Boneseeker (9 page)

Earnest clears his throat. “I will begin. I will admit, when Mr. Holmes wrote, requesting we appoint his daughter to the staff, I was more than a little reluctant. But knowing his reputation as I have the past twenty odd years—I knew he would never let his personal feelings override his judgment.”

My eyes lock with father’s in silent agreement.
Feelings? What feelings?

Father looks away before a smile erupts.

“I have not been disappointed. Her education is impeccable. She is competent in two languages, anatomy and basic physiology.”

“Don’t forget fingerprinting, ballistics and is an expert chemist,” father says, adding an ingratiating smile.

Stygian looks murderous; a vein throbs in his forehead, cutting a path across his pallid skin, reminding me of a blood-trail through snow.

He stands, leaning forward, his long fingers splayed on the tabletop. “I have come to terms with Miss Holmes as a curator. My concern for the acquisition team is obvious. Arabella is female. Our archeological expeditions are often quite dangerous. I need every man to be able to pull his weight—not have to be coddling a woman.”

“Sir, respectfully.” I sit up straight and wait till his black eyes challenge mine.

“Arabella is like no woman I’ve ever met. I’ve known her all my life. I’ve seen her scale trees, swim more proficiently than I, and ride like a champion equestrian. She will not be a burden.”

Stygian’s dark eyebrows bunch. His fingers twitch and I get the distinct impression they’re itching to throttle me.

Capital. Put superior number two against me straight away. Well done.

“Thank you for that glowing testament, Mr. Watson, but I have another concern. Whatever her mind, she is utterly…female. I’m worried her presence will distract the team, or worse, put her in more lascivious dangers.”

You mean, from others, not just you.

Jeremy snickers. I give him a glare.

He shrugs, murmuring, “Sorry. He has a point, Henry. Walking icicle or no, the girl is an eyeful.”

Father raises his hand, but doesn’t wait for permission. “Arabella is quite capable of protecting herself, I assure you. I was involved in planning her education. She is as well rounded as my sons.”

Stygian drops his head. “Enough. Let us vote. Those in favor of letting Miss Holmes join the expedition.”

I raise my hand. Jeremy slowly raises his own, but only after watching mine.

“Opposed?”

My heart pounds and I feel a light sheen of sweat on my forehead. I force my hands not to wipe it.

Earnest raises his hand, avoiding father’s glare.

Stygian smiles triumphantly. “Well, it seems we are at an impasse. I move to stay this loggerhead and reconsider at a future date. She shall not embark on this first expedition—”

Father cuts across him, eyes blazing. “Dr. Earnest? Have you had word from Mr. Holmes in regards to your grant for the museum’s new hothouse?”

Stygian’s face flickers with surprise. “What?”

The portion of Earnest’s face not covered by mutton-side chops turns puce. “Yes, Fredrick. We
are
running low on funds. I petitioned Mr. Holmes about a new hothouse, where we might experiment with exotic breeds of plants, to draw a more genteel clientele into the Mutter.”

Father’s eyes are shrewd. “Yes, and I am sure Mr. Holmes will be even
more
disposed to produce such funds when he finds his one and only daughter was barred from the expedition on the basis of prejudice.”

Earnest sighs and clears his throat, his thick hand rising. “I am sorry Fredrick. I change my vote. The motion passes.”

Stygian’s face is livid-red. “Fine. Three to one.” His eyes shift to father. “If Miss Holmes meets some bitter end, I am very glad you were here to bear witness, Dr. Watson, and I hope you shall convey my opposition to Mr. Holmes.”

Father nods, unruffled. “Of course.”

Stygian storms out of the room, his black cape flung over his arm.

Father shakes everyone’s hands, flashing a genuine smile. “Arabella will be so pleased.”

My stomach tightens
. I
am so pleased.

###

Jacoby Manor

He knocked, again and again, breathing heavily; his exhalations ghosting up and away in the cold air like the specters in the night.

The butler’s eyes narrowed as he opened the door a crack, “It is a most ungodly hour—“ His chastisement died on his lips as his eyes widened in frightened recognition. “Sir, do excuse me—”

The man shoved him aside, striding in the foyer as if the manor were his own.

“Jacoby!” he called up the stairs.

