Ripper Page 14

  “We’re dining outside. It’s such a lovely night.”

  I felt perplexed. Late September in London was too cold for an outdoor dinner.

  Then, when I saw where Dr. Bartlett was taking me, I realized that “outside” was not quite an accurate term for the dinner setting. He led me through the drawing room to the two great French doors I had seen Max exit through the last time I was at the house, and then into a sort of magnificent hothouse containing nothing less than an indoor forest. It was bordered by high stone walls covered with ivy. Exotic flowers blossomed from the greenery in orange, pink, and yellow puffs.

  I looked up and saw a glass dome high above us and the clear, starry night sky beyond. The dome must have been at least level with the fourth story of the house. Birds dashed back and forth under the dome. Many were rainforest birds—toucans, parrots, and others that I could not identify. Undoubtedly many had been brought here by Dr. Buck.

  Trees, many of which were tall with thick leaves and not native to England, had been planted throughout the area. Small monkeys dangled and jeered at us from above, and snakes slithered along the ground. A very large fountain stood immediately in front of the forest, and a long table sat just in front of the fountain. A few torches surrounded the table for lighting, but beyond that, past the fountain, the only light in the entire place came from the moonlight above.

  Everyone except for Dr. Bartlett’s housemates and myself were already seated, ready to dine. A giant platter of stuffed roast mutton and bowls of bread and baked beets had already been placed on the table. Dr. Bartlett guided me to an empty seat at the end of the table, near Simon and William and just in front of the fountain. Aside from Dr. Bartlett, Dr. Buck, Reverend Perkins, and Dr. Brown (I had not seen Max Bartlett anywhere), there were three other young physicians whom I did not know so well: Colin, Alistair, and Branwell. William stood quickly when he saw me approach.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, pulling out my chair for me.

  Simon nodded; his sea-glass eyes emitted only a polite gesture of greeting. I briefly wondered if he had noticed me in the same way that William had.

  As I had observed before, in the course of the dinner Dr. Bartlett and his housemates seemed to have no hired servants—not even one. Dr. Bartlett himself, or Dr. Brown, removed dishes throughout the meal; Reverend Perkins and Dr. Buck refilled wine and water glasses. Dr. Buck, I imagined, was the sole gardener of the surrounding forest. He rose at least twice to shoo away curious monkeys.

  The conversation among the guests mostly involved medical-related issues—specifically, the benefits of the profession’s recent merger of practicing medicine and conducting surgery. I listened to this conversation carefully, but when the subject turned to politics, I became bored. I cared about political issues, but I found debating them useless.

  I took a look at the stunning fountain directly beside me. Nearly concealed in patches of dark green mold on the round stone base of the fountain were the engraved words A Posse Ad Esse, followed by the symbol of a chalice.

  My surprise and confusion at this recurring symbol—whether in my visions or in the utility room painting at the hospital—struck me like a thunderbolt. What did it mean? From possibility to actuality. Was there something significant about the inscription?

  My thoughts were interrupted when Dr. Brown and Reverend Perkins brought out dessert: pineapple ice in champagne glasses. I tried to focus on the conversation. Unfortunately, it had become monopolized by Alistair, a Conservative who viewed the poor as “idle,” and Colin, who believed more government money should be given to the parishes.

  The noise of the fountain just behind me and the increasing intensity of the conversation at the other end of the table isolated William, Simon, and me at our end.

  “Ridiculous,” William muttered. “More money will not fix anything.”

  Simon disagreed quickly. “We spend so much money on wars, on these brutal battles around the world, but we let England’s poor fall by the wayside.”

  “I agree with you, Simon. But you think too highly of people. You think that the poor, just because they are poor, are good. Frankly, the East End riot I witnessed last week was a demonstration of bloodlust and ignorance.”

  Simon was not finished. “I find the wealthy disgusting, too. I am from a wealthy family. We accumulated our fortunes only a few decades ago—through the slave trade.”

