Strange Star (11 page)

As night drew in, rain began to fall – soft and whispery at first, then a steady, relentless drumming on the rooftops. A different maid brought us supper, laying a table near the fire and filling it with many dishes; Peg took great delight in explaining each one. There were pastries and meat in rich, creamy sauces, fresh-baked bread, slices of pear, shortbread, lemon posset still warm with a thick froth on top.

‘It’s a supper fit for two princesses!’ she cried.

‘Well we
are
important guests, remember?’ I told her, as if anyone could forget it in a bedchamber so richly carpeted and warm.

Though Peg tucked into supper like it was the last meal she’d ever have, I was too excited to eat much of it. Afterwards, with nothing else to do but sleep, we crawled into bed. Peg started snoring almost straight away. But I lay listening to all the unfamiliar sounds. Outside, rain rattled against the windows. The wind
had picked up too, moaning and whistling round the chimneys. Somewhere deep inside the house, a door opened then closed. Pulling the blankets round my shoulders, I attempted to go to sleep. But my eyes kept springing open. The more I tried, the harder it became.

Then.

Something was outside our window.

I sat up sharply. Straining my ears, I heard footsteps – someone was on the driveway. My head filled with visions of Da come to take us home. Or Mercy. Or perhaps even Isaac. Part of me felt very glad. Another part wasn’t sure I wanted to leave just yet, not when we were being treated so well, and there were exciting guests from London to meet.

I leapt out of bed. But the window wasn’t where I remembered it, and I walked straight into a chair. The pain of it cleared any last traces of sleep from my head. Of course it couldn’t be Da outside. He was miles away in Bristol, searching for his daughter who all the time was here with me. And I couldn’t tell him or reach him because I was too busy enjoying myself as Miss Stine’s guest, and I felt a horrible pang of guilt.

But gradually, I sensed a line of grey in the dark. This must be the window with the curtains almost closed; it wouldn’t hurt to check who was out there.
The window was still open, the sill wet with rainwater. From directly underneath, the sounds of conversation wafted upwards. The speakers were men. Though they were trying to keep quiet their rage was obvious in their tight, spitting voices. My shoulders tensed as I listened.

‘Who was the last to feed it?’ This was Mr Walton.

‘Me, s’morning when that lad from the village brought the pig carcass. Jeffers said he had too much else to do,’ said a gruff voice. Perhaps this was the man who’d spotted Isaac and me down that path where we shouldn’t have been. He didn’t sound very kindly. If it was him then I hoped Isaac had given him the slip.

‘You’ll recall how it got out two nights ago. And how we only just managed to recapture it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘The locals are talking, Mr Cox. We cannot allow this to keep happening. I trust you double-checked the pen?’

‘We did.’

‘And you filled in those holes by the fence?’

‘Yes, sir. With rocks.’

‘Then how the devil has it escaped this time?’

‘It got out through the gate,’ said the gruff man who was clearly Mr Cox.

‘The gate? The GATE?’

Next came the thud of a fist hitting flesh. I winced.

‘What do we pay you for, eh?’ By now, Mr Walton was almost screaming. ‘Slack, that’s what you are! Utterly slack!’

His shouting made me nervous. Today he’d been the one making mistakes, and now the tables had turned. This was about more than an escaped animal. It was about his own humiliation. And like all bullies, he had to inflict it on someone else.

As quick as it started, the arguing stopped. Something was being passed between the two men.

‘You’ve used a rifle before, have you, Mr Cox?’ Mr Walton asked.

A rifle?

I gripped the windowsill. A rifle meant danger. So far the animal had killed only livestock. But what if it was capable of attacking something bigger? A
person
?

‘We used muskets in the army,’ Mr Cox replied, gruffer than ever after being walloped.

‘Right. Take these.’

A metallic click. A clunk. The shuffling of limbs.

‘These rifles are more accurate than a musket. Only fire if you can see the beast clearly. We don’t want to waste shot.’

Or injure the creature, I thought grimly. For
though it had killed my geese, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. Shut in its pen it’d sounded so sad, like it was already dying a slow, painful death. At least, I supposed, if it did get shot, it would be spared more of that misery.

