Shadows Over London
A Novel of Victorian England
By Christian Klaver
(in progress)
Shadows Over London
By Christian Klaver
Chapter One
I had a dream at age five that I have always taken to be true, even when I didn’t believe it to be real.
In my dream I was out in front of the rambling countryside Restenford house in Chatham and it was Christmastime. The door to the servant’s entrance was open behind me and the hallway stretched long, dark and silent into the house.
I’d gotten up to use the privy, and had seen Father with his battered naval coat on as he was heading for the door. In an instant, I was sure I knew everything that he was about since this was Christmas, which also made it the day before my birthday. My sister, being my twin sister, naturally had her birthday then as well, but I wasn’t thinking about her just then. I was thinking about the ponies. Faith and I had both asked for ponies the week before and hadn’t gotten them this morning for Christmas. Since Father always made a large affair of our birthdays so that we didn’t feel cheated out of a birthday celebration by the preceding holiday, we both felt sure that something wonderful was coming.
I thought he might be going out to feed the ponies, or bring them into the house from some hiding place. I wanted to see them desperately and what color they might be, so I followed him out without any other thought.
I wore my blue heavy woolen coat and boots - usually black but now silver-stained by the pale lamp of the moonlight. I might have been cold on another night, because I wore only a nightgown underneath my coat, but this night in my dream there was no wind and I wasn’t cold at all. Father’s pearl-enshrouded shape was already across the front garden and descending into the vale of snow laden spruce and pine. Each time he stepped his foot crunched through the thin crust of white glaze into the soft and dry powder below.
I didn’t want to follow too close and get caught, so I waited until he had disappeared into the forest before I ran after him. The air was sharp and filled with the clean smell of ice and pine. In my dream, the expanse of trees had an air of solemn reverence like a church. The crust was a little thicker here, and I found that I was small enough not to break through it as long as I went carefully. Clinging to the pines to keep from falling helped me move a little more quickly and a few places I sat on my bottom and slid. The forest tricked my eye, the way forests sometimes can, and often I thought that I could see for hundreds of yards around me while other times the trees blocked my view so much that I had to rush to keep up and not lose sight of him. The sounds were muffled in here.
We descended deeper into the valley, always deeper, much further than I’d ever been before. The trees grew taller here and the leafy tops spread out more than before. The only sunlight that came through the combined foliage of all the trees fell down like pillars through the green and silver air, like deep sea divers.
We finally came to a hollow dominated by a fallen spruce tree. The falling of the tree had cleared a space large enough for a dozen people to gather in. The moonlight poured into and filled the hollow like cream poured into a cup. The massive trunk lay in the center of the cleared-out space as neatly as a table arrangement. The silence felt deeper here, too, with a weighty feeling of watchfulness that hung there.
I remembered why I was here. Where were the ponies? I’d expected some kind of shed or enclosure, even a temporary one. Surely they hadn’t been left to wander out here, in the unfamiliar woods? Father stood next to the tree, lit a cigarette and stood there smoking for some time.
The Faerie Lord came from out of nowhere. One minute Father was standing by himself and then, as sometimes happens in dreams, the Faerie Lord was there without any sense of movement or change on the Lord’s part, but more like the forest had done something to reveal him; he appeared like a theatre troop exposed by the moving stage curtain, only without the curtain but with that same sense of having waiting close-by until just this moment.
He didn’t look like a man and I knew him for a Faerie Lord right off. He towered nearly half again Father’s size, like a shambling beast standing erect. Huge antlers curled from his massive skull high into the air. But despite his bestial appearance, he had that ponderous dignity and presence that only royalty have. He just couldn’t have been anything else but a Faerie Lord.
The Faerie Lord shifted and I could see that he wore a great cloak made of shaggy moss and grass like an unkempt lawn. Underneath the cloak, I could see tarnished armor styled like something from ancient Roman times (or maybe Greek, I wasn’t sure). There was no mistaking that he was a thing of profound age, grandeur and wild abandon.
Father stepped forward and the Faerie Lord inclined his head gravely. They regarded each other across the bare surface of the fallen tree for some time then both sat down. Nothing changed as they sat, but my perception shifted so that I could now see how the rock outcropping was a perfect chair for father. The shattered trunk of another tree became the perfect high-backed throne for the Faerie Lord. The flat surface of the fallen trunk now held a chess board that I felt certain must have always been there.
They began to play without preamble or conversation.
Father had the lighter pieces and made his opening move at once. The Knight sat and viewed the board with greater deliberation. He shifted his sword - a battered and jagged chunk of stone - into his lap to when he was ready to make a move, then stopped. His right leathery hand was nearly the size of the board, far too large for this task. He shifted awkwardly and finally moved with his left hand, which was only the size of a very large man’s hand. He moved his knight.
Sometimes in my dreams I find that time is mysterious, so I don’t know now how long I sat and watched. Perhaps then I could have told you. I think, too, that I wasn’t the only one who watched them play. I sensed heaviness in the forest air, and the attention of things that saw with more than their eyes. We all waited for the outcome of this game. I want to say that we waited impatiently, but the truth is that I think we would have waited for thousands of years, if necessary. The outcome of this game was that important.
Father lined the captured black pieces on the side of the board like a collection of toy soldiers. The Faerie Lord squeezed and kneaded the fallen trunk with his massive right hand and I could hear the wood pop and see occasional bursts of fragments as the game went on.
Father didn’t mind and never lost his composure. He only took a small tobacco bag from a pocket of his coat and rolled himself a cigarette. I was suddenly very afraid of my Father. That kind of calm wasn’t natural. The smoke from the cigarette drifted up into the pine needles above. The moves got faster as the game progressed. Then the Faerie Lord reared up and brought his massive fist down like a mallet, sending bits of the board, chess pieces and wood splinters into the snow. He slumped in his chair, all his anger gone after the one outburst. Inhuman or not, he looked the perfect picture of defeat.
“Perhaps next time,” Father said. He cheerfully brushed snow and debris off his coat.
The creature didn’t stir as Father turned and walked away. Of all the images I can still remember from my dream, the rough powerful shape slouched like a discarded shop rag is the one that stays with me. Snow was already starting to gather on his arms, shoulders and head.
