Nessy's Locket

by A. W. Exley

  “Pavlin would very much like a bath.” Rachel’s voice cut through Cara’s concerns.

  “Dragon bath time it is.” Cara smiled at her daughter. To quote Nate, two birds, one stone. Or in this case, two wriggly critters would be clean by the time they had finished.

  14

  End of June, Lowestoft.

  Cara lay with her back to Nate and his hands on her stomach. The house slumbered, and only the creaks broke the silence as the old building adjusted to the drop in the temperature. The dark hours were when the couple discussed their deepest fears as though they couldn’t be aired in the light, in case that gave them life.

  “Can you feel the baby’s heartbeat?” It worried her that while Nate’s heart was a constant thrum, there was no rhythm from the child that grew inside her. At least the hiccups, and the way the child elbowed her internal organs, reassured her that he or she lived.

  Large fingers splayed over her skin. “No. But I don’t think that is anything to be concerned about. It could be the child is unaffected by the link Nefertiti’s Heart created between us. Or the child might be too close to you for me to be able to distinguish her heartbeat from yours.”

  His reasoning was logical, but it wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. When she and Nate were together, there was a single pulse through their bodies. It was only when physically apart that it separated into two distinct beats. The further apart they were, the bigger the time lag between beats.

  “I suppose we will find out when the child is born.” She hated waiting, and this was another thing that wouldn’t be resolved until that day arrived. Like which one of them would survive. Malachi searched his archives but had yet to find anything that could impact childbirth.

  “Have you thought about names?” Nate’s voice whispered over her neck as he spoke.

  “Yes. If it’s a girl, I would like to call her Isabella, after my mother. If a boy, Gideon after my grandfather. What ideas do you have?” It seemed presumptuous to assume they would use one of her choices. But then she was the one growing their child, so that should confer a larger say in the name they picked.

  “Lucien. Or perhaps Damien.”

  Cara snorted and turned to check if he was jesting, but he had dropped the mask over his face and the moonlight made him a shadow-clad statue. “Let me guess, after Lucifer, or the devil? Would you seriously give your son a name that implied he was demon spawn?”

  His shoulder heaved behind her in a shrug. “Society would expect no less. And that’s not the origin of those names, only the association others give them.”

  It was a hefty responsibility to choose the name their child would carry for life. Words held power, and names were long thought to carry the most mysterious ability to control a person. “I’m not sure if you are a bad influence on Rachel, or if she is encouraging you.”

  Nate nuzzled her neck, a familiar tactic to distract her to win an argument. “Perhaps we should let Rachel choose the name?”

  Given it had been Rachel who suggested painting the nursery black, Cara was fairly certain which name she would select. “You’re only saying that because she will side with you.”

  Nate’s arms tightened around her as laughter tickled along their bond. “I rather like having a woman under my roof who takes my side and doesn’t argue constantly.”

  Cara laughed silently. Silly man. He really had no idea of the chaos a teenaged girl could wreak. “Wait until she gets older, that will change. What will you do when the first suitor arrives on our doorstep?”

  That made him still behind her as he considered the idea. “Not going to happen. What boy would dare court my daughter?”

  “Ah. Indeed. What man or woman would dare defy you? The mere idea of such a person should give you nightmares.” The courageous person who sought Rachel’s heart would have to contend with an overprotective father with a fondness for knives and a dragon. Cara was looking forward to watching that fairytale unfold.

  “I’m not sure I’m ready to be a father,” Nate muttered.

  “I rather think it’s too late to change our minds about being parents.” Cara pressed herself closer to his reassuring warmth. She wasn’t ready to embrace motherhood, but at least she wasn’t alone. Whatever the future brought, they would face it together.

  London

  The next day, Cara decided to visit Helene. Her friend’s worsening condition preyed on Cara’s mind. Sand dribbled through Helene’s hourglass, and there seemed only a handful left. If Helene had sought help years earlier, she might have been cured of syphilis by taking mercury, although the remedy might still have driven her mad. Perhaps she was fated to have her mind distorted, which enabled her to peer through the veil that separated the world of the living from where the dead resided.

  Brick deposited Cara in Soho and would then visit the solicitor to check on ticket sales. Society buzzed with gossip about the event. The printers had to keep making more posters, as they were stolen almost as quickly as they were put up. While most matrons feigned outrage at the very idea, they dispatched their servants to acquire tickets and probably had the stolen posters framed to hang in their bedrooms.

  “Helene?” Cara called out as she walked into the house and pulled off her hat and gloves.

  “In here,” the answer came from the front parlour.

  Cara walked through the door to find an oddly normal scene. Helene sat upon the sofa while a guest occupied the chair opposite and poured tea from the laid-out tray. Even Mignon was normal, without a stitch of clothing on his little furry body.

  She blinked, not quite comprehending what she saw. Then the face of the visitor registered. She used to be a pile of bones, having been murdered some years previously. Recently resurrected, she possessed black hair, porcelain skin, and bright red lips that made her resemble the storybook image of Snow White. Except this woman was far more worldly, with a knowing gleam in her dark eyes.

