The Double Life of Incorporate Things (Magic Most Foul) (24 page)

He appeared in the moonlight of the foyer with a bottle in his hand. But he was ashen faced, changed in the silver shadows, a haunted look on his face I knew all too well. In his other hand, he’d drawn his pistol.

“What… What did you see, Jonathon?” I asked, dread in my tone. He gestured to keep voices down.

“We need to leave,” he whispered. “Come on. Keep quiet.” He gestured Nathaniel and Lavinia back in the direction of the library, and they quickly moved on ahead, impressively keeping the noise of footfalls at a minimum. I rushed with them, Jonathon at my side, back past the dining room once more where I refused to look even past the threshold.

“What is wrong?” I whispered again as he grabbed my hand and we darted back to the library. The maw of the door that was a bookcase opened on its side to reveal the secret passage stood before us; the dim golden torchlight of the underground corridor beckoned eerily from below. Jonathon shut the door behind all of us, gesturing for us to go on ahead, Nathaniel in the lead. We were many paces into the earthen and stone corridor before Jonathon answered.

“What we saw in Preston’s office,” he replied gravely. “That’s what was down there.”

“Oh God…” I swallowed hard. “They’ve a corpse below? One they’re trying to reanimate?”

“No corpse. But everything else was there. The table. All the wiring and equipment. And small, suspicious boxes. Bottles of fluids, medical and funereal. The scent of decay. All in my bloody wine cellar,” he said, spitting out the words like venom as we darted up the long corridor.

The scenes of Preston’s basement hospital wing, yet another dread corridor, came back to me in the forceful way terrible memories resurfaced. Either they were preparing to reanimate a corpse and tether numerous spirits to its form to power the animate force of the thing, or they had already done so. And if they’d done so, the whereabouts of the creature were cause for great concern.

Finally, we resurfaced in the cottage. Jonathon bolted the iron door behind us. Next he checked the whole of the cottage, pistol drawn, then surveyed outside. Nathaniel joined him outside, going to check on his horses.

I sat down upon the dusty but plush velvet window seat of the bay window and looked through the glass, trying to appreciate just how beautiful the moon was.

Lavinia went searching about for something. I wasn’t sure what, until I heard a “pop.” And then the clink of glasses. She returned to me, two wineglasses filled with deep, dark red in her hands. She handed me one.

I had never been one for alcohol, save in communion at church, but this seemed the thing to do right now. One glass to calm the nerves. Some distraction. Some reminder that we were with friends and lovers. I was in a new country, something I’d never done before. I wanted to feel like there was some excitement. I was engaged to the man I loved. I smiled at Lavinia, feeling some of my tension ease before I’d even begun to sip the glass.

The gentlemen soon returned to us. Lavinia had poured for them, and they glided, as if magnetized, to two more crystalline goblets she filled upon the golden lacquered center table that she’d cleaned of its layer of dust, leaving the surface to glimmer in the candlelight.

“To sending devils back to hell,” Jonathon said, lifting his glass and looking each of us in the eyes, mine last. We all toasted gladly to that. His eyes burned into me, and I felt the pledge of our engagement swell in my heart. I thought about telling Lavinia and Nathaniel about it in the moment but thought better of it. Somehow I knew it would sting Lavinia, and I couldn’t have her feeling insecure when she was called upon to do something so brave.

`“It’s a good thing this bed is enormous,” Jonathon stated nearly draining the glass in a few long drinks. “Because I’m not sleeping on the floor.” He grabbed me around the waist and dragged me to the grand alcove where the vast four-poster bed was visible behind its open red curtains. I let him. He spoke over his shoulder to Nathaniel. “Come on, you two, there’s room for all on here.
And
that will force us to behave ourselves.”

“Normally I’d object and find some dark corner to drag this one off to,” Nathaniel replied, grinning at Lavinia. “But I’m deathly tired. I’m sure we all are.”

