Camille (25 page)

At least twenty minutes passed as I stood
rigid like the gravestones behind me, waiting for a sound or sign
of him. I could hear my own breathing and nothing else. There did
not seem to be creatures of any kind lurking in the surrounding
forest, as if the animals had sensed danger nearby and now hid in
their burrows and tree stumps. I willed my feet to move closer to
the trees where surely, if I wandered too far, I’d be lost.

“Strider,” I called quietly into the maze of
branches. There was no reply. I don’t know when I started crying,
but I swiped tears off my cheeks at a furious rate. And I had no
idea what to do now. My plan had worked smoothly right up the point
when Strider had left the cab. Now nothing was going as I’d
hoped.

Now fear mixed with heartbreak and I couldn’t
move. The atmosphere reeked of death, and I had never felt so alone
in my life. I crouched down into a tight ball, unsure how it would
help my situation, but somehow it made feel safer. The clouds
drifted and moonlight returned. I stared up at the sky and wished I
was still under the blanket with him staring up at the stars.

“Strider, please,” I whispered.

A branch snapped behind me. I jumped to my
feet and twisted around.

His seaman’s coat hung open, and his chest
heaved beneath the white shirt as if he’d been running for hours.
He stared at me with that gaze that made every inch of me tremble.
“Call me Nathaniel.”

“Nathaniel… my love.”

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.
His breathing slowed, and he was in front of me before I took my
next breath. But as much as I wished for his arms to wrap around
me, they did not. “Hale will leave the tomb open for two
hours.”

I looked up into his face. The long sweep of
his lashes gave him a boyish quality contradicting the rest of his
expression which was hardened and serious.

“We best get inside then.”

“Let me go alone.” Strider glanced around.
“Why did you not pay the driver to wait for you?”

I shrugged weakly. “I did.”

“Now you’re completely alone.”

“I’m never alone when you’re near.”

His hand lifted slowly, and he wrapped the
white streak in my hair around his fingers. He stared at it and
then at my face as if he was trying to memorize it.

“I’ll stay with you—“

“No—“

I put up my hand to cut short his protest.
“Just for awhile. ‘Tis early still.”

“You are truly a stubborn girl.” He dropped
the strand of hair and started walking. I followed.

I took extra long steps to keep up with his.
The last thing I wanted was to lose him again and be alone in the
crop of headstones and grim faced statues. The ground beneath our
feet fluctuated between sticky mud and slippery moss. “Do you know
where you’re going?” I asked as I struggled to keep pace with
him.

“Aye,” he answered and looked back over his
shoulder at me. “I know the place pretty well.” His disarming half
smile had returned. I’d missed it terribly. He continued on toward
the mausoleum.

My foot slipped sideways on a small slope,
and I smacked my thigh on a jutting headstone. “Blasted grave
marker. There sure are a bloody lot of them. They’ve got some nerve
burying all these damn dead people here.” I rubbed my leg but
continued to limp behind him.He laughed but continued on, as did I,
but with much less confidence in my stride. At one point, I fell to
my knees after tripping over a small stone pacer. “That’s it. Just
get a shovel and bury me right here in the middle of this wretched
graveyard.”

Strider spun around and rested his hands on
his thighs as he bent forward to peer down at me. His face was
close to mine. “Why don’t you climb on my back, my little
ballerina, before you lose an eye or something.” He smiled again,
and I decided it was worth the sharp pain in my knees to see
it.

“Will it be alright, do you think? I really
am having a time of it on this wet ground.”

He nodded. “I won’t be able to see that angel
face of yours if you are on my back. I think it will be fine.
Besides, the exercise and chill air has cooled some of my senses…
for now.”

Strider turned and stooped down. I put my
arms around his neck, and he swept up my legs with his arms. Heat
rose in my cheeks as my legs wrapped around his waist.

“I suppose ‘tis lucky that I’m wearing
trousers tonight,” I said shyly.

“I was just thinking the exact opposite.”

“Shame on you, Nathaniel Strider.” I pressed
my face against the back of his neck. His hair tickled my nose, and
I rubbed my face against him before peering up over his shoulder
again. “Do you really think I have an angel face?”

