Sheer Madness

by Laura Strickland

  She stared into its empty glass eyes. Her father purchased only the finest steam units, but they couldn’t rival the comfort lent by Patrick Kelly.

  She allowed it to lead her from the conservatory and to the foot of the staircase.

  “Leave me, Edward. I will go up on my own.”

  “Your father has instructed me to escort you.”

  “I am well now. I’m fine.”

  She felt anything but well, she acknowledged as she hauled herself up the stairs. The contact with Romney had affected her like a blast from a steam cannon, had scorched all her senses. And her father had been able to tell.

  In the upstairs hallway she encountered Carlotta in her gray uniform with the ruffled white cap and apron. The girl stared in dismay.

  “Miss Topaz, are you unwell?”

  “Come into my room with me.”

  Carlotta obeyed, looking uncertain. Topaz wondered if the girl called her brother “Master Sapphire” when she lay beneath him, and dismissed the thought as irreverent.

  “Listen to me, Carlotta—do you know how to reach Sapphire?”

  Carlotta shook her head. “He didn’t say where he was going, miss.” She lowered her voice. “But I do know he’s out looking for a place for us to live.”

  Damn. She’d hoped he might have returned. For if Topaz knew her father, he would make sure she didn’t leave this house until he spoke with her. And she needed to send a message at once—to Patrick Kelly.

  ****

  He floated in oblivion, nearly disconnected from flesh. Once before he had achieved this state, freed himself from the agony and escaped this prison of blood and bone. But he wasn’t sure how. Some connection in his mind had, perhaps, snapped and tumbled him into madness which in turn translated to freedom.

  But now the tenuous ties held, anchoring him to his suffering body. He had been returned to the darkness that served to disorient him, abolishing his perception of up and down, left and right. His mind teetered so close to breaking he could barely breathe.

  If he stopped breathing he would die. Would he go to Topaz then? Stream to her like a gust of air? But then he would never be able to touch her, kiss her, and lie with her as, even now, he so longed to do.

  He concentrated on her, fastening all his will on the promise of physical togetherness as to the memory of sunlight.

  He caught a whisper of her voice in his mind. I hear you. Just hold on. Keep strong.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Carlotta, I need you to deliver a message for me. Do you think you can get away without being seen?”

  “I’m not sure. Where do you want me to go?”

  Topaz, already seated at her desk with a sheet of notepaper in front of her, paused. A good question: Where might Patrick Kelly be at this time of day? On duty? In his book-filled quarters? At Nellie’s? Topaz could not send Carlotta there.

  Yet urgency—and Romney’s pain—still tore at her, throbbing like a livid wound.

  She glanced at the window, where sleet continued to tick against the glass. Neither could she send the little maid out in this—not even if she gave Carlotta cab fare. Sapphire would never forgive her.

  She got to her feet and began to pace the bloodstained rug while Carlotta stared. All the while her senses stretched for the least hint of communication from Romney, but none came.

  Had he perished? Would she be able to tell?

  She said, “You must have some idea where Sapphire has gone.”

  Carlotta folded her hands and shook her head. “He said he meant to speak to a few acquaintances, seek lodging for us, even if temporary—and procure a job.”

  That made Topaz stare. “He told you that, did he?”

  “He promised, miss.”

  “He’s never held down a job for more than three weeks at a time. You do understand his character, don’t you? You’re aware of the nature of this star to which you’ve hitched your wagon?”

  Carlotta returned her stare with calm eyes. Not for the first time, Topaz wondered about the girl, so quiet and unassuming and yet so ready to jump into Sapphire’s bed.

  “Yes, miss.”

  “He’s a ne’er-do-well, a philanderer. A brilliant one, perhaps, but a philanderer all the same.”

  “No, miss.”

  “You think not?” Topaz’s frantic edginess made her brutal. “Then you’re a fool.”

  “No, miss. I believe we present one face to the world and another—truer—to those who love us.”

