Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewart

by Hieber, Leanna Renee

  The building itself was imposing and multistoried. Tall, narrow windows lined the building, and its looming turreted rooftop, squared with wrought-iron fencing at the top, made me feel like I was looking at the House of Usher before it fell apart, ripped asunder in madness and death brought to life. A perfect home for a resurrectionist…

  The exterior of the rear wing where Preston admitted patients looked entirely vacant. There were no lamps lit, no curtains or windows open. Everything was shut and shaded. As we approached, we saw a sign lettered “Closed for renovation” in unsteady script.

  “Whatever it is, it’s downstairs. Near the morgue.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Dreams.”

  Jonathon tried the door. It was locked. He stepped back, but a sound drew our focus again to the lock. The curtain of the door was open, revealing an empty hallway beyond. No one was at the door, yet the lock audibly unlocked.

  We walked in. The wing was empty. Save for one man.

  A man in a bright suit sat in a bay window across from rows of empty beds. He looked like a large, garish puppet. He was pale and so was his hair. One long leg was propped up on the window seat, another lolling down. He was dressed like a seventeenth-century courtier, though mismatched with modern shoes and pants instead of breeches.

  “What d’ye want?” came a cockney accent booming across the empty wing. I remembered what Nathaniel said about the men who’d approached him. I think this man was one of them. I pulled on the left side of my collar, a signal, but I felt assured Jonathon was already well on his guard.

  “And you are?” Denbury asked calmly.

  “Roth. And you are?”

  “Denbury. Does the name ring a bell?”

  Roth scrunched up his pale face in thought. “One of the demon’s pretty boys, aren’t ye?”

  Jonathon bristled, but in a way that befit the role. “If by that, you mean I am the demon that is collecting pretty things, then yes.”

  “Like that dolly-mop there?” Roth sniffed at me.

  “Yes. Miss Rose is a part of my collection. She can’t speak or hear. But she’s nice to look at.”

  “That’s convenient,” Roth said, his tone carrying a distinct undercurrent I didn’t like.

  “That’s what I thought,” Jonathon purred.

  Indeed. That’s almost exactly what the demon had said when it met me. That no one would know if I resisted him. It took everything inside me not to cross that room and slap Roth in the face. Or claw out his eyes. I turned an indifferent face to Jonathon but I’m sure he knew how uncomfortable I was, that he was playing his part a little too well.

  “Why are ye here?” Roth growled.

  “I have instructions from the London office. The Majesty said to check in on Preston.”

  “On the work? It isn’t done. Had to clear the wing to work in peace. But there’s not enough of ’em yet to make her go.” Roth detached himself from the window and strolled up to us. “Takes a lot of death to make a life, it seems.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that. While I told myself I didn’t want to know, a part of me really did. My curious dark side was unwilling to leave well enough alone.

  Roth stood before us, the shadow of the hospital shades drawn in such a way that only the lower part of his face was lit, the rest of his large head in shadow. I had to look up to take him in with that cruel mouth and an ugly scar down the corner of his lip that gave him a permanent frown. His eyes reflected strangely in the darkness. Like a dog. My already chilled blood now froze. This was a possessed body.

  I pulled at the left side of my collar again in what I hoped appeared to be a nervous gesture. I noticed Jonathon did not look Roth straight in the eye but did glance at me.

  “Regardless of the progress of the work, I have to tell the Majesty something, so you’d best show me to Preston. Don’t deny me. The Society doesn’t like it when their hierarchy is undermined,” Jonathon threatened.

  “Oh, gettin’ all high and mighty, are we, brother? What makes you more important than me?”

  “Breeding,” Jonathon said, wielding class like a hammer, careful to distinguish his upper-class accent over Roth’s cockney tones.

  Roth snorted. “I know the Society’s all for preserving the aristocracy, but really, brother, it won’t matter when it all begins to unravel. We’ll win in the end.”

  “And when we do, Mr. Roth, there will still be hierarchy. Take care. I am not your brother.”

  Roth clicked his tongue. There was a terrible, tense silence. “Dr. Preston is right this way, Lord Denbury, sir,” Roth said with exaggerated deference. His eyes flashed at me.