The men moved on. Their footsteps grew faint. All I could hear now was the rain.

Then came another noise from behind me. It was the click of a door opening. I turned round. Held my breath. In the darkness, a candle flickered.

‘Come! Quickly now!’ The speaker was Miss Stine. ‘My London guests are waiting downstairs to meet you. We’ve not got much time!’

I’d no idea who I expected it to be. But at the sound of her voice I almost laughed with relief. And then I grew confused.

‘It’s the middle of the night, miss. You said I’d meet them tomorrow.’

‘Yes, and you’ll have heard the rain – there’s a storm just beginning. If we’re very lucky I might be able to try something out.’

I felt suddenly flustered. I wasn’t ready to meet anyone. Not at night. Not if it meant leaving Peg behind. And I certainly didn’t want to sit through a storm, not with strangers.

Miss Stine must’ve seen this in my face, for she took my hand. ‘My dear, you’re trembling.’

‘I’m a bit cold, that’s all,’ I said, trying to sound brave.

‘Then you must wear this over your nightgown.’ She draped something light and warm over my shoulders. ‘There. Is that better?’

It felt like a shawl or a blanket of the softest wool. Once again, I had that sense of being cared for. All I had to do was enjoy these lavish attentions. It really wasn’t
that
hard.

‘Yes, miss. Thank you.’

‘Right,’ Miss Stine said, linking her arm through mine like Mercy would, only more firmly. ‘Let’s go, shall we?’

She didn’t mean it as a question, but it seemed polite to nod.

‘Good. The guests cannot wait to meet you, Lizzie. Isn’t this so
very
thrilling?’

She certainly made it sound so. I’d never imagined people from London ever wanting to meet
me
.

Yet a little niggle at the back of my brain told me to be wary. For all its luxury, Eden Court was still a peculiar place. There were men outside with guns, for starters. Not to mention that room downstairs with its shelves full of jars. This was a conversation
for later, I decided. Right now the London guests were expecting us.

And we were, it seemed, in a hurry.

Miss Stine whisked me down the staircase in a flash. We hit the hallway at speed, our feet sliding over the marble floor as if it were ice. Then along a corridor that smelled of beeswax. Down steps. Round a corner. And, breathless, we went through a door.

It opened onto a room full of candlelight and voices. The conversation fizzled as we entered. Someone came towards us.

‘Ah, Francesca.’ It wasn’t Mr Walton. This man spoke in the same expensive way but sounded softer somehow. ‘We’ve been discussing our plans. We’re in rather a rush to get to the coast, as you know. We’ve a boat to catch and would rather not loiter, especially with a storm on the way.’

‘
Loiter?
’ Miss Stine said sharply. ‘Percy, you’re too late. The storm is already upon us. So please, resume your seat.’

‘Oh. Right. Well, if you say so.’ The man backed away.

A chair was pulled up for me; Miss Stine’s hands on my shoulders guided me into it. I sat, heart thumping, to face strangers I couldn’t see. Yet I knew they were looking: their gazes made me flush. And bizarre though
it was, I felt almost glad, like I was being noticed not as a freak but because of who I was.

‘Dear friends,’ Miss Stine said, all charm again. ‘May I introduce our guest of honour tonight, Lizzie Appleby.’

Sensing her hands leave my shoulders, I sat taller in my seat. A smattering of applause made me flush even more. My mouth twitched into a smile.

‘I had promised you’d meet her tomorrow,’ Miss Stine continued. ‘You were to see her scars and hear her remarkable story – this would be astonishing enough. But …’ She paused dramatically. ‘You’ll notice how the weather has deteriorated this evening. There is a storm building, so I’ve called you to the drawing room to meet Lizzie tonight because I want to try something out.’

The guests clapped politely. Part of me was dying to know what Miss Stine had planned; the other part soaked up the applause like it was some rich, sweet treat I didn’t want to end.

‘Lizzie,’ Miss Stine said, speaking over my head. ‘May I introduce you to Mr Percy Shelley, a poet, his …
companion
, Miss Mary Godwin, and her sister …’

‘Stepsister,’ a woman interrupted. ‘We share a father through marriage, that’s all.’

