The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1) (29 page)

'Is that the morale you live by?' I ask her. She shifts uncomfortably.

'I live by experience. I try to help others – it is my nature – but some people... they just can't be helped. They're lost causes. I believe Lorna Gray is one of these lost causes.' She admits. She seems to contemplate something, wrestling with her own mind before taking a deep breath.

'I come from London, like you, did you know that?' She asks. I shake my head and she smiles. 'I was born in White Chapel in 1819.'

I whistle loudly, amazed at yet another person close to me whom I know nothing about. 

'I was eighteen when Queen Victoria was crowned. My father grumbled non-stop about having a female monarch but secretly I was overjoyed. I had high hopes for myself, you see. I wanted a proper career, like the men had, and I thought that with a Queen on the throne, it would be possible.' She smiles, casting her eyes out of the window as she remembers a time long ago.

'My father was a pathologist, a well paid job in those days, and I had a well-tutored upbringing. My mother was a home-maker and a very intelligent woman. My father tried to hide it about her around company, but when it was just my mother and I, she educated me more than any tutor – and certainly more than my father.' She scoffs. I make myself comfortable, glad to be immersed in Diana's life rather than worrying about my own.

'I was a shy child though, very timid, which pleased my father. He was of the strong opinion that women – especially girls – should be seen and not heard. That didn't bode well for my opinionated, out-spoken mother. She is, to this day, my one and only role model.' She smiles but her expression is sad. I feel my stomach twist and the desperate urge to make her happy again.

'By the time I was twenty, I was one of the first women professors of biology,' She smiles proudly. 'I was kept largely behind the scenes, of course, due to my sex. Men took credit for my discoveries, but I didn't mind so much. I was getting to do what I loved. I even helped with the post-mortems on two of Jack the Ripper's victims.

My parents died when I was twenty eight, of consumption,' She shakes her head sadly. 'My father was so ashamed of me. Still unmarried at twenty eight, I was the black sheep of the family. His last words to me were; 'You will die a sad and lonely spinster.'

He couldn't have been more wrong, which pleased me.' She grins, stroking my hair again.

'A year later, I met my husband-to-be, Albert. He was so handsome, a police officer, quite highly ranked working in Scotland Yard. Within a year, I was pregnant.' I turn to face Diana, smiling widely. I had no idea she was a mother, it suits her so well.

'I had a baby girl, Elizabeth.' She smiles wistfully at the name and my heart sinks as I suddenly realise that Elizabeth's birth doesn't have a happy ending. I almost stop Diana, unable to hear the pain in her voice as she tells of her baby girl, but it would be rude to and I instead steel myself for my own pain at her misery.

'She was beautiful. She had a mop of dark hair and big blue eyes, her skin was like silk, so soft and smooth. She had my nose but Albert's chin. She was a porky baby with chubby hands and feet. She had those little lines, you know, where their wrists are too thin for their chubby hands?' She laughs, but her smile disappears as quickly as it came.

'She was poorly within two months. Her nose was constantly runny and she coughed incessantly. It was a horrible sound, little racking coughs, her whole body convulsed with them. There was nothing I could do. Even I, a biologist, couldn't provide her with the medicine she needed.

The doctor prescribed her with all sorts, but the infection had spread to her lungs and she couldn't breathe properly towards the end. When she inhaled the sound was awful, like an old person who'd smoked for forty years. Except she wasn't and she hadn't.

All I could do was hold her, watch as she slowly faded away. Her face turned blue, her hands were cold, she couldn't open her eyes.

I cried a river of tears. You have no idea how it feels to hold your child in your arms and watch them in pain, dying, and be powerless to stop it, helpless to save her.

You wish you could take her place, you wish you could die instead, but you can't. You pray for her to hold on, for the medicine to work magic, but she doesn't, it doesn't.

She died in my arms, at two o clock in the morning. She took her final rasping breath and her tiny body gave up. She was too small to fight such a violent infection, she never stood a chance. She was six months old.'

My body is racked with pain. Diana's voice is unbearable to hear, the voice of the broken hearted. She doesn't cry, she can't, but her voice does and it's impossible to tune out.

I picture baby Elizabeth, as beautiful as her mother, lying dead in a cot, her tiny body wrapped in a white shawl, and feel as though I've lost a family member. A baby sister, a cousin, who knows but she feels real to me, like I knew her.

'Diana,' my voice is unsteady. 'I'm so sorry.' I can't express a fraction of the sincerity I'd like to.

