Silent Witnesses

by Annelie Wendeberg

Three middle-aged men entered, effectively hushing the crowd. Grimshaw announced them loudly. He had to pump his lungs several times to get out their long names and titles.

  ‘Are you going to interrogate them now? Shall I get the thumbscrews?’

  I laughed and waved my lids prettily at Warren.

  ‘Ah, I see, your main goal is to torture me. Is that why my sister asked you to join the Freaks?’

  ‘Of course.’ I shifted my focus to the Wray brothers who were in polite conversation with Mr and Mrs Amaury. The men looked…faintly familiar. Hattie told me that they’d had spent time at Harvard. But I couldn’t place their faces. Where had I seen them before? ‘Warren, would you introduce me, please?’

  Only when I heard a faint croak, did I take my eyes off the group and look up at Warren. ‘What?’

  ‘Are you looking for a husband or something?’

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn’t go into detail about what McCurley had told me, could say nothing about our conclusions and suspicions. So I cleared my throat and answered, ‘Yes’

  Warren straightened. ‘Well, I must disappoint you but two of the Wrays are already married, and the youngest is infamous for…buggery.’

  I snapped my fingers. ‘Damn.’

  ‘By the gods, Liz. Sometimes I don’t know whether you are joking, or not.’

  ‘I’m just curious about them.’ I nodded toward the Wray brothers. ‘Somehow, they look familiar.’

  Warren pulled up his eyebrows. ‘A lot of people say that. That the Wrays look familiar. I think all they look is too smooth.’

  Then he offered his arm to me, and tugged me along. ‘Mother, Father, Lords Wray, may I introduce my sister’s best friend, who is also her physician, Dr Elizabeth Arlington?’

  I’d met Warren’s parents briefly before. They had taken as much notice of me as they had of their servants — none. Now, though, they looked me up and down, plastered perfectly courteous masks on their faces, and enquired about my husband.

  ‘He passed away two and a half years ago,’ I provided, which was answered with profuse apologies.

  My gaze slipped over to the Wray brothers. ‘Warren’s told me you all went to Harvard. I was wondering if one of you studied medicine there?’

  One of the older two laughed mildly, and shook his head. ‘We are barristers.’

  ‘I see. But…do you think the Harvard Medical School will one day open its doors to women?’

  The youngest of them — a swarthy man of perhaps thirty-five — cocked his head. ‘They will drag it out as long as possible. As a rule, males do not like to share power. We compete for it. As well, we compete for domination over females. Allowing women into a man’s domain would destroy our long established power hierarchy. Knowledge is power. We view females aspiring for power as an existential threat.’

  Mr Amaury’s jaw muscles bulged. ‘Darwin and his honourable colleagues have proved time and again that women are less evolved than men, and hence, they do not have the mental capacity for medicine. Or any other form of higher education for that matter.’

  Mrs Amaury nodded severely, snapped open her fan and fluttered air at her chin.

  I said, ‘Darwin also told his wife that she was, and I quote, “an object to be beloved and played with — better than a dog, anyhow.” Isn’t it strange how many people are happy listening to themselves spout off about women not being as good as men?’

  Mr and Mrs Amaury bristled with disgust. But certainly not directed at Mr Darwin’s faulty statement.

  I turned my attention back to the youngest Wray brother. ‘Yours is one of the aptest observations I’ve heard. I like your directness.’

  A slow grin spread over his face. He gifted me a small bow. But before he could say more, music began to play.

  I thought back to the dances I’d shared with Garret in tumbledown warehouses in a London slum. There had been no faked smiles. No one was made to strap herself into a corset, or had worn a gown so expensive the price would have fed a hundred street urchins for months.

  I didn’t take notice of the people moving around me in waves. The younger Wray brother asked for a dance, but I only shook my head. I had wasted enough time. It was time to go.

  Margaret whirled a young lady with long golden hair over the dance floor. Her cheeks were shining and her eyes glistened mischievously. I wondered if the young woman was aware that Margaret was lacking a certain few — but crucial — physical attributes of a gentleman.

