Evermore (16 page)

"Cure him?" George asked. "What do you
mean?"

Mrs. White seemed to be the only one capable
of speaking. Or the only one with answers. "We're going to cure him
of his addiction," she said. "It's the latest treatment."

"Don't shoot her," Blunt pleaded. He tried to
get up again but flopped back into the cushions once more. He
breathed heavily, and his face suddenly distorted with pain. He
gripped his stomach and moaned. I expected him to throw up at any
moment into the bedpan placed on the floor beside him. As awful as
the sight was, I didn't dare look away.

Mrs. White and Price exchanged unreadable
glances. Then she pressed the syringe against Blunt's arm.

"Put it down!" I shouted, taking a step
forward.

Her fingers tightened around the brass
cylinder. Blunt squeezed his eyes shut. His lips turned whiter and
his breaths came hard and fast, puffing out his cheeks.

She wasn't going to stop.

I was paralyzed, unsure if lunging at her
would make the situation better or worse. In the end, it didn't
matter.

George pulled the trigger.

Mrs. White screamed and dropped the syringe.
Price lunged for it, but he was too slow and I reached it
first.

Blunt clutched his leg and howled like an
animal. The sickening sound clawed at my already shredded
nerves.

"You shot him!" Mrs. White's shaking hands
tore at Blunt's blood-stained trouser leg, ripping it to
shreds.

"My sofa!" the landlady cried. "You will ruin
it!"

Mrs. White worked quickly to staunch the
blood flow. She shouted orders at the landlady to fetch clean
cloths and bandages. Price merely sat there, watching. The long
fingers of one hand slowly stroked his beard. The fingers of his
other were wrapped around the chair arm, the knuckles stark against
the dark wood grain. He did not look at us but at Blunt.

Beside me, George began to shake. "Will he,
uh, be all right?" I gripped his arm, as much to steady myself as
him. I wasn't sure which of us trembled more.

Mrs. White snatched the bandages from the
landlady, giving her a glare that would have made me take a step
back if I'd been the object of it. The landlady didn't move but
stared at her, her eyes as fathomless as deep, cold lakes.

"Emily..." George whispered. "We should
go."

"We can't go. We don't have answers yet." My
grip tightened around his arm. We were so close. I would not let
our fear and disgust drive us away empty-handed.

"Can I still have it?" Blunt pleaded with
Mrs. White. "Please. Please, can I still have my...my medicine?" He
was sobbing like a child denied a toy when all his friends were
allowed to play with it.

"Not now," she said as she efficiently wound
the bandage around his leg. "Not when you're in this state. You've
lost too much blood. It would be too dangerous." She glanced at
Price then at us. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
"I'm sorry."

Tears streamed down Blunt's cheeks and
spittle foamed at the corner of his mouth. "You've ruined
everything," he snarled at us. "Everything!"

"Get out." Price's quiet voice cut through
Blunt's wails like a sharp blade.

"What's in the syringe?" I pressed, ignoring
him. "You were going to kill Blunt, weren’t you?"

"I told you," Mrs. White said. "It was
medicine to cure him. I can't give it to him when he's like this.
Go. Go!"

"You had better do what he says," the
landlady said to us. "Nothing more will happen here. Not now." She
spoke with calm authority, and perhaps it was that which made me
see her point more than hysterics could. No one was in any state to
answer us and we had at least stopped them.

I took George's hand and dragged him out of
the parlor. I wanted to smuggle out the syringe before anyone
remembered it anyway. The landlady followed us downstairs and
opened the door. George was still shaking and I gently removed the
pistol from his grip as we crossed the threshold. The landlady
slammed the door in our faces.

I stared at it for several moments, trying to
take in everything that had just happened.

"I can't believe I did that." George looked
down at his shaking hands. "Can't believe it."

"He'll be all right. You may have even saved
him. Saved the entire Otherworld too. I'm not convinced Blunt was
about to be cured of his addiction. I think Mrs. White was going to
kill him so he could deliver the curse."