It was true. I was utterly exhausted, and I allowed myself to acknowledge it, finally, as I felt a modicum of security. The cottage did feel safe, an unused place the Society clearly hadn’t gotten its hooks into, a piece of lost history, a secret put to good use as an encampment before an upcoming battle rather than a clandestine affair.

The temperature was nearly perfect, and so I didn’t need to crawl under the velvet duvet. I simply allowed Jonathon to drag me onto one side of the bed, and I lay back in his arms. Sleep overtook me almost immediately. The ability to breathe deeply in a setting that didn’t have all my hairs on edge, coupled with the glorious protection that was being in his arms, was enough to sweep me into much-needed rest.

I didn’t demand to go with the gentlemen to the Majesty’s office, but I did demand to go to London. What else would they have done with me? Lavinia had a dear friend she wished to visit, desperate to have something of normalcy. I had no plans, but I didn’t dare miss
London
.

During our carriage ride, the gentlemen took turns driving. Jonathon was quiet and introspective when he rode with us, his hand entwined in mine. Lavinia stared at the new engagement ring with a wistful envy that she did not voice. As we’d readied in the morning, she noticed the piece, and I told her what had happened, my initial rejection of him, and the second chance in the study. She had embraced me and congratulated me. But I could feel the pang then and saw it now as she turned away from the garnet treasure upon my finger.

Nathaniel entertained us ladies with new material, blatantly overjoyed to have a captive audience. Thankfully, in this case, it was no trouble to be captive, as he was exquisite in his rendition of Shelley’s
Ozymandias
. It was an interesting narrative, the epic poem, as epic London grew before us, beginning in modest outlying villages to clusters of greater population in a radius around the heart of the matter and unto the great, gargantuan golem of a city that was London...

Ah,
London
. What a beautiful mess. What a terrifying wonder and mystery. Did newcomers look at New York this way? Utterly overwhelmed?

Nothing could quite have prepared me for the scope of what I was seeing out the carriage windows. Manhattan, while vast, was an island, so simply its space had limits. London seemed an endless sprawl that was utterly confusing. There was no grid. No numbered streets. Everything was at twists and turns. And nearly all of it covered in soot. Though I wasn’t sure what of that lens was made a shade darker by the gray, overcast sky.

The city grew narrower in brick alleys and confining arches over our carriage head and then expanded to grand lanes in dizzying instants, devastation like I’d seen in records of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, but then palatial stretches much like our Fifth Avenue. They were sister cities in their own right, I supposed, centers of the world very much in many ways. But I was left with no idea where I was or how I could ever orient in such a tangle of streets and masses of people. It was vibrant and dark, grand and guttered. Impressive and terrifying. And it seemed without end.

The carriage made its rounds, Nathaniel first escorting Lavinia to a mutual friend, leaving me alone in the cab while Jonathon stayed with the horses. Next, I was taken to a friend of Mrs. Northe, Mr. Knowles, who would keep me until the gentlemen came back with news of their plans. We were in a business district; I could tell from the pristine streets and the lack of human bustle. If there were residents in the area, they kept their lamps trimmed low or were not yet home from being out and about on what had turned out to be a fine day with a brightly setting sun.

Nathaniel stayed with the horses, and Jonathon led me through an iron gate and up a stoop of a well-appointed building that had several names etched in gold upon the glass door. He plucked a key from his pocket and opened the office door.

“You’ve keys?” I asked, incredulous, as if all of London might be at Jonathon’s disposal.

“Knowles and Brinkman have availed many resources to me,” he explained. “As the Society is a sincere threat to crown and country, I’ve secret allies and places to hide.”

“And yet you’re confronting the Society directly, tomorrow,” I said ruefully.

“Why can’t all those secret allies and those threatened take over instead of us running blindly forward at this point?”

“Hiding in plain sight is often the best strategy,” Jonathon replied with an impressive nonchalance. “Besides, prosecuting the Society’s aims needs as much evidence as possible. So much of it is paranormal circumstance you and I could not prove in a court.”

