by C. J. Archer
"A good marriage!" Gus echoed. "She ain't gettin' married to anyone but—" He looked to Lincoln.
Lincoln merely stood by the sideboard, his brandy glass dangling by his fingertips. He studied the swirling liquid as if he could see the future in it.
"Charlie?" Seth prompted. "What is my mother talking about?"
"Charlie has agreed to accompany me on social engagements. I think we'll make quite a formidable team with her pretty looks and my knowledge of the right people."
Seth groaned and scrubbed his hand over his face. "You can back out of the agreement," he told me.
"It was your mother's gift to me." I hoped he understood that I couldn't back out without hurting her feelings.
"So you're goin' to balls and such?" Gus asked.
"It depends on what invitations I receive," I said.
"I'll put it about that she's available," Lady Vickers said. "Beginning with tomorrow night at the dinner party. I think she'll be quite the sensation once people get wind of her mysterious background."
Lincoln set down his glass and walked out. I half rose out of instinct, but forced myself to remain seated. "Marriage is a long way off," I told Seth and Gus. "A very long way. I need some time just to be me, and not someone's wife."
Seth drained his brandy glass. "You need a husband who won't treat you merely as a wife, but as a person with a mind of her own." He got up and strode to the sideboard.
"That's very sweet," I said. "It's no wonder all the ladies are charmed by you."
He beamed back at me. "They are, aren't they?"
Gus groaned and rolled his eyes.
"Did you say you went to Barts today, Charlie?" Lady Vickers asked, once again studying the newspaper. "There's an obituary here for a Mr. Mannering. He was an administrator there up until his death a few days ago."
"May I see that?"
She folded it and passed it to me. "I like to browse the obituaries and see who's fallen off their perch," she said. "It's one of the few pleasures left to me."
Gus and Seth peered over my shoulder. "Mr. Ira Hartley Mannering," Gus read. He tapped my shoulder. "An administrator will know his way around the hospital."
I handed the newspaper back to Lady Vickers and sprang to my feet. Without speaking, Seth and Gus followed me out.
"Who is he?" Lady Vickers called after us. "Why is he important?"
We hurried up to Lincoln's rooms where he sat at his desk. There were no papers in front of him, however, and no books or other work. Just my engagement ring in its box.
"I know of another way into the laboratory," I said, focusing on my idea. "A way that is less dangerous than you breaking in."
"Go on."
We told him about the obituary. He listened with his arms crossed and his legs outstretched. "His spirit eyes can see in the dark, even from inside his dead body, and he will know where to go."
He shook his head. "If Bell is sleeping in the laboratory, he'll see him."
"Yes, but what does it matter? Mannering will be too strong to be stopped, and he can't be hurt or killed. Bell will be powerless to do anything. And he'll be none the wiser as to our involvement."
"I suppose this means you think you ought to come to control him."
"It'll be just like Bedlam."
"I seem to recall that almost ended in disaster."
"Almost but not quite. Lincoln, I don't think there's a safer alternative. You going in alone not only risks you, but also Dr. Bell. At least if I direct Mannering not to harm anyone, he must do as I say."
"You don't trust me not to hurt Bell?"
Either Seth or Gus cleared his throat.
"I think you'll fight if you get cornered," I said. "If Mannering is cornered, it doesn't matter."
"She has a point, sir," Gus said.
"And this way we can all come along," Seth added.
"It's not a party," Lincoln said.
"It's better."
"Mannering's funeral is tomorrow. Morgan Brothers are the undertakers. They're not far from here."
Lincoln blew out a breath and shook his head. "Everyone should get some sleep. We'll leave at two."
Ira Hartley Mannering's spirit did not want to re-enter his dead body. I could hardly blame him. I wouldn't like to have my eternal rest interrupted by someone ordering me to occupy a bloated body that was beginning to go off. Thank goodness he was due to be buried in the morning.