I instructed the driver to go to my house at
speed. I put the dueling pistol back in its velvet bed inside the
wooden case and took the syringe from the pocket in my skirt folds
where I'd slipped it.

"Careful," George said. "Whatever is in that
may have ended Blunt's life, albeit temporarily. Best if we don't
touch it until we get out of the rocking coach."

I pocketed the syringe again and drew in a
deep breath, the first proper one since entering Price's house. It
didn't stop my nerves from jangling.

"Those people are despicable," spat George.
"It seems they're all involved. The whole rotten lot of them."

I tipped my head back against the wall,
dislodging my hat and a few hair pins. "I'm so saddened at Mrs.
White's involvement. She seemed so nice. According to Lucy, Mrs.
White was an inspiring teacher."

"Don't be disheartened. She must have been
terribly upset over her son's death to go to such great lengths to
hurt Beaufort."

"Revenge," I muttered. "It can do horrible
things to good people."

"At least we thwarted their plans for a
little while. We have their syringe and Blunt is in no condition to
be...killed and brought back to life. By the looks of Price, he
couldn't endure such an ordeal either."

"There is always the landlady and they could
get another syringe. Oh, George, what shall we do now?"

George swapped seats and settled beside me.
His presence was a comfort and I felt so glad to have him at my
side. "At least we know who is involved now. Beaufort's killer can
be brought to justice."

I shivered. "We must tell
Lord and Lady Preston. Perhaps their investigators can work on
Blunt and Mrs. White and find enough evidence to bring them to
trial. But only
after
we reverse their curse on the Otherworld. If Lord Preston
acts too soon, we're unlikely to get their
co-operation."

"You think they'll co-operate now?"

"Perhaps. We need to find something to
blackmail them with. Something they want more than revenge on
Jacob. And we must find it soon."

We thought about that for a moment, but
neither of us had any suggestions. "I'm not sorry that Blunt is
involved," George said. "He's a despicable character and deserves
whatever he gets. Even the occasional bullet wound."

"Good lord, George, you're positively
bloodthirsty."

He suddenly went quite pale and bent over
double. His hat tumbled onto the floor and he did not pick it up.
"Then why do I want to throw up?" he mumbled into his knees.

I removed my glove and pressed my hand to the
back of his neck. He groaned but did not vomit, thank goodness.
"Better?" I asked after a moment.

"Much. My apologies, Emily."

"No need to apologize. It was a rather
gruesome sight."

"I hope they get him to a hospital soon," he
said, straightening.

Blunt had indeed lost a lot of blood by the
time we left, but Mrs. White had bound the wound tightly. He should
be all right.

"What was Price's role in all this, do you
think?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Difficult to say. He didn't
seem to be participating in the proceedings at all."

"He looked quite ill, didn't he?"

George nodded, thoughtful. Neither of us
spoke for the remainder of the journey.

***

When we finally arrived at my house, Lucy had
luncheon waiting for us. George and I gave Celia and Cara the
edited version of the morning's events. There was no reason to
alarm either of them when they could do nothing about it. Celia in
particular would be unbearable if she knew a pistol had been
fired.

"So it has come to an end?" She eyed me
closely, her boiled eggs forgotten. It would seem she didn't quite
believe we had found our villain.

"Almost," I said. "We'll report what we know
to Lord Preston, but not until after we stop them destroying the
Otherworld. As to how we will do that..." I shrugged.

She seemed satisfied with that answer and
continued eating. George and Cara ate heartily too, but I merely
picked at my eggs and bacon.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Celia said. "We picked
up your gown this morning."

"It's beautiful," Cara gushed. "All that
satin and lace...I wish I could have a gown like that."

"One day you will," I said. "There will be
balls aplenty for you when you're older."

"You sound positively parental, Emily,"
George teased.

"Indeed she does." Celia smiled at me. "She's
grown up so fast. Soon she shall be married and have children of
her own." She sniffed.

"Good lord, Celia, stop marrying me off."

