His body hitting the floor would rouse others soon. I stared, helpless, watching him slither across the carpets toward me. Little footsteps pelted up the stairs, and Poppy appeared on the landing with her dog. She froze, looking, for the first time, truly dismayed.
“What did you do?” I whispered furiously, backing slowly away as the Colonel moaned and pulled himself toward me. I couldn’t stand to look at his bloated face and the white mustache that soaked up his blood like a sponge.
“A measuring error,” Poppy said, gnawing on her knuckle. “Oh dear, not enough poison in the crumpets.”
“We can’t leave him like this,” I replied. But what could I do? Poppy seemed utterly clueless, too, pacing back and forth on the top stair while her hound sniffed at the Colonel’s boot. The door to Lee’s room was just behind me, and though I had closed it up before leaving, he and his uncle would be departing any moment. There was no hiding the wide trail of blood and vomit being spread down the hall.
“Help,” the Colonel croaked again, reaching for me.
“Colonel Mayweather, you naughty fellow, leave Louisa be,” Poppy scolded loudly.
I clapped my hand over my forehead with one hand and pointed toward Lee’s door with the other.
Poppy simply shrugged. Her shout had some sort of effect, at least—the Colonel flipped around again, wheezing and crawling toward the stairs. Somehow he managed to rear up onto his feet. Unsteady, he lumbered toward Poppy, both hands extended toward her as if he might lunge for her neck. Bartholomew danced around him in frantic circles, barking and snapping. Poppy had frozen on the top step, grasping the banister. And I could hardly blame her; it was a gruesome sight, made worse by the labored breaths he kept pulling in, the blood pouring out of his mouth making each one wet and sputtering.
He had nearly reached her and the stairs when I darted forward to try to pull him away by the back of his coat. But the dog acted first, wedging himself between the stairs and Poppy, toppling the dying Colonel and sending him careening down and down, the noise thunderous enough to be heard all through the house. He fell without a word, just bones and flesh crashing and crunching, hitting the second-floor landing with so much momentum that he cracked the railing and kept going, tumbling, cartwheeling until the final bone-rattling impact on the bottom floor parquet.
The noise echoed up through the foyer to where Poppy and I stood silent, staring at the Colonel, who was splayed out and still, the last of the blood in his body seeping out around him in an ever-growing pool.
“Poppy,” I whispered frantically.
“Oh, Louisa,” she whimpered, gathering up her hound and hugging him to her chest. “I swear by all the saints and sinners I didn’t mean for it to happen that way!”
The door behind me opened, just as I knew it would, and I heard the men before I saw them.
“What the devil is going on here?” Bremerton shouted, marching as close to the bloodstain as he dared. He gasped and turned ashen as he caught sight of the body flat and still two floors below.
Poppy ran to us without hesitation, grabbing George Bremerton’s coat and tugging on it. In a blink she was a terrified innocent little girl begging for assistance. “Thank goodness you’re here, sir! The Colonel became ill and I didn’t know what to do. One moment he was sipping his tea, content as you please, and then he made this bad, bad sound and he . . . Oh, it’s too embarrassing to say,” she improvised freely, even conjuring tears for them. “He was sick everywhere and there was blood in it and—and—he slipped in it and fell! It was too, too horrible, sir!”
I backed away slowly but not without making certain Lee locked eyes with me. God knows what he saw there, or what he must have thought when he, too, saw the dead man in the foyer and the wet trail of blood leading from the Colonel’s room to just about where I had been standing.
“He was old and infirm,” I said weakly. “A man his age . . . It might have been anything. Ulcers, convulsions . . .”
“What a ruddy mess,” Bremerton snarled, storming down the stairs but not before pausing on the landing, careful to keep his boots out of the gore. “Just unbelievable. Are you going to stand there or help the man? You two girls, you stay where I can see you. Two dead bodies in this house in as many days is no damned coincidence.”
