Ripper (24 page)

Twenty-six

A
fter hastily pinning together my dress, I began walking in the direction of Montgomery Street. It was a long walk and fog had settled all around. I still shivered from my experience with Max. He said he had some Conclave business to attend to, but he could be anywhere, even near me now, making certain that I arrived. I felt weary, exhausted. But thinking of William and Simon, that there might be a possibility of saving them, drove me on.

I had to go, try to bargain for my friends' lives. But I was aware of the only acceptable condition for their lives, the price I must pay. Even then, their lives might not be spared. After all, I was bargaining with murderers.

A cat ran across the street in front of me and I suppressed a dark chuckle.
Nine lives
.

I knew that Simon and William's only chance for survival depended on me taking the elixir. As I approached the house, I asked myself what I feared about this option. Of course, I could not remain with the Conclave, tolerating their murders. But I could perhaps flee from them, taking the elixir formula with me. I contemplated living out immortality in my own way. I remembered Mother's death, how she had wasted, suffered. I thought of all the illnesses, the deaths, the stillborns at the hospital. Perhaps I could have lifetimes to learn to help people
without
murdering.

The Conclave house was directly before me.

I ascended the steps, and I knew, even as these thoughts raced through my mind, that I could not drink the elixir. In consuming it, I would set myself above the rest of the human race—I could cheat death, cheat aging. It was an unfair advantage. And the persistent, unalterable fact remained: everyone could not live forever.

Dr. Bartlett opened the door almost immediately.

“Abbie, I am delighted to see you. Come, come in out of that cold.”

It was as if I had arrived for one of his dinner parties. He was all cheer and good humor.

I scanned the house. Light streamed down the stairs. From the dark drawing room I saw the phosphorescent patterns of the jellyfish aquarium dancing along the walls.

“Where are they, Dr. Bartlett? Simon and William. Where are you keeping them?”

“Our meeting first, Abbie.”

I felt my fury rise. He was all politeness when we all knew that my life, as well as William's, Simon's, and Christina's, was at stake. I followed him up the stairs and past the closed door to the gallery. As I walked, wondering where they held Simon and William, I had a sudden racing fear that my friends might
not
be alive. Perhaps the Conclave had lied to me in order to lure me here for this meeting.

The hall wound sharply to the right and then to the left again as we approached a door at the end of the corridor.

Dr. Bartlett opened the door, which led into a large room furnished with only an enormous, slablike table, a suit of armor, and a fireplace. The entire Conclave, excepting Max, sat at the table, their eyes upon me.

I panicked a bit. I had no idea what I would say, and so much depended upon me knowing for certain that William and Simon were alive.

“Do be seated, Miss Sharp,” Dr. Buck said, gesturing to an empty chair across the table as Dr. Bartlett seated himself to the right of Reverend Perkins. Reverend Perkins's eyes bore into me. If it were up to him, I would be dead already.

After a very odd exchange of pleasantries where an outsider would never have guessed that the outcome of the meeting might be my execution, Dr. Buck cleared his throat quietly.

“I understand that our offer was not accepted.”

I started to speak, but he raised his hand, silencing me.

“We are giving you another chance, Miss Sharp. We thought you should meet with all of us, once more, before making a decision.”

“Did you order Max to kill my friend Mary and an old woman?” I asked. “Then you kidnapped William and Simon. To threaten me?”

Dr. Buck and Dr. Bartlett met eyes quickly before Dr. Bartlett stated, “Max has his own methods.”

“But his murders are ordered by
you
,
and it was you who took William and Simon against their wills.”

They all remained silent, unwilling to acknowledge that they persuaded anyone by these means. Dr. Bartlett lit a pipe.

They looked like ordinary, professional, middle-aged men. Still, I did not understand why I had not seen more of their peculiarities when I first met them. Earlier today, in Hampstead Heath, the light had been too hazy to see it clearly. But now I saw, in each of their eyes, pieces, layers of the history they had witnessed, sweeping like ocean waters back and forth over a wrecked ship. This was the aspect about them that made them seem not quite human.

Dr. Brown spoke first, kindly waving his hand as if brushing away a leaf.

“None of that matters, Miss Sharp. The point is, are you or are you not willing to join us? This is an extraordinary opportunity, and we are giving you a second chance to make a decision.”

“A
last
chance,” Reverend Perkins growled.

I was silent. I had learned about the workings of the philosopher's stone from Dr. Brown and Dr. Bartlett the day before, and my decision had been made. I had no more questions—no other way to stall them. The crackling of the fire in the fireplace deafened my ears.

“I want to see William and Simon before giving you any answer.”

“They are fine,” Dr. Buck said. “Safe. And as you know, we are open to … ”

“Max said that you might negotiate with me for their lives.”

“We might … ” Dr. Buck began.

“I insist on seeing them
now
.”

Dr. Brown started to say something, but Dr. Bartlett cut him off. “It's quite all right. She can see them. John, you have the key?”

Reverend Perkins sighed loudly and stood up.

While the rest of the Conclave stayed in the room, Reverend Perkins led me back through the winding hallway and down the main staircase. He took me back down the corridor to the room where the ritual had taken place. The enormous doors were closed. Reverend Perkins took out a set of keys and unlocked them.

The room was dark and bare except for a few lit candles on the floor; I did not even see the chalice. William and Simon sat in chairs, back to back, in the opposite part of the windowless room, their hands cuffed together and also to the chairs.

They were alive.

“Might I have a moment with them, alone?”

Perkins's eyes veiled, hardened. But he shut the door, leaving me alone.

I rushed to them, frantic, desperate. I had to free them.

“William!” As I came close to him, I saw that his right eye was purple, darkly bruised, and almost bloody looking.