The butler hurried past him, taking the steps two-at-an-undignified-time. “I shall rouse him, sir.”

In mere moments, the portly man waddled down the stairs, white tufts of hair flying as fast as his feet. “Fredrick, what on earth has happened?”

He reached the bottom of the staircase, huffing.

“Miss Holmes has been approved for departure.” He shoved an envelope into Jacoby’s pudgy palm. “Here is what is to be done. Read it. Memorize it. Destroy it.”

He whirled toward the door, his black cape swirling about him like a bat in flight. “I obviously must take charge of her situation, as disappointingly, not a one of you seem to have the stomach for it.”

He stepped out into the night, not bothering to shut the door.

###

Henry’s cottage

Henry

I glance out the window at the dimming light, fading to pink streaks on the horizon.

It’s almost dark, we’re almost late for the fund-raising ball.

I stride to my chest of drawers and whip out a tie.

“Father, I thought we agreed I’d
meet
Priscilla, not pledge my immediate, undying love on first sight.” I rip the black tie off and begin again, eyeing him in the mirror.

One dark eyebrow arches. “Really, Henry? Pray tell, what is not to like? She is utterly gorgeous and well-connected to the museum. She is the perfect prospect.”

“You court her, then.” I wrestle with my tie, roughly slipping the knot up to my neck. I sigh, and spin to face him. “What’re you up to, then? The truth?”

Father’s chest and eyebrows rise simultaneously as he sucks in a breath and then exhales dramatically between his gritted teeth. “You are…”

“Difficult?”

“Yes, but not relevant to this part of the conversation.”

“Brilliant?” I interject.

He half-smiles, as he does when I infuriate him. “Yes, also not relevant. Might I find my own word?”

I turn back to the mirror. “I’m growing old waiting for it.”

“Unsettled. Unfocused. A rogue. Have too many interests—”

“I’m nothing like James, you mean.”

His eyes flare at the mention of my older brother. “I said nothing of the sort, Henry.”

“But you were thinking it.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“And so marrying would cure me of my many shortcomings?” I turn back to him and give my lapels a rough tug to busy my hands. So I don’t poke him in the chest.

“The
right
woman, yes.”

“And Priscilla, is that woman?”

He bends, picking up his hat and cane. “You’ve only just met her, give the girl a bloody chance. Henry—” he stops dead, revelation lighting his features. “You’ve already someone in mind, don’t you?”

I will my hands to stay still.

His eyes immediately snap down. “Your hands are limp as dead fish. This is as much a giveaway as if they were fidgeting.”

“You are impossible.” I give up and permit my fingers free reign and crack my knuckles.

“Likewise.” Father’s lips purse as he considers. Comprehension and horror dawn as his mouth twitches beneath the mustache. He jams his eyes shut, shaking his head once. “Not Arabella? I thought we were past all that.”

They fly open, waiting.

I shrug, and slide my hands over my already slicked hair. I walk towards the door.

Escape. Flee. Freedom.

“For the love of all that’s holy, Henry. That’s almost like being married to Holmes.” He gives a little shudder.

“I daresay you’re one to talk. For years, you chose a life with Holmes over matrimony, so that argument is full of holes. Do as I say, not as I do?”

Father’s face softens, and he lifts a placating hand. “I love Arabella too, you know that. But, be reasonable. She…doesn’t fit into polite society.”

“Neither does Holmes and he’s almost legendary now.”

“She is unruly, headstrong, and will never, ever listen.”

“I know. She fascinates me.”

Both his hands shoot palm-up into the air, and then fly to cover his mouth in a prayer position.

I capitalize on his frustration to make my escape; walking swiftly for the door.

“We are going to be late for the gathering. Don’t want to keep your pet, Priscilla, waiting. Really, father, Violet might be jealous at your obvious attachment.”

“Love is too young to know what conscience is…”

A game from childhood, started by my mother. A perpetual contest between James and me—the most Shakespearean quotes meant the most sweets.

His stare burns a hole in my back. I whirl, and glare back and grind my teeth. I always won.

“Let every eye negotiate
for itself
, and trust no agent.”

Father’s mouth pops open. I shut the door before it closes.

