Camille (6 page)

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.”

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.”

His grasp loosened, and as my arms collapsed,
my knees followed. Strider caught me but with a gentler grip. I
rubbed feeling back into my hands.

His long, black lashes fluttered down as he
brazenly reviewed the rest of me. He straightened and placed a hand
on either side of my head, effectively trapping me against the
wall. “Explain.”

His nearness made my head spin. I swallowed
hard. “I—I came to tell you, you are in grave trouble.”

He squinted hard at me and then threw his
head back with laughter.

Obviously assuming I wouldn’t run, he dropped
his hands and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sweet’eart, I must
tell you,” a smile punctuated his words, “I’m always in grave
trouble.”

The cold prompted me to pull my jacket
tighter around my shoulders. His faded seaman’s coat hung open, a
column of brass buttons framing each side of the dingy white shirt
beneath. “You don’t understand.” I glanced down at his leg. His
trousers bulged with some kind of wrap beneath. The leather of his
shoes was worn so thin, I could see the outline of his toes. “Those
teeth marks on your leg...”

“How do you know about my leg?” His eyes
narrowed. “You’re that odd, little creature from the other night,
with that pompous doctor and his cat.” Now he scrutinized my face,
and I shifted nervously from foot to foot. “I thought those green
eyes looked familiar.”

“The bite did not come from a dog.” The words
blurted out louder than I’d expected. I pressed myself back against
the wall attempting to put more distance between us. “They came
from a werewolf.”

He did not move. He blinked three times
before the lines around his mouth deepened.

“I know you must think me daft, but I assure
you, I’m quite sane.”

“And how would you know how I came about the
bite?” His face moved closer. “Exactly how long ‘ave you and the
doctor been following me?”

I rolled my eyes. “And you refer to Dr.
Bennett as pompous. This may well come as a puncture to your
bloated head, but we were not following you at all. We were
tracking a werewolf.” I put my hands on my hips. “And what kind of
person steals from a dead woman, and even worse, cuts off her
finger?”

He shrugged but my words seemed to shame him.
“Less chance of getting caught.” Just as Emily had surmised.
“Besides, it’d been three days since I’d eaten.”

Now I felt ashamed, but his hunger provided
me with opportunity. “I promise you a warm meal if you return home
with me. Dr. Bennett is expecting you. We’re just past Covent
Garden.”

Strider glanced in the direction of the main
road. I hoped he wasn’t planning to run off. “What could he
possibly want with me?”

My mind rushed to find a good reason. If I
didn’t think of something clever, he would surely leave, but his
nearness muddled my thoughts. “Dr. Bennett wants to help you.” It
was a pitiful, unconvincing response.

“Strider!” A woman’s shriek rained down on
our heads from a broken, second story window where a rag had been
shoved into a missing corner of glass.

Strider stepped back to get a better view.
“Ah, Sally.” He blew a kiss up to the girl. She had wavy hair and a
large bosom that nearly spilled over the window ledge.

“I thought that was you. Who are you with,
Nathaniel Strider? Where’ve you been hiding?” The girl leaned out
dangerously far to get a better glimpse of me. I stepped back out
of view.

“Blasted woman, who are you talkin’ to?” It
was a man’s voice. A giant, angry face joined the voice. He
glowered down at Strider. “You! I’ve been waitin’ to get my ‘ands
round your throat.” It seemed only the height of the window stopped
the man from hurtling himself to the ground below. He disappeared
from the window.

“Where did you say you lived?” Strider asked
hastily as he picked my hat up from the ground and plopped it down
on my head.

“Two blocks west of Covent Garden.”

Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs
inside the building. “What are we waiting for, lass? I’m as hungry
as a wolf.” His fingers grabbed hold of my sore wrist, and he
whisked me out of the alley and down the road.

I was thankful for the thick crowd on
Whitechapel, which forced us to slow our pace. The man with the
angry face proved no match for Strider who pulled me along like a
kite on a string. The frigid air weighed heavy on my chest. I fully
expected Strider to release his hold on my wrist and dash off. But
he didn’t. My offer for a warm meal had apparently worked.

His face turned and he looked down at me.
“What’s your name, lass?

“My name is Camille.”

“Camille. I don’t believe I’ve ever kissed a
Camille.”

I stared down at the ground to conceal the
color heating my face. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

With a laugh, he returned his eyes to the
chaos on the main road. “And the good doctor, is he your
father?”

I paused for a moment not really wanting to
answer. “No, my father is dead. Dr. Bennett is my guardian.”

“My father is dead as well.”

“I’m sorry for you,” I said.

“I’m not. I hated him.” His arm snaked around
my waist, and he pulled me against his side to avoid a pile of
broken glass on the path. His arm dropped away, but I could still
feel where his fingers had touched me.

“Is your mother gone as well?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Don’t know for certain. Last
time I saw her she was alive. I—I’ve been on my own since I was
ten.” The hitch in his voice seemed to come from somewhere deep in
his chest.

A change of subject seemed necessary. “I must
say, you are much improved since that night in the public
house.”

“Not much keeps Nathaniel Strider off his
feet,” he said confidently.

I smiled up at him. “With the exception of
every girl on Buck’s Row.”

“Not every girl,” he corrected and then
stopped suddenly. “You really ‘ave been tailing me.” He fished one
of the stolen green apples from his coat and offered me a bite,
which I declined. “You watched me yesterday-- in the passage way.”
There was no shame in his voice. He continued walking.

I scurried to keep up with his long strides.
“I was not following you as a form of entertainment. Believe me, I
have better things to do and watch.” I used a tone of disgust, but
it did not seem to faze him as he lazily crunched on his fruit.

He swallowed. “Indeed? I saw the expression
on your face yesterday. You seemed rather entertained.”

Now I stopped. I grabbed his arm. “What a
monstrous arse you are! Don’t you see? I am trying to save your
life.” Frustration simmered through me. How could I possibly make a
boy who’d survived the daily horrors of London’s street life
comprehend the level of torment he now faced?

Strider lifted my chin with his fingers.
“Settle down, girl. I didn’t mean to anger you.” He looked at me,
and it felt as if his gaze had stroked my face. His eyes seemed to
focus on my bottom lip, which now trembled as it always did when I
felt nervous or self-conscious. His fingers dropped from my chin.
“About this meal you promised.”

Still reeling from the way he’d looked at me,
it took me a moment to decipher his simple question. “The meal, of
course. How does vegetable stew sound?”

“Considering I have not had a vegetable or a
stew for months, having both sounds extraordinary,” he said.

We walked silently for a stretch and that is
when I noticed every female, whether dressed in grimy broadcloth or
plush velvet, stole a glimpse at him. And he made love to every
girl we passed with his smile and his brown eyes.