  He took a drink of wine as a bit, just a bit, of pink colored his otherwise white face. “Sometimes I feel as if my very life is atonement for their sins.”

  William smirked at his ancestral guilt. “You place too much blame upon yourself. I prefer to help people when I can, but otherwise, I find nearly all people, of all classes, disgusting.”

  “You’re a cynic. You lead a small life.”

  William’s face flushed at Simon’s comment.

  I felt surprised that Simon had actually pushed the matter. I realized, at that moment, that although elusive and cool, Simon had all of William’s intensity. But while William fought with fire, Simon fought with ice.

  “William, it is exactly your cavalier attitude that maintains the ongoing problems that confront us daily in Whitechapel,” Simon continued.

  William responded angrily. “And you, dear Simon, are doing everything you can to fix these massive problems during your nighttime surgeries at the hospital, are you not?”

  I stared hard at William. “What are you … ?”

  “Inappropriate, William,” Simon said. His voice might have smashed porcelain.

  I thought of that night at the hospital, when I had walked in on Simon and Dr. Bartlett after they had performed a surgery. No one else at the table was paying attention to us, so I asked, quietly, “What kind of nighttime surgeries?”

  Simon kept his angry eyes on William. “Often, many of our second-floor patients have been brought in suffering from crude, unsafe abortions. Dr. Bartlett has, for many years, been working to better and more effectively provide safe abortions for women. This is, of course, illegal, but I have taken care of infants afflicted by their mother’s diseases—syphilis, gonorrhea. Both Reverend Perkins and I have found dead, abandoned infants on the steps of his parish church in the middle of winter. So, yes, I believe that it’s morally necessary for me as a physician to know how to perform the procedure safely.”

  William snorted.

  “Have you performed abortions?” I asked him.

  William seemed taken aback. “On occasion, and only when necessary. I have performed them on some of Christina’s friends. But I certainly do not need to be tutored in the matter.”

  None of us said a word for a few minutes. I knew that I was supposed to be shocked by what I had heard from Simon, but I wasn’t. I saw the moral complications of the matter as Simon described them.

  Suddenly, at that moment, someone removed the headband from my hair. Rough hands, pungent with the scent of Oriental cigar, covered my eyes.

  “Who has snatched your lovely headband? Is it a monkey perhaps? One that likes sparkly things? Lovely, sparkly things.”

  Max.

  “Cut it out, Max,” William said.

  The hands lifted from my eyes, but the headband had disappeared.

  “Give it back,” Simon said, wearied.

  “Or what?” Max said gruffly. “Will you and Dr. Siddal duel me for it?”

  “Just give it back.” William took a sip of water. He sighed. I knew his thoughts were still involved in the argument he had just had with Simon.

  “No.”

  It was an invitation.

  For me.

  The torches had burned down, and the clearing had become darker than it was when dinner began. Most of the party had started meandering back into the house, although Dr. Buck was leading Alistair and Colin toward some of the trees near the front of the area
. He seemed swollen with pride over his hothouse collection.

  Max locked eyes with me, turned, and walked back into the forest, disappearing into the darkness.

  “Abbie,” William said quietly. I could tell by his expression that he thought very little of Max Bartlett.

  “He’ll get tired of the game in a bit and toss it back to you, Abbie,” Simon said.

  “Funny thing about games,” I said, rising from my chair. “I usually win.”

  William shrugged and casually helped himself to another piece of bread.

  I followed Max, alone. I told myself that I needed to retrieve the headband, but once inside the trees, I admitted to myself that I found him alluring.

  Everything in the forest was even darker than in the clearing. The fountain sprayed behind me, and the monkeys screeched from treetops. Narrow trails in the dirt wove in various directions around the thick trunks. Although the whole place was enclosed, I began to panic a little, feeling a bit of the same fear that I would have felt if I had truly been lost in a forest at night. Even the stars above the glass dome did not seem to be separated from me by glass.

