Boneseeker Read online

  “Jim, what happened to your face?”

  The young man’s right eye is a shiny bull’s-eye of yellow and purple and black.

  “Never mind that. Our negotiations?”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  He sidles closer and I smell the rum. “Just a kiss, Miss Arabella. One for each secret. I swears they be worth it.”

  Please, Jim. Be a man of your word. I do not wish to hurt you. “Alright. A kiss only.”

  He leans in gently placing his lips to mine—they are hard and urgent and I peck back and step back.

  “Firstly?”

  “I thought you might like to know my uncle’s been spending a fair amount of time here. This here’s his handiwork.” He puts a careful finger to the shiner. “I think he’s going to get my Da in trouble. He’s living here under an assumed name.”

  My heart goes apoplectic and I fight my breath. “And the name is?”

  “Styler? Stickler?”

  “Stygian?”

  He snaps his fingers. “Yes, that’s it. Give the lady a coin.”

  My mind whirls. I was correct. About everything. He is a not only a would-be rapist ... but a murderer.

  I swallow, thinking of L’uomo Deliquente. About how many men and women live up to his stringent requirements.

  Four dead scientists.

  He may well be a mass-murderer. But I do not have enough proof.

  “He was going on, trying to get me Da to join some society. The Brotherhood of the Revolution, he called it. My Da refused and they argued. My Da kicked him out, threatened him not to return. But I know my uncle. I. I’m afraid for me Da.”

  I nod. “I will do whatever I can to help, Jim. What is the second item?”

  He steps closer. I fight the urge to tap my toe. His kiss is hard, wanting, and his lips begin to open.

  I step back again, every muscle poised for fight or flight.

  “Jim! What is it?”

  He shoves an envelope into my hand. I open it, trying to keep my hands steady.

  I upend it, and two small bones trickle into my palm. So small, I think of mustard seeds. Little bits of fascia or muscle still cling to them.

  My scalp tingles. “Where did you get these?”

  Jim’s face is alabaster. “It was at the bottom of the vat. I grabbed it before anyone else saw.”

  I step backwards, feeling behind me for the door handle. “Thank you. This is most helpful. As soon as I have any information, I will be in touch.” I turn to go but whisper through the crack in the door, “Jim, take care with your uncle.”

  He nods, already heading for the other door.

  I walk swiftly, heading towards my hotel.

  I twirl the bone over and over in my fingertips.

  The sesamoid bone is unique to humans. It acts as a ball-bearing in the toe. I shiver so hard my teeth rattle.

  Another of the lost four most definitely perished in that vat. And this tiny, tiny bone is my proof.

  I reach the hotel lobby, and stare at the envelope, undecided. I glance around me, but no one notices I’m even there. Piano music filters out of the bar.

  I scribble on the front of it,

  Henry Watson c/o Abner Farms and hand it to the clerk to post.

  Chapter Twenty

  Monogamous Mammals

  Locomotive, enroute to the Hudson

  Arabella

  I bite my lip, and wince. It’s still bruised from the music hall. My mind replays my interaction with Dr. Earnest and the police after the attack in my cottage. I close my eyes, letting the clack-clack, clack-clack of the train on the tracks lull my frantic thoughts.

  “You didn’t recognize the attacker, Miss Holmes?” the chief inspector is not buying my story.

  I shake my head. “No. It was as I have recounted it to you. He wore a mask.”

  His eyebrows rise. Earnest steps out of the room as Montgomery arrives.

  Inspector Giamatti lowers his voice, “Miss Holmes. I am dispatching a locksmith. I will be sure you, and only you, are delivered a key. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Inspector.”

  He nods, tucking away his pad. “Contact me when you return from the dig. I will assign an officer to watch over you. Do not argue, Arabella.”

  He turns and opens the door. I smile at him as he tips his hat to Earnest on the way out.

  Earnest’s watery eyes are pinched with worry. “Please, Arabella. You should stay and rest. I will tell Dr. Watson—”

  “I beg of you, do not tell Dr. Watson anything. He will immediately wire my father. Which I will do. I will tell him myself.”

