The Devil & Lillian Holmes (14 page)

Doyle tried to get back control of the conversation.

“As you know, Mr. Orleans,” he said, “I am no detective. Merely a man with a pen and some fanciful ideas. I’ll leave the investigative work to Miss Holmes.” He smiled kindly at her, and Lillian returned the expression, wishing that this meeting could have taken place a year earlier.

“Still,” George pressed, “your curiosity must be piqued! As must be the curiosity of the members of your group! There are too many entwined threads for these deaths to be unrelated, wouldn’t you think?”

“I cannot say.”

A very bad actor indeed. So, bring the topic closer to my Jane, George! He is ready to end this game!

“Such a pity, about Annaluisa,” said Lillian’s beloved. “Well-liked, although a complete charlatan.”

“Charlatan! You could not be more wrong, Mr. Orleans! The woman was a proficient. I saw it with my own eyes on many occasions. Why, I grieve for the loss of her gift—”

“Truly?” Lillian interjected, unable to wait but working hard to keep her tone level. “You saw her proficiency? As I think I wrote to you in my first letter, I am an orphan. Miss Pelosi seemed to know something of the whereabouts of my mother, but we never had a chance to discuss the particulars. I don’t suppose she would have brought up such a thing to you….”

“Alas, no.” Doyle seemed genuinely distressed. “She did not discuss her friends with me.”

Of course she hadn’t. Lillian nodded. But the conversation was frustrating, and that fueled her fury. Her hero couldn’t help her at all, had no interest in her, and evidently he didn’t care about solving the mysterious deaths of Baltimore. Where was Jane? She needed to leave this place and—

“Might I ask you something, Miss Holmes?”

Ah, the worst part. He had come to it.
This
she had prepared for. “Of course.”

Doyle cast a quick look at George and then said, “In your letters, you mentioned something of a peculiar nature. You mentioned my friend Mr. Stoker.”

“I did? I do not recall. Perhaps you have me confused with another?”

George glanced at her, his eyes dark.

“I’m quite sure it was you,” Doyle said. “And the topic fascinated me. You mentioned vampires.”

“Vampires?” Lillian laughed, and George joined in. She hoped they did not sound hysterical.

“Indeed. Because I am interested in paranormal events and phenomena, I took special note.”

“Perhaps it was someone from your Society,” Lillian suggested, praying he did not have her letter with him. “I assure you, the paranormal is not a topic of interest to me.”

“No?” Doyle sat back and stared at her, and then at George. “You’re sure?”

“Quite. Unless someone forged a letter from my person to you…”

“Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“Why would I write such a letter and then forget about it?” Lillian challenged.

“Unfortunately I do not have the letter with me.”

“A shame,” George said, “as it would clear things up.”

“Yes,” said Doyle, clearly frustrated. He seemed none the less friendly, however.

“Well,” George announced, “we have likely taken too much of your time. You’ve been incredibly gracious, Mr. Doyle, and let’s hope the murderer of Miss Pelosi and Miss O’Shaunessy is quickly caught—as quickly as if your Mr. Holmes himself were on the case.” He rose. “I do hope you’ll reconsider dining with us?”

“What? Oh, yes. I mean, no, I’m so sorry. My schedule will not permit.”

Lillian’s heart pounded. She’d lied to her wonderful Mr. Doyle, who seemed unable to help her in any way, and who seemed remarkably uninterested in the curious crimes surrounding his acquaintances, instead focusing on the bizarre and paranormal. This was not at all what she’d expected. How her fantasies had formed her expectations!
So stupid,
she chastised herself. But at least Doyle did not seem to be laying any crimes at their doorstep.

George extended his hand and helped her up. The trio exchanged goodbyes, and Lillian and her beloved were just ready to step across the threshold when Doyle stopped them.

“May I ask one more thing, Miss Holmes?”

“Of course.”

“Who is the Jackal?”

Her heart began to pound again. “‘Jackal’? I had a pet dog named Jack, but I know of no Jackal.”

Doyle ran his fingers across his mustache, and Lillian could not fathom his expression as he said, “I hope you will pardon my candor, but I believe you came here seeking something you have not gained. I am sincerely sorry for that. I am no detective, as I said. But I wish you great fortune in finding your mother.”