“Go with him,” I mouthed to Lee when Bremerton had turned his back and begun descending the stairs. Then I nodded carefully toward his uncle’s rooms. This was my chance. He might not be out in the gardens, but two flights of stairs would provide me enough time to search his writing desk for a sample. Lee backed away from me, but not because I had asked. His eyes were wide, suspicious, trained on me as if he was seeing me anew. Whatever he saw frightened him. And of course it would. Who wouldn’t grow doubtful after so much death?
Poppy, Lee, and the dog followed Bremerton down the stairs. I made to do so as well, but turned back at the last moment, shuffling against the wall and out of sight, then doubling back to Bremerton’s rooms. His voice boomed through the house, the sound echoing up in the rafters and the open galleries looking down onto the foyer. I heard the kitchen door open and shut, and then another door.
“Such commotion!” The green door. It was Mr. Morningside, come to see what all the fuss was about. At once, Bremerton exploded, scolding him for the way the house was run, and for my behavior in particular. Well, I could deal with that later. Bartholomew joined in the shouting match, barking feverishly, inconsolable.
I had stopped and faced the banister to listen, but now I whirled around to sneak into Bremerton’s room. Of course I was distracted and in a hurry, and hadn’t stopped to listen to my more immediate surroundings. I turned and came face-to-breathless-face with one of the Residents.
It stood sentry in front of Bremerton’s door, its long, spindly feet hovering just above the floor, its clawed toes barely scratching the carpets. The huge white eyes watched me at a tilt, as if the creature was trying to make out my intentions. Every instinct within me said to flee. The shadow monster was as tall as two of me stacked, and its oddly proportioned body plucked the deepest, most primal cords of fear in my belly. But I had to fight that terror and silently shout it back down.
I approached it slowly, arms spread, hands open in a gesture of surrender. The bruise on my wrist ached blindingly for a moment, worsening as I neared the thing. I would endure. I would ignore the pain.
“I just want to look inside,” I murmured. It tilted its head the other way, tenting its too-long fingers. “It’s for Mr. Morningside. I’m trying to work something out for him.”
The Resident floated to the side, revealing the doorknob. It did not leave or dissipate, but I had enough room at least to access the door. And I tried. Locked. Cursing, I rattled the knob, but the lock was strong.
“Like thissss,” the Resident said, startling me. It crowded in close but I held my ground, watching as one of its slender black fingers lengthened, then hooked and slid with perfect ease into the keyhole. I heard a soft click and the lock released.
It withdrew its hand, holding it closely to the chest. Then it simply watched me, silent as I opened the door as slowly and quietly as I could.
“Thank you,” I whispered. The cold, odd presence still unnerved me, especially knowing it was out in the hallway observing me, but at least it passed out of view as I ducked into the room. The curtains were pulled shut, the room lying in heavy darkness. It smelled oddly sweet and rank, yet it looked as though nobody had stayed in the room at all. All of Bremerton’s things were stacked neatly next to the bed, as if he anticipated leaving at any moment.
The strange stench worsened the farther I moved into the room. He must have told Mrs. Haylam he wanted his room untouched, for someone would have seen to that smell by now. I pinched my nose shut and tiptoed to the desk. There was nothing on top of the desk, just an undisturbed pen and ink. A well-loved Bible was there, too, though when I flipped through it I found no annotations in his hand. The drawers were likewise barren. Nothing. I sighed and
pushed through to the bedroom, swallowing a retch from the worsening smell of rot. Had he left a bit of food to molder and not known it? What could possibly cause such a stench . . .
I knew in the pit of my stomach that it was a bad omen. Only death smelled that way; the sweet yet tainted perfume of decaying flesh.
The bedroom held nothing for me, and I wondered over the wisdom of opening his bags to look inside. He might return at any moment. The argument in the foyer had dwindled, or else they were speaking more quietly and rationally now. I lingered, staring down at his bags and worrying my lower lip. The chance to poke around might not come again. I would do it.
I knelt, nearly losing my composure and the fortitude of my stomach, the reek of rot so overwhelming it made my eyes water. Reaching for one of his bags, I stopped, trembling. Something shiny and black poked out just the smallest bit from under the bed frame. Gently, I leaned closer, holding my nose, finding at last the source of the smell . . .
