Of Monsters and Madness (22 page)

I struggle to lift my head.
Why is he so upset with me?

He stumbles once more, and then, finally, we are free. The air outside is a soothing balm to my lungs, and he lays me on the ground.

“What were you doing down there?” he asks.

I try to speak, but can’t. Coughing again, I rub my
soot-filled eyes and look up at him. Allan’s hair has come loose and the collar of his shirt is ripped.

“
Why were you down there?
” he says angrily.

My vision is still blurry, but his face starts to become clearer.

“Edgar?” I say hoarsely.

He pulls back abruptly. Without another word, he crosses the courtyard and then disappears through the gate that leads to the cobblestone street beyond.

I lie on the ground, drinking in the cold night air as my chest heaves, and I lose all sense of time. My hearing is muffled, but I recognize voices in the distance. “Cook! Johanna!” I call weakly. “I’m here!”

The gate opens and Johanna comes charging through it. “Miss!” she yells. She turns her head and shouts over her shoulder, “Back here! She’s back here!”

Cook immediately rushes in behind her, and when they reach me, they each put an arm around me. “Has Father been found?” I ask. “Has everyone made it out of the house?”

“All’s fine,” Cook says soothingly. “Maddy is with the Grandmaster, an’ the Master is directing Jasper an’ Thomas to put the fire out.”

Helping me to my feet, they lead me around to the front of the house. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see Grand-père’s white hair.

“Grand-père!” I shout his name and pull away from Cook and Johanna. My legs are weak, but I run toward him. Tears stream down my face.

He gathers me close. “Shhhh, shhhh,” he says. “You are safe.”

“I could not find Father.… I thought he was trapped in his laboratory.”

Grand-père points to the left. “Your father is safe. See? He’s overseeing the water brigade.”

I look to where Grand-père points. Father is limping toward the far side of the house, directing Thomas and Jasper, who carry buckets of water into the house through an open window. Cook and Johanna come to stand beside me. A small pile of silver rests at Cook’s feet. Maddy joins me, and we share a brief hug.

“I’m so glad yer safe, miss,” she says. “You gave me a scare.”

“I’m fine now, Maddy. Thanks to your quick thinking.” She nods, and I turn to Grand-père. “What
happened? How did the fire start?”

He shakes his head. “We cannot be sure. I’m just thankful that everyone is safe.”

Smoke billows out of a nearby window, and a black cloud of ash rises above us. “But what about the house?” I ask. “What about everything that will be lost?”

Grand-père waves his hand. “Although there’s a lot of smoke, the flames have not reached very far. Besides, things can be replaced. People cannot.” He looks down at me. “I’m so thankful you are safe, Annabel. I—”

A grimace crosses his face, and he clutches his chest. “I—”

He suddenly falls backward.

“Grand-père!” I scream. I bend down beside him and reach for his hand. “Grand-père, what’s wrong?”

His eyes are open, but they do not blink. His face still bears a grimace.

“Grand-père?” I whimper. I squeeze his fingers. There is no response. I put a hand on his chest to see the steady rise and fall, but it does not rise. “Grand-père!” I scream again. “Grand-père, no!”

Leaning over, I pat his face. “Grand-père! Grand-père! Wake up, Grand-père. You must wake up!” But he does not respond.

Maddy tries to get my attention. “Annabel. Miss. He—”

“Father!” I scream, getting to my feet. “Father, it’s Grand-père! Come quickly!” I can barely see for the tears filling my eyes. But I make my way to Father’s side.

Alarm fills his face. “Annabel, what …?”

I shake my head as the words come tumbling out of me. “Grand-père’s chest is not rising. He’s stopped breathing. You must come now, Father. Come help him.”

Father hurries to Grand-père’s side as fast as his stilted gait will allow. Bending down, he puts his ear close to Grand-père’s mouth and listens for breath. Father’s face grows paler. He starts to pound on Grand-père’s chest, and after each motion, pauses to listen again.

When he finally looks up at me, his eyes are blank. “He’s dead.”

I shake my head. Father gets to his feet and takes a step toward me, but I keep shaking my head. “It cannot be true. I know you’re a doctor. You must do something.
Do something!
” I hear the words rising as I say it again and again. “It cannot be true! It cannot be true!
Do something, Father. Help him!”

The world suddenly comes to a stop. All I can hear is the anguish in my own voice. And that anguish is the last thing I remember.

Twenty-One

I
come to when a patch of afternoon sunlight slants across my face. Sitting up, I take in everything around me. I’m safe in my own bed. Not outside watching smoke pour out of my new home. Not clutching the lifeless fingers of Grand-père. Not being carried from the depths of a smoky hell by Allan … or Edgar.