I nodded acquiescence as he led me into the first floor foyer and then moved ahead to a frosted-glass window that was lit from within. He knocked, was bid enter, and there was a conversation I couldn’t hear for a moment before he poked his head back into the hall to gesture me into the room. I walked into a warmly lit office well appointed in leather and books. A vast desk with matching mahogany chairs faced a wing-backed leather chair prominent before a grand fireplace. The trappings were similar to the finery of the Denbury study, but in a business setting, not residential.

At the door stood an elegant, patrician fellow in a well-tailored suit, the splash of a russet ascot offsetting the gray of his entire person: silver hair, eyes, frock coat, waistcoat, and trousers all the color of the English sky.

“Mister Knowles, this is my fiancée, Miss Natalie Stewart,” Jonathon said. As Knowles inclined his head to me, I smiled, for the first time hearing the word fiancée. The newness of it must have been evident in my blush, for Mr. Knowles’s wise-looking eyes sparkled in a way that was quite familiar.

“You know Mrs. Northe,” I said eagerly.

“That I do,” he replied. He turned to Jonathon. “I know you must be off, feel free to leave the girl in my care. She is under careful protection here. An officer has been assigned to this building with the precinct on watch.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll return with news.” He reached out and grabbed my hands in his and kissed them, one then the other. “I won’t be long, my brave girl.”

I smiled at him with a look that spoke of trust and care and stood at the threshold of the office to watch him go, my heartstrings tugging along after him. He looked back at me at the front door and pursed his lips in a kiss. I blew one back.

He caught it and reached into his coat, placing it in his breast pocket, close to his heart. “For safekeeping,” he said. “I’ll need it.”

And with that he vanished to go confront his enemy. “Be careful,” I called as the door shut behind him. I clenched my fists and tried to set fierce worry aside, as it would do me no good. I took my place in Knowles office, sitting in one of the fine wooden chairs he proffered to me.

Knowles looked at me with a wistful smile as he set tea before me, gesturing me to a seat across his desk. “She was Evelyn Rutherford when I met her,” Knowles began, “in her first ‘season’ in London, full of New York wit and vivacity, catching the eye of every available bachelor and married man alike. Who knew that quiet, unassuming Peter Northe would catch her in the end? Baffled everyone. But then again, aside from the man’s money, he was simply kind. She always said a man’s kindness was worth as much as his pocketbook. Thankfully, she earned double, then, while the lucky man lived.”

I smiled back. I thought of my father. That’s why she cared about him. A tear came to my eye.

Knowles pretended not to notice and instead leveled a gaze at me. “She’s not happy you’re gone, I’ll have you know.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “Oh, I’m sure she isn’t.”

“Not surprised, mind you, as not much surprises a woman as gifted as she. But she said if I ran into you, that there will be quite a talking-to that awaits you. Also”—his expression grew grave—”as you’re not a child, I’ll not treat you with kid gloves. But you should know that your friend Miss Hathorn has gone missing from Chicago.”

I blinked at him. “When? Why?”

“Neither Mrs. Northe or Miss Hathorn’s caretaker have any idea. But, obviously, if you in any way hear from her, do let Mrs. Northe know, she’s sick to death about it. About the both of you.”

I suddenly felt so guilty I hadn’t written to Maggie sooner. Had she run away? Was she homesick and simply decided to make a run for it? Had something called to her and lured her back to the erring paths? She probably didn’t even get my letter. A profound sadness hit me like a slap to my face. I was selfish. I wasn’t the only one going through troubled times. She needed a peer, someone with whom to commiserate. I vowed to be that more strongly and presently for her if I possibly could.

“Don’t keep Mrs. Northe in the dark,” I replied. “I’m sure she knows where we went. She tried to stop us. But she went into a medium’s trance, and we eluded her. The spirit she channeled guided us, warned us, Miss Kent and I. Feel free to write her about any of our goings-on if you feel they will arrive safe to her and not place her in any danger. Not having her at my side for this battle doesn’t feel right, but I’d not dare try to involve her. I feel this is Jonathon and my fight to see through on our own.”