‘… Apologies,
step
sister, Miss Claire Clairmont.’

Their names meant nothing, not then. It was just something more to add to the giddiness in my brain.

‘Now, if we could darken the room ready for my demonstration,’ Miss Stine said.

There were sounds of movement as candle flames were pinched. The bright places became shadows. I tried to ask what was going on but no one answered me. Within moments, the preparations were done. As the guests resumed their seats, the air in the room grew thick and still. Outside, though, the wind was gusting again.

‘You are well aware of my interest in electricity,’ Miss Stine began. ‘Imagine my total joy, then, to discover Lizzie Appleby here in the village of Sweepfield. You see, Lizzie has been struck by a lightning bolt and survived. Tonight we will—’

‘Miss, I’m not sure I’m ready,’ I blurted out, suddenly uncertain. The mere mention of lightning made me tremble.

‘Don’t fret,’ she said under her breath. ‘I promise you’ll come to no harm.’

Three times now she’d mentioned my safety. And though it should’ve comforted me, like the shawl and the fancy supper, it didn’t.

‘I don’t mean to seem ungrateful for your kindness, miss, but …’

‘Just sit still!’ Irritation crept into her voice. ‘Now, as I was saying, tonight we will consider the effects of lightning on the human body.’

‘On Lizzie,’ Mr Shelley cut in.

Miss Stine gave a short-tempered sigh. She really didn’t like being interrupted. ‘As a scientist, I prefer to think of the anatomy, the human body rather than the person,’ she said.

‘But …’

‘Percy, please,’ Miss Stine said. ‘This is science. What I’m on the verge of discovering is astonishing. Life-changing. So let’s not be sentimental. In the pursuit of progress we often have to make difficult decisions, and to consider the more
far-reaching
consequences of our actions. This time, I believe, I’ve got it right.’

Which made it sound like she’d once got something wrong.

‘What is the essence of life? What turns us from lifeless matter into animated beings?’

Outside, the rain kept pouring, blown hard against the windows. In contrast, the room was strangely quiet. Miss Stine held everyone’s attention. I imagined the guests on the edge of their seats as I sat uneasily in mine.

‘What is the force that animates us?’ Miss Stine went on. ‘What makes our muscles move, our eyes open, our lungs breathe in and out?’

No one answered.

‘No, we don’t know,’ Miss Stine said. ‘Nor does the Royal College of Surgeons know – though that charlatan Dr Lawrence thinks he does. Yes, Mary and Percy, I appreciate you think highly of him, but
I
believe the answer lies right here.’

Her hand fell onto my shoulder. I flinched.

‘With me?’ I stuttered.

She kept talking. ‘On January twenty-third a freak thunderstorm descends on the village of Sweepfield. Two people rounding up cattle in a field are struck by lightning. One dies instantly, the other miraculously survives. Is it chance? Is it luck? Or is it something more complicated? Is it
electricity
?’

Miss Clairmont gasped, clearly thrilled. But I’d not expected Miss Stine to speak of Mam and it threw me off balance. This was my story, mine and Mam’s. The way Miss Stine told it made it sound so dramatic, so awful, I almost believed it had happened to someone else.

‘The victim died instantly, I’m told. The only marks to her body were on her fingertips, which were blackened and charred. Her boots were found twenty yards away: they had been blasted completely off her feet.

‘Yet the survivor here,’ she patted me, ‘was hit by the same bolt. Which must mean that as it travelled through another body, the lightning lost energy, making its second strike that bit less powerful.’

Mr Shelley cut in: ‘This is fascinating, but poor Lizzie is looking terribly pale. Perhaps less of the physical details?’

‘Shh, Percy!’ Miss Godwin said. ‘Francesca’s an anatomist, of course we need to hear the physical details.’

They might, but I didn’t. It felt like someone had stamped on my chest.

Pressing my hands against my ears, I blocked out Miss Stine’s voice until it became a hum. I stayed like that, until her tone softened. Then, hesitantly, I dropped my hands to my lap.

‘… so what I’ve learned is electricity can be weakened, and that there’s a point where its force can be tolerated. Too much and it causes damage. Our specimen here
is
damaged.’