“Thank you,” Lillian replied, seeing real kindness in his eyes. Then, “In truth, I am looking also for a girl.”

She was not sure why she’d said that, but Doyle let out a breath and stood statue-still. “A child?”

“Yes, a child.” Lillian watched her hero, hope rising in her breast. “Annaluisa never mentioned a child, did she?”

“No, she didn’t. I am sorry.”

Lillian’s hope fell flat. At least, hope of peaceably getting what she wanted.

They repeated their goodbyes, and George and Lillian descended the hotel stairway. As they did, George whispered, “That was incredibly pointless and disheartening, as well as awkward.”

“Yes,” Lillian agreed. “We spoke in circles. But, George…did you see his eyes when I mentioned a child?”

“No. But I heard his pulse.”

“As did I. We could go back and torture it out of him….” Her blood was burning, and she was fighting back the instinct to do just that. Whomever would stand between her and her daughter would die. Painfully.

George eyed her with surprise. “If you wish, we can—”

“No.” She had mastered her emotion and realized just how foolish she sounded. And, there was no reason to suspect Doyle of wrongdoing.
Yet.
“I was joking. You know how I feel about him. And, although he is not at all what I expected, I like him.”

“As do I,” said George.

She took a deep breath. “I am discouraged that he overheard me discussing the Jackal with Thomas in the train station.”

George sighed and shrugged. “I don’t think you need worry about that. The Baltimore police have their hands full with more recent crimes and seemed to fully accept our explanation of those deaths. And while Mr. Doyle did not seem willing to tell all he knows, he does not seem overly afraid of us, which he would likely be if he knew the truth.”

Lillian’s blood began to burn once again. “Do you think he heard talk of a child amongst his Society members?”

George sighed again. “It’s a place to start. My love, I do believe the game is afoot.”

“What of Marie?” Lillian asked. “Dare you come with me to inquire of Mr. Doyle’s compatriots? I fear for the children, George. And Bess, and Johnnie. The list is endless. She got into my
home.”

“Strength in numbers, Lillian. It’s our only hope.” George put his hand on her shoulder, and she drew comfort from it, but that comfort was sapped by his next words. “Madame Lucifer watches and plans. At times I wish she would simply take me and be done with it, let the rest of you alone. But I doubt that something so simple would satisfy. She aims to end us all.”

“I am next,” Lillian whispered. “I feel it.”

“You will
not
be,” George swore.

“If it would satisfy her,” Lillian realized, “I would perish to save the rest of you. If you promised to find my daughter and—”

“We both prefer a happier outcome. Let’s give it a try, Lil. We have Sullivan on our side.”

“Is he truly on our side? I cannot read the man.”

George linked her arm through his and led her down Charles Street without answering.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Women’s talk.

During daylight, George was less insistent that everyone remain inside. According to Annaluisa’s confidences, he said, Marie de Bourbon was terribly affected by the sun. She had also evolved so completely as to have lost her reflection. What humanity she’d once possessed seemed lost forever to her darker nature.

Lillian and Bess sat on a bench in the park, watching the boys and Mr. Lincoln frolic as they had done before their world shifted on its axis. Johnnie Moran had returned to work, even though grief had him in a tight grip.

Bess kept eyeing the duo on a neighboring bench. “Truly, Lil, must they follow us everywhere? It’s disturbing.”

“It would be more disturbing to have a ‘creature,’ as you so delicately call us, rip your throat out.”

Bess reached toward her throat and nodded. “I do not mind Sullivan and Phoebe much, I guess. They are quiet, and she is actually quite charming. Although, the neighborhood will think it odd that a Negro couple is always in our company.”

“Sullivan and Phoebe care even less than I do about the attitudes of our neighbors. See? The boys have taken to him. He’s kicking a ball about now.”

“They must be very bored, sitting around your house or Phillip’s, running out at odd hours to do whatever it is that vampires do. Eat, and such.”

“We’re trying desperately to develop a plan of attack, so I doubt they will be bored much longer.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Bess took a deep breath and said, “Speaking of vampire men…”

“Must we?”

“Lil, listen to me! I risk a great deal being friends with… Oh, you know what I mean. I tire of calling you a creature. You are more than a creature to me. Please, how do we talk about these things?”

