Curse of the Nandi (Society for Paranormals Book 5) (16 page)

With that, we parted ways, and I returned to the cottage, my thoughts in disarray.

Chapter 20

Upon arriving to the empty cottage
,
I recalled that I needed to speak with Mr. Elkhart regarding his reconnaissance from the night before. I hadn’t however the verve or heart to return to the Hardinge house just yet and resolved to enjoy a full cup of tea and a bit of food before doing so.

I revived the coals in the stove’s belly and set the kettle on the heating plate. As I waited for the water to boil, I removed the Society medallion from my pocket and stored it in an unused wooden jewelry box Lady Hardinge had gifted me. My body convulsed as I shut the lid on both the necklace and all the memories it represented. Oddly enough, instead of relieving me of a burden, it seemed instead to open up more crevices in my heart into which I dared not peer for fear of what I might find.

“Goodness, a house is a quiet place when one is alone,” I informed my little metal teapot as I retrieved it from a shelf.

I sat upon a stool and absently traced the embossed design as I stared around the kitchen. It was a far bigger and brighter room than Mrs. Steward’s and even had a quaint table and set of four chairs which one could use for an informal meal. The stone walls had been lightly plastered over, so while the rocky texture was still visible, the color was a bright and cheerful one. Copper and iron pots and pans hung on hooks on either side of the stove. I immediately recognized Jonas’ handiwork, for he’d hung the items in a haphazard manner.

“Honestly, he hasn’t the least bit of a sense of order and fashion,” I muttered as I stood and began to neaten my walls. Satisfied, I resumed my seat while my right hand began toying with the locket, stroking the engraving on it.

“So similar to the teapot,” I observed.

I removed the locket and set it beside the teapot. It was extraordinary, really. Uncle James must have purchased both items from the same craftsman. The ebb and flow of abstract patterns were perfectly synchronized. The only difference really was that while the teapot’s design was protruding out from the surface, the locket’s design was carved into it, so that they were in a sense the opposite of each other, somewhat like a key and lock.

A key and lock.

My eyes widened and my pulse quickened as it did whenever a possible solution to a mystery presented itself, even if it was a mystery I hadn’t realized existed. I studied the grooves and swirls with greater care, seeking a location on the teapot that seemed particularly similar to the locket, perhaps even identical. When I spun the teapot about, I immediately saw it: a slight indentation on the surface that I’d always assumed was the result of an accident. Yet if so, how was it that the dip was the precise size and shape as the locket?

Picking up the teapot with my metal hand and holding my breath, I set the locket against the dent and gently pressed. A mechanism clicked and the bottom of the teapot — the round lip upon which the belly rested — popped open.

“No accident then,” I breathed out, marveling at the finesse of the artist who could build such elaborate creations.

I slipped the locket into a skirt pocket and turned the teapot over. Quivering with anticipation — for it was a thrill to discover and then resolve a mystery — I pulled back the bottom to reveal the thinnest of cavities. Inside the small space was a yellowed piece of paper.

With a delicious tingle dancing along every nerve, I removed with great care the paper, for it must be quite an age if it had been there all this time.

The kettle whistled, its piercing shriek shattering the silence within my home.

“Tea first,” I said, although I wanted nothing more than to unfold the paper and discover what message had been in hiding for so long. Instead, I allowed the anticipation to brew amongst the tealeaves as I carried a tray into the small living room.

Once settled, I placed the paper before me. It was a small square, not much bigger than a postal stamp but thicker, as it had been folded over several times. Despite its age, the paper wasn’t crackly, nor was there any indication of water damage despite its location all these years beneath a belly of tea. My fingers trembling in anticipation, I unfolded the paper to reveal a sheaf of stationery covered in delightful penmanship that I instantly recognized.

The words had been written by my mother.

“Oh dear,” I said, for each time I’d read a missive from or about my mother, I’d discovered something world-shattering and wholly distressing.

“Yummy,” a sultry voice whispered in my ear.

“Good God,” I shrieked, leaping up and in so doing, I spilled yet another cup of tea. The liquid seeped onto the edge of the paper before I could rescue it from a soggy disaster.

“I’m not in the habit of wasting so much tea, Yao,” I said with considerable heat as I waved the letter to dry it while turning about to face the Adze.

His unconstrained laughter filled up the quiet corners of the house. It was all I could do not to offer up my wrists to the teeth gleaming behind his luscious lips.

“Blast it,” I muttered, and averted my gaze from his face.

“What have you got there, love?” Gideon inquired as he floated up beside Yao.

“Hopefully a spell to rid myself of dead husbands,” I said as I lay the paper on a dry section of the table. I mopped up the spill with a handkerchief.

“You’d miss me,” the dead husband in question cooed.

Rather than argue the point, I demanded, “And what are you two rascals doing here?”

“We are doing rascally things,” Yao promptly replied with glee. “Very rascally. Yao is not sure what that means, but it sounds like something we would do.”

“We merely desired to see how our dearest lady investigator is managing her household,” Gideon purred as he floated to my side and grinned.

“Yes, yes, the rascal,” Yao said.

“How thoughtful,” I said. “Be rest assured that I’m managing perfectly fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I was about to read something private.”

“Oh, we don’t mind,” Yao said. “Not at all. Do we, Gideon?”

“Not one jot or tittle,” Gideon replied. “Please proceed with perusing your private something.”