I'd summoned Mannering then wasted no time directing his spirit into the funeral parlor to sink back into his body. Once he eventually agreed, he unlocked the door from the inside and lurched across the road in his lumbering, awkward gait to us, waiting in the carriage. He now sat beside Lincoln, his dead eyes unfocused and his arms hanging limply at his sides. He reminded me of a ventriloquist's doll, albeit an oversized, smelly one.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. It would have been more authoritative if his false teeth hadn't come loose as he spoke and made it difficult to understand him. "Why have I been disturbed?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "You have my word that no harm will come to you."
He made a strange noise that I suspected would have been a snort if he were capable of drawing breath. In the light of the lamp hanging near the door, I could clearly make out the deathly pallor of his face, almost the same shade of gray as his beard.
"We need your help in combatting a great danger to the country, if not the world," I went on. "If we don't stop this menace, we could be overrun with undead corpses."
Lincoln lifted his brows. Perhaps I was being melodramatic, but there was no time and no point beating around the bush. Besides, it was all entirely true. If our killer succeeded in developing a serum, all of that could come to pass, and more.
"I fail to see what that has to do with me," Mannering said, attempting to lift his arms, one at a time.
"You used to work at Barts, and we believe Dr. Bell, currently of that establishment, is working on a serum to bring the dead back to life."
His lower jaw flopped open and his teeth almost fell out. He slowly managed to lift his hand to push them back in. "Bell? Why would he do such a thing?"
"Someone is paying him."
"Who?"
"That's what we're trying to find out," Lincoln said. "You will go to the hospital and search his papers. Look for evidence of private benefactors in ledgers, letters, anything you can find in either his office or his laboratory."
Mannering tilted his head to the side to regard Lincoln. "Why would I do this for you?"
"Because I can make you," I said. "I don't want to, but if it comes to it, I will force you. Please, Mr. Mannering, this is important and urgent. People are dying because of this secret serum, and you are our best hope. It's dangerous for us to gather this information. Someone may get hurt and we wish to avoid that at all costs. You, however, cannot be harmed, and you know the hospital layout well, don't you? You worked there for many years, according to your obituary."
"You saw my obituary? How detailed was it? How much space did it occupy?"
"A good several inches of one column. It was the largest listed for the day. Very eye catching."
His lips inched up at the corners.
"So you're willing to do as we ask?" I said.
"It seems I have no choice in the matter."
Lincoln spent the rest of the journey telling him precisely the sort of paperwork to look for. Mannering spent much of the time attempting to lift both his arms together and by the time we reached the hospital gate, he'd succeeded.
"You will get used to moving your body soon," I told him.
"You've done this before?" he asked.
"A few times, yes."
"What an odd little woman you are."
I gave him a grim smile. Lincoln opened the door. "Good luck," I said.
"Wait." Mannering paused, half out of the carriage. "The gate will be locked, as will the north wing and the laboratory door."
"I'll pick the locks of the gate and north wing,"
Lincoln said. "As to the laboratory door, break it down. You have the strength."
"Or you could try knocking first," I said. "If Dr. Bell is inside, he'll unlock it. Overpower him without hurting him, then search his laboratory and office."
Lincoln opened the compartment beneath the seat and pulled out a length of coiled rope. He handed it to Mannering. "Tie him up with this."
Mannering's facial muscles jumped and twitched. It reminded me of the convulsive movements of Frankenstein's creations after he electrified them. The cold, damp foggy air drifted through the open door. I shivered and pulled my fur coat closed at my throat.
Mannering took the rope and lumbered toward the gate. Lincoln fetched the blanket from the compartment and laid it across my lap, then he followed the dead man. We'd covered the external coach lamps before leaving Lichfield, but I kept the internal lamp on with the curtains closed. I didn't even dare peek out for fear the light would be seen, and I didn't want to extinguish it altogether.
I heard Lincoln's voice mere minutes later. "Be prepared to leave quickly," he told Seth and Gus, both sitting on the coachman's seat.
