Dominic's Nemesis (14 page)

“Well, they
tricked
me—”

“Ya ‘ave the sense of a bloody imbecile, go
on…I
’
ll be wanting to
git the ‘hole story for yer tombstone.”

Matthias took pleasure in the audible gasp
his threat evoked from the younger man.

“They said they was ‘ere to see the
‘Show
’
. They seemed real
excited-like when I told
’
em for an extra halfpence they could each ‘ave a
stick to take a poke at the inactive ones. That shrewd ‘un,
Greyson, even slipped me a silver piece if I
’
d
give
‘em the grand tour.”

They came at last to a series of rectangular
shaped rooms strung together like connecting cars on a train, with
wall-sized windows on one side and open-air prison-bars on the
other. Skittish viewers could meander along the window side and
laugh or taunt the inmates to their heart
’
s content. Whereas, more bold visitors
would in turn walk the iron bar side, and throw rocks or poke
sticks at the prisoners within.

Matthias clenched his jaw tight to calm
himself, preparing for a dicey situation. The social reform board
was once scoffed at as disorganized and ineffective. However, the
board had gained power and momentum after successfully lobbying to
shut down The Marshaleas Debtor
’
s prison due to the inhumane treatment of its
inmates. He cursed the fates for the ill luck to come under their
scrutiny.

“Harry, if yer worthless bag of bones ‘is
still ‘ere when I open my eye, ya be a bad smell floatin’ up from
the Thames before night
’
s fall.”

Dominic tapped his foot, patience eroding
more and more with each tick of the miniature clock dangling from
the silver chain at his vest pocket. Sure, it was rude of him to
arrive uninvited…and further presumptuous to declare he would await
an audience with the illustrious Lord and Lady…but he possessed no
calling card baring his heraldry to announce himself even if he had
been so inclined to warn the Prescotts
’
of an impending visit.

With nothing better to do, Dom observed the
room in which he sat. The over-stuffed parlor, all style and no
substance, looked as if it were decorated by an extravagant
mistress. A hoyden
’
s
lair could not have out done the room in senseless excess. He
banged his knee twice maneuvering around the clutter of lounging
chairs, knickknack-laden tables, and the like. Dominic preferred
open spaces free of obstruction. He fidgeted with his watch chain,
trying not to think of the precious little room there was for him
to move around, but to no avail. Clutter walled him in on all
sides. He felt trapped,
cornered
… by encroaching madness.
Memories of another time, another place flooded in unbidden.

The slimy chill of the stone caused him to
shiver. He lay face-up against the stone alter, but oft-times he
lay face down, depending upon who in her coven came up with the
most promising new ‘
technique’
to try. No one ever bothered to tie
him down. Lillian kept him immobilized atop the solid block of dull
grey pewter with a mere thought and wave of her hand. He struggled,
sometimes for hours, against impossibly strong psychic shackles,
capable of nothing but awaiting what he feared would be his final
doom.

He squirmed as the cavern filled with a
murky glow of firelight. The low, repetitious chant heralded the
beginning of the purification ceremony—as she called them. The
words were meaningless to him, they chanted in some ancient tongue
no longer used for communication, but for rituals and prayer. Each
member of the processional entered the low-ceilinged cavern housing
the altar from a different tunnel emptying into it. They emerged
from the blackness to encircle him on all sides: the priest, the
witch, the druid, and the doctor. Dominic named each based on their
appearance and respective approach to curing his
‘problem
’
.

The priest was a bald round man always draped
in burlap robes and a nightmare-sized crucifix strangling his
non-existent neck. The priest undulated above his fragile
seven-year-old body with fervent prayers, doused him in buckets of
holy water, and quoted scripture at the top of his lungs.

The witch was an ancient crone of a woman,
with hanging skin and wild hair protruding out in some areas and
matted to her head in others. She drew ominous symbols on the floor
around him, fed him moldy spell-infused concoctions, and riddled
his ears with senseless rhyming incantations.