While I was tempted to fold up the paper and wait until my house was empty of vampires and ghosts, I had to admit to having no patience and even less energy to postpone the moment any longer. Sitting myself down and abandoning any hope of enjoying a full cup of tea that morning, I began to read.

I scanned the words once, twice and yet again. Each passing of my eyes over the missive left me shaking, quivering, and desiring nothing but to run out of the cottage and into the wilds where my soul could shatter itself against the imposing grandeur of the universe. Instead, I remained frozen, the only movement the twitching of my eyes and the rapid, sad beating of my heart.

“Beatrice?” Gideon whispered beside me, raising his hand as if to caress my hair. “Is everything all right?”

“She’s hungry,” Yao declared. “That’s what comes from not eating properly. All this cooked white food.”

“Oh my,” Gideon murmured as he read over my shoulder. “This is fascinating and possibly just a tad awkward.”

I crushed the paper against my chest with a sob and pushed up with such force as to cause the chair to clatter to the ground.

Gideon floated in front of me, his eyes searching for an answer in my own. “Bee?”

“Stay here,” I gasped, my throat hoarse.

“And miss all the fun?” he mused.

I pointed at Yao. “And you, don’t move. No biting anyone.”

“Not even a nibble?” Yao asked with a wounded air.

“Make sure he stays,” I ordered Gideon, my human hand shaking so badly that I had to grab it with my metal hand.

“And how am I supposed to do that? Float through him until he submits?” Gideon demanded, but I’d already left the room.

I ran to the main house and stumbled through the front entrance. Not daring to call out, I began to open every door I saw with such abandon as to cause Esther to peer out of one room apprehensively. Upon viewing my expression, the maid abruptly withdrew and left me to my rampage.

Only when I discovered Mr. Elkhart Junior in the reading room did I cease my wordless rampage. He stood upon perceiving my clumsy entrance and began to speak, but I couldn’t give voice to all that churned within me. Instead, I flung myself at him, wrapped my arms about his neck and, ignoring his shock and dismay, sobbed against his shoulder.

The man might be a bat, but he knew enough about women to allow me my moment of hysteria. Then, with great care, as if handling a delicate porcelain teacup, he placed his hands on my shoulders, stepped back and peered down at me with a questioning gaze.

Still incapable of coherent speech, I provided him the letter, closed my eyes and listened as he read aloud:

My dearest James, my love. I didn’t think to ever hear from you again. Indeed, I had believed you dead, for Prof Runal told me he had sent assassins after you and they had tracked you down in Asia somewhere. Only at that moment, upon hearing his admission of guilt, did I allow myself to admit the truth: that the Society was as you had described it, that Prof Runal was a critical part of it, and that I was now wholly and truly trapped. And, being pregnant, I knew I had no recourse but to marry a man who had been courting me for some time.

How amazed and bewildered Mr. Anderson was when I seemingly relented to his entreaties and conceded to marry him. I’m not sure he ever suspected that I was already pregnant, for I’d discovered it myself very soon after the fact. It was easy to dismiss Beatrice’s early birth as premature. The midwife, a dear friend of mine, convinced everyone that it was so, and we made a big fuss of providing extra care to the premature baby, my daughter, your child.

I should destroy this message, yet I don’t have the heart. I should send this to you, yet I don’t have the courage. For I know what you would do with this intelligence, and while it would be a noble act, you would only endanger yourself and put to shame your daughter and her mother.

As I had done, Mr. Elkhart read the letter again, and with each perusal became further agitated. At last, he flung the letter on the side table and pulled me into an embrace that filled the crevices the truth had exposed in my heart.

“My sister, my beloved sister,” he whispered as he wept into my hair. “I have a sister. Oh, and Drew! He is by extension my brother.”

We collapsed upon the sofa and there we sat, arms about each other, our hearts near to breaking from the fullness that my mother’s revelation had provided.

And thus we may have remained for the afternoon, but for an intrusion. We both felt rather than heard a presence behind us. Of one mind, we spun about, standing as we did so, my hand still clenched in his, and faced a cold-eyed Mr. Timmons.

“I know we have much to be grateful for in your guardian’s generosity, but that gives you no leave to take advantage,” Mr. Timmons said, his voice treacherously soft and I didn’t dare look to his energy.

Mr. Elkhart, my brother Tiberius, remained trapped between the joy and amazement of a moment ago, and the shame and distress of my husband’s assumptions. “Mr. Timmons, it’s not as it seems,” he said.

“What isn’t?” Lilly asked as she entered behind Mr. Timmons, her radiant smile fading from the tension that was as palpable as the midday heat.

“I’m all ears, Mr. Elkhart, Mrs. Timmons,” my quietly enraged husband said.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Gideon hissed, appearing by my other side.

“Oh, and Mr. Knight. Of course,” Mr. Timmons snarled. “Why should I be surprised to find you here?”

“It’s just that we’ve discovered something…” Mr. Elkhart blustered, too flustered to inquire about the invisible presence of a Mr. Knight.

“Indeed,” came the icy rejoinder.

Gideon, still floating by my side, shot up to the ceiling and, towering over us all with angelic wrath, wailed out, “They’re siblings, you dolt.”

“It’s true. He’s my brother.” I spoke before Mr. Timmons’ rage could overflow and destroy us all. “Mr. Elkhart is my brother.”

The turmoil of emotions, the heaviness of the silence, and the reinterpretation of my family’s history surged over me, such that I could do nothing more than burst into heaving sobs while my newly discovered brother held me tightly.