by L Rollins
It was providential he hadn’t tested her. Leila never would have passed and then she wouldn’t be there, meeting Alice. In her position as a spy, any information had to be treated as useful information.
“Leila,” Claude continued. “I’d like to make known to you my sister, Alice.”
His sister? Purely out of practice, Leila dropped into a deferential bow.
“It is an honor, ma’am.” What was his sister doing hiding in a small cottage tucked deep in the forest? Why was she not in the castle, visiting with Madame Winstone and helping her brother avoid Madame Uppertick?
“Leila? That’s a strange name.” Alice’s voice was halting, broken.
Claude led her back to the rocking chair and eased her onto the seat.
Alice’s hand shook in her lap. “Does she want a hat?” Alice stared up at Claude. “With a name like Leila, I think she would need it to be purple. With feathers.” Her eyes roved up toward the ceiling. “Feathers and two, small, bronze gears.” She pinched two fingers together as if to show the minuscule nature of the imagined gears.
Claude stroked a strand of hair out of his sister’s face. “She has come to check on you. To see how you fare.”
Alice tilted her head to the side. “I fare with coins. How do you fare?” She giggled, but again it was not natural sounding. It came out too loose, too languid.
Leila was beginning to suspect why this beloved sister, who’s elegant portrait remained hanging in the castle, was not walking its halls. Alice turned and pushed at the thick, black curtain that covered the cottage’s wavy window glass.
“Oh look.” She stabbed at the curtain. “The blue jays have returned.” She glanced over her shoulder at Claude as she continued to prod the fabric. “I do love when they come back from their vacation in India.”
She spun in her seat, suddenly animated, and faced Leila. “Did you know that just last week the biggest dust storm ever on record hit Bombay?” She giggled again. “A little birdy told me so.”
The sound made Leila want to cry. This beautiful, elegant woman was wholly mad.
Claude moved to stand by Leila once more.
“I’ve had more doctors in than could fill all of Spain.” He ran a hand down his face. “I make sure she’s comfortable, but I wish I could do more.”
Alice was back to ‘watching’ out the covered window.
“Is it not the waltzing flu?” Leila asked.
“No.” Claude shook his head. “She grew sick while still living in England.” He spat out the words with even more derision than when he spoke of Madame Uppertick.
“I am so sorry,” Leila whispered.
“None of the doctors were competent enough to help,” he continued.
Leila was fully aware that her own accent did nothing to hide her origin. Did he not realize or simply not remember that Leila herself was British? Perhaps her being a nurse put her below his concern.
“I moved her down here almost four years ago.” Claude walked over to the table and pulled the two chairs out. “I’ve been careful that no one see her like this. She should be remembered the way she was.”
He waved a hand toward one of the chairs and then sat in the other before Leila had even stepped forward. “Might as well get comfortable. We’ll be here for a while.”
In the back of Leila’s mind, she noted that had he known her true standing in society, he would never have sat before her. But it wasn’t worth taking offense.
Instead, Leila motioned toward Alice. “Sir?” Weren’t they there so Leila could check on Alice as a nurse?
“You can look at her later.” As Claude spoke on, Leila crossed the room and sat. “Alice’s husband is working late tonight and neither he nor I like Alice being alone for long. So, I volunteered to come and sit with her a spell.”
That was right. Claude had mentioned that Alice was married—and cared for no one but her husband, too. Though Leila wasn’t as convinced of the truth of that statement now. Alice had clearly been thrilled to see her older brother.
Then again, Alice ignored him now, as she kept her gaze steadily upon the black curtain. If Alice had been of a sound mind, the only way Leila would have interpreted such a blatant silence was that Alice was giving her brother the cold shoulder.
But, was she ignoring him, or simply too far removed from reality to interact in a normal way?
Claude didn’t seem interested in keeping up a conversation, but instead stared at his sister, obvious concern on his brow. Leila glanced between the two siblings. Though they were both handsome individuals, they didn’t have much in the way of similar features.
Claude’s nose was roman—long and straight. Alice’s was more button. Claude’s hair was dark and held only a slight curl. Alice’s was more light brown with a clear curl. And the difference in their ages was obvious. That was the biggest difference between them.
Claude was graying at the temples and even had a few wrinkles sprouting near his eyes. Alice seemed nearly childlike compared to him.
“How old were you, sir, when Alice was born?” The moment she said it, Leila had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. It was something a woman of standing could have asked. But as a nurse, it was far too bold. Well, she’d always been bold with Claude in the past, hopefully he’d just assume it was in her nature and not give it a second thought.
“I was nearly seventeen. Mother gave birth during the worst winter Conques had ever known . . . well, the worst until recent times.”
Leila sat patiently, waiting to hear more of the story. She’d never truly appreciated how blessed her life had been. Not only had she been born to wealth and ease, but to health. This poor, beautiful woman had wealth and ease, but had been robbed of her health. She was so far gone as to not even realize she couldn’t see out a window.
“Many died that winter—Martha’s husband and baby were among the number.”
