The Dark Between Part 31

"It must have been Wakeham who caught Billy searching out details for Martineau's seance. He pressured Billy to find a poor soul for his experiment. But when Billy tried to use this information for blackmail, he silenced him. That's what it looks like, right? And all for the love of a dead woman. It all fits, I suppose. And yet ... I can't quite believe him capable."

"You know I didn't like him, but it wasn't because I thought him a bad person." The chair creaked as Asher slumped back. "He was concerned with what happens to us after death. In fact, he seemed quite keen to prove that something essential remains even when the physical body has died." He paused to rub his eyes. "I suppose that's what these 'experiments' were truly about."

"He was more interested in Dr. Marshall's research than he let on," Kate said. "When my father died and Marshall refused to endanger anyone else's life, Wakeham must have decided to take matters into his own hands."

"And in the end it killed him." Asher sighed. "This isn't going to be easy for Elsie."

"She may remember more in time."

"And how would it help us if she did? Are you prepared to share all this with the Thompsons? With the police? Wakeham is dead. He can't hurt anyone else."

"I still want to know."

"You're torturing yourself, Kate. You already know who killed Billy and Tec. There was nothing you could do to prevent what happened," he added gently.

"Then why do I feel as though I've failed them?"

He studied her for a moment. "You are the most maddeningly independent soul I've ever known. But when you let someone be a friend, you turn fiercely protective." He smiled. "I've seen how you care for Elsie, and I admire it. I know you were loyal to Billy and Tec. But they were just as independent as you, Kate, and their choices led them into danger. You can't hold yourself responsible for that."

Kate started to protest, but the shadows under Asher's eyes made her pause. "You look tired."

"I'm exhausted. We both need rest." He stood. "We'll talk more later, but we mustn't push Elsie too hard."

"I know, I know." With a groan Kate rose from the bed to meet him at the door. Without thinking, she reached out to rub a dark smudge from his cheek. He flinched slightly but did not push her hand away.

"Sorry," she murmured. "Just a bit of soot."

He looked down, his lashes hiding his eyes. "Thanks, Kate."

The room felt very empty once he'd gone.

The next morning Mrs. Thompson brought a selection of heavy volumes to Kate's room. "Why don't you read to Elsie? That way you can visit with her in a restful way."

Kate picked d.i.c.kens's Bleak House because its t.i.tle page featured a drawing that reminded her of Castle End. She'd hardly made it through the first paragraph, however, before she lost her footing.

London. Michaelmas Term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln's Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in the streets, as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill.

Kate closed the book. "I won prizes for reading back in school, but this may be too much for me."

"You don't have to read, Kate. We could just talk."

"You're supposed to be resting. I'll push on until we find the house and learn what makes it so bleak. There's a chilling sketch of it opposite the t.i.tle page."

There was no house, however. Just a lawsuit that apparently had dragged on for centuries. By the fifth page she was sounding out words without comprehending them, but she doggedly pressed on until she reached a dreary woman named Lady Dedlock.

"I say I am afraid," says Mr. Tulkinghorn, who has risen hastily, "that Lady Dedlock is ill."

"Faint," my Lady murmurs, with white lips, "only that; but it is like the faintness of death. Don't speak to me. Ring, and take me to my room!"

"Please ... just stop," Elsie said.

Kate glanced at her over the book. "Are you ill? You've gone pale."

Elsie shook her head, but her eyes filled with tears. Kate pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. "Here. It's clean."

Elsie wiped her eyes. Then she refolded the handkerchief, smoothing the edges carefully. "Thank you."

"Were you thinking of Simon Wakeham?"

Elsie sniffled. "I'm so confused."

"Of course you are." Kate softened her tone. "You have a head injury. And you cared for him, didn't you?"

After a moment Elsie nodded.

"He seemed a fine gentleman ... at first, anyway. I could see why you might take a s.h.i.+ne to him. But I do wonder how you fell so deeply for him, and so quickly."

"My heart acts independently of my head." Elsie turned to stare at the ceiling, her brow furrowed. "I never told you why I ran away to London, although Asher must have guessed it. I'm sure he saw him at the British Museum, before he ran away."

"Before who ran away?"

"My art tutor-my only friend at Peverel Place. He was my ..." She trailed off, biting her lip. "He's the one who taught me how to use a camera, you see. I thought I loved him, but it was all foolishness. Deep down I knew his pa.s.sion did not match my own. But as I said, I am led by my heart."

"My mother was the same way, I think," Kate said. "She was a fool about my father. She must have known he wouldn't marry her. I'll never understand why she continued to hope they would be together even after he married that wretched woman." She shook her head. "Why do women think they need a man to be happy? Shouldn't children matter just as much, if not more?"

"Yes. Of course they should," Elsie said. "But the craving for a man's attention can be so strong, no matter how shabbily a woman is treated. Why is that? Why do some men have that power?"

"Is it really about the man?" Kate paused to ponder this. "For some, I think it's more a yearning for escape and independence."

Elsie frowned. "Really?"

"I thought a lot about this that night I sat by your bed. You know, when you went to Wakeham's house and ... suffered your disappointment."

"Go on, then," Elsie said. "Tell me what else you thought that night."

"Are you certain you're not too tired? I don't want Mrs. Thompson annoyed with me."

"I think I need to hear this, Kate."

"All right." Kate tilted her head, considering Elsie carefully. "From the time of your first seizure, I think you've felt like a changeling in your family. Your father considers you damaged beyond repair. Your mother is deathly afraid of what you know. I imagine it's hard for her to even meet your gaze. Am I correct?"

Elsie nodded slowly.

