Of Monsters and Madness Read online

  EGMONT

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  First published by Egmont USA, 2014

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 806

  New York, NY 10016

  Copyright © Jessica Verday, 2014

  All rights reserved

  www.egmontusa.com

  www.jessicaverday.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Verday, Jessica.

  Of monsters and madness / by Jessica Verday.

  1 online resource.

  Summary: In 1820s Philadelphia, a girl finds herself in the midst of a rash of gruesome murders in which her father and his alluring assistant might be implicated.

  Description based on print version record and CIP data provided by publisher; resource not viewed.

  ISBN 978-1-60684-464-9 (eBook) — ISBN 978-1-60684-463-2 (hardcover)

  [1. Murder—Fiction. 2. Philadelphia (Pa.)—History—19th century—Fiction.

  3. Horror stories.] I. Title.

  PZ7.V5828

  [Fic]—dc23

  2014008773

  Book design by Michelle Gengaro-Kokmen

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright owner.

  v3.1

  For Alison — because it was your first

  (and I know I’m biased, but I think it’s your best) acquisition

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Preface

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Works Referenced

  It was many and many a year ago,

  In a kingdom by the sea,

  That a maiden there lived whom you may know

  By the name of Annabel Lee …

  — “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe

  Preface

  My breath is quick. It abandons me, then rushes back so fiercely I fear I’m going to faint. The horrors—such horrors!—lie before me.

  Blood is everywhere. Splashed on the walls and spilled across the floor. The scent, heavy upon the air, is like a fog that rises up early in the morning. Loops of glistening flesh are strung out upon a table, and in the middle of it all is a single lock of hair. Dark. Curled. Obscene in its loveliness amongst such carnage. I cannot comprehend that such a horrible act has been committed upon someone, and I close my eyes to say a silent prayer for their soul.

  I’ve been witness to grim scenes as Mother’s assistant, but nothing could prepare me for this. Only moments ago, this poor person was alive. And now …

  A sound comes from behind me. I whirl around, and Edgar steps out of the shadows. “Do you like it?” he purrs. “The small intestine stretches quite far. It is remarkable.”

  “You did this?”

  At his nod, I put one hand up to cover my mouth. Bile rises in the back of my throat and nausea threatens to overcome me. “Why …?”

  “To show you that I keep my word. If you deny my request, this will be Cook next. Carved upon my table like a Christmas ham. Or perhaps Johanna.”

  I take a step back and stumble. “I tried to find Father … to speak with him.… But he’s gone out of town and has not yet returned.”

  Voices come from outside the room, and Edgar springs into action, pushing the door shut behind me, and shoving me backward. Curling his fingers into the collar of my cloak, he holds me up against the wall. My feet barely brush the floor.

  “It’s my best work yet,” Edgar says. “Although rather messy.” His voice, low in my ear, is taunting. “Don’t you think?”

  My heart thumps, and I silently beg him to let me go. To erase this horror from my mad, feverish brain. To let this torment finally come to an end.

  His leg is pressed against mine and I feel the heat of his body singeing me through my dress. He pulls back to study me, cocking his head to one side, and I do what I should have done from the moment he first laid his hands upon me—I struggle.

  But Edgar holds me tight. He dips his head, and his mouth is dangerously close to my throat. He pushes aside my scarf and I cry out.

  And then, suddenly, he lets me go.

  Blindly, I stumble away from him. With one hand against the wall, I feel my way toward the door. If I can only be free of this room, away from this house, I know I will be safe.

  “Annabel,” he calls out, and something in his voice gives me pause. “Do not forget your promise.”

  One

  PHİLADELPHİA, 1826

  The carriage is late. My dress is torn. And the rumbling clouds overhead threaten a storm at any moment. Glancing anxiously at the gathering darkness, I pull the edges of my linen scarf closer around my neck. Although the dress I’m wearing is new, the scarf is old. A family heirloom passed down from Mother. I never take it off.

  Shifting upon the surface of my steamer trunk, I huddle closer to the lone gas lamp casting a dim glow around me. The ship from Siam docked earlier in the day. I am the last remaining passenger. The letter I received said I would be met here by my father, but now doubt starts to creep in around the edges of my mind. What if I’ve been forgotten? What will I do if no one comes?

  Nearby, two men barter, and I turn to watch their exchange. Their skin isn’t darkened by the sun and their faces are not split with easy smiles like the people I am used to. Instead, these men’s faces are pale and drawn. They are in such a hurry to go about their business with no signs of joy in their transaction. Everything is so black and bleak here in Philadelphia.

  Bits of dirty straw and discarded fish heads litter the ground, and the air is ripe with soot-stained clouds and spray from the choppy sea waters. Wrinkled fishermen traverse the edges of the dock, tying up their vessels for the night as a small child runs amongst them, offering his services. They ignore him and he turns away, searching for another way to pay for his evening meal.

  One of the fishermen drops a newspaper beside me and I bend down to pick it up. The headline reads: MURDER AT RITTENHOUSE SQUARE. POLICE FIND GRISLY SCENE OF DISMEMBERMENT.