  Warren was dancing with his bride, but he didn’t seem wholly present. Slowly, I took a step back and wove my way toward the exit. This parade of spoiled upper class individuals was entirely unpleasant. I stopped myself. Wasn’t I getting there myself? My wealth had to be greater than that of half the guests. Of these people I had just deemed spoiled.

  Was I all that different?

  A hand came down on my shoulder. ‘Why did you not ask the Lords Wray about the sketchbook?’ Warren was a bit out of breath. He smoothed back his hair. His light-blue eyes glittered with an emotion I couldn’t decipher.

  ‘I got all the information I needed.’

  ‘Oh. Did you, now. Hum. Care for a dance?’ He placed a hand on my waist, cocked his head, and breathed in mock horror, ‘No corset! Dear me!’

  I pushed his hand away. ‘I don't dance.’ Which wasn’t entirely true.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Because dancing is…an idiotic…’ I looked around, trying to catch the right words. ‘Stylised mating behavioural display.’

  Warren sputtered, ‘It is what?’

  ‘Never mind. I don’t dance. Don’t ask me again.’

  He laughed. ‘Is that so? I wonder what all the sweet young ladies think about your theory.’

  ‘It’s not a theory. And I wish to leave now. By the by, I am relieved you did not include me when you talked about sweet ladies.’

  He clapped a hand to his chest. ‘Oh, I would never dare insinuate such a thing! You are not sweet. Your personality is bigger than one would think would fit your frame. No, you are not sweet, you are beautiful.’

  I snorted. ‘Warren, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not beautiful. And why are you flirting with a woman who is nearly a decade older than you?’

  ‘Are you? And is that all that can be said about you?’

  ‘Yes. And that I need to leave now. I wish you an entertaining night.’ With that, I turned and made for the door.

  Warren followed me. ‘You don’t want me to flirt with you?’

  I came to a halt. ‘Indeed, no. Although I must admit I find it quite pleasant. But I do not want to raise false hopes.’

  ‘Aha! So you have thought about the possibility of me flirting with you, and then came to the conclusion that nothing is ever going to happen between us.’

  ‘What? No! Or…yes?’ I shook my head and resumed walking. At least I’d made it to the first corridor.

  ‘Hum. I see. Whatever it is, you did come to your conclusion very quickly. So, either you find me entirely hideous — which I am not — or, you thought about flirting and then decided I was not flirt-worthy material, for whatever reason that might be.’

  Groaning, I stopped, and grabbed his elbow. ‘Warren, I hate to say it, but you are about to get married.’

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Am I now?’

  I threw an arm toward the hall. ‘Well, this is a bachelor’s ball is it not?’

  ‘Precisely. Which means it is not a wedding.’

  ‘What are you planning, Warren?’ I narrowed my eyes.

  ‘Several things.’ He smiled mischievously, shrugged, and continued walking.

  ‘You’ll probably end up breaking her heart.’

  ‘Fortunately, she is not interested in marrying me.’

  ‘Are you entirely blind? Did you not see how she ogled you most of the evening?’

  ‘I know for a fact that she loves another man. And her parents won't allow her to marry him.’ He produced an impatient growl, and flapped his hand over
his shoulder, indicating the merry crowd in the hall far behind us. ‘And I know for a fact that all those girls have only one thing in mind: To marry me for my name, my wealth, and my influential family. I am nothing but breeding material, Liz. A means to an end. Do you think that’s romantic?’ He strode through the entrance hall, nearly at a run now.

  I’d never even considered that a man could suffer the fate of a woman. I caught up with him, and told him I was sorry.

  He nodded once. ‘You judge fast and harsh, my friend.’

  He accompanied me outside, and down the marble steps. The walkway crunched under my feet as I walked on to Hattie’s carriage.

  ‘Allow me to bring you home,’ Warren said. Upon my frown, he added, ‘I insist.’

  We climbed into his calash and sat opposite one another.

  ‘Why can’t you say no to it all?’ I asked.

  ‘Because Father has power. He has threatened disinheritance.’

  ‘So, it was money or freedom. And you choose money.’ I couldn’t feel sorry for Warren. Many people had to live on less than a nickel a week.

