The Strange Case of Finley Jayne (Steampunk Chronicles 0.5)(23)

Perhaps it was just her overactive imagination that made her paranoid, but Finley jumped back after giving the door a push, just in case.

Nothing happened. No blades, no bullets. Cautiously, she peeked around the door frame into the room. Aside from scientific equipment, it was empty. It was a little disappointing, really. As an inventor he could at least have had a hunchback assistant, or perhaps a metal one.

The room was clean to the point of being sterile. The walls were a fresh white, the benches and sideboards a deep walnut. A stack of folders sat at the far end of the counter, near a tray of neatly arranged surgical instruments.

Finley turned her head. There was another workbench on the other side of the room, and near the window, with a large chandelier over it, there was a table—the kind she’d seen at the doctor’s office.

Why would a man who built automatons have a surgical table? Surgical equipment? Lady Morton said Lord Vincent had built his own prosthetic leg, but surely he hadn’t installed it on himself, as well? Perhaps he had. But why maintain the equipment? Who was he working on now?

As if in reply, there came a gurgling noise from behind her. She froze. Her heart was so far up her throat she could feel its beat on the roof of her mouth. Cold heat prickled her fingers and toes, and spread up to the nape of her neck.

She did not want to turn around, but she had no choice.

Slowly, mouth drying out with every movement, Finley turned toward the tank. She had been able to ignore it until now, when the contents had apparently come alive.

The coils of wires running into the tank were mostly concealed by a white cloth draped over the top. Finley’s fingers trembled as she reached for that cloth. Once she removed it she would not be able to put it back, not without seeing what lurked beneath.

She clutched the linen and pulled. Lord, was it possible for someone her age to die of heart failure? Surely the poor thing could not continue this furious beating for much longer.

The cloth fell away, revealing the bubbling pink goo beneath. Revealing what lurked there.

She had been right. It was a brain. Her stomach twisted, threatening to expel her dinner. It was awful and fascinating at the same time, floating there in the goo, wires attached to it. The wires had to be what kept it “alive”—some sort of electrical current? The goo had to be similar to human tissue, perhaps the lining of the skull. She had no medical knowledge, so she could only assume these things, but it made sense to her shocked mind.

What sort of madman kept a brain in a tank?

She turned away, unable to stare at it any longer. It bobbed in the liquid, as though begging for her help, which she had no idea how to give. It had been inside a human once. Did it maintain memories, feelings? Was it suffering?

It was too much.

On the opposite wall there was a large metal door. Finley turned her attention to it instead of the brain. She wanted to run away, but she couldn’t. Not until she’d uncovered every secret Lord Vincent had.

It was at that moment that she felt a calm settle over her. She knew at once that her darker nature was taking over, and she let it. It always seemed to come during times of high emotion or stress, and since it was better equipped to handle this sort of situation, she didn’t put up a fight.

A couple of deep breaths later and her nerves settled. Fear was replaced with determination, and a healthy dose of righteous anger. Instead of feeling sorry for the thing in the vat, she was angry for it. Instead of being afraid she was determined.

She turned the wheel on the front of the large metal door. There was a hissing sound, the release of steam. As she turned, gears clicked into place until finally there was a loud thud as the locking mechanism slid free. She pulled the lever to the side and the door slowly swung open.

A wave of cold struck her, fogging the air as it clashed with the warmth of the room. For a moment she couldn’t see, the stuff was so thick.

When it cleared she wished she hadn’t opened the door. This was obviously an ice chest, and standing in the middle of it, strapped to a board was the late Lady Vincent. She wore a simple robe—which her husband had obviously dressed her in out of a sense of modesty rather than warmth. This poor lady wasn’t in any condition to mind the cold.

Finley stared at the corpse, mouth grim. There was a large, unhealed slash across Lady Vincent’s forehead. She didn’t have to be a genius to know it went all the way around.

At least she knew now who the brain in the tank belonged to.

“You’re a very nosy girl, Miss Bennet.”





CHAPTER NINE




Finley swore under her breath—the kind of swearing that would have made her mother wash her mouth out with soap.

How could she not have heard him coming? He’d sneaked up on her like a cat on a deaf mouse.

She turned, and met the glittering gaze of Lord Vincent.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked. “Are you going to attempt reanimating your wife?”

He arched a brow, gazing down that big nose of his at her. “That might cause some issue, considering the world knows her to be dead.”

Frowning, Finley glanced at the brain in the tank. It was bobbing furiously now. He kept the brain alive, so he must be planning on using it for something….

It was as though a giant hand of ice reached inside her and seized her heart. “Oh my God,” she rasped. “You’re going to put her brain in Phoebe’s head.”