There was no need to touch it; I could see the dainty black hoof and a hint of pure white wool stained with old blood. It was as if Joanna’s kind voice whispered through my head.
You’ll both like that. I thought you might be gone for good; second wee one this week to wander away. If only we’d found the first.
Here it was. I stood, quickly, so quickly that my head spun from the smell and the shock. What was this wretch doing with a murdered lamb under his bed? I needed to clear my mind. Focus. There had been a lamb painted in blood on the wall behind Lee’s mother. Could this be the connection I needed? I backed away from the bed to escape the smell a little and pace, and when I turned I saw it, plain as anything.
I hadn’t bothered to look at the door after I closed it behind me, but now I had the penmanship sample I needed. Blood pounded in my ears; a shortness of breath that felt like drowning made my chest tight and clenched. Well, this was proof, but I did not want it, not like this, not when it made my flesh prickle with cold.
Shaking, I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper, holding it up to compare against the words written in blackening blood on the door. The slants and loops were the same. A match.
AND THEY OVERCAME HIM BY THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB
I mouthed the words to myself with the paper still held aloft. I mouthed them as the door burst inward and George Bremerton flew at me with pistol cocked and ready.
Chapter Thirty-Six
A scream like ice shattering across a frozen lake ripped through the room. I had never heard anything close to that pitch, so high and terrible it made my mind practically bend. It was the Resident outside the door. It was clawing at the air, at the open door, as if some invisible barrier prevented it from ingress.
But that was the least of my worries. Bremerton was upon me and fast, knocking his bags out of the way and grabbing me by the throat before I could defend myself. He threw me back against the wall next to the window, following up with a heavy fist squeezing around my neck.
“You did it,” I cried. “You killed his mother! Murderer!”
“His mother?” Bremerton snorted and pressed his thumb into the fleshy hollow of my throat. “I have no earthly idea who spawned my nephew and I don’t care. That wench was one of ours until she decided to turn her back on the cause. She was to be made an example of, nothing more.”
“Then why . . . Why are you here?” If I was going to die, I at least wanted to know what had been the cause of all this suffering. All this confusion.
He rolled his eyes and pushed his thumb into my neck until I coughed. “Why, to kill the Devil, girl, what else? I didn’t kill my brother, John, for my health. And now you will answer my question and be quick about it. How?” He shook me, hard, clamping down on my throat until only the lightest trickle of air got through. His eyes and nostrils bulged, spit flying from his lips as he shouted in my face. “Devious little bitch, how did you get in here? You’re one of them. I know you are. So how did you do it?”
I scratched desperately at his hands, trying to pry his fingers loose from my neck.
“Uncle!”
Lee’s voice rang out from the hall, and for a beautiful, shining instant I thought I was saved. But Bremerton blind fired over his shoulder, shooting the door frame. I heard Lee’s cry faintly over the ringing in my ears. A thread of a whining sound persisted. Had I gone deaf? The pistol had sounded, and felt like raw fire exploding in my face.
He cocked the pistol again and turned it on me, shoving the hot barrel against my temple.
“I don’t know,” I wheezed, tears squeezing out of the corners of my eyes. “Please! I don’t know anything.”
“Lies!” he thundered, shaking me again. Through bleary eyes I could see the welts I had made on his hand, blood running under my fingernails. Nothing dislodged him. “You work for the Devil, girl, and no servant of evil is ever so innocent or naive. Tell me how you got in here!”
How . . . How . . . I scrambled for an answer that would mollify him, if such a thing existed.
“I’m not one of them!” I cried.
“Wrong again.” He screwed up his mouth into a hideous pucker and nudged my head with the pistol. “One more try, and then you die.”
“The p-pin,” I whispered. It was the only thing I could think to say. My eyes flicked downward to show him. “Gold . . . pin.”
Bremerton searched the front of my frock and with his gun hand ripped the cravat pin from my dress. His grip on my neck tightened in warning as he fumbled to tuck the pin into his pocket. There was a commotion at the door. I could see the whole of the house gathered there, trying to get in. I watched Lee shove aside first a stricken Mary and then Mr. Morningside himself.