My heart lifts—
it must have been a dream
.

I throw aside the covers, then instantly pull back my hand as pain races through my fingers. I look down at them. They’re red and blistered.

It was not a dream after all.

Shock turns to numbness as I stare down at my hands. My chest constricts, like I’m being laced into a corset that is drawn tighter and tighter and my every breath hurts. I wait for the pain to go away, but it clings to me like a second skin, and even as I rise from the bed, I cannot shake the feeling.

Stopping in front of the looking glass, I search my face for signs of grief. Of pain. Surely, my eyes should be filled with tears and my heart aching from the loss of Grand-père. But there is nothing. Nothing but this tightness that wraps around my chest and constricts my lungs, becoming one with me, matching every breath I take and every move I make. This
thing
has slipped beneath my skin like a second person. This
thing
is the reason why I do not cry. Why I go through the motions of dressing myself in a simple gown. Why I pull on neat white gloves over aching fingers with barely a whimper. This
thing
propels me to go downstairs even though I should rage and yell and ask the heavens why Grand-père would be taken from me like this. Why the only person to truly understand me in this house could be gone in the blink of an eye. It makes me act as though I do not care. It’s why I am unfeeling.

True horror washes over me then. And I realize, I’m just like my father. Coldness and callousness are my birthright. They are in my blood.

I wander downstairs in a haze of disbelief and find myself in the great room. The scent of smoke still lingers in the air. Outside the dining room doors, Cook has set up tables with platters of food piled upon them. I pour myself a cup of tea and take it to the courtyard.

The larder appears to have sustained the most damage in the kitchen—everything is burned and covered in ash—while in the corner near the door that leads to Father’s laboratory, a beam from the ceiling has partially fallen. The courtyard door is standing open to let in fresh air, and I have to step carefully as I make my way over to it.

Once I’m outside, I sit down on the bench where Maddy and I had our picnic and stare down into my tea. My mind is impossibly full, yet impossibly blank.
How can I be so cold? So unfeeling? Why can I not grieve for Grand-père?

I hear the sound of a cane tapping on the ground, but I don’t look up. Edgar saunters over and takes a seat beside me. “Rough time of it last night?”

I stay silent.

“I must say, I was rather hoping for a thank-you.”

“A
thank-you
?” I am in no mood to be dealing with him right now.

“I saved your life.”

Fury boils inside of me. “You’re the reason why I was trapped during the fire! How dare you lock me in like that!”

He sighs dramatically. “You interrupted my work. What choice did I have?” He glances down at his nails and begins to pick at one of them. “Besides, I carried you out, didn’t I? I could have just left you down there to burn.”

My fury goes cold. “Perhaps you should have.”

“Pardon?” He leans toward me. “I could not quite hear that.”

“I
said
, perhaps you should have left me there.”

“Poor, poor Annabel.” His voice is mocking. “Was your sleep interrupted by the fire? Did you have bad dreams?”

My own voice is as sharp as glass. I barely recognize it. “Grand-père died last night. His heart stopped from the excitement.”

Edgar waves a hand dismissively. “It was his time, then. He
was
rather old.…”

Anger boils in my blood again, red-hot, and the sharp crack of my hand against his cheek echoes
around us. “How can you say such a thing?” I seethe.

Edgar looks momentarily stunned. Then his expression turns to amusement. “Bravo. I didn’t know you had it in you.” He gives me a polite clap and smiles broadly. “Felt good, didn’t it?”

I ignore his baiting tone. “Grand-père was honest and trustworthy and loyal. He should have lived a long life. Much longer than he was allowed.”

“Are you implying that I am none of those things?”

“
You
are a murderer.”

“Not true.” He taps his cane against the side of the bench. “Your father is the murderer. I am merely his assistant.”

Edgar’s verbal parrying frustrates me, and I have no further desire to be in his company. Turning away from him, I stare at the horizon. The sun is sinking and night will soon start to fall. “Why are you here, Edgar?” I say abruptly. “What do you want?”

“The weather is growing colder, and you have something that belongs to me. I need it returned.”

I turn to face him again. “Something of
yours
? I have nothing of yours.”

Edgar taps his shoulder with his cane. “My coat? I was most gentlemanly and lent it to you.”

He’s right. I do have his coat. The morning I helped Maddy’s mother, I dropped it in the back of the armoire as soon as I returned to my room so I would not have to see it and be reminded of what happened. Now I find myself wishing it had burned in the fire. “Wait here,” I say stiffly, leaving my cup of tea behind. “I’ll retrieve it for you.”