Camille Page 4

  Dr. Bennett met me at the front door and handed me his coin purse. “I saw the men unpacking boxes of oranges and winter pears yesterday at Covent Garden. Maybe you should stop for some. Fresh fruit might make a tasty lure for a hungry boy. And buy a few for home.”

  I nodded and tucked the coin purse into my trouser pocket. “A bejeweled corpse would make a better lure, but I don’t suppose you have one of those.” I bounced up to my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Be careful, Cami. You know the rule.”

  “If anything smells the slightest bit sour, then leave off right away.” I turned to go. I only hoped I could smell something sour beneath the rotten stenches of the lower East End.

  Ribbons of yellow, red, and green vegetables stretched across the long line of grocers’ carts at Covent Garden. The flower girls were hard at work tempting shoppers with their tiny clusters of violets. Several stands displayed the early treasures of winter, solid oranges, tart grapes and French pears. Not wanting to weigh myself down with heavy fruit, I purchased one orange and one pear. There would be more tomorrow. Besides, I wasn’t sure how to use them as a lure.

  My purchase being made, I braced myself for the heavy horse and foot traffic of Whitechapel Road and the public house off Buck’s Row. I had no notion of how to find our specimen, but I was even more worried about how I would approach him if I spotted him.

  I slipped into the tavern and sat on the same bench. The few patrons looked too steeped in misery to notice a small visitor. Because it was day, no candles or lanterns were lit, making the place more dreary and cold than the night before. I surveyed the room and saw only two familiar faces, the man behind the counter, who was no doubt the owner, and the red haired girl.

  The girl slouched on a chair at one of the tables. In the dim light drifting across the threshold, I could see her face. The heavy makeup from the night before had been smeared away and dark rings circled her eyes. Her red hair was piled in a matted mess atop her head. It dawned on me that she was no more than twenty. A shadow crossed the floor, and my eyes flitted to the entrance. The other girl had returned.

  “There you are, Jane. You look a sight, you do.”

  The red head sat forward and put her elbows on the table. “And where ‘ave you been, Nell? Rutting around with that worthless man of yours?”

  Nell slid out a chair and sprawled her legs apart as she sat. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” the girl teased. “The man I’ve been with weren’t the least bit worthless.”

  “The draper’s assistant then?” Jane slumped back uninterested.

  “I’ve been with Strider.”

  Jane shot forward and leaned her face close to Nell, who beamed at the interest she’d provoked. I leaned forward as well.

  “You’re a lyin’ pig,” Jane sneered. “I saw Strider leave ‘ere barely able to stand on his own.” She slumped back again.

  Nell adjusted the tattered shawl around her shoulders. “He’s feelin’ much better now. Spent the last two hours with ‘im on the shoemaker’s stoop.” A satisfied smile spread across her face.

  It was hard to know whether the girl was telling the truth or whether she was determined to rile Jane. If she was telling the truth, then I could only assume that Strider’s health had improved greatly. Jane and Nell sat in silence now, one of them smiling and the other seething. They were completely ignorant of the fact that the object of their affections would soon transform into a flesh-tearing beast, the likes of which they could never have imagined.

  “You there!” The owner waved a gnarled finger at me from behind his counter. “If you’re not buying nothing, then off with you.” His command drew the attention of the girls. They snickered at me as I stood and hurried out the door.

  The air outside smelled thick with sewage. I swallowed back the fetid taste in my throat and headed in the direction of the shoemaker’s shop.

  Not two blocks from the place, a soft moan rolled out from an alley. A girl’s delighted giggle mingled with a young man’s voice. I felt my cheeks grow warm. As I rushed past, something caught my eye. An old sailor’s coat lay draped over a tattered basket. I pressed myself next to the rough brick façade and peered around the corner.

  I’d seen him for the first time two nights ago, and saw him only from behind now, but I recognized the broad shoulders and black hair instantly. The girl in his clutches was small and blonde like Emily, and I could see a heavy pink blush on her cheeks as he bent to kiss her. His long leg was tucked between her thighs. Nathaniel Strider was an impossible blackguard, but I could not look away.