Father kept climbing up the path in my direction and flicked his cigarette off into the woods before he stopped and looked at me. Somehow, I’d forgotten all hiding. He put his finger to his lips as he came up to me. He put his hand on my shoulder, turned me away from the immobile Faerie Lord and led me away. We walked for a bit and the forest was so quiet that you could hear the dripping of melting ice. Father didn’t look cross, only thoughtful, and he finally stopped and considered me silently for a minute.
“Well,” he said. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect you to be here, little Justice. Did you follow me all the way from home?”
My mouth went open and I looked back the way we had come. I couldn’t imagine that I was the biggest surprise. Finally, I remembered that he’d asked me a question and nodded.
He picked me up and held me so that his coat wrapped around me. “You must be cold, eh?” It was true, but I didn’t remember when it had happened.
“Father, what was that horrible thing?”
“Oh, not so horrible, Justice. Not really.”
“Yes it is. It’s a ‘bomination in the eyes of God. Preacher told me.”
“Well, yes, he would. But even the Church of England doesn’t know everything, does it?”
I wasn’t too sure of that, so I didn’t say anything. He carried me like the hero carries a princess in the books and I crushed my face against the soft wool of his overcoat.
“Well,” he said, “now I have a problem. This needs to be a secret, you see? But I know how little girls talk. This might call for a bribe. What would it take to keep you from whispering about this night? From telling your Mother, Prudence, Temperance or even Faith?”
He could have just asked and we both knew it. I adored him. I would have done anything he asked.
But he asked, so I said: “a pony.”
He laughed. “Well, I don’t have a pony, but...” he shifted a little to hold up the hand under my legs without dropping me. He held up the knight chess piece from the game. “Would a horsie do?”
The flash of disappointment fell away as I looked closer. The piece wasn’t just a horse’s head the way some were, but an entire stallion carved with every detail. It was beautiful. More than beautiful, the dark wood gleamed almost like the glossy flank of a horse would. It was warm to the touch.
“It’s wonderful,” I said, turning the little wooden horse in my hand. “And I couldn’t feed a regular horse anyway.”
“You are very wise for such a small child,” Father said. “May it always be that way, and the human race might fare better.”
“Does it have a name, Father?”
“Why of course it does.”
“Oh! What is it?”
“I don’t know, Justice, but all important things have names, so this must. Maybe someday you’ll find out and tell me what it is, ya?”
His dark hair fell about me like a shroud and a sudden sleepiness came with it. He took me back to my room, sneaking into the house so as to not wake anyone.
I felt the motion of Father lowering me into bed and then I woke up from my dream. Although I could smell the dark, spiced scent of Father’s cigarette, Faith and I were alone in the room. She was sleeping in the bed next to me, immobile, like she’d been there so long that it would take a prince to get her out.
But there was nothing in my hands and I knew it was just a dream.
Chapter Two
“Justice!”
I sat up involuntarily, then frowned and went back to my book. It was bound to be more interesting than another stupid dinner party.
It was cool out here on the roof and I had one of Father’s old coats wrapped around me to keep me warm. I could hear the sounds of people and horses down in the London streets underneath me, but all I could see was the fog. Without the sounds I could pretend that we were still in the country and that Temperance wasn’t calling me, so I tried to plug my ears with my fingers and keep reading. I couldn’t see the window, so I knew that she couldn’t see me, either. It didn’t work very well. I couldn’t keep both my ears plugged and hold onto the book at the same time. The wind whipped the pages around and I had to use one of my hands to hold them still.
“Justice! I know you’re out there. If you don’t come in I’ll shut this window and latch it from the inside. You’ll be locked out!”
I sighed and closed the book and got up. She’d probably do it. There were other ways down from the roof, but they were a bit risky. Besides, the fading sun made it too difficult to keep reading anyway and the lanterns didn’t do more than add will-o-wisps to the darkening fog. I slid the book into one of the oversized pockets in Father’s greatcoat. The book was his too, out of his library. None of us were supposed to be in there when he was away.
I used the brick chimney to keep my balance across the angled roof, then went the rest of the way on my bottom until I reached the gabled portion of the roof that had the flat part I could stand easily on. That was where the window was and Temperance leaned out of it, frowning. She usually had that expression with me. When I got close enough she reached out and grabbed my wrist to haul me in. She was older and taller than I was and I couldn’t give her much trouble. I managed not to bang my shins or smash my head on the way in, though.
“Mother says we have to take you,” she said. “Or I shouldn’t bother.” She thumped against the book in my pocket by accident. “What’s this?” She yanked the book out of my coat pocket before I could stop her. “You’ve been in Father’s library again! And what in the world is it this time? Techniques of Sabre fighting? Ugh. What on Earth made you pick this one?”
I shuffled my feet and looked at the floor. “I’ve read all the novels in there,” I said sullenly. “Most of them twice.” It was true. Since Father’s library was the only collection of books I had access to, my choices were getting a bit thin.
“I’m sure I don’t care,” Temperance said, tossing the book carelessly on my bed. “But you’d better find Mother and get into your dress. I won’t be late because of you.” She stalked out of my room.
I sighed. I didn’t like London as much as I’d liked living in the country, and I missed Father when he wasn’t here. He was gone very often, since his position in the East India Trading Company often took him to India for six months at a time. His position there was a result of Mother’s Scarsdale connections, something she mentioned often. It has also been Mother’s idea to move us into London when Father was away on his long trips. She said she didn’t like being out in the country and all alone when Father was gone, but really it didn’t seem to make any difference where Father was; Mother just didn’t like being away from the social circles of London.
Prudence came in. “Ah,” she said immediately. “Here you are. Mother nearly called Scotland Yard looking for you. We’d best get you in there.” Her voice was kind - but her grip firm - as she ushered me down the hall and into the family room where Mother, Temperance and Faith were waiting.
I would have liked London more if we could go out on our own, but Mother’s interests were entirely focused on social status, dinner parties and any moderately influential man who might make a suitable match for one of her seven daughters. Since Faith and I were nearly thirteen now, we were getting even more pressure than before from Mother to socialize. It was enormously tiring. Temperance was fifteen, but she already had a court of admirers and suitors, so Mother said there was no need to worry about her. Prudence was eighteen, but Mother didn’t care about that as much since Prudence was her step-daughter and not an actual Scarsdale. Prudence didn’t have any name to uphold in Mother’s point of view. I was quite ready to give up on the Scarsdale name, if I could only find a way. The duties of being a Scarsdale seemed to outweigh the benefits,if any benefits were to be found at all.