  I wasn’t sure at first if it was wise of Jonathon to play class in the way that he did, one that might engender resentment, but really it was brilliant. Establishing him as a more valued and important player to the Society was its own safety measure.

  Preston’s office door was open, and the doctor sat in a rumpled yellow suit with a strange contraption attached to a dead mouse. Looking up, he scowled. “It’s you.”

  “Oh, please, don’t stand on ceremony, Dr. Preston,” Jonathon chided, grabbing my hand and leading me into the office.

  Preston glanced at me. “What’s she doing here?”

  “She’s my pet. My favorite accessory. For now.”

  “Yes, you and your transient pleasures,” Preston said with disdain. “You know, demons could learn a thing or two from humans about loyalty and love.”

  Jonathon snorted. “Oh, teach me, Doctor, do.”

  “You had the mind of a doctor once,” Preston said, his voice still quiet, as he stared at the mouse. He pressed a button attached to a wire and a tiny, dead paw twitched. “That body of yours was a prodigy.”

  “Yes, and I still retain some of his knowledge. Useful. Especially knowing what parts of the body will bleed out the fastest from a puncture wound.”

  I forced myself to look away, scared I’d look up and see the demon in Jonathon again. Preston glanced up, then back to his notes. I wandered to the bookshelves, hoping curiosity, as supposedly deaf and mute, wouldn’t be seen as threatening.

  “Are you here to threaten me?” Preston asked.

  “Not at all, just checking in on your work, per the Majesty’s instructions.”

  “It isn’t finished.”

  “So that lackey outside tells me. May I see the progress?”

  Preston looked up at Jonathon with beady, bloodshot eyes. “No, you may not.”

  “So what, then, would you have me tell the Majesty?”

  “That it is ninety percent complete, with residual spiritual matter pending.”

  I examined the bookshelves, surprised to see Preston had compiled a great deal of fiction alongside medical texts, alchemy, occult matters, and botany. I wasn’t sure what plants had to do with dead bodies, but there was always room to be surprised these days. As for the fiction, perhaps Preston was looking for inspiration.

  On a shelf I noticed a small, glass-topped box that held a pendant inside. Thin and delicate, it was a six-pointed star inlaid with pearl. It looked familiar, though I couldn’t place why. But a sudden instinct said it was important, and I slid the small box up the cuff of my sleeve.

  “I could exhibit the work within the next few weeks,” Preston assured Jonathon. “It depends on the state of the medium. She’s become…less reliable. I may have to replace her.”

  Rachel, surely.

  “My suggestion is to keep your staff as is,” Jonathon replied. “We don’t recruit indiscriminately. It behooves the Society to keep those informed about your work to a limited number.”

  “I can’t be pushed toward productivity and constrained at the same time,” Preston said, exasperated. “Please leave. I have work to do.”

  “Noted. You’ll see me again.”

  “I’m sure,” Preston muttered. “Can you see yourself out?”

  Jonathon nodded and led me out by grabbing my arm.

  “We’re going
to have a look downstairs,” Jonathon stated. I tensed. I didn’t want to go down there if it was just the two of us.

  Roth stepped in the way of the staircase that led below.

  “No,” he replied simply but firmly. “In time.”

  “Soon, or else,” Jonathon replied and turned on his heel. Roth said nothing further. He just watched us as we exited, Jonathon leading me as if I were his hostage.

  Once we’d taken a few winding blocks and were far enough away, Jonathon shuddered all over and loosed a cry of disgust, as if he could shed the bitter taste of his darker half like an insect shaken off his fine clothes. “Good God, I hope I won’t have to do this much longer.”

  “What’s frightening, Jonathon, is you’re very good at it. You even had me convinced you were him again.” I closed my eyes, trying not to think of the attack, trying not to succumb to the panic the memory triggered.

  Jonathon stopped me and took hold of my arms. I froze. “Please. Natalie. Don’t be frightened of me. Not here, not now—”

  “I’m not sure that’s fair, Jonathon. The demon almost killed me. It’s hard not to remember—”

  “Almost killed us both. But we’re stronger than it was. Bear with me. Please. Trust. I need your trust. Otherwise I can’t play the part well.”

