Chapter Nine
Devon and Inspector Burke left the Harbury laboratories together in silence. By mutual accord they remained so until they had a good half-mile between their backs and the laboratory doors.
Then Devon breathed out a rough lungful of air. “God above, Burke. What the hell’s going on?”
Burke slowed his pace. “I don’t know. Give me your thoughts, Devon. I don’t know how to interpret my own at the moment.”
The younger man shook his head, staring at the ground as they moved forward. “Those men we saw? I have no idea who they were. But I can tell you who they weren’t.”
“Let me guess. They weren’t any of your cell mates.”
“Not one. They looked well-fed, although I’ll admit they looked as if they might have been unwell at some point in their lives. They seemed…absent. But not in the way I was, or the way the others with me on Level Seven were.”
“What should we have seen?”
“Agony. Psychic agony. Minds drained day after day in the most degrading fashion, our bodies kept at breaking point by some mechanism I’ve yet to understand, and only our basic needs provided for. Inadequate food, poor housing and in the winters? Cold. Brutal, bone-chilling cold. The summers weren’t too bad, since heat seldom penetrated that far down below the earth. But I can clearly recall thinking I would die of the cold.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I was lucky. Others weren’t. And if what the cook told Portia is true, then more have followed. This has been a bad winter, Burke. It was cool where we were, but those four men had blankets and socks and shoes. Warm clothing would have made a huge difference to me, and the others with me. We never saw hide nor hair of a blanket.”
“I don’t understand it.” Burke walked slowly, his shoulders hunched against the sharp wind and bits of sleet that still lingered in the air. “Those four patients were just for show. A display of the care offered by the Harbury Laboratories to the distressed and the unwell.”
“Which begs the question of where are the others?”
“I didn’t see any staircase going down to the lower levels. It would seem that a good portion of them were indeed badly damaged over the past year or so.”
“Yes, that’s probably true. And the collapse that occurred after I escaped—I’ll bet that took care of at least half the cells.”
Burke paused and looked at Devon. He saw for a moment a touch of the pain the young man had experienced, and also the renewed vigor that had come with release and a new life. And Portia. In spite of everything going on around them, Burke smiled. “Very well. I trust your observations, Devon. So. Let’s be logical here, shall we?”
He continued his progress down the lane toward his cottage. “We’ve been shown a false image. Someone wants us to believe that these four poor souls are the remainder of the original clientele, if you will.”
“Agreed.”
“If this were indeed the case, then your report, Mr. Health Inspector Hatfield, would reflect the facts. Harbury Laboratories has taken overall excellent care of those in their charge, who are comfortable, well fed and in respectable surroundings. All true, yes?”
“Yes.” Devon nodded. “And were such a report to be filed, Harbury would be viewed most favorably in London.”
“And following that report would be…let me think.” Burke focused his thoughts on what he knew of Whitehall and Harbury and science, which wasn’t nearly enough to solve this conundrum.
“There has to be some connection between Harbury and those who would benefit from using the experimental facilities. How do they find out about it? What sort of funding occurs between the scientists and the Harburys?”
“That’s an excellent question. I do recall wondering the same thing. You can’t run an establishment like that laboratory complex without some kind of financial backing. And from what I recall, even if Randall has taken over the title and the income from the estate, he can’t touch the principal for quite a few years.” Devon shrugged. “My father might have been out of his mind on opioids at the end, but he was never foolish about the title and the legacy.”
“So we have half a dozen or so missing men, four strangers as patients, and no idea who is handling any kind of financial link anywhere.”
“That pretty much sums it up.” Devon’s voice was dripping with sarcasm.
“I don’t like it either.” Burke picked up the pace. “Let’s get out of this damned weather. I think it might be time to do a bit more digging at a higher level in London.”
“You’re thinking of your machine? Is that safe for these kinds of inquiries? You cannot know who is on the receiving end of your messages…”
“True. I don’t know exactly who they are, but I do know exactly where they are.” He glanced at the younger man. “Do you trust the Home Secretary?”
