The Devil & Lillian Holmes (10 page)

Last month? George shuddered. God help them, but did this man mean the Jackal and Dr. Schneider? He glanced at Lillian, who obviously wondered the same. She looked frightened for the first time that night.

He pulled Lillian close and whispered into her ear. “Heard enough?”

“We must learn what they intend to do about it!”

George tightened his grip on her arm. “Trust me for once. We must not be discovered here. It is time to leave. Unless you would like to murder them all and be done with it? They
must
be talking about your Pemberton and Schneider. It’s all piling up too quickly.”

Lillian turned her head away, and so much frustration was etched on her face he thought she might be winding up to punch him. Then she glanced out into the night and he let his gaze be led.

When he glanced back at her, she swallowed, hard. Given the look on her face, she may as well have punched him. Had her life become so unbearable that only drugs would dull the ache? Or was she simply that severely addicted, so consumed that the fast he’d helped her live through would have to be repeated again and again?

He couldn’t understand how she could ingest opiates, why her vampire body didn’t reject them. She did have a few other unusual qualities, too. She shared a fair tolerance of sunshine with his brother Phillip. Her reaction to the change had been especially mild, and she tolerated modest amounts of tea and liquor.

Regardless, she could be totally addicted again and he would not know. She had chosen not to share it with him.

It was time, he thought with some asperity, to leave the premises.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A failed proposal.

As Lillian watched George sleep, she brushed a lock of his black hair out of his eyes. Slumber had eluded her, although she was exhausted and drowsy from her medicine. At least the voices had stopped, and she hadn’t dreamt horrible nightmares these last two nights. She would thank Mrs. Winslow’s remedy for that.

This is not logical, Lillian. You blame the medicine for the voices, and now you praise it for stopping them? Which is it? Reason above all else—you are not immune from the rule.

She could not discuss the matter with George or with anyone. He would not want to stay with a lunatic. He had worked so hard to heal her. Well, perhaps he would stay and she was making excuses. The horror of swearing off her medicine had been almost worse than the change from mortal woman to vampire. She would have to go through it again.

Just not yet.

“Would I could sleep now,” she muttered. “Forever.”

She watched George’s steady breathing, his coal-black lashes against pale skin. How beautiful he was, her love. Did he think her as beautiful? He said it rarely, but surely his insistence of being by her side constantly meant something. Upon their return he’d been an attentive lover and fallen asleep from his efforts shortly thereafter. Of course, he was her maker and took the raising of his favorite newborn, as he called her, quite seriously.

Lillian rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, listened for the first birdcalls of dawn, the first carriage wheels on the street below. They would not be long now.

“What a fucking mess!” George had cursed as they left the mansion. She’d created a good deal of that mess by corresponding with Mr. Doyle at all, and now they had to find a way to thwart the society’s membership before their probing added to an already trying time. And if somehow it came out that George had killed two of their members…

It made no sense, no sense at all. Lillian’s head reeled. Too many coincidences, all surrounding her with their threats, closing in on her, whispering that her life would always be such.

No doubt George badly wanted to leave Baltimore now, but with Phillip off rallying the troops he’d feel stuck. Lil’s own optimism toward asking Mr. Doyle to help her find her child and mother was dashed. Although she had not given up all hope, she almost longed for a time when the truth was hidden beneath her fantasies, when dear Bess chattered on about silly things, when the worst that would happen in a day was that Musketeers would get into a scrape and she would have to rescue them. She understood, just a little, some of the brooding despair she’d first encountered in George. This was not an easy life. There
was
no easy life.

No, it will not do to brood.
Lillian got up and stood before her dresser, silently promising her daughter Jane that she was not forgotten. She reached into the drawer for her bottle of medicine—and slammed it quickly shut at the rustling of the covers behind her.

“Penny for your thoughts,” George said. He was propped on one elbow and motioned her back to bed with a finger. She prayed that he was not about to lecture her, but his dawning smirk seemed to counter any such intention.

