The Forgotten

  He hesitantly follows her, and my brother and I enter the first room on the left.

  As soon as we step inside, it becomes obvious that these rooms are for people higher up in the business than that of my father. Unlike the sparse, lifeless rooms of the second floor, this room is furnished lavishly. Velvet curtains hang from a window, a handful of chairs, sofas, and chaises longues are arranged around a grand fireplace, and in front of the window sits a claw-footed desk. Picture frames are nailed to the walls—of a family. And out of everything I have seen, this is the thing that shocks me the most.

  I’d begun to think of the people who worked here as cruel, calculating men. Men who would poison somebody to get their own way. Men who would stop at nothing for power. I hadn’t expected them to be real men with families of their own.

  All at once the reality that my father is dead, truly dead, never coming back, hits me—and I miss him. I miss him so much. I lean against the doorframe and swallow down tears. I will not cry in a strange building. I will not cry at all.

  “Bennet?” The gentle voice makes me jump out of my skin. I turn to see Joel hovering in the corridor as Carolina moves onto the next room. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.

  His hand hovers over my shoulder, too cautious to touch me, but the gesture itself is comforting.

  “I think I need to … soldier on and finish this.” I smile, hoping it looks normal. Joel sees right through the veil I pulled over my grief, and this time his hand finishes its path to my shoulder; it’s a fleeting and hesitant touch but enough to help me gather the remnants of my composure.

  He looks me in the eye. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He watches me for a long second, and then with a bow of his head, he hurries back to his side of the corridor. I turn back to the room I’m meant to be ransacking.

  Bran has his nose buried in a stack of papers so I head towards the left of the room and a door that could lead into a side room—or a useless coatroom—and I urge the wooden door open. Moonlight, filtering through a wide window, is enough for me to see that this is a bedroom. With no lamp lit, the colours are washed out in the dimness but I sense everything would be rich reds and opulent purples in the daylight. Curtains are pulled shut around a bed opposite me.

  I pull myself together and rummage through a console table. My heart races faster when I find a handful of papers, but when I hold them up to the moonlight, there’s nothing about the Lux or any other invention here. My eyes flit to the door every other second, expecting men with guns and knives to charge into the room.

  I try to think. If I were someone with something to hide, where would I put it? The answer comes to me right away—I would hide it under my bed, in the gap between the frame and the mattress.

  I yank one of the curtains around its metal frame, meaning to search under the pillows and the mattress, but the sight that meets me on the bed makes my heart stop beating and my breathing take off in its own direction.

  I stare, unable to rip my eyes away. Before I realise what’s happening, a scream is forcing its way out of my mouth and the carpet is coming up to meet my face.

  ***

  Branwell

  01:24. 29.09.1878. London.

  As soon as I hear the scream, as soon as my mind has processed that it’s my sister, I’m running.

  I find Benny collapsed on the floor in an adjoining room, unconscious but breathing. I pull her against me and hold her close, murmuring that everything will be alright.

  Carolina and Joel burst into the room moments later, and my cousin lets out a shrill noise. I think that she must assume Benny has died but then she whispers “Who is he?”

  “Who?” My voice comes out rough and hoarse.

  “There’s a … there’s …” Carolina falters.

  “There’s a dead man, Sir,” Joel finishes for her. “On the bed. I suspect that’s what made Miss Ravel scream.” He kneels beside me and looks closely at Bennet, the line of his square jaw tense.

  “We should go.” I choke on the words. “She needs a doctor.”

  “It’s shock,” Carolina says, recovering her wits. “She just needs rest to overcome it. As do I for that matter.”

  I’m suddenly overcome with exhaustion. I suppose not sleeping will do that to you. “We’re leaving right this minute.”

  Joel nods his agreement. “I fear we’ve stumbled into something far beyond us.”

  “I think you may be right,” Carolina whispers. “Who on Earth could have killed this man?”