Devon blinked. “I…uh…”
“Quite.” The Inspector strode forward with purpose.
“Burke.” Devon reached out for his arm. “Are you serious?”
“I wouldn’t joke about something of this nature. And we never had this conversation. Understood?”
For one moment he turned his gaze onto Devon and let him see the full force of his determination.
Devon swallowed. “Understood, Inspector. Completely understood.”
Burke nodded. “Good lad. Let’s go get a cup of tea.”
*~~*~~*
The lanterns were taking shape and Portia was fascinated to observe the process and be a part of their creation.
The parchment was tissue thin, so it needed to be handled with a great deal of care. She’d made a couple of mistakes at the beginning but quickly caught on to the way the Baron carefully punctured the tiniest of holes with a needle threaded with the slender ribbon that tied the willow strips to the outer casing.
It wasn’t airtight, and she found herself wondering aloud how it would float through the room.
“That is the amazing part, my dear.” The Baron smiled. “When air is heated, it rises. Like this.” He flattened his hand and then raised it. “That is the effect of heat. Simple physics. Do you understand?”
Portia was on the verge of answering that of course she did, since she wasn’t an idiot. She caught herself in time. “Oh, well…yes sir.”
“So, little one, we shall heat the air inside and in an attempt to find an escape, that air will push our magical airships aloft.”
“Even though there are still one or two holes, like here, sir, in the ends?”
“We will close those very carefully when we’re completed with the construction.” He very neatly tied another tiny bow.
“You’re so good at that, sir.” Portia spoke nothing but the truth. His fingers seemed to handle the smallest ribbon with amazing dexterity.
He glanced at her, smiled and then looked back at his task. “When I was a boy my Papa would take me fishing. He taught me how to…what is it you say here… tie a bait?”
“Oh, you mean making those fly things?”
“Yes, clever girl. That is exactly it. A fly. Little bits of feathers and beads and poof—a delicious morsel for a poor fish.”
Portia carefully and neatly tied a bow on her own lantern. “Did you like to fish, sir?”
“Indeed I did. And I brought home many dinners.” He smiled again as he worked, his voice warm and friendly.
Portia listened as he talked of rivers and trips with friends, of fish he had caught and ones that had got away. She found herself laughing with him at some of the things he told her, and commiserating at the tale of the snapped line with a prizewinning trout on the other end during a fierce contest to land the biggest fish.
Once again she felt at ease and relaxed, as if she could breathe freely for a time, without any worries or concerns to press on her shoulders.
“Sit for a moment, my dear. I’m sure you have worked hard today before coming to do this task with me. I have only a few ties left here and I shall be delighted to finish yours. And then we are done.”
Indeed, her back did ache a little, since the table wasn’t quite at the right height for her to work in comfort. So she followed his suggestion, sitting on a side chair with a soft sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. This is lovely, just to rest for a bit.” She leaned back, closing her eyes as the Baron worked, and began to hum.
It was a gentle melody and his voice a very pleasant baritone. There was a hint of a rhythm touching the back of her mind and she let the tune wash through her, easing her…soothing her…slowing her breathing…
*~~*~~*
The door opened and Gerolf spun silently, holding a finger to his lips.
Lord Harbury stood motionless, his gaze on the girl sleeping in the chair and then flashing to the Baron. He beckoned.
Gerolf cursed beneath his breath, but walked quietly to the door. This had been his first chance to check the girl’s response and it had been most satisfactory. The last thing he wanted was an interruption of any kind, especially this one.
“My lord,” he whispered. “As you can see I have a sleeping assistant for this task. Let us not wake her, she would be very embarrassed.”
Harbury fixed his good eye on the Baron. “Is she a candidate, Gerolf? Tell me.” He kept his voice low, but the note of insistence was unmistakable.
“Would you be willing, if she were?” Gerolf met his gaze with one of his own.
“Of course, you fool. Anyone. She’s young and her body is strong. I would prefer a male, of course. But at this point I’ll take what I can get.”
You mean what I can provide, you Miststück.
