“Say you like it. And say you’ll wear it tonight. With me.”
“Are you being forward again, young man?” I say, lightly. “What have I told you about that?”
“Something about a bloody pulp, I believe. I’ll take the risk just to see you in that gown.”
“Sam.”
“Yes?”
“What do you want with me? I’m just a nurse. Not even that hardly. You could ask anyone to Mina’s ball.”
“I don’t want anyone. I want to go with you.”
“Did Mina put you up to this?” I’m still confused as to why he’d want to be with me.
“I don’t let myself be bossed around by rich little girls, so no. She didn’t.” He sighed. “Now are you going to quit being so difficult?”
“Thank you for the dress.”
“You’re very welcome. Happy birthday.”
“It’s not my birthday.”
“Isn’t it?” The playful smile is back. Lord, my heart.
I can’t take it. I have to change the subject. “Have you had any luck locating Rose? I haven’t seen you at the hospital lately.”
His smile disappears. “Not really, no. Sometimes I think I catch a glimpse of her, but no.”
A glimpse of her? It sounds like she could be playing with him the same way she played with Sonnet, allowing herself to be seen once in a while, on her turf so to speak. The thought gives me chills.
“Sam, I don’t think you understand how dangerous she may be. Her diary is so disturbing. She’s in a lot of trouble. I don’t know what’s true and what’s in her head.”
“The stuff that’s true doesn’t bother me.” Sam sighed again. “It’s what is in her head that has me worried. She became quite delusional in the last year or so.” He looks at me with an apologetic, hangdog kind of look. “I’ve been at a loss as to how to handle her. I know the doctors felt the same way. No one knew how to help her anymore.”
“What of her husband?” I broach the subject of Luke finally.
“What of him?”
“Where is he?” I gesture with my hands impatiently. “Why isn’t he searching for her? What’s happened to him? Why isn’t he helping?”
“Ah, well. It’s a delicate subject, little one. And he’s hardly a gentleman. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has taken off for good. She was far too young to get married anyway, barely more than a child. He’s probably running from the law somewhere, to be truthful. I never liked him.”
“You knew him then?” This surprises me, though I can’t say why.
“Of course. Not well; no one did. He showed a different face to whomever he chose.”
“So she’s really alone then? With no one? Wandering around London?” I feel sad for her. Scared of her, but sad for her.
“Essentially. She has me, a few others perhaps, but no one she will confide in or come to of her own free will.” Sam looks at me apprehensively, as if he’s concerned about what I will think or say. “I’ve tried everything I can think of. I’m starting to get worried. She’s never stayed away so long.”
“You still think she’ll just pop back up at Bedlam?” I can’t help the skepticism that creeps into my voice. “That’s your plan?”
“I do best without plans.”
I hold up the dress. “This took substantial planning, liar. Oodles and oodles of planning. Positively Machiavellian planning, I’d say.”
“Are you kidding? That old thing? Was sitting on a curb I happened to drive by. No one else wanted such an ugly waste of fabric, so I took it home out of pity.”
“Liar,” I say again, but this time with fondness. I finger the gossamer lovingly. Sam watches my fingertips and suddenly I feel flushed. “I should go.”
“You should indeed. Get those wretched rags out of my fine car.”
I laugh as I leave, lugging my precious gift in my arms. I’m careful not to drag it on the ground.
“Be ready at eight,” Sam pulls his hat lower over his eyes, but not before I see him wink.
Her sheets smelled of her, of Sonnet, and the whole house gave me the shivers. I didn’t like the homey touches, the things here and there that reminded me my family had called this home. I had never had things like they did; I found it unnatural. A monogrammed towel in the bathroom, a mug half empty in the kitchen, the pillows on the couch where I knew my father had slept, odd containers of odd food in the refrigerator (probably Prue’s), her food cart parked in the covered porch, the giant blue car that I had seen Israel drive, and once, Sonnet, park at the curb, the same curb I had stood at, in the pouring rain, that night long ago. Not so long ago now. Probably only, what? Two days ago? How funny. Time is funny stuff. But dwelling on it makes my head hurt worse.