“You, sir,” she said, taken again by the beauty of those dark brown eyes, “should be dressed and ready to take on the challenges of the day. Hear the birds? We’ve much to plan.”

“You, madam, should remove that ridiculous gown and come walking quite slowly, quite provocatively, toward me.”

“You, sir, are insatiable.”

“I suggest you not throw stones. I have not met a wilder creature in several hundred—”

“George!”

She rushed toward him and beat him about the head with a pillow, but he just laughed and pulled her in for a kiss. “I knew I could get you over here.”

She leaned into his arms and wondered what would become of them.

“I have something for you, Lil,” he said, releasing her and rising to retrieve a tiny oval box from his coat pocket. “I bought it before perching on your roof to watch over you. Shame on you for letting me sit out in the damned fresh air all evening.”

She laughed. “I do not feel sorry for you at all. You didn’t trust me.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Yes, with good reason, I suppose, but I was certain you would follow me and didn’t mind very much.”

He held out the velvet box but said nothing.

Her heart thrummed offbeat.
Don’t be silly, Lillian!
She tried to sound lighthearted but felt anything else as she said, “It is not my birthday.”

“I was present at your new birthday, so consider it a late gift.”

Lillian pulled the scarlet ribbon from the box and opened it. Inside lay a stunning ruby ring, with pearls, set in gold.

“I thought the color would be good for you. Not quite blood-red… I didn’t want to be cliché.”

“It’s lovely, George. I’m not sure what to say.”

“That will do. Aren’t you going to wear it?”

Lillian hesitated, wondering what it meant to give a woman a ring when you hadn’t proposed marriage. Bess would come in very handy at this moment to counsel her on the protocol.

She placed it on her right ring finger and stretched out her hand. “It’s stunning.”

George nodded, eyes hooded, and smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

Then her languid lover vanished. He popped out of bed and pulled on his trousers, his back to her. Dressing quickly he said, “You are right, we have much planning to do. I dearly wish Phillip were back to help, but we’ll have to deal with this blasted Society business sooner rather than later.”

Ah, yes.
“And I must take advantage of this time to look for Jane. Who knows how many days we have left in Baltimore.”

“Jane? Oh, I see.” George walked back and cupped her cheek with his hand. “Yes, we will discuss what to do about Jane as well. I must go home for a bit, but I’ll return this afternoon and we’ll chart out a plan. Yes?”

“Of course.”

George left in such a hurry that Lillian didn’t have time to thank him again for the ring. She rushed to her drawer and took a deep swig of her medicine, to calm the confusion, and then sat on her bed and stared at the gift. What exactly did it mean? What exactly did any of it mean?

After only moments, George broke back through her door, face grim, motioning for her to come downstairs. “I’m so sorry, love. There is terrible news.”

“Tell me!” Lillian commanded.

“It’s Aileen. Constable Moran is downstairs. It seems…it seems the Devil has struck again.”

“What?” Lillian could barely hear through the sudden buzzing in her ears. “What are you saying about Aileen?”

“I’m so sorry, Lil.” He pulled her close, and her legs felt as if they would give out.

In a fog, she let George lead her down the stairs to the parlor where Johnnie Moran cradled the lifeless body of her friend and maid of five years. Aileen O’Shaunessy’s normally rosy cheeks were white, and her hair hung limply over a bloodied dress. Lillian rushed to Aileen’s side to feel for a pulse, hoping that she could offer the girl the same chance she herself had been given when at death’s door. Circumspection be damned, she would—

“No, I checked,” George whispered.

Lillian hugged Johnnie and wept with him, wiping quickly at her tears so that he could not see that she cried blood. He was not processing much, however, and seemed in severe shock. She could not even get from him where the body had been found.

George pulled her to her feet and held her closely. “We must find the boys. They cannot see this.”

“Oh God, what will become of them!” Lillian turned to Johnnie. “Where are the children, Johnnie?”

He still looked as if he didn’t recognize her. “They took Abraham outside.”

“I’ll see to them, Lil.” George had to shake her shoulder to get her to look up. “I’ll take them to my home for the nonce, until we can figure out the best way to break it to them. Will you be all right here until I return? Will you?”

