Ella, The Slayer (16 page)

"Alice—"

"Your maid?" his voice interrupted.

"Alice the maid, yes." That wasn't a lie. Alice was a maid, she just wasn't
my
maid. "She wanted to walk to town, and I decided to accompany her. I was taking my katana to Reverend Mason. He has several books on Japanese history, and we were going to look up the engraving on the blade. The sword is easier to carry over your back, and that was where I had slung it. The weather was cool and we were wrapped up warm, but I didn't mind the walk. It gave you time to think, whereas travelling fast in the motor or by bike stops you from thinking at all."

"I thought you liked my motor." I could hear the humour in his tone, and didn't need to look to conjure the wide smile on his face.

"I love your motor, now stop interrupting my story. We were walking along the path to the manse, when we saw a man approaching from the other direction. He wove back and forth; Alice commented that he looked drunk. His clothing was torn and light for the weather, and his hair was matted. We thought he must have been a vagabond, living rough."

I could see the man now as clearly as I did on that day, weaving down the path toward us, lurching from one side to the other with only a light shirt and vest hanging off his frame.

"As he neared, Alice called out, '
are you all right?'
I put out my hand and drew her to a stop. Something wasn't right. Then I noticed the little details. His eyeball hung from the socket, brushing against his cheek. Through his open vest and shirt, I could see the skin pulled back across his chest and the dull cream of bone beneath."

"Was he one of the first to return to the village?"

"Yes." A sparrow landed on the branch above my head, looking down at me as I remembered. He was the son of the local baker. He had returned from the war with a chest wound and died when the influenza targeted his weakened system. Not long after that, I realised I would need to keep a record of the returned and dispatched, like some grisly postal worker.

"Alice screamed. Men from across the road ran to us and stopped him. One put his hand on his chest. The creature looked down, backed up, and lunged. He grabbed the other man's head and began chewing and tearing at his nose and face."

God, the noise. Not just the screams of the attacked man, but the tear and rip of gristle. The chewing of flesh between its jaws, and the thirsty slurping noise as it lapped at the flowing blood, like a hot child on a summer's day with an ice to lick.

"Chaos erupted. The men yelled and tried to pull them apart. One recognised him — Tim Matthews. He had died from influenza six weeks before. He was buried in the mass grave at the far side of the cemetery."

"They hit him and pulled at him, but he snarled and bit at anything he could reach. Three men were bitten before one wrenched the dead man's arm off. I remember the look of shock on his face as he stared at the limb in his hands. The creature carried on, undeterred, as though it didn't even notice it had lost an arm. More people assembled, villagers panicked seeing a man waving around an arm. Then it turned its dead eyes on Alice."

Truth was, it cut a path through three strong men. I saw the monster tear a good man's face off to remove the flesh. It wasn't coming anywhere near my friend.

"I didn't even think, I just reacted. I drew the sword and struck. Its head rolled along the road while its body continued toward us for a few steps, and then it just… buckled. It sunk to its knees and keeled over. The arms continued grasping, nails scraping at the path as it tried to lever its body forward, searching for its head."

He took my hand and tugged me back into the present. "You saved lives, Ella. It could have bitten both you and Alice."

But I was too late for the three men who defended us. It would take two weeks for them to sicken and die, and then rise up against their families. Defenceless women and children, who would fall under the attack of their husbands and fathers.

"No one knew what to do. Alice was still screaming, and I couldn't make my body move. I stood frozen to the spot, staring at the horrible crime I had committed. The local bobby arrived and arrested me. They took my katana and threw me in jail for killing a dead man. I stayed in there for two days while they argued what to do. During that time, news broke of the turned attacking all across England and Europe. The War Office issued a notice that only removal of the head would cease an attack."

He stroked my hand, a small motion that reminded me I wasn't alone in the enveloping dark. "They obviously let you out, since you no longer languish in jail."

Perhaps I should have stayed inside, hidden away from the world that crumbled outside my narrow-barred view.

"My cell door opened, they handed me my sword, and led me outside to where four vermin were contained in cattle yards with hastily erected planking walls." I could still picture them struggling and tearing at the wood, trying to escape their make shift cage. The groans and moans that came from ruined throats. And the smell – that alone could make you gag.

He frowned and leaned on one elbow to scan my face. "They didn't dispatch the turned themselves? Why you?"

I had to laugh. The answer was English sensibility at its best.

"The theological argument still rages. Is it murder, or not? Are they truly dead, or simply in some comatose state from which we cannot waken them? Churches around the globe argue back and forth as to what they are, and Reverend Mason still seeks his answer. Only one thing was clear — I had sullied my soul. In the minds of my neighbours, I had already committed one heinous crime, why should anyone else risk eternal damnation? They believed it to be far better that I hang once for a hundred murders, than a hundred people each hang for one."

Seth swept me into his arms, and in his embrace I found redemption, someone who understood that the horrors of war made us do things unfathomable in normal day life.

Chapter Fifteen

I ate my toast in quiet contemplation the next morning. There was something that had been tapping away in the back of my head for several days now.

"Are you going to spit it out, or just keep us all in suspense?" Magda said, laughter in her eyes.

I sighed and finished the last buttered corner, licking my fingers. "Frank Mercer looks an awful lot like Seth deMage."

Alice nearly spat her tea. The poor girl inhaled it, and started coughing instead. Magda leaned over and thumped her back.

"Seth said he arrived one day to be his playmate. Isn't that unusual?" I wracked my brain, but the war overrode all previous local rumours and gossip. Who had time for petty history when we were busy fighting for our lives?