I swallowed.

She was talking now about me. She’d pushed up my nightgown sleeve too, and though I should’ve sat still to be looked at like she wanted, I felt only toe-curling shame.

‘No, please,’ I said, trying to pull my sleeve down again. ‘I’d really rather you didn’t …’

She ignored my protests. ‘Observe the scars left by the lightning strike. Here at the elbow, and here at the shoulder and up to the neck and jaw. Come closer, do.’

Chairs scraped against the floor as people stood up. I felt them crowd around me. Heard their ‘oohs’ and
‘hmms’ and ‘my goodnesses’. I wished they’d stop, but I bore it because, despite myself, I still wanted to please Miss Stine.

‘Now to my purpose,’ Miss Stine said. ‘We know of the exciting developments already made in this field – Galvani’s work on making frogs’ legs twitch and Volta’s on how electric currents pass from one form to another. And we’ve all heard of the experiments done on dead bodies – on murderers fresh from the gallows.’

‘I haven’t.’ The voice was young, girlish – Miss Clairmont’s. ‘Though I’m not sure I wish to.’

I didn’t, either. Yet I felt compelled to listen.

‘These discoveries all point to electricity as a life force, a property of life.’ Miss Stine spoke quickly. ‘It is quite dizzyingly simple. A single potent energy that bestows life upon dead matter. Imagine what we could do with this knowledge! Imagine the power it might give us!’

‘Would it be possible, do you think, to bring the dead back to life?’ Miss Godwin asked, her voice husky with emotion.

‘I believe it is. We only need to fathom how much or how little electricity is required. And then, who knows?’

The room fell silent. Miss Godwin was the first to
speak, in barely a whisper. ‘This is incredible. If what you say is true, we’d need never lose anyone to death ever again.’

It dawned on me what she meant. Everything died.
Everyone
died. That was life. It was as plain as the leaves on the trees.

And yet.

There were stupider things to believe in – in Pilgrim’s Meadow on Midwinter’s Eve there’d been superstitions aplenty. And if scientists found a way to bring back to life people who’d died, well, Miss Godwin was right. It would be incredible.

Yet none of what’d been said sank in; I wouldn’t let it. Just thinking of Mam alive again was so wonderful, so joyous, it was agony.

Miss Godwin, though, grew animated. ‘Imagine it, Percy. Our own dear daughter brought back to life. And my mother, sat here amongst us right now.’

It couldn’t actually
work
, could it? Twitching frogs’ legs were one thing, but to revive a whole human being was something else entirely.

‘Mary, my love,’ Mr Shelley tried to calm Miss Godwin. ‘This is a dangerous gift we speak of. People don’t take kindly to challenges on creation. It’s seen as us humans trying to be god-like.’

‘If it could spare our daughter from the grave, then I’ll gladly be god-like,’ Miss Godwin retorted.

‘Perhaps, and it is intriguing, but—’

‘I want to know more,’ Miss Godwin interrupted. There were rustlings as she took her seat again. She was a force to be reckoned with, this Miss Godwin. I didn’t know if I liked her or feared her. ‘Francesca, please, continue.’

Mr Shelley, tutting, sat down.

Something had changed. The room felt different. The
air
felt different, thrumming with excitement and expectation, and I couldn’t help but be swept along with it. Miss Stine cracked her knuckles in readiness.

From the direction of the windows came a sudden flash of light. The hairs on my arm rose up.

‘Is that lightning?’ Miss Clairmont gasped.

Perhaps someone nodded, I didn’t know. I felt my scalp tingle. And down my left side, my scar began to pulse. My fingers went hot, then cold. It was the oddest, strangest sensation.

‘Great heavens! Look at Lizzie!’ Mr Shelley cried. ‘What’s happening to her?’

The tingling got stronger. Strands of hair loose about my shoulders seemed to lift. I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

Miss Stine clapped in a sort of manic delight. ‘Yes! This is better than I hoped! She has an affinity with electricity, don’t you see? Her previous lightning injuries make her the perfect specimen for my experiment!’