  Strider pulled the blouse from her shoulder. “You know I’m always thinking of you, Love.”

  A laugh escaped my lips. My hand flew to my mouth. It was the tiniest sound, yet his head quickly turned, and his eyes found me instantly. His heated gaze made my breath come in short spurts. I dropped my arms and clenched my fists so hard, fingernails bit into my palms. My first instinct was to pull back out of view, but I found myself looking around the corner again. I made not a sound, at least not a sound that a human could hear, and his eyes flicked toward me.

  The cad continued to caress the girl’s shoulder with his mouth, all the while staring at me. His glare bordered on mischievous. The bloody bastard took pleasure in being watched. He lifted his head and smiled wickedly at me before returning his full attention to the girl. I stumbled back several steps and raced to Whitechapel without looking back.

  Once lost in the melee of Whitechapel Road, I stopped to catch my breath. My ears throbbed with the cold, and I felt lightheaded. I unfurled my fingers. Thoughts tangled in my head. I’d known full well that citizens on the East End behaved differently. But this wasn’t about the way I’d seen Nathaniel Strider behaving. This was envy over the girl he kissed.

  After Emily’s revelation the morning before had settled in my mind, I realized I was less shocked than resentful. Emily had someone to stroke her hair, someone to press lips on her, someone to stare at her as if she were an angel. It was the same jealousy I felt now about the girl who stood in the alley being caressed by Nathaniel Strider’s mouth.

  My fingers lightly brushed my own lips. I wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him. Of course, I could just ask any of the girls on the East End. That thought extinguished my romantic notions instantly. Nathaniel Strider could never love. He’d obviously discovered early on that girls’ hearts were vulnerable, and all a lad needed was a penetrating gaze and a disarming smile and the world was at his feet. For the moment, I’d seen enough of my charge.

  My pace slowed considerably on my return home. Dr. Bennett had a rather distorted view of my courage. I wanted to end the midnight hunts more than he did, but I sensed this plan of his would not end well for any of us. To find a way to stop this in less than thirty days seemed no more possible than stopping the moon from completing its cycle. And from the keen sense of hearing and sight our specimen displayed in the shadows between the buildings, it was obvious his transformation had begun.

  Thirst and hunger made my head ache. The pear drooped heavy in my pocket. I pulled it out and took a bite. A lure for that rake? Not unless I tucked it between my breasts.

  The blur of people and animals made me dizzy. I leaned against a lamppost to eat my fruit and watch the street locksmith busy at his trade. A small girl stood patiently near her father who waited for the locksmith to fashion a key. The girl enjoyed her biscuit, taking no notice of the boisterous crowd sweeping past or the waterfall of crumbs on her pink dress. My spirits had sunk. It may have been my weakened state or the emotion of the morning, but the whole scene in front of me triggered a memory. The blood drained from my head, and I held onto the lamppost for support. The image before me blurred as I remembered back to a little girl in a pink dress licking a half-penny ice while her father laughed with the local locksmith. I shook my head to clear it.

  I dropped the half eaten pear and hurried home. I’d had enough distress for the morning. Locating Strider would not be
a problem. He seemed to be getting around fine even with the injured leg. Indeed, from what I had witnessed, Nathaniel Strider was more than fine. I had no clue how to bring him home to the lab. How could I possibly tempt him from the bevy of enthusiastic girls he had waiting for him around every corner? Lost in my worried thoughts, I pushed hastily past a boardman and smacked my shoulder on his jutting sign.

  “Watch yourself, laddie,” the man called after me.

  Bloody grand. I’d spent so much time in trousers, everyone assumed I was a boy. And the only way to catch the interest of Nathaniel Strider was to be a wanton female or a rich corpse. I was in trouble.