“I’m still me, Bess. The same confused, selfish woman who has cared about you for years.”

“In any case, I am curious.”

“About George? Yes, I rather thought you would be. What is it you would like to know?”

“Did he buy you that enormous ruby?”

Lillian frowned. Truth be told, the ring had brought more confusion than delight. “Yes, indeed he did. A simple gift.”

Bess snorted. “A simple gift that, should it be sold at auction, would likely pull my family out of their present financial woes. Take care lest I steal it from you.”

“If you would let me,
I
would pull your family out of debt. I may do so behind your back. There is no reason for needless suffering and worry.”

“Is it an engagement ring?”

“What?”

“Well, I thought, perhaps among your kind…you might choose them differently.”

“Oh, I see,” Lillian said. “Blood-red rings instead of diamonds? Oh, Bess, we don’t drink out of human skulls or cackle over bubbling cauldrons, you know.”

“No, I don’t know! How in blazes would I? Now, answer my question. Are you engaged?”

“I don’t think so. At least… No, I don’t think so.”

“You would know, my dear.”

But she didn’t know anything. Bess had been the one to tell her such things.

“Then I am not,” she said.

“But you spend all of your time together. And by that, I mean
all of your time.
”

“I take your meaning,” Lillian said, sensing her friend’s distaste. “Yes, we are intimate.”

“Lil,” Bess commanded, “you must marry the man. It’s simply not done. Has he explained why he has not proposed? I know that you both are ‘creatures,’ but surely you haven’t given up on everything! What will you say to Jane about him? Is he to be as a father to her? What do you want?”

Lillian choked back a lump in her throat. How she’d missed Bess, who could see through any fog to the truth of the matter. Bess’s questions were good ones, yet she prevaricated, “Not all social conventions must be followed.”

“I am asking what you
want.
Do you love him?”

“I do,” she admitted. “Although…I have nothing to compare this feeling to. It is more complicated. Our relationship is muddled by some…‘creature’ issues.”

Yes, Bess, I am in love with my maker. But would I love him if he didn’t hold my bond? Would he still love me?

It bothered her sometimes that their relationship had progressed so fast. In her twenty-four years, when had she truly been in control of herself and her emotions? She had desired George, yes, and had been intrigued by him. Then she was in love with him, and then she was one with him. He had “made” her, forced by circumstance. They were both trapped by circumstance. So were the feelings
real?

Who could she ask? Kitty would not understand, and Lillian certainly did not know Phoebe well enough to speak of such intimate matters. Nor, she thought sadly, was there another woman to ask. Phillip might have the answer, but he would surely tell George if she shared any doubts.

“What sort of creature issues?” Bess asked. “He does not mistreat you, does he?”

“Of course not!”

“Then the man must marry you. I shall speak with him on the topic. He won’t chew on me, will he?”

“Only if he wants to answer to me. But…you must remember that to speak of his nature to anyone… Promise me, Bess. Promise me that you will not.” She squeezed Bess’s hand. “I have given my assurance more than once.”

Lillian nodded, knowing as much was true. So, “Bess, he is happy for us, that we are reunited. He will not chew on you if you keep your promise. Still, it’s not the time to worry about such mundane things as marriage. We must find Marie and Jane. After Aileen, the danger is all the more apparent. She is clearly set on destroying all he cares about.”

“I don’t understand how Marie could hate him this much.”

“He is the one who created her, Bess.”

Lillian’s friend looked equally confused and aghast. “Your ways are confounding to me.”

And to Lillian, too. How could she ever explain this existence?

“Many come to loathe their fathers and mothers, both mortals and…‘creatures,’ but especially creatures. Because this life is very hard, and they wished they could have remained mortal.”

“But it would be patricide, in a way. Do you feel that way about George? Angry?”

“At first, and for a brief time. It is very confusing, to resent the one who saved me, who gave me back life.” She paused. “To be honest, I think I resent the two who gave me my first life much more than George.”

Bess nodded. Then, after a moment she said, “Lil, may I ask you something? It is out of curiosity and nothing more, though. I am not asking to be chewed on. But if I were to become a creature, would I be able to walk properly?”