Of Monsters and Madness by Jessica Verday
I lift the glass lid to examine the books more closely. What I find inside the first one is a mystery. Crazed drawings fill the pages, along with symbols and words that I don’t understand.
Returning the book to its shelf, I pick a different volume. This one is filled with words that I do understand. Words of science. But as I read further, my stomach turns. The text speaks of unnatural things and terrible experiments on animals. Things that no one with a conscience should ever attempt to dabble in. The implications are monstrous.
A creaking sound draws my attention away from the book, and I glance up. I’m aligned perfectly with the edges of the bookcases in the middle of the floor, and I have a clear view of the door. It’s wide open.
I lift my candle. A figure stands there. The flame is shaking, and I realize my hand is shaking, too. “Who’s there? Please announce yourself.”
The figure does not answer but instead comes slowly toward me. His gait is strange, and a tapping sound accompanies every step he takes. For a moment, I think it might be Father. But then I realize it cannot be him. Father has never used a cane in front of me.
When he moves out of the shadows, I see it’s a young man. “Allan?” I call out. “Is that you?”
He takes another step, and immediately I realize my mistake. Brown hair hangs loose, grazing his jaw-line, and his face is deeply lined like Father’s. His jaw is shadowed with the early stages of a beard. Although his eyes are dark, there’s something sharp and cold about them. I wonder if I was wrong about his age.
“Who are you? Why do you roam this house at night?”
One side of his mouth lifts into a smile. “I work here. Who are you?”
“My name is Annabel.”
“Ahhhh, yes. The inestimable Annabel Lee. I’ve heard all about you.”
He stares at me, and something in his tone makes me touch my scarf, making sure that it’s still wrapped securely around my neck.
“I’m Edgar. Your father’s assistant.”
“My father’s assistant is named Allan. You look remarkably like him.”
“He has two assistants, and we are cousins. Thus the resemblance. But I’m delighted to hear that you think I’m remarkable.”
“That’s not what I—”
Suddenly, Edgar notices the book in my hands. “What strange taste in literature you have, Annabel.”
I glance down and see the open page. The perverse drawings are in full view, and I quickly close the book. “Thi—this is not mine.” Realizing that it’s highly improper to be alone with a man while wearing my nightclothes, I return the book to the case and pull the edges of my dressing gown more tightly around me. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go. It’s late.”
He suddenly reaches for my arm and pulls me toward him. I’m taken aback, and don’t resist. He turns my hand so that my palm is facing up. There’s a faint stain on the inner part of my wrist from where the cherry juice splashed earlier, and he traces it with his thumb. His touch is warm.
“Sleep well, Annabel,” he says, pressing down slightly.
The sensation makes me light-headed.
With fear, I tell myself. You are light-headed with fear because he is accosting you.
He abruptly lets go of my hand and turns on his heel to leave. Something falls from his pocket as he walks away, but he does not notice. I wait until the library door has closed completely behind him and then wait a moment longer to make sure he will not return, before I look to see what it is he’s dropped.
It’s a crumpled piece of waxed paper.
Eight
I sleep poorly that night, and my lessons with Mrs. Tusk do not go well the next morning. Though I try to concentrate on what she’s saying, my mind is preoccupied. With Father not seeming to have known, or care in the slightest, where I have been for most of my life, to murderers roaming free and strange happenings in the dark, Philadelphia has not been what I expected.
Mrs. Tusk raps loudly on the arm of the chair she’s standing next to when she notices my attention has wandered again. “If you are not going to concentrate on the lesson at hand, then we shall adjourn for the day. There are plenty of other students who would not be so ungrateful for my time.”
I lower my eyes. “Forgive me. I had trouble sleeping last night.”
She just sniffs and glances away. Picking up where she left off, she continues reading and I force myself to concentrate on every word she says. We go on for several hours, until the lunch hour is upon us. She dismisses me with a curt “Let us hope we have a more productive afternoon session.”
When I’ve finished my meal, I hurry back so that I may apologize to Mrs. Tusk for letting my attention wander. But she’s not in the dining room as I expected she would be, so I return to the sitting room to wait for her there. As soon as I hear footsteps, I rise to greet her.
I pause when I realize she’s speaking with someone else outside the room.
“You were to meet with me yesterday at three o’clock, Markus. Why were you not available?” Her voice sounds angry. “We have an urgent matter to discuss. It’s time for you to deliver what you’ve promised. Williams and I are waiting.”
“I told you, I don’t have time for this right now,” Father says.
“When will you have the time? We had an arrangement.”
“If we had an arrangement, then why is it your price has changed?”
“I no longer have a husband, and I must find a way to survive. It’s only fair. What you’ve done isn’t natural. Would you risk your secret getting out?”
Her voice is low, and I am conflicted. I should not be listening to their private conversation. Yet my curiosity is overwhelming. What has Father done?
I hear the thump of Father taking a heavy step. “You should be careful whom you threaten, Mrs. Tusk. You might regret it.” He takes another step and his voice sounds farther away. “In fact, now you shall receive nothing.”
