Boneseeker (6 page)

I need to begin again—I have many more to sculpt before the team departs to search for the rest of the body. But a nagging need refuses to leave me; I must see her before I begin.

She was once in my every thought. Till I departed for boarding school.

With every year, every girl, every ball, I hoped her hold on me would lessen. And it had.

Before arriving at the Mutter, I only thought of her several times a week, rather than a day.

Images of all my crumpled letters, overflowing my bin at school, taunt and remind me…she never really vacated my mind. She just moved to the back corner, waiting impatiently to re-introduce herself.

I walk past the display of shrunken heads and realize, “I am utterly lost.”

Nothing looks familiar; I haven’t yet memorized the Mutter’s catacombs.

And then I hear it. A woman’s voice humming,
Let Me Call You Sweetheart
.

It’s her. I swallow and follow the sound.

It’s surprisingly close to pitch-perfect.

I stand outside the door, collecting myself.

As I turn inside, I feel my smile falter. “What the deuce?”

Arabella’s eyes are wide. “Henry?” She stares around the room, looking embarrassed and stands to brush off her pants. A few tiny bones sprinkle to the floor and she bends to scoop them into her palm.

The room is a veritable stable, albeit, a frozen one.

My eyes skim left: badger, bobcat and a bear, rearing on skeletal hind legs are the welcoming committee. Even without flesh I’m able to identify them.

I walk toward her, passing a deer, elk and…“Is that a bloody alligator?”

She smiles timidly. “Yes.”

“How? Why?”

She launches. “I was corresponding with an anthropologist and he explained the only real way to distinguish between animal and human bones would be to study and re-assemble them so I’ve been collecting them since I arrived—”

“How did you obtain them?”

“Many ways. Hunters, the police inspector. Once they heard what I was doing everyone has been ever-so-helpful and—”

“And those?” My finger points behind her to another freakish scene of animal-suspended-animation.

She shrugs. “Taxidermied ones. Jeremy has been helping me. And a friend from town.”

I try to picture any other female assisting Bella and almost laugh. “I assume this
friend
is a male?”

“Of course. He has been ever so helpful.”

“I’ll bet he has.”

“So.” She cocks her head, looking awkward, my implications completely lost on her. “What did you need, Henry?”

I battle my expression—trying for care-not, but most likely only achieving awkward.

What did I want? To say this is my dream appointment but now that I’m within five feet of you I cannot bloody-well think of moulages or anything else?

“I. I thought we might have dinner. To discuss your thoughts on the Nephilim versus Neanderthal controversy?”

Her face blushes as scarlet as her hair. “I don’t know if we’ll have time. The expedition departure is looming and I don’t even know if I’ve been approved yet. You know how Stygian feels—”

“Has Stygian dropped any hints, one way or the other?”

Bella shakes her head. “No. Apparently the decision will rest solely on the committee’s ruling.”

“Miss Holmes.” Stygian’s voice is grave.

He sweeps past the petrified menagerie as if the presence of skeletal animals are as ordinary as the sun’s rising and setting.

His eyes only see Bella.

I clear my throat.

He regards me for a mere second and nods. “Mr. Watson.”

His attention snaps back to her.

She squares her shoulder slightly? “Sir?”

“Have you finished cataloguing the new shipment?”

“Not yet…”

“Might I suggest you return to your lab and do so? Surely Mr. Watson and these…specimens, can spare your attention?”

Stygian eyes me warily. “And you, Mr. Watson. Settled in, all unpacked, are we? Prepared for departure?”

“Erm.” I step backward, heading for the hallway. I make eye contact with Bella from behind his back. She gives me a scarcely perceptible dismissal.

I hesitate—but her eyes narrow.

“Not really, sir. I’ll just be going there now.”

###

Henry

Darkness has swallowed Philadelphia whole; I am considering a walk because my frayed nerves would not even consider permitting me rest, but the stench is so overpowering tonight I’ve settled with hovering around my window.

It’s only been a day since we left Riddle Run Road and the mysterious meat factory but Arabella and the poor babies refuse to vacate my head.

And that bloody list.
What items on an inventory sheet could be worthy of a disguise and a stroll through Philadelphia’s most dangerous district?