‘
Experiment?
’ The word pulled me up sharp.

‘That’s right,’ Miss Stine said. ‘That’s why you’re here.’

‘But …’ I felt dazed, ‘… I thought you
liked
me. I thought you wanted to talk to me and make notes about me, and …’ Hearing how pitiful I sounded, I stopped.

The cold realisation was I’d been duped.

‘Don’t make a fuss. The storm’s almost here and we need to act fast,’ Miss Stine said.

I rose from the chair. Or tried to. Whip-quick, her hands were on my shoulders again, pushing me back into my seat.

‘I’m an anatomist, Lizzie,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘This isn’t about
you
, not personally. It’s about bodies and organs and blood and bone.’

In that moment I saw what I was to her. The fine room, the rich supper, the kind words were all just a pretence. Really, I was just another two-headed creature in a jar. Or perhaps I was like that poor wild
beast being hunted with guns this very minute. All Miss Stine wanted was another body to investigate. She didn’t seem to care if it was living or dead. It was there in her voice; underneath those rich person’s manners she was as hard as flint. And I was just blood and bone.

Hot, furious tears sprang into my eyes. How stupid I’d been to trust her. I wouldn’t stay a moment longer. But again, as I tried to stand, she pushed me down. My legs buckled and I sat with a bump.

‘Keep still!’ she snapped, then to the others, ‘If lightning strikes the pole on the roof, it’ll travel down through these copper wires.’ She must’ve pointed to something or held the wires up for the guests all gasped. ‘We’ll channel it as our source of electricity. Quickly, we must work fast!’

The room became a whirl of footsteps and bewildering sounds: clinkings and snappings and the dripping of water. Lightning flashed once. Twice. The thunder came just a beat after.

‘Hurry!’ Miss Stine cried. ‘The storm is almost directly overhead. If lightning strikes now, it should hit the roof pole.’

I remembered what Mercy had seen on the roof, and how she’d mistaken it for a flagpole.

‘What are you going to do to me?’ I asked, hearing the tremble in my voice.

‘I plan to recreate that moment you were struck, to see how much electricity you can tolerate.’

My heart seemed to rise up into my throat. It stuck there, beating hard and very fast.

‘No,’ I said. ‘You can’t.’

Her aim was for me to be hit by lightning. To see if I survived it.

Again.

I felt a throb of terror so strong I almost passed out.

‘No,’ I gasped. ‘Please, no! You must let me go!’

But Miss Stine called for someone to help her and more hands seized me, pulling my arms behind my back. I twisted. Shouted. Kicked out with my feet. But I was no match for two, maybe three sets of hands. They yanked me and turned me, till I was sure my arms would be torn from their sockets.

‘Tie her fast! Make sure she can’t escape,’ said Miss Stine.

Something tightened round my wrists. As I pulled against it, it dug into my flesh.

And then it was done. They’d tied me to the chair. Try as I might, I couldn’t move.

‘This isn’t fair!’ I cried. ‘You can’t keep me here like a prisoner!’

‘Is there really any need to tie her so tightly?’ Mr Shelley asked.

‘Indeed there is – look how she rages!’ said Miss Stine. ‘I don’t want to make a mistake.’

This was all
so
wrong.

‘Get off me! You shan’t do this!’ I yelled.

The more I fought, the more determined she was.

‘Hold still, you little wretch!’ she spat, as someone rubbed vigorously at my temples, my neck, the soles of my feet.

‘No!’ I cried. ‘No!’

There was a clicking noise. She pressed cold metal against those places on my head, neck and feet. Wires criss-crossed my face.

Then, with a deep breath, she stood back.

‘The equipment is in place. I believe we’re ready.’ Her voice was icy calm as thunder roared overhead. ‘On the count of three …’

I clenched my teeth. This was it. I braced myself for a blinding blue flash. For that smell of burning and being blown out of my chair.

But there was no flash. Nor any lightning. Or if there was, nobody noticed for the door flew open
and Ruth the maid rushed in, unannounced and very flustered.

‘Oh, miss! I’ve an urgent note! It’s from her father. He’s down in the village. Says he’s looking for his daughter what’s missing from home!’