I went back to bed on Sonnet’s bed. I covered my head in the blankets, like a child, and wouldn’t get up when Luke prodded me. I was in a mood. One of my black moods. I couldn’t quite remember why we had come, but I didn’t want to admit it to Luke. Hadn’t we already taken care of Sonnet? She wasn’t here any longer, was she? Or was she? Why had we come back? Or had we never left at all?
I laid there and tried to regain my scattered thoughts. They were bouncing around like sunbeams through glass; I couldn’t catch them and line them up properly. Everything was out of order. Once again, the television in my mind had no sound. Luke bent over me, and I could see his lips moving, talking to me, but it was useless; I couldn’t hear. I scowled at him, and when he got tired of being ignored, he left for a bit.
Was the traveling making me worse? What if I finally caught up with my family, but couldn’t recall them any longer or why I was searching for them to begin with? My life’s work was in danger of slipping away, due to my blasted, flawed, wounded brain. The gift the doctors had given me might be the death of me yet. How ironic.
Eventually, I got tired of feeling sorry for myself and got up to make tea. I used a mug with a ridiculous looking fat cat on the front. The tail curled into the handle. It was ugly, but it held a massive amount of bad tea. I picked through the food containers and ate something that tasted of squirrel. Soon enough, I began to notice sounds again: the whistling of the wind through a crack in the window, the hum of the refrigerator, traffic going by. Mentally, I put myself back together, even took a bath which I don’t do often, and was more cheerful when Luke returned. There were all sorts of bath oils and lotions and soaps lined up by the bathtub, and I used every one. I smelled nice.
“Harry and Matthias were happy to see me,” he announced, settling into the couch. He had kissed me like we hadn’t just quarreled, which is one of my favorite things about him. He never holds a grudge with me. He is happy to start over, each and every day if necessary. He teases me sometimes that I am a high maintenance wife. I tell him beggars can’t be choosers, and who else but me would want a thieving murderer for a husband? That always make him laugh, and I love to hear him laugh.
I had located the missing part of my memory concerning our visit here, so I knew of whom he was speaking. “Were they not suspicious at all?”
“Of course not. We were chums well enough, remember? They have no idea what happened after the Grays left here. For all they know, they are living in a castle in medieval Scotland right about now. Of course, they don’t know I know anything about the Lost, so they made up a story about how they moved away suddenly and didn’t leave a forwarding address. I went along with it, though I played the jilted lover quite well, I think. Tried for a hangdog look, and ran my hands through my hair as much possible. Felt like I was in a damn soap opera. Anyway, they had nothing to lose by telling me a bunch of back story on your dad, since they know he’s long gone. They don’t realize we mean to find them, no matter the century. I’m going to heat up some of Prue’s cooking. She’s a darn fine cook.”
“Stupid old men,” I rolled my eyes, and combed through my wet hair with my fingers. “Why are people so gullible?”
“Because they aren’t as smart as us, love. That’s why. Oh well, they’re good enoug
h chaps, but I may need another day with them to get more leads. Mmm, you smell good.”
“What did they tell you so far?” I’m done with my hair and leave it to drip down my back onto Sonnet’s blouse. I had tried on all her clothes in her closet. There weren’t many, and most were strange, but I felt like being her for a bit. Also, I knew it would annoy her to know I was dressing in her things, sleeping in her bed, eating her food, like Goldilocks. The blouse was far too large, but it was a comfortable T-shirt material and was a pretty blue color. It brought out my eyes. It probably brought out her eyes too, but I didn’t care. I was the beautiful one, after all.
“Let’s see,” Luke propped up his feet on my lap. “There was some substantial time in Portugal we could look at. That’s where they picked up Israel, I believe. I also think we need to focus on that buggar a bit more; if he and Sonnet are going to make a love match of it like I suspect they will, they might do a little tour of his homeland, look up relatives—I don’t know, stuff you do when you’re honeymooning.”
“We didn’t,” I pointed out.
