Renegade (27 page)

“Lady Westfield will be quite safe,” he said firmly, although he kept his eyes on the contents in the pot.

Then, as he bent over the stove, he brushed against the hot pan of stew and jerked his arm away suddenly, rolling his shirtsleeve further past his elbow to examine the burnt spot. I moved quickly to help him, and then gasped when I saw it. Just above the burn was a tattoo. It was some sort of seal—a coat of arms with the Queen’s markings upon it: the lion and the unicorn. I had seen the Queen’s coat of arms many times, but this was a different version. The colors were deeper, and these markings had gleaming swords protruding from the arms.

Our eyes met.

“What is it?” I asked quietly.

As he placed a cold cloth on the burn, Richard replied casually, “Oh, just a minor indiscretion from my youth.”

He met my eyes again, and I knew that that was not all there was behind the markings. I also had an almost certain feeling that Richard had intended for me to see it.

“Never fear, Miss Sharp, your grandmother will be quite safe,” he assured me again. “Quite.”

I caught my breath at the tone in his voice, and a weight lifted from my chest. I felt instant relief.

“Thank you, Richard.”

Before leaving the kitchen, I took several old copies of the
Times
up to my bedroom to read. I had given Simon the map, to have while he organized our journey, and not being able to study it made me feel agitated and restless.

As I sat on the floor, Hugo’s horse-sized head on my lap, I scanned the headlines and editorials from recent weeks. I needed to do something, and I thought that in the newspapers I might find more information about the cemetery murders. I remembered how Abberline had said they were trying to avoid a mass panic, but I had seen journalists present at Highgate Cemetery that morning. And the story about the Brompton Cemetery murders had been on the front page of the
Times
.

So I was a bit surprised at how, in spite of the fact that two gruesome murders of resurrection men had occurred in two different graveyards, there was actually very little about the murders in the papers. There were a few articles theorizing about them: that the murders had been perpetrated by a Satanic cult, or, as someone from the Royal SPCA suggested, they were the work of a loose wolf. But none of the articles mentioned the symbol that Abberline had found on the tombs near the bodies. Furthermore, all the direct statements from Scotland Yard seemed to downplay the sensationalism of the cases. There was no mention of cannibalism in any of the recent articles, and Inspector Abberline was quoted as supporting the loose wolf theory, stating that the Zoological Society of London had just imported five gray wolves from the Continent and two had been missing upon arriving in London. He assured Londoners that all of the attacks had been upon common criminals—resurrection men in locked cemeteries at night—and thus law-abiding Londoners had nothing to fear.

Another short article quoted a local sexton as stating that he had seen strange figures around the graveyard, specifically a woman in white, beautiful and barefoot. But this was the lone article mentioning any graveyard sightings similar to what I had seen.

Then, as I scanned the paper again, ignoring the multitude of advertisements and announcements, I found a small article about some odd deaths of fishermen and townspeople around the Orkney Isles. It mentioned that decomposing body parts had washed up on the shores of Caithness. That article was short, no more than ten lines on the third page. Typically, Irish and Scottish news rarely made the
Times
, especially news from the Scottish Highlands.

Grandmother had arrived home an hour earlier, and I was sure that she would now be taking tea in her parlor. It was three o’clock, and I began pacing my room. Finally, there was a knock at the front door, and then voices. Simon! I heard his lovely hushed voice speaking to Grandmother.

As Grandmother still did not know that she had a Great Dane in her house, I shut Hugo in my room and descended the stairs, trying to appear casual.

“Of course, Simon. Of course,” Grandmother said to him quietly, just as I reached the bottom of the stairs. She walked toward me, Jupe in her arms.

“Arabella dear, Simon has just told me that his sister Rosamund is in Bath, and a friend that she had been expecting has fallen ill and cannot join her. She is quite unwell in spirits and would like a companion. You must go to see her”—Grandmother’s eyes narrowed, as she knew my usual excuse for staying in town—“even if it means forsaking your duties at the hospital.”

Simon was a smooth liar. His expression seemed so earnest as he said, “I do apologize for the short notice, but our train leaves in one hour. Of course, our servant will be accompanying Abbie and myself as a companion on the way to Bath.”

In that moment, Jupe began snarling in Grandmother’s arms. Somehow Hugo had escaped my room and was padding down the staircase even as I began running up the stairs to retrieve my bag. Jupe tried to leap from Grandmother’s arms as she shrieked, “Arabella, what is that beast?”

“William Siddal’s dog,” I called, and I could almost hear the hundreds of questions brewing in her head.

I grabbed my bag and was out the door, with Hugo, before she could speak.

Twenty-three

T
he moment Simon, Hugo, and I left Grandmother’s home, I said, “What a wonderful lie, Simon. I’m worried however, that a single conversation between Grandmother and your mother, when she returns from the coast, might unravel it.”

Simon smiled. The late afternoon sky had begun to change to dull plum. “I’ve sent a note to Rosamund, who has indeed recently arrived at Bath. She will of course uphold the story.”

He held my bag as I stepped into his carriage.