  Sir Dutch greeted me at the door. We’d given him the title of Sir when he’d first shown his uncanny ability to sense werewolves. Dr. Bennett and I had wandered out rather aimlessly one night, not quite sure where to begin our search. I’d carried Dutch because we’d found that when left alone, he’d shred drapes and overturn vases. We’d read about a bill-sticker near Lambeth who’d fought off a vicious dog attack by clubbing the animal with his paste can. Dr. Bennett and I’d headed toward Lambeth, and as we passed several warehouses along the Thames, the cat hissed and growled. Dr. Bennett deduced that the cat was warning us and drew his weapon. The night came to a grisly end with the sharp blast of a gun. On the way home, we’d decided Dutch was not a proper name for a hero, so we knighted him Sir Dutch.

  Dr. Bennett sat in the marmalade room poring over science publications. The fire from the morning had died to a red shimmer. His morning coffee sat stale and cold in its cup.

  “You must be famished, John.”

  He startled at the sound of my voice. “You’re home. Did you find our young man?”

  I placed the orange in front of him. “I found him, but he was occupied.” I had no intentions of going into the details. “I must admit, I’m not sure how to proceed with this.”

  “You may have to be blunt and tell him he is in grave danger.” Dr. Bennett removed his eyeglasses and rubbed his eyes before resting back in the chair. The morning paper was spread over the seat of the settee. “Perhaps it would be better if I spoke to the lad.”

  His offer tempted me, but I was determined to try again. Besides, the randy bloke needed a good smack of reality, and I treasured the thought of giving it to him. “I’m not ready to give up yet.”

  “Very well. But remember time is limited.” He picked up a Mendel’s publication about the hybridization of plants.

  I sat across from him and fingered the copy of Darwin’s book on Natural Selection. “Finding anything significant?”

  “I’m afraid I’m looking in the wrong places. Mendel’s and Darwin’s theories are all about changes over long periods of time.” He closed the books in front of him. “This transformation of human to werewolf happens at an alarming rate. It defies all of these theories. You saw those cells this morning. The lad had contact with the beast only hours before and already, there was transmutation. I must start back at the beginning. I must return to the theory of cells.” He placed his palm on some papers near the corner of the table. “I’m going to peruse some of Virchow’s cellular studies next. Maybe he has some wisdom to impart.” He smiled. “After all, the man spends nearly as much time at the microscope as me.”

  “You read through the paper then?” I looked pointedly at the settee.

  He glanced over at the splayed paper. “No new attacks mentioned. Only the death of the…” His words trailed off. “He had three children.”

  I spotted Schwann’s book on the theory of cells in the pile and pushed it in front of him. “All the more reason to carry-on.” I picked up the orange and peeled it. The sweet citrus fragrance filled the room. “Father used to say that peeling an orange was like bringing a piece of sunshine into the house.” It was rare when I mentioned memories of my father, but the sight of the girl with her father at the locksmith’s cart had released some of them.

  Dr. Bennett nodded weakly. The burden he carried showed in his brow.

  I held up my palm topped with a sticky wedge of fruit and returned a smile. “Here’s to finding a cure.”

  He plucked up the orange and raised it in a mock toast. “To finding a cure.”

  Chapter 6

  A bone aching frost hung low in the morning air, and I half considered hopping on an omnibus for the journey to Buck’s Row. Only the last time I’d climbed aboard one, I was treated to a continual jabbing with the tip of a gentleman’s umbrella and the rancid smell of rum from the breath of the man sitting across from me. The trip became unforgettably unpleasant.

  By the time I’d reached Whitechapel Road on foot, soot-filled dew dripped off the brim of my hat, and the trousers hugged my calves with sticky moisture. The street was choked with traffic and people. I pressed myself against the building fronts in an attempt to stay clear of rushing vehicles and ambitious pedestrians. Unfortunately, my safe journey along the warm bricks of the shops was diverted by an industrious, second-hand furniture shop owner. In an obvious attempt to attract buyers, he’d pushed four chairs, a table, and a wardrobe onto the already cramped pathway. I navigated around his clutter and managed to step directly into a pile of fresh horse manure. My scowl did little to dampen the spirits of the shop owner who seemed all too pleased with his advertising idea.

  My shoulders hunched against the cold as I planned where to start my search. I was convinced the publican would not take kindly to me sitting on his bench again, and I dared not purchase any ale in his establishment. I could always follow the young girls in the neighborhood. Surely, one or two or three of them would lead me to Nathaniel Strider.