“Sure we did. We’re doing it now, aren’t we? Looking up your relatives.”
“To kill them, not drop by for the holidays,” I responded.
“Tomato, tomahto. Besides, you don’t want to kill them. Come on, love, you saw how much they want you in their life. It’s not too late for that.”
I’m skeptical and let it show on my face. Besides, I don’t care if he’s right about them letting me in; I’m not interested. “What else?”
“Well, to focus on Israel again: I was thinking about where he’d go to be the most helpful in 1888. He’d probably stay in a city, partly to find work, and partly to stay hidden from us.”
“If they haven’t traveled centuries yet.” I frown. I hoped we had enough time to locate them before they really made it difficult.
“We found them once; we can do it again, but yes, it’d be easier if they’d stay put in 1888 for a time. Another interesting tidbit: they spent time in a monastery in Spain, close enough to London to get there. Knowing European history and how much they love their antiquities, I’m sure it’s partially still there in 1888, even though it was the twelve hundreds the last time they were there.”
“Why would they go back? Were they happy there?” I can’t imagine being happy in a monastery. Or in Spain. Or in the twelve hundreds. Or at all really.
“Happy enough, it sounds like. Noah attempted to dry out a bit there though it didn’t last, and it sounds like Sonnet enjoyed the company of the monks as a kid. Besides, it would be a good place to hide out when your revenge-bent family members come a-calling.”
“Not funny. You know I don’t get your jokes. Stay serious and help me figure this out. So you think we should go to Spain? Now?”
“No, in 1888. And it’s just an idea. Frankly, I don’t like the idea of you making us go anywhere at all, not with what it’s been doing to you lately. What did you find around here?”
“Nothing relevant. I’m tired. What about Emme’s mother? Do we know anything about her past?”
“Ugh. Didn’t ask about her. I suppose that’s an avenue we could try, as well. I wish you’d let go of this, though. Haven’t we done enough to them?”
I pushed his feet off me. The same old song and dance. He was always trying to talk me out of my plans, at least the ones involving my family. He just doesn’t understand. He left his family. They didn’t leave him. It’s two entirely different things. They’ve shaped who we are: he is good at leaving; I am only good at being left.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Luke put his hands up in surrender, like he does when he knows he’s pushed me too far. “Forget it. We’ll go to Spain. If there’s nothing there for us, we’ll research Emme’s mother. Okay? Forgive? Forget?”
I was feeling too petulant to answer, but I nodded. We pulled an “all-nighter,” as Luke called it, in order to stay and pick the old brother’s brains one more time, and then we left for Spain, with our forever-predictable night at Bedlam in between. And things started to really unravel.
24
I’m ready for the ball, but I’m too engrossed in Rose’s tale to feel much like Cinderella. My gown is bunched up at my ankles, as I curl up in the corner of my bed. Sam will be here any moment, but I can’t stop reading. I have applied my red lipstick and done what I can with my flyaway hair, and my mask is safely inside my handbag. My old black shawl is shabby, but it matches, and I will take it off once I’m at Mina’s anyway. I have no looking glass besides the shiny side of the tin cupboard I keep my biscuits in, so I don’t know exactly how nice I look. I hope it’s good enough for the ball. I’m torn between the excitement of the ball and being seen in my beautiful dress and wanting to cry the whole thing off and finish the diary. I have only pages left. I could finish it easily in an hour, even with the outrageous handwriting.
And then go back to my normal life? What would I do once Rose was torn from me? The idea of catching her now seems ludicrous, and I wouldn’t know what to do with her even if I could track her down. It occurs to me that I am tracking her the same way she is tracking Sonnet, only I, of course, am not plotting any murders. I desperately hope she isn’t either. Perhaps her homicidal tendencies are all in her head? (I remember the girl from the side show, and Rose’s own mother. Perhaps not.) Then again, I can’t trust a single thing she says in this diary of hers; maybe I am fretting for nothing. We had a patient at Bedlam who confessed to dozens of murders and claimed they were all buried in his yard. Scotland Yard dug up every square inch and never found a soul. It was all in his head. That isn’t to say we didn’t all watch our backs around him though.