'Thank you,' She forces a smile. 'It was a long time ago,' She states, as if this is a reason for her to keep composed, but no matter how long ago your child died, does the pain not remain the same?

'I abandoned my work when Elizabeth died. I had no passion for anything any more. Even Albert. I couldn't be in the same room as my husband. I started drinking heavily. I was drunk all the time, always collapsed in some gutter somewhere. Always being turfed out of the pub at gone midnight. Always being mistaken for a prostitute.' She shakes her head.

'Albert couldn't cope; he lost Elizabeth and then he lost me. His wife turned into somebody he didn't know and he tried to solve it by using the only means men in those days knew – violence. He would find me drunk, beat me senseless, I would drink more to forget about the beatings and the pain and so it went. A vicious circle. Until the day he lost it.

He beat me so badly he fractured my skull, left me in our gutter whilst he went to the pub and I lay dying. My dear Creator, Carlos, found me and brought me to the Institute, changed me.

I served my five years here and then went on to the laboratories, examining our kind, figuring out more and more about our bodies, the way they work. Trying to find a blood substitute.

When the Rebels struck, I asked for a position as a Creator. The Auctoritas granted my request and I came back to the Institute to change my first student.' She smiles as I listen, absorbed in her life.

'Who was it?' I ask, hanging on her every word.

'His name was Jose. He was Columbian, the victim of a tornado which killed his family. He survived but barely. I found him and pleaded with the Auctoritas to allow me to change him, he was only eighteen, they were hesitant but agreed. He rebelled,' She says sadly, shaking her head.

'Barely made it through his five years here without being Confined. The moment he was released, he went back to his home town and attempted to alert his village to our existence. The Auctoritas didn't take pity on him, or me.

It was years before I was given another shot. I changed my second student, Toby, an American – a drug addict, like you. He did well, I see him often. And then you,' She smiles, hugging me to her. 'My first girl.' She ruffles my hair and suddenly, Diana's affection falls into place.

I am the daughter she lost.

I don't know what to say once Diana's story is finished so I keep quiet. She seems to be lost in the past for a few moments before coming back to me, remembering my predicament with Lorna Gray.

'You have to try, Eve. Just try. That's all you can do.' Diana pats my arm and I sigh, knowing she's right.

No one can fix this problem for me. It's something I must face alone. All I can do is attempt to convince Lorna to change, no matter how it offends her or displeases her. If the consequences are severe for me, at least I tried. I can rest with the knowledge I did everything I could.

Chapter Nineteen

My One-To-One lessons with Miss Morelli are fast becoming just another thorn in my side. Miss Morelli is demanding, expectant and strict and my sessions with her seem nothing but an unbearable pressure on top of everything else. She's recently taken to bringing in live subjects to help me develop my gift; students are randomly pulled from their lessons and made to stand before me as I assess their guilt or innocence using a good old-fashioned pie chart. 

In the chart, I display in what proportion the two traits are balanced, how prominent the green light is and how quickly or easily I'm able to see it. Most of the students are young, first years, and haven't yet lived long enough to commit any terrible crimes, though there are exceptions. On the odd occasion, I meet someone with a green light as strong as Sir Alec, but none as strong as Lucrezia Beighley. 

The particular student I'm assessing on a Sunday morning – Miss Morelli has no regard for the days of the week – is a terrified first year, an eighteen year old girl, who clasps her hands protectively over her chest.

'It's alright,' I smile at her. 'I won't hurt you.' My kind tone does nothing to assure her as she backs timidly into a corner.

'Don't speak.' Miss Morelli barks as she glances up from her notes. She isn't familiar with the term 'empathy.'

I draw my pie chart quickly. The young girl is an easy subject with no trace of the green fire in her eyes. Of course, Miss Morelli will insist that there is. That I'm simply still too untrained to see it. 

'Nobody is an angel.' She's fond of saying.

She dismisses the girl and I sit down as she pulls out four sheets of paper from her bag. I groan loudly. These papers are as familiar to me as the back of my hand, I see them at least four times a week and they are ever unchanging.

One has very faint grey lines crossing through the page diagonally. The other three are completely and utterly blank.

Though not according to Miss Morelli.

She lays them out on the table in front of me one by one, starting, as usual, with the patterned sheet.

'What do you see?' She asks, clutching her clipboard expectantly. 

