The Immorality Engine (35 page)

Either way, her words seemed to appease the housekeeper, who smiled and nodded appreciatively. “Excellent news indeed, Miss Veronica. I knew you’d have the situation in hand.” She clapped her hands together. “Right. I’ll fetch the tea. And a towel, too, I’d imagine, judging by the amount by which you’re dripping on the carpet!”

Veronica smiled, and Mrs. Leeson bustled off down the hallway towards the small kitchen at the rear of the cottage. Veronica tried to shake the worst of the water from her skirt, and then followed her down the hallway as far as the drawing room door. Pausing there for a moment, she peered inside.

Amelia sat in a wheelchair by the window, which looked out across the farmer’s fields to the rear of the property. She looked pale and thin, but there was a glow about her Veronica hadn’t seen in years. Perhaps it was the fact that, for the first time in as long as either of them could remember, she felt like she had a home. For years, Amelia had been bounced from sanatorium to hospital, gradually losing not just her strength of body, but her strength of spirit, too. Now, Veronica thought, it seemed like she might finally be regaining some of that lost strength of heart.

Veronica rapped on the door and stepped into the room. Amelia turned and saw her there, and her face cracked into a beaming grin. “Veronica! You’re all wet!”

Veronica couldn’t help but laugh. “Have you
seen
the weather? Of course I’m wet!”

“But you still came,” Amelia replied, and Veronica walked over to stand before her, stooping low to kiss her gently on the cheek. “Is it done?” Amelia asked, her voice suddenly anxious.

“It’s done. Everyone believes you’re dead.”

Amelia stared out the window at the rain-lashed fields and the dark smear of clouds beyond. But Veronica knew she was seeing something else entirely. “Even Mother and Father?” she said.

“Yes. Even them.”

“How were they?” Her voice sounded strained, as if she feared whatever answer Veronica might give. All of the brightness Veronica had seen in her just a moment before seemed to have suddenly drained away.

Veronica felt a pang of guilt. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Amelia the truth, of the look of relief on their mother’s face as the pallbearers lowered the coffin into the ground. “Distraught. Sorrowful…” She didn’t know what else to say.

Amelia turned to her, her eyes wide. “Perhaps we should tell them the truth, Veronica? Perhaps if they knew?…”

Veronica shook her head. “No,” she said softly. And then more firmly: “No.” She squeezed Amelia’s shoulder affectionately. “You know we can’t do that, Amelia.”

Amelia sighed. “Well, I suppose being dead isn’t such a disappointment.” She looked up at Veronica and smiled, changing the subject. “How is Sir Maurice?”

Veronica raised her eyebrows at the question. “He’s well enough. I think the whole affair has rather exhausted him. Being incarcerated beneath Packworth House put a terrible strain on him.” That, she thought, coupled with the fact he hadn’t yet reconciled himself to the notion that the Queen—the monarch he had supported and admired for so long—was likely to die soon as a direct result of his actions. Worse than that, though, was the despondency that had stolen over him as he’d grappled with the truth about the Queen’s motives. That she’d been so fundamentally involved in Amelia’s plight was a betrayal of everything he had held dear, and he was struggling to understand his allegiances and the new world order that resulted from them. Veronica was concerned that, if left unchecked, that despondency might draw him back to the Chinese weed. She couldn’t allow that to happen, not under any circumstance whatsoever.

Amelia frowned. “Veronica, I know about the laudanum.”

“You do?” said Veronica. She met Amelia’s steady gaze.
Of course you do,
she thought.
You’ve seen it in your dreams
.

Amelia nodded. “How is he?”

Veronica sighed. “He’s … he’s bearing up. It’s difficult. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about it.”

Amelia smiled. “He’s a man! Of course he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

Veronica laughed, and Amelia joined her.

“He knew, you know. That’s why we came to the Grayling Institute in the first place. He wanted me to talk to you, to see if you’d seen something in your visions. He’d been experimenting, dabbling with things he shouldn’t have been. A mummified hand, laudanum … whatever.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “He said that something dreadful was coming. And it was.”

The blood drained suddenly out of Amelia’s face. She went deathly white, paler than Veronica had ever seen her. She looked frightened. Truly petrified.