“William thought it would be a good idea to fight John and Robert when they came to take him away,” Simon said dryly. “He only regained consciousness a few minutes ago. Of course, it could have been worse. They had guns.”

I tugged at the cuffs. Both of their wrists had been bloodied after struggling against the cuffs so vigorously.

“I'm fine.” William said almost irritably, and with renewed energy began trying to free himself. “What's happening? What have they said to you?”

“I have only a few moments with you,” I whispered. “They're giving me a second chance to join them, and I demanded to see you, to see that you were alive, before giving them an answer. Is the cuff key with Reverend Perkins, on his key ring?” I asked Simon quickly.

“Yes, he locked the cuffs when they brought us in here.”

I cursed under my breath. Sweat dripped down my face and I was close to a panic.

“Do you have anything I can try to pick the lock with?”

“A pocketknife. We've been unable to reach it, but it is in my pocket,” William said.

In a second, I retrieved the knife and began working at the lock. I tried to keep my back to the door. For all I knew, Reverend Perkins was watching us through the keyhole.

“My aunt. Is Christina safe?” William whispered.

“Yes, for now. Max promised to leave her alone. But … ”

“What is it?”

“P
erdita, William. She was dead when I arrived at the house.”

“
Damn!
”
William hissed as his face contorted in pain. “Get these cuffs
off!
”

“Keep your voice down and let Abbie work,” Simon said quietly.

I was having no luck getting the lock open.

William was incensed now, swore profusely, and began jerking his hands against the cuffs in an effort to free himself.

“Hold still—I can't do this at
all
if you don't hold still.” I whipped my head around to glance at the door. Reverend Perkins could come in again at any minute, and time was running out.

“This has to
end
now
,
”
William continued. “Abbie, they killed your mother.”

“
William
,”
Simon hissed.

I froze. A cold chill swept through me, and I stopped picking the lock. The pocketknife still in my hand, I stood, facing William.

“What did you say?”

“William,” Simon said angrily, “this hardly does any good … ”

“She deserves to know.” William met my eyes. “There was more in my father's notes than I told you, but I thought it might be too much for you, too overwhelming. Dr. Bartlett fell in love with your mother from the first moment he saw her, that day at the operating theatre. He convinced the others that they needed a woman in the group. Caroline was educated and beautiful; she would be an asset to them as an immortal, as the psychic, the artist of the group. They gave her the offer. When she refused, they only allowed her to live because she was pregnant, the hope being that she might have a daughter with her same gift. Gabriel sent her away with Jacque to protect her. Max probably killed Sharp and let Caroline live only long enough to raise and educate you, the thinking being that you would be most like her if she raised you herself. He was probably the one who killed her, too, once you became a woman. It wasn't dysentery. He undoubtedly poisoned her.”

Her visions
. I remembered how they had increased in the weeks before her death. My mother had known the Conclave was coming for her during my entire childhood—and then, in those weeks before she died, she had
seen
them.

And Dr. Bartlett had been in love with her. This explained the lingering looks, why he called me “Abbie” while the others called me “Miss Sharp.” Why he had sent Max to seek me out, specifically, to see if I also was psychic. It also might explain why they were so willing to give me a second chance.

I was Dr. Bartlett's second chance after he did away with Mother.

“Abbie,” Simon said gently. “It's the truth. I'm sorry.”

Oddly, I didn't cry. I only felt fury. A consuming fury.

“Abbie, are you all right?” William asked.

William and Simon could not help me now, not as long as they were locked up like this. And I had no immediate way of freeing them.

“I'll be back,” I said, turning from them.

“Abbie? Where are you going?” William demanded.

I didn't answer him as I clutched the pocketknife tighter, concealing it in the folds of my skirts.

“Abbie,
don't
be stupid. You need us.”

“Don't do this alone,” Simon added.

“Abbie!
Abbie
!
Get back here.” Now William was desperate.

Ignoring them, I joined Reverend Perkins in the hall.

“I hope you're satisfied now, Miss Sharp,” he said as he locked and bolted the door again.

I followed him, formulating a plan as we ascended the stairs. My best chance to eliminate the Conclave would be to kill the members one at a time, and I had to keep them separate. They could overwhelm me if all together.

Reverend Perkins would be the first to go.

I removed the knife from my skirt folds and felt my palms sweat. It would do no good if the others heard him cry out. Severing his windpipe would ensure his silence.

I steadied myself.

One. Two …

Catapulting my whole body against him, I knocked him to the floor and collapsed on top of him. Then immediately, before I could think too much about what I was doing, I plunged the knife into his throat, feeling it cut muscle and then bone. I turned away, hearing only a gurgle. Then nothing.

I stood up, quaking all over as I forced myself to look at him, to make certain that the blow had been a fatal one. His enormous hands reached toward his bleeding throat. He could not make a sound. Reverend Perkins had hated me more than the others, and I watched his angry stare until he gasped his last breath.

The door to the conference room slammed open and urgent voices sounded from far down the corridor. The others had heard Perkins fall.

I bolted into the gallery, slamming and locking the door behind me. The moment I shut it, I heard them outside. They had found John Perkins's body and immediately began trying to break through the gallery door.

Feeling a bit like a trapped rat, I panicked when I realized that I had dropped the knife in the hallway. I frantically scanned the cases of weapons—the spears, the guns, the knives. I considered the guns, but I could not be certain whether they would work or not, whether they were loaded or not. A second later, I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and, covering my fist, punched through one of the cases and took the bowie knife.

Excellent for skinning and tearing organs.

As I held it, I estimated the force of my momentum; I considered the curved blade, the heavy handle. If I could send it spinning, I might be able to make a kill.