“As you wish, my Lord. It is early days yet, but I believe she could be a good match. As you can see I have been able to induce a somnolent state with ease.”
Unaware that he’d just been called a bastard, Lord Harbury took a last look at the young woman. “Get on with it then, man. I don’t know how much time I have.”
Gerolf barely had time to bow before Harbury was gone. He took a breath and then returned to his work with scarcely a tremor in his fingers. His task was routine, but his thoughts anything but.
Using Mary Jones as a vessel for Lord Harbury was completely outrageous and utterly impossible as far as he could tell. But he knew he had to try. It would mean her life, of course. But the more he began to work out the intricacies of the experiment, the greater the excitement within him grew. He was a scientist and he was on the edge of many incredible discoveries, not the least of which was the potential to remove a living human brain and at least keep it functioning.
Transplanting it was, he acknowledged, beyond him. What he had seen when he entered the brain of that first patient…well it had completely confounded him. So many connections and so little time to complete them all.
Yet he had documented more than he had anticipated, and even now could see a way to avoid some of those early problems.
If he could transfer this girl’s brain to a jar and sustain it, then he could do the same for Harbury. Living minds waiting for a new body.
It was an enthralling and magnificent goal.
He finished the lantern and then moved to the chair, staring at Mary Jones as she slept.
Such clear British skin she had. Peaches in her cheeks and touches of bright colors running through her short hair beneath her cap. It reminded him of his mother’s jewelry box – highly polished tortoiseshell.
She would have been an attractive woman when she reached her maturity. Sadly, if his experiment succeeded—or even if it failed—she never would. But some sacrifices had to be made in the name of science.
Turning away, Gerolf knew that to attain his goal, he must get Mary to his laboratory, away from interruptions and her mistress. He picked up a lantern, pinched the ends to reduce the draft, and then carefully lit the tiny candle within, using an extra-long taper.
With a happy smile he watched the lantern lift silently from his hand and rise above, shedding its soft light over the room.
“Oooh…” The exclamation came from Mary, who was wide-eyed in the chair.
“As you can see, we are completed, Fraulein. Is it not magical?”
She jumped from her seat, her eyes on the lantern hovering near the ceiling. “Oh yes, sir. ‘Deed it is, sir. And you shouldn’t have let me snooze off like that, if you’ll pardon me saying so, sir.” She stood and straightened her cap. “Mrs. Howell would be so cross with me.”
“Then we shall not mention it. I think everyone will be more impressed with our results here, than the few moments of rest you deservedly enjoyed.”
“I think you’re right,” she said, dipping her head politely. “Thank you ever so much, sir.”
As if on cue, Mrs. Howell bustled in, followed more slowly by Lady Harbury. There were cries of delight as Gerolf once again demonstrated his accomplishments to the astonished pleasure of both ladies.
Finally, Mrs. Howell glanced at Mary. “Very well done, both of you. And Mary we must be on our way now.”
Farewells were said, and Gerolf found himself alone with Alwynne, who touched a lantern with a slender finger. “So clever, Gerolf. So very clever. And they will last the duration of the ball, do you think?”
He stroked his beard. “They will last a few hours, my Lady. Whether the entire ball or not, I cannot say. I would perhaps suggest you light them just before the dancing begins? They must be closely watched, lest they become pierced and fall. I would not want your guests to run the risk of accidentally singeing their carefully coiffed hair.”
She laughed, a natural sound that pleased him. “I am sure you would not let that occur, Gerolf. But again, my thanks for this special treat. It will enchant my guests and is just what I needed to complete my return to society. I’ve neither heard nor seen anything like these.”
“You will have everyone talking, my Lady. Your beauty alone will stun them, as it always has.”
She smiled and took his arm as they strolled to the door. “So charming, my dear Baron. Thank you. I shall accept your compliment with pleasure.”
Gerolf patted her hand. She was definitely more herself. More the Lady of the Manor now, and less the brutalized victim.
So why did a tiny chill make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the sensation of her cool flesh beneath his palm?
He decided he didn’t want to know.