But there were obligations from Father’s side, as well. It was Father’s idea to name all us girls after the seven virtues. He had insisted on it with his first wife, Saba, when they had Prudence. When Saba died, he married Mother shortly after. Then came Joshua and Darwin, the male twins. After that Temperance and Hunter came singly. A few years later, Mother had twins again, Faith and I. Then Hope, and finally little Charity born just a few years ago. I don’t know why only the girls had this virtuous burden, but that’s how it was. Darwin might have reason to complain for his somewhat awkward name. I’ve always felt that Joshua and Hunter got the better end of the bargain.
“Oh, for the love of God,” Mother said when Prudence ushered me in. Though Mother was not dressed in her formal attire yet, she looked elegant, as always. She had a separate party tonight and with her burnished copper hair and delicate features, she would undoubtedly be the most beautiful woman there. She usually was. “I swear you do this to humiliate me,” she said. She threw her hands in the air and shook her head. “If you weren’t a Scarsdale, I’d just let you go like this and everyone would laugh at you. Is that what you want? Come on now, everyone else is nearly ready.”
“Kronstadt,” I muttered.
“And a lot of good that would do you if that’s all you had,” Mother said. “No one in England ever heard of the Kronstadts. Ask your Father, he’ll agree with me. But the Scarsdales are a rich and noble line. There was a Scarsdale in Ellisville when the …” I stopped listening while she hustled me into the next room where the maids had a tub of perfumed and soapy water waiting. The hot water might have looked welcoming if I didn’t know the poking, prodding, crimping and curling that waited for me immediately after it. Then the horrid dinner party. I sighed and Mother ushered me in.
The bath felt wonderful even if I didn’t get to stay in long. Mother had an army of maids ready to descend on me when I got out. She issued her orders to them in a rush and rushed out to oversee what the other maids were doing with Temperance’s hair. Prudence, already finished, sat with me while the maids worked in a frenzy of terror. I just hoped that they didn’t stick too many hairpins into my scalp in their rush.
Prudence sat with me while the maids worked. “It’s not so bad,” she said. The maids worked on me as if I had no they might a chair or table. She sat with me while the maids went about their duties upon me as I had all the sensibility of a chair that needed to be stripped and refinished. Prudence frowned at this and took the hair brush from one of them and took over arranging my hair. Temperance had the same glamorous copper hair as Mother, Prudence had a more modest auburn, while Faith and I tended to a pale and washed-out shade of blonde.
“Thank you,” I said to Prudence. She wouldn’t pull as much and I much preferred to have her do it.
“Tonight won’t be so terrible,” Prudence said. “It’s not like parties are such a terrible thing. And not men, either. You might find you’ll change your mind on that topic later a great deal more than you expect.”
“I don’t hate men, Prudence,” I said, rolling my eyes with exasperation. “And I’m not a child. It’s dinner parties I hate. No one’s allowed to talk about anything interesting and everyone’s watching everyone else waiting for someone to mess up and say something stupid or pick up the wrong fork or try and walk in and out of a room without a proper escort or some other stupid rule. And my escort will be someone stupid or greasy because Temperance and Faith will have anyone good-looking. It’s stuffy and I hate it.”
“You wouldn’t get stuck with anyone greasy if you were nicer to them,” Faith said from the doorway. She had an explosion of emerald green lace bundled in her arms. “It’s not like they could tell the difference between the two of us otherwise.” It was true. Faith and I were twins, and only familiar acquaintances could tell us apart. Faith much enjoyed this sort of occasion, however, and thrived at these parties.
“Besides,” Prudence said. “You can have Joshua take you in to dinner, if you like.”
I perked up at that. “Joshua’s coming?” Our brother had been sick with brain fever for the last few months. I’d had even fewer people to talk to at the last party.
“Yes,” she said. “Dr. Simmons thinks he’s getting well enough to be up and about for longer and longer periods. Usually Joshua doesn’t like dinner parties any more than you do, but Dr. Simmons said he should try and get out more, and dinner shouldn’t be too taxing.”
“Dr. Simmons said, Dr. Simmons said…” Faith said with a big grin, and Prudence blushed. Faith laughed kindly, and fondly squeezed Prudence’s shoulder. Prudence was smitten with the young doctor who tended to Joshua’s brain fever. But it wasn’t just the Doctor that drove Prudence to her nursing duties. She had a gift for it and a true compassion. Joshua’s illness had been very frightening a few months ago, but under the Doctor’s supervision and Prudence’s constant care Joshua had been recovering well.
“Now,” Faith said, unfurling the emerald dress. “Let’s get you dressed.”
I sighed again and held out my arms.
Jeffries cast a critical eye over the lot of us as if preparing for royal presentation. He was Mother’s man and the two of them saw eye to eye on the critical importance of social occasions. Jeffries was lean and dapper, immaculately kept. His black hair was always perfectly oiled. He stalked through the crowd of us in the foyer like a safari hunter through the wild. His keen eye missed nothing.
Prudence, Temperance, Joshua, Faith and I were all going to a formal dinner at the Penningtons. It promised to be a wonderful social occasion with an Italian singer, dancing and the best company of both sexes. Hunter and Darwin were both away visiting friends and the other children were too young to go.
Stokely came in the front door while everyone was bustling around and bundling into overcoats to protect against the soot. He announced that the couch was ready and at our disposal. Stokely was a dour-faced man, tall and portly with a gaunt face and a soft reedy voice. Unlike Mother’s butler, Jeffries, who managed the inside of the house, Stokely was just a groom and wasn’t allowed any further into the house than the foyer.
I stopped fussing with trying to get my hat on straight, which wasn’t going to work anyway. It always shifted the minute I was done. Instead I ran over to Stokely. “Which horses did you use?” I asked.
“I have been waiting,” he said formally, “for young miss’ instructions in the matter. Perhaps the matched set of grays?”
I pretended to think it over, though we both knew better. We only had two horses suitable for the carriage, and Stokely had already hooked them up. More than likely they’d been readied hours ago. It was an old joke between us.
“What about the silver ponies with the tiger stripes and fuzzy hooves?” I asked.
“Begging the young miss’ pardon, but the tiger mare is quite heavy with child, and I should hate to endanger the young foal.”