  “Max?” I could barely hear my voice amidst the monkey cries.

  I felt a thick leaf or shrub brush against the back of my neck.

  I whipped around.

  Nothing.

  Arabella.

  I thought I had heard my name, but from where, I could not tell. I decided to go right, and plunged down a trail into a thick plot of trees. I then took a narrow trail left.

  The place was enormous, larger than I had first imagined. I speculated that I must be near the back wall, but no wall came into my sight.

  Something large and furry landed on my shoulder. I shrieked just as the monkey leapt off, and it was then that I felt propelled through the darkness until my back was pressed up against a large tree trunk.

  “Abbie.” The whisper came inches from my face, and I saw Max in the darkness, shirtless. His chest and shoulders were muscled, glistening in the muggy hothouse. There was something feral, uninhibited about him in that moment.

  My panic dissipated into intoxicating pleasure; he was close enough to kiss. I swallowed as I fought against all of my conflicted feelings: desire, fear, a peculiar curiosity.

  Without a word, he moved even closer, and, stroking some loose hair away from my forehead, he placed the headband back into place. With the movement, a dark place on his upper right chest, which I had thought was a shadow, became clear in a spot of moonlight.

  I gasped. It was a tattoo of the chalice, with the words A Posse Ad Esse across it.

  This was why he had brought me back here. To show me this. Why?

  My throat felt parched and dry, and I could barely hear myself as I asked, “What is it?”

  He didn’t answer, but smiled widely, and his green eyes flicked and glimmered in the darkness. As he leaned closer to me, I felt the warmth of his chest through my bodice. I trembled as he brushed his lips, feather-light, against my cheek, along my jawline toward my left ear. My unanswered question roared inside me and, vaguely, I felt as if I should push him away, but I did not. I was too incapacitated by desire.

  Then he whispered, “Goodbye, dollygirl.”

  Horror suddenly overtook me, and I staggered. He flashed a wide, satisfied smile and disappeared into the forest.

  I sucked in air; my chest heaved. Dizzied, lightheaded, I clutched the tree behind me. I vividly remembered the young pickpocket’s changed expression after giving me my brooch back, and the cheeky “dollygirl” comment he had made before running away. Max’s use of the same phrase terrified me now, for reasons that I didn’t fully understand.

  What did he want me to know?

  Who was he?

  Simon, William, and Branwell found me just as I had regained my composure. I steadied my breathing, but still felt my face burn.

  “All is well,” I said casually, adjusting my headband a bit.

  There was an awkward pause before Dr. Buck stepped out from behind a tree, holding one of the torches from the dinner table.

  “Dr. Buck is about to show us one of his most remarkable collections,” Simon said, taking my arm.

  Dr. Buck adjusted his spectacles and held out the torch. “Do please let me go first. This place can be a bit of a maze at night.”

  He stepped ahead of us onto the path.

  “Miss Sharp, I think you might find this interesting. It is a private exhibit. As I have told the others, you must never discuss it with anyone. I only show it to my dearest friends. If you betray me, it might”—he waved one hand in the air like a magician while he pushed a thick branch out of my way with his other hand—“disappear.”

  My curiosity mounted.

  “Watch the pond.” Simon guided me around a small pool of water as we turned a sharp corner. The pond was only about six feet wide. I saw silver fish flash under the water’s surface.

  A strange dee-doo, dee-doo sounded from nearby. It was high pitched and jarring.

  Dr. Buck mounted the torch on a nearby iron pole. “Behold: my prize pet.”

  My heart rose to my throat. Inside a small fenced enclosure was a bird, about three feet tall with a thick, short, curved bill. It sported some of the loveliest plumes I had ever seen. I gasped; it was as if an illustration from a beloved book of my childhood had come alive before me.

  “Is it really?” William asked.

  “Unbelievable.” Branwell stepped closer and reached out to touch the bird’s head.