  That made Topaz stare harder. Was it so? Did Carlotta see the real Sapphire beneath all the layers of careless dispassion? Even Topaz couldn’t be sure she knew her brother through and through.

  “Love,” she grunted. Patrick Kelly had one view of it, Carlotta obviously had another. “An indefinable prospect.”

  “Say what you will, Miss Topaz. I believe that your brother loves me and that he will keep his promises.”

  “And why,” Topaz asked, not unkindly, “should Sapphire fall in love with you, a servant in his father’s house—convenient to his bed? You do know he has been introduced to most of the heiresses in this city?”

  “Yes, miss.” Carlotta raised her chin a notch. “I did ask him the same thing. I am aware that I come from humble beginnings. But he is educating me.”

  Topaz just bet he was.

  “And he says we knew one another before, in a past life.”

  That halted Topaz’s wild pacing. “Eh?”

  “He knows such things, miss. Surely you are aware your brother has unusual talents?”

  “Yes.” Topaz also imagined he could spin quite a tale in order to get a girl—a good girl—into his bed. “Indeed.” And Topaz would have words for the rascal when she next saw him. She eyed the young woman standing in front of her. Why couldn’t Carlotta fall for a fellow servant, or a steamcab driver?

  Then again, how could she when she had Sapphire Hathor whispering in her ear?

  Very gently she said, “Just be careful, and look before you leap any further. I would like to say my brother is trustworthy. But you have a good place here, and you would not be wise to jeopardize it, perhaps end up alone and carrying his child.”

  Carlotta searched Topaz’s eyes. “Miss, can I rely on your discretion?”

  Dread stirred in Topaz’s heart. “Yes.”

  “I am already carrying your brother’s child, which is what’s prompted him to move us out.” Her hands moved to her apron. “I’m not very far along yet.”

  Topaz could think of nothing to say. She sagged where she stood.

  Carlotta nodded at the paper on the desk. “Do you wish for me to take a message?”

  “I cannot send you out in this weather. Go about your business. And let me know at once if you hear from my brother.”

  ****

  “Are you feeling better, Daughter? I must say, you still do not appear your usual robust self.”

  Topaz looked up and met her father’s dark gaze across the dining table. Just three of them had met for dinner this evening, along with the customary host of mechanicals.

  She felt as jittery as a cat treading on hot coals. After speaking with Carlotta she’d tried unsuccessfully to make contact with Romney again and had striven to formulate a plan. She knew what she had to do but needed to keep her thoughts shielded from this man with his all-too-acute perception.

  She pushed her food around on her plate. “I’m not sure what came over me, Father.”

  “What is this?” Dahlia looked up from her food. “Topaz ill? But you are never ill, child.”

  Frederick smiled. “She has inherited a gypsy’s constitution—among other things. But, mon petite, our daughter took quite a turn this afternoon and frightened one of my clients.”

  “Psychic overload,” Dahlia pronounced, quite astutely for her. Her husband and daughter stared. “Do not look at me that way. Am I not married to one of the foremost mediums of this—or, indeed, any—time? Remember how it was with you, my love, when first we wed.”

&n
bsp; Frederick said nothing, and Dahlia leaned toward Topaz. “He used to come over all strange, what with trying to keep the voices in his head sorted.”

  “Some of them can be very demanding,” Frederick agreed. “You will have to learn how to exercise control.” His gaze flicked over Topaz’s face. “You may be more sensitive than I suspected.”

  “Yes, Father.” Topaz added truthfully, “I can’t imagine how you do it.”

  “The ability will come in time. You, Topaz, have always been so focused on the physical, what with your lessons in fighting and tending toward earthly matters—it may take you a while longer. But an ability such as you possess should not be neglected.”

  Topaz laid her fork aside. “How can you tell how much ability I possess?”

  His gaze met hers again. “I can feel it, Daughter. But it is wild and undisciplined. Even now I can tell your energies are all scattered. I don’t doubt that has made you ill.”

  “I bow to your superior wisdom in this, Father.”

