Something Strange and Deadly (Something Strange and Deadly #1)(34)

“Why?”

“Your rude behavior. And also your...” I twirled my hand in the air, searching for the word. “Your thug over there.”

Clarence turned to Willis and nodded, and though the footman doffed his derby hat and relaxed his stance, he did not depart.

Clarence rubbed his neck, and his chest heaved as he pushed out a long sigh. “Please stay, Miss Fitt. I... I’m sorry.” He pointed again at the bench. “I promise to be civil.”

“Civil enough to explain your mood?” I arched my eyebrow.

“Yes, yes.” He offered his arm, and I hooked mine in. We shuffled awkwardly to the bench, and he helped me sit before easing himself down. He leaned exhaustedly back and then laid a limp hand over his eyes.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “I haven’t been sleeping.”

I straightened. “Why not?”

“I have... things... on my mind.”

“What sort of things?”

He dropped his hand and gazed at me. The tightness of his lips showed none of his usual charm, and the rest of his face showed a bone-deep weariness. He shook his head, as if to say he was too tired to even deal with his own emotions.

After several moments, he finally said, “Another friend of mine passed away, and I’ve been having a difficult time with it.”

“Oh,” I breathed, suddenly wishing I had let the man be. As usual, I had pestered in the precise spot I could do the most damage. “I... I’m sorry, Mr. Wilcox.”

“Hmmm.” He let his head roll back. I thought for a moment he’d fallen asleep, but then he stirred and rubbed at his eyes. When at last he faced me again, I saw a fresh redness tingeing them.

“A close friend from Germantown Academy. James.” He drawled out the name, as if savoring its taste. “James Sutton. A good man. The funeral was quite small—he deserved more.”

I flinched as Joseph’s exact words came flooding back to me: The Sutton family has been uncooperative on all levels.

I stared at Clarence, a new sort of pity in my chest. It had to be the same Sutton—there was no way it was just coincidence. The poor, poor man. He’d lost two friends to gruesome deaths—what were the chances? Two former schoolmates from Germantown Academy taken and murdered.

My stomach turned to stone, and I fell back against the seat. Elijah was also a schoolmate. Elijah was missing. It was connected—the two decapitated men and my missing brother were connected. The necromancer hadn’t just targeted Elijah, but other boys from their academy as well. Boys who were now men... men who’d met grisly deaths at the hands of a necromancer.

Oh God.

My recent helping of buttered toast churned its way out of my stomach and into my throat.

I threw my parasol on the grass, clapped my hand to my mouth, and bounded dizzily toward the hibiscus beside the front porch.

Clarence jogged to me, his expression horrified.

No doubt I resembled a toad: eyes bulging and chest ballooning with each desperate gasp. In and out, in and out until the revolt in my stomach subsided.

I wiped at my sweaty face with my sleeve.

“Let me get your mother,” Clarence said. He held my parasol in his hand, and I snatched it away.

“No.” I shook my head frantically. I needed to speak to the Spirit-Hunters—they needed to know this connection between the headless men and Elijah. Such news could not wait. Or rather, I could not wait with the knowledge boiling in my brain. “No. I... I must go.”

He reared back. “Where?”

“The Exhibition,” I mumbled, dabbing at the moisture at my hairline. I staggered away from the porch.

“Why the devil do you need to go there?”

“Fun.”

“Fun?” He grabbed at my elbow. “Enough of this nonsense. You’re ill!”

“No.” I slipped from his grasp. “I’m going to the Exhibition. Now.” I headed toward the street. I swayed with each step, but my legs were sturdy by the time I left my front yard. I opened my parasol and held it high.

My feet pounded a quick rhythm on the road. My stomach’s rebellion had passed as quickly as it had come, and the only remaining effect was the acrid taste of bile in my mouth. My first reaction of sickening fear had been replaced with relentless determination.

My steps faltered. If the Germantown Academy boys were in danger, then that meant Clarence could be too. Did he realize? Should I say something?

No. I ought to wait. I should hear the Spirit-Hunters’ opinions first. No need to frighten the man unnecessarily—he looked stressed enough already. Besides, he had the bulky Willis to look after him. Elijah had no one.

Clarence trotted up behind me on the street.

“Who will tell our mothers where we’ve gone?” he asked, his voice breathy. My pace was beyond his current physical capacity.

“You could tell your footman.” I tipped my head backward, certain the man trailed behind.

Clarence made a gurgling sound, and I gaped at him in surprise. Somehow his pale face had gone even paler. “No. Willis cannot go,” he insisted. “H-he must stay with me.”

“Why?”

Clarence fidgeted with his necktie. “Reasons. Personal ones.”

I compressed my lips in a tight line. Maybe he had already sorted out that he was in danger. Perhaps that was why Willis always hovered nearby. The man was not a typical footman—following his master around, glowering at young damsels, and no doubt doing all sorts of other bizarre duties.