Aether Spirit (13 page)

“He is a barbarian,” the young man said. “Ignore him.”

She wished she could. She knew Gounod and the other professors sent reports on her to Charcot’s second-in-command, who wanted to know what, if anything, broke through the blocks he’d hypnotized into her. They were humoring her delusion. She was there to learn while indulging their need to experiment on her. Whatever it took. She had plans as to what she would do if they refused to allow her to graduate.

“And you’re French?” she asked. Could this young man be an ally? Or was he just like all the others, interested in what was under her skirts, not her hat?

“Yes, from Paris. My name is Martine Herrod.”

Ugh. She turned away with reflexive disappointment and disgust, not wanting to hear what he inevitably had to say, that he’d seen her be hypnotized in Charcot’s theatre.

“I’m sorry, did I say something to offend you?”

Claire put a hand on her stomach to soothe the tightness that emerged whenever someone mentioned Paris. “No, Monsieur Herrod, I am sorry. I assumed something incorrectly.” She tried for a bright smile and feared she only came across as a dim taper, neurotic as expected.

“Please don’t think I’m like the others.” He touched her on the shoulder.

Surprised by his touch, she turned back to him. “What do you mean?”

“They only see a beautiful but delicate experiment, but you are intelligent, no? You know the answers to the questions even though the others talk over you before you can get credit for them.”

Claire’s eyes burned, and she blinked. Someone had noticed. “It’s the chemicals,” she said to explain the water in her eyes. “And I appreciate your kind words. I just hope they’ll realize it and allow me to graduate. I didn’t put all this work in to merely be observed.”

“I will help you.”

Part of her wanted to accept his help, but another part instantly distrusted him. What if he was another one of the Salpêtrière’s spies?

“Why?”

“Because you have an understanding of hysteria no one can match, and it will help you do good work for those who need a softer touch, compassion rather than exhibition.” He gestured to the body in front of them. One of the other students had tried to straighten its neck, and now its—his—head was cocked as though it listened to them. “This young man leaves grief behind him because of a stupid accident. Others his age will be soldiers. Your country has been at war for many years. There is need for someone like you.”

“And what do you want to do?”

His cheeks turned a delicate rose. “I want to help babies into the world.”

She wanted to ask why he blushed, but the professor directed their attention back to the corpse.

“Mister Herrod, you make the first cut. I cannot promise there will be a fetus—that would make for an interesting discovery—but perhaps you will find something else to your liking.”

Claire blinked and came back to the present. Why was she thinking of Martine? “Who did the clothing belong to?” she asked.

“I thought you said you were okay with it.”

“I am. I’m just curious.”

Lillian shrugged. “I don’t know.” She reached into a chest and brought out underthings, then went to a wardrobe and pulled out a dress. “Many of these things were donated or were found on the base. I was only kidding about the dead girl part.”

Claire doubted it, but she accepted the clothing and allowed Lillian to help her out of her nightgown and robe.

“Phew, where were you? These are filthy.”

“I don’t know.” And truly, she didn’t. She was in such a daze when she arrived at the hospital she didn’t think she could find the tunnel again.

“Right. I’ll draw you a bath. Then I’ll help you dress. No reason to get the other clothes dirty too.”

“Thank you.” She tried to put as much warmth into her tone as possible. Lillian probably didn’t want to be caring for someone as capable as Claire. At least that was how Claire interpreted her coldness.

Claire wrapped herself as best she could in the blanket from the hospital and waited for Lillian to finish with her bath. She wondered what had happened to Martine. They’d gotten to be friends and had graduated together. Then he’d gone back to Paris, and she hadn’t heard from him since the siege and chaos of the Commune. She hoped he was all right. The thought of Gounod and the other professors made her draw the blanket closer around her.

What would he make of where I am now? I certainly haven’t proven myself useful to Doctor Radcliffe yet. Once I’ve gotten dressed, I will.

Chapter Thirteen

Fort Daniels, 25 February 1871

Chad got the last wave of patients settled or under Perkins’s care and went outside to lean against the tree that would soon shade the side of the hospital. Its winter-bare branches laced together under the pale blue sky. The air was strangely warm, or maybe he had just been working that hard, his mind moving at a faster pace than his body.

