Mirror, page 14
The girl’s chest heaved with anxious breaths as she stared down at the water. It was only a few feet, but she was too afraid to move.
Artemis grabbed the girl’s hand tightly. “I won’t let go. I promise.”
The girl nodded, tears streaming down her face.
Artemis looked back down at the pool and closed her eyes for a moment then began to count. “One … two … three!”
Together, they jumped down onto the surface of the pool and somehow, she’d been right. It had held. The girl screamed as she faltered, one foot slipping beneath the surface of the liquid fear, but Artemis held her fast and yanked her forward.
Side by side they walked across the surface of the pool, and finally, stepped onto solid land.
As soon as they did, the girl fell to her knees and wept anew.
Artemis looked around the colonnade to see if Leroux was there. She felt someone watching, but there was still no sign of anyone.
The girl held her head in her hands as she knelt on the ground, sobbing.
“It’s all right,” Artemis said. “It will be all right.”
Chapter Fourteen
“What on earth were you thinking?” Victor ground out as he looked down at his daughter’s burned hands.
She didn’t answer his question; she didn’t have to. He knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She thought her friend was in trouble and rushed off to save her. She acted rashly, thoughtlessly, and had nearly gotten herself killed.
And he understood.
Not that it was the right thing to do, nor was it something he wanted her to repeat. But he understood.
However, he didn’t want her to know that just now. He needed to impress upon her the colossal stupidity of what she’d done.
“You could have been killed,” he said as he put a salve of linseed oil and chamomile on the bright red flesh of her palms.
Artemis hissed in pain and flinched away from him.
He took another deep, calming breath. “I’m sorry.”
He looked to his daughter for silent permission to resume putting the medicine on her hands. Her troubled expression worried him more than the burns.
She held her hands out again and he gently applied more salve.
“There’s a bit of cocaine in it,” he said, then added at her wary look, “just a little. It should help with the pain.”
Despite her accelerated metabolism and ability to heal at a rapid pace, she was still quite capable of feeling pain. Among all her gifts, immunity from that particular affliction was not one of them. He supposed that was for the best. If she was injured this badly while still able to suffer pain, he didn’t dare imagine what she would put herself through if she couldn’t.
As he finished applying the salve, Artemis merely stared down at the bright red glistening skin of her hands.
“I can give you something else for the pain, if this isn’t enough,” he offered.
“No,” she said quickly and then added, “Thank you.”
She’d told him everything that had transpired, from receiving the note to hurrying out of London to the abandoned house, and finally about the pool of what she described as “liquid fear.”
He had known that her becoming the Blaze would be dangerous, that she would face perils he could not imagine. But this, this went beyond anything he could have conjured in the darkest recesses of his mind.
She kept her head down, looking at her hands.
Uneasy at her silence, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Artemis?”
Is she reliving the moments she was submerged in the fear? It pained him to think of her enduring all that. She’d only told him a little of what she’d experienced. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to bear those thoughts again, but not knowing all she’d gone through, all she’d suffered, left him feeling helpless.
“I’m all right,” she said, looking as though some faraway thought still occupied her mind before she pushed it away. “I am sorry about not telling Mrs. Perry or leaving a note or something. I was just so ….”
Victor lightly brushed his knuckles along the side of her cheek. “I know.”
She attempted a wan smile, but he could see she was still thinking about something else.
“You were right,” she said, finally.
“Was I?” he said, trying to sound lighter than he felt.
“About Phoebe,” Artemis said. “I shouldn’t have involved her at all. Bringing her to the Quills’ is what brought all of this on. He wouldn’t have known about her if I hadn’t. Thank God, he didn’t know enough to find her.”
“Just someone who looked a little like her?”
She chewed on her lip. “I didn’t mean for her to get involved like this. I really didn’t.”
He knew she didn’t, but he also knew she needed to accept that, as much as she wanted her friends with her, there were some places they could not go.
“That could have been her,” she said, her voice thick with the memory of what had been, and what might have been. “And I could have been too late.”
“But it wasn’t. And you weren’t,” he replied.
“That girl was there because of me.”
“That girl is safe because of you,” he said and tucked a finger under her chin to lift it up so she would look into his eyes. “You aren’t responsible for what Leroux or anyone else does. You’re only responsible for what you do. And what you did today was remarkable. Foolish,” he added, tempering the mild chastisement with an affectionate smile, “but quite remarkable.”
Finally, the girl who looked back at him was Artemis. His Artemis again.
She let her hands rest in her lap. “So, what did you and Tommy learn in Vauxhall?”
Victor tried to hide his disappointment. He should have done more. Putting the lid on the burn salve, he stood to put it back in its place in the cabinet.
“Not much, I’m afraid,” he admitted a little sheepishly. While she’d risked her life to save a stranger, he’d stood in the muck of Vauxhall and walked away empty-handed. “Tommy saw some sort of creature—”
“Creature?”