  Earnest’s eyebrows rise. “If I grant you leave to return to the dig, you promise me, you will inform your father?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  I didn’t say when…

  I sigh. I will wire him. And for the first time, I want him here. I am beginning, for the first time, to feel I am in over my head.

  I must finish the dig. We’re very close, I can sense it.

  Then I will decide what to do with the rest of my life. A niggling worry squirms in my gut; will Stygian’s obsession with me bring an end to my position? What if they do not believe me when I tell of his attack?

  Surely, Stygian isn’t fool enough to try again at the dig, in a houseful of staff?

  The thought of leaving The Mutter brings tears to my eyes. It’s the only place I’ve ever fit. Felt at complete liberty to be myself.

  I open my eyes again and try to take an interest in the beautiful fall scenery whizzing past the train window. I want to be back at the ship, not stuck here with my thoughts.

  I’m heartsick. Like my soul’s infected with a dark, marrow-rotting depression. I picture a yellow putrefaction wrapping around my heart.

  This, this is why I fear love.

  My foot taps. My skin crawls. I want to rip off my dress. My flesh feels as if it’s been stretched on the rack; every poke and rub of the fabric is like a million, tiny pinpricks.

  John’s voice pops into my head. It’s anxiety, Arabella.

  I sigh and detest the tremble in my lips.

  He couldn’t of…Henry is mischievous, bold and daring. Sometimes sarcastic, sometimes bull-headed. But never cruel. Never disloyal.

  The angelic half of my heart plucks its heartstrings in reassurance; the other plays devil’s advocate, whispering, ‘There’s always a first time’.

  My eyes sting as the tears threaten to spill over. For years my eyes were as dry as a desert and now with Henry’s reappearance they are as wet as the mighty Hudson.

  My mind replays Henry’s contorted face as I stomped off, “How could you bloody believe her? Do you hear nothing I say to you, woman?”

  A man across the aisle shoots me the fifth smile this hour. I’ve counted. I try to smile back, but I only manage a miscarriage of a smirk.

  I haven’t seen Henry since the park, John since the opera fiasco. John wired he would pick me up at the station. I hope and fear that Henry will be with him.

  The train mercifully grinds to a halt. I feel I’ve been on its rails two lifetimes. I grab my bag, hurrying out the door.

  I stand on the platform and squint through the steam, searching the crowd. I see John’s bowler hat, and his grim expression beneath it.

  My heart falls. I truly expected Henry to be with him.

  “I have lost him,” I whisper.

  My chest contracts as if strangled and I’m wheezing like I have consumption as I weave my way across the platform toward him.

  John takes my hand and squeezes it bracingly as he leads me to the driver. His eyes, so normally bright are dull with worry.

  He opens the door to the carriage without a word.

  I sit facing him, but he turns to the coachmen. “Drive on.”

  He finally meets my gaze. His face is ashen.

  “Where’s Henry?”

  He taps his cane.

&n
bsp; “John? Where is Henry?”

  “He insisted on driving. The museum just purchased an automobile, and he assured me—he wanted no company, and that his mind would be righted once he arrived in Tarrytown.”

  “When was he to arrive?”

  “This morning. I’m sure it’s nothing. No reason to panic.” He stares out at the receding city. “Yet.”

  My mind whirrs.

  D=RT

  Distance equals rate times time.

  Distance from Philadelphia to Tarrytown approximately 121 miles.

  Maximum speed of the Model T=45 miles per hour.

  “He should’ve arrived in approximately two and one half hours of departing Philadelphia.”

  “Yes, I am aware. Think of the human factor, dear. Perhaps he was still upset, taking his time. Though he could’ve sent word.”

  I am struck mute. I cannot speak or I will scream or cry or possibly strike John. A man I so dearly love.

  I sit on my hands, staring out the window. Every ten seconds or so he glances my way, but doesn’t speak till the port comes into view.