How had Claire gotten to the hospital? Had she run through the shelling? It seemed unlikely for the state of her psyche.

He rubbed his eyes. He was sure the answer was obvious, he just needed a bath and sleep.

“Doctor Radcliffe?”

It was Nanette. He tried not to scowl at his quiet moments being interrupted. She could be summoning him to attend to a patient.

“Yes, Nurse?”

“Go get some rest. We can handle it from here. Doctor Perkins says to sleep a few hours, and you can relieve him tonight.”

Chad ignored the fact he was taking orders from Gregory Perkins. Scratch that. He acknowledged it but was too damn tired to care. “Tell him thank you. I’m afraid I’d only make mistakes at this point.”

“He slept last night before the attack. You didn’t.” She shrugged. “It’s obvious you’re the one who gets to rest first.”

“Thanks,” he said again.

He headed toward the barracks, but he stopped at the Negroes’ quarters first. Most of them were out helping with cleanup, but he found Lacey, an old blind mulatto woman, weaving a basket. The general had let her stay there after she lost her eyesight and take charge of the quarters.

“Is everyone all right?” he asked.

“Far as we know.” Her hands kept moving without slowing.

“So you haven’t heard from the contraband camp yet.”

“No.” She shook her head slowly, and he marveled at how she could do that and still continue to move her hands as if they and her head were parts of a different person.

“I’m going to rest for a bit, but if you hear something, send someone to the men’s barracks and tell them to find me.”

“Yes, Doctor. And if you know someone that needs a place to stay, bring ’em here to Old Lacey. We got room.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t know of anyone who’d take her up on the offer—hell, some of the white soldiers didn’t want him in the barracks with them, so they wouldn’t stay with the Negroes—but he appreciated her generosity.

The evening’s rain had given way to a warm breeze. It was unseasonably early for it to be so warm, and he wondered what it would mean for the spread of disease through the hospital. The rebel with consumption had been resting comfortably the last time Chad checked on him, but he wished he could get the man off the base. They’d been lucky so far that no one had come down with the wasting illness, and he didn’t want the prisoner to start an epidemic.

He stopped by Longchamp’s office. The man wasn’t there, but he added a telegram form to the outgoing pile of reports. Then he walked back to the barracks and found it empty. Not surprising since everyone who could was out cleaning up the base. After stretching out on his bed, he fell asleep quickly and sank.

And sank.

And sank.

He was aware, but in a more profound state of exhaustion than he’d experienced previously. He dragged his eyelids open to find he lay in a sort of stone tomb.

“Am I dead?” he asked.

“I hope not,” a familiar voice said.

He turned his head to see Iris Bailey, formerly Iris McTavish, bending over a table strewn with stone artifacts. She picked one up and examined it with a magnifying glass.

“Iris?”

She shook her head with a smile. “This place has been playing tricks on me since Edward brought one of the aether isolators down here. I hear your voice, but I don’t see you, Doctor Radcliffe.”

She glanced at him, and indeed, her gaze passed through him. All he could move were his head and face, nothing below his neck.

“How did I get here?”

“Who knows?” She put one of the artifacts down and, after making some notes, picked up another. “I’ve fallen into the past before, but haven’t managed to travel with my spirit in the present.”

Was that what he was doing? No, it must be a dream. Still, he’d take advantage of the opportunity to see what his mind made of it all.

“What did you mean in your telegram? You said you’d made an important discovery about Apollo’s Flame.”

Now she looked over with a frown. “How did you know that?”

“You sent the telegram. I only got it this week. The postmaster at the base is lazy and only sorts the mail once a week.”

“Well, if you’re one of the spirits who haunts this place, you’ll already know. We’ve found the key to the scroll that Firmin gave me in Paris. Edward is hard at work on deciphering it now. He has a knack for puzzles.”

“He’s an aetherist. Of course he does. And how are Maestro and Madame Bledsoe?”

“Johann and Marie are fine. They’re busy in the nearby city playing and acting to support our work here. You’re a very knowledgeable spirit. I’m almost tempted to believe I’m being visited by Doctor Radcliffe.”