Victor leaned back against the cabinet. “Let’s see … It woz ’uge, wif big meaty ’ands and a face only a mother cud luv.”
Artemis laughed at his terrible impression, and it warmed his heart to hear it.
“Unsurprisingly,” he added, “I didn’t find any beast with that particular description in any of my books.”
“No, I suppose not. What do you think it was?”
“I don’t know.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” she said, sounding weary.
Sadly, she was undoubtedly right. They would find out. He just hoped it would be on their terms and not Leroux’s.
He pushed himself off the cabinet and stood. “You should get some rest.”
“I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“That again?”
She gave him a wry smile but went on. “We need to know more about Leroux.” He winced inwardly, knowing that had been his job. “And I think I know where we can find out all about him.”
He arched a curious eyebrow. “You do?”
“Helen Quill.”
The thought had occurred to him, but what could they do? Invite her over for tea? One lump or two? By the way, you don’t happen to know anything about this murdering madman, do you?
“It’s too much of a coincidence that he knows, or knew her,” Artemis continued. “She could very well have been his target all along. And I think it’s safe to assume that he was watching that night I fought the Jabberwock. How else could he have seen Phoebe but not know who she was? And if he was watching, then he knows I killed Lady Quill’s nightmare before it could hurt her. If that’s the case, then—”
“He’ll need to try again,” he finished for her.
“Plan B: My Peculiar Madness, Part Two.”
He snorted in amusement and then sobered, coming around to her way of thinking. “And the only way to get ahead of him is to understand him.”
“Exactly.”
Victor wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Lady Quill, but Artemis was right, they had to at least try.
“It seems then,” he said, “that we should pay the Quills a call in the morning.”
He was being watched, he was sure of it.
Leroux squeezed his hands together in frustration. When his blood began to boil, as it did now, he could almost feel the heat of the fire again, feel his flesh pulling away.
With a primal groan, he strode across the room.
The girl had escaped. How had she managed to do it?
He closed his eyes and took a trembling breath as he re-lived it. Her fear had been so sweet, so pure; he could still smell a hint of it on his clothing, and he lifted his sleeve to catch one final draught before it disappeared forever.
But it was already gone.
He closed his eyes tightly in disappointment.
He’d been so sure. She’d succumbed to his trap and he’d been there to see it all. And then, somehow, she’d escaped.
“Quel gâchis!”
His anger came anew and he looked out the window.
The crooked little man didn’t know he’d seen him. He’d been rather obvious, really. He’d been content to let him spy on them but now, with the girl still in the way, it was no longer tenable. He would have to move.
It was just as well. His impromptu laboratory was deficient. I will not miss this place. This hovel was beneath him. He’d taken it out of expediency, and it had served its purpose. He would find a better place. One more suited to his sensibilities.
One that would allow him to think, to see more clearly what needed to be done. His new plan was taking shape, still nascent and in need of that final twist, but I am sure I will find it, he thought with a feral grin. He always did.
Artemis politely acknowledged the Quills’ butler as he held out a silver tray upon which her father placed his calling card.
“I shall enquire if her ladyship is at home.” With a bow that encompassed them both, he walked no more than ten feet and rapped smartly on the door to the drawing room. Artemis could see Lord and Lady Quill through the open doorway as he went inside.
“She’s home,” Artemis whispered to her father.
“That’s just a polite way of saying that he’ll see if she wishes to receive us.”
“Oh.” That would be awkward if she saw them standing there, wouldn’t it?
As they waited, Artemis flexed her hands. The skin had almost completely healed, but it was tight and new.
“All right?” her father asked, noticing her fidgeting.
She tried to stop, but her palms itched, and she slowly ran them across the wool fabric of her dress. A few moments later, the butler reappeared and opened both doors to the drawing room to admit them.
“Her ladyship will be pleased to see you,” he said with another bow.
I wonder if butlers get bad backs from all that bowing, Artemis thought as they moved toward the drawing room.
Inside, Lord and Lady Quill were finishing a conversation, or, from the sound of it, a disagreement.
“Do we really have to go?” Lady Quill asked, her voice sounding tired and distressed.
“It’s a great honor to be included in the party at Parliament on Guy Fawkes’ Night.”
Lord Quill straightened his back and tugged on his vest before glancing over in their direction, a slightly perturbed frown his only acknowledgement. He lowered his voice but it was still easy to hear his rumbling baritone.
“Lord Melbourne invited us and we will be attending,” he said firmly and with a note of annoyance.
He fixed an unyielding expression on her that meant the subject was closed and no further discussion would be welcome. Lady Quill dipped her head meekly, then forced an overly sunny smile to her face as Artemis and her father entered.
Lord Quill pursed his lips in displeasure, gave Artemis a quick cold pass with his eyes and her father a curt nod, grumbling “Doctor” before leaving them alone with his wife.