“You’re absolutely right, Stokely,” I said. “And Star and Jewel will be quite put out if they don’t get to go. And they already match the carriage.”
“Not the brace of jungle cats, then?”
“No….They might scare the other horses. Best use Star and Jewel.”
“Capital thinking, Miss Justice,” he said with ponderous gravity. “I’ll have that implemented immediately.”
“If you’re quite done, Justice,” Temperance said. “Oh, good Lord your hat isn’t even close to straight. Here.” She gestured to Stokely to open the door. “We’re ready, then.”
“Quite so, Miss.” Stokely said. Jeffries had a few last minute adjustments, including another check of my hat, before he nodded in satisfaction and allowed Stokely to usher us out.
The yellowed fog clung and swirled as we all tumbled excitedly onto the front steps where Stokely and the carriage waited for us. Disembodied sounds drifted through the fog around us, other voices and the clatter of carriages on the cobblestones. Temperance wrinkled her nose and held a perfumed handkerchief to her face to ward off the dank smell of the city, but it didn’t seem that bad to me.
Stokely helped Temperance into the carriage first. Prudence was older, but she didn’t mind and that sort of thing was important to Temperance and everyone knew it.
I was the last one to get in, and I stopped and swirled around once, showing off my dress. Stokely’s carefully sour face split in a grin at me when I flounced around. He gave me a deep gentleman’s bow, but then he stood up, put a shushing finger over his smile, and resumed a more stoic and professional expression.
He got us all inside and climbed up on the driver’s box to get the horses underway. He took the carriage on the main thoroughfare and took the turn to lead us into the narrow lanes of the Soho district where the Penningtons’ lived. The other three girls were giddy with excitement, but Joshua sat stiffly across from me, his face looking pinched above his stiff collar.
Faith started in on a story about Lucy Pennington’s new lovebirds that had been shipped in from the African continent. Prudence leaned across her in the jolting carriage and put her hand on Joshua’s arm.
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Prudence said. “Doctor Simmons said it was time to be up and about, but perhaps we are rushing you?”
Joshua shook his head stiffly. “Thank you, I’m fine. I’m sick to death of bed, anyway.” His jaw was tight and his smile forced.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Temperance said briskly.
Prudence bit her lip, but didn’t say anything, even though Prudence was eighteen, and Temperance only fifteen. I sighed. Temperance had been talking to Mother again, that was clear. All the Scarsdales in the house of commons and how some Scarsdales dined with the Prince. Scarsdale this and Scarsdale that.
Prudence, unlike the rest of us, had been born of Father’s first wife, Saba Nikholov. The Nikholovs were not anybody, even in Russia, and Saba had died shortly after Prudence’s birth from complications.
I put my hand on Prudence’s arm, and she smiled at me. Mother’s attitude didn’t matter much to me. We were all Father’s children. We were all Kronstadts.
“I’ll let you know if I get too tired,” Joshua said gravely. I knew he’d never do any such thing, but this seemed to satisfy both Temperance and Prudence. Still, Prudence looked like she was going to watch Joshua closely. Having taken her education quite a bit farther than the rest of us, she’d been a part of Dr. Simmon’s visits the past few months, and was starting to talk like a doctor herself.
We clattered on, passing a sad little garden bounded on all sides by tenement buildings and restaurants and knee-deep in the yellow soup of London fog. The brick and wood surfaces were all wet, and the people without carriages looked bedraggled and cold. I thought it looked very sad.
The wall of the carriage next to me shook and boomed suddenly and the entire carriage and all of us shook with it. It happened again and the carriage swayed so bad that I thought we were going to tip right over as we rattled down the street. Faith shrieked and immediately stopped herself by biting her fist in sudden terror. I thought for a horrible second that we were somehow under artillery fire from a naval cannonade. I’d felt the wood buckle with each blow, but not break. Any artillery at all would have turned it to splinters.
I grabbed the carriage door window, pulling myself up for a better look. The street lampposts still left the street dim, and the darkening sky was horribly overcast, as if a storm had come on us. All the buildings around us looked dark and unfamiliar. There weren’t any people on this street, which seemed odd.
A shrill scream from outside tore through the carriage, part animal, part steam engine. I didn’t see any sign of railroad stations, but it was hard to tell as I bounced up and down.
“Stokely!” Temperance called out. “What’s going on out there?” No one answered and we kept hurtling down the street.
Joshua hauled himself to his feet, but the erratic motion knocked him back down again. The other girls screamed shrilly in my ear as I clung to the carriage window. We were going faster now, the horses going at full gallop, and the loud sound of the hooves and with the rattle of the carriage wheels and walls and threatening to shake us apart, it sounded like being the in middle of a thunderstorm. A scuffling and thumping came from above. Something was moving around up there.
We flew into a sudden turn that crashed us into directly into one of the lamp posts. In the sudden light, before we lurched back into motion, I was able to get a good look at a patch of cobblestones just under my window. I saw a hoofprint, plain as day, only this wasn’t mud or soft clay. Instead, the pool of light showed me a blackened and charred impression smoldering on the cobblestones. The light flickered out and we kept on going.
All the sounds around me seemed to fade briefly, and a beautifully quavering violin note sang through the London air. The note faded off and the rattling of the carriage and my sister’s screams filled my ears again.
We were still picking up even more speed and the shrouded alleys and buildings flew by at a frantic pace. The driver’s lantern, miraculously, was still lit, and the crazed and bobbing light flung shadows in all directions.
A pale hand gripped the window from outside. A man was riding the carriage with us, standing on the footboards. I tried to stand up enough to see his face, but only got an impression of grey cloth wrapped over his face and head and obscuring most of his features. His eyes, pale green, caught mine briefly then jerked away as his face fell away as he either jumped or fell from the bulleting carriage.
Twenty harrowing seconds later, we came to a crashing halt that spilled Faith, Temperance and I into each other’s laps in a tangle of arms, legs and overworked satin bustles. I scrambled to my feet, but my view was blocked.
All we could see were brick walls on either side. Our carriage had stopped suddenly in one of the narrow alleys of Stalwart street. There was a little space between the doors and the walls, but not enough to open them.
“What in Heaven’s name?” Temperance asked, shocked.
“Not Heaven, I think,” Joshua said. His face was pale as he struggled to his feet yet again, but he looked determined anyway.