“Unacceptable. It is you who will regret this. You owe me!”
At the sharp rise in her tone, I quickly return to my seat. Their conversation is clearly over and I do not wish to be discovered. Reaching for the French primer we were studying before lunch, I bury myself within the pages. Several minutes pass before Mrs. Tusk sweeps back into the sitting room. Her cheeks are flushed, and she smooths a strand of loose hair into place.
She picks up her book again and, acting as if she had not just come from a clandestine meeting with my father, says calmly, “Let us resume.”
In light of what I’ve just heard, I find it even more difficult to concentrate during my afternoon lessons, and Mrs. Tusk’s attention seems equally distracted. When we are done for the day, I walk with her to the door, but all I can think of is returning to my room. There are so many things I want to write about in my journal.
Moments after she takes her leave, there is a knock at the door. I open it to find Allan standing in the vestibule. The white shirt he wears beneath a black vest contrasts starkly with his dark hair and dark eyes, giving him a wild, rakish look, and I suddenly wish I were wearing something from my new wardrobe instead of the same dress he saw me in when last we met.
“Good afternoon, Miss Lee.”
My throat goes dry, and I cannot find my words. I curtsy to him while I compose myself. “Mr. Poe, how are you?”
He reaches for my hand and holds it for just a second too long. “Better now.”
Not only have my words deserted me, my thoughts have as well. He leans in with a smile. “May I come in?”
“Yes! Please forgive my lack of manners.” I move out of his way and silently berate myself for losing my head.
He steps inside and then tucks my hand in the crook of his arm, pulling me beside him as if we are going for a Sunday stroll. “I’ve been working on something, and I must have your opinion.”
I glance around uncertainly. There is no chaperone within sight. I do not wish for another “incident” to occur. Mrs. Tusk will surely mention it again if she should find out. ??
“Allan,” he reminds me. Then he softly repeats the words that he said in the courtyard. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Surely, he can hear my heart beating in my chest. It is so very loud.
I manage a brief nod, and he clears his throat. “I have no words, alas! to tell, the loveliness of loving well! Nor would I dare attempt to trace, the breathing beauty of a face. Which ev’n to my impassion’d mind, leaves not its memory behind. In spring of life have you ne’er dwelt some object of delight upon, with steadfast eye, till ye have felt, the earth reel—and the vision gone? And I have held to mem’ry’s eye, one object—and but one—until its very form hath pass’d me by, but left its influence with me still.”
“You wrote that?”
“It’s from ‘Tamerlane.’ I thought you might like it.”
“It’s beautiful, Allan. Truly beautiful. You are very talented.”
He stops and turns to look at me. “I was inspired.”
Suddenly flustered, I move to pull my hand away.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he says quietly. Almost desperately. “Please.”
“I’m not afraid. I’m …” Confused. And overwhelmed. And …
Anything but afraid.
A loud laugh comes from the kitchen, drifting through the open dining room doors, and then Allan is the one pulling away. But not before he brushes a quick kiss across the back of my hand. “Forgive me, I must be off. I have an errand to run for your father, and he is waiting.”
I stammer a good-bye and watch as Allan strolls away from me. My whole body is warm, and I press cool palms to my burning cheecks. My stomach is churning, yet I want to go skipping through the halls. I don’t know how to sort through any of these feelings. I’ve never experienced this sort of thing before.
I hope to catch another glimpse of Allan when he returns from his errand for Father, but I do not see him again. Father does not join us for dinner again either.
When the last course has been cleared, I join Maddy for a cup of tea with Cook and Johanna in the kitchen. As the kettle boils, I check Johanna’s bandage.
“Is your finger sore?” The edges of the wound are an angry red color and I worry that infection will set in.
“A bit,” Johanna admits.
“Have you been trying to rest it?”
“She has not,” Cook says indignantly, gathering teacups and saucers. “I’ve told her over an’ over, but she insists on pulling her full weight.”
Johanna blushes and looks away.
“Do you have any stinging nettle in the gardens?” I ask Cook. “With that and some licorice root, I can make a salve that will draw the infection out.”
Cook nods. “We have the nettle, but licorice root we’re out of.”
“I can get more at the market tomorrow,” Maddy volunteers. She brings the tea tray over to the table and we gather around it while she pours. “It won’t be any trouble.”
She hands me a cup, and the warmth is soothing in my hands. “Can I go with you, Maddy? I would love to see what the market looks like here in Philadelphia.”
“Of course you can, miss.”
The conversation ebbs and flows as we discuss herbal remedies and poultice preparations, and it feels very much like being at home again with Mother. I take another sip of tea, and my thoughts turn to Allan again as I look down at my fingers. I don’t want him to see them looking so poorly. “Maddy, do you know remedies that will soften hands?” I say suddenly. “Or something that will make spots from the sun disappear?”
“Rosewater an’ lemon juice. Once in the mornin’ an’ once in the afternoon.”
“Can I find those ingredients at the market?”
“You can. You don’t need that, though, miss. Yer hands are just fine.”