Stygian has seemed almost deliberately keeping Bella and I so very busy I haven’t had a moment alone with her to discuss anything at all.

I stand at the window, resting my forehead against the cool pane. My assigned cottage is in view of Arabella’s.

There’s no movement next door and dread does a little dance up my spine as I chew my cuticle.

I sigh and stare around the room. The museum certainly doesn’t invest its money in housing.

A threadbare rug covers the hardwood floor. A great fieldstone hearth rambles to the ceiling. It’s only four rooms, but since arriving, I live at this table…by the window.

I’m embarrassed to admit I spend most of my time staring out of it.

Directly at Bella’s cottage.

Like tonight.

Her bedroom is the second window at the back of the cottage, and each and every night since my arrival, I wait. Wait for her to turn in for the night.

I am unable to retire until she dims the lights. It gives me some sort of odd comfort, knowing she’s safe in her bed. I imagine the black and white dog standing sentry beside her.

I slump into the chair and fiddle with the teacup; I grit my teeth against its tinny rattle.

It’s only natural to be concerned for her welfare.

My face flushes at my denial. The longing stirs and I close my eyes.

I think of Priscilla and father’s matchmaking schemes, disguised as balls—and all the whirling, flirting faces of the past few months. Their beautiful, feminine bodies waltz through my imagination. I could be with any of them tonight.

All accomplished, all connected, all in love with me. Or at least the idea of me.

But I. I love none of them.

It’s Bella I want. It’s always been Bella.

I tilt back on the chair, balancing.

“You must forget her. She doesn’t see you that way.”

My voice bounces off the exposed beams, ricocheting back in my ears.

A sharp bark then a growl cuts through the night. I snap the chair down to the floor and whisk the drape aside.

Two police inspectors, by the looks of their uniforms, are tramping up Arabella’s steps and pounding on her door. “Miss Holmes? Miss Holmes, if you please?”

“What the…?” I shoot to stand, reaching for my overcoat. I debate the tiny pistol, but leave it lie.

I’m out the door in seconds, striding across the wet grass. The city smell burns inside my nostrils as they flare.

The two men turn to stare; the younger officer’s hand straying inside his slicker.

“Sir, this is official police business. Move along.”

“If it involves Miss Holmes, it is
my business.”

The smaller man grimaces and pulls out his Billy club, tapping it against his open palm in warning. His pale, pockmarked face, begs me to cause trouble.

The door opens and Bella appears in the doorway, fully clothed. She nods, nonplussed at a uniformed officer on her porch after midnight.

“Inspector. How might I be of service?”

Her eyes dart to me and back to the inspector. Her expression is smooth and unreadable.

The man hesitates. “What about him?” The inspector nods at me.

“
That
is Mister Henry Watson.”

“A relative of Dr. John Watson?”

She smiles. “The very same. Henry is his younger son.”

The prodigal son. The obstinate one. The one who did not go into medicine.

“So you don’t mind if he…?”

“No, it’s fine. Henry is all discretion.” She steps outside, shooing the dog back in. “Desist, Newton.” She shuts the door on the dog’s growling. “I assume you require my assistance?”

“Yes, the hansom is this way, Miss Holmes.” He gestures toward the waiting carriage.

I attempt to make eye contact with Bella, but she is wholly engrossed with the inspector and the task at hand. I follow behind them, grateful they are not protesting my presence.

We whisk down the main thoroughfare, whizzing past a mixing-pot of humanity. Ladies of the evening, drunken lads and the occasional dandy up to no good, fly past on either side.

Arabella stares straight ahead, not meeting my gaze. Lost in thought.

The carriage careens, speeding toward the river. It rumbles to a halt and we depart.

The river comes into view. My scalp tightens, shriveling against the chill and what skullduggery brings us to the water.

We step from the carriage and the inspector waves us forward.

The gurgle of water dominates the night, leaving the city noise a mottled undercurrent of sound.

The riverbank is a steep drop-off, but the inspector makes no apologies to Arabella. Never would a lady be asked to endure such a task.

They must be well acquainted.