I saw only one way out. It looked like Joshua was having the same thought looking at the other window.
“Justice, what in God’s name?” Temperance started, but I was already stepping from bench to door window so that I could turn and slither in between the carriage and the brick wall. I got a grip of the top of the carriage and hauled myself up onto the carriage roof.
Mother was always saying that I never acted like a lady. This would give her plenty more to talk about, and probably make plenty of trouble for me. Still, this business seemed far beyond dresses, balls and etiquette and I wasn’t going to just sit in the carriage.
Joshua pulled himself onto the roof from the other side. “Where’s Stokely?” he said.
I looked to the driver’s box. The seat was empty. The lamp swung back and forth throwing a shifting wan light on the alley walls on either side. I looked back the way we came, but didn’t see anything. In this fog, that didn’t prove much. He could be laying twenty feet back and we wouldn’t know it.
I looked at the railing of the driver’s box, which was broken. No. Not just broken, but shattered. I knelt and looked closer at the seat, then touched the wet spot on the cushion. My finger came away wet and red. The spot was small, not much bigger than the tip of my finger, but it was still frightening.
The open street was only a short distance behind us and we could see a small section of barely lit fog and shrouded shop fronts. In front of us, the alley went a few more feet and turned into total darkness. I couldn’t tell where it led, but it didn’t look promising. Looking down, I could see that the two lead wheel hubs, sticking out to the sides of the carriage slightly more than the rest, had scraped and narrow furrow in the shingles of the buildings on either side. The alley was narrower were we were, and the carriage was now firmly wedged in. The horses were gone and the traces hung empty. They must have torn loose and kept going around the corner. I thought I could hear distant horse hooves, but I couldn’t be sure.
I retrieved the lantern and lay face-down down on the carriage roof. I stretched the arm with the lantern out and bent down to examine the side of the carriage.
“We’re not going to get the carriage out of here easily,” Joshua said, then seemed to fully notice that I was there. “And you shouldn’t be out here. You could get hurt.”
“I could have gotten just as hurt staying in the carriage,” I said, and he didn’t have any answer to that.
Scoring and abrasion marks from being wedged between the buildings covered the sides, especially on the wheels and corners. The wood of the carriage remained intact, but I saw something very curious on the side. Two curved marks were still smoking there, about five feet up. We were hit twice, I remembered. Some kind of horse must have struck out, hitting a glancing blow at an angle. Straight on would have left a fuller print. But these marks smoked, just like the ones on the cobblestones. I licked my finger and tested the impressions tentatively. I jerked my hand back. Cold. I wasn’t hurt, just surprised. I tested again. It was hard to credit, but I’d seen the smoking hoof prints in the cobblestones too clearly to have any doubt, and these two grooved, smoked in exactly the same manner and matched the curve that one side of a horseshoe would have. The wood around the mark felt normal.
I inched further down, my head hanging just outside the window, looking over the carriage for any other marks.
Temperance stuck her face out the window, nearly hitting me in the head.
“Justice! What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”
I ignored her and reached past her head and plucked something straggling off the edge of the window. It was a ragged bit of wool, just a few strands of grey material. It must have come from the man that had jumped on the footboard. Though why he did or what he wanted seemed unfathomable. I pulled out the handkerchief in my sleeve and wrapped the fragment there, though I wasn’t sure what I might do with it. I tucked the cloth back in my sleeve and was about to sit up when I sucked in a breath in surprise.
The hoof prints weren’t there anymore. I put my hand on the spot where they were. No cold. No impressions. Just smooth lacquered wood under my hand.
When I sat back up, Joshua was pushing against the wall, trying to see how firmly wedged in we were. The carriage didn’t so much as wiggle as he pushed.
“Well,” he said, calmly. “We’re going to be late to the Penningtons, at the very least. And Father is going to have words to say about his carriage when he returns from India next week.”
The sounds of high-pitched constable’s whistles and shouts came from the direction of the street, but none of it was very close. At least someone had seen our wild flight, even if it might take them some time to actually locate us. With the isolating dark fog all around us and the single, feeble lantern, the street outside might have been London, Scotland or the Atlantic ocean for all that we could see. Sooty streaks smeared my dress and my skirt had tears in two places from my climb.
“No one’s hurt down there?” Joshua asked. I shook my head. “Pretty lucky,” he said. He started to smile but a hollow cough tore through him, bending him over double. I went over and grabbed his shoulder to make sure he didn’t pitch off the roof while he coughed over and over again. Finally, it stopped, and he was able to wipe his mouth with a handkerchief. It came away spotted with blood.
“Pretty lucky,” he said again. Then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he slumped over.
Dr. Simmons put away his stethoscope with satisfaction.
“Not to worry,” he said to us, “Joshua is going to be fine.”
We all sat in Dr. Simmon’s waiting room. The Doctor had chosen to give an informal consultation there instead of the medical rooms when the constables roused him from his rooms upstairs. This room was plain and mostly empty with yellow wallpaper. It had tastefully-colored furniture that matched nicely with the paper, but felt likely to tumble into a pile of broken wood and glue at any moment. Our wait stretched on interminably. I knew the delay was on account of the constables trying to avoid gouging the walls of the carriage any more than necessary. It had been at least two hours already, and we were all ready to quit this place. Being not far from Dr. Simmons’ practice, it was practical enough to bundle us over there, since he’d been monitoring Joshua’s condition all month and was familiar to us all.
The Doctor’s housekeeper had stoked up a grudgingly small fire and it was still too cold for comfort. She made up for this slightly by pouring out warm mulled wine. Joshua had loaned me his great overcoat to cover my stained and tattered dress, for which I was grateful. It might have been a pleasant time under other conditions, but everyone was cross with the combination of the fright and missing out on an event planned for weeks. There was no denying that we had to go back home as soon as the constables wrenched the carriage free.
“I don’t mind telling you,” Dr. Simmons said. “I’ve rarely seen anyone recover from a serious case of brain fever as quickly as you have, Joshua, this relapse not withstanding.” He put his stethoscope back in his bag. “Still, best to take care of yourself. Plenty of rest, young man.”
“Have plenty of rest and water,” Prudence blurted out from behind him. “And don’t have any beverages that haven’t been boiled, filtered or pasteurized. So you know the water’s free of contaminants. Especially in restaurants.” She held a cup of steaming water in her hands acquired from the housekeeper.