  His hand touches my knee and my head snaps toward him.

  His face is flushed and he nods. “Honestly. I don’t know how I imagined Henry with Priscilla. She was lying, dove. Her lover showed up—bursting into the meeting. Henry’s position is once again secure. I will join you shortly my dear. I have a few issues to sort in town before we cast off.”

  I murmur a hurried, “Thank you,” and rush out of the carriage, running flat-out toward the river, ignoring the condemnatory stares of every proper lady I pass.

  The heat of the Indian summer breaks a sweat on my brow. I spy a crewman I recognize and bolt to his side.

  He tips his hat. “Miss Holmes. What’s all the bluster?”

  My hand clutches my chest and I feel the burning stitch in my side. “Mr. Watson, have you seen him?”

  He removes his hat to scratch his bald head. “Yes. He arrived an hour ago. Said something about taking a swim.”

  A woman’s scream ices my blood.

  “Momma! Momma help me!”

  A small girl, too far from shore, treads water with a look of terror set upon her chalky face. “There’s something out here!”

  I rush from the boat deck, down to the shore, bolting pell-mell for the mother.

  The woman paces on the gingham blanket, wringing her hands about the child’s dress. “Somebody help her. I don’t swim.”

  A blood-curdling shriek erupts from the water.

  I squint and shake my head, disbelieving.

  A white hand floats within inches of the girl’s circling, treading arms.

  The girl’s eyes widen and she panics, shrieking as she splashes water as she tries to distance herself from the hand.

  Her face dips below the waterline and a gurgling, choking sound bursts forth each time she bobs up.

  Sailors now swarm the shore and out of the corner of my eye, I spy a dingy being lowered into the water.

  Is it Henry? Oh my merciful father, please do not let it be Henry.

  I pray. I pray to a God whose existence I have questioned, promising life and limb. Just spare him.

  A lump rises in my throat as I think of his deep, booming laugh and that devilish, taunting smile.

  Take me. Just spare Henry.

  I dive into the water, cutting through the shallows as fast as I can.

  The illusion of the world spinning too fast overwhelms me. Screaming, shouting, and gurgling hit my ears in offset tones and with each breath between the strokes I see the bobbing white hand on the water’s surface.

  As if it beckons me to come join its watery grave.

  A horrible image of Henry, corpse-white, and tangled in the river-grass pumps my heart to bursting.

  I swim faster.

  Six feet. Four feet. Two feet.

  The girl’s pigtails disappear and do not resurface. I dive—pushing through the dark water, groping in desperation for her.

  My hands find purchase on her dress and around her torso—and I feel…

  I scream underwater and feel the choke of the water overcome my windpipe.

  Other hands grip alongside mine.

  I grip the girl’s dress and drag her, battling frantically upward, stroking toward the mottled light of the surface.

  I break through, gasping, choking and haul her head to the surface. She barks a loud, wet cough, then vomits a tiny spray, and mercifully begins to cry.

  I hear the men in the boat approaching.

  A spray of water shoots skyward as a head pops to the surface.

  The head. I imagine Henry’s head, separated from his body.

  I cannot look.

  I recoil and throw my arm across the girl’s chest, hurriedly backstroking toward shore.

  “Bella. Bella wait.”

  I turn my head, feeling time slow.

  My eyes widen and the emotive wall in my mind crumbles to bits and I choke, “Henry. Oh dear merciful heaven, Henry.”

  He strokes toward me awkwardly, dragging what seems to be a very long snorkel.

  The dingy sweeps alongside me.

  “Miss Holmes, hand her ‘ere!”

  I ease the girl to its side and in one fell swoop she’s aboard, wrapped in heavy blankets. On the shore, the mother goes to her knees.

  He gestures to the snorkel. “I saw the hand. Was trying to get it.”

  Henry swims to me and I shove the snorkel out of the way as I clasp his face in my hands and kiss his eyes, his chin, his nose. And his lips. Laughter and catcalls erupt from the boat above, but I care not.

