Camille (7 page)

After several blocks, Strider pulled the
second apple from his coat and headed to the entryway of an empty
shop. I followed, hoping he had not changed his mind. In the lonely
darkness of the abandoned steps sat an old woman. A light blue
shawl hugged her frail shoulders and layers of filthy, threadbare
skirts covered her legs. With closed eyes, she was huddled against
the door frame. The misery in her face seemed to be a plea for God
to be merciful and take her. Strider reached down and picked up her
gnarled hand. His touch did not startle her from her state of
lethargy. He placed the apple in her hand. She stared at the fruit
as if she did not recognize it. Then she lifted her bloodshot eyes
in a silent thank you.

A lump the size of the apple had formed in my
throat, and I suddenly realized why every girl on the East End was
smitten with Nathaniel Strider. He returned to me, and I forced a
smile from beneath a veil of dread. How could this possibly end
well?

We did not speak the rest of the way. My
thoughts blackened. Damn to hell the moon.

Dutch’s yowls of protest met us at the front
door. I’d completely forgotten the cat and his sensitivities.
Strider glanced inside apprehensively.

“Tis only our cat.” I stepped over the
threshold and turned to look at Strider. Spatters of sunlight
sprinkled through the cloud cover, softly lighting his face. He was
remarkably handsome. There was an edge of innocence in his
expression that belied all of the disreputable activities I’d
witnessed.

I motioned him inside with my head. “Surely,
you’re not afraid of a cat?” Although, I had to admit, the
unearthly sounds coming from under the coat rack where Dutch now
hid were far from inviting.

“Would you like to hang up your coat?” I
asked as I removed my own.

He shrugged the seaman’s coat higher on his
shoulders. “Thank you, no.” His eyes flitted around the room with
great curiosity. I wondered if he’d ever stood in a house like
this. Dr. Bennett, like my father, had been a gentlemen’s son and
had inherited enough money to live his life comfortably as an
academic.

Strider looked down at his trousers and shoes
then up at me. He fidgeted with his sleeves, his uneasiness growing
with each moment. It was the first time I’d seen him without that
shell of self-confidence. I worried he might still make a dash for
it.

“We live a very ordinary existence.” I
assured him. “You needn’t feel out of place.”

He nodded silently and followed me downstairs
to the kitchen.

I pointed to a stool where Dr. Bennett often
perched while I cooked. “Sit here near the stove to warm yourself.
The kettle is warm. I’ll pour some tea.”

He surveyed the kitchen. “I always thought
fancy houses had servants to make tea.”

I was pleased that he was speaking again. “I
suppose so. Maggie comes in twice a week to clean, but Dr. Bennett
prefers not to have a lot of people in the house.”

His eyes opened wide.

I put up my hand. “Not you. He will be very
pleased to see you.”

He raked his long, unruly hair back with his
fingers. “Right. The good doctor intends to save me from being
eaten by a wolf or beast of some kind.”

“You’re not much of a listener.” I lifted a
filled teacup from the table. “You are in no danger of being eaten
by a wolf.” I wished that that truly had been the extent of his
danger.

Rather than taking the handle, he wrapped his
fingers around the entire porcelain cup. He put his lips to hot
liquid and yanked them away. Hot tea splashed across his lap. He
jumped up and the delicate cup crashed to the ground. Immediately,
Strider crouched down to retrieve the broken glass pieces.

“Don’t cut yourself,” I warned too late.

He stood with a handful of jagged porcelain
mixed with a good deal of blood. I grabbed hold of his wrist and
shook the shards into the tin waste bucket under the table.

Still holding his wrist, I dragged him to the
wash basin and plunged his hand into the cool water, which
instantly colored red from the blood. I drew the clean handkerchief
from my pocket and wrapped it snuggly around the cuts on his palm
to stop the bleeding. His hand felt large and rough in mine. My
fingers lightly brushed his as I finished swathing his palm.

“Tis not as bad as it looks,” I said
flustered by his regained silence. He was so close, I could feel
his breath on my cheek. I became very aware of my own breath now as
I peeked up at his face. He looked incredibly vulnerable, nothing
like the boy I’d been following the last two days. Our eyes met. He
looked at me for a long moment before wrenching his hand free from
my grasp.

