The Twisted Tragedy of Miss Natalie Stewart (3 page)

I bought an apple in the dining car and sat near neatly dressed ladies with cultivated speech. Three generations, it appeared. The elder matriarch eyed me.

“Traveling alone?” she asked with disapproval.

“Oh, no, my cousin is sleeping. Last-minute journey. Off to a funeral.”

“I’m sorry,” the youngest said. “Where are you from?”

“New York City,” I replied.

“So are we,” she said. “And I can’t
wait
to get back.”

“Yes, but I’m enjoying the journey,” I replied. “I’ve never been west. What’s St. Paul like?”

She looked at me with an unenthused gaze. “I hear it’s quite the industrious little city full of hard workers. I’m told they put a park atop a hill before Central Park was a gleam in anyone’s eye. Nothing compared to New York, though,” she was quick to add. “Nothing
ever
compares. Certainly not that slaughterhouse town of Chicago.”

“There you are,
Wilhelmina
,” Jonathon said, sliding the thick glasses onto his nose and bumping against the ends of tables before taking me by the hand.

“And here is my cousin now. Please excuse me.”

The grandmother looked us up and down, as if we couldn’t possibly be related, and sniffed. “Safe journey, my dear.”

As I led Jonathon away, he murmured. “I’m hungry too, but please, another car. I didn’t take too many of the privileges of my station, but I’ve a weakness for fine food.” He offered his arm, and I led him toward First Class.

I tried not to look like a fool gaping at the gilded details and lavish settings of the elite car as we slid back its carved wooden doors with beveled glass. We were met by a gloved waiter and shown to brocaded seats and a table set with the finest crystal and silver table settings. I’d never even been
into
such a train car, let alone seated in one. I didn’t want to trouble Jonathon about luxury, but he was a displaced noble and I was a middle-class runaway with only as much in my bag as Mrs. Northe had packed for me, plus a bit of jewelry and my wits. But to hell with it, I wanted a lavish meal and to be
courted
by a British lord.

“You’ll love Sam. He thinks the best of everyone,” Jonathon began. “He and I met during lectures at the Royal Academy, sitting next to one another. He’d driven his family here mad with wanting to set up his own clinic, so they sent him overseas to learn proper surgery lest he put any more stitches into the family dog.” I laughed as we were brought coffees in gold-trimmed porcelain cups. “We set up a clinic near Covent Garden, the theater district in London. My parents didn’t care what I was doing as long as I wasn’t out whoring or gambling like my uncles…”

A shadow crossed over his face as he said the word “parents.” Now eighteen, Jonathon was an adult, not an orphan, but his parents were recently deceased. Having lost my mother, I knew the pain, but his was fresher than mine.

“Those were amazing days, that summer with Sam, Nat, and me at the clinic. Nathaniel, you’ll have to meet him, too, the
nutter
,” Jonathon chuckled. “He’s an actor, but he has a habit of collecting melancholy folk who sometimes don’t take care of themselves.”

I wanted to meet everyone in his life. I missed my friends Mary and Edith from school, and Rachel, too. They’d all die to see Jonathon. Here I was, living an adventure we could only have dreamed up. I’d happily trade in the darker side, though. I even missed Maggie, Mrs. Northe’s niece. I’d hoped to become great friends with her, but it hadn’t quite worked out. I wasn’t going to give up on her, though. Somewhere inside Maggie lived a nice girl; I’d have to try to find her.

“Will your friends believe the supernatural parts of our story?”

He snorted. “Sam? Never. Nat? It would prove everything he hopes is true. I’ll end up in his show if I’m not careful. I’ve so much business left to deal with. Mrs. Northe gave me the address in London of a solicitor who will help me. I should just go.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it. I didn’t want him to go, of course, but it wasn’t up to me.

We dined like a king and queen, and were treated as such. For the first time I felt what it was like to be a normal girl, not a mute girl, not one of society’s “unfortunates,” but a
fortunate
girl with every opportunity offered to my sex. We kept the shadows at bay and spoke of travel. He was as curious and insatiable as I was. He wanted to see the world with
me
. Together it seemed like anything and everything might just be possible.

