A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(53)

Had it somehow intuited that well-bred girls reduced to that state were more likely to be hurried off into an institution, hidden away, out of sight, under the pretense that they had consumption or some other acceptable disease? Because the damned thing was right; that was exactly what a rich parent would do. Get her out of the way, lest rumors of insanity creep out and taint the rest of the family, ruining the chances for marriage of the rest of the brood. Well-bred girls might be cosseted, but they were, in many families, a commodity—useful in business negotiations, in making alliances, and in the case of the nouveau riche, useful in giving the family entrance into social circles they could never aspire to, otherwise. And once a commodity is spoiled, the best thing to do with it is destroy it—impractical in the case of one’s daughter—or hide it.

And the number of such institutions, where inconvenient girls could be hidden away, discreetly, and given decent care, was of necessity rather small. And . . . available only to the rich. That was probably why the parents of the first girl were tending her themselves. That inanimate body wouldn’t last a month in the asylums they could afford. She’d be left in a bed, and there she would stay, to slowly starve to death, or fall sick and die, given the indifferent attention attendants would give her.

Yes, the entity said, with overtones of satisfaction. The consumed may be anything, so long as they are pure. The witnesses must be gathered. The mental presence loomed over him, as the pillar of darkness had loomed over him, and he shrank into himself, although there was nowhere he could turn to hide from the thing in his mind. You will do this.

“Yes!” he blurted, though he had no idea how he was going to accomplish such a thing. Abduct an upper-class girl? How? It wasn’t as if girls like that were sent off on errands. Oh, maybe he could find one shopping, or seeing sights, but that would be in the company of dozens of other people. He couldn’t exactly clap a chloroform sponge over her face and drag her away!

Well, the entity had an answer for that, it seemed. You will find a witness, away from her guardians. You will speak to her. If she speaks to you, I will work through you, and she will obey you and come with you.

This both angered and terrified him. Angered him, because why hadn’t the entity done this before, rather than put him and Alf to such risk? Why had it forced them to abduct girls, instead of helping them lead their victims away?

And terrified him, because . . . maybe it hadn’t been able to reach out in that way until he’d fed it. But now that it had been fed once. . . .

Now that it had been fed once, it could not only reach him outside of the basement, it could work some form of mesmerization wherever he was. With a single feeding, it had strengthened exponentially.

What would it be like when it had fed three times? And four? Because it had said “the witnesses will be gathered,” which implied there were going to be at least three more abductions to go through with, and maybe more.

“How—” he quavered, and was not even able to come out with “—soon?” when it answered him.

No more than seven days.

Then he felt the thing leave his head, and he lay in his bed sweating and ice-cold. Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell. I can’t wait to hear what Alf has to say about all this. I wouldn’t be surprised if he quits my service over it.



But Alf, surprisingly, was philosophical. “We got two choices ’ere, guv,” he pointed out over breakfast. “We does wut it says, an’ it says it’ll ’elp thin’s go all smooth. An’ mebbe it’ll toss summat we kin use when it tosses out th’ witness, by way of reward, loike. Or we run, mebbe go move inter yer mum’s ’ouse, or even futher, crost th’ Channel, an’ ’ope it cain’t reach us from ’ere.” He stabbed meditatively at a sausage. “If me old guv’ner learnt me anythin’, though, it’s niver go back on yer bargain wi’ a devil-thin’. Mebbe it cain’t reach us. But moir loike, it can.”

He thought about that. Thought once more about sending a letter to Alderscroft—anonymously this time—before fleeing.

But—“It’s in my head, Alf,” he said plaintively. “And it seems to be saying it can stay in my head no matter where in London I am.”

Alf nodded. “So, on’y one choice then. Make th’ best uv a bad bizness.” He ate his eggs; obviously nothing about this was hurting his appetite. “’Bout them gels,” he continued. “Concerts. Leck-chures. Opry. Thet’s where ye’ll find ’em. Exhibits. Mooseums. If thet thing c’n work through ye, we hain’t gonna need t’work by night. We c’n work by day, or arternoon, anyroad. Find a likely gel. Talk to ’er, an’ let th’ thin’ get inter ’er ’ead an control ’er. Bring ’er round t’where I’m wi’ coach. Keep ’er in coach till dark, so’s no one sees us comin’ in’ere with a fancy kinda gel, then go out, get t’other kind. Easy-peasy. ’Specially if th’ thin’ is gonna ’elp us with both.”

He felt some of his panic ebbing, now that Alf had put it all so sensibly. Well . . . of course, if the thing really could do what it claimed, Alf was right. And . . . if it couldn’t, well, he’d dress the part, and all it would look like would be a rather good-looking young man in possession of wealth chatting up a pretty girl. If he was accosted by a parent, he could present a card and ask if he might be permitted to call some time. And if he couldn’t get the ideal candidate within seven days, well, the thing would just have to make do with what he could abduct for it.