“I shouldn’t have com ‘ere,” he said. He took
several steps backward.

“’Tis only a cup.” I struggled to keep the
desperation out of my voice. “Let me fix you some food.”

He stopped his retreat and appeared torn
between escaping back to the streets and filling his stomach with
what was probably his first warm meal in months.

“Please, Strider, stay.” I took a step toward
him.

“Nathaniel,” he said. “Call me, Nathaniel.”
His breath stealing gaze made me quickly comply.

“Nathaniel.” His name tumbled off my lips,
and an argument erupted in my head. Send him on his way, I thought.
He will bring nothing but heartache. But the other half of my mind
confidently assured me that it was too late.

Dr. Bennett called down the stairwell. “Cami,
are you down there?”

Strider’s shoulders tensed at the sound of
his voice. I tried to reassure him with a smile.

“Dr. Bennett, please come down. We have
company.”

Footsteps resounded down the narrow passage.
Dr. Bennett’s brow rose with surprise and a grin erupted below. He
walked straight up to Strider, stopping as he noticed his injured
hand.

“Aah, Mr. Strider, we are pleased to have
you.”

Strider bowed awkwardly, his discomfort still
heavy. “I—I was just leaving, sir.”

He turned to look at me. “Only wanted to see
Miss Camille, ‘ere, home safely.”

I mouthed the words please stay to Strider,
but he only smiled weakly in response.

Our gazes broke apart, and it felt like a
cord between us snapped.

Dr. Bennett stepped closer to him. “Much
obliged, Mr. Strider. But please, for your troubles, won’t you dine
with us?”

“My leg hasn’t caused me any trouble. And I
have to meet some people—about—

about a …” His words trailed off as he raced
to the stairs.

“Nathaniel.” I called after him but it was no
use. The front door slammed shut. I grabbed a loaf of bread from
the larder, ran upstairs, fell out onto the stoop, and flew down
the steps. The long tails of Strider’s coat flapped behind him as
he ran away.

“Nathaniel!” I shouted between breaths,
thinking that my pursuit was useless and that, surely, he
considered me a nuisance. Then he stopped. Slowly, he twisted back
to face me.

I gulped breaths of icy air as I rushed to
catch up to him. “I promised you a meal.” My hand shot forward with
the bread. “It’s not warm but please take it.”

There was an edge of embarrassment in his
expression. “I’m no beggar.”

I shook my head. “I know you’re not. But I
promised you a meal. You’re not going to make me break my promise,
Nathaniel. Are you?”

I placed the loaf in his hand. He stared down
at it. A flood of hunger washed across his beautiful face making my
chest tighten. I wanted to help him so badly now, I could feel the
despair of him leaving in the tips of my hair. “Please reconsider,”
I said so quietly I wasn’t completely sure I’d spoken aloud.

He picked up my wrist with his wrapped hand,
pressed my fingers to his lips, and released it. My shoulders
sagged as I watched him walk away.

I raised the fingers he’d kissed to my own
lips then cursed myself for being so ridiculous in thinking that
I’d made an impression on him. Nathaniel Strider treated every girl
with the same captivating charm. Yet somehow, in those last few
moments, he managed to make me feel as if I was the only girl in
the world.

He was further away now, but I could still
see the confident set of his broad shoulders, and the ends of his
black hair curled up on the collar of his coat. His long gait was
accented with a slight swagger. I drew my gaze away. It was too
late to turn back. Somehow I had to convince Nathaniel Strider that
he needed me.

The front door stood ajar as I returned home.
“John?” I called as I stepped inside.

“In the kitchen, Camille.”

I plodded down the stairs. Dr. Bennett had
the tin waste basket on the table. He reached in with his
handkerchief and pulled out a chunk of blood-covered porcelain. “I
noticed you had wrapped the boy’s hand, so I decided to search the
trash for a cell ….” He stopped suddenly and his face shot up. His
complexion paled.

“What is it?”

“Camille, did you cut yourself, as well?”

“No. I don’t think so. The blood is all
his.”

Before I could finish my sentence, he laid
the glass filled handkerchief on the table and rushed over to grab
my hands. He inspected them thoroughly on both sides. Dr. Bennett
sighed as he dropped my hands. “Thank heavens. What could I
possibly be thinking of exposing you to such danger?”