I knew that Simon was closer to Rosamund than to his other sister, and that Rosamund would do anything for him.

“Of course.”

In the carriage on the way to the train station, Simon explained our travel plans. We were taking a train to Edinburgh, and then a carriage through the northern regions, the Highlands, until we reached Caithness. At that point we would take a ferry over to Bromwell.

On the way to Victoria Station, I told Simon about what I had discovered in the papers—about the murdered fishermen in the area. Simon responded quietly, “I have never been to the Orkney Islands, but I have read much about the area. The waters are fierce and the currents unpredictable in many places. Many shipwrecks have occurred there since the time of the Vikings. The people, well … it is Scotland. We are Londoners, therefore not particularly endeared to them. We will have to be careful when we get there, but still find a way to get information, to discuss the details of these murders—that will be our best means of determining the nature of the beast and her attacks. Also, we will need to secure a reliable guide to help us reach the creature’s island. If the map is correct, it’s a bit away from the mainland. Navigating those waters will be as difficult as cutting our way through a jungle. The Conclave’s selection of an island was brilliant—it’s almost unreachable, and terribly treacherous to ships and boats.”

We arrived at the station. Our own train would leave shortly, and Simon had told me that it was the last one of the day to Edinburgh. As he secured our luggage, I waited outside the coach, Hugo beside me, watching the crowds of people and railway guards upon the platform. The hot steam from the engines swirled about me, and I saw rain trickle down the bricks of an outside wall of the station.

I’m coming, William.

He was in danger, and there were so many miles between us. I would be with him soon, in two days at most—it was seven hours to Edinburgh, more hours by carriage to the coast, and then the time spent on the ferry to Bromwell and securing our transport to the creature’s island. I prayed we would not be too late.

I felt Hugo stiffen and growl beside me just as someone tapped sharply at my shoulder. I turned to find Ellen standing before me, a long narrow case in her arms. My first thought was that I had forgotten something superfluous, like my best pair of gloves or a hat, and that Grandmother had sent Ellen to the station to bring them to me. But the moment I met Ellen’s eyes, I stifled a scream; I recognized that glazed, glassy sharp look well.

“You might be needing this, dollygirl.”

Ellen’s voice came out raspy, and I knew that it was Max speaking through her. I saw Mariah’s possession again in my mind. Ellen’s expression was shocking, disgusting.

She handed the case to me. “A little something to give you a bit of an edge when you get there.” She smiled quietly.

I looked hard into Ellen’s eyes, angry, unable to speak.

“A sword, love. You will need it. Best of luck to you.” Then she turned and disappeared into the steam and the crowds of people.

“You look pale … ” Simon said when he returned to me to help me into the coach.

“It was Max speaking through Ellen. He gave us this.”

“What?”

“A sword.”

Simon had secured us first-class seats so that we would have a comfortable journey. With only four other passengers in our roomy, cushioned coach, we had neither the background noise nor the privacy to discuss Seraphina. Still, we freely talked about other aspects of our trip.

“So, you said you have never been to Orkney?” I asked.

“Never. The place is mostly populated by fishermen—although there are some wealthy families on nearby estates around Bromwell.”

I thought of Seraphina’s father, the merchant. I wondered if she had lived in some lovely mansion just outside of town.

Simon smiled. “And you do remember that it was on the Orkney Islands that Victor Frankenstein created and then destroyed his monster’s mate.”

“And then the monster murdered his best friend, Henry,” I said.

“Ah, you do recall the book details, then.”

I bent to scratch Hugo’s ears. I felt miserable, terrible for bringing Simon along on this trip when all of us might die. And yet I knew that I needed him.

“You should sleep, Abbie,” he said gently. “We have several more hours of this journey, and I doubt you will sleep well on the carriage ride this evening.”

Seeing the half-circles under his eyes, I almost suggested that he sleep, too. Sometimes I wondered if Simon ever slept. Nonetheless, the rational part of my brain knew that sleeping was the best thing I could do at the moment. I closed my eyes, not expecting to drift off, but I soon fell into a deep slumber.

It was then that the nightmare began.

Grandmother and I were walking Jupe near Highgate Cemetery. It was sometime in winter, as Grandmother and I were both bundled in wool hoods and muffs; light spits of snow fell on our faces. The sky was thick—a dullish gray. In reality, Grandmother and I never walked outside in such weather.

No constable stood in front of the cemetery. The atmosphere felt calm, and the gates to West Highgate Cemetery stood wide open.

Suddenly, Jupe, seeing something, broke away from his leash and ran through the gates into the cemetery. Grandmother shrieked. Dread overtook me, but I ran to catch the pug. After I entered the gates, the calm feeling evaporated. Like in so many dreams, my limbs felt as if I were moving through water. Jupe was always just beyond my reach. I would almost grab him, touching his tail even, and then he would dart ahead, slipping away behind another tombstone. I chased him deeper into the cemetery and the snow increased. When we reached Egyptian Avenue, I chased him into the shadowy entrance. My hood slipped away from my head as I ran faster, hoping that I might finally corner him.