'Faint grey lines from the top left corner to the bottom right.' I repeat the same sentence every lesson. She removes the sheet and replaces it with another, blank one.

'What do you see?' She asks, and after a moment of gazing at what is undeniably plain white paper, I shake my head.

'Nothing.'

'Look!' She demands.

'I am looking. I see nothing.' I repeat, my nose inches from the page. Miss Morelli sighs and removes the paper from the desk, but instead of placing a different one down, she slams the same page back in front of me.

'What do you see?' She barks. I stifle another sigh and stare at the paper. I squint my eyes, I move my head further back from the page, I press my face up against it, but still I see nothing.

I glance up at my tutor, dreading saying the words she doesn't want to hear.  'What do you see?' She repeats, and I huff, giving the page one last study before I admit defeat.

As my eyes scan the page quickly, just before I glance back at Miss Morelli, for just a moment I think I see something. A flash of grey in the centre of the page. I double take, but as I look back down, it's gone.

'What?' Miss Morelli is impatient, tapping her foot.

'I thought I saw...' I trail off, staring hard at the page. Miss Morelli keeps quiet, allowing me to concentrate.

Instead of staring consistently at the paper, I decide to glance at it quickly and then look away, just like I did before. And just like before, I see a flash of grey in the centre of the page.

'Wait,' I tell Miss Morelli.

A few more times I repeat the process of scanning the page quickly before looking away, and soon the grey mass begins to take shape. It's like staring at a light bulb and then closing my eyes, the white lines and dots squiggling in the darkness for a few seconds before fading. 

Fifteen times I repeat this process and finally, on the sixteenth, I cry out, my voice a babble of high pitched laughter.

'It's a face!' I squeal. 'A smiley face!'

'Well done, Eve! Excellent!' Miss Morelli beams, touching my hand briefly in a rare moment of approval. 'You're getting there.' She smiles, and I breathe a long sigh of relief.

The more I stare at the page, the clearer the smiley face becomes; a thin line, three circles and a half circle. It's so obvious now and we move onto the next piece of paper, upon which I see nothing, but with a stronger sense of purpose, I spend the next half an hour staring at it.

I leave One-To-One in high spirits – for the first time in what feels like an age – and decide that I want to see Tia. My life has been nothing but tense lately and I've tried to avoid Tia in order to keep her safe from my problems, but now I want to share my rare happiness with my friend.

I don't have to look far to find her, Tia's sofa is occupied in the common room and she and Meredith are talking animately, giggling and gossiping about other students.

I hesitate, considering that they might not want me there casting a grey cloud of gloom over their happiness, but as they spot me, they wave frantically, beckoning me to them.

'Eve, you'll never guess!' Tia grins, patting the vacant cushion next to her impatiently. I take the offered seat and shake my head, bemused.

'Richard proposed to me!' She holds out her left hand to reveal a beautiful diamond adorning her third finger. My mouth drops open and Tia laughs. 'Isn't it amazing?' She gushes.

Naturally, instead of jumping for joy at Tia's shocking news, the only question in my mind is: how can Immortals marry?

I've heard of it, of course, amongst Auctoritas, and who can forget that Alexandrov and Katarzyna are bound in matrimony, but it won't be a legal ceremony, obviously.

Perhaps we have our own version?

Tia is staring at me, her face beginning to fall, so I quickly force my mouth into a grin and hug her tightly.  

'Oh my God, Tia! Congratulations!' I gush as she giggles happily. Despite my private thoughts about the legalities of such a marriage, I am happy for Tia, and glad she's found Richard to share her eternal life with.

'Thank you!' Her face looks as though it might split from smiling and she holds mine and Meredith's hands in hers. 'You both have to come out tonight to celebrate. No excuses,' She glares at me and I hold my hands up in surrender.

'We're going to the Black Room. You remember, Eve, that room I showed you on your first day, the one with the bars and the stage..?'

'I remember.' I nod, attempting to sound excited. It's not that I don't want to celebrate Tia and Richard's good news, and it's not that I won't enjoy a night out with my friends, I just have so much on my plate it's hard for me to focus on more than one thing at a time. And once I get thinking about my predicament with Lorna, everything else pales in comparison.

'Good, we can all get ready together,' Tia nods happily. 'Everybody's going. And I mean
everybody
.' She assures me, as though my primary concern is the number of guests attending.

For one night, I decide to cast all thoughts of Lorna, Sir Alec, Katy Branch and Malachy aside as, at seven o clock, I stand beside Tia and Meredith, looking significantly under-dressed in comparison.