Seth responded but I couldn't hear his words and then Lincoln rejoined me inside. I blew out a long, ragged breath, and released my hands. I'd been clutching them so tightly my fingers ached. My relief didn't surprise me, but it did irritate me somewhat. I didn't want to care for his wellbeing as much as I did.
We waited in silence. No sounds came from the direction of the hospital. Occasionally one of the horses snorted or moved, rattling the harness, but even those noises were muffled through the thick fog.
I'd never been very good at waiting. Doing nothing while others worked was an excruciating exercise in patience. It must have been even more difficult for Lincoln, however. Being a man of action meant he rarely had to sit and wait, yet he managed it without fidgeting, sighing or shivering. I failed miserably.
He leaned over and lifted the blanket on my lap higher. "Don't get cold," he said before sitting back again.
I inched the blanket to my chin. It didn't help. The longer I sat, the colder I became. My toes and fingers turned numb and my face felt as if frowning or smiling might crack it. How did Lincoln manage to remain so warm? He looked so…inviting. Mere weeks ago I would have curled up on his lap and nuzzled his throat. He would have wrapped his warm arms around me and—
The coach rocked as the horses moved. Gus said something to soothe them, but his voice was cut off by a shout.
"Go!" The door opened and Mannering burst in. He smacked into the other side of the cabin and fell onto the seat beside me. He spoke but I could hardly understand a word. He'd lost his teeth."He'th coming!" he repeated.
"Stop! Thief!" came the cry from outside as the coach lurched forward. I recognized Dr. Bell's voice.
"You didn't tie him up," Lincoln said, more accusation than question.
"I did. Had to releath him, though. Couldn't leave him like that all night to be found in the morning by hith underlings. How ignoble for the poor fellow." He opened his jacket pocket and pulled out some papers. "Thith ith what I found. It may or may not be of uthe to you, but it wath all I could find of relevanth."
"Thank you," Lincoln said, placing them inside his jacket.
The coach suddenly swerved and we all lurched to the side. Mannering's body acted as a cushion for me, and Lincoln managed to put out a hand to stop himself slamming into the wall. He righted himself, shaking out his hand.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" came Seth's shout. Gus echoed the question, with more colorful language. Who were they talking to?
"Get down!" ordered a stranger.
"Charlie," Lincoln said, helping me to sit up, "are you—"
The door was flung open and two uniformed policemen scowled at us. Both held truncheons and the one at the back carried a lamp. "Get out," said the front one. "You're under arrest."
Chapter 12
"Hands on your head," the policeman said. "You two, miss."
"What is this?" I asked before Lincoln took control in his, er, unique way. If we could talk our way of the situation, we must try to do so first. "We're just minding our business."
"Without lamps? And when something's amiss up at Barts?" He jerked his head back the way we'd come.
I looked through the rear coach window to see a glowing arc of light, swinging back and forth. A moment later, another two policemen emerged through the fog, trailed by Bell. They must have been near the hospital and heard Dr. Bell's shouts then signaled to the other constables using their lamp.
"Miss, set the blanket aside slowly and step outside," one of the policemen said.
I got up but Lincoln caught my hand. He gave a small shake of his head. Did he want to overpower them and escape? We could do it quite easily. We outnumbered them and we had a corpse with incredible strength on our side. But I couldn't stop thinking about the dangers, not only to us but to the policemen. While I had no love for their kind, I didn't want to be responsible for any harm befalling them. Overriding that concern was my worry about Mannering. If something happened to me, who would send him back?
"You two!" Dr. Bell gasped, as much from surprise at seeing us, I suspect, as from his exertions. "I should have known you weren't journalists. Give back my papers this instant!"
"What are you talking about?" I asked, stepping out of the carriage. I glanced over my shoulder and winked. Then, to Mannering, I mouthed 'Run.' To the policemen and Bell, I said, "Thank goodness you came when you did." My voice shook and I clutched the constable's lapels with trembling fingers. "This horrid man has been forcing us to do his bidding. He made us lie to you earlier today, then forced us to drive to the hospital tonight."