"But men. They notice you, don't they? You're beautiful and they long to protect you. To possess you. And you enjoy their attention. When they offer you love, you're quick to take it because the people who are supposed to love you find you threatening." Kate glanced at the bottles on Elsie's desk. "And when that doesn't work, you take Chlorodyne to blot it all out. You nearly blotted yourself out a few days ago."

"That was a horrible night."

"Yes, it was." Kate took a deep breath before continuing. "And then there's Asher. He's obviously smitten with you, but you pretend not to see it. Except when you need him, like that night you invited him to the Fitzwilliam Museum. Did you think I didn't notice how you looked at him? Why do you string him along only to push him away?"

Elsie's face crumpled. "I don't string him along."

"Well then, why do you fling yourself at inappropriate men and ignore the worthy ones?" Kate pressed. "Asher can be rude at times, but he's a steady one. He has a good heart."

"I know he does." Elsie wiped her face with the handkerchief and sighed. "I'm not an idiot, after all. I like him awfully, but I just don't have those feelings for him."

"Maybe he needs to understand that?"

Elsie nodded slowly, withdrawing once more into herself.

Kate retrieved the book and pretended to find her place. She'd been on comfortable ground discussing Elsie's wayward heart, but once the subject turned to Asher her stomach had soured to the conversation.

A light knock came at the door.

"Yes?" Elsie's voice seemed to come from far away.

The door opened slowly, and Asher peered through.

"Mrs. Thompson said I'd find you both here. May I come in?"

Asher stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsettled by the distinct impression of having interrupted something.

Kate stood quickly, placing a book on her chair. "I've nearly finished a chapter, and I can't bear another word of Bleak House today. Why don't you keep Elsie company for a while?" She swept past him before he could reply.

Asher set the book aside and took Kate's seat. He'd been in Elsie's bedroom before-on the very first day he met her-but this was the first time he'd been alone with her in this private s.p.a.ce. She seemed so small in the bed, dwarfed by the jumble of overstuffed pillows. She was pale, bruised ... diminished.

"How are you feeling?" he finally asked.

"Better."

"I could read to you. Shall I pick up where Kate left off?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

A silence fell. Asher leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. But that felt too casual, so he uncrossed them and sat forward again. "Were the two of you arguing just now?"

"No ... not exactly."

He waited for her to elaborate, but she only seemed to sink deeper into her pillow. Clearly he would have to press on without her a.s.sistance.

"I told a whopping lie to Mr. Thompson yesterday," he said. "Thought you should know, in case he or Mrs. Thompson asked you about it. I told him Kate tried to run away Sat.u.r.day night, and that I followed her out of concern for her safety. It was the only thing I could think of at the time, but then I realized it gave me an opportunity to explain her plight-her fear of Eliot and all that-and as it turns out your uncle was quite sympathetic." Asher knew full well he was babbling, but at least it filled the silence. "I'm certain he'll try to convince her to stay at Summerfield. Perhaps you'll be able to help him with that?"

"I'll do my best." Elsie's smile was thin.

"So what was going on just now between the two of you?"

"Actually, Kate was lecturing me."

"Lecturing? I asked her not to push you for details on what happened in the old lab."

"She never mentioned that. Instead she seemed more concerned with my heart and how I invite men to abuse it."

Asher cleared his throat. "That wasn't very kind of her."

"She meant it in a helpful way, I think. And perhaps I brought it on myself. I did ask her opinion."

Again he waited in vain for her to elaborate, but the silence thickened instead.

"I won't be able to stay at Summerfield much longer," he finally said. "The students will return soon enough, and the Thompsons will need my room."

"But you can take lodgings in town, can't you?"

Her tone was even, but his heart leapt a little at the words. "I suppose I could. It would be nice to stay close to you."

Her eyes dropped to her hands. "Close to me and Kate. And the Thompsons, of course."

"I once thought I would stay in town to be near you." His face burned, but the need for clarity compelled him to press further. When would he have another opportunity to speak to her alone? "Is there any way ... is there any chance you could feel-"

"No," she said softly. "I cherish you as a dear friend, but no more than that."

"Could it be more someday? I mean, once you've mourned Simon Wakeham?"

His own words echoed in his head, sounding callow and abrupt. Finally she raised her head and met his gaze. Her eyes held kindness and a trace of pity, but nothing more.

"Asher, you fancy the idea of me more than the reality."

"I don't even know what that means."

"And I don't know any other way to explain it. We were meant to be friends-good friends-but nothing more."

"Of course," he said quickly. "Please forget I said anything."

"Don't be angry."

"I'm not angry." He tugged at his collar. "It's just blazing hot in here."

Mrs. Thompson came through the door at that moment, her hands full of sewing and more books. She set the items on Elsie's desk and turned to face them. Her searching gaze moved from him to Elsie. "You both look so grim."

Asher took a deep breath and stood. "I was just leaving."

Mrs. Thompson tilted her head. "See you at supper?"

"Of course," he said, making for the door before she could say anything else. He did not look at Elsie.

He dragged himself up the stairs, almost wis.h.i.+ng to find Kate in his room again. It was easy enough to imagine her sitting in his chair, rolling her eyes at his stricken face. He would welcome her scorn. He'd suffered a blow to his pride, but the sight of Kate, steady and cynical, would lessen the pain, making it easier to push aside and forget.

His room was empty, however, so he sprawled on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Once his eyes had traveled every snaking crack in the plaster at least twice, he sat up with a sigh and turned to his desk. The bundle of telegrams still lay there. He stood and reached for it, sitting down on his chair to untie the string that bound the envelopes. After studying the first one for a moment, he tore it open.

THOMPSON WIRED TO INFORM OF YOUR ARRIVAL. WRITE TO MOTHER. SHE GRIEVER.