“I only wanted to know if what they said was true,” Ainsley said.
“What business is it of theirs whether or not I came from an orphanage?” Julia’s voice became loud, a stark contrast to the sheer quiet of the house.
Ainsley looked to the second-floor landing above them, half-expecting Margaret to come to see what the fuss was about. When he looked back to Julia she was gone. He could hear the sounds of her shoes on the floor as she made her way down the hall to the back of the house.
“Wait!” Ainsley went after her, quickening his pace when he saw how determined she was to get away. He couldn’t let her leave crying. He wasn’t sure what to say to her but he could not have her crying on his account.
He caught up to her in the tight hallway that would lead to the kitchens. He grabbed her arm to force her to look at him. “Julia, I’m sorry.” She tried to push him away, the tears coming forcefully, but he held on to her, unwilling to be scared off. His coat fell into a heap on the floor amidst the ruckus.
“Let go of me,” she said. “I will pack my things and leave in the morning,” she said sternly, as she gave one last heave to pull herself away. Ainsley stepped back, his hands held aloft, signalling his concession.
Julia hung her head, pushing back one last tear. She gathered up his coat and turned to walk down the stairs.
“Please don’t leave,” Ainsley begged. “Margaret would never forgive me.”
Julia stopped just before the stairs. The irony had not been lost on him. Not six months before she had slapped him across the face in that very hall and now he was begging her not to go.
“She loves you,” he said, stepping toward her. “I—” He reached for her hand and pulled her back toward him. For a long while they stared at each other, an evident passion between them held at bay by their opposing duties.
Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers. She lingered for the briefest of moments, returning his kiss, before he felt her hand on his upper arm, bidding him to stop. Begrudgingly, he released her but did not back away. He nudged her cheek with his and relished the feeling of her eyelashes fluttering over his skin.
The hand that had pushed him away slightly now clung to him as if forcing him to stay.
“Don’t go,” he whispered, pushing a loose strand of hair away from her face.
Julia nodded and looked up, her eyes searching his face in the failing light. She kissed him then, holding him tightly before wrapping her arms around his neck. Ainsley placed his hand on her hips as she straightened her body and then he wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned into him, allowing herself to become lost in his embrace. Eventually, his mouth left her lips and began trailing over her chin to her neck. Slipping even further into his control, Julia’s breathing became heavy and her grasp grew tight as his kiss moved down her neck to her shoulders. Gently, he tugged at her lace collar, testing her willingness to go further.
She exhaled slowly, her warm breath exciting his skin. She made no protest as his arms enveloped her and soon they were both lost in each other, forgetting their argument, the uncomfortable truth of their roles in the family, and the sinister world that lay beyond Marshall House.
Chapter 14
Most ineradicable stains, for showing
(Not interfused!)
“Mr. Marshall, your sister asks if you would join her for breakfast.”
Ainsley sat up in bed, startled by the sound of Cutter’s voice in his room. Panicked, he turned to the other side of his bed, sure that the footman would spot Julia.
The bed was empty and Ainsley was alone.
Ainsley ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly in an attempt to settle his rapidly beating heart.
“Are you all right, Mr. Marshall?” Cutter asked as he walked around Ainsley’s bed, gathering discarded clothing from the night before, saying nothing of their odd placement.
Julia’s absence was typical. Not once had Ainsley awoken with a woman still beside him. They often left, either satisfied or ashamed, but either case having no further need of him. Each arrangement was precisely as Ainsley wished it and yet waking up without Julia at his side stirred up regret in his heart.
Shielding his eyes from the morning sun that slipped in through a break in the drapes, Ainsley nodded. “I’m quite all right,” he answered without thought. “Tell my sister I shall be down momentarily.”
Cutter bowed slightly and left. Ainsley never allowed anyone to help him dress and his father’s valet was so accustomed to Ainsley’s constant refusal he scarcely ever asked anymore.
Ainsley dressed quickly, hoping to find Julia before she started the bulk of her daily duties. But before he could button the length of his shirt he heard footsteps at his door. He turned quickly, hoping it was Julia.
No one was there.
Adjusting his collar, he walked to the door and found it partly open. Ainsley peered into the hall, looking the full width of the house from one corridor to the next, and saw no one. Puzzled, Ainsley looked again and that’s when he saw movement heading down the stairs. It was Julia who had come to speak to him, he knew it, only now she retreated.
Tie in hand, Ainsley darted out into the hall and to the top of the stairs. “Juli—”
There was no one there.
He saw something, he knew he had. Waiting for the sound of a door or footsteps on the floor, Ainsley heard the dead quiet of the house and suddenly the air felt heavy. At the railing on the second- storey landing looking over the foyer, Ainsley put on his tie and adjusted his cuffs.
The floor creaked markedly behind him and he turned with fright. No one had been in the hallway a moment ago and the space was empty. Once again, he looked down both corridors and saw nothing. He had sensed something, though. A presence, as if someone were staring at him at that very moment.