Martha’s family died the same winter Alice was born? That must have been horribly hard for the woman to bury her own, even while helping to care for another woman’s living girl.
A tinge of guilt colored his tone. “I couldn’t be home for Alice’s sixteenth birthday. So I bought her a ticket on the most luxurious airship in Paris and sent her on a world tour. Martha went with her. I wasn’t a complete coxcomb as her guardian,” he added, his tone adamant.
Claude didn’t need any encouragement to continue. “She loved it. I couldn’t keep her at home after that.”
He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows against his knees. “Then, about six years ago, she began making more and more frequent trips to one particular, small suffix of Cardiff. Martha mentioned to me, more than once, that Alice often returned not feeling well and urged me to stop her.”
He waved a hand toward his smiling sister. “I’m ashamed to say I didn’t have the backbone then to say no to anything she wanted. I wasn’t at home, and frequently missed holidays and such. If I couldn’t be with her, why not give her the one thing she wanted.”
He felt guilty, Leila could tell. Guilty for not stopping her trips to Cardiff, but guilty for not being around at a time when she was first growing into womanhood and wanted to explore the ever expanding world.
“Her . . .” How was the right way to say this? “Situation,” Leila settled on, “it began six years ago?” What a horridly long time to suffer.
Claude nodded. “But it wasn’t like this in the beginning. She became more emotional—shy one moment, outraged the next. But I ignored it. Blamed it on her being in love.” Claude shook his head. “Women in love do the most ridiculous things.”
He had mentioned Alice being married. “She was returning to Cardiff because of someone.”
“A milliner.” Claude shook his head in disbelief. “Alice, a lovely woman of unending means fell for a simple hatter.” There was the derision again.
Alice’s earlier comment about Leila possibly wanting a hat made more sense now. As did her madness. “She has mad hatter’s disease?”
>
Claude dropped his chin toward his chest, as though his head was too heavy to keep upright. “She used to help her husband with the felting. For some unjust reason, she grew ill rapidly while he’s never shown any signs of being sick.”
That had to feel horridly unfair to Claude—perhaps to Alice’s husband, as well. Did the husband feel guilty, possibly even responsible, for Alice’s current condition?
Watching how Alice gazed so steadily out a window no one else could see through, Leila could easily envision her falling for someone no one else cared for. Waiting for him. Secretly meeting with him, knowing her brother would disapprove.
Even in her madness, Leila could see love in the woman’s face, could see devotion and a willingness to throw caution to the wind for the one she wanted.
Dear girl. Had she known that what she was throwing away was not her fortune or standing in society, but her very grasp on reality?
“They married without even asking permission.” Claude’s voice grew thick. “I wasn’t given the opportunity to attend my own sister’s wedding.”
That must have hurt. No wonder he did all he could to care for her now.
“This isn’t your fault,” Leila said.
Claude shook his head and coughed lightly. “I can’t help but see Alice in every patient in the castle. Every time they struggle to speak, I am reminded of the day Alice confronted me with the news that she was wed. Every time they stumble or fall while walking reminds me of my many trips here.”
So that was why Claude, who clearly saw himself as above those who served him, worked so tirelessly to help Conques. He was trying to make up for failing his sister.
Mad Hatter’s was, according to rumor, also caused by too much mercury exposure, just like the waltzing flu. That must be why so many of Alice’s symptoms resembled those Leila saw daily working in the castle; the struggle to walk, the rolling eyes, the insanity. However, Alice’s sickness was easily traced back to her work with her husband. They still had no idea how the people in Conques were being exposed or who was behind it.
Leila reached out a hand and rested it against Claude’s forearm. “She is happy, sir. Do not blame yourself.”
He gave her a sad smile. “Yes.” He patted her hand against his arm, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he spoke next, his voice was firm. “I would do anything to see her well again, Leila. Anything.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I’M AFRAID THERE’S nothing to be done,” Inez said, disappointment evident in her tone.
Leila paced the floor of Inez’s opulent room. “Are you sure she’s gone? And we can’t put a tail on her? We can’t send a spy to watch what she’s about?”
Inez shook her head. “Madame Uppertick is selfish and willing to stoop low, but that’s hardly proof that she’s willing to poison an entire town.”
Leila’s fingers went to the crown of her head, only to pull on her tight coiffure. Blast her tight bun. Leila began pulling pins out as quickly as she could, ignoring the frequent stabs of pain when she pulled more hair than pin out.
“I know it’s maddening. But it’s time to seriously consider that Madame Uppertick isn’t our perpetrator.”
Leila collapsed into the small chair at Inez’s writing desk and began re-doing her hair in something far less tight. “What about the letters?” She sincerely prayed Samuel hadn’t climbed into the freezing well water for nothing.
“As I brought up before, they all seem to be written after the initial occurrence of the waltzing flu.”
“But that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have started it.”
“But we don’t know for sure. More importantly, we can’t prove anything.”
Leila placed her chin in her upturned hand and stared out the window. She could see a few lights here and there across the rolling hillsides of Conques. The factory was black against an even darker night sky. It had been closed for nearly a month now, despite Monsieur’s Jus’ adamant and never-ending protests.