Dr. Simmons beamed at her. “Yes, that’s right! You must have paid more attention to the books I left you than I thought.” He was a short man, but powerfully built. He wore rounded gold-rimmed spectacles that gave him an appearance of thoughtful surprise. His blond beard and hair were both tinged with grey. His skin was clear and unlined, though, as were his hands, and I wondered if he might dye his hair to appear older and more trustworthy. Still, he was an excellent doctor with an absent-minded but cheerful manner.
Prudence nodded. “Oh, yes, Doctor. I have. Joshua, here, drink this. I’ve brewed a cup of Lady Westerly’s tea. Don’t worry, Doctor, it’s lavender and yarrow, mostly. She won’t tell me all the ingredients, but I’ve used it myself and it has restored Joshua before.”
Doctor Simmons took the cup himself and sniffed dubiously at it. “Well, if you’ve experience with it, I’m sure it’s harmless. You’ve a good, practical head on your shoulders, for a woman.” Despite his words, he handed Joshua the cup with some reluctance.
Joshua grimaced slightly at the lavender smell, but drank it anyway. Dr. Simmons looked thoughtful. “Joshua has recovered surprisingly well. Perhaps this Lady Westerly and her tea may be part of the reason. Lavender is known for its soothing properties.”
“She’s a friend of Mother’s,” Temperance said. “I’ll tell them both that you seem to find her methods practical…or at least as much as can be expected for a woman. I’m sure Mother will find that comment interesting.” Doctor Simmons blushed and stammered something, then made himself busy closing up his bag. I’d wanted to kick him under the table for the ‘woman’ comment, too, but Temperance did me one better. He bade us call him should we need it, and withdrew back upstairs immediately.
Constable Wiggins came in the entrance on a rush of cold air. He was a blustery man with white mutton chops and salt and pepper hair. He hurriedly snatched his cap off his head and closed the door behind him.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Miss,” he said to Prudence.
“Did they find Mr. Stokely?” I interrupted, and he frowned.
"No, Miss. A local grocer found your horses right enough, which I would say is the better part of the bargain."
"But not Stokely?"
“Not yet, Miss, but I’m sure he’ll turn up,” the constable said, not sounding all that concerned. “Might be he had a sniff too much, if you take my meaning. Most like he fell off and he’s sleepin’ it off somewhere. I’m sure he’ll come home in the morning.”
“That’s not true!” I said. I would have said more, but Temperance shushed me with a venomous look.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Miss,” the constable said, turning back to Prudence. “But your Mum requests your return at earliest convenience. The messenger we sent to the house brought her request back to us. Ship’s come in, it has.”
“What ship?” Temperance said.
“The Bountiful Swift, Miss.” Wiggins said. “It’s in. Your Mum said so. And you’re to come right home. Beggin’ your pardon.”
“Father’s ship!” Prudence said. We’d had no word at all. Since the reconstruction of the Suez Canal, his trip often took as little as two months instead of the previous six, but rarely did he keep to schedule, so we never knew when he left or might arrive home.
When we got home, however, and accosted mother, we discovered that the constable had gotten the message wrong. When the message stated that Father’s ship was “in”, it simply meant “in British waters”. His ship would not land in London for well over a week.
Chapter Three
That next week took forever, with no further word about Father or Stokely, so it was a great surprise to me when I was coming down the stairs and Father burst through the front door with a happy cry.
“Father’s home!” I shouted while Father himself stomped his boots free of dirty snow in the foyer. When he actually stepped in, I ran across the floor and leapt into his arms.
“Father, how long are you back for this time. Will you be here for Christmas again this year?”
“Yes, I will,” he said with a grin. “I have seen enough of India, and I’m quite sure that India has seen enough of me. I shall be staying home this time.”
I shrieked and flung my arms around his neck, happy and stupid. Father had been back and forth between England and India so many times that he was gone far more than he was home. Before that, he’d been in the Crimean War. I couldn’t remember a time when Father was home and didn’t have another trip sometime in the future.
“I’ve completed my original position with the East India Trading Company. I’m still in their employ, but on leave. With the profits from ivory, tea, drugs, precious woods and other trade from India, I’ve invested in the English Funds. I’m now at my leisure to pursue my own endeavors. I’ve far too much going on here to be going abroad. I’ve spent too much of the war in Bulgaria, Sevastopol and Balaclava, and too much time since on ships and in India. And I’ve spent too little time with my wife and children. That changes today.”
“And we shall be glad to have you home,” Mother said from the stairway, and Father’s face lit up. Mother was at the top of the stairs, resplendent in a sea-green satin gown with cream lace spilling from the throat and wrists. She came gracefully down the stairs and Father took her in his arms. Her hair was a graceful spill of cornsilk, and she was slender and beautiful.
“Good Lord,” she said, laughing. “Do you still wear this horrid mustache and beard?” She tugged mischievously at the black pointed ends in question. “It makes you look more like a Cossack than an Englishman! And this hair is far too long. Well out of fashion in court.”
Father laughed, unperturbed. “It’s a wonder you’re willing to be seen with me.” She kissed him soundly. They looked more like a wild painting than an upstanding English married couple. I could see a few of the servants frowning at such impropriety, but no one paid any attention to them.
“Come now,” Father said. “The hansom is waiting! Get your coat! Ah, Davisham, there you are. We’ll need everyone’s coats, including your own! Oh, and you better get the carriage ready. There’s hardly room for all of us in the hansom, so we shall need both.”
“Whatever for?” Mother said.
“Yes, come on, get the children.” He walked to the stairs and bellowed up: “Children!” Davisham was poised in the hallway, uncertainly looking from Father to Mother. I grinned and ran to get my coat.
“Rachek,” Mother said, laughing. “What the devil are you up to?”
“You’ll see,” he said.
Prudence, Joshua, Darwin, Temperance, Hunter, Faith, Hope, and myself all had to ride in the family carriage together, following the hansom with Father and Mother in it. Miss Kittering, our school mistress, was to be crammed into the small hansom as well so that she could bring little four-year-old Charity. Father insisted that all of the Kronstadts, even the littlest, had to take part in this foray. Prudence and Joshua, in deference to Joshua’s lingering sickness, thought to stay behind, but Father would hear none of it. I peered out the window, trying to guess where we were going, but the hansom turned away from the Soho district right off, so most of the places I’d thought of were ruled out right away.