  I stand, supporting Benny against my body, and I’m grateful when Joel helps. And then I see the true horror of the scene. A man is strewn across the bed, covered in dark liquid—blood, I realise. His throat and both his wrists look to have been cut, and his eyes are open and staring. I can’t look any longer.

  Joel tenses. “Footsteps,” he murmurs.

  Carolina grabs my shoulders. “Where did you leave the light?”

  I point to the adjoining room. She dashes into the main room and when she comes back, she’s more scared than I’ve ever seen her. “Get in the bathroom,” she orders, throwing a hand at the open door in the corner. Once we’re all packed inside the tiny square room, with Benny in my arms, Carolina douses both lights. We wait.

  Outside, the carpet muffles the footsteps of men but their voices are clearly audible.

  “–girl’s scream,” someone says.

  “You’re imagining it” another man replies. “There’s been nobody down here in days. Now the Olympiae’s headed out, this place is deserted.” His voice is lightly accented, American. “I bet it came from outside. The women around here … they’re, shall we say—freer than most?”

  The other laughs. “What do you think happened to this guy?”

  “Only God knows. I bet he upset someone in the higher sectors.”

  “I wouldn’t like to piss them off.”

  “Then do your job. And keep quiet about that girl you heard screaming. If the higher sectors thought we weren’t securing this place correctly…”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  “Good lad,” the American praises. The voices grow increasingly muffled until we can’t hear them anymore. I release my breath and slump in relief, clutching my sister close.

  The light blazes up in Carolina’s hand, filling the bathroom with a soft, white light.

  “I’ll take your sister,” Joel says to me. His face is set in hard lines and his eyes are fiercer than I’ve seen them. He looks formidable. “It’ll be faster that way, and I’m …” He shoots me a sheepish grin.

  “Stronger than me?” I offer. “It’s no secret, Joel.”

  Carolina has turned white. “That man … out there.”

  “It’s best not to think about it,” Joel advises and for a single moment he’s the person holding us together. I shift Benny so that Joel can take her, and he sweeps her into his arms and holds her securely to his chest.

  “Ready?” I ask Carolina. She looks ill, so I take her elbow as we tiptoe out of the bathroom. When we’re once again in the stone corridor, and the golden doors are behind us, we run like mad. Our footsteps bounce off the walls. The light from the glass gripped like a vice in Carolina’s hand bounces off the walls, making strange shapes in our path.

  I’m struggling to breathe by the time we reach the heavy door at the end of the corridor. Joel stops so that I can throw it open and night air rushes in around us; I gulp it down. The cold is welcome against my skin and my hair, and it serves to once again put everything into absolute clarity.

  Joel swears, seeing the horses still tethered to the wall. “I’m sorry,” he says to my unconscious sister, and then to Carolina. “I was so certain they’d have gone off and we’d have to run back to the house.”

  He opens the carriage door, somehow still holding my sister, and then lays her gently across one of the benches. As soon as she is safely in the carriage, he sprints to free the ho
rses’ reigns and then he’s in the driver’s seat before I’ve taken my next breath.

  I urge Carolina forward and help her into the carriage as quickly as she will go. Sat, she looks around for a startled moment, and raises a hand to her hair. “I felt sure I was wearing a hat.”

  I don’t know how to reply. Before I have even closed the door, we’re off and flying through the night.

  ***

  Bennet

  05:14. 29.09.1878. London

  It’s early morning when I wake, and the sun hasn’t risen yet. One of the lighting gadgets my brother took to the Olympiae building is sat on my bedside table, casting a glow over the familiar shapes of my belongings.

  The warmth of my bed almost lures me back to sleep, until my eyes fall upon the chair across my room and the man sleeping in it. A smile stretches over my face as I watch Joel sleep. His body is hunched forward, too big for the small wicker chair. He looks tranquil and handsome and cold. Moving quietly, I slide out of bed and snag a wool blanket from the bed frame, settling it around Joel’s shoulders. He stirs but doesn’t wake so I return to my bed and continue to watch him.