“Who did this?” Johnnie wailed. “A demon did this! My Aileen, my Aileen!” He rocked her limp form in his arms and stared at Lillian. “Who did this, Miss Holmes? The person who killed the gypsy—it is the same person. I will kill him myself, I swear!”

“I will help you,” George said before leaving the house.

“Where did you find her?” Lillian asked again.

“In your rose garden. I saw her last night…alive…so beautiful. I was going to ask her to marry me, but I could not for some reason. I wanted the perfect time, the perfect words. I waited. I waited! If I would have acted we might have spent the night in one another’s arms and she would be safe. I came early today, hoping to take her for a nice breakfast. I shouldn’t have left her!”

Lillian wanted to ride far away and curl up with her medicine, hide in the park and be alone. “It is not your fault, Johnnie! Do
not
do this to yourself. But we must call for the police and the undertaker.”

“I am the police, miss. I didn’t protect her. God help me—”

“The children must not see or hear of this just yet. Do you understand? You must be strong. Your brother, her two brothers—we must break it to them gently, but we must also handle it with care and speed.”

He nodded, but Lillian was sure he understood nothing of what she’d said. “‘It’? My Aileen is nothing but a thing now.”

She turned to find someone to help her, but Addie and Thomas were in Chicago. Aileen normally would be the one to send a note through the boys, but now… Lillian began to weep again. Her home would become a morgue if Marie de Bourbon wasn’t stopped.

She wiped her tears for a second time and stood, staring at the awful, unreal scene. Guilt and resolution melded within her.
She
had brought this devil into her home, through her love for George, and
she
would exterminate the witch. She would learn all she could from George and Phillip, learn how to build an army to fight this abomination. And she would not fail. Just as she would not fail in finding her daughter.

Rushing to the door to find help, Lillian had the fleeting and contrary intuition that Mr. Conan Doyle might be useful somehow. That was, if he weren’t already dead from having a fleeting acquaintance with her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A sad goodbye and tender hello.

The short religious service over, the mourners, especially the children, flocked to Lillian’s side as if she would have some solace to offer. Johnnie Moran stayed kneeling at the graveside, praying and talking to his beloved as the priest left. The gravedigger leaned impatiently on his shovel.

If Lillian thought George inhuman at times, that feeling dissipated when her lover went back to the heartbroken constable and knelt with him, a comforting arm around his shoulders, waiting for the man to finish his goodbyes. Of course, George had seen—and caused—enough death in his lifetime for a thousand men. How would Lil herself ever get used to it? How many people would she outlive? The children clutching at her skirts, Kitty Twamley, who now leaned on Phillip’s shoulder… How did Phillip remain so pleasant, so gay, knowing his beloved would wither before him?

Lillian leaned over to ruffle Paddy Moran’s hair and wiped the boy’s tearstained cheeks. He sucked his thumb, a habit she’d typically scold him for, but what other comfort could she give these children who’d now lost sister and mother, as Aileen had been to all three, even Johnnie’s brothers? Well,
she
would have to become their mother, and they would all stay in her home, and she would offer the same to Johnnie, who needed the care of a mother now as well. Phillip and Kitty had wanted to help, too, and for once Lillian would take them up on an offer. And her house was now guarded by someone who had perhaps a slim chance against Marie de Bourbon.

George had described Chauncey Sullivan perfectly: a giant man with arms like tree trunks, a frightening countenance, and a bewilderingly mild personality; once a cannibal, now a sworn foe of those he considered evil, at the top of which list was Marie de Bourbon. He would fight to the death to defend innocents from her. At least, that was what he had promised George and Phillip.

Along with Sullivan, Phillip had secured only one more combatant, Chauncey’s lover Phoebe, a slim Negress who was evidently steadfast in her devotion. While the couple now resided with the Orleans brothers, they would appear at odd times during the day, strolling down the street or alley near Lillian’s home, but they were eyes everywhere, watching, guarding.