Heartless

Part 6

Dear Readers,

We’re coming to the end of this Victorian piece. If you’re interested in reading the previous parts, here are the links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5.

I like writing about this time period because it’s interesting to explore the social restrictions on men and women.

• Men should wear well-fitting but never tight clothing and never ride in a closed carriage with a lady not his wife unless accompanied by a chaperone.

• Women shouldn’t read novels, heaven forbid they write any. They should keep their hands “properly placed.” Folded in their laps? And they should avoid loud laughter.

  There’s so much more that if I didn’t want to stand out, I’d have to carry a do-not-do list with me while I time-traveled.

The other reason I like to write about this era is that I’m fascinated with the development of fire departments, and during these years, they’d transitioned from hand pumpers to steam engines. This was a huge leap forward in firefighting, but that engine was fraught with its own dangers. I hint at that in Part 6.

And now for…almost the end.

Heartless, Part 6

October 8, 1871

The Kent House

This was not as she’d planned it. She still hadn’t finished Alexandra, and now Giselle was waiting.

She hurried to fasten Giselle’s wrists and ankles to the table, careful not to cause her more pain. She never liked the girls to suffer. The tea and biscuits always put them to sleep, so when she began her work, they felt nothing. She checked for damage to Giselle’s head, but she’d aimed where to bring the pipe down. There was only the slightest bit of blood.

Again, she’d have to work faster than she liked.

“I’m going to finish the remodeling for you, Alexandra, then I’ll put on your gown and see that you are comfortable in the green bedroom,” Mrs. Kent whispered. If only her girls could listen and respond. She missed their voices. Longed to hear their laughter.

Kneeling before the figure, she gently ran the heated rod along Alexandra’s side until the wax smoothed over the ribcage. She examined the repairs she’d made to the girl’s back and nodded. “Well, done.”

When the church bell tolled, she halted, surprised that it was already eight. By now, Mrs. Glenford-Leigh had alerted the authorities.

She must be ready to meet the police at the door with shock and dismay when they told her Giselle was missing.

She had her story memorized.

The last I saw of Miss Glenford was at the Palmer Hotel when Mr. Grayson insisted that he take her home at her mother’s request. Of course, I was horrified, but he had been a guest at the dinner party, and Miss Glenford seemed so very pleased to accompany him. Also, he had engaged an open carriage, so he was most proper. What could I do?

All of that sounded very convincing.

On the table, Giselle moaned and tried to lift her hand. “Mrs. Kent,” she cried. “Help me.”

Mrs. Kent sprinkled chloroform on a cloth and held it to Giselle’s nose. “Sleep, dear. I’ll be back very quickly.”

Alexandra weighed slightly less than she had before evisceration, but still, carrying her upstairs required energy and took time. If she’d been sculpted from clay and then waxed as in Madame Tussaud’s, carrying her or any of the others would have been impossible.

Perspiration moistened Mrs. Kent’s forehead as she settled Alexandra onto the settee.

She stepped back, her hands clasped at her bosom. “Lovely.”

On her way back, she looked into the rose room where Daphne waited. At the next door, she gazed fondly at Catherine. “Lavender suits you so. I knew you’d be perfect here.”

She hurried down to her workroom. And now Giselle.

#

Police Headquarters

A lame horse delayed the detective and Hawkins. By the time they’d hitched another to the carriage, Detective Scofield’s temper had flared twice. Finally, they raced away from headquarters, careened onto the main street, and, urging the horse to a fast trot, made straight to the Kent house. Gaslights flickered along their route. Feral cats scurried down alleys.

They’d come to a cross street when Hawkins reined the horse to a halt.

“What in—” The detective turned on the sergeant. This was not the time to stop.

Hawkins said nothing, but pointed at the horizon. Ahead, an eerie glow brightened the night sky, and black smoke billowed upward. The air was suddenly filled with ash and the heat of unbridled fire. From behind them came the loud clatter of hooves and the clang of bells. Hawkins drove the carriage to the side as two steam engines, belching smoke and scattering hot embers, roared past.

“Good, God!” Detective Scofield shouted. “Chicago’s burning.”

“It’s coming our direction, sir.” Hawkins swiped his hand across his forehead.

“Get to the Kent house. Now!”

Hawkins flicked the reins over the horse’s neck, and they raced toward the flames.

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Uh, oh. Not only is the clock ticking for poor Giselle at the hands of the deranged Mrs. Kent, but the detectives are heading straight into one of the most catastrophic fires of the ninetheenth century. What kind of crazed writer comes up with stuff like this? Well, a lot of us. I like a story that makes me edgy. I hope this one does that for you.

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I also like to put my characters into life-changing situations that must overcome. I think this is my way of challenging myself to meet and deal with major problems. If my characters can do it, then so can I—well, sometimes.

AMAZON

*****Reviewer: “At first, I believed that this would simply be another surface level high school drama akin to Mean Girls, but I was pleasantly surprised to see how wrong I was.”