Nonetheless, the sick continued to show up at the castle’s door morning, noon, and night. It made Leila’s stomach roll just to think of all the ill and dying.
“We can’t stop,” she said, her voice low.
“No one said anything about stopping.” Inez stood and moved up behind Leila. “You’ve got good instincts, Leila. Where do you suggest we turn our focus now?”
Leila had the distinct impression that Inez asked as much to cheer her up as to brainstorm. Still, it was nice to hear a superior, and a woman she admired greatly, compliment her.
She let out a long slow breath. She’d struggled from the beginning to understand what could lead Madame Uppertick to commit such a horrendous crime. Still, walking away from a likely suspect made her feel useless.
Her gaze drifted across the scene out the window. Two small spots of light caught her attention.
She pointed out the window. “Why are there still a couple of lights on in the factory?”
Inez leaned forward, looking over Leila’s shoulder. “Perhaps they’re still in the process of wrapping everything up. Closing down a production line as big as that one can’t happen in a few weeks alone.”
Leila pursed her lips. “Samuel seems to think Monsieur Jus the type of person willing to harm others to meet his own bottom line.”
Inez chuckled. “Did you tell him I agree?”
Of course she hadn’t. Samuel still had no idea that Leila and Inez were working together. Leila loved that he did not press her for more information. It was sweet and comforting to know she could tell him all her crazy ideas and he’d just listen and brainstorm with her and never once ask why she was so determined to find a solution.
Inez leaned back, resting a hip against the writing desk. “You two spend quite a bit of time together, I gather.”
“His help in discovering mercury as the main drugging agent has been invaluable.”
“That’s not what I’m referring to.”
Leila looked up at her friend—just what was she referring to then? Yes, she and Samuel spoke nearly every day. They talked of her patients and his sister. They talked of Madame Uppertick and what he’d seen while touring the factory.
Inez scooped up Leila’s hand and cupped it between both of her own. “My dear, you would be well to remember that your time here is limited and will end the moment London so chooses it. Moreover,” she patted Leila’s hand gently, as her voice dropped low. “Don’t ever forget that your future marriage will not be a love match.”
The statement stung against Leila’s chest and heat rushed up her neck. Of a surety she understood as much. She wasn’t some naive little schoolgirl with dreams of knights in shining armor. Or farmers in flowery orchards, as it were.
She pushed herself to her feet. “I best be back to my chamber before I am missed.”
“Don’t be mad, Leila.”
She moved quickly toward the door. “I’m not mad. But I do need to return. Natalie has been quite chatty as of late and I seem to be the only person she wants to speak with. It’s a blessing I was able to sneak away at all tonight.”
Inez nodded. “We should both sleep before deciding what to do next. Come see me again as soon as you can.”
Leila gave Inez a quick farewell, opened and peered around the door—to be sure all was clear—and slipped out into the hallway.
To never be paired in a love match; it was old news. Leila had resigned herself quite willingly to the reality before ever coming to Conques. Her oldest two sisters had believed themselves in love when they married—at least as much in love as they could force themselves to be in with the wealthiest single man among the ton. But none of their love had prevented their husbands from sneaking around with other women.
Nor had their love made their lives any easier when children were born, or business ventures failed, or husbands stayed absent for months on end. No, Leila didn’t want that kind of life.
Then why did Inez’s statement burn so badly?
Leila slowed as s
he passed a small window. The factory blew no billowing smoke into the air. It seemed quite still and empty. All except for those two small flickers of light near the base.
She placed both hands against the windowsill. She ought to return to her bedchamber. She ought to get some sleep before her next shift. Only a week ago, her regular shift had changed and she no longer worked all night long. It was a relief to be awake with the sun and down with the moon again. But she was often finding it hard to sleep at night in a way she’d never struggled before.
Her lips twisted to the side as she stared out at the factory. If Madame Uppertick was no longer a suspect, then perhaps they should consider Monsieur Jus. Samuel had brought up the idea more than once. It was clear that Alton Fowler was working with someone. Victor and all of Conques deserved to know the truth.
Her heart pricked again as she remembered her many conversations with Samuel.
No. She wouldn’t bother to harp on what could never be. She loved being a spy—she was good at it and knew, in this line of work, she could help people the world over. Giving up the fanciful daydream of a love match seemed like a small price to pay.
Her resolve hardened. Making a change the world over started in Conques.
She would sleep later. For now, she needed to see exactly why there were still lights on in the factory. Leila hurried down a staircase. Inez was just as likely right as not. It could just be the foreman or one of the bookkeepers up late, seeing that the final details were wrapped up during the government’s mandated shutdown.
Or there could be more to it.
If Leila wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, she might as well put herself to work.
She knew it would be cold outside, so Leila hurried to her bedchamber and, moving noiselessly so as not to wake Natalie, slipped into her blue coat and then continued outside.
Next time her sister asked what she wanted for Christmas she would ask for a black coat; at least then she wouldn’t have to worry so much about standing out. Even in the dark, she felt quite conspicuous in the brilliant blue.