  I nodded. “Just…hold me a moment. So I remember what you feel like.” He gladly obliged, folding me tenderly in his arms, kissing my hair. “That’s better.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  We couldn’t shake the chill, even in the summer, as we walked downtown.

  “Jonathon,” I said. “Roth. I think that’s the same man that paid a visit to Nathaniel with another doctor. ‘Big, pale, with garish suits can only describe so many. I assume that doctor who visited Nathaniel was from the pharmacology department of the three branches, miracle elixir and all.”

  Jonathon took a deep breath. “The ever-widening web.”

  “Preston?” Mrs. Northe asked, taking one look at our faces as we walked in her door. I wonder if she felt the chill we brought with us.

  “Going batty, if you ask me.” He turned to Mrs. Northe, continuing, “And a bit paranoid. His guard, sent by the Society, is actually a possessed body, we believe. Preston has shut down his wing. The building was unnaturally cold. In England I was taught what that temperature means.”

  “That the building is full of spirits,” Mrs. Northe commented.

  “Can you see them?” Jonathon asked. “Spirits? It would seem some people can. I didn’t see any ghosts, but good Samaritans in London shooed away an entourage I didn’t even know I had. I was a lot warmer afterward.”

  “You and I have both had brushes with death, Lord Denbury. That tends to bring them out,” Mrs. Northe stated, handing us tea we hoped would mitigate our lingering shivers. “While I’ve only seen an occasional ghost, and only at certain times, I do feel them around me more often than not.”

  “Ah, our haunted life,” Jonathon sighed, taking a seat at Mrs. Northe’s lacquered writing desk at the corner of the room. “We weren’t allowed downstairs, where Natalie presumes the work is being held, and I wasn’t inclined to pick a fight. Not today. May I use your stationery, Mrs. Northe?”

  “Of course.”

  He set to work on a note, pulling out a piece of paper plucked from his breast pocket that bore a red and yellow seal. He glared at the paper as he began to write.

  “Your expected correspondence with evil, I presume?” I asked.

  “I wish it were otherwise,” he replied.

  I shuddered. Letters should be for love and fondness, not for matters like this. Faint, hollow traces ringed his eyes. That old haunted look. I remember it well from the days within the painting. Perhaps playing the part was just as draining as being split body from soul.

  A small movement out of the corner of my eye turned me to the door. Rachel had her hand on the pocket doors, steadying herself, and when her eyes fell upon me she smiled weakly.

  I jumped up and brought her to the sofa to sit beside me. “Feeling better?” I signed.

  “Comes and goes,” she signed.

  Jonathon looked up, put down his pen, stood, and bowed.

  “Miss Horowitz, I presume?” he asked me, coming closer.

  I nodded. “She can read lips, so make sure she’s focused on you and don’t mumble.”

  Jonathon knelt before her, reaching out and asking for her hand. She gave it. “Jonathon Whitby, Lord Denbury, at your service.” He kissed Rachel’s hand. “Any friend of Natalie’s is a friend of mine.”

  Rachel smiled, her wan face suddenly transforming into something healthier.

  “Now, Miss Horowitz, I am a doctor, and I hear you’ve been plagued with spirits.”

  Rachel nodded.

  “I don’t know how to cure that, but it doesn’t appear you’ve been eating well. No appetite?”

  Rachel shook her head.

  “But if you drank something, could you keep it down?”

  Rachel nodded.

  “Do you like juice?”

  Rachel nodded again.

  “Mrs. Northe, may I have access to your kitchen? And also to your medicine cabinet? I’d like to prepare a concoction for Miss Horowitz to get her strength up.”

  “All my supplies are at your disposal. Make me a list of anything I lack, and Mary will get it for you straightaway.”

  “Excellent,” Jonathon said. “We need to get her strength back for the coming days.” He bowed his head to Rachel and exited.

  “I like him,” she signed to me with a wide smile. “Is he yours?”

  I blushed.