“Aye.”

I rested my chin on his shoulder.

“But you talk like a bloody sailor.”

“You sound like Dr. Bennett.” For a moment, I
wondered if John still slept where I’d left him in the marmalade
room.

“It’s what I like best about you.” His heavy
steps never faltered even with a burden on his back and the
unsteady ground below.

“What’s that? The angel face or sounding like
a bloody sailor?”

“Both.”

The creamy pink marble exterior of the
Hampton family mausoleum resembled a small gothic mansion. It stood
on its own small hill surrounded by a spear topped iron fence and
several statues with sullen expressions. Strider dropped me to my
feet in front of it. We stared at the building for a moment.

“Ironic, is it not? These people are dead,
and they are housed in a miniature marble palace where half of the
people in London live their lives on empty stairwells and one room
lodging houses.” Strider picked up a stone and pitched it at the
marble façade. It ricocheted off and clinked against the angel
statue which had tears carved in its lifeless face.

“These statues are terribly depressing. When
I die, I want someone to carve a laughing angel for my
headstone.”

He smiled for a moment, then his shoulders
dropped, and he stared at the ground. And I wanted to kick myself
for bringing up death. I could only blame my sudden giddiness on
standing in a deserted cemetery under a full moon with him.

Strider pushed open the small gate and walked
into the tiny yard. The heavy door to the tomb stood ajar. It was
exactly what I’d hoped for, layered in the same stone as the walls
and reinforced with a black iron embellishment. He stopped. I stood
close at his back both for warmth and for that same comfort I felt
whenever I was near him.

“I’ve never spent the night in a burial
vault. Somehow it seems less than inviting.” He peered through the
opening into the chamber.

“I suppose that’s why they only put dead
people inside. No complaints from the tenants.”

Suddenly he reached back and seized my hand.
“Will you stay with me for a short while, Camille?”

“Of course.” I pulled my hand from his and
retrieved two candles and matches from my pocket. The other pocket
held a chunk of bread and cheese wrapped in a handkerchief. I held
it up to him. “I know how hungry you get.”

He took the candles and bread from me and
sidled past the open door and into the tomb. I was close at his
heels.

We stood in the frigid darkness for a moment.
The air smelled as if all the oxygen molecules had been removed and
replaced with the pungent dust of decay. The shadows of monuments
and graves lay in neat order throughout the cavernous vault.

I reached for Strider’s arm. “It’s so quiet
in here.” My soft words echoed off the marble interior.

Strider pulled me next to him. “Tis a good
thing, is it not? After all they are all supposed to be dead.”

“I suppose you’re right.” An involuntary
shiver raced up my back. “Light the candles. This infernal darkness
makes me want to jump from my skin.”

Normally, candlelight added a warm glow to
any room, but in a burial vault, the flames had difficulty enough
staying lit let alone providing any comfort. But the light did
allow a better view of the tomb. Blue and white tiled arches
adorned the entrance to several smaller chambers jutting off the
main room where we stood. In the center, lay a white marble
sculpture of a bearded man laying prostate across the top of an
ornate sarcophagus.

“The family patriarch, no doubt,” I said.

“They are a rich family to be sure.
Shipbuilding, I think.”

One of the many recesses in the thick walls
contained a stone bench. We sat down on it, and Strider pulled my
hand into his. Mine was like ice and his like hot coals.

“Do not stay long, Camille.” He stared down
at our entwined fingers. “I just need you here a few more minutes,
to breathe in the scent of you one last…”

“Don’t say last time, Nathaniel. This will be
over in the morning. My plan will work.”

He squeezed my fingers and I winced. He
released them immediately and stood, scrubbing his fingers through
his long hair. The he pounded his fist on the wall of the tomb. The
resulting thud did not echo across the chamber but was absorbed
instead by the thickness of the wall. Then I heard a cracking sound
like ice thawing between rocks.

Strider stared at the wall and then his fist.
He opened and closed his hand as though it pained him, but not from
the thwack he’d given the wall, from something much deeper.

