Beloved Monster (25 page)

Since we left Charlwood, my mother passed away eleven years ago, and soon after father remarried a much younger woman and had two sons, the heir and a spare. I do hope his relationship with them is much less fractious than ours. Lydia married a Scottish laird and lives in the Highlands, and from what I am told, rarely travels back to Whitestone.

As for myself, I remain more or less unchanged. I did tell Glenna about Reed’s conclusion that I could age at a slower pace than her. Though difficult, she has accepted the sad notion that I will outlive her. Every now and then she tells me she wants me to live on, “live for both of us.” I nod and agree, but a future without Glenna will be a bleak one. But I will not dwell on the prospect now.

I find great comfort in our secluded life at Trevose Head. The monotony of my varied lighthouse keeper duties fills my days as Glenna fills my nights. I have grown to love the sea, the sting of the salt air, the cry of the gulls and gannets that frequent the area. I have also become a skilled fisherman and have developed a taste for pilchards (though they are increasingly harder to find), crab, and lobster.

The money from my father was invested well, and I have already increased the fortune five-fold. We could live anywhere we want, but both of us prefer the quiet solitude of our life in Cornwall. We have survived a few gales in our time here, and we will survive anything else thrown at us. I have my music, my reading, and my love to sustain me. I have even begun to paint, something else I’ve never done before. My favorite is one I painted of Glenna some ten years ago, standing by the cliff’s edge, the breeze ruffling her golden-brown hair as her dress hugged her lush curves.

When Glenna closes her eyes for the last time, I will mourn her. She made me promise to move on. Where, I do not know. I often ruminate on such, and my mind races back to words I read in a book one fog bound evening long ago. Words spoken by another monster and slightly changed to mean me, ‘Why was my heart not made of stone?’

I prefer to live in the present. Take life as it comes. A beloved monster could not ask for anything more.

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Read on for a special sneak peek at book two in The Ravenswood Chronicles series

From the Journal of Luke Madden, Lighthouse keeper

Trevose Head Lighthouse, Cornwall

September 18, 1932

A broken heart has prompted my entry today. I’ve lost my beloved wife, Glenna. Though our parting was inevitable, I did not expect to lose her from a hurricane’s storm surge. To have her literally torn from my arms is more than I can bear.

How cruel is fate? In 1895, I died in a carriage race. Beyond all comprehension and science, I was allowed to live again thanks to Reed Parker, Glenna’s cousin. For in my previous incarnation as Lucas Madden, Viscount Ravenswood, I lived for selfish means that consisted of one debauched incident after another. Many were glad of my passing. My own father did not mourn me.

I was reborn, reanimated, the horrific result of an experiment that should not have been successful. I thrived. I’m no longer that man in the carriage. Though alive, I am not in the strictest sense of the word--human. I am something beyond. Deep within, I am no longer a selfish being, though physically many consider me a monster. The true monster that was Ravenswood perished that day and eventually became Luke Madden, a lighthouse keeper in Cornwall.

Glenna did not mind that I outwardly carried the scars of my previous life. She loved me with the whole of her heart. We shared thirty-seven devoted years together, living a quiet, solitary life. I had hoped we would be granted at least twenty more, but as I stated, fate is cruel, for while Glenna aged, I did not.

Now I must continue on without her giving and warm nature and unconditional love to sustain me. I am leaving this light keeper life behind. Lucas Madden will cease to exist. As tempting as it may be to cloister myself away for however long a subsistence I must endure, I promised Glenna more than once I would not hide from life. Or love.

But I have had my happy ending. I’ve known passion, desire, and companionship. Deep down I understand I will never experience such again. For who else could love a beast?

London

March, 1943

Luke Newman shifted his 1939 Triumph Twelve into third gear as he rounded the corner, heading for the Riddlesdown area and a visit he was not looking forward to. Professor Reed Parker’s health was failing, and his son Fred, Luke’s nephew, made the not-so-subtle suggestion that if he wanted to see him one more time, this would be the chance to do it. At age eighty-nine, Reed had lived a long full life, and his eventual and close passing made Luke melancholy. Reed was one of the last ties to his former life as Lucas Madden, Viscount Ravenswood, and one of his last ties to Glenna.

A sharp stab of pain curled under his ribs at the thought of his late wife. Though eleven years had passed since her death, the emptiness still remained. The circumstances of her untimely demise still haunted his dreams. But he would not ruminate on it today. A flat bit of road stretched out before him, so Luke shifted to fourth gear, slammed the accelerator to the floor, and all 11.81 of horsepower roared to life, pushing the vehicle to its maximum speed of sixty-five miles per hour.

Of all the inventions and advances in technology and science since the late 1800s, the automobile fascinated Luke the most. He tried to buy a new one every few years, though thanks to the war, production had all but halted. Only sixty-six of these cars were made; he was lucky to have purchased one before the war began. The way things were progressing, he may be stuck with this sedan for some years to come.

The war.
Perhaps Fred should have encouraged Reed and his mother, Clara, to stay in Charlwood. The small village was more than an hour away by train or auto, and certainly safer than living in the outskirts of London. But with both parents in various stages of declining health, Fred wanted them nearby where he could check on them on a regular basis. His nephew was a case officer with SIS, the Secret Intelligence Service, or as it was becoming referred to more often, MI-6. Luke could not blame Fred for wanting his family close.

Since Fred was well aware of Luke’s secrets, he gave Luke a new identity, along with accompanying identification. A sardonic smile curved at the corner of his lips as he recalled the conversation he and his nephew shared shortly after Luke left Cornwall.

“Have you thought of a name?” Fred asked.