  Joel has been a constant presence in my life since he was employed as an assistant to Edward when I was twelve. Over the four years since, he’s become increasingly vital to our household and increasingly important to me. There was a point when, two years ago, he almost left our home and went to work for a family in Shropshire, but our valet passed away and Joel was offered his job. I wonder what our lives would be like now if he’d left. I wonder what I’d be like had I not had Joel as a friend.

  I was a timid, hopeless thing at thirteen. I wouldn’t speak to a soul except my brother and I would hide in the broom cupboard whenever we had visitors. Joel found me there one evening while my father entertained our guests—by which I mean bored them with descriptions of his latest marvel—and with gentle encouragement Joel coaxed me out out the cupboard. He told me I was capable of conquering anything in the world. I wonder if he still thinks that or if after tonight, when I fainted, he thinks I’m a silly, hopeless girl.

  He murmurs as he wakes and his eyes find mine the minute they open. He jumps out of the chair and is beside me in a second.

  “Bennet,” he says breathlessly. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I was until a moment ago,” I lie.

  He hesitates before perching on the edge of my bed. “Are you alright? After you fainted, I worried you wouldn’t wake up again.”

  I smile. “I’m fine. And I’m quite awake now.”

  “I can see that. I mean—yes. Very good. I’m relieved.” He’s alive with nervous energy.

  “I truly am okay, Joel. You don’t need to worry.” Even if his worrying fills me with warmth.

  “I’m very glad.” His eyes are bright but the skin beneath them shadowed.

  “Joel, how long have you been sat in that chair? Have you been to bed tonight?”

  He waves a hand. “I can survive on little sleep.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Go to bed. You must be tired.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “I can tell you’re lying.” I lay a hand on his arm and he jolts. “I’m sorry,” I rush to apologise, retracting my hand. “I shouldn’t have—you’d benefit from rest is all I meant.”

  “You don’t need to apologise, Miss Ravel—”

  A dagger goes through my heart. “Bennet,” I correct quietly.

  “—but you are right. And I will return to my room. I’m glad you’re alright.”

  He goes for the door and I watch him leave, feeling as if I messed up everything.

  ***

  Branwell

  20:18. 29.09.1878. London.

  I’m not aware Carolina has left until Joel comes thundering down the stairs to my room. His short hair is dark with sweat, his face red.

  “What’s happened?” I ask, dropping the book I was reading and striding over to him.

  “A few minutes ago a carriage approached the house. It stopped just outside the gates, which was weird, so I went to the doorway to investigate. A gentleman came running up to the house, as fast as anything you could imagine, and handed me this.” Joel holds out a piece of thick ivory paper. “He disappeared before I had a chance to react. I didn’t recognise him, Sir.”

  I shake my head. “Joel, how many times do we have to tell you—”

  “It’s not important,” he says sharply. Now I definitely know that something’s wrong—Joel rarely raises his voice, and it’s an even rarer that he sounds unsettled. “I don’t make a habit of reading your messages but with all the strangeness happening this week … well, I took it upon myself to ensure the message was not a threat or—”

  “Joel.” I stop his rambling and take the paper from him. “It’s alright.” The wax seal has been broken but it’s clearly embossed with The Olympiae Club’s emblem. The lion and majestic bird are even more remarkable in wax than in ink. The paper slides through my fingers when I have read the flourish of words, my heart in my throat.

  Branwell Ravel,

  Such a pity we were unable to meet under more pleasant circumstances, but I have with me your cousin, and, as charming as she is, I’m quite sure you’ll want her back with you in perfect condition. Shall we have an exchange of sorts? Lady Isham’s life for the Lux?

  I trust I will see you very soon,

  Adam Morelock.

  My voice comes out hard enough to shatter a diamond. “Who is he—this Morelock? Have you heard of him?”