###

Faculty Ball

“Remember your manners, Henry,” Father warns and proceeds to dive into the sea of well-dressed science. Within minutes I hear his warm, resonant laugh and smile to myself. Father doesn’t hold a grudge. Which is precisely why he and Holmes got on so well.

A ball of tension is lodged firmly in my throat, and my stomach clenches spasmodically. Nervous.
She actually makes me nervous.

My eyes scan the room, from one gaggle of women to the next. Priscilla catches my stare, and beckons me over.

“Pardon me,” I say, slipping past a portly scientist, whose name has completely vacated my obsessed brain. I weave through the finery till I finally arrive at Priscilla’s side.

I nod. “Might I have this dance, if you aren’t otherwise engaged?”

“Of course, Henry.” She boldly thrusts her dance card into my hand. “Pencil as many as you like.”

Very few spaces are filed, which is unheard of for a woman of her beauty.

She smiles, and her teeth are impossibly white, her lips a perfect shade of crimson. “And for whom else would I be waiting? I’ve been impatient for your arrival.”

I try to smile, feeling like it’s some odd, warped wince of my lips. I take her smooth hand in mind, twirling her into the fray.

My mind contrasts it. Bella’s hands are so rough. Worn and calloused. I shake my head.
Focus, man
.

“So, Priscilla, do you share your father’s interests in science?”

“Oh, no. I’m afraid not. I do love languages, though. I take after my mother…”

“My father’s told me you speak three languages. And paint, and play the violin. You are quite accomplished.”

The waltz tempo slows, and with it our revolutions. Priscilla spins away, while I keep hold of her hand. She twirls back in to touch my chest, and whispers, “I love children. I so desire a house full of children, Henry. How do you feel about them?”

Her perfume wafts into my nostrils, flowery and light.

I spin her away; my head spinning along with the sight of her. This dance needs to end.

She’s clearly looking to wed.

She presses up against me again.

Or at least, bed?

I’m afraid I’m not available for either.

Something has happened. I have no desire for her. It used to be anything in a skirt could garner any and all of my attention. My mind drifts to the late nights with my lads back home. It no longer seems appealing.

Priscilla shifts, demanding my attention.

She permits no space between us, making sure I feel her every curve. I struggle to ignore the press of her.

I survey the crowd, and irrationally feel as if we are a magnified, glowing spectacle on the dance floor; our words broadcasted through a bull-horn so everyone is privy to our secret conversation.

Her fingers squeeze my shoulder, trying to re-orient me. “I love society—living in the city. I find the country exceedingly dull and uncivilized. What about you—I’ve heard rumors about you Henry, but you’re so quiet I scarcely believe them.”

“Hmm. What rumors?” I stare over the top of her head, still searching the crowd.

“That you are quite the ladies man.”

I drop my eyes, risking a glance.

Priscilla smiles provocatively. “Prove it.”

I swallow
. Time must’ve halted; for this is the longest dance I’ve ever endured.

Irritation prickles.

My eyes finally tick down to regard her sky-blue ones, upturned and unfortunately hopeful. “I’m afraid I love the country. And it’s the nature of my job to get dirty. I am often gone for long periods of time on expeditions. Which would affect the odds of a load of children.”

“It only takes once.” She stares. No trace of a blush. She means business.

She shrugs and smiles when it’s clear I’m not scandalized nor tantalized by her forwardness.

“Oh, the traveling doesn’t bother me. It would just make for sweeter homecomings.”

I hear a bawdy laugh and I wrench my eyes away from her earnest gaze, scanning the dance hall. They flash over the myriad of colors and gowns and faces and finally, I see her. My heartbeat bombards my ribcage. My hands are sweating. While they are in Priscilla’s hands.

This is not normal. Not for me, anyway.

I am dumbstruck. Arabella is so lovely I can scarcely breathe. She stands, hesitating at the top of the stairs, undoubtedly searching the crowd for familiar faces.

My mind races back in time to my childhood and my parent’s parties.

Bella could never, ever tolerate crowds. I would often find her perched in a tree, party-dress and all, or playing fetch with our dogs in the garden.

She was better than Holmes, however, who would beg off each and every social function to which he was invited. If the gathering did not include science, crime or deduction—there was no amount of father’s cajoling that would convince him.