When the carriage pulled up to the enormous grey mansion, we all spilled out into the driveway before the carriage was even fully stopped. It was late in the day, and the sky was wan and had a bit of light snow in it. Hunter and Temperance were the first out, and stopped so suddenly that we all crashed into each other. Darwin, with his bad leg and club foot, crashed into Hunter and nearly fell, clinging to Hunter's coat. Joshua nearly did the same and just barely avoided trampling Darwin further.
“Get off!” Darwin said with a snarl. He pushed at Hunter, but even though Hunter was two years younger than Darwin and Joshua, they were all about the same height and Hunter the burliest, so he didn’t move very far. He looked back at Darwin with a slightly confused and hurt look, then looked at Joshua. Though Joshua and Darwin were twins, they didn’t share the same disposition and Joshua just shrugged mildly. Hunter clearly felt absolved of any blame in his own mind, visibly chalking it up to Darwin’s perpetually nasty temper.
We were on the outskirts of London, nearly into the country, and the open space around us was quite alien to me, entirely without the crowded feeling that London had. We were in a circular drive, bordered by elegant spruce trees, with a path behind them, bordered by more trees and running back to the city.
The house in front of us was a wonder, built like an enormous crescent so that it curved around the circle and seemed to be all around us. The center of the house was mammoth and partly stone, as if someone had built a more conventional house on the broken foundation of an old fieldstone castle. I counted at least five stories, though it had a terraced style that made it hard to tell from down here. To the right and left, the east and west wings stood, tapering to small one-storey tips on either side like a giant French croissant made of timber and mortared stone.
It was cold, even with no wind, and my coat was starting to feel too small for me. I pulled it more tightly around me, shivering. Joshua was in a much warmer coat, thanks to Prudence, but he looked a bit pale and cold, too.
“I know this place,” Prudence said after she finished fussing with his scarf. “It’s the Stormholt Manor, but Edgar Kahling, the old owner, is long dead, and I heard the crown had seized it.”
“I wonder who lives here now?” Joshua said.
“We do, children!” Father said. He was holding Charity in his arms, with Mother and Miss Kittering trailing behind. There was also elegantly dressed man I didn’t know. He had pale blond hair in a bright scarlet frock coat, and a voluminous grey cloak draped over that, as if he feared to take a chill. He trailed behind father, like an attending servant, but he looked more distracted than deferential.
“We do?” Mother was thunderstruck. “How on Earth did you manage...”
“It’s all right, then?” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “Not too small?”
“Too small? Why, it’s enormous! And beautiful, but how?”
“India has been very good to us, my love,” Father said. “Then you approve?”
She smiled, then replaced it with a bad attempt at a scowl. “I should be cross with you for not telling me before this.”
Father handed Charity back to Miss Kittering so he could take Mother in his arms. “You’re absolutely right. You should be, indeed. Very cross. But have no fear about maintaining it, my profits from India will handle it, I assure you.”
She shook her head. “If you are certain about the cost, I raise no objections.” She didn’t sound very convinced, though.
Scarsdale House, our old home, was very fine. In the height of fashion. After all, the Scarsdales were quite wealthy. Still, it wasn’t very sizable, barely large enough for the family to maintain itself. London just didn’t have sprawling mansions. It didn’t have the room. And this was a palace fit for Queen Victoria.
“Outstanding!” Father said. “But where are my manners? I should be making introductions.” He indicated the man with the pale hair and the scarlet coat. “This is Mr. Sands.”
“The Beautiful Contessa Scarsdale, I'm quite charmed,” Mr. Sands said, taking Mother's hand with his own. He had a Parisian lilt to his voice and spoke very softly, like honey over a whisper. His hair was so light as to be nearly white, and his skin was pale enough to shine in the half light. His eyes, too, fair glowed a luminescent green like two witch's jack-o-lantern candles. His suit was cut with long diagonal insets so that flashes of midnight-colored silk underneath revealed and hid themselves as he moved. His gray cloak swished as he moved and he seemed to delight in posing constantly to show off his own beauty. His boots were delicate and fine. He was small, a head shorter than father. He looked more like a refined child than an adult.
He stepped smartly to each of us, in turn, with quick darting motions like a bird's. He bowed low and shook all our hands in turn, addressing each of us with a "young master Joshua, quite so" or "my dear Justice, I am honored”. He already knew all our names perfectly. Our astonishment must have been plain, for he said: "Your father has told me quite a lot about all of you”. Then, like a Shakespearian actor having just completed his lines, he stepped back behind Father.
Father clapped the small man on the back. “Mr. Sands has been helping me in my efforts in India,” he said, “and has proven himself rather indispensable. I am entirely in his debt.”
“Lord Kronstadt is most kind,” Mr. Sands said, bowing low.
“It is my intention,” Father said, “That Mr. Sands shall assist Miss Kittering in schooling the children, since his duties to me never take too many hours of the day.”
“With the Madam’s permission, of course,” Mr. Sands said gently.
“To be sure,” Father said airily. “He speaks Greek, Spanish, Italian, French, German and Latin.” With these choices, I tried to guess Mr. Sands’ own nationality. His voice had only the French accent to it, but he didn’t look French to me. But he didn’t look Greek or German or any of the rest, either, and I had to give the question up for lack of evidence.
“Oh,” Father added, “and he plays the violin. With my new position and various efforts of my own I now have several concerns that will need looking after here in England. Far too many for one man so I’m much relieved that Mr. Sands has chosen to continue his service to me.”
“You do me honor,” Mr. Sands said.
“Come!” Father said. “Come inside and I’ll show you the rest of the house. Mr. Sands, show the way!” He stopped suddenly, looking down at me, noticing that I was still shivering. “My dear, we can’t have that. The house is still cold, too, for Ashmir is just starting to get fires into the hearths.”
“Ashmir? Who?” Mother started, but Father waved her off.
“Mr. Sands is only part of the household staff I’ve brought with me. I’m sure they’ll get along just fine with our current staff. Mr. Sands, come, give me your cloak. We mustn’t have cold children.”
For the briefest of seconds, a flash of outrage crossed Mr. Sands’ face, but it was gone so fast that I doubt anyone else saw it.