  ‘Isn’t money freedom? But…it isn’t just the inheritance that’s the problem. If I refuse my father, he’ll make sure I never find a post. Not in America. Not even in England. He’ll make sure I’m not taken on even as a chimney sweep’s help. I even toyed with the idea…’ He trailed off, frowning.

  ‘Which idea?’

  ‘To fake my death. But I can’t do that to Mother.’

  ‘You’d need an excellent forger to start a new life.’

  He shrugged. ‘No problem. I have…friends.’

  ‘The mysterious McConaughey?’

  ‘How do you… Oh, I told you about him.’

  ‘Of him. Not about him.’ As the carriage pulled up to the gate of my house, I realised that I had forgotten something essential. ‘Warren, it seems I do need your help.’

  He bent forward. ‘Finally!’

  I smirked. ‘I don't want to wake up my housekeeper, so, if you please?’ I turned and presented him with my back.

  ‘Oh, you mean…’

  ‘Just down to my shoulder blades. I should be able to reach the rest.’

  Warren coughed.

  ‘Just do it, for Christ’s sake! I won’t bite.’

  ‘All right.’ Swiftly, he unbuttoned the top of my gown. He made to say something, but I blurted, ‘Thank you,’ and yanked the door open before the coachman could do it for me.

  I jumped out, but the hem of my gown had got tangled around Warren’s ankles, effectively tipping me face first onto the walkway. Swearing, I scrambled up and inspected my bloody palms. ‘Gods, how I deplore gowns!’

  Warren’s feet hit the pavement. He hurried to help me up. ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘No,’ I bit out.

  He took my hands in both of his and gently blew on the abrasions.

  ‘It is unhelpful to blow germs on an open wound.’

  ‘Is my breath offensive?’ He cupped a hand to his mouth, exhaled and sniffed. ‘Champagne. Sweetmeats.’ He narrowed his gaze at me. ‘How do germs smell?’

  ‘There is no need to keep holding my hand.’

  ‘No medical need. I see that.’ He gazed down at my hand in his, held it up to his mouth and kissed my wrist.

  ‘What…are you doing?’ A stupid question, but nothing useful would form in my mind.

  ‘I am applying my lips to your wrist. Do you wish me to stop?’

  ‘I…’

  He turned my hand and kissed my knuckles. His light-blue eyes were black in the night. He took a step forward until his chest touched mine.

  ‘Two dozen beautiful and well-bred ladies are salivating over you, but you flirt with a woman who is older than you, who hails from the working class, and who runs around in knickerb—’

  His lips touched mine. A soft brush of butterfly wings. Then he slowly pulled away.

  ‘—knickerbockers.’

  He grinned. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why are you flirting with me, Warren?’

  ‘Isn’t that obvious?’

  ‘Your motivation? No.’

  He paused, turned my right hand and caressed what was left of my index finger. ‘You are beautiful and untamed.’

  I wrenched away from his grip. ‘Neither do I aim to be decorative, nor have I any desire to be tamed.’

  He opened his mouth and snapped it shut, shook off my words with a jerk of his head. ‘Why do we suddenly need a dictionary to understand each other? I tell you that I find you beautiful, and you hear me say I wish you were my pretty accessory. I tell you that I find you untamed, and you hear me say I wish I could tame you.’

  I took a step back and crossed my arms over my chest. ‘Like you, I don’t wish to be a means to an end.’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘You are looking for a way out. I understand that. Your parents are insisting you find a wife and have children. You feel pressure to comply because you don’t want to lose the luxuries provided by the wealth of your family. Your way out is to openly court a working class woman. Your father might suddenly find that an unmarried heir is better than an heir courting the wrong woman and causing a scandal.’

  ‘Do you believe that’s my motivation?’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘Did you love your husband so much that no one compares to him?’

  I sucked in a hiss.

  He blinked as it dawned on him. ‘No. You hated him so much that every man now is likened to him.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with my late husband.’

  ‘Then why do you explain away what I feel for you? Wouldn’t it hurt you if I rationalised your emotions?’

