The Dark Between Part 22

She laid her hand on his arm. "You didn't. I wanted you to kiss me. Simon, I am no good at being coy and elusive. I felt very close to you that day. I've felt drawn to you since the day we met."

"When you crashed into me at the museum."

"Yes, and I had that horrible seizure. You were kind. You didn't look at me like I was damaged or pitiful."

"You were in distress. And those words you spoke haunt me still.... May I ask you about them?"

A flush of heat swelled from Elsie's chest, warming her neck and cheeks. "You may."

"Did you see a spirit that day? A young woman?"

She studied his face. It was open, his eyes trusting. After a moment she nodded.

He sighed deeply. "I have so many questions."

"Take me upstairs." When he opened his mouth to protest, she continued quickly. "I wish to see where my brothers and I used to sleep, and then I will tell you more."

"Of course." His smile tightened.

She followed him up the staircase. At the landing, she reached for the lamp. "May I?" He handed it to her, his eyes troubled in the flickering light.

She walked down the corridor, past the closed doors. One door was open at the very end. She peered inside, holding the lamp out to illuminate the room. Then she crossed the threshold, setting the lamp on a trunk that sat just inside the door.

"You sleep in the very room that was mine when my family was here," she breathed.

It may have been true. So many years had pa.s.sed that she couldn't remember exactly which room had been hers. She merely recalled her brothers chasing her in and out of all the rooms on this floor.

The small bed was unmade, the coverlet twisted and the pillow smashed as though Simon writhed during his sleep. Clothes were draped untidily on a chair. Books lay in stacks on the floor. The room smelled like sleep ... and like him.

Her heart pounded when she felt the heat of his body behind her. He stepped even closer and lightly touched her hair. His hand moved to her shoulder, fingers brushing the side of her neck like a kiss.

She held her breath.

"You shouldn't be here," he murmured at her ear.

"I chose to be here." She turned to face him. "Are you asking me to leave?"

His eyes were wide, the pupils fully dilated in the dimly lit room. "With you standing so near, so warm ... I don't think I can."

She placed her fingers on his cheeks and stepped forward, closing those final inches between them. Their bodies nearly touched. "Good."

She smiled as he pulled her to him.

Kate woke to darkness and quiet. She lit her study lamp and peered at the small clock on the desk. Nearly eleven o'clock. She'd intended to take a short nap after her early supper, but apparently she'd slept for hours, fully clothed.

As the fog of sleep cleared, Elizabeth Gardner's cruel words came back to her. Had she really deserved to be called a "conniving little s.l.u.t" and "naughty blackmailer"? The Gardners had riches to spare, and she'd only meant to keep herself clothed and fed without taking charity. As it was, she barely held on to her dignity. Begging would s.n.a.t.c.h it from her forever. And yet ... there was poor Billy's example. Blackmail could prove deadly.

Kate shuddered.

The scheme had failed and she couldn't think of another that would fund her escape from Cambridge. If she asked the Thompsons or Elsie, they would bog matters down with their questions and deliberations, giving Eliot enough time to learn her name and report her to the police.

If only Tec hadn't behaved so queerly. Why would he run from her? Had someone else been in pursuit? Perhaps he'd been trying to lead Kate away from danger.

She sat up, a strange determination pounding in her blood. She would try one last time with Tec. She would search him out in his Castle End cottage and do her best to convince him they must leave for London together. Immediately.

She rose from the bed, laced on her boots, and walked softly across the floor to collect her wrap. The night air would be damp and the wrap would come in handy for concealment. Once again she placed Billy's knife in her pocket. There was nothing else she wished to take with her.

She crept down the stairs, avoiding the creaky step third from the bottom. Letting herself out the side door, she walked south, past Summerfield Hall ... only to find herself staring at an empty patch of gra.s.s.

The bicycle was gone.

"d.a.m.nation," she muttered.

It would take nearly half an hour to walk to Castle End, and she would have to make her way along the Backs, which she knew were dark and sinister at night. It was bad enough on a bicycle. And yet she had no choice. Eliot could come for her tomorrow.

The night sky was cloudy, but the faint gas lamps gave off just enough light. When a horse approached or a group of men walked in her direction, she stepped into the shadows. Fortunately, few people were on the road this late at night, and those she did encounter took little notice of a small figure wrapped in a shawl, walking in the shadows and doing her best to keep invisible.

