The Witch’s Daughter (31 page)

‘Ah, here we are.’ Dr. Gimmel greeted his patient as she was wheeled into the room. ‘My dear Miss Astredge, I am delighted to see you looking stronger.’ He took her hand and patted it gently. Simon came to stand behind her.

‘How could I fail to thrive under Eliza’s care?’ she asked, smiling at her friend.

‘Quite so, quite so.’ Dr. Gimmel took Simon’s arm. ‘Now, Mr. Astredge, if you would take a seat over here, close enough to your dear sister to give her the invaluable strength of your support, not so close as to impede our work. Fear not, she is in the very best of hands.’

‘Of that, I am certain,’ said Simon, his gaze fixed on Eliza. She felt herself blushing and turned to Abigail.

‘How are you this morning?’ she asked.

‘I am well and happy to be here. Soon you will have done your wonderful work, and I will be free of this wretched disease.’

Dr. Gimmel began to help her out of her chair. ‘We are still awaiting the arrival of Roland,’ he said. ‘Is he late or are we all, in our eagerness, a little early?’

He asked the question of no one in particular, but it was Simon who took out his pocket watch.

‘It is four minutes before ten o’clock, Doctor,’ he said, and returned the watch to his waistcoat.

‘Ah, there we have it. No doubt he will be here directly.’

A stab of fear traveled the length of Eliza’s spine. She could not think what had caused it. Though she knew herself to be far from calm, the suddenness and force of the feeling took her by surprise.

At that very moment, Roland entered the room, breathless from running.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘I was detained with a patient, and…’

‘No matter.’ Dr. Gimmel held up a hand. ‘This is not the place for excuses. You are here now, Roland, that is all that need concern us for the present.’

Abigail was assisted onto the table and made ready. Eliza touched her brow and spoke softly.

‘Sleep now. That is all that is required of you.’

Roland stepped forward and administered the chloroform. Within seconds, Abigail’s eyes had shut and she lay motionless, except for her shallow, rhythmic breathing.

Eliza selected a scalpel from the tray and made a broad incision. The nurse swabbed blood from the wound so that Eliza could better manipulate the retractors to gain access to the abdominal cavity.

‘Good, good,’ said Dr. Gimmel. ‘Proceed precisely as you are, Dr. Hawksmith. Gently but firmly, gently but firmly. Excellent.’

Eliza worked steadily, taking the greatest care, but all the time she was acutely aware that such a procedure could be lengthy and she must move forward with some urgency. Abigail was not strong. The longer she remained anaesthetized, the more blood she lost, the more her body was forced to endure, the less likely she was to survive the operation. She was unable to shake off the sense of foreboding and danger that had gripped her moments before. What had caused it? She tried to recall what Dr. Gimmel had been talking about. He had been asking for Roland, she remembered that, but Roland was the most harmless creature she knew. There had been an issue about the time—was it early or late? Simon had consulted his watch.

‘Have a care, Dr. Hawksmith!’ Dr. Gimmel’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh.

Eliza saw that she had allowed blood to flow back into the wound, obscuring her vision. At that moment, it was all she could do to hold the instruments, her hands had begun to tremble so much. The watch. Simon’s watch! That was what had alarmed her so. When he had closed it, there was a very definite double click. The exact same noise she had heard in the shadows outside her clinic. Simon? But how could that be?

‘What is it?’ Dr. Gimmel moved closer to her, peering into the cavity. ‘Eliza, is something amiss?’

Eliza shook her head, as much to rid it of the terrible thoughts as to reassure Dr. Gimmel.

‘No, nothing. Just … pausing. Here, the liver is exposed now,’ she told him, leaning back a little so that he might observe her progress. And so that she might search her mind for answers. She raised her eyes to look at Simon, unable to help herself, hoping to see in that good, open face some proof that he was the man she loved and was incapable of such terrible deeds. He was watching her and smiled at her, his most loving, most endearing smile. In a heartbeat, Eliza knew where she had felt the warmth of that smile before. An idea came to her. Simon Astredge. No middle name. Just Simon Astredge. She fought to rearrange the letters in her mind, praying she was wrong but pressing on with awful certainty.

G-I-D,
where is the
E?
and the final
S?
Yes, they are all there. I can see it now. Oh no. No! How can I have been so blind?

Panic made blood pound against Eliza’s eardrums, but there was no escape, nowhere to hide from the truth of it. Simon Astredge was an anagram of Gideon Masters.