“My God, Amelia, what’s wrong?” Veronica glanced over her shoulder, panicked that Amelia had seen something behind her that she’d failed to notice. But there was nothing there.

Veronica dropped to her knees before her sister. She put her hand to Amelia’s face. Her skin felt cold to the touch. “Tell me what’s wrong!”

“He saw it, too?” Amelia asked quietly, as if scared of the implication of her own words.

“What? Amelia, what’s the matter? Are you talking about Newbury? What do you think he saw?” Veronica was growing concerned. Something was very wrong.

Amelia’s eyes flicked round to look at Veronica, and what Veronica saw in them filled her with dread. She’d never seen anyone look so scared in all her life. She didn’t know what to do, how to help.

When Amelia spoke, she could barely stammer out the words. “Veronica … it’s not what you think. Whatever happened, however bad it was … it’s going to get worse. Newbury was right. Something dreadful is coming.”

“But what about the Grayling Institute? What about the Bastion Society and the duplicates, what Fabian was doing to you? Surely that’s what he meant?”

Amelia shook her head. “No. That’s not it. I’ve seen it, too, lurking at the edges of my dreams, always just out of focus. Something horrible is looming. The future is already taking shape, Veronica, and I’m frightened.”

Veronica clutched Amelia to her, hugging her tightly. “It’ll be alright, Amelia. I know it will.”

“No, Veronica. It won’t.” Amelia sobbed, and Veronica stroked the back of her head affectionately. “If Newbury has seen it, too…” She trailed off.

“Seen what? What is it?” Veronica frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand, Amelia. What is it you’ve seen?”

“I don’t know!” The frustration in Amelia’s voice was evident, as if she were desperate to explain but didn’t know how, couldn’t find the words. “All I have is a single word, a word that’s still there when I wake: ‘executioner.’ That’s it. That’s all there is. That and a feeling of utter dread.” She was weeping now, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“An executioner?” Veronica tried to wipe Amelia’s tears with the back of her hand but her sister batted her away. She wouldn’t meet Veronica’s eyes.

There was a rap on the door and Mrs. Leeson burst in, carrying a tray bearing teacups, a teapot, and a neatly folded towel. When she saw Amelia she hesitated, unsure whether she’d interrupted something she shouldn’t have.

Veronica stood, beckoning her in. “Come in, please, Mrs. Leeson. I’m sorry if we startled you. Amelia’s not feeling terribly well. If you wouldn’t mind popping the tray on the table there, I’ll look after things from here.”

“Of course, Miss Veronica,” Mrs. Leeson said, clearly thankful for the reprieve. She did as Veronica had requested, setting the tray down carefully and then beating a hasty retreat from the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

Amelia hung her head. “I’d hoped it wasn’t real. I’d hoped my mind was playing tricks on me, after everything that Dr. Fabian had done. I wanted so much to ignore it, Veronica. But it’s true. And it’s awful. Whatever it is, it’s truly awful.”

Veronica slumped into an armchair opposite her sister.
An executioner?
For a horrible moment she wondered if it wasn’t all to do with the Queen, if Victoria had discovered the truth about what had happened at the Grayling Institute and was planning to seek retribution. Would the Queen send someone after them? Could that be the executioner Amelia had referred to? She had no way of knowing. But she’d learned to trust Amelia’s instincts, and the thought filled her with trepidation.
Something dreadful is coming.…
She shivered, suddenly cold. After all they’d been through. Hadn’t that been dreadful enough?

Veronica watched Amelia as her thin body convulsed with tears and she curled up in the wheelchair, her face buried in the crook of her arms. Whatever, or whoever, this “executioner” was, Veronica resolved to fight it. Despite what Amelia had said, the future was still malleable, and if Amelia had seen something in it … well, that was only one likely outcome. It could still be altered. The vision was a warning, nothing more. Everything would depend on what they did next.

Outside, the rain continued to hammer against the windows. Veronica rose from her seat and reached for the towel Mrs. Leeson had left for her, dabbing her face.

She needed to talk to Newbury. His experiments might have to continue. And that, she realised, was a sacrifice they would both have to make.