More people-men and ragged boys-milled about the cottages on Castle End, muttering and laughing in cl.u.s.ters. She kept her head down and her pace lively. When a boy called out to her, she continued as if she hadn't heard him.

Tec's door was shut but not bolted. She swung the door open and breathed in the fumes of bacon and boiled cod. A lamp and matches stood on a table near the door. Once the flame was lit, she looked about the room. The view did not rea.s.sure. Fish-and-chips wrappers, greasy and cold, lay strewn about the floor. Quilts that in the past would have been neatly folded in a corner had been left in rumpled piles near the stove. Tec's wool cap, always on the nail by the door when he was home, was gone.

It looked more like a stranger had been squatting in the cottage. Tec usually kept his living s.p.a.ce orderly, if not entirely clean. Perhaps something was wrong with him. For whatever reason, he would have to be terribly distracted to allow this disorder. Someone had been in the cottage recently-there were hot coals in the stove. Perhaps if she waited he eventually would come home.

She went to the table and checked the drawer. The bundle of tools still lay there exactly as she'd left them. She looked around the room again before shoving the bundle into her free pocket. It hung awkwardly at her side, overbalancing the pocket with the knife.

She wasn't stealing. She was merely keeping the tools safe until Tec was in his right mind.

Kate glanced at the chair near the stove, where Elsie had the vision of Billy. After a moment she stepped toward the chair and eased herself into it. Could it be possible to fall to that other realm like Elsie? Would she hear Billy's voice? She sat tensely, opening her mind to the possibility.

Nothing happened.

She slumped in the chair. Poor Billy, clever enough to launch a blackmail scheme but still too much of a child to carry it out safely. If only he'd told her more about it, she might have stopped him.

She tried to remember the details Elsie had given. Billy found some papers, and they gave him an idea for a scheme. They must have been incriminating in some way, or why else take them? He'd hidden them, but hadn't said where.

Billy didn't have a home. He didn't have a permanent place to kip other than Tec's house.

Could he have hidden those papers here? Tec hadn't mentioned it, but then again, Billy might have kept it from him. He'd promised to share the proceeds with Kate-no one else. Her gaze moved from the ragged quilts on the floor to the sooty windows. Where would he hide papers so that neither Tec nor the other boys would find them?

She stood and walked about the cottage, imagining possible hidey-holes. The cabinets and larder shelves were rather obvious, but she checked them anyway, to no avail. The walls were bare and smooth-no possible hiding places there. She studied the seams on all the quilts and the undersides of the chairs and table. Plenty of dust and fluff, but no papers. Before she could search the wood floor for loose boards, she had to collect the scattered fish-and-chips wrappers and toss them into the stove. Once the floor was cleared, she walked up and down each board, testing for weak spots. The floor sagged, but the boards were nailed tight. Could Billy have hidden the pages somewhere outdoors? That certainly didn't seem the ideal way to preserve paper for a blackmail scheme.

She stood at the center of the room and swiveled slowly, trying to view each corner, patch of wall, and piece of furniture as a thief might. Where might a precious thing be well hidden? Her eyes alighted on the blue-and-white vase. The shelf was so high that none of the boys could reach it, and how many times had she heard Tec say that he would thrash anyone who dared touch the vase?

She dragged the chair to the wall and climbed up to retrieve it. Once she'd safely brought it down, she sat and peered inside.

A roll of papers was tucked within.

Taking a breath to calm herself, she pulled out the roll. Then she placed the vase on the floor and spread the papers flat on her lap. The top page had been torn from a journal and was covered in neat handwriting.

We have tried everything-dream manipulation, mesmerism, transcendence through meditation, and when that didn't work, transcendence through narcotics. Stanton insisted we always test on ourselves-that we should bear the risk-and it killed him. His death was a terrible tragedy, but we learned from his failings. True progress requires a different sort of sacrifice.

The procedure has worked on animals, but it is time to use human subjects. If we don't make this crucial next step, we may never reach those dark s.p.a.ces of the mind. I am willing to test on myself-I am willing to die, to be lost to this world forever, just like any explorer on the verge of a breakthrough. But isn't it only logical to choose lesser subjects-the unwanted, the criminal, the burdens on society-to enhance the process first?