He laughed at how suggestible he had become. How easily he was startled by the slightest noise. How easily he jumped to conclusions. Ainsley returned to his room to finish dressing and even as he walked down the stairs to breakfast he smiled thinking over his folly. He knew such things were possible. He had seen the ghost of a child many times over many days during the previous year. He still hadn’t been able to piece together what he had seen and he reasoned it was better than way, the not knowing. The chances of such an event happening again were scarce, so scarce; in fact, it seemed ludicrous to give credence to the thoughts running through his mind.
Ainsley made his way down the hall and was about to turn into the dining room when the billowing of a skirt caught his eye near the library door. It was unmistakable, as if a woman had been standing in the hall and turned into the library. It was a full skirt, certainly not a type any of the maids would wear.
Unsure of what he had seen, Ainsley approached but found the library empty. He retreated to the hall slowly without taking his eyes from the doorway.
“Peter, why are you standing there staring down the hall?” Margaret asked from her usual seat in the dining room.
Ainsley shook his head, willing himself to forget what he had just seen. He spied Cutter at attention in front of the buffet, and nodded in greeting. It was perhaps a good thing only Margaret and he remained at the house with such a skeleton staff. Without a butler or head housekeeper, the staff would be run off their feet catering to the needs of everyone.
As it was, breakfast was light but Ainsley cared not. Margaret seemed chipper and worked steadily at her plate of food. “Who were you looking for?” she asked as Ainsley took his seat opposite her.
Ainsley shook his head. “No one. I thought I saw something. That is all.”
“Was it Mother?” Margaret’s voice rose gleefully, unaffected by the idea that her brother may confess to having seen their departed mother.
“No,” Ainsley answered with slight hesitation.
Margaret shrugged and continued to spoon out her hardboiled egg. “I only ask because of your propensity to attract spectres.”
Ainsley’s jaw tightened at the mention of i
t. “One dead child hardly befits a propensity,” he answered.
“Well, if you do see her, ask if she believes I am doing the right thing,” she said, her voice somewhat downturned. “I am beginning to second-guess this whole auction thing. Perhaps it is not the right thing to do.”
“Mother would want you to continue,” Ainsley explained. “If only for the children.”
Margaret nodded, her gaze fixated on an upper corner of the room. “Father certainly would not approve.” She turned her focus to her food, snatching another egg from the plate between them.
“Then we are fortunate that Father is not here, at present.”
Margaret smiled. “The invitations have been issued. It’s not as if I can run the span of London retracting them all.”
Ainsley raised his cup of tea to his mouth. “My, Margaret, you are efficient.”
Margaret shrugged. “I had some help. I ran into Bethany Brundell yesterday.”
Ainsley nearly spat out his tea back into his cup. “Bethany?”
Margaret nodded. “She suggested I leave the invites with her since she would be seeing many of the socialites that afternoon at tea. I did not see the harm in it.”
“I suppose you are to tell me Bethany is coming as well,” Ainsley said, letting out a controlled breath.
“Of course.” Margaret pursed her lips, eyeing her brother with a bit of contempt. “I know you two had an issue a while back—”
“An issue?” Ainsley slipped to the edge if his seat. “That woman convinced Mother that we had been promised to each other. She said I wanted to keep it a secret and that’s why I had not told her or Father. Mother nearly had me go through with the blasted thing as well. She did not believe me when I told her we had no such understanding.”
Margaret shook her head. “Could you blame Mother, truly? You had made such a name for yourself as a rake, Mother and I thought Bethany had finally tripped you up and snagged your heart.”
Ainsley almost choked and leaned back in his chair, refusing to touch another morsel of food. “Not that woman, I assure you.”
Violetta entered the room, a carafe of coffee in her hands. Margaret looked over. “Violetta, how is Julia?”
“She’s fine now, ma’am,” Violetta explained, placing the carafe on the buffet table on the far side of the room. “Resting is all.”
“What’s the matter with Julia?” Ainsley asked, unable to hide his anxiety at the thought of her being unwell or, worse, feeling as if his actions had been the cause of it.
“She’s not feeling well, or so I hear,” Margaret explained while surveying the remaining food between them.
Ainsley moved to stand. “Perhaps I should go see if she needs—”
“Oh, Peter, sit. She’s perfectly fine. Just overtired with all my demands with this auction.” Margaret pressed her lips together and looked from Ainsley and then back to the food. She had a look of regret about her, as if ashamed. “I’m told she fell asleep in the foyer last night working on something I assigned to her. I attempted to apologize this morning but she wouldn’t let me in the room.” Margaret squared her shoulders and reached for some fruit. “She said she would just like some time to rest.”
Ainsley felt sorry for his sister and sorrier still that he could not alleviate the sense of responsibility she felt. He could not tell her of Julia’s true whereabouts without jeopardizing the maid’s reputation and position within the staff, not to mention the tarnish it would bring to him were it found out he had been fraternizing with one of the maids. Margaret in particular would never forgive him.
“What do you have planned for today?” Margaret asked, forcibly changing the subject.
Ainsley hesitated to give an answer, his mind still processing feelings of guilt.
“Your case involving the children,” Margaret pressed, “have you and Simms any leads?”
Ainsley shook his head slightly. “Nothing has been pinned down,” he answered.
“Well, you must have your suspicions,” Margaret pressed with a slight laugh. “I’ve never known you to be so quiet on the subject.”
