the risk—and it killed him. His death was a terrible tragedy, but we learned from his failings. True progress requires a different sort of sacrifice.
The procedure has worked on animals, but it is time to use human subjects. If we don’t make this crucial next step, we may never reach those dark spaces of the mind. I am willing to test on myself—I am willing to die, to be lost to this world forever, just like any explorer on the verge of a breakthrough. But isn’t it only logical to choose lesser subjects—the unwanted, the criminal, the burdens on society—to enhance the process first?
Kate released the papers, gasping as they snapped back into their roll and fell to the floor. “Billy, how could you be such a fool?” Tears sprang to her eyes. “You never had a chance.”
Chapter 28
Simon’s kiss was soft at first, gentle and hesitant, but when Elsie pressed the full length of her body against his, he moaned. The kiss deepened, stealing her breath as it warmed her flesh. Then he was lifting her in his arms and laying her on the bed.
Her pulse was throbbing, but she was not afraid. She was adept at letting her body do the thinking. Her mind had given its permission already, for she knew Simon would not abandon her after such intimacy—not like the artist. Simon was a man of means and would take her to the Continent with him. They would be together always, and she need never see her parents again.
He kissed her neck, his hand sliding down her arm, and she arched her back. With one hand she stroked his hair, but the other guided his fingers to the buttons on her blouse. He worked to undo them, his progress made agonizingly slow by the fact that he used only one hand. She trembled as each button popped free.
She’d worn no corset. When his hand slipped under her chemise, it found bare skin. She gasped, and their eyes met. Then his head ducked, and his lips were on her flesh.
Their movements blurred together. His hand tugged her skirt up to her waist and slid underneath. Her hand reached for the clasp on his trousers. Her body was warm and liquid, aching with need.
“I love you, Simon,” she whispered.
He froze above her, his mouth hanging open as he panted for air. Then he crumpled on top of her, gasping into her neck. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall.
“It’s not fair to you.”
Elsie bit her lip. “I’ve been too forward.”
“No, it’s not that. You are kind and beautiful. It’s just …” He trailed off, still unable to meet her eyes.
“It’s just what?”
“I still think of her.”
“Oh God,” she
gasped. “The one who died?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “She still haunts me, even after all this time. I can’t do this.”
When she reached for him, he flinched. She let her hand drop.
“It’s as if she’s watching me,” he said. “Is she, Elsie?”
“She’s not.” As she said the words, she realized they were true. She hadn’t felt the tingle or seen the aura. The lady had never been to this house.
“Of course,” he said, frowning. “It’s my own guilt that makes me feel that way.” He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling the braces over his shoulders.
“Guilt?”
“She was the wife of a friend. Part of me feels responsible for what happened to her.”
Elsie fumbled at the buttons of her blouse, tears pricking her eyes. He stood and moved toward the lamp, averting his gaze as she arranged herself with shaking hands.
“I must go,” she murmured, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.
“Not yet,” he said. “Could we … could you possibly contact her?”
She drew back. “How could you ask that?”
He shook his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. But she seems to slip further from me with each passing day. Perhaps another time. Let me walk you back, Elsie.”
“I came on my aunt’s bicycle.”
“Well, let me make you a cup of tea before you go. I can’t let you walk away just like that.”
She stared up at him. “I can’t stay here.”
His eyes softened. “You shouldn’t leave in such a state.”
“And why shouldn’t I be in a state?” she demanded, cringing even as the words came out. “I’ve made a fool of myself. You were just using me!”
She pushed past him and ran down the hallway, clutching the banister as she stumbled down the stairs.
He was close on her heels. At the foot of the stairs, he caught her arm. “Elsie, please don’t … please calm yourself. I am leaving in less than a week. My passage is booked, plans are made. I shouldn’t have taken advantage like I did. I never should have kissed you by the river.” She flinched as he pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
She jerked her arm away and, pulling her cloak off the settee, made for the door.
No looking back.
Elsie ran for the bike, clutching the handles and pushing it down the hill into the darkness so he wouldn’t see the spectacle of her hitching her skirt and climbing on.
Her head ached and tears blinded her vision. She blinked them away, pedaling wildly until the sobs racked her body. Braking abruptly, she stepped off the bicycle and tipped it onto the grass before falling to her knees.
The dose was what she needed.
The dark oblivion of the dose.
Kate was sitting in the chair, lost in thought, when the door opened. Tec paused in the doorway, staring at her. She smoothed her skirt and smiled tentatively. His face was curiously expressionless, yet she felt his anger. Literally felt it, as though she stood too close to a raging fire.
“Tec, don’t be angry. I know it’s dangerous for me to be here.”
He continued to stare.
Kate swallowed nervously. “But everything’s gone wrong, and I’ve come to beg you to leave Cambridge.” She paused, then added softly, “And to please take me with you.”
He held her gaze, still silent.
“Think about it. We could start a new scheme together, working for another medium. Or, or …” She paused, her mind racing. “Or I could work up an act as a medium. After all those years with Martineau, I know exactly what to do.”
He frowned. Then he stepped toward her and knelt to pick up the roll of papers.
“Billy stole those during a detecting job for Martineau,” Kate said. “He hid them here and tried to blackmail the man, but ended up getting himself killed. You were right—it’s too dangerous to stay here any longer. Come to London with me. We can leave first thing in the morning.”