  My heart beats loudly in my ears. This is to be my new home? A place of murder and death?

  Suddenly, a tiny girl wearing dark skirts and a matching cloak appears in front of me and curtsies deeply. She is pale skinned, with a plait of red hair tied neatly to one side. In her hand is a piece of paper. She looks at it, and says, “Are you Miss Annabel Lee?”

  “I am.”

  “Begging yer pardon for being so late. The horse threw a shoe an’ it had to be replaced.” She stands from her curtsy and bobs her head. “I’m Maddy, miss. Here to take you back to the house.”

  I smile and bow to her. “I was expecting my father to meet me.”

  “
He was unavailable.” She glances around. “Is there only one of you? We thought there would be two.”

  “My mother …” My voice breaks. Her death is still so fresh in my mind. The ache of losing her was like having my heart split in two, with one of the pieces lost forever. “She died a month before I received the letter informing me that passage had been booked to Philadelphia for us both. I have her unused ticket in my valise.” I gesture to the small bag sitting at my feet.

  Maddy’s expression briefly changes to pity, but then it’s gone and she reaches for my valise. “I’ll take this, an’ Thomas, our footman, will see to yer trunk. Come with me. The carriage is this way.”

  Tucking the newspaper into the side of my valise, I hand it over to her and grasp my skirts firmly, trying not to step on any of the fish heads. The silk is heavy between my fingertips, and I long for the light cotton trousers and shirt I have packed away in my trunk. I can barely move in this ill-fitting garment. The only reason I’m wearing it is because it was sent to me along with the ship fare. I had put the gown on as soon as the ship came to shore, wanting to look my best for Father.

  “Stay close.” My companion turns around again, eyeing a thin man who is lingering in the shadows. She leads me down the dock and I can see a large carriage with even larger horses waiting there for us.

  “Do they bite?” I ask.

  She doesn’t seem to hear me, so I ask louder, “Do they bite?”

  “Does what bite, miss?”

  “The horses. Do they bite? They have a great many teeth.”

  “Not these ones. It’s in the breeding.” Pride is evident in her tone. “The house stables is some of the best around. My cousin Jasper was just made head groom, an’ he—”

  The sound of feet pounding down the dock interrupts her and I turn to see the boy from earlier running toward us. Something wrapped in newspaper is clutched between his fingers, and an impish grin covers his face. He cranes his neck to steal a glance behind him as one of the wrinkled fishermen gives chase, yelling that he needs to pay for what he stole. Then the fisherman calls the boy a name that I am far too familiar with. Bastard.

  The little boy looks as if he’s going to give us a wide berth but suddenly changes direction. “Here, catch!” he shrieks, balling up the newspaper and tossing it at me. A freshly caught fish is revealed.

  Instinctively, I move to avoid the dirty paper. This puts me directly in the path of the old fisherman and we collide. The force is so great that he knocks me off my feet.

  “Oh, no, miss!” I can hear Maddy wailing. “Mind the harbor!”

  But her warning comes too late, and I hit the water with a splash. My head sinks below the surface and only then do I remember to let go of my skirt.

  Trying to conserve my air, I kick as hard as I can to propel myself upward. Learning how to swim was a necessary part of life in Siam, but the heavy material of my dress, and the layers of undergarments beneath, weigh me down like an anchor around my feet. I sink farther and sputter as my lungs start to fill.

  My arms flail desperately, reaching for something to grab on to, but there is nothing. Panic sets in. Every breath I take floods my mouth with dirty water. Tiny bubbles start to surround me as the air escapes my body. The edges of my vision go black, and I realize I’m not kicking anymore.

  I’m going to drown at the bottom of this harbor. I’m never going to meet my father.

  Suddenly, something plunges into the water beside me. I feel the force of it ricochet around my body. A hand grabs mine, and strong arms pull me toward the surface. My lungs constrict painfully when we break free of the water and I take a ragged breath, struggling to kick my legs. Struggling to be free of these murky depths.

  “I have you,” a voice murmurs close to my ear. “You are safe.”

  I can hear people shouting and then more arms are reaching for me, hauling me up onto the dock.

  “Clear back, clear back!” Maddy shouts. “Give her some room!”

  A man kneels beside me as I continue to gasp for air. “Maddy,” he says, “loosen her stays. She cannot breathe.”

  His voice is gentle, and even though he’s giving a command, it sounds like a request. I catch only a glimpse of dark hair and dark eyes before he pulls back and Maddy takes his place. “Just a moment, miss. I’ll loosen you up.”

  Rolling me to one side, she deftly unties the laces at the back of my dress. The feeling is such sweet relief and I am immensely grateful to her. But then I remember my scarf. Raising trembling hands to my neck, I fear it may be lost. Another rush of relief sweeps over me when I find the linen is still there.

  Maddy retightens my laces before standing again. A scowl crosses her face. “We was lucky Mr. Poe was here. The old man who tipped you in was no help at all.”