  “I’m afraid so, Sir. He’s quite the influential man in … questionable areas of London.”

  “Is he capable of harming my cousin?”

  “I believe so.”

  “And this address.” I point to the paper where an address has been helpfully written below the threat. “Do you know where it is?”

  Joel is tense enough to break. “I’m vaguely familiar with the area.”

  I nod. Bennet can’t come with me tonight—I can’t drag her into danger too—but I know Joel will accompany me. “Could you ready our carriage? And—would you ask Eddie to join us? I seem to remember he’s particularly handy with his fists.”

  “Of course.” He takes the stairs two at a time.

  “Joel,” I say, halting him. “I didn’t ask, and I really shouldn’t have presumed. Would you come with me, to rescue Carolina?”

  He’s dead serious when he replies, “You don’t have to ask, Branwell. I am at your service.”

  “Thank you.” I manage a grateful smile, and as he hurries up the stairs, I feel under the mattress of my bed for the knife and a gun-like device that sit waiting for such situations. My father’s journals have made me prepared—or paranoid—whichever word fits. I slip the knife under the waistband of my trousers and hide the hilt with my shirt. I find a coat—a thick waist-length thing—and hide the gun in a pocket in case of dire emergencies. It won’t kill a person but it will fire an electric shock that can temporarily incapacitate someone.

  I can’t believe I’m thinking such things, but … I honestly can’t believe something like this would happen to Carolina either. It could all be a ruse, of course, but if one thing is to come out of tonight I’ve discovered one thing—the Olympiae Club don’t have the Lux. This should be a good thing, but if they haven’t taken it … who have?

  I shake off the questions; I don’t have time. I pull on a pair of boots and race up the stairs to meet Joel and Eddie. Between us, we scale the house from top to bottom, hoping that Carolina is somewhere inside, safe, but Eddie points out that her carriage has disappeared.

  Within fifteen minutes, we’re on our way, the carriage flying over the ground faster than I thought possible. Eddie sits opposite me, glaring out of the window. I thought he was angry at me for asking him to come, but Joel told me that he’s furious at the idea of someone hurting Carolina. He’s either incredibly loyal to our family or hopelessly in love with her.

  I’ve always thought Joel and Eddie looked like
brothers. They share a serious countenance, and in looks they’re similar if not identical. Joel has rough, handsome features and dormant power in his body; my father used to joke that he could crush a person with his arm muscles alone. He has the sort of brawn someone like me could only wish to build, even with years of lugging heavy materials into the attic for my father. Eddie is different, more slender of face and body but every bit as dangerous.

  “Do you know why Carolina would go to this place?” Eddie asks, startling me out of my thoughts.

  I sigh. “She must have had a reason, but I thought she would have come to us before acting.”

  “I thought that too. She’s always seemed so sensible to me—not the kind of person to rush into a place without thinking first.”

  Well. He doesn’t quite have the measure of her yet. I wonder where this serious, sensible version of Carolina came from—his imagination, perhaps. “She’s reckless. Her father thought being married would take that out of her, but unfortunately for him she found a kindred spirit in Jeremy. He’s almost as bad as she is.”

  “I’ve never met him,” Eddie says, “but I’ve only heard good things about the man.”

  I glance past the window to the dark outside. “I wish we had time to send him a note.”

  “But we have no guarantee that your cousin is actually where we’re going, or in fact in any danger at all. She could have gone out for a night drive. Men like these … they’ll use any bit of knowledge to their advantage.”

  “You’re right.” He’s not—it’s the longest of long shots, and my cousin is most definitely in mortal peril because of her own stupidity.

  “And Miss Ravel … does she know?”

  I glance out the window, guilt rising in me. “No.”

  “Safer for her not to know—is this the place?”

  The carriage stops beside the gates of a dark house. It looks like something from the pages of an Edgar Allan Poe novel. Eddie and I climb out of the carriage; we find Joel trying to persuade the horses to stay where they are with nothing but will and words.