“Why not Lucas Deadman? Seems appropriate in more ways than one. Was I not brought back from the dead? Am I not dead inside, now that Glenna…?”

“Give over, Uncle. Enough of the self-pity. You promised Aunt Glenna more than once you would live on and embrace life.” Fred rubbed his chin, deep in thought, an action his father used many times. “You are a new man… That’s it. Newman. How do you like the sound of it?”

In truth, Luke liked it. The name fit him well. During the past eleven years he and Fred had grown close, more like best mates than uncle and nephew. Luke often assisted Fred with his assignments, especially where his particular talents could be useful. Being a case officer, Fred was responsible for recruiting and running existing agents. Luke was currently on the payroll of SIS, working with Fred exclusively in London. Only Fred’s ranking supervisor knew of the arrangement. Not that Luke needed the extra coin, he turned the money he procured from his father into a small fortune thanks to shrewd investments at the turn of the century in a little known American fountain drink called Coca-Cola.

Shifting down into third, then second, Luke slowed the vehicle as he neared the small Tudor-style cottage Reed and Clara resided in. Once he parked the car in front of the dwelling, he turned off the ignition and glanced around the quiet street. No one about, but he would not take the chance nosy neighbors could be peering out from behind their blackout curtains. Luke pulled his gray fedora low over his eyes and turned the collar of his trench coat up to obscure his face. After close to fifty years since his reanimation, explaining his appearance remained difficult in most circumstances. After he grabbed the brown paper bag from the passenger seat, he locked the car and headed up the walk to the front entrance.

Clara answered the door and immediately embraced him. “You came at a good time. He is sitting up in the parlor, a little stronger today than he has been.”

Luke kissed her cheek affectionately and handed her the bag. “My rations of tea, sugar, and butter. I have no need of them. There is also some government cheddar, not the best, but I know Reed enjoys cheese and biscuits.”

Clara’s lower lip quivered. “Thank you for thinking of us. He will be so pleased to see you. It’s been a good long while.”

Too long. Not since Christmas and he had no excuse except every time he saw Reed, the pain of losing Glenna came roaring to the surface. Also, his relationship with Reed was complicated at best due to the fact the man used him in a bizarre experiment. At times, Luke resented Reed’s arrogant interference. Luke’s life had been over. He was dead and should have stayed dead. But then, he would not have fallen in love with Glenna and would not have enjoyed thirty-seven years of utter bliss.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Clara said, pulling him from his thoughts. He gave her a brief smile. As he stepped into the parlor, he tamped down any lingering bitterness. Reed looked every bit of his eighty-nine years. Since he’d seen him last, the rapid decline was evident. Hunched over and covered in a shawl, Reed lifted his head to meet Luke’s gaze.
Yes, I can see it
. Death stood nearby, clutching his scythe with his bony hand. Reed’s skin was nearly the same shade of light gray as Luke’s, and pulled tight across his fragile frame with nearly every vein visible. His heart was failing. Even his lips showed the slight blue tinge of a man not getting enough oxygen in his blood.

Luke removed his hat, tinted glasses, and unbuttoned his trench coat. “Good afternoon, Reed.”

“Luke.” Reed smiled. “Sit here close by. My hearing is not what it used to be.” Luke sat in the wingchair. Though in a weakened condition, Reed’s voice was steady and his intellect sharp as ever. “I am glad you came. Fred called; he will be here soon. We will have a bit of a family reunion.”

“Yes. Family.” Luke leaned forward and patted the old man’s withered hand. “Listen to me, my friend, and know this. For as long as I exist, I pledge I will watch over the Parker family and their descendants. No harm will come to them.”

Reed’s eyes grew moist. “Thank you. It is more than I deserve. Though at thirty-four, Fred had better get married soon, or there will not be any descendants to watch over.”

Sitting back in the chair, Luke crossed his legs. “His career and the war keep him busy.”

“That it does. Life does go on. You know that better than anyone, Luke.”

“Yes, a bitter pill to be sure.”

“Since this may very well be the last time we meet, allow me to apologize. You know what for. I had no business messing about with life and death, nor for using you as a test subject.”

Reed had apologized more than once as of late. Most times, Luke shrugged it off and changed the topic. Besides, he told Reed the night they parted in 1895 he forgave him, but for some reason, Reed kept broaching the subject. It could be his extreme old age causing his forgetfulness. No use trying to explain all this, instead Luke said, “I forgive you.”

With an exhale of ragged breath, Reed closed his eyes briefly and nodded, as if the words were a balm to him. Perhaps they were. After a few moments he opened his eyes and pointed to the box sitting on the floor between them. “In there you will find all my notes on the experiment and the subsequent analysis.”

A rush of anger tore through Luke. “I asked you decades ago to destroy them. You assured me you would.”

“Forgive me again, I could not do it. Think of all the advances that have been made since eighteen ninety-five and what is to come. This information will be vital in unlocking questions we currently have no answers for.” Reed coughed, holding a handkerchief over his mouth. When he regained control, he said, “Before Clara comes in, I must tell you that years ago Glenna asked me to examine her during one of our visits to Cornwall. It is highly likely the reason you did not have children lay with her, not you.”

Luke’s back stiffened at the news. Glenna never said a word. Foolishly, he thought they shared everything, but then the Parkers were notorious for keeping secrets. Reed must have seen the look of shock on his face, for he shook his head sadly. “I never told Glenna what I suspected, because I was not entirely sure. I believe her cervix was tilted, and I did encourage her to see a medical doctor for an exam as my knowledge was limited. I am not sure she ever did. Perhaps not, since she did not inform you of any of this.”

That was no doubt the case, and he and Glenna did tell each other everything, except she did not share her doubts about conception. What does it matter now? No use getting angry at this point.