Kate released the papers, gasping as they snapped back into their roll and fell to the floor. "Billy, how could you be such a fool?" Tears sprang to her eyes. "You never had a chance."

Chapter 28.

Simon's kiss was soft at first, gentle and hesitant, but when Elsie pressed the full length of her body against his, he moaned. The kiss deepened, stealing her breath as it warmed her flesh. Then he was lifting her in his arms and laying her on the bed.

Her pulse was throbbing, but she was not afraid. She was adept at letting her body do the thinking. Her mind had given its permission already, for she knew Simon would not abandon her after such intimacy-not like the artist. Simon was a man of means and would take her to the Continent with him. They would be together always, and she need never see her parents again.

He kissed her neck, his hand sliding down her arm, and she arched her back. With one hand she stroked his hair, but the other guided his fingers to the b.u.t.tons on her blouse. He worked to undo them, his progress made agonizingly slow by the fact that he used only one hand. She trembled as each b.u.t.ton popped free.

She'd worn no corset. When his hand slipped under her chemise, it found bare skin. She gasped, and their eyes met. Then his head ducked, and his lips were on her flesh.

Their movements blurred together. His hand tugged her skirt up to her waist and slid underneath. Her hand reached for the clasp on his trousers. Her body was warm and liquid, aching with need.

"I love you, Simon," she whispered.

He froze above her, his mouth hanging open as he panted for air. Then he crumpled on top of her, gasping into her neck. "I can't."

"Why?"

He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall.

"It's not fair to you."

Elsie bit her lip. "I've been too forward."

"No, it's not that. You are kind and beautiful. It's just ..." He trailed off, still unable to meet her eyes.

"It's just what?"

"I still think of her."

"Oh G.o.d," she gasped. "The one who died?"

He raked a hand through his hair. "She still haunts me, even after all this time. I can't do this."

When she reached for him, he flinched. She let her hand drop.

"It's as if she's watching me," he said. "Is she, Elsie?"

"She's not." As she said the words, she realized they were true. She hadn't felt the tingle or seen the aura. The lady had never been to this house.

"Of course," he said, frowning. "It's my own guilt that makes me feel that way." He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and pulling the braces over his shoulders.

"Guilt?"

"She was the wife of a friend. Part of me feels responsible for what happened to her."

Elsie fumbled at the b.u.t.tons of her blouse, tears p.r.i.c.king her eyes. He stood and moved toward the lamp, averting his gaze as she arranged herself with shaking hands.

"I must go," she murmured, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve.

"Not yet," he said. "Could we ... could you possibly contact her?"

She drew back. "How could you ask that?"

He shook his head. "You're right. I'm sorry. But she seems to slip further from me with each pa.s.sing day. Perhaps another time. Let me walk you back, Elsie."

"I came on my aunt's bicycle."

"Well, let me make you a cup of tea before you go. I can't let you walk away just like that."

She stared up at him. "I can't stay here."

His eyes softened. "You shouldn't leave in such a state."

"And why shouldn't I be in a state?" she demanded, cringing even as the words came out. "I've made a fool of myself. You were just using me!"

She pushed past him and ran down the hallway, clutching the banister as she stumbled down the stairs.

He was close on her heels. At the foot of the stairs, he caught her arm. "Elsie, please don't ... please calm yourself. I am leaving in less than a week. My pa.s.sage is booked, plans are made. I shouldn't have taken advantage like I did. I never should have kissed you by the river." She flinched as he pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry."

She jerked her arm away and, pulling her cloak off the settee, made for the door.

No looking back.

Elsie ran for the bike, clutching the handles and pushing it down the hill into the darkness so he wouldn't see the spectacle of her hitching her skirt and climbing on.

Her head ached and tears blinded her vision. She blinked them away, pedaling wildly until the sobs racked her body. Braking abruptly, she stepped off the bicycle and tipped it onto the gra.s.s before falling to her knees.

The dose was what she needed.

The dark oblivion of the dose.

Kate was sitting in the chair, lost in thought, when the door opened. Tec paused in the doorway, staring at her. She smoothed her skirt and smiled tentatively. His face was curiously expressionless, yet she felt his anger. Literally felt it, as though she stood too close to a raging fire.

"Tec, don't be angry. I know it's dangerous for me to be here."