Renegade (26 page)

“It’s so pitiful, Abbie,” Christina said. “He howls nonstop every time I leave home. He has done this ever since William disappeared. So, for the last two days, I have simply brought him with me.”

I knelt down. When I was on my knees, the dog towered above me. He leaned over, licking my face while I petted him.

“I apologize for not arriving earlier,” Christina said quickly. “I have taken in two more friends just this morning … ”

But I cut her off, telling her all that had occurred. That I knew where William was, and that Simon and I were going to bring him home.

As disbelief and shock registered in her luminous eyes, she fell into a coughing fit. It was only then I noticed that her normally pale face was flushed and her eyes seemed even larger than usual. I remembered William mentioning once that Christina had had a health condition since childhood, which sometimes flared. And in spite of her paleness, when I touched her cheek she seemed to burn with fever.

I called for Richard to bring her some tea.

“Oh dear,” she said after recovering from the spell. “The lamia … the portrait. This seems impossible. Are you certain it is not a trap?”

“No, I cannot be sure. But Simon and I are going nonetheless. For whatever might meet us there.”

“What can I do? How can I help?”

I bit my lip, thinking of her long history with my family. I needed to gather as much information as possible. I needed to know all that she knew of the portrait.

Richard brought Christina some steaming tea and after seating herself and taking a few sips, she regained her breath and composure.

“Do you feel well enough to come upstairs with me to see the portrait?” I asked as she finished the tea.

“Please tell me all that you know about it,” I said as we stood in my closet, staring at the lamia portrait. Christina had not seen it since it came into my possession; in fact, she had not seen it in all the years that had passed since it was in Gabriel’s studio. She crouched down, put on her spectacles, and brought the lamp even closer to the painting. I saw marvel and amazement on her face, as if she were deciphering the most exquisite hieroglyphics.

“I don’t know very much about it at all,” she finally said. She stood up, still staring at the portrait but removing her spectacles and furrowing her brows a bit. “I can tell you that your mother chose the portrait subject—the lamia—and she directed much in the portrait’s style and arrangement. But I think you already knew that. It is so much more daring and poignant than my brother’s other portraits. It has been so long since I have seen it, and I forgot its intensities. The hues, your mother’s expression. Extraordinary.”

Once again this raised questions in my mind. Did my mother know of the existence of the real lamia? Had she actually seen the creature, or did she have visions of it, like my own? I once again looked to the painting as some sort of message. As always, my mother’s cryptic nature presented itself before me.

“I know nothing about Caroline’s reasons for choosing the lamia as a subject. But Abbie … ” Christina looked at me through the dimness. “If this is true, if this creature is real as Max has described her, I tremble to think of what you are up against. It might be very much like slaying a dragon.”

I had already thought of that.

“Then if I am to slay a dragon,” I replied, “I shall need a sword, as well as my knife.” If this creature had William and refused to surrender him—or even if she had already killed him—destroying her would be paramount. Simon and I should be able to secure weaponry somehow on our route; he was resourceful, and he had unlimited funds.

“If she was indeed a woman at one point, you shall have one advantage.” Christina smiled darkly. “You might think like her a bit.”

I shuddered, wondering how much of a beast I would be by the end of this ordeal. And I hardly knew what to say; I might be going into battle with an opponent that I couldn’t possibly understand.

Christina continued. “But then again, if Max’s story is true, Seraphina has no problem taking the elixir. She probably doesn’t have the same moral considerations that you have. Also, we can’t be certain what Max has told her about you, but if she does know that you have been invited to join the Conclave, she will already have a vendetta against you. You have everything she has must long for.”

I hardly knew how to respond.

One year ago, I would have thought my current situation unbelievable. But since that time I had had to face an immortal brotherhood, and now it seemed I was going on a wild journey where, like St. George, I must slay a dragon. This was not the life I had chosen, the path I had sought out. I wanted to be like Dr. Anderson, a physician in a hospital like Whitechapel or New Hospital. I thought of how the Conclave’s existence had brought so many more fathoms of trouble to England than, surely, Queen Elizabeth had ever intended when she sanctioned the group. Now it fell upon my shoulders, and Simon’s, to weed through the mess they had left behind. To sort it out and restore order.

“Abbie.” Christina’s voice interrupted my thoughts. She put both of her palms upon my cheeks. “You are Gabriel Rossetti’s daughter. As such, you are my niece, and as dear to me as William is. If something happens to both of you … it will be as if I had lost my own children. I cannot bear that.”

“I know,” I said soberly, not speaking my thought of that moment: that if I died, she would also be dead. As would so many others. Max would no longer need to keep her alive to control me.

She wiped a tear from her face, saying crisply, “At least take Hugo. He might offer a little protection.”

Before Christina left, I asked her to speak to Dr. Anderson, to let her know that I would return at a later point but that there were family responsibilities I must attend to. This was the truth. I did not want Dr. Anderson to think that I had abandoned my work at New Hospital.