My hand shook along with my knees as I lifted
the candle near to the wall. A thin crack had snaked its way across
the smooth marble.

“It will not hold me.” Strider returned to
the bench and rested his forearms on his thighs.

“Tis a hairline crack nothing more.” My voice
wavered along with the flame as I resumed my seat next to him.

He raised a fist in the air. “Twas only my
fist, nothing more. Camille, it will not hold me.” Strider jumped
to his feet. “You must go now. Before it’s too late.” He glanced at
the sliver of an opening. “Blast that damn cab driver to hell.” Now
his gaze returned to me, and my heart began to break into a
thousand splinters. “Go now, Camille, run from this place as fast
as you can.”

I bit my lip to keep from erupting into
shoulder wracking sobs. My legs wobbled beneath me, and I wondered
how I would be able to run at all. I lowered the candle to the
bench and opened my mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. “No
more words. Just the sound of your voice makes my chest ache in
agony.”

The tears came like a river. I stared down at
my mud caked boots and shuffled toward the door. I was near enough
to the opening that I could smell the bitter moss on the trees
outside when he grabbed my arm and spun me around and against him.
His arms held me like a vice, and I wondered if he would crush the
life from me, and it occurred to me that I didn’t care as long as I
died in his arms. Just when I thought my ribs might collapse under
the pressure, he released me and lowered his fists to his side. His
lips covered mine, and my fingers clutched at his shirt to keep
from falling backward.

The kiss ended and I felt as if he had
dragged all the breath from my lungs. Strider stared down at me
with glittering eyes. “Go.”

A viscous mist seeped up from the grounds as
I slid into the night air. A faint metallic clicking sound was the
only noise. Wavering lantern light swung back and forth in the
distance. No doubt, Hale, was coming to lock up the tomb. I stopped
outside the tomb, my mind scrambling to figure out what was wrong.
All was going as planned. The tomb would soon be locked. I would
run toward the nearest main road and hide out in a stairwell for
the night. In the morning-- a pistol! The incongruent sound I’d
heard as I stepped from the chamber was familiar and completely
right in the setting, but not tonight. Then Strider’s words crept
out of my memory. I will not go like a coward. I shot back into the
vault, my pulse pounding in my throat.

Strider had the pistol pressed firmly beneath
his chin. I lunged for it and a shot rang out. The twanging sound
of a bullet glancing off a wall and returning struck my ears before
the stinging pain hit my side. I screamed, grabbed my side, and
doubled over. Warm liquid seeped from my skin. A horrible roar
filled the stone room then stopped. Strider lifted me in his arms
and carried me to the bench.

“It only grazed me,” I assured him. “The
bullet didn’t enter.”

Having to see for himself, he gently removed
my hand and lifted my shirt. His finger lightly brushed the skin
around the wound. I shivered under his touch. He removed his black
neck scarf and pressed it against the wound.

“You crazy girl. Why did you stop me?”

I pressed my palm against his cheek. The
black stubble felt good against my hand. “You said you did not want
to go a coward.”

He dragged his face down. “That’s why I took
the pistol.”

“You’re not getting off that easily,
Nathaniel Strider. You are going to see this through to the end.
And in the morning, you’re going to walk out of this place and kiss
me like you have never done before.”

He sat back on the bench, leaned back against
the smooth wall, and closed his eyes reminding me of the first
night I’d seen him in the public house. It seemed such a long time
ago. So much had passed between us in thirty days, it felt as if
I’d known him forever.

I lifted my hand from my flesh wound. The
bleeding had subsided, a result of the cold air, no doubt. I sat
forward holding my side. “Where’s the gun?” I asked realizing that
in the chaos, I’d lost track of it.

Without opening his eyes or sitting forward,
Strider lifted the hand farthest from me. The pistol dangled from
his finger. I reached for it, but he lifted it higher.

“Hand me it, Nathaniel.”

“I’d rather not.”

I shrank back like a cat and jumped for it,
but his reflexes were too fast. I felt a warm rush of blood beneath
my shirt. I pressed my hand against my side. “Now look what you’ve
done. I’m bleeding again.”