  “Faith, how lovely to see you. How is Hamish?” Cara tugged off her jacket, which seemed to have become overly tight across her bosom. Her body constantly expanded to meet the needs of the growing baby.

  Faith winked. “On the road to recovery. Amazing what a few weeks by the seaside in Brighton can do for a man. Or it might have been that I hunted out and destroyed all his laudanum. Would you like a cuppa?”

  “Oh, yes please.” Cara rested a hand on the back of the sofa as she lowered herself to the seat. She was relieved to hear that Faith had wrested Hamish back from a dark place. At least one of her plans had a happy ending.

  Helene patted her knee. “Baby causing problems?”

  “Only when I want to sit down. Stand up. Go to sleep, or breathe.” Cara leaned back on the sofa. How did women bear child after child for endless years? She was exhausted and still had some three months to go. As the child grew, it seemed to elbow her lungs and bladder as it sought to gain more room by squashing up her internal organs.

  “It will get worse yet. How long do you have to go?” Faith passed over a cup of freshly brewed tea.

  “Three months, and it can’t come soon enough.” Cara inhaled the fresh aroma wafting off the tea that reminded her of spring walks in a garden.

  “Really?” Faith frowned. “You look much further along. I would have thought you had less than two months.”

  “I’ll not complain if the babe comes earlier.” Preferably before its head grew any larger. Cara had asked Amy to check and double check her dates, but she really didn’t know when the child was conceived. To add to their difficulties, she hadn’t noticed when her monthly cycle ceased and had put it down to the stress of the abnormal winter and then being incarcerated by the Curator.

  When seated, her stomach seemed even more prominent. She could almost balance her cup and saucer on it. There was a certain convenience in having her own table.

  Faith smiled and shared a glance with Helene. “Babies tend to pick their own time and won’t be hurried.”

  Cara sipped her tea. If stubbornness was a hered
itary trait, the child might decide to overstay. She needed a change of subject before she started worrying about things she couldn’t control. “I didn’t realise you two knew each other.”

  Faith glanced at the older woman. “We have an old association, and recently the countess was so kind as to offer me a job.”

  “Faith is the perfect addition to manage this household.” Helene sipped tea with her pinkie extended.

  There was an additional cruelty to the disease slowly claiming Helene. Body and mind were balanced at either end of a seesaw, so a surge in one resulted in a sharp dip in the other. Today, while she was more lucid than ever, her body seemed on the point of surrender. Dark circles under her eyes emphasised her weariness, and her shoulders slumped. Even her hair seemed wispier and less substantial.

  As though reading her mind, Helene mustered up a weak smile. “I know my time is approaching, but I have much to do before I go. The spirits suggested I seek out Faith. She will find those who most need the unique safety we can offer under this roof.”

  Cara couldn’t deny her logic. As a former street worker, Faith could move among those women and offer a place to those wanting to remake themselves as something different.

  “Have you told her about the house?” Cara asked.

  “There’s no need. I know they are here. That’s why the countess thought of me.” Faith’s dark eyes glanced around the room and focused on one point next to the bookcase.

  Cara stared at the tea and watched a curl of steam rise up and disappear. Were the spirits of the women who died under this roof similar insubstantial wisps? Things caught by an indirect glance, but that disappeared if you tried to scrutinise them? So few people understood the house, but then so few people died and came back to chat about it.

  “Faith was once one of them and can still see her sisters.” Helene reached for a hard biscuit and dunked it in her hot drink.

  Cara had used a phoenix feather on the few skeletal remains of Faith to restore her to life and to return her to Inspector Hamish Fraser. Losing the woman he loved had set him on a dark path that would have eventually claimed his life. A path Nate began to walk when the Curator stole her away. She was glad they were able to pull Hamish back from the brink, but at what price?

  “Do you remember being a ghost?” It should have been extraordinary to hold a conversation with a woman who had died three years ago. But much had changed in Cara’s life over the previous two years, and the impossible now seemed unremarkable.

  “A little. I remember visiting Helene, and she comforted me when I was confused. The rest is as though I try to remember a dream. There are only snatches in my mind, and they don’t make much sense.” Faith stilled and her fingers tightened on the cup in her grip. “But I remember everything he did to me,” she whispered.

  A chill ran down Cara’s spine as she caught the meaning hidden in those few words, and yet her soul cried for it not to be true. When she used the feather, her sole purpose had been to save the inspector. She had never considered what effect it might have on Faith. “I’m sorry. I admit I thought only of saving Hamish, and it didn’t occur to me that you would remember the circumstances of your death. Perhaps I assumed that death would erase it from your mind.”

  “How could any of us know what happens when you bring someone back from the dead?” A weak smile flashed over her full, red lips. With slow movements, she gently placed her teacup back on the tray. Then she laced her fingers in her lap as a slow tremble shook them. “Even death can’t erase those memories. They were carved into every piece of me, including my soul.”

  Cara winced. The other woman’s choice of words was horrid, given how she was murdered. “Is there anything I can do to help ease the memories?” If there was an artifact that granted forgetfulness, she would hunt it out to help Faith. Then she could use it herself to forget about childbirth, if the stories she heard were true.