I glimpse at my clock: 7:58.
Firmly, I snap the diary shut and stand up. I should meet Sam outside. I may not be marvelous at being a lady, but I really shouldn’t let my reputation get too far out of hand. It wouldn’t surprise me if he marched up the stairs to claim me, and that really wouldn’t do. Marianne has a big mouth.
I’m halfway down the stairs before my resolve runs out. I race back up to grab the journal and tuck it inside my handbag. Maybe the party will be dull as watching paint dry, and I can steal an hour away when everyone else is dancing. Here’s hoping.
The Phantom is already here, and I get a little twinge of excitement in the pit of my stomach. I’ve never really done anything like this: been taken to a sophisticated party with a rich man. Well, the rich part doesn’t impress me overly much; it only overwhelms me, but the man part is difficult to wrap my head around. His age isn’t much more than mine, and in fact, were he anyone else, I might call him a boy, not a man at all. I think of Mack as nothing but a boy, and they’re around the same years. But something about Sam is timeless, that old soul thing again that occurred to me when I first met him.
I see him step out of the car, and the expression on his face is one of appreciation and admiration. “You look stunning,” he says, so softly, I nearly have to strain to hear it. His hand reaches out to me then, and I get the wild, crazy thought that he is going to pull me into his arms. I shy away without even thinking about it; it’s only reflex. He puts his hand stiffly in his coat, and smiles, but I don’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes. Why did I act like that? I feel stupid. He probably only wanted to take my elbow, escort me around to the passenger side of the car, like a gentleman. Now I’m left to fend for myself, and I nearly slam my dress in the door as I get in.
“It fits perfectly,” I say, quietly. I’m feeling shy, and I clear my throat.
“Yes, it does.”
“You’re frightfully good at estimating women’s sizes.” Good. My voice is back to a normal squeak, instead of a hardly audible squeak.
“I spend a lot of my free time trying on their clothes.” Sam confesses, pulling away from the curb.
I chuckle. “Must be tough to find shoes to fit. Your feet are the size of boats.”
“You injure me. I have to tell you now, I’m a terrible dancer. I think you should
know I practically maimed the last girl I danced with. Flattened her toes into pancakes. They were never the same. After that, she was the one who couldn’t find shoes to fit.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’m used to staying one step ahead of Mr. Limpet’s wheels, so I bet you won’t maim me yet.” I’m already picturing his arms around me as we dance, and I feel suddenly warm. “Can I have the window down?”
“Certainly. Aren’t you afraid of the wind mussing your hair or blowing your cosmetics off?”
“No.” I lean out a bit.
“You’re a funny thing, little one,” he says.
“I know,” I reply. “I’ve been called worse.”
********************
At Mina’s, the ball is far more festive, fancy, and crowded than I ever imagined. I’d only ever been to fetes at the hospital or the orphanage, and those always had a point to them: a plea to raise monies or funding, or find homes for children, or reward patrons, etc. This is just a party, a party for parties sake, a party for the rich and bored specifically. I feel as though I stuck out like a sore thumb, even though my gown is every bit as lovely as the other girls’. Mina had swooped out of nowhere and embraced me with excitement. She oohed and ahhed over the black dress, berated me for forgetting to put on my mask immediately, and then scampered off to find me a beverage, even though Sam had already done so. He is wearing his mask—it’s a black raven—and I am suddenly grateful for his height and how well I somehow know his build, because I could find him easily enough in the crowd if I needed to. Why would I need to, I chide myself. Oh yes, the den of iniquity I was warned about.
“Hullo, Lizzie,” a cheerful voice shouts. It’s Mack; I can tell even with his silly peacock mask. He and Mina are a matched pair. I wonder what Mrs. Dobson thinks of that. I doubt she approves. Silently, I give Mina a little huzzah! for her spunk. Mack hands me a goblet of liquid. I will need more hands if people keep bringing me drinks. “Having a marvelous time, are you?”
Shadows Falling: The Lost #2 Page 19