  Quoting the very book that was on my mind, Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland, Simon recited: “ ‘There was a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures.’ ”

  “Yes,” Dr. Buck said in a low voice. “It is a dodo bird.”

  “But these birds have been extinct for more than a century,” I said.

  “Yet here is one before you, alive and well,” Dr. Buck replied.

  “How and where did you find him?” William asked.

  Dr. Buck smiled. For an achieved naturalist, he looked impish, cryptic in the torchlight. “Oh, I’ve had him for a few years. Found him in the native environment where he supposedly disappeared, the island of Mauritius in the Indian Ocean.”

  “Is he the only one?” Simon asked.

  Dr. Buck seemed determined to remain mysterious. “For now. But trust me, when he dies, he will not be the last.”

  None of us understood his meaning, but I think we all knew that he would not divulge any more information that night.

  I still had another question as I stared at the magnificent bird, which strutted about uttering low coos and dee-doos. “Might I see him again?”

  “Oh yes, any of you are free to see him anytime. A small handful of people in London do know of his existence. But he is not yet ready to be exhibited to the scientific community. He must stay here now, under the cover of my forest.”

  Dr. Buck’s mouth creased open in a smile as he dropped a pile of dried pumpkin seeds into the palm of my hand. The dodo stopped strutting and its black marble eyes rolled in my direction. With gentle stabbing motions, it ate the seeds from my hand.

  I felt overwhelmed with emotion as I fed the dodo. It was a magnificent impossibility.

  “What do you know of Max? Besides the fact that he’s Dr. Bartlett’s nephew,” I asked Simon, nonchalantly, as we rode back to Kensington in his carriage that night.

  In the darkness, his eyes met mine. He was curious, but I knew that he, unlike William, would not ask any prying questions.

  “Honestly, very little. I think he travels frequently, along with Dr. Bartlett and the others. But often he comes in and out at Dr. Bartlett’s gatherings. He’s elusive. A bit odd.”

  I settled back in my seat and tried to process what had happened betwe
en myself and Max in the hothouse. The chalice symbol, my visions, Max’s whisper in my ear … even the existence of the dodo bird. I knew there were connections I needed to make, connections that my mind could not yet comprehend.

  Sixteen

  Arabella? Arabella, are you listening to me?”

  At breakfast the next morning, I was so preoccupied with the events of Dr. Bartlett’s dinner party that I had stopped listening to Grandmother.

  “Yes, I’m sorry.” I took a sip of hot tea and refocused. In spite of all that was on my mind, I did not want to be rude.

  “I was saying that I am going to have the walls on the first floor repainted and new wallpaper added in the parlor and this room. I’m also having some renovations done on the second floor.”

  “Why? Everything looks fine.” I surveyed the walls—all the paint and wallpaper seemed immaculate as usual.

  “Why?” Grandmother looked at me as if I were a half-wit. “Because they look terrible.”

  “All right.” I shrugged a bit.

  “I am telling you all this because the work is going to be so extensive that we will have to be out of the house for a few weeks. The noise, the paint and glue odors, will not be healthy for me, you, or Jupe. Lady Violet has generously allowed us to stay with her during that time”

  I did not feel very happy about this, and Grandmother caught my scowl.

  “This living arrangement will only be for a short time. Mariah will be there.”

  I perked up a bit at this. With great effort, I resumed talking about the renovations.

  Grandmother never brought up anything I did in Whitechapel anymore. If she did not outright regret allowing me to work with Dr. Bartlett, I think that my “moral education” had not had the effect she desired. Rather than increasing my gratitude for the life of leisure she had provided for me, I had become preoccupied with my work at the hospital. Also, although she had said very little about it, I knew that my acquaintances bothered her, particularly the friend who was a Rossetti relation. This, in her eyes, was a reckless act that might have devastating ramifications on her social network. All these concerns had become etched upon her face day by day—her worry about me, her worry for herself, and her worries regarding her social position in a fickle world. In the morning light of the dining room, I saw all of these worries in the furrows between her brows.