"No, I won't stop. It's my greatest wish to
see you settled. Besides, it may not be as far away as all that.
Mr. Hyde is quite taken with you. It's obvious in the way he looks
at you."

I blushed fiercely and concentrated on my
plate to hide my embarrassment.

Cara made a miffed sound
through her nose and set her fork down on her plate with a
loud
clank
. When
I raised my eyebrows at her she said, "Celia hasn't seen the way
Mr. Beaufort looks at you, but I have."

"Enough," Celia said sharply. "Cara, are you
finished? If so, you're free to the leave the table. Emily, I
suggest you try on your gown in case there are any last minute
alterations. It's too late to take it back to the dressmaker, but I
can probably manage. Mr. Culvert, will you excuse us?"

"Of course. I'll wait in the drawing room. I
need to sit quietly and think anyway."

I had just finished trying on my dress and
was making my way into the drawing room to see George when a fierce
pounding threatened to knock down the front door. Since Lucy was
helping Celia adjust my gown in the small parlor out the back, I
opened it. Price's landlady stood there, her broad brimmed hat
pulled low over her eyes. She glanced nervously over her
shoulder.

"Shut the door," she said, pushing past me.
"I don't think I was followed, but it is best to be cautious."

"Uh...what are you doing here?"

"Helping you."

"Helping us? How?"

"Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?"

I led her into the drawing room and George
rose out of the armchair. "Good lord!" he said upon seeing her.

"We haven't been formally introduced," I
said. "I am Emily Chambers and this is Mr. Culvert."

"Mrs. Stanley," she said, looking at her
surroundings rather than at us. Our house was a little larger than
her own, but our furniture just as old and worn, except for our new
sofa, of course.

"So how can you help us?"

"First of all, you must know that Mr. Price
is innocent, as am I."

"I think you'd better explain everything to
us," George said. "Starting from the beginning."

"Very well." She sat on the
edge of the chair and crossed her feet at the ankles, her reticule
in her lap. She had not removed her hat or gloves and looked poised
to run off at any moment like a skittish cat. "That
woman
and Blunt want to
destroy the Otherworld. I
hate
her. She is the devil. Pure evil. You have
delayed them, thank God."

George held up his hand for
silence. "How about the
very
beginning, Mrs. Stanley?"

She drew a breath and let it out slowly.
"That Mrs. White is behind it all. Her real name is Seymour. Her
son killed himself and she blames your spirit friend for his
death."

"Which is absurd," I said. "It had nothing to
do with Jacob."

She shrugged. "Blunt is in love with her and
she knows it. She is pulling his strings like a puppeteer. She made
him get as much information about Otherworld matters from Mr. Price
that he could and pass it along to her."

"So it was they who released the demon and
were behind the summoning of Mortlock?" I asked.

She lifted that strong witchy chin and
pointed it at me. "Yes. And now they are cursing the Otherworld,
trying to destroy it and your friend in particular."

"With a curse they got from
Mr. Price. I see, but how did
he
come to know of the curse? Indeed, any of the
curses?"

"Through me. My kind are the keepers of many
supernatural secrets that your kind know nothing about."

"You're Romany!"

"Fascinating," George said, pushing his
glasses up his nose and peering closer.

"But your name does not sound Romany," I
said.

"Stanley is the adopted name of my late
husband's family. We use it when we travel in your world." Another
proud tilt of her chin. Now that I knew her heritage, I could see
the dark eyes of the gypsy and although her hair was mostly gray,
it could have been black in her youth.

"So Mrs. White, or rather Mrs. Seymour,
killed Jacob Beaufort?" I asked. "Are you prepared to swear to that
in court?"

"Court is not for the likes
of us, not when we are treated little better than animals in this
country. I have told you what I know. It is up to you to bring
that
curvă
and
her
curist
to
justice." From the way she spat out the Romany words, I got the
feeling they weren't complimentary. "I am glad you came to my house
today," she went on. "I have been worried about him."