Magda smiled and shook her head. "It happened before you were born. I'm not surprised you don't remember." She tapped her chin and closed her eyes. "Yes, before you were born. The young heir must have only been around five years old? The duke went away and came back with Frank in tow, only a few months younger than Seth. As the years passed, the similarities between the two grew."

Alice finally stopped coughing. "You think they are related?"

I frowned at my friend. All of those romance novels must have withered away her mind. "How long have you been stepping out with him, and you've never noticed it?"

That dreamy expression dropped over her face, the one that meant there would be no rational conversation from her. "I only have eyes for him; I never really notice the duke."

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes it escaped me as to why I was friends with Alice. "Are they, Magda?"

She shrugged. "Only one man knows for certain, and he was put to an end by the butler with a golf club. Local gossip was the duke had a woman tucked away in Taunton. One winter she passed, and so he brought the boy to Serenity House to be raised with his legitimate son."

That would explain the similarities between them. I wondered how the duchess felt, having another woman's child by her husband and under her roof. Did she care for Frank regardless, or did she treat him like Elizabeth treats me
—
a dirty secret to be pushed below stairs?

Magda stood up, rapping hard on the table just once. "Better get a move on girls. You have your chores to get done before you need to wake
them
."

Routine took over. Alice and I tackled the housework until it was time to rouse Charlotte and Louise. After luncheon, they decided on a trip out in the car. Fabulous news for us, as we had a break from their presence. Stewart looked dejected though. He had to don his stiff uniform and cap, and drive them around. To top it off, they wanted Henry to ride shotgun today, not me. I tried not to poke my tongue out at him as they drove off, but I couldn't resist. It was worth it to see him smile in return as he thumbed his nose. Step by tiny step, we were bringing him back to us.

Back inside, we tidied up the parlour. Alice helped me roll the rug and take it outside for a sound thrashing, while Magda cleared away the tea tray. With a dust-free rug back in its spot, I plumped a cushion, when the flash of cream paper caught my attention. I slid my fingers down the back, and pulled free a piece of paper that unfolded in my hand.

The name Talbot and Dash was one I knew well — that was father's solicitors. Why were they corresponding with step-mother? My body dropped to the chaise as I scanned the scant contents of the letter.

The writer advised that they could not disclose the contents of father's will. That made a shiver crawl down my spine; the horrid woman was trying to find out what she would inherit. The next bit took me by surprise, it stated that indeed the small property was entailed to a distant relative, one Hubert Jeffrey, aged thirty-one and current resident in Wells.

"Oh crumbs," I whispered. That was the name on the back of the letters for Charlotte. Her pen-pal for some months now.

I wondered what game Elizabeth played, and how Charlotte came to figure in her plot. Was step-mother simply looking for a way to sell the farm from under us, so she and the girls might have prettier shoes or matching hats? Unable to gleam anything further from the letter, I placed it amongst the mail on the davenport, and headed for father's library.

He improved daily, even if by tiny increments – subtle eye movements and head turns that I noticed, and step-mother ignored. Hope soared in my chest just as a new feeling unfurled in my heart. I ran a hand along the rows of books, looking for one in particular.

I took the battered notebook from the shelf. The brown leather was worn and creased. In this journal, I laboured with Reverend Mason to record the tragedy of our village. We noted every person we lost to what we thought was an influenza pandemic. Page after page of lives lost. And not just names, we added what details we could. Age, gender, description - anything that might help us identify and match a vermin with the person they once were.

Then we discovered the danger of not just a bite, but also the horrible sickness that came from ingesting a vermin's blood. As the second wave crashed after the first, I recorded all, trying to find a match in the notebook. Did they die in the first wave, or were they subsequently turned?

I ran a finger down the plain cover. There was nothing to give away what lay within its pages. I tucked the notebook into my vest, placing it next to my heart and away from prying eyes. Elizabeth couldn't object to my role as slayer, not without offering up a replacement, but she placed obstacles in my path where she could. If she knew I was about to hand the notebook over to Seth, she would probably drop me down the well and nail down the cover. Which is why I waited until they were out.

The young duke would marry a noble girl, like Louise, and I would go back to scrubbing the tiles and setting the fires. I tried to harden my heart and make it freeze again, but every moment with him made hope flare hotter in my chest, and the ice continued to melt. Soon our summer would come to an end, and I would be dashed back to the cold earth. But I would remember his touch, and his kisses, and the way he spoke to me as an equal, not a servant beneath his notice. At night, I confessed everything to father in hushed whispers, while his still form sat in his wheelchair and listened.

I headed back through the kitchen. "Off to the big house," I called as I passed through.

Today I would take old Trusty. Once on the motorcycle, I opened the throttle and hurtled down the road.

I rode around the back of Serenity House and left the motorcycle by the stables. My instinct said to keep the bike hidden from the front. You never knew when you might need to slip out unnoticed.

Frank walked from the stables, wiping his hands on a rag. His eyebrows shot up upon seeing my ride. "Nice. We had those on the front, how did you end up with one?"

"Father procured Trusty here and had it sent home." I patted the bike as though it were my trusty steed.

"Mind if I cast my eye over it while you're inside?"

Mechanics was a new field, and the village had yet to find one of its own. We learned as we went along with the motors. "Yes, please."

I stared at Frank with a new appreciation. Now the rumour that he and Seth shared a father was burrowed in my mind, I saw more that connected them. Apart from their build, it was the arch of an eyebrow and the smile that lurked in their gaze.

"You all right?" he asked of my inspection.