  She offers me her hand and I take it, slowly getting to my feet. Two men in black uniforms are beside her. One of them has removed his hat and is clutching it anxiously. Lifting my sodden skirts, I manage to awkwardly bow to them. “Thank you for rescuing me, Mr. Poe,” I say to the one holding his hat.

  He tips his head at me. “Forgive me, miss, but I’m Jasper.”

  I look to the second man, but he inclines his head as well. “Thomas, miss.”

  Someone moves behind me, and I turn. A young man wearing a wet gray suit takes a step forward. His cravat has come undone. Midnight-colored hair tied at the back of his neck matches dark eyes and heavy brows, though his features are refined and elegant. “Miss Annabel Lee, I presume?” His voice has a lilting sound to it. Like poetry being read aloud.

  At my nod, he bows deeply. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance. I’m your father’s assistant, Allan Poe.”

  Suddenly aware of what a picture I must present, my cheeks flame as I briefly meet his eyes and then look away. In Siam, it’s considered rude to make eye contact for an extended length of time. “It’s my honor to meet you, sir. I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving me.”

  “Think nothing of it. Your father would have my head if I let his only daughter drown.” Paying no heed to the mud covering my dress, he offers his arm. “May I escort you to the carriage?”

  “Of course.” I take his outstretched arm and he walks me the rest of the way. When we finally reach the carriage, I stop and gaze up at it. It’s a deep green color, with a leather roof to provide protection from the threatening rain, and paintings of twin golden lions upon the doors. Glass lanterns hang from the front and rear, and the interior is illuminated as well. I have never seen a carriage as fine as this.

  “Up an’ in,” Maddy says. “Thomas will help you.”

  My skirt is even heavier now that it’s soaked through, and I have to move carefully up the small set of steps. Maddy climbs in beside me, and Mr. Poe follows, sitting down across from us. I discreetly wipe a droplet of water from my brow and blow out a nervous breath as Mr. Poe reties his cravat.

  Should I ask about Father? There is so much I wish to know.

  The carriage lurches to one side when Jasper and Thomas climb aboard and then the horses start to pull us forward. I grip at my seat as the carriage rattles beneath me. It seems the stories I have been told were untrue. The streets of America are not paved with gold, but with uneven stones.

  “Don’t you worry none,” Maddy assures me, “Jasper is a good driver.”

  Overhead, a sudden crack of thunder announces the arrival of the storm, and from the window, I see lightning split the sky. Trying to distract myself, I say to Maddy, “I have not yet had a chance to properly introduce myself. I am Annabel Lenore Lee.”

  “Madeline O’Doyle, miss. Called Maddy.” Her smile is large and full of excitement. Two top teeth meet crookedly in the middle, giving her a charmingly off-kilter appearance. “I’m grand pleased I am to be yer dressing maid.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Maddy.”

  Thunder cracks again. The rain turns terrifyingly loud overhead and I struggle not to let my panic overtake me. Ever since I was a young girl, I have had an
abnormal fear of thunderstorms. And being trapped in this box, trapped in this dress, trapped in this unfamiliar corset and stays and undergarments in which I cannot breathe is too much.…

  Just as I am about to ask Maddy to stop the carriage and let me out, Mr. Poe says, “I do not enjoy late-night storms. They remind me of the grave, rolling in with a shroud of darkness that covers the earth. Would you be so kind as to distract me, Miss Lee? Tell me how you ended up taking a bath in Philadelphia’s finest waters.”

  I glance over at him. His gentle smile is soothing, and I feel some of my worry start to melt away. “A young boy who was being chased chose an unfortunate moment to change course. The fisherman who was pursuing him could not change his course quite as quickly. It was my misfortune to be in his path.”

  “And the fisherman pushed you in? The cad!”

  “Truly, it was an accident,” I say hastily. “He did not do it on purpose.”

  “Still, he could have stopped to help you out of the water.” A muscle ticks angrily at the bottom of Mr. Poe’s jaw. “If I had not been there—” He stops and then shakes his head. “Well, I guess it’s fortunate I was there, wasn’t it?”

  He gives me another smile and I suddenly feel as if my laces are too tight again.

  As we continue on, I notice Maddy putting a hand to her temple. She grimaces and closes her eyes. “Are you feeling unwell?” I ask.

  She opens her eyes. “Storms make my head hurt.”

  I think of the times when I was plagued with headaches. “My mother is—was—a practitioner of certain techniques that helped to ease head pain. I’d like to show one of them to you, if you would allow it?”

  Maddy hesitates.

  “I promise, it won’t hurt. May I see your hand?”

  Slowly, Maddy gives me her right hand. Dark crescent moons under her fingernails show a lifetime of hard work, but the bones in her fingers are small and delicate. A striking contrast to the coarseness of her palm. The third finger is swollen a bit, most likely broken and never properly healed.

  I feel for the small web of flesh connecting her thumb and forefinger. Placing my thumb over the top of it while positioning my finger beneath, I press down gently. “This is where your heart and head are connected,” I explain. “An invisible line pulls between the two. As I apply pressure, the pain in your head will release.”