  His fingers slide into my hair, balling into fists as he kisses me harder.

  The captain breaks in with half a laugh.

  “That’s enough now. You’ll both be catching the death in there.”

  Henry’s lips leave mine and he pulls me to him, with a quick whisper in my ear, “I am forgiven? You believe me?”

  I nod and meet his eyes. “I am so stupid. A stupid, daft, arrogant girl. Whose heart really is algor mortis.”

  He shakes his head. “I didn’t mean that. I…just wanted to make you suffer…as I was.”

  “Henry, what’s in the water?”

  He calls up to the captain, who is already departing for shore, “We need something to carry the hand.”

  I see it before I am close enough to touch it, a glint of sunlight playing off its surface.

  A silver ring…emblazoned with an R.

  ###

  Next morn

  Henry

  Arabella’s tiny form shakes despite the layers of coverlets. She collapsed the moment we made it to shore. Father reassures me it is mere exhaustion from the chaos of the past few days.

  Who could blame her?

  An attack on her life, my supposed infidelity and then the body in the river? Which she assumed to be mine?

  I resist the urge to hold her and force myself to stay put beside her bed, my vigil for the past few hours. I snap open my watch; father will be re-appearing at any moment, making his rounds to check on her.

  I fold my hands, struggling and detesting the feeling of helplessness. A newspaper lies on the table, along with my untouched breakfast of eggs.

  The headline reads, ‘Body found in Hudson.’

  ‘A decaying corpse was found in the Hudson yesterday under a dubious set of circumstances.

  The corpse’s foot, chained to a cement block, had kept the body submerged for an indeterminate amount of time.

  It is currently undergoing autopsy before the name of the deceased will be released.’

  Our names have mercifully been left out due to the very helpful chief inspector.

  Arabella stirs and I drop the paper.

  I sit at her side and slide her cold hand into mine.

  Her eyes flutter open. “Henry?”

  “I’m here love, it’s over. We’re all safe.”

&nbs
p; She quickly sits; her eyes wide and wild.

  “The body? Do we know which of the four it was?”

  “It was badly decomposed, but from the size of the skeleton, we believe it to be Marston.”

  “And John, where is he? Why isn’t he here?”

  “The old sawbones is fine, too. He should be along any moment. He’s been more surly than usual. I expect his anxiety is getting the better of him. He’s off plotting with the chief inspector.”

  Arabella stares plainly at my face. There’s something different in her eyes, as if a barrier has lifted.

  Her face contracts; fear, relief, joy and then desire flit so fast I can scarcely keep up. Her bottom lip trembles as she fights for control, but no tears come.

  She pulls me close, touching her lips to mine.

  I pull back, “Please, you’ve been through such a shock. I don’t even know if you’re well—”

  Her lips devour mine, and I surrender.

  Arabella’s leg lifts to wrap around my waist, and I slide my shaking hand up her thigh. My fingertips trail upward, savoring the smoothness of her skin.

  I’ve waited so long to touch her.

  My breath is rattling in and out, hard and fast, my heart pounding in my ears.

  My hands stroke higher onto her thigh. And then, in my fervor, ram into…something very hard.

  Alarm kills my lust. I break the kiss.

  “What is this?”

  I don’t want to ask, to break this tentative breech in her protective bubble. But it feels like—

  “A knife-holder? What else Henry? You really think I would leave myself unprotected?”

  I silence her by covering her mouth with mine. Her lips part, opening wider for my entry.

  A shudder courses down my back. I caress her lips, the top, the bottom; years of suppressed want pour out, saturating every touch.

  My tongue explores her mouth, and she gives a quiet whimper.

  Not a fearful sound. A sound releasing the glut of raw emotion and passion—subdued and tethered for far too long.

  Her breath rises. Her panting matches my own, her hand on my chest, rising and falling with the sharp intakes of my breath.

  She breaks the kiss. I trail down her neck, her collarbone.