The Devil & Lillian Holmes (11 page)

“Shouldn’t they be more circumspect?” Lillian had asked George and Phillip.

Phillip shrugged. “I am almost sorry I brought them here. I cannot shake the feeling that Chauncey knew I was coming to retrieve him and has his own motives.”

“What do we care, Phil?” George said. “As long as he targets Marie, his motives hardly matter.”

Lillian hadn’t added that she felt a chill whenever Sullivan was near, but she’d pointed out, “They say so little.” George had watched her very carefully these past few days, and she didn’t want to give him reason to examine her every move. A deep shame mixed with panic swept through her.
He will take my pills away.

They had all been interviewed in depth by a Lieutenant Worthington, who, with Johnnie Moran, saw the unmistakable link to Annaluisa’s murder. That a pattern had formed, they were sure; exactly what had happened to the women they seemed to have no clue. Johnnie wanted revenge, badly. In the lucid moments he had between fits of overwhelming grief, he spoke of nothing but finding the perpetrator.

At least they were all on the same side, Lillian thought, although the mortals could not share the full complexities of the story.

Kitty gathered Darby into her arms and took Billy by the hand, and Lillian picked up Paddy, and the two women led the boys to the carriage and away from the gentle slope that now swallowed the remains of Aileen. George pulled Johnnie to his feet and encouraged him to follow after. Lillian watched them approach, silhouettes against the sun that climbed higher in the morning sky. Then she saw a figure in the distance.

“My God!” she said, her nerves on fire, wiping away a new round of tears to make sure she wasn’t imagining that the woman shaded under a wide nearby oak was her friend.

No, it was true. There was the awkward stance Bess used to hide her disfigurement, the frilly bonnet, the full figure. She had come. For Aileen, no doubt, but she had come. No one else save the vampires, the boys, Kitty and the priest had cared enough to attend. Of course, Bess and Aileen had been friends. Although separated by circumstance, they had chatted on about frocks and men, teased Lillian about her appearance.

That was so long ago,
Lil thought. Or so it seemed. Had it only been weeks past that Bess had rejected their friendship, angry at the loss of trust?

She glanced at George, unsure what to do. They were better off alone, he’d said more than once. Even if Bess wanted to renew their friendship, Lillian would be putting her at risk. She would also be putting the secrecy of all vampires at risk.

George followed her glance and straightened in surprise. When he came to her side, he leaned in and whispered, “I know how you have missed her, but that is part of our life. Still, it is your choice. You know the dangers. If she will have you as a friend, you have much to consider.”

“Are you saying this to test me?” Lillian asked. “I cannot ignore her. I cannot. Will you command me to walk away?”

“I have never commanded you, Lillian,” he whispered.

“No? I suppose not. So I will see her, George.”

George smiled sadly and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I know. That is one of the things I admire in you. That loyalty is one of the things that made me…come to care for you.”

Out of habit, Lillian straightened her bonnet before approaching Bess lest she be chastised. She swept quickly up the grassy hill, knowing that Bess might flee, but that she had to approach decisively or lose nerve.

When she was several feet away, she saw Bess’s tears. Lillian took a few more steps, but her friend held out a warning hand.

“It was so good of you to come, Miss Wheeler,” Lillian said. She was horrified that her voice shook, and she wanted to reach into her bag for medicine to calm herself. This matter needed steadiness.

“Aileen was a friend, Miss Holmes.”

Bess’s chin quivered, and Lillian thought she’d scream if things were to stay so formal. But she did not say so. “Indeed. She loved you well.”

“How did she die, Lil? I could find nothing in the paper that I believed. She was as healthy as…healthier than us both.”

“A terrible accident.”

“Do you know that your left brow arches when you lie? In all of these years I never told you, as it gave me one small advantage where otherwise I would have none.”

“Did I lie much?”

Bess sniffed out a tired laugh. “No, no, I cannot say you did. Only when you thanked me for my opinion in clothing.” She sighed. “I see you and George are still…connected. I suppose I shall leave, then.”

“George?” Lillian repeated. “Is that why you severed our friendship? I have room in my heart for you both!”

“Partly,” Bess agreed. “But what is the point of a friendship in which truth is a stranger?”