“But Madame LaFleur said—”
“Pshaw, what she said,” Cook interrupts. “She’s just full of herself. Madame High an’ Mighty.”
“I don’t want Allan …” I stop, but his name has already slipped out.
Maddy grins knowingly. “I see how it is, then. It’s fer Master Allan.”
“Did you see he asked about my finger today?” Johanna remarks. “He saw the bandage an’ asked right away.”
“He’s always a gentleman, that one,” Cook replies.
“He’s very different from his cousin, Edgar,” I say. “I’m amazed they are even related.”
The room instantly goes silent. Cook stares intently at her tea as Maddy and Johanna exchange glances. My cheeks start to burn when the silence wears on. Did Edgar tell them that we were alone in the library? Has my reputation been ruined?
“I did not know he would be in the library,” I say. “Truly, I thought I was alone. Please, do not tell Mrs. Tusk.”
Cook gives me a sharp look. “Did he do something to you?” she asks fiercely.
“N-no,” I stutter. They cannot know that he touched my bare wrist, can they?
“When did you meet him in the library, miss?” Maddy asks.
“Last night. I came down for some biscuits and got turned around. I ended up in the library. He came in and introduced himself. I left as soon as I could. Forgive me if I did something wrong. I did not realize—”
“You did nothing wrong, miss,” Maddy says soothingly.
“That’s right.” Cook nods her head. “Just stay away from him, miss. Stay away. He’s a right nasty one.”
“Why? What has he done?”
But the silence returns, and no one will say anything more. My frustration mounts at the overwhelming number of secrets this house seems to hold.
“Miss Annabel was telling me all about Siam,” Maddy says, abruptly changing the topic of conversation. “You would never believe it.”
“What a long journey it must have been, miss,” Johanna replies. “Until the Grandmaster said you were coming here, I did not even know such a place existed.”
Cook nods. “I didn’t know the miss even existed. What a happy surprise it was to find the Master has a daughter.”
I try not to let her words sting, reminded that my father was not the one who wanted me to come to Philadelphia. Instead, I join their excited chatter and tell them more about my homeland. When I find myself growing sleepy, I finally bid them good night.
But I cannot stop wondering what they wouldn’t tell me about Edgar, and why they warned me to stay away from him.
Nine
I expect to have another restless night with so many questions running through my mind, but I sleep well and Maddy wakes me early the next morning so we can go to the market. I’m excited by the thought of finally having the chance to see Philadelphia.
My excitement is further encouraged when Father joins Grand-père and me for breakfast. He is dressed in a freshly pressed suit, and his mood is bright. Even his labored walking does not seem to bother him as much. Grand-père was right; bed rest has done him well.
“Good morning, Annabel,” he says.
“Good morning, Father.” I curtsy, and the smile he gives me makes me feel as if I have just accomplished the greatest feat in the world.
“I see your lessons with Mrs. Tusk are paying off.” He whistles a cheery tune as he goes to the sideboard and begins to serve himself.
I don’t understand the mercurial change in his demeanor, but I find myself wanting to please him further. “They are indeed. She is an excellent teacher.”
“Yes, yes.” He smiles at me again, but he is distracted.
I try to remember what Mrs. Tusk said about polite conversation. Talk about the weather or gardening. “The weather seems to be lovely this morning. Although I do hope the rain holds off while Maddy and I are at the market.”
“Hmmmm? Are those your plans for the day? A trip to the market?”
He carries his plate to the table and I follow with my own, even though all I’ve taken is a small piece of toasted bread. “Cook has need of licorice root.”
“Then you?
Maddy bobs her head and then disappears into the kitchen.
My heart is filled with overwhelming happiness. I would gladly suffer through a thousand lessons with Mrs. Tusk if it continues to please him. “Thank you, Father. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s my duty to provide for my daughter. Of course you should have spending money. How else are you to purchase what you need?”
I feel foolish and look down at my plate. “I … guess I hadn’t given it very much thought.” Mother and I did not have to worry about money in the village. Trades and barters were how we paid our debts.
“These are the things you must learn now that you’re in Philadelphia.” He lifts his fork, but pauses. “While you’re at the market, be sure to stop by the butcher’s shop. They have excellent mincemeat pies.”
“Why don’t you place an order for two pies, Annabel, and then perhaps you and your father can enjoy them during tea this afternoon?” Grand-père suggests.
I smile at him and he gives me a brief wink. “Shall I get one for you too, Grand-père? Will you join us?”
“I’m afraid mincemeat pie is something I can no longer tolerate, my dear. But I’m sure you shall enjoy it. It’s a treat not to be missed.”
“Yes, yes, that sounds fine.” Father stands and looks down at his watch. “Three o’clock it shall be, then.”
I feel as light as a feather as he leaves the dining room. My toast has grown cold, but I’m no longer hungry. For the first time since I left Siam, I’m finally being embraced by the family I came so far to see. “Father and I are going to have tea together!” I say excitedly to Grand-père.
He chuckles. “I told you he was happy to have you here. It’s good to see your enthusiasm return as well.”