  On warmer days, the streets teemed with languid energy, but on cold mornings such as this, vitality thrived and even the down trodden with little to motivate themselves moved about with alacrity. Malnourished dogs barked wildly as if the drop in temperature signaled the arrival of a hailstorm of soup bones.

  Over the din of boisterous conversations and excited animals, I heard angry words being exchanged from behind. A jumble of tangled limbs and flying fists plowed toward me. I threw myself against the wall to get out of the brawling men’s path. They stopped not two meters in front of me and continued to pummel each other.

  A crowd gathered, not to separate them, but to cheer them on. Blood from the combatants’ noses sprayed the cobblestone path. I scanned the crowd from under my hat and discovered that as others gaped at the spectacle, I’d caught the attention of one of the onlookers. His intense gaze stunned me, and a breath lodged in my throat. I slid between two of the cheering spectators and rounded the corner out of view. A furtive glance over my shoulder assured me that no one had followed.

  I plunked down onto the front step of a chandler’s shop and laughed. The prey I’d been stalking had found me first. It was hard to know why he’d chosen to watch me over the fight. My plain brown trousers and gray wool coat were not out of the ordinary. Perhaps it had been my imagination or my surprise at seeing him in the crowd. Perhaps he hadn’t been watching me at all. Still, it was difficult to dismiss that soul-striking gaze, which felt all too real at the time.

  Determined to continue my quest, I sidled along the shops until I reached the same corner I’d escaped around moments before. The mob and the rivals had dispersed leaving behind only watery drops of red on the pavement. No sign of Nathaniel Strider.

  I resumed the same path I’d begun before the interruption and had gone no more than ten steps when I saw him. He lurked around a cart of apples. The costermonger, his attention diverted by a paying customer, didn’t notice the nonpaying customer helping himself to two pieces of fruit. I ducked into an empty stairwell.

  I quieted my trembling hands, swallowed to wet my dry throat, and cursed myself for becoming so ridiculously agitated at the sight of him. Perhaps Dr. Bennett would be better for this task. At this point, I had no idea how to approach him. Like a mirage, my fickle courage had vanished. There was more time, I assured myself. I could return to Buck’s Row tomorrow. By then, I
would have worked up the nerve to step right up to Nathaniel Strider and introduce myself before giving him the news.

  Ashamed at my cowardice, I trudged back toward the main road, staring down at my feet as they landed on each stone. Each step grew heavier and heavier with dejection. Suddenly my boots left the ground completely as someone grabbed both my arms, dragged me round to the alleyway, and slammed me up against the wall. My eyes snapped shut as my head landed with a sharp thud against the rough brick, vibrating my skull with pain.

  “Why are you followin’ me?”

  My eyes shot open. I was looking directly into the brown eyes of Nathaniel Strider. He shook me, and my head hit the wall again with only the crushed brim of my hat for protection. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. I winced as his powerful grip tightened on my arms. His face was close to mine.

  Voices came from the end of the dark passage. I turned my head to see if help was near. A small boy stood in a recess, holding a thin toddler in his arms. The lad’s bare feet looked blue against the icy, wet pavement. Hesitantly, I returned my attention to my captor.

  “Who sent you?” He released me and shoved the hat from my head. His eyes narrowed. “Bloody hell,” he said and harshly pinched my breast. “A girl in trousers.”

  I screamed and moved to hammer him with my fists, but before I could land one punch, he had both my wrists in one hand and pinned above my head.

  Anger helped me find my tongue. “What do you mean who sent me? Who would be out looking for a lowly thief like yourself? Scotland Yard has finer thieves to chase.” I met his angry gaze with one of my own and realized, too late, the mistake I’d made. His hold nearly crushed my wrist bones. “You’re hurting me. Please let go,” I pleaded. “Your strength, you have not learned to control…” My words trailed off. His eyes never left my face. The pain from his fierce hold on me brought on tears. They left hot streaks on my cheeks. “Please, let go, and I’ll explain.”