Lillian felt heat rise to her cheeks, though she knew she appeared as pale as ever to her old friend. She had no answer for Bess, either, for the truth must remain hidden. Secrets, secrets, always secrets.

“I suppose you have not found your child yet?” Bess wiped at her tears and shifted her weight off of her bad foot.

“No. And I would have your help if you could find a way to forgive me. I would have you back, Bess. I would do anything. You can’t know how I love you.”

“You would do anything?” Bess asked.

“Nearly anything. Anything within my power! You saved my life by running to George for help. You were my Watson. You were…
are
…a wonderful woman. I never deserved such a friendship. I suppose I do not deserve it now.”

Bess straightened and stared proudly into Lillian’s eyes. “You look unwell, Lil. This new life does not so much agree with you, I think.” Then she turned and made her way carefully down the hill toward the path to the entrance of the cemetery.

A voice whispered through Lillian, so faint she might have not heard it for the surrounding stillness.
Always keep secrets. Stay safe, and ride at night so others cannot see you. They want your destruction, they mean you harm. Stay quiet, be still.

“Stop!” she cried aloud, to silence the voices. But Bess stopped as well, and turned, nearly tripping as her bad foot gave her issue in the damp uneven grass.

Lillian closed the gap and pulled her old friend into an embrace. When she heard the beating of Bess’s heart, the rush of blood through her veins, she pushed down the pull it had on her.

“I trust my left brow will remain even now, Bess. You will hate me, and you will flee, but you will have the truth even if you don’t believe it.”

Bess pushed her away in order to see her face. “You are like George, like Phillip. You are not like me now.”

“I am still a woman. I am still full of flaws and all the horrid habits you came to overlook. I…” Lillian could not finish the sentence. She could not quite bring herself to betray George’s trust.

She did not need to.

“You are a vampire, or something like it.”

“Yes.”

“And you will drink my blood or kill me, or offer me as some kind of sacrifice? Or will I, too, become a vampire? Is that how it happens?”

“No!” She stared into her friend’s eyes. “I swear that I could not harm you should my own life depend upon it!”

“Your beau might not be so generous. These are rare circles you run in now, Lillian.”

“George only hurts those who deserve it. Criminals.
Heinous
criminals.”

“I cannot believe we are having this conversation, but I see your brow is level.” Bess blew out a deep breath. “I knew it, somehow. It is why you survived the battle with the Jackal.”

“Correct.”

Bess nodded. “Thank you for the honesty.”

Lillian paused. “You could destroy me—
us
—with this knowledge.”

“If you do no evil, why would I destroy you?”

“There are days I would destroy myself.” Lillian looked away. “It was the only way. I was dying. George gave me a choice. I chose to live.”

“Because you love him. And because you want to find your daughter and mother.”

“I named her Jane.”

“I always thought that a lovely name.”

“Yes, I know. That is why I chose it,” Lillian admitted. “I do not think much about whether names are lovely—or hats, or anything. I need you for that.”

Bess brushed away new tears. “Where are Addie and Thomas?”

“I sent them away on an extended vacation to keep them safe. There is a horrid, devilish woman after us, Bess. That is why I avoided you. I would not have you share Aileen’s fate. Annaluisa’s fate.”

“So,
that
is what happened to Aileen.” Bess looked sad. “And Madam Pelosi, too? Why, I rather liked her, although she was…well, one of you, is that not so?”

Lillian nodded.

“And what of Kitty Twamley? Do not tell me that a normal woman is going to marry one of the Orleans brothers!”

“Your feisty Irish friend is almost as courageous as you. She is mortal and will stay that way.”

“Mortal? Does that make you immortal?” Bess fretted with her bag and gloves and grew pale. “I cannot understand any of this.”

“Dear Bess, this is enough for one day. I can barely take it in myself. Please do not worry. Your life shall go on as normal.”

“That is my fear! My life is abysmally boring, and I have you to blame. You take me on exciting adventures and train me to stand on my own two feet—albeit one of them hideously deformed—and then you tell me to reenter my normal life? Now you tell me things I can barely believe and advise me not to worry. You are not changed at all, Lillian. You may be some sort of…creature…but you are still very much self-absorbed.”