  He was right. But it did nothing to change my mind.

  I lifted my hand and ran my fingers along his jaw. ‘I’m sorry. But I’m not the right woman for you. Good night, Warren.’ I turned away.

  22

  Early the following morning, Hattie all but broke down the door. Her first words were incomprehensible. It took her several attempts to convey that Warren had been attacked by a gunman.

  I snatched my doctor’s bag, and she hurried me to the waiting calash. The two horses were sweaty and foam dripped from their bits. The coachman must have whipped them like the devil.

  I stopped. ‘Have you not summoned a surgeon yet?’

  ‘Of course, we have. Father called for a doctor as soon as Warren appeared!’ She shoved me into the carriage. The door was shut, steps folded up, and we dipped to the side as the coachman climbed onto the driver’s seat.

  Unsure whether my skills would be needed at all, I asked, ‘What happened?’

  Hattie was puffing with agitation. She flipped a disorderly lock of hair from her face and clamped it behind her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, filled her lungs, and exhaled slowly. ‘Last night, as he was returning from your home, someone shot him.’

  Gingerly, I took Hattie’s hand in mine. ‘How serious is it?’

  ‘He…’ Tears welled up her eyes. She pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle a sob. ‘He will lose his left eye.’

  ‘A shot to the head?’ No. That can’t be. How would…

  ‘The attacker missed him by inches. Thank God! But the window shattered and the shards flew directly into his face, and…’ She turned away and pressed a handkerchief to her face. I moved to her side and wrapped an arm around her. Weeping, she collapsed against my chest.

  No words of comfort would come from my lips. All I felt was fury. It boiled under my skin and screamed for revenge. ‘I’m done. I’ll kill this prick.’

  ‘Wh…at?’ She sniffled.

  ‘I have an idea who might have attacked Warren.’

  She looked up. ‘You do?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Her tear-streaked and reddened face suddenly lost all colour. ‘You don’t mean… The Railway Strangler? Is this some personal vendetta against you? Is that why he left your portrait with one of the bodies?’

  ‘I believe so.’ I didn’t tell h
er that McCurley and I were working together, and had reached the same conclusion. That needed to remain a secret. For now.

  We reached the Amaury mansion, stormed into the house, up two flights of stairs, and into a bedroom that seemed as large as my entire house. It was as richly appointed as the rest of the mansion. The bed was an enormous, hand-carved, mahogany contraption. The wastefulness of it all was sickening.

  Warren lay half propped up on the bed, one side of his head wrapped in bandages. Next to him sat his father, smoking a cigar. His mother stood by the window, kneading the front of her gown into small dumplings. From time to time, she sniffled.

  I dropped my bag next to Warren’s bed and turned to his parents, who had yet to acknowledge our presence. ‘Open the windows. Throw out that cigar, the smoke is doing your son’s injuries no favour.’

  At my sharp command, Mr Amaury snapped upright and eyed me with disgust. ‘Aren’t you the common wench—’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’

  Stunned, I turned to Hattie. I’d never expected her to speak with anything but respect to her parents. She stood in the centre of the room, fists propped against her hips.

  ‘None of this is Liz’s fault. She is here to help. Step out of the room and let her work.’ She was practically growling. Then, she said with less grit in her voice, ‘Please.’

  Nostrils flaring and without ever looking at his own daughter, he left. Mrs Amaury sniffed once more, and approached Hattie. ‘He is upset, you know.’

  ‘And of course he is the only one,’ Hattie retorted.

  Her mother left without another word. Hattie threw the windows open, and I sat down on Warren’s bed.

  ‘She can be a harpy when she wants to be,’ Warren whispered and winked his healthy eye at me.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ I said.

  ‘Someone… Someone shot me.’

  I touched the healthy side of his face, pulled his lids apart and checked the reaction of his pupil. My fingers felt for his carotid and measured his pulse. Nothing seemed to indicate shock, pain, or blood loss. Odd.

  ‘The surgeon must be excellent.’

  ‘He’s brilliant. But Father insisted on summoning a specialist from New York,’ Warren bit out.