The Druid was completely concealed beneath
a black, shroud-like garment, and reminded him of the grim reaper.
Together with the “Doctor”, the last to join his
mother
’
s coven of Spiritualist fanatics, they began the
campaign of-”

Dominic jerked forward—into the present—at
the sound of his name. The footman before him came into focus.

“The Duke and Duchess will see you now.”

The footman led him to another sitting room,
which housed the Lord and Lady of the house. It too was mired in
senseless pomp and circumstance. Dominic found himself seated
opposite two of the oldest, stuffiest, tight-lipped curmudgeons the
peerage had to offer. The Prescott
’
s of London were how Dom pictured Mother Nature and
Father Time in their dotage…shoehorned into every imaginable
finery. Their faces were stoic, unrelenting, and ancient.

The pair of them refused to address him until
afternoon tea was served. After five minutes, a nondescript maid
appeared with steaming earl grey and crumpets to set out before
them on a marble table crouching nearby.

“Forgive the rude manner of my arrival, and
my odd eyewear—” He added hastily as he saw the Duchess frowning a
glower of disapproval. “—but I have news of an urgent nature
regarding your granddaughter, Miss Eden Prescott.”

“Lady Prescott.” The duchess corrected
dourly, as she rested her tea cup. “Despite my son
’
s decision to forsake his legacy
and pollute our line with common American stock, any child of his
and grandchild of ours will be given the title he or she is due. I
will assume by your mentioning only the young lady that she is the
sole offspring of his union with that…person?”

“Miss…eh, Lady Prescott has not appraised me
of any siblings. No.” Dominic cringed, not holding out much hope of
their welcoming Eden into the fold. He got the distinct impression
that the mere reminder of their ruined pedigree annoyed them. “Lady
Prescott
’
s parents, your
eldest son and his wife, have both passed on…Mrs. Prescott fairly
recently. And of course, you
’
re aware of your other granddaughter
’
s death in childbirth…Lady
Millicent St. James—”

The Duke puffed up to twice his minuscule
size. “Conte Ambrosi, we do not require an outline of the Prescott
family tree. Please do us the courtesy of being brief. What is the
exact nature of this…
visit?
”

“Of course. Lady Prescott was most recently
residing with the St. James
’
on their country estate, which borders my own. In
her grief, she suffered a near fatal accident and was rescued by my
brother.” Dominic rushed on, fearing they would fall asleep or kick
him out before he
’
d
gotten to the meat of the matter. “She has since recovered full
health, but as I am unmarried and so is she, she cannot continue to
reside at my estate. Nor can she reside with St. James, as he too
is now unwed. I have come on Lady Prescott
’
s behave as she is not acquainted with
either of you and has been in much grief and mourning…so much so
that I fear her mind has been affected—”

Dominic broke off at the Duchess’ horrified
gasp. “Prescott! You mustn
’
t allow it.” She seized her husband’s arm for
comfort.

“There, there, dear.” Dominic watched the
Duke pat his wife on her stiff, overstuffed shoulder pad,
placating, before turning back to address him. “Conte Ambrosi, if
you mean to suggest the Duchess and I take in this…addlebrained
woman…simply because she is my son
’
s beget, then let me relieve you of any such
notion. Did you think to appeal to our sympathies?”

Certainly not, Dom thought, any idiot could
see that would be an utter waste of energy. He
’
d never seen two more indifferent,
uncaring individuals.

“Thinking, having lost our beloved son, we
would be grateful to play nursemaid to his simpleton brat? Charles
was dead to us the moment he stepped off English soil. The fact of
his physical death is of little consequence. Since Charles was wise
enough to amass a fortune in trade wealth before his death, the
girl is hardly destitute. I would suggest that you extend a bit of
her funds and apply a place for her at Bedlam. Now then, the
Duchess and I find this turn of events most distressing. We must
kindly ask you to leave.”