Both of them! Gresseti and Simon. Both of them.

She knew Simon was watching her. Had he seen how disturbed she was? Could he possibly know that she had discovered his true identity? The more she thought about it the clearer it all became. Gresseti was a ploy, a distraction. Gideon would have known that Eliza would dislike the man. By creating a figure for her to loathe and eventually fear, he had propelled her into Simon’s arms. How could she resist his warm affection when she was so frightened of Gresseti? And, of course, she would be less suspicious of Simon while her concerns were all about the rootless Italian. But what of Abigail? She could not be his sister. Gideon’s powers as a warlock and as a mesmerist meant he could certainly have convinced her of it. Where had he found her? Some poor, unsuspecting woman who had stepped into his path at precisely the right moment for him and the wrong moment for her. Abigail clearly had no recollection of any other life. Who knew what heartbreak her disappearance must have caused. Had she family still searching for her? And she was most definitely ill, that was beyond doubt. Even now Eliza could see the diseased condition of her liver. It was a wonder Abigail had survived as long as she had. Eliza bit her lip, willing herself to act as a doctor now, to put Simon from her mind. To put Gideon from her mind.

‘What can you tell me?’ Dr. Gimmel was still at her elbow, readjusting his spectacles on his nose. ‘What can you see, Dr. Hawksmith?’

‘The news is not good, I fear.’ Eliza spoke more loudly than she had intended because she was so determined not to betray traces of the fear and confusion she felt. Her peripheral vision allowed her a glimpse of Simon shifting in his seat, leaning forward. As he did so, his watch fell from his pocket and swung on its fob chain, backward and forward, backward and forward. Eliza bent lower over her patient. ‘There is no tumor. Nothing that can be extracted. There is advanced cirrhosis of the liver. Over eighty percent of the organ is affected to a debilitating level.’

‘Ah,’ Dr. Gimmel sounded crushed. ‘Then there is nothing to be done,’ he said, stepping back a little.

It was more than Eliza could bear. She had believed she had defeated Gideon by confronting Gresseti, but Mary Kelly still died. She had thought that in Simon she had at last found love, but all she had found was her nemesis. Nausea threatened to undo her as she recalled how she had let him kiss her and touch her, and how close she had come to surrendering herself to him completely. How much she had wanted to. And now she was to lose Abigail. Poor hapless Abigail who had unwittingly played such a vital part in Gideon’s complicated charade. It seemed so unjust. So unfair. As if she had been sacrificed for Gideon’s purposes.

‘Dr. Hawksmith’—Roland leaned closer to her—‘the patient has been anaesthetized for some time. Are you ready to complete the procedure?’

‘Yes, yes.’ Dr. Gimmel answered for her. ‘There is little point in subjecting Miss Astredge to further drains on her already weak resources. Additional anaesthesia will not be required.’

No. I will not let her die. Not like Margaret. I can save her, and I will, whatever the consequences
.

Without responding to Roland or acknowledging Dr. Gimmel’s remark, Eliza gently pushed both her hands through the incision and laid them on Abigail’s liver. She looked down, not daring to risk closing her eyes, not wanting to meet Simon’s increasingly probing gaze. She began to mutter the incantations under her breath. Dr. Gimmel fidgeted but said nothing, plainly expecting her to begin suturing the wound. Roland watched her, waiting for further instructions. Nurse Morrison held the tray of instruments out for her selection. Eliza ignored them. A thin wind began to whine around the operating theater. It gathered force until it moaned about the legs of those present, an eerie, chill breeze that wove its way between the figures but brought with it no new air. It was as if the molecules of the space itself were being agitated and rearranged. The nurse looked about anxiously and instinctively moved farther up the bed to stand closer to Roland. Dr. Gimmel began to exclaim and entreat Eliza to complete her task quickly. Simon stood up.

Now Eliza raised her head and looked at him levelly. She could feel the substance of Abigail’s internal organ altering beneath her hands. The scarred and pitted tissues were being renewed. Healed. She stared at Simon, daring him to challenge her now, knowing that she would not stop until she was sure of Abigail’s recovery. By using her magic openly in his presence, she was laying herself open to him. So be it. She would not let another innocent person die while it was in her gift to save them. Slowly, with neither anger nor any apparent violence, Simon raised his left hand. When it drew level with Dr. Gimmel’s eyeline, he snapped his fingers. The doctor fell backward with a cry, landing awkwardly in the first row of seats, clutching at his eyes.