Ainsley could feel a rising tension in his shoulders. It wasn’t the sort of topic he had meant to bring up at the breakfast table. He had little interest in sharing the intricate details of the grisly case. Not that he felt Margaret couldn’t handle it. He knew she had a stronger stomach than most men. The case, however, was unrelenting, creeping alongside him wherever he went and colouring every facet of his life. Each hour that passed he felt his noose of obligation tightening. He and Simms had been working tirelessly on their own portion of the investigation. The sleep he had just awoken from had been his first real night of slumber since Simms first brought him on to the case. Ainsley couldn’t be blamed for wanting a few moments of the morning without incessant reminders of what reality awaited him beyond the house walls.
Ainsley pushed his plate away.
Margaret mustn’t have seen his discomfort. “What are the common threads between them?”
“There are none, only the manner with which they were killed.” His voice became strained and already he felt defeated before the day had begun. He raised his hands to his temples.
“Are they not from the same neighbourhood at least?” she insisted.
“No,” Ainsley snapped. “There is nothing. Not age, nor gender, nor address. They were butchered carelessly and cast aside like rubbish. I have only the answers the bodies themselves provide, nothing more. Perhaps you should apply at the Metropolitan Police. An occupation there may satisfy your meddling.” Ainsley reached for his tea but before he grasped it the remorse hit him.
Too much of his heart had become involved in this case. He worried for Ben and the others in Mrs. Holliwell’s care and feared the Yard would find another before Ainsley and Simms had a chance to hunt the bastard down. All these fears and worries made him impatient and unkind.
Ainsley raised his gaze to apologize but found Margaret had left, his chance evaporated.
Ainsley had never felt more dread than when he left the house that morning. After breakfast he had gone to Margaret’s room and found her not there. He lingered amongst her auction items for a time, hoping to happen upon her or Julia but neither of them came and eventually he was forced to move on. During his half-hour walk to the hospital Ainsley vacillated between being angry with himself for the words he had spoken and chiding Margaret for her insensitive questioning. He knew he was entirely in the wrong, and wished he’d had the opportunity to express as much to her before he left.
The fact that Julia did not wish to see him affected him more than he ever thought possible. Her avoidance of him hurt far more than his quarrel with Margaret. His behaviour toward his sister’s lady’s maid was inexcusable and would no doubt cause awkwardness between the two of them in a relationship that had otherwise been rather cordial. Never before had his philandering extended to the staff, at least not his own family’s staff. It was not that long ago he was chastising his brother Daniel for making eyes toward Julia. That was different, though, he told himself. Daniel’s advances were unwanted and Julia responded to his own with equal desire, hadn’t she? Had he forced himself upon her and made her couple with him? Perhaps she thought he demanded it by virtue of his position of authority. What should have been a sweet encounter between the pair quickly turned sour at the thought of his insatiable lust overriding his duty.
At the time, Ainsley thought it was a mutual desire between the two of them and had not cared what any long-term recourse would be. Now that Julia had taken to her room, feigning illness, Ainsley feared he had overstepped his bounds, making a budding kinship into something cheap and tawdry. It pained him greatly to think he had hurt her in any way. This was so unlike him. Never before had he felt an ounce of regret and now he was riddled with it.
Walking away from the house, knowing two women inside were vexed with him, made each step all the more difficult. And what awaited him at the hospital promised to be less than elevating.
>
Deep in thought, Ainsley did not notice the police carriage pull up beside him until Simms called out his name.
“Dr. Ainsley. Ainsley!” Simms leaned out of the carriage, holding his hand out to help Ainsley in. “They found another one.”
Chapter 15
That brighter colours were the world’s foregoing,
Than shall be used.
In a dockyard not far from the Tower of London, Ainsley stood over victim number five with his hands shoved deep in his pockets and jaw clenched, a feeble attempt to suppress the bile that slowly crept up his oesophagus. The sight was typical for The Surgeon, another girl slit from pelvis to sternum, her organs rearranged, some spilling from the opening. Her body lay next to a red brick building, slightly hidden behind a heap of broken wood crates and barrels. Ainsley closed his eyes to the sight, his mind slow to comprehend any possible reasoning for the attack.
A gawking crowd of dockworkers and sailors had gathered before he and Simms arrived. Two uniformed constables had stood on guard for a time, keeping the growing throng at bay until reinforcements arrived. Ainsley wondered how the pair of them had managed to keep everyone back from the scene and when he looked to the crowd he saw the curiosity on their faces. They had no intentions of intervening. They just watched and waited as if to see what the Yard would do.
Simms pulled a handkerchief from an inside pocket and, in an act of generosity Ainsley would thank him for later, laid it on the girl’s face.
“What do you think, Dr. Ainsley?” Simms asked from the opposite side of the body.
“I think we are just players in their Greek tragedy,” Ainsley answered, cocking his head toward the crowd.
Simms surveyed the group. “You get used to it,” he answered with resignation. He turned to the uniformed officers and pointed to the crowd. “Go ask if anyone saw anything. Who lives in the area? Who does this child belong to?”
A senior constable nodded and they dispersed toward the crowd.
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