I tried to shake my head at him. No. No. But he could make it through the warding on the door. A boring human boy. A boring human boy trying to save a dying monster like me.
But Bremerton was not taking any chances, and he was no fool. He blind fired again, and this time I felt the bullet hit. I felt it as if it had struck me in my chest, only it had struck Lee’s. The bullet’s discharge left me confounded and deaf for a moment, and I watched in trapped silence as Lee stopped, touched his fingers to his chest just over his heart, and pulled them away shining with blood.
Then he crumpled to the floor, a red flower blossoming across his crisp white shirt.
“You did that!” Bremerton screamed at me. “You made me do that!”
His voice was muted, and so was my own voice as I thrashed against him and shrieked incoherently, landing one blow at last, my knee slamming into his groin. He recoiled and dropped me, bending in half with a throaty cough. But the gun was still firmly in his grasp, and he blocked me completely from the door.
I looked at Lee, at his lifeless body on the floor, and groped blindly for the spoon in my pocket. There was nothing else in reach, and for now it would have to be my one and only weapon. Bremerton recovered, as I knew he would, and lunged at me again, pinning me against the wall. This time I had the desperate wherewithal to throw my arm up and grab his wrist, fighting the trajectory of the pistol before he could aim it at my head. He snapped his thumb against a latch on the pistol’s handle and a short bayonet shot out toward me, missing my throat by a hair. We struggled, both of us growing damp with sweat, and just as I hoped, he paid no mind to the dull spoon in my left hand.
But it was not just a spoon. Not in that moment. It could be anything I wanted.
I closed my eyes and jabbed the spoon against his side and then his neck and he laughed me off, twisting the gun away from me. There was no more time. The pistol would need to be reloaded, and unless I could hit the latch on the handle and retract the bayonet, my moment had come. Vaguely, I heard the others screaming at one another in the hallway, disjointed voices tumbling as they struggled to find some way through the ward. I heard an ax slamming into the wall, but they would never break through in time.
It was not a spoon. It was not a spoon. Sweat ran hot and itchy over my forehead. Time slowed. It was not
a spoon but a knife. Jab jab. It was a knife. Yes, a bayonet like the one slashing toward my neck. I wanted it to be a knife. Jab. Never in all of my years had I wanted anything more than I wanted this spoon to be a knife.
I felt the spoon sink in, far, and I snapped my eyes open to watch the cruel-bladed knife disappear into his throat. A gurgle of surprise bubbled out of his mouth, and his eyes now were wilder, more dangerous. It wasn’t enough. He could still aim the pistol, and aim it he did, lifting it with weakening and shaky fingers and pointing it at my face.
“Mary! Quick, quick, shield them!” I heard Poppy’s tiny scream pierce through the veil of dread.
It happened too quickly to feel the full meaning of it. I saw the bayonet flash toward my face and flinched, watching the blade ricochet off my cheek, the touch of it like the brush of a feather. Then there was only Bremerton’s flummoxed expression and the blood pouring out of his mouth as my stab wounds disabled him at last, and then I felt the air around us deaden and flatten and I braced, knowing I was shielded by Mary but terrified all the same.
I had thought the Resident’s scream horrid, and indeed it was, but this sound was the sky itself tearing in half. Over Bremerton’s shoulder I saw Poppy in the doorway, her mouth wide open, her eyes black as a starless sky, as her unnatural shriek rippled toward us. It did not touch Lee and it did not touch me, but I felt its buffeting wings on my cheeks as George Bremerton’s bleeding face expanded and distorted like a warmed boil and popped. I shut my eyes tight and crumpled back against the wall, blood and sinew and God knows what else showering me in horror.
My legs fell out from under me and I slid bonelessly to the floor, raking gore out of my eyes and wiping at my mouth. I spat and coughed and breathed a full breath after too long. Then the tears came, and I crawled on hands and knees away from George Bremerton’s headless body to the brave young boy shot dead by traitorous blood.