“I can assure you it’s me. I’m not sure it’s you, though.”

She shrugged. “This is a very strange place. How is Mister O’Connell coming along with his device?”

“Still struggling with the lens materials and configuration. And I am even more motivated to proceed with my therapeutic device. Claire is here.”

Now she looked at him, her eyes wide. “Your former fiancée? How?”

“She is now a neuroticist and has gotten a grant to try some of the techniques she learned in Europe on the soldiers. We are on the cusp of negotiations if there isn’t a decisive Union victory soon, and we were just attacked last night.”

“I’m going to check the newspapers in a few days to see if you are indeed giving me tidings from beyond. If you are Chadwick Radcliffe, all I can do is warn you to be careful with the Eros Element. From what Edward has found, it may be more than we suspected. Just remember these words—Ottoman metal.”

The scene faded, and something sucked Chad through a tunnel, or that was how it felt. He opened his eyes to the barracks, where the sun slanted at a late-afternoon angle through the small window. In spite of the stuffiness of the room, he shivered.

What had just happened? He must have dreamed about Iris because he’d gotten the telegram.

He rolled to his feet and checked his watch. He needed to return to the hospital and relieve Perkins.

When he arrived, he walked into chaos.

* * * * *

After taking a bath and dressing, Claire helped Lillian organize the unused parts of the women’s hospital into temporary quarters for those who had been misplaced, then wandered to the mess hall for dinner. She didn’t expect much with the base’s routines having been upended. She had just reached the threshold and was about to step into the warm light when a man’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“Doctor McPhee, I’m glad to see you’re well.”

Major Longchamp was unshaven, and one arm was in a sling. He sported the same dark shadows under his eyes as the rest of the base’s inhabitants who had been up all night.

“Major Longchamp, I’m relieved to see you’re safe.”

He didn’t release his grip on her elbow. In fact, he squeezed harder. She jerked her arm away and consequences be damned, tried to detect what he was feeling and if he meant her harm.

“What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re real. You are, aren’t you?” He emanated a pitiful confusion.

“As far as I know.” She rubbed the spots where she knew bruises would emerge.
What’s wrong with the man?
Then she recalled his calling out to Mrs. Soper and then the tunnel collapsing behind her. Of course. He was suffering from the same kind of psychic injury she’d come to cure, but an acute case due to the previous night’s events.

A couple of soldiers paused behind them, and Claire moved aside but tried to stay in the rectangle of light from the now cracked window in the door. This wasn’t exactly the place for an intervention.

“Is Mrs. Soper all right?” she asked. Perhaps the older woman would have some idea of what to do for him since she had some familiarity with him.

“She’s in an isolation room in the women’s hospital. Her injuries were too severe to put her in the general ward. She caught the worst of the house’s collapse.”

“I am truly sorry to hear that. I probably wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for her.”
And whatever strange spirits guided me.
The experience of the previous night was more like a half-remembered dream than an actual memory. Had she been walking while dreaming in her sleep? It would explain the strange things she’d seen.

“As far as the rescuers could tell, she was sound asleep in her bedroom when the house was shelled. I was downstairs, and the support beams protected me. How did she manage to get you out but not herself?”

“I’m sorry, but I truly don’t know.”

“You don’t, do you? Your face says you’re as confused as I am, and it doesn’t seem to me that you’re lying.”

“I’m telling you what I can remember. Is there anything I can do for her?”

He looked around and then leaned in to ask, “Have you seen any ghosts since being here?”

“Have I seen any what?” She didn’t want to say so, not even to herself. Then she would have to admit they were real.

“Any ghosts. Spirits.” He waved his hand. “The dead are thick in this place. Weren’t you aware?”

“N-no.”

“And now you’re lying. Just beware, Doctor McPhee, if they take an interest in you, it means they want you to join their little party.” He shook his head and wandered into the darkness. Half the exterior lamps on the base were damaged, and they’d opted not to light the others in case of another attack and a breach of the walls. In spite of the air being more damp than cold, a shiver started at the base of Claire’s spine and made the back of her neck quiver.