  “Yes, he’s very taken,” Mrs. Northe signed.

  Rachel blushed. “I forgot you could sign, too.” Rachel bit her lip.

  “I learned to sign when Peter lost his ability to speak. The last year of his life,” Mrs. Northe added. “We brought a tutor in to teach us both. It was so much better than just wasting away in silence,” she said, blinking back a tear. Yet another detail about Mrs. Northe I feel I should have known but didn’t. She rarely spoke about herself, but whenever she did open up, I couldn’t help caring for her more.

  “Oh, Rachel,” I said, plucking the pendant from where it had been tucked safe in my sleeve. “You mentioned that you often contacted spirits through tokens, something meaningful. Does this look familiar?”

  Rachel clapped her hands to her mouth, then seized the pendant and held it to her breast.

  “Oh,” I said, realizing why it had seemed familiar. “It’s yours.” I remembered it from school. Everyone had asked about it, and Rachel had gotten tired of signing out explanations of what the Star of David was, so she’d taken to wearing it beneath her dresses.

  Watching the exchange, Mrs. Northe came over beside us and squeezed my shoulder. “Oh, Natalie, that was very wise of you to find this.”

  I blinked and smiled. “It was?”

  “Yes. Just as Rachel has been tethering spirits to objects, I think that she has been tethered to this work herself, tethered to loyalty to Preston, through this meaningful token. Returning it to her gives her soul more freedom. Talismans are very powerful in this particular brand of Society magic. While the spirits will not readily let her go, you may just have broken Preston’s hold.”

  I smiled, proud of myself and my instincts, and moved to clasp the pendant where it belonged. Rachel kissed the star and pressed it tightly against her chest.

  Jonathon returned with a glass of orange juice with thick syrup at the bottom. Honey, probably, and some white grit I assumed must be additives Jonathon deemed important.

  “Miss Horowitz, please do a doctor the great favor of drinking this.” He handed the glass to Rachel, who looked at me as if for permission.

  I signed to Rachel that she could trust him.

  She nodded and drank, looking up at Jonathon with shy thanks. Maybe it was my wishful thinking, but she soon began to regain some color to her cheeks and lips.

  “Lord Denbury,” Mrs. Northe beg
an with a sly smile. “I know you’ve had a trying visit already today, but you do know there is another visit yet to pay. A very important one.”

  Jonathon paled.

  “Yes. Of course. Let me put on a fresh suit. I want to look my best.” He turned to me. “Then I shall come to call.”

  Chapter 18

  Mrs. Northe had her driver send me home while Jonathon prepared for the visit.

  “Lord Denbury has returned and he would like to come calling,” I announced to my father the moment I walked in the door. “He can come, can’t he?”

  “Of course. Knowing you, you’d find a way to see him anyway, even if I forbid it,” my father said as he made his way to his small study. “I have to have some idea of who I’m dealing with.” He closed the door.

  Bessie moved about the parlor, straightening up every surface with a fastidious eye. “Don’t mind him. That’s how fathers are at the prospect of losing their daughter. Especially an only child. But Natalie, love, you’re talking. You’re being courted by a British lord. I don’t care what kind of witchcraft happened to cause it, looks like God’s work to me,” she said, moving to our kitchen to make sure there was plenty of tea.

  “It’s been God’s work indeed, I promise,” I said, following her and helping to prepare small tea sandwiches. “We couldn’t have fought a devil without faith founded on light and love, not darkness and fear. I want you to know the sort of man he is, what sort of woman I want to be. We may have gone about things unconventionally—”

  “I trust you. I know how it is to do things unconventionally. Lord, my whole family did. So long as the Man Upstairs guides that convention,” she said, pointing to heaven, “your methods are all right with me.”

  I readied Father’s dinner and took it to him, sure to place a kiss on his cheek as I set the silver tray upon his desk as was our custom. We’d long ago done away with family dinners on account of my lack of speech. Breakfast was the meal we ate together, and being a bunch of readers, writers, and artists, evening was time for work, reading, daydreaming. Perhaps this custom might change now, but then we knew everything was changing.