Social calls were apparently not high on his to-do list. Honestly, Artemis was relieved. They wanted to speak to Lady Helen alone, and she knew that if he didn’t want them to speak to her, they would not be allowed to.
The thought was irritating.
Happily, though, Lord Quill had other people to intimidate.
“Tea, please, Bannister,” Lady Quill instructed the butler before her father could decline.
She gestured for them to take the chairs opposite the settee she stood in front of. Artemis sat down but her father waited until Lady Quill had settled on the settee before taking his own seat.
He sat up very straight and cleared his throat. “Thank you so much for seeing us, Lady Quill.”
She dipped her head graciously. “I’m pleased to see you both again. Your daughter and Miss Clifton were most kind to look in on me after our … incident.”
“Yes, about that,” he said, his eyes darting toward Artemis briefly before continuing, “I realize this might sound rather strange, but a former patient of mine believes he might know who was responsible.”
A small crease appeared on Lady Quill’s otherwise perfect forehead and she shifted her focus between Artemis and her father unsurely. “I don’t understand.”
“Are you familiar with a man named Alain Leroux?”
If her sharp intake of breath wasn’t giveaway enough, her already pale skin paled just a little more. When she spoke, her voice was soft and quavering. “Alain?”
Artemis's father leaned forward slightly in his chair to convey a sense of both urgency and privacy. “Yes. I take it that you do know him.”
Her eyes narrowed with worry and confusion. “Yes, but I don’t understand. How could you …?”
He smiled kindly in the way Artemis had seen him do so many times with his patients. It was a soothing and confidence-inspiring expression.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said, deftly side-stepping that particularly sticky question. “Of course, I considered going to the police—”
“They don’t know?” she said, startled and, unless Artemis was mistaken, a little relieved.
“No,” he said, looking toward Artemis, once again silently bringing her into the conversation.
“We thought it best to speak to you first,” Artemis said. They’d hoped that she would see their choice as an effort to protect her from unpleasantness with the police, and perhaps even her husband.
Lady Quill’s hands nervously played with her handkerchief. “Yes. Thank you.”
Her eyes fixed on the bits of lace in her hand as she struggled to come to terms with the mention of Leroux.
“What do you know?” she finally asked, looking up anxiously.
“Merely that you had a previous … association with the man. If he is behind this ….”
Her nerves apparently too great to contain, Lady Quill rose from her chair. Artemis's father reflexively followed.
Lady Quill’s eyes shifted to his and then down as she stepped toward a bookcase.
“It was five years ago,” she began softly, before turning around to face them. “He was a perfumier. Quite handsome.”
She managed a feeble smile at the memory, but it did not last long. The next words gave the impression of a confession, although Artemis wasn’t sure why. “We were engaged.”
“I see,” her father replied gently, encouragingly.
From the embarrassed look on her face, the admission seemed to be something she was ashamed of.
“Please?” she said, as she gestured toward his chair.
He deferred until she began to return to her own place on the settee.
The butler brought the tea service and silently placed it on the coffee table between them.
She offered them both a cup and they all remained silent as she poured.
Tea dispensed and promptly set aside, Lady Quill picked up the thread of her narrative.
“I was … As I said, we were engaged to be married. But there was an accident. A terrible fire at his laboratory. Alain was severely burned. His arms and legs and … face.”
She appeared to try to push the memory away unsuccessfully. Her hand floated up and touched the side of her face, as if it was his. “He was quite disfigured.”
That is puzzling, Artemis thought. The man she’d seen at the Pantechnicon had no visible scars. Had they gotten things mixed up somehow?
Artemis could see from her father’s expression that he was wondering the very same thing.
“And it changed him. He grew withdrawn and angry. I understood of course, what he’d been through ….” Her eyes tightened in pained sympathy.
“I tried to be there for him, but he kept pushing me away. And I was frightened. And weak.”
Lady Quill was near tears, but she lifted her chin and fought them back.
“You see I’ve never been made of what you’d call the sterner stuff,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “My family urged me to leave him, to break off the engagement, and, even though I still loved him and he needed me, I listened.”
Her chin trembled as she confessed what she clearly thought to be proof of both her weakness and unforgivable sin.
Both Artemis and her father remained silent for a moment. Finally, her father spoke again.
“Tragedies such as this are difficult on everyone. Those who feel physical pain aren’t the only ones who suffer.”
The kindness and understanding in his words caused a smile to flicker to her face and she dipped her head in deference to the wisdom they held, but it was obvious she was not ready to let go of her guilt so easily.
“After … afterwards, I left Paris and came back to London. I’d heard …” she frowned as she recalled, “that Alain grew more deeply troubled. A friend told me that he’d taken up with a man named von Welling, a charlatan of some sort who offered a cure for his afflictions.”
And who just might have succeeded, Artemis thought.
“And that was the last you heard of him?” he asked.
“Until today,” she said, then paused as a new frown crossed her lovely face. “You see, my husband, Lord Quill, is … unaware of my past.”