We ease our way down the slope in a diagonal line.

We reach the shore and Arabella steps forward, but the inspector raises his nightstick, halting her.

His black eyebrows pull together. “Miss Holmes, it’s rather gruesome.”

“Inspector.” Her tone is chastising. Her eyes are electric, searching the riverbank.

“I know. I know.” He tips his hat compulsively. “I still feel the need to warn.”

Down in the shallows, I spy our destination.

Bodies. And some parts to spare
.

Three at first glance, but I quickly realize one has been rent in two. The torso lies surreally spread-eagled, separated from the legs. And a smaller body, with very little flesh on the pelvic skeleton, lies beside it. The shallow waters lap against the legs and the other is half-hidden in the grass.

Arabella ducks under the nightstick and strides across the shore of wet stones.

She knots up her dress, wading in, oblivious to the appreciative stares of the policemen. I arch an eyebrow and they both avert their eyes from her perfect, ivory skin.

I
force
myself to look away.

Bella bends forward, holding up a lantern.

“This one is a woman.” She gestures to the halved remains.

“How do you know?” The younger policeman says quietly.

“The shape of the pelvic bowl.” Her finger traces its outline above the body. “Men are more heart shaped, women, more round, to allow for childbirth.”

“Ah.” The chief inspector steps closer. “What about this one. Murder? Dismembered?”

Arabella squints. “This body has been moved.” She points to the blue and black pooling on the corpse. “He died on his back, thus the discoloration—but now he’s facedown.”

“What about the dismemberment?”

Bella rubs her temples. “Difficult to say. It is a rather jagged perforation…”

She turns to hand me her lantern and proceeds to open a bag hanging on her elbow, which looks like any ladies satchel and pulls out a pick.

If the night weren’t so gruesome, I’d have laughed.

Only Arabella.

She carefully lifts up the flap of skin on the torso. “And a significant portion of his organs are gone.”

“Sacrificial death?” The inspector suggests.

She shrugs. “Not enough evidence.”

“One more item, if you please, Miss Holmes.”

Arabella follows the chief inspector to the higher grass and points. I hold the lantern closer and she pulls out a magnifying glass. Her face screws up in concentration.

She plucks a huge bone from the earth, with one end sheared off.

“It’s a femur.” When the younger detective looks confused, she adds, gesturing, “The long bone of the leg.”

She turns it, examining the hollowed core of the bone where it’s been sheared.

“Yes, but is it man or beast?” The inspector holds his breath.

Bella sighs. “Man.”

She points, speaking directly to me. It’s a lesson now, not a crime scene. Her eyes beam with an obsessive flame. The police have momentarily disappeared from her perception. Her hand quickly dips into the bag and extracts a peculiar-looking monocle. She fashions the stem of it behind her ear and locks the glass in place over her eye and stares into the bone.

It’s like none I’ve ever seen; multiple lenses swing in and out for various magnifications.

“What, pray tell, is that?”

She waves my comment away. “New-fangled magnifying glass, courtesy of our fathers.”

She tilts the bone so that I may see into the center. “First, the slanted angle on the top indicates the bone’s owner walks upright.” She tilts it, so I can see inside. “If the hollowed-out center is filled with one-third bone, it’s a large mammal. One-fourth filled, a human. One-eighth, a bird. For flight, the bones must be light.”

“Excellent, Miss Holmes. Your knowledge is indispensable.”

Other policemen are now trickling down the bank. Arabella’s face twists with anxiety. Not all will value a feminine opinion, especially on a subject so serious as murder.

The chief notices. “Thank you, Miss Holmes. Just like your father, you truly are helpful. Please give him my regards.” He tilts his bowler in dismissal.

“Thank you, I will, Inspector Giamatti.”

“I will escort her home, sir. I’m sure you’ve much more to do.” I nod toward the oncoming onslaught of uniformed officers.

He tips his hat again. “Mr. Watson. A pleasure.”

Palpable Personalities

Mutter Lecture Hall

Phrenology Presentation

Bella

John sits down beside me, bestowing his ‘let’s make the best of it’ smirk.

He leans in and whispers, “Do you remember our case where Holmes employed phrenology?”