“I don’t understand.” Then I comprehended his
alarm. “An exchange of blood…” My words fell off to a whisper.

Dr. Bennett sat on the stool and stared down
at the broken pieces of porcelain. “This experiment is over,
Camille. You were right. It’s far too dangerous.”

I stepped in front of him. “No! We can’t stop
now. If we do, he has no chance.”

Dr. Bennett put his hand on my shoulder.
Whenever he was upset about something, the skin on his face seemed
to tighten. Now it looked like glass. “Cami, we both know it’s too
late for the lad. And we both know how this will have to end.” The
somber tone of his words and the dreadful message felt like black
wool around my heart.

My tongue was dry, and the swelling in my
throat made it hard to speak. “No, John, we started this plan, and
we will finish it. Strider is not just a specimen. He is a
human.”

His brow wrinkled causing his eyeglasses to
jut forward on his nose. “Camille, you have not already formed an
attachment to Mr. Strider?” He shook his head. “I should’ve known
better. Getting personally involved with this boy, this boy whose
life will surely come to a grisly end.”

My eyes flitted to the handkerchief, now
stained red with blood. “I was in no danger. I shan’t be careless.
We must try.”

There was nothing more difficult than
convincing a man with an abundance of logic and lack of emotion to
change his mind. Dr. Bennett seemed resolute in his decision.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said quickly, “a
while back you showed me some cells under a microscope that had
dark spots in the center. You called them nuclee something or
other.”

Science always peaked Dr. Bennett’s interest.
I knew the man too well. His eyes widened. “Nuclei. Yes Schwann
wrote a great deal about them. They are central to a cell’s
existence.”

“Have you studied Strider’s? Are they
different than normal? Surely, if they are so important, they must
contribute to the transformation.”

“Naturally, that is where my theorizing went
first. But I cannot see any significant changes in the nuclei of
his cells. I know there are other structures. I can see the
slightest shadows of them through my scope. But my lenses are not
powerful enough.” He squeezed my arm. “I’m sorry, Cami. I should
never have acted on this with such enthusiasm. The truth is, I’m no
closer to solving this than I was four years ago.”

“Only now we have added emotion to the
equation. You and I had never met the victim in person.” My
apprehension about this plan had been acute and for good reason.
Now we were faced with a grim situation that seemed inescapable.
How appropriate. It was not like anything in my life turned out
well. I lived in a backward fairy tale. The happy ending started at
the beginning, when I was young, and progressed right through to
once upon a time there was a girl stuck in an unfortunate
existence. My self-pity moment was cut short by an idea.

“A few months ago, you told me that you
believed each cell had a thin membrane, a boundary of sorts, which
held together the contents and allowed selected materials into the
cell.”

His face brightened, and I hoped I’d sparked
a rekindled interest in his study. “My God, Camille, I had no idea
you actually paid attention to my ramblings.”

I smiled. “I’ll admit some of your topics are
too lofty to appeal, but occasionally, I do catch an interesting
fact or two. Besides, Dutch is not much for conversation. So what
do you think?”

“About what?”

“Isn’t it possible that the transmutation
takes place across that membrane? What if certain molecules are
suddenly allowed into a cell because of the mutation?”

He rubbed his chin. “You know, Camille, you
may be on to something. I would need to borrow a better microscope
from the university.” I could almost see a set of gears spinning in
his head as he sunk into one of his deep thoughts. “I’ll do it. Can
you get the boy back here?”

My stomach tightened. Today had been such a
disaster, and I had no idea how to proceed. I forced a grin. “I
brought him here today, didn’t I?’

“I’ll get the microscope.” He cautiously
picked up the handkerchief. “We may make a scientist of you yet,
Cami.”

I drew back my drapes in a worthless attempt
to add light to my room. A mixture of smoke and fog smothered the
streets, cutting short any attempt by the sun to warm the ground
below. The people on the sidewalk pinched their coats close to
their bodies and tramped through the mist as if moving across a vat
of tar. Except for variations in height and width, each figure
looked exactly the same. The opaque air made my own quest that much
more difficult.