Gladly. Dominic did not wait for the footman
to see him to the door. Agitated more than he preferred to admit,
he hailed a hack instead of shimmering to his brother
’
s Southwart office front.

* * *

Eden lazed in her nightly steam bath, warm
moist haze vaporized off the water in waves and billows, reminding
her of a hot spring she
’
d once visited with her parents. Slippery smooth
porcelain squeaked against the wet naked skin of her bottom every
time she adjusted her seat. The combined warmth of the water on her
partially submerged torso and the steam on her exposed parts
settled in her body. She felt boneless and languid, as if she
herself had liquefied along with the water in the tub. Eden lay
with her head pillowed on the back rim, slim pale neck exposed in
the moonlight. Her loose ashen tresses dangled over the back rim
and pooled on the floor. She
’
d had Nellie instruct a manservant to lug the tub
nearer the window so she could bath by moonlight instead of
lighting the lanterns.

The sweet aroma of peaches and pomegranate
bath oils filled her nostrils, drugging her into a sensation-driven
semi-conscious state. Lashes fluttered closed, Eden hummed a catchy
ditty from her days in the schoolroom. She let the weight of her
life
’
s many sorrows sink
unnoticed to the bottom of the porcelain-confined ocean, forgotten,
if only temporarily.

Her thoughts drifted to another such night
that had also found her lounging in the bath…a bath that had ended
quite scandalously with an impromptu massage. She re-lived, the
sensuous glide of his strong capable hands against the smooth wet
skin of her feet, and calves. Eden
’
s thoughts turned to the giver of the forbidden
pleasure she enjoyed that not-long-ago evening. Dominic.

Even though she knew his secret, one or two
of them anyway—she did not delude herself into thinking
she
’
d solved the complex
puzzle that was Dominic Ambrosi— She wondered just what he looked
like under the shades? Her research in the library had turned up
only general definitions, no pictures or detailed explanation of
his…condition. Were they freakish? Scarred? In the visions, his
eyes were always shadowed or vaguely lit so that his expression was
piercing, but his eyes weren’t completely visible. But, since her
overactive mind’s eye did not appear to be receding in strength or
frequency, she
’
d spent
the remainder of the day sketching some of the strange images her
mind had conjured up.

A smile spread across Eden
’
s mellowed face when she sensed the
presence. It entered the room from the far wall and approached her
from behind. She knew she should be outraged, scandalized, swooning
from shock or screaming for the maid, but Eden could evoked no such
reaction to the approaching entity…other than eager
anticipation.

* * *

The crescent moon winked mischievously
against a backdrop of star-studded sky by the time Dominic
traversed the dusty threshold of Cael
’
s office. His was the only storefront in the square
still open for business.

“I thought you never tarried into the
evening.” Dom spoke as soon as he heard the door shut behind
him.

“Just waiting up to hear your explanation for
why you disappeared last night.”

“How did you-” He turned at his
brother
’
s words, his
surprise quickly dimmed into muted resignation. “Is there anything
you
don’t
know?”

“You may find this shocking, Dom, but you’re
rather predictable.” Cael
’
s mouth turned up briefly before he grew serious
again. “It
’
s about
her
, of course. So, what is she up to now?”

He exhaled a heavy sigh. “Eden and Kathleen
had a visitor yesterday…Matthias Montgomery. He frightened her out
of her wits and even set Kathleen on edge. I fear he may have
gotten a whiff of Stephan, though Ethan thinks he could just as
well be after me. Either way, the situation is volatile and
dangerous for the three of us.”

“I wouldn
’
t worry over-much about Montgomery. I happen to
know that his facility is due to come under scrutiny by the social
reform board soon. If nothing else, he
’
ll be too preoccupied to bother us again…if
we
’
re lucky, the board
will put him out of our hair forever. But wait—” A dark gold brow
arched over fascinated amber eyes as if he
’
d just remembered some scintillating
tidbit. “The three of us. You, Stephan and…who
’
s the third?”