Back in our private compartment again, I was exhausted, having been unable to doze easily. Subtly loosening the stays of my corset, I laid my head upon Jonathon’s knee. He ran his hand over my hair. My thoughts wandered to that one exquisite trespass within the painting, where I’d felt his fingertips upon my skin directly, and I longed for it again. But nerves had me blushing and sitting up again in the train car, unable to look him in those breathtaking eyes. I went to my bag, dabbing a cream onto my hands rather than just wringing them nervously. I glanced at Jonathon. He was deep in thought.

“We need a signal,” he said. “A word. To know when something is wrong. Something innocuous in conversation that no one would suspect.”

I breathed in the rosewater scent of the cream Mrs. Northe had packed, something exquisite and French with matching perfume. “Rose,” I said. “They’re one of my favorite flowers. That’s a harmless enough word. Rose.”

“A shame to associate one of your favorite things with danger.”

“Well, you’re one of my favorite things. And you’re associated with danger.”

“Fair enough. If we can’t speak, the signal will be pulling on the left side of our collar. Either the word ‘rose’ or the left collar means we play the lie that either of us tell. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Let’s hope we don’t have to use either signal any time soon.”

Chapter 3

There’s a fine stretch of homes upon St. Paul’s Summit Avenue, where a tree-lined mall divides a cobbled street. It was here that the carriage Jonathon hired at the train station pulled in, under a pillared portico against a Georgian edifice with candles in the window. Ivy was kept carefully at bay upon the brick, though it was straining at the seams, as if ready at any moment to engulf the whole building in leaves.

I wish I could have sketched the face Dr. Neumann made upon seeing us at the door.

“I’m not a ghost,” Jonathon assured his friend, holding out a hand. For the first time in public since the incident on the train, he retained his British accent. Samuel dodged his hand, throwing his arms around Jonathon with a joyful laugh.

“Nat wrote me that you were dead, suicide, some rushed burial—”

“Samuel, you know you can’t believe everything you read in the papers—”

“Denbury, my friend, is this some miracle?” he asked, turning then to me, curiously wondering if I were a part of this surprise.

In that moment, when Jonathon nodded to me and I was about to be introduced, everything changed.

I noticed a man step into the hallway behind Samuel, a small man in a fitted tweed suit, perhaps around the age of thirty. His eyes were so haunted that I thought he might be a specter.

“I told you, my friend,” the man said, with a quiet accent similar to Jonathon’s upper-class standard British. “That with me, you would see many impossible things.”

If I hadn’t spent the last month so intensively studying Jonathon and everything about him, I might not have noticed his body tense. But I did.

“You speak truth, Dr. Preston,” Samuel said. “Let’s not dally here by the door. Denbury, you must introduce me to this fine young lady.”

“This is Miss
Rose
,” Jonathon said. I reeled to hear our secret code so soon. Something was wrong. His gaze flickered to the other doctor in the hall. “And she doesn’t speak or hear, but she can read lips, so don’t say anything rude. She’s become…somewhat of a project of mine.” He said the word “project” carefully.

I quelled a shiver. Jonathon turned to me, gesturing me to nod, that I’d been presented. I curtseyed briefly to Samuel, who was looking at me not with pity, thank God, but with curiosity. I nodded toward the man in the hall. A moment of irritation flared through me—what, didn’t Jonathon think I could speak for myself?

Jonathon had said his friend could be trusted. Clearly this doctor in the hall could not. What had he and his friends gotten wrapped up in?

“Let me send off my driver and take our bags while you seat Miss Rose in the parlor,” Jonathon directed. “I assume she and I are welcome to stay the night? I apologize for not sending a wire, but things have been rather…complicated.”