  “Well!” Dahlia exclaimed. “That’s a first, Topaz bowing to anything. And speaking of rebellious children, where is Sapphire? Topaz, do you know?”

  “I don’t,” Topaz answered, again truthfully.

  “That boy.” Dahlia shook her head. “Incorrigible.”

  “Well, my dear.” Frederick smiled at his wife across the table. “At least we have four of our brood safely settled. Topaz, you need a good night’s rest. Settle your energies. The weather is vile, and it’s best for you to stay in.”

  “Yes, Father,” Topaz said, glad he didn’t know she had her night all planned.

  ****

  The key felt cold in Topaz’s hand, preternaturally chilled as if it had been iced. She’d had to wait hours for the house to settle into silence, and now her nerves leaped at the slightest sound.

  The kitchen stood full of gloom and mechanicals on shutdown. Her parents had long since retired to their respective rooms; that didn’t mean her father would stay in his. As she had learned last time, he could move almost soundlessly when he chose.

  She leaned against the cellar door and listened before she inserted the key in the lock. She had dressed for this task in a black silk shirt and black trousers, with the stiletto thrust through her belt, and had tied her hair back out of the way. She could move as silently as her father. But Frederick might track her movements with a sense more acute than hearing.

  Heart beating double time, she turned the key and opened the door.

  The stairs fell away before her, and beyond that the corridor, lined with closed doors, stretched away in gloom. Steam lights, well turned down, burned at intervals, barely enough to chase the shadows. Was Romney here behind one of those doors, rather than back at Grayson? She had to know.

  Shivering, Topaz stepped through, closed the door behind her, and found herself wrapped in silence.

  She hadn’t realized how greatly the spirits always crowding around her father intruded on her consciousness. How did he ever sleep? Here, most of that clamor fell away. She could still catch it, but only from a distance.

  This felt quiet as the grave—almost.

  She tiptoed down the stairs with uneasiness—and something more—nibbling at her mind. A soul lived in the cellar.

  A single soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Topaz pressed her palm against each door as she passed it, employing her inner sense to search with ever-increasing ease. No one there. No one there.

  Romney had said corpses lay somewhere down here—perhaps they’d now been taken away. Corpses had a short shelf life; these might have outlasted theirs. But nothing lived beyond the closed doors.

  She supposed she should open them anyway. She needed evidence to share with Patrick Kelly, but now, sensing that single glimmer of life, she could do nothing but locate it.

  Halfway down the hallway, her inner sense quickened almost unbearably. She looked hard at the door in question: not locked but barred from the corridor side.

  Someone wanted to keep something in there.

  All the hairs on the back of Topaz’s neck rose as she laid her hands to the bar and lifted.

  She had been in the cellar before, of course. But not recently, not since Danson Clifford came to work in the house.

  Danson Clifford, the undertaker.

  She drew a deep breath and opened the door. Inside, a single steam lamp burned.

  One of the larger rooms, it had been fitted out with equipment: tables, tools of dubious purpose, a deep sink, and a decent-sized steam plant. It smelled of cleaning fluid and disinfectant, with another underlying odor even less pleasant.

  On two of the tables lay forms shrouded in sheets—corpses? The hairs on Topaz’s arms rose in sympathy with those on her neck.

  She hadn’t sensed corpses.

  On the third table something stirred. Rom? But no, she didn’t sense him. Topaz’s hand flew to her stiletto. Against every instinct, she stepped farther into the chamber.

  A woman slid from the table onto the floor and stood facing her.

  Tall and strongly made, she had light brown hair worn loose down her back and pale skin that showed livid marks at wrists and temples. Her face, a plain oval, looked unremarkable save for the eyes, which burned with desperation. She wore only a nightdress, which seemed inadequate against the chill, and she certainly appeared alive.

  “Who are you?” she asked. Her voice creaked like that of a very old woman, though she couldn’t possibly be more than twenty-five.

  Topaz had to draw a long breath before she could speak. “My name is Topaz Hathor. Who are you?”