‘Dr. Gimmel!’ Nurse Morrison quickly placed the instruments on the table and ran to him. When she put her hands over his, she screamed, staggering away from him, staring incredulously at the smoldering burns on her palms. Simon flicked his fingers a second time, and the nurse fell to the ground as if struck. She lay motionless at Eliza’s feet, one of her burned hands coming to rest in the mess of sawdust and blood in the box beneath the table.

Eliza did not move. She shouted, ‘Run, Roland. For pity’s sake, run from this place!’

Roland opened his mouth to protest but was too slow. With a flick of his wrist, Simon caused the tray of surgical instruments to rise up and hover above the bed. The steel blades of the scalpels glinted for a second before three of them lifted from the tray, then sliced through the air with supernatural speed. The first pierced Roland’s hand as he flung his arms in front of him in a futile gesture of defense. The second slashed his throat open, and the third embedded itself in his heart as he fell soundlessly to the ground.

Simon turned back to Eliza. He smiled again, the gentle expression a mad contrast to his evil intentions.

‘My dear Bess, does it disturb you to see your beloved Simon behaving in this way? Forgive me.’ He bowed low, swinging his arm in an elaborate gesture. When he straightened up, it was not Simon who stood before Eliza but Gideon. ‘There, is that better? Finally we are come to this point. No more games, Bess. No more running. Just you and I face to face.’

‘Stay back,’ said Eliza, using every scrap of courage she had to stop herself from fleeing. ‘Abigail has done nothing wrong. I will heal her. I will not let you stop me.’

‘Oh, please, do not trouble yourself on Abigail’s behalf. She is much healthier than you might suppose.’

Eliza looked at Abigail, willing her not to slip away. Her own heart was in danger of stopping when she saw Abigail looking straight back at her. Her eyes were wide open, and she was watching the procedure with an expression of mild curiosity, nothing more.

Eliza gasped. ‘Abigail! But you…’

Simon interrupted, ‘Are a witch, just as you are, Bess.’

‘What? No! I don’t understand.’

Abigail smiled sweetly. ‘Eliza, my dear, do not be cross with me. We can be such friends.’

Eliza shook her head and tried to wrench her hands from inside Abigail’s body, but they were stuck fast. Abigail began to laugh, a harsh, discordant noise. Her body shook with it, but still Eliza’s hands were trapped.

Simon began to pace casually around the theater.

‘Bess, Bess, Bess. What are we to do with you? You surely did not think I would spend centuries waiting for you entirely on my own, did you? Go on, admit it, you are the tiniest bit jealous, are you not?’ He laughed, then went on, ‘Don’t be, my love. There have been many Abigails over the years. Diverting companions, nothing more. Though this one, I’ll admit, has impressed me with her fine performance as my ailing sister. Congratulations, my dear.’ He nodded politely at Abigail, who blew him a kiss in return.

Eliza wanted to scream but knew if she gave way to hysteria she would be lost. Without her hands free, she could not use her magic effectively against Gideon. Behind her, Dr. Gimmel moaned and stirred on the floor. Eliza prayed silently for him to keep quiet and stay down. It was only chance that Gideon had not already killed him, and she was powerless to protect him.

‘You will never claim me, Gideon,’ she said.

‘So stubborn. So defiant. Why do you continue to struggle against your destiny, hmm? You know we were meant to be together, you and I. Think of it. You have tasted the glory of the power of magic in these last few days. You know what life could be, if only you willed it so. Together, you and I would be unstoppable. Unassailable. We would be magnificent.’

He began to walk around the table toward her. Eliza knew she had to act or she would be lost. But she could not fight him handicapped as she was. If she was not to submit, there was only one option left to her. She twisted round so that she could see Dr. Gimmel more clearly. He was drifting in and out of consciousness. She made herself speak.

‘Forgive me, Doctor,’ she said.

Then, quicker than the eye could record, she vanished.

Gideon roared.

‘Bess! Bess! No!’ His thunderous voice shook the room as he spun about, searching for any sign of her.

High up near the ceiling, a butterfly flitted silently toward the narrow open window at the top of the auditorium. It paused on the threshold for a moment, its silver spotted wings flashing in a slender sunbeam, and then it continued through the opening and was gone.