  “Yes. I need you to let me talk. I love Hamish and thank you for what you did, but he can never know that I remember my death. It would destroy him all over again if he saw the scars I carry on the inside,” Faith said.

  Cara nodded. She saw the similarities between Nate and Hamish and suspected that was why the two disliked each other so much. Both men were relentless in hunting those who hurt the people they loved.

  “Take your time. We’re here for you.” Helene nodded her agreement, and both women waited for Faith to unburden herself.

  Unshed tears glistened in Faith’s eyes as she began to talk. “I was still alive when he cut into me. God, how I screamed. But no matter how loud I yelled, he didn’t stop, and the pain only got worse. We all like to think we’d be brave and hold on to life if something horrible happened to us. But you don’t. I didn’t care what I left behind. I didn’t care how much it would hurt Hamish. I was just so thankful when I died, because it stopped the pain.”

  “What have you told Hamish?” Cara had been in America at the time the killer struck and knew only what she read in the newspapers.

  They had labelled him The Grinder, because of what he did to the street workers he murdered. The women were dismembered and the flesh carved from bone and ground up. The inspector had found the killer and saved one woman, but he was too late for Faith or those who went before her. No one knew how many exactly, but at least six women fell victim to the former butcher.

  A smile flashed over Faith’s face before the sadness dropped again. “I told him those last two days are blank in my mind. Then I usually change the subject.”

  “The house understands. She will ease your pain,” Helene said.

  “Personally, I think this house has seen far too much pain and death. I am glad Helene plans for it to be a refuge and a place of peace and safety.” How many women had lost their lives here? From the one who argued with the builder and formed part of the foundations, through to the last victim of Clayton Weaver. Some days, Cara wouldn’t have been surprised to see blood dripping down the walls.

  Faith unlaced her hands and smoothed out her skirt. “I don’t have to pretend here. The other women all know what it’s like to piss yourself because you’re so scared and you can’t bear the pain. We’ve all died at the hands of a mad bastard.”

  “You are sisters in death. By joining hands, we will shelter all those under this roof.” Helene stared off into the distance as though she talked to someone else.

  Faith shook off the bad memories with a roll of her shoulders. “The countess has told me what she plans to do here. There are some girls who have the smarts to make something better of themselves. They just need a chance, if we can stop those nasty buggers from getting in here and dragging them back onto the streets.”

  Helene nodded and spoke to the corner of the room that held the large palm. “It will work, but it’s not ready yet. Soon, though.”

  The light on the wall flashed on and then off again.

  Cara stared at the light fitting. “Is my house signalling you?”

  Helene laughed. “Yes. We have established one flash for yes, two flashes for no. She is agreeing that it will work.”

  Treacherous house. If Cara had established a code with the building, her time under its roof might have been more tolerable.

  “Have you thought of baby names yet?” Helene called Cara’s mind back from the past.

  She gaze dropped to the rounded arc of her stomach. “Yes, although Nate wants to name our child after Lucifer if it’s a boy. I still can’t quite believe it’s happening.”

  Faith burst into laughter. “Spoken like a first-time mother. Wait until you’ve popped out three or four. You’ll hardly pause in your day and carry on as though nothing has happened. I know working girls who had a babe in the morning and walked a corner that night.”

  If only her maternal line had such an easy time of it. Cara doubted life would allow her to bear three or four children. Nor did she think the world was ready for that many offspring from her and Nate.

  “I’ll be happy to bear the one and liv
e to tell the tale,” she whispered.

  Helene reached out and gripped her arm. “We will see you safely through. Won’t we, my dear?”

  The light flashed once. Well, if the house agreed, perhaps it would prove true.

  15

  The first days of July

  A few days later, Cara sat by the water of the Serpentine and watched ducks ride the current downstream. Today she brought a paper bag with breadcrumbs and scattered them on the grass for the hungry avians. The child inside her flipped once and then settled in apparent approval of the serene activity.

  As Cara reached the bottom of her bag of crumbs, Lady Sabine appeared along the path. Today she was clad in a navy outfit with light-blue trim. Cara experienced a brief pang of envy at the slim and fashionable silhouette of the other woman. Her own waistline continued to expand at an alarming rate, and corsets and tight jackets had been abandoned weeks before in favour of nonconstricting empire lines.

  Lady Sabine folded her parasol and walked through feeding ducks to sit next to Cara. “If you thought working in the Rookery would frighten me, you are wrong. Esther and I have found eager hands willing to learn dressmaking to better their lot. I see people there who do not have much, but who fiercely love what they have.” She dug the tip of the parasol into the soft earth and leaned upon it.

  Cara folded the empty paper bag into a small square and then deposited it into her reticule. “Careful you do not romanticise their lives. Remember that my husband has poured resources into the St Giles Rookery to provide better accommodation for its residents. We established a kitchen that provides one hot meal a day for everyone, but not all working class folk live under our protection.”

  Cara wished they could reform the entire country. The poor should be guaranteed a minimal standard of living. Every English man, woman, and child should have the right to a roof over their heads and a meal in their stomachs. Not for the first time, she pondered if she could run for Parliament and bring about the changes the country so desperately needed. Although that would involve endless hours of debating in the House for mere inches of progress.