CHAPTER

30

The audience chamber was shrouded in a blanket of impenetrable gloom, so dark that he had no real way of discerning the true size of the place. It might have been as small as his own drawing room or as large as a dance hall, but without a point of reference, without a light source to anchor himself, he had no way to be sure.

He supposed that was precisely the point. The Queen, he had been told, had a flair for the theatrical. He supposed she did it to unnerve her callers, to remind them of their insignificance, their place in the grand pecking order of the Court.

He peered into the stygian depths. There might have been a hundred other men in the room with them, or there might have been none at all. Not that it really mattered to him. He was here to see the Queen.

He had been there only once before, a meeting that—as far as any official records were concerned—had never actually occurred. He supposed he would have to get used to that. It had been dark then, too. He’d hardly even seen the Queen during the course of his interview. But it had most definitely been her. That sharp, acidic voice, the sound of Fabian’s labouring machine: they were unmistakable.

The man could hear the machine now, wheezing noisily as it inhaled and exhaled on behalf of the monarch, accompanied by the creak of the wheels as the Queen herself slowly rolled the life-giving chair towards him.

He remained still and silent, partly to avoid a transgression of etiquette, partly in an effort to discern how well she could see him in the darkness.

The mechanical chair drew closer and then came to an abrupt stop. Still, he waited for the Queen to be the one to break the silence. He sensed her close by, heard her chuckling softly under her breath. Then, a moment later, she spoke. “Good day to you, Physician. We hope you bring us pleasing news. It has been a … trying week.”

“So I understand, Your Majesty.” He hesitated, unsure of the best way to deliver his news. In the end, he decided simply to spit it out. “It is done. It worked.”

Victoria clapped her hands together in obvious glee. He imagined her fat, pink face grinning evilly in the darkness. “Is she here?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. She’s here. I thought you might like to meet her.” He swallowed. His mouth was dry.

“Most excellent, Physician. Show her in!” He could hear the anticipation in her voice.

“She is already here, Majesty. She is standing beside me.” So she couldn’t see him in the dark, after all. He made a mental note of that.

Victoria laughed again. He heard the grating of a metal hood being lifted from a lantern, and then suddenly a bright globe of light bloomed into existence, stinging his eyes. They took a moment to adjust to the yellow glare.

When they did, he found himself looking upon the seated Empress. He didn’t know whether to feel revulsion, admiration, or fear. She was everything he had been told to expect: Fabian had turned her into some sort of bizarre marriage between woman and machine. She was inexorably welded to the life-giving chair, large tubes jutting out from her chest, pumping air into her failing lungs. Bags of fluid hung on overhead frames, feeding her veins with whatever preservatives stopped her body from rotting. He would need to find out. He would take a sample of the fluids away for analysis.

“Where is she, Physician? We cannot see her.”

He realised that the child, scared, was hiding behind his legs. He coaxed her out, leading her forward towards the light—and, he thought, toward the monster waiting at the heart of it.

He watched the little girl as she approached the monarch. She was pretty, if a little undernourished, with long dark hair and big, frightened eyes. If he hadn’t known better, he would have said she looked around six or seven years old. But this girl had not been born of natural means, and had not lived for more than a week.

“She’s a pretty little thing,” said the Queen, making it sound as much like a threat as like a compliment.

“She has your eyes, Majesty.”

The Queen emitted a wet, rasping chuckle. “You have done well, Physician. You shall be rewarded for your loyalty.”

Victoria turned to the girl, holding the lantern high so that the child squealed and covered her face from the sudden glare. “Do not be afraid, girl. You must learn never to be afraid. Fear will be an emotion you inspire in others, a tool for achieving your aims. It will not form part of your own emotional vocabulary.”

The man frowned at her words, and wondered, not for the first time, whether he had done something calamitous in aiding her in her machinations.

Victoria regarded the child coolly. “You shall be named Alberta. We shall teach you many things. You shall know glory and power, and you shall understand the importance of Empire. You shall refrain from knowing men, for you shall be married only to your country. One day, Alberta, you shall be Queen.”

The child nodded, but remained silent.

“We have arranged a nanny for you, Alberta, and she will show you to your room. There will be time later to discuss your education.” The Queen turned to look at him. “Take her to Sandford, Physician. He will make the necessary arrangements.”