Tia is almost manic with excitement as she runs to the elevator, her six inch heels making dents in the carpet. Her electric blue dress sways just below her knees, her cleavage elevated in the plunging neck line. Meredith's choice of dress is a little more subtle; a beige, knee length number with a tight skirt and thick pleat around her waist. They both look beautiful and I feel perfectly drab next to them in a black suit-dress, complete with pencil skirt, short sleeves and turned out waist.

Tia insisted on applying my make-up and it's typically over the top with thick Kohl stencilling and metallic green eye shadow. I stand between them in the lift, listening to them squeal about wedding dresses and marquees, flowers and guest lists until I feel like my ears will bleed.

I'm relieved when we arrive at the Black Room to find it overflowing with students and I lose myself amongst the crowd, desperate to avoid more wedding talk.

I head for the bar and order a drink, perching on the stool to survey the guests. The Bermudez sisters have cornered Tia and I thank the Heavens I'm not present to witness that conversation. Richard appears through the entrance doors and I casually make my way over to him, grinning as he envelopes me in an after-shave scented hug.

'Congratulations, Richard. I'm so happy for you.' I say truthfully as he kisses my cheek.

'Thanks, Eve, I appreciate it.' He takes my hand and pulls me over to the bar, ordering a drink and pulling up a stool. I'm surprised and touched that he wants to spend time with me on his big night, and as I watch him crack a joke to the bar tender, I realise that Richard has become almost as dear to me as Tia is. 

'You think it's stupid right?' He asks, turning to face me with a smirk on his face. My heart drops with my smile. 'It's fine,' he laughs, clutching my hand. 'It is kind of stupid. I mean, it's two years at least until we can get married, but I just wanted to... I don't know... make sure she's mine, you know?' He smiles and I feel my heart swell at the sight of his earnest face. 

'So... where will you get married?' I ask.

'Well, it's not as though we have a lot of choice,' He laughs. 'Still, I suppose there are worse places than the Institute's grounds, they are pretty picturesque.'

'The Institute?' I frown, feeling more and more confused.

'Oh, of course. Sorry, Eve, I forget how new you are to all this. Feels like you've been here as long as we have!' He smiles warmly. 'We have to marry at the Institute, and it has to be Sir Alec who marries us.'

'Sir Alec?! But he's not a vicar!' I am appalled and Richard bursts into laughter, doubling over.

'No, that he isn't!' He splutters between breaths. 'A vicar? Really, Eve? We're going to marry in the eyes of God?' He cocks an eyebrow and I bristle, feeling humiliated. 'Ahh, don't get like that,' Richard grins, sensing my irritation.

'We have our own laws here, remember? Marriage laws included. The Auctoritas decide who can marry and if they approve, the head of your particular Institute marries you upon completion of your mandatory five years.'

'I see.' I nod, wrinkling my nose at the idea of Sir Alec being such a vital part of someone's big day.

'Yeah, it's not ideal, but I don't care. As long as I get to marry that girl,' He nods to Tia with affection as she talks animatedly with Ursula. 'Excuse me, Eve.' He touches my arm briefly before making a beeline for his fiancée.

I stand alone at the bar, watching the happiness bloom around me. The music pumps through the tall speakers; a melodic, upbeat track. Couples dance together on the floor as the more laid back students lounge on the sofas, and the really laid back students hide away on the upper floor, separated from the masses by the balcony.

It's a joy to see my friends and acquaintances enjoying themselves and one another's company, and although I'm happy and grateful to be here, I can't help but feel secluded, isolated from the fun in a sad little bubble.

The way things are looking, I won't be here to see Tia and Richard's big day. No matter where I go, who I see or what I do, the weight of my task is heavy on my mind, and I can't shake the sense of imminent doom.

I spot Malachy standing on the balcony, resting his arms casually on the iron bars, surveying the crowd below him. He stands alone, but the familiar flash of Lucrezia's blonde hair is visible behind him. He seems to shift restlessly on his feet, his expression uncomfortable and wary – a little like mine. 

He catches my eye and I wait for him to quickly look away, but to my surprise, he smiles in recognition. I feel my breath inexplicably catch in my throat. A sudden heavy feeling in my stomach, like a weight attached to my abdomen, makes me go light-headed and I take my eyes off Malachy, setting my drink down and gripping the bar tightly.

When I look back toward the balcony, Malachy is gone.