"What utter rot," Bell snapped. He glanced behind me and swallowed hard. "My God," he whispered. "It is you. Mannering…tell me…how? I must know. Who did this to you? Who succeeded where I have failed? Tell me!"
I was suddenly shoved in the back so hard that the policeman and I fell to the ground. He landed with an oomph, and I on top of him. I looked up in time to see two other policemen racing after the retreating figure of Mannering. They would not catch him.
I breathed a sigh of relief, but perhaps it was too soon. We were still under arrest.
Lincoln helped me to my feet and the policeman dusted himself off. Seth jumped down from the coachman's bench.
"No further," the constable said, raising his truncheon and backing up toward his fellow policeman, a sergeant, going by his epaulettes. "Don't move."
"They have nothing to do with this," Lincoln said. His fingers wrapped around my arm as if he were reluctant to let me go. "That man hired them today to drive us around."
"It's true," I said. "Can they go?"
The policemen glanced at one another. The sergeant nodded.
Seth's gaze swept over us then he tugged on his hat and climbed up beside Gus. They drove off just as the two policemen who'd chased Mannering returned, alone.
"Go back to your afterlife," I quickly whispered into my coat collar. "I release you."
"Pardon, miss?" the sergeant asked.
I coughed. "You didn't catch that horrible man? Did you see his face? We can describe him, if you like."
"Come down to the station and we'll sort it out there. You too, Mr. Bell."
"Dr. Bell. That man…" He squinted into the white haze of fog. "That was Mannering."
"You know him?"
Bell's gaze flicked to Lincoln. "I…don't know."
The policemen directed Lincoln and me to walk between them. I lifted my collar to my nose but it didn't keep the chill at bay. It felt like I was drowning in fog, so much like the airy stuff spirits were made of.
"Whatever that man stole from you, he took with him," Lincoln said to Bell. "I'm sorry, but we're victims too." If anyone could look at Lincoln and think him a victim, they weren't looking very hard. Even captured as he was, he showed no signs of worry. It was as if he were having a stroll on a pleasant evening.
; "I doubt it," Bell growled. "But I won't press charges if you tell me how you did…that."
"Ain't up to you," the sergeant said.
Bell, however, didn't seem to hear him. He grabbed Lincoln's sleeve. Even in the weak light of the streetlamps, I could see the glimmer of something in his wide eyes. Madness? "Please, you must tell me. I'll give you my entire commission if you'll share your process with me."
The sergeant pulled him off Lincoln. Dr. Bell growled in frustration, but walked meekly the rest of the way to the station. I no longer felt so cold, or so anxious about our fate, because now I knew it wasn't all for naught—Dr. Bell had been commissioned to bring the dead back to life. His reaction proved it.
"Let her go," Lincoln said after we arrived at the Snow Hill Police Station. "She's done nothing wrong."
"Neither of us has," I said. "That man, Mannering, forced us."
"We've only got your word on that," said the sergeant. "Wait 'till morning. The detective will sort it out. If he thinks you're telling the truth, he'll let you go."
"The morning!" I cried. "But that's hours away. What will you do with us until then?"
"Put you in the holding cells."
Bile surged up my throat. I put my hand out to steady myself. Lincoln stepped toward me, but a policeman held him back while another caught me.
He laughed. "The cells aren't too bad, miss. There's worse in the city, believe me. We keep ours clean and check 'em regular to make sure there ain't no misbehavin'."
I nodded numbly and blinked at Lincoln. He stared back, his eyes as black as London's starless winter night, and just as grim.
"There's only two others in the women's cell," the constable went on cheerfully. "It's always quiet this time of year. Too cold to be out sinning."
Had it really only been six months ago that I'd sat in a cell in the heat of summer? That time, I'd been thrown in with the men. Men who'd seen me as a toy to pass around, and then fight over. Men who wanted my body, even though they thought I was a boy. The spirit of a dead man had come to my aid then, and helped me escape. I had him to thank for being alive, and for changing my life, too.