  “Get me out of here. Get me out, get me out—” The woman’s voice rose dangerously.

  “Hush! Do you want someone to hear? How did you get here?”

  “I want out. Away.” The woman glared at the two shrouded forms on the other tables and then down at herself. “This isn’t my body.”

  Topaz’s heart clenched and dropped; her stomach twisted. “Whose is it?”

  “I don’t know. Not mine. I think I died. Yes, I’m sure of it. I remember he beat me. I fell and cracked my head. I died.”

  “Shhh,” Topaz cautioned again, sure her father must surely sense this encounter and come, which only added to her horror. She could feel this woman’s spirit—strong, burgeoning, fighting the flesh as she might the bars of a cage.

  She sucked in a breath. “If you died, how did you come to be—in that body?”

  “He called me. The other one forced me in. He’s the Devil.”

  “He—?”

  “The man with the dark eyes called me. I was almost free—I didn’t want to come back, but he’s powerful, so powerful. He held me, and the Devil forced me in here. It hurt.”

  She held out her hands and showed Topaz her wrists. “Hurt.”

  Topaz nearly recoiled in horror. The woman’s wrists showed not only bruises to match those on her face but livid burns, as well. She swallowed convulsively. “Do you have a name? Do you remember it?” Topaz could feel the spirit’s confusion. “I can report your name to a friend who may be able to investigate.”

  Not precisely what Topaz wanted to do; whatever unsavory thing went on here, Topaz’s father had to be in it up to his ears. Was she truly prepared to incriminate him?

  “I’m not sure about my name.”

  Carefully Topaz said, “Let me understand. Following your death you were called here?”

  “Netted. Trapped.”

  “Caught and forced into another body, into that body?”

  “I think it’s a corpse. Like those.” The woman nodded at the shrouded forms, and a long, slow shudder convulsed her. “I don’t want this. Let me go!”

  “I’ve no idea how.” Aside from committing murder. If Topaz used the stiletto at her side, would the spirit then be freed? But that raised all sorts of ethical questions. Could one murder a spirit already dead?

  The woman waved her hands wildly. “Reverse the process.”

  “I don�
��t know how to do that either. What about them?” She too nodded at the tables. “Are they alive?”

  “Failed attempts. I heard the Devil and the enchanter talking. They’re not the first. I’m not sure why it worked with me—but I’m not the first that’s succeeded, either.”

  “This Devil—describe him.”

  “Sheer evil. I could see it from the other side. His aura is dark. You have a powerful aura—not unlike the enchanter’s. Do you also possess magic?”

  “It’s not magic.” And at this point it turned Topaz sick to think she shared any of Frederick Hathor’s abilities. “Did you hear any names, the name ‘Danson Clifford,’ perhaps?”

  “No. Look, get me out of here.”

  “I wish I could, but I don’t dare. I promise I’ll get you help. It may take some time.”

  The woman stepped toward Topaz. “No. I refuse to let you shut me back in this terrible place. Let me out.”

  “Quiet, or he’ll come. My father will come.” Topaz could now see the woman had brown eyes that burned with fervor. Only they weren’t her eyes, were they? She tried to imagine how it would feel to be trapped in someone else’s flesh.

  “All you have to do is step aside. I’ll leave on my own.”

  “And do what?” Topaz’s thoughts raced. “Go where?”

  “I don’t care. Anywhere but here.”

  “How much do you know about what’s been going on in this place? What else did you hear?”

  “Enough.”

  Abruptly, Topaz made up her mind. “Then yes, come with me. But you have to be absolutely silent and tone down the anxiety. He will pick up on it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Come up to my room; we’ll find you some clothes. And I have one more stop to make.”

  ****

  Creeping past her father’s door with a reanimated corpse on her heels proved one of the most terrifying things Topaz had ever done. Once they gained the safety of her room, she eyed the woman critically.

  “Find something to wear. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Wait.” The woman seized her wrist with fingers chilly as ice—or death. “You promise to take me away from this place?”

  “Yes, but we need to bring someone else with us.”