Preston’s mouth curved slightly. I didn’t want to stay a night here. Had we been followed? Anticipated here? I suddenly didn’t want to be around anyone other than Jonathon. He was the only one I could trust. And clearly, he was treading carefully too.

“Of course my best friend is welcome in my home!” Samuel said. “I saved a stash of Earl Grey tea just for you.” Jonathon gave a sound of relief as he darted back down the steps toward the hired carriage to pay the driver and deal with our bags.

Samuel gestured for me to enter. A fine wooden-paneled entrance foyer led to wooden pocket doors open to a pleasant parlor, open and trimmed in blue. “
Danke
, Mrs. Strasser,” Samuel said warmly as his housekeeper wheeled in a tea tray to serve us.

With no obligation to speak, I considered Samuel. He was tall and fair with straight blond hair and an open, friendly face. If there was danger surrounding him, he evidently didn’t know it. Jonathon had said Samuel thought the best of everyone. Such a disposition would have made him an easy target for the unsavory.

Mrs. Strasser was out of the room before anyone spoke again.

“Your friend is not the man he was, Dr. Neumann,” Dr. Preston said. His tone was eerie and quiet, and he seemed to have purposely turned away from me. Not bothering to include me. That’s right. I couldn’t hear. Why bother addressing me? That was rather brilliant of Jonathon. I was perfectly poised to listen in while assumed to be the least threat.

I appeared busy with my tea but watched out of the corner of my eye. Samuel frowned. “How’s that?”

“He’s been through a…great deal,” Preston continued. “My associates chose him, too, as you and I have been chosen. But unlike us, his body and soul were changed in the process. The body and the soul have distinct uses. We proved them separable in Lord Denbury’s case.”

“Separable? But—”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s quite whole now. But that’s not our department. We must stay focused on
our
goals.”

I sipped my tea with dawning horror. Not only was this doctor involved with whoever had cursed Jonathon, but he assumed Jonathon was still possessed. Was Samuel next?

“Your associates didn’t hurt him, though?” Samuel said sharply. “You promised me our aim was to help the suffering, those in loss, those between life and death…like Elsa…”

“Of course,” Preston assured quietly. “At least, that’s what I was promised too. I’m doing this for my Laura, Samuel.”

The two men nodded. I felt pain hang heavily in the air like humidity before the release of a storm. Doing
what
? And what poor women were at the heart of this?

“In our gilded age,” Preston added, “with medicine, surgery, and physiology, it’s all a thrilling frontier, and we must be at the fore. Everything is new, and we must seize the day.”

He sounded like an avid student—possibly delusional.

Jonathon returned. I jumped up to fix him tea from the tray, trying to keep my hands from shaking. I hoped my very wide eyes as I handed him the cup signaled to take care, willing him to see that he had to play the demon. But something told me that, from the moment he’d seen Preston in the hall, he’d already known that. Had they met?

There was a strained silence as we sat, and I had to remember I couldn’t turn to whoever spoke first. I could only read lips. Samuel broke the silence with a sigh.

“It’s just so
bloody
good to see you,” Samuel said to Jonathon. “When Nat wrote you’d died…after your family…I’m so sorry—”

Jonathon waved his hand as if it were nothing. But I read the flicker of the muscle on his neck, the subtle clench of his jaw, the tightening of his chest that kept in the grief he’d not yet been allowed to process.

“I’m sorry we lost touch,” Samuel continued. “I returned to the States to learn my family was moving west. So were the Wells. And you know, wherever my Elsa would go, I must follow…”

“Ah, yes, true love,” Jonathon said with an edge. Preston’s eyes hardened.

Samuel looked up at a portrait of a lovely woman over the mantel. “We were supposed to be married this year. But she’s slipping away. Comatose. None of the doctors understand…” Samuel clenched his fist on the arm of his chair. “
I
don’t understand, and I’m supposed to be gifted—”

“Being exceptional only gets you so far, my friend,” Preston said in that same voice just above a whisper that somehow the whole room could hear. “And even the most skilled physicians in the world cannot keep our loved ones from the grave.”