Tec crumpled the papers in his hand, and in one swift movement opened the door to the stove and shoved them inside. The sudden violence of the gesture left her speechless. Smoke billowed, giving way to flames as he shut the door again. He straightened, staring down at her with the same blank expression as before.
Kate cleared her throat. “We might have used those papers, but I suppose it’s safer to destroy them if we’re off to London.” She stood and smoothed her skirt. “You will come with me, won’t you?”
His head tilted oddly. He raised a hand, and she leaned in slightly, thinking he might touch her cheek. Instead he shoved her hard. She fell backward onto the rough wooden floor, the impact so jarring that she bit her lip. She stared up at him, the taste of blood bitter in her mouth.
“Tec, what in God’s name—”
He stepped toward her, the emptiness in his eyes more menacing than rage. She scrambled backward, then flipped over and pushed herself to her feet. She’d barely cleared the doorway when he slammed the door shut. She heard the bolt slide into place, locking her out.
Kate staggered down the street, her mind reeling. Tec was a gentle boy. He cared about her. He could never hurt her.
And yet he had. A sudden, vicious blow from Tec? How could such a transformation be possible? His eyes were vacant as death, but his hands were cruel. Once more the tears welled as she patted her bitten lip. Her sleeve came away marked with blood.
When she finally made it through the back gate at Summerfield she saw the bicycle standing close to its usual place outside the Gatehouse. Who could have taken it out this late at night? Not Mrs. Thompson—surely that was impossible. Kate approached it slowly, considering. And then she knew.
Elsie.
The girl had asked about her nighttime ventures, but Kate hadn’t thought she’d actually make use of the information. Where could she possibly have gone?
Kate unlaced her boots and carried them as she padded up the staircase, pausing on the first floor to listen for any disturbance. All seemed clear.
On the second floor she made straight for Elsie’s room and knocked lightly on the door.
No answer.
She tried the handle and found it unlocked. Opening the door a few inches, she peered inside … into darkness.
“Elsie?”
A sludgy sniffle was the only response.
“Elsie, I have to tell you something—are you awake?”
“Don’t turn on the light,” a small voice said.
Kate rolled her eyes in the darkness. “Fine. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Wait!” The sniffle came again. “Don’t leave.”
The back of Kate’s neck prickled. She set her boots down and felt around for the study lamp that usually rested on the desk. “Sit tight while I light this.” Once she got the flame going, she replaced the shade. The soft glow illuminated the room, revealing Elsie curled up on her bed. Her face was wet, her eyes and nose dripping.
Kate stood awkwardly, staring at the girl. “What’s wrong?”
Elsie glanced at the bedside table. An open bottle of Chlorodyne sat there. Kate stepped forward and reached for it. She didn’t have to shake the bottle to know it was empty. This was familiar … all too familiar.
“Elsie, what have you done?”
“I think …” The girl licked her lips and swallowed before continuing. “I might have done something very foolish.”
Chapter 29
Asher’s head spun from too much wine and restless thoughts. He’d managed an hour of slumber, but it had been cruelly punctuated by dreams of limbs covered in electrodes, jerking and flailing … then smoldering, blistering. He could almost smell the singed flesh in the air when he woke. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to push the images away. The room was stifling, and the smell of his own sweat was overpowering.
He’d wished to depart from Dr. Marshall’s company directly after that alarming visit to the hospital, but the man had invited him to dine with the other Trinity
Fellows. It would have been rude—and possibly even suspicious—to refuse. Throughout the seemingly endless meal at High Table he’d avoided Marshall’s gaze. He’d sat there, stiff and grim in his boiled shirt and tie, nearly choking on his words whenever Marshall’s colleagues tried to engage him in conversation. All the while he’d been preoccupied with wondering. Could Billy have been a part of Marshall’s research?
Billy had been tortured, and somehow electricity was involved. At least one other person had died before him—an old vagrant, wasn’t it? Had anyone observed the same burn marks on the vagrant’s body that he and Kate had seen on Billy’s? Dr. Spring had said you could apply electricity to the heart, that it had, in fact, been applied to dogs. But what was the purpose?
He shook his head. He couldn’t pull it all together into a theory that made sense and encompassed all the data. Dr. Marshall’s research centered on the untapped potential of the human brain, while his daily work at the hospital focused on electrotherapy. How did the two fit together?
In his detective work, Billy had found information that he used to blackmail his killer. Perhaps someone had tortured him in order to find out what he knew. Or had torture never been the goal? Asher shuddered. Perhaps the electric shock had been merely the most expedient way to silence him. What secrets had the boy been hiding?
Kate might know.
If she didn’t … Elsie could ask Billy.
Kate raced down the stairs as quietly as she could, all the way to the small basement kitchen.
She’s still conscious, still awake. There’s a chance.
I couldn’t save Mum, but I can save her.
In the dim light of the oil lamp, she fumbled through cabinets until she found the medicine store. After scrutinizing a seemingly endless array of remedies—cod liver oil, dyspepsia powders, paregorics—she finally found what she wanted. Kate plucked the bottle from the shelf and ran back up the stairs, sliding in her stocking feet on each landing.
She’d been gone the lesser part of ten minutes, but already Elsie looked worse. Her head now slumped against the wall, and her color was unnatural. Kate set the bottle on the bedside table, then hefted the porcelain basin from the washstand and placed it on the floor. She sat on the bed and pulled Elsie near. The girl was taller and better fed than she was, not to mention heavy with sleep, and Kate struggled to pull her into a half embrace.
The Dark Between Page 21