“Of course,” he said with yet another deep bow. He came up with a grand smile and flung off his cloak with a flourish so that it flew out, and with his guiding hand on the collar, neatly settled onto my shoulders. He made the act of putting it on me yet another deep bow. I thought it might be a convenient way for him to hide his expression, all this bowing, but the cloak was warm and welcome enough.
Mr. Sands led us into the house, and we came in through the foyer into a dark and cavernous receiving room. A polished mahogany cabinet sat to our left, barely discernable in the stream of fading light coming from the open door. Further into the house it was black as pitch. Mr. Sands took a large number of wax candles from it and started passing them around.
“Here, I shall leave you to make your own way,” He said. “I must, per Lord Kronstadt’s instructions, dedicate myself to matters in the west wing.”
“Lord Kronstadt?” I said as he handed me a candle. “You mean Father? You talk as if he’s not right here!”
“Yes, as you say. But his instructions this morning were quite clear.”
“Are you a lord now, Father?” Darwin asked, the surliness gone from his voice with the wonder of it.
“I have done some small service to the crown,” Father said over his shoulder as he rummaged through the open drawer. “Drat! Where are the matches? But ‘Lord’ may be a bit premature.”
“As you say,” Mr. Sands said, and turned, his last candle relinquished, about to strike off into the darkness. Presumably for the West wing.
“But you were supposed to show the way,” I said. “And my candle’s not even lit!” Father seemed content to let Mr. Sands do as he would, and he kept rummaging for the matches.
“Show you to the house, yes. Which I did,” Mr. Sands said. “The candle.” He struck his one hand across the other, and came up with a burning flame cupped in his palm, from which he lit my candle.
“Lor...” Hunter said.
“Right then,” Mr. Sands said. He waved his hands and the flame in his hand went out. “Be a good child and light the other candles from that one.” He nodded with satisfaction and left.
“Well,” Mother laughed. “He is a most odd sort, dear.”
“It’s true,” Father said. “But invaluable.” He lit his candle off mine and handed it to Joshua, and soon we each had a lit candle.
“Well then, Father said, “let’s do some exploring, shall we?”
The pool of light I took with me revealed, and in turn deserted, old and fine chairs and other furniture sitting on polished wood floors. The floor had a bright sheen, and the furniture was not dusty, but there was a feeling of isolation here, as if the house had stood for a long time alone. The first room was very large, from the sounds of our echoing footsteps, but more of a hallway by nature with a great number of doors on either side and a massive double staircase at the end leading up into darkness. We’d scattered in all directions, of course. Just behind me, I could see Charity with her own candle and Mother and Miss Kittering followed her nervously in her wake so that she would not set the entire house aflame on the very night we moved in. I could hear Father’s voice off to the left, calling out as he found doorways to adjoining parlors and reading rooms.
Faith joined me at the bottom of the steps and we went up together to a large landing. The stairway went to either side like a massively forked tree. From the landing we leaned over the railing to look at everyone below us. The ceilings were so vast, and the darkness so complete that I could shield my own candle from my eyes, look around and see the other sparks of light drifting through the darkness like a swarm of wayward stars.
After the others were drawn to our discovery, Faith and I led the rest of them up to a wide and long suite of rooms, loosely arranged around an enormous common room in the middle. This hearth was the first with a fire in it, and an expressionless, dark-skinned woman stood motionless in the hall. Her clothing was some kind of layered homespun toga-like outfit, plain but very well made and the color of cream. She wore a matching cloth covering on her head that made her look like a white-washed nun.
“Ashmir,” Father said, by way of introduction, and the woman gravely inclined her head. He seemed about to say more, but strode right past her into the suite beyond. The rest of us hesitated, feeling awkward about such a distracted introduction, but the woman’s grim face did not invite conversation and we all followed Father in wordless agreement. As we left the room, I looked back to see a small girl peeking warily around the foreign woman’s skirts. The resemblance, both in dress and features, were so striking that I immediately made her out to be the woman’s daughter. If the woman’s expression was foreboding, the daughter’s was one of pure hate, and I thought she might have hissed at us as we left, like a mean cat.
We spent some time going through the family quarters. Father encouraged us to make our claims immediately. There were plenty enough rooms for each of us to have our own, a situation preferred by Prudence and Temperance, but Faith and I were so used to each other’s company that we elected to share one. Mother expected the male twins to share a room at first, as Faith and I did, but neither Joshua or Darwin would have any of it. Darwin in particular was deeply private. Or to use Hunter’s words: “a little sneak-thief”. Regardless of Hunter’s opinion, he was adamant that he should have a room to himself, and Mother let him take possession of a room higher up than the rest of us, accessed through a curving stair, a circular tower room with a small window overlooking the courtyard. I would have thought that the stairs would be murder with Darwin’s bad foot, but the privacy of it must have been worth the extra effort for him. Joshua and Hunter, similar in temperament, interests and athletic ability, elected to share a room.
Charity and Hope would reside in a room with Miss Kittering, and Father and Mother would have the master bedroom for themselves. Faith and I had the only other room with a courtyard window, excepting the master bedroom which was directly above us.
We were in our new room, getting our own hearth fire lit from our candles, when my attention was drawn to the cloak I’d gotten from Mr. Sands. In this light, the color of grey looked different than it had outside, and I tore it off my shoulders. Faith raised an eyebrow at me in curiosity.
I spread out the cloak and pulled a small handkerchief from my pocket. Unwrapping the handkerchief, I got out the strand of cloth I’d pulled off the carriage. The color matched. Faith knew what I was about instantly, and we wordlessly went over the spread-out cloak inch by square inch until I found the spot high up on the cloak, near the collar, where a small tear showed in the fabric. It was hard to tell if the little bit of string, unraveled as it was, would fit in the tear, but it seemed about right. I closed my eyes, picturing where this part of the cloak would have touched the side of the carriage, if worn by a man of Mr. Sands’ height standing on the floorboards, comparing it to my memory of the place on the carriage where I found it. The images overlapped clearly in my head, and I knew it matched.
“We have a problem,” Faith said, knowing what I was thinking from my expression.
We looked back out the door the way we had come. That way lay the rest of the house, our entire family, and an unknown number of strange and foreign servants. Suddenly, the new manor didn’t feel like such an adventure anymore.