“I suppose that is true,” Lillian agreed. “But I will make it up to you. Come to my house, for there are more tears to be shed for Aileen, and we will talk more. And perhaps we can venture out together somewhere. Shopping, or strolling through the park.”

“I doubt very much that shopping has made it onto your schedule. Do you still keep that ridiculous life list of things that need doing? You were to find me a husband; you put me on the top of your list once.”

Bess nearly smiled, and Lillian’s ramrod posture crumbled at the lovely dimples that surfaced. She broke down and hugged her friend again. “I am so lost, Bess. Please. Let us be friends again. Help me find my daughter before it is too late. I will find you a husband.”

Bess looked nervous. “I prefer he not be…a creature, if you don’t mind.”

Lillian laughed and brushed at her tears. “I am not at all offended. We will find you a kind, handsome, human male. Now, will you come with us?”

Bess glanced at George, who stood with his brother in the distance, watching. When he tipped his hat she admitted, “I am afraid of your beau a little.”

“I believe,” Lillian said, “he may be more afraid of you. Oh! And I must tell you the most extraordinary thing!”

“I believe you have told me extraordinary things enough to last my life,” Bess replied as Lillian linked their arms and pulled her down the hill before she could change her mind.

“I saw Mr. Conan Doyle! The creator of Sherlock Holmes! He is in town, and part of the most unusual mix of society’s brightest, including the tiresome Etta Langhan.”

“Is this a fantasy again, Lillian?” Bess asked, staring up at her in surprise.

Lillian laughed and felt a bit lighter of spirit. Then the crying boys ran over and she remembered this was no time for mirth. Perhaps someday.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mr. Doyle spies on his companions.

Arthur paced the length of his room at the Altamont, tortured at what to do. He’d missed one lecture in New York and would soon miss one in Boston if he didn’t board the train today. And yet, now did not seem the time to leave.

He lit a cigarette, only to realize one burned in the tray on the desk. Nerves frayed, tired from the chest cold that hadn’t lessened, he finally sat to read the telegram from his booking agent, waiting for his arrival in Boston.
Yes,
as he’d thought. He scanned the few lines and saw what he expected. BREACH OF CONTRACT and REPUTATION PUT AT RISK.

What kind of city was this? The alleys of Whitechapel couldn’t claim to be more threatening and mysterious than the streets of upper-class Baltimore. Four deaths in the last month, and two of note in the month before that, including Baltimore’s mayor? He imagined that a bit more digging would unearth additional crimes. Lieutenant Worthington had not greeted him as openly this last visit, as evidently Baltimore’s law enforcement was taking criticism that even the better neighborhoods weren’t safe, that they couldn’t catch a brazen murderer and didn’t know where to begin.

And now this, the demise of Officer Johnnie Moran’s lady friend.

The news had shaken Doyle, as he liked the young man who was more intelligent than his simple demeanor might indicate, and honest and straightforward. Until two days ago, he’d seemed a fairly happy man, but his happiness was taken by the same hand that killed the psychic Annaluisa Pelosi, it seemed.

Drained, Johnnie had said. Drained of life, of blood, of dignity.

He’d had no details on the deaths of two members of the Learned Order of Psychic Scholars, men of whom Arthur knew very little, a Doctor Schneider and a solicitor named Pemberton. But subtle inquiries had put them at the house of one Lillian Holmes, his devoted Sherlock Holmes fan and a friend to Johnnie Moran himself.

He stood again and paced.
Confounding!
The woman at the train station had to have been her; there could not be two Lillian Holmes of that standing and description. And she had mentioned the murder in her home of a character called the Jackal, which was perhaps her name for Schneider or Pemberton. Then there was this astounding vampire business. Etta Langhan’s stories weren’t to be trusted fully, that much he knew by the woman’s displayed taste for gossip, but the topic matched what Miss Holmes had written in her letter.

Arthur shook his head and released a great sigh. Why, it was easier to create complex mysteries in his head than to unravel this real one under his feet. And much safer! What would Sherlock Holmes do, he wondered. Not likely take the next train to Boston to give a lecture to half-believers and skeptics.