After Christina kissed my cheek and descended the stairs, I began throwing everything into my small luggage bag. Hugo lay on my floor, sad and mournful. I packed an extra change of clothes, and then carefully placed the bowie knife in my bag. But I felt immensely troubled leaving Grandmother. Christina, at least, realized that she was in danger. Seeing Max in Grandmother’s parlor had alarmed me; Grandmother had no idea that he was a killer. Because of this, I feared greatly for her.

Simon’s perplexing statement about Grandmother’s butler Richard returned to my mind. On the night when I’d been forced to confront the Conclave, I had feared for Grandmother’s safety. Simon, the next morning, had slipped Richard some money, which Richard had refused.

“You obviously don’t know your butler well … ” Simon had said to me.

Grandmother always discouraged me from going into the kitchen—something about well-bred ladies not lingering among servants. Another nonsensical Kensington rule. But she was still out with Violet, and her rules didn’t matter, especially now that I was trying to save her life from the psychopathic killer she had let into the parlor.

When I reached the kitchen on the first floor where Richard was preparing dinner, I realized how long it had been since I had been in the room. Paint peeled in many places, and I saw that some remnants of ancient wallpaper near the back door had become so faded, the floral designs were barely discernible. Grease markings spotted the high ceiling. Nevertheless, in spite of the woeful lack of updates, Richard kept the kitchen clean—the floor swept and the counters impeccably wiped. Something in a large pot on the stove smelled wonderful, and the pork, roasting on a spit over the roaring fireplace, smelled excellent. I almost wished that I had an appetite, but I had too much before me, too much on my mind to think of eating.

Richard was wearing an apron, his sleeves rolled nearly past his elbows as he sliced carrots and potatoes on a chopping board. He had several dried herbs, including thyme and rosemary, sitting on the counter ready for use.

He raised his eyebrows, surprised at the sight of me. “Miss Sharp, are you in need of something?”

I smiled. “No, I’m not hungry.” I took a seat upon a chair near the counter while he meticulously chopped leeks and onions. It felt a bit awkward. I played with a ring on one of my fingers and made a hideous attempt to appear casual.

“I feel as if I know so very little about you, Richard.”

Richard remained quiet as he began slicing the carrots in perfect orange circles. But I saw something tense in his jaw.

“Truthfully, I am not very interesting, Miss Sharp.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that,” I said quickly.

He caught my eye and I saw a knowing glint. “What would you like to know?” he asked cheerfully, dumping the carrot and potato pieces into the boiling pot on the stove. He returned to the leeks and onions.

I had a feeling that I would have to tread carefully as I went about this. Richard needed to know that he could trust me.

“Do you have family, Richard?”

He paused, then began dicing the dried rosemary and thyme. “I have one niece. The only daughter of my only brother. My brother and his wife are both deceased now. The young lady is married and has a child, and they live in Chatham. Her husband works in the dockyards there, and she embroiders dresses for ladies. So, when I am not here, I am usually with them, taking their infant Thomas on long walks. He is almost one year old now, so there is much adventure to be found on our excursions.”

I liked this image of Richard, of his life apart from working as Grandmother’s butler. I liked seeing him in a grandfather’s role. I asked him several more questions about his niece and great-nephew.

But as we talked, I felt myself becoming impatient. I had not yet heard from Simon, and it was now one o’clock. At any moment he might come to the door, and we would have to leave immediately.

I cleared my throat and decided to simply plunge forward. “I’ll speak candidly, Richard. I’m in a bit of a muddle at the moment.”

Richard glanced up from his vegetables at me, but he said nothing. I waited. I would have to be more specific.

“My friends—Dr. Siddal and Dr. St. John and I—were involved last autumn in something, a situation that I do not want to bring you into, but one that could be dangerous for you and for Grandmother.”

I leveled my gaze, praying he would not think me mad if I had reason to believe he’d understand something of the nature of my “muddle.”

“Particularly,” I continued, “I fear for Grandmother, as she has no idea of the danger she is in.” I paused, not knowing what Simon had already said to him. I didn’t want to involve Richard in something that he couldn’t get out of. But I felt desperately worried for Grandmother, and certain that there was more to Richard than a mundane life as Lady Westfield’s butler.

He seemed as if he was about to speak, but Jupe came running in at that moment.
Blast that dog.
This meant that Grandmother was home, and I would have to hurry the conversation. I thought of Hugo, shut away in my room upstairs, and I prayed that he wouldn’t bark, and that Ellen wouldn’t walk in upon him and scream. I watched as Richard gave Jupe a small piece of sausage.

The little dog swallowed the piece quickly and looked back at Richard expectantly.

“No, young man. There will be no more. Madame has been worried that you are getting fat.”

I gazed at the bit of bulge, under the bare place on Jupe’s back where I had accidently shot him with the arrow.

“Richard … ” I said, feeling tears in my eyes as he turned to the stove to stir the pot and remove a boiling kettle. Why was this so hard? “I will be away for a few days, and I simply want Grandmother to remain safe.”