Of Monsters and Madness Read online

  She closes her eyes again, tilting her head down slightly. Several minutes pass. Suddenly, her eyes open. “All the head pains are gone. Just gone, miss!” She looks at me with awe.

  I glance over at Mr. Poe, and he nods at me. “It seems you have the gift of healing.”

  Feeling flustered, I look away. My heart is beating entirely too fast. “My mother was very talented. She taught me everything I know.” We hit a bump, and Maddy’s fingers are withdrawn from mine. She stares down at them in wonder while I look out the window.

  “Passin’ Rittenhouse Square,” a voice from on top of the carriage says.

  “Did you hear about what happened at the square?” Maddy asks Mr. Poe, leaning forward in her seat. “The kitchen staff was just talkin’ this morning about how it’s not safe to go out after dark with a murderer on the loose.”

  I draw in a sharp breath. “Murderers roam free here?”

  “Although Philadelphia is a large city, you are quite safe,” Mr. Poe assures me. “We do not allow our murderers to roam free for very long. We have an excellent police system.”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, miss,” Maddy says. “I hope I didn’t give you a fright. There’s no need to worry. Yer father’s house is not very near Southwest Square, an’ Jasper an’ Thomas walk the grounds ev’ry night.”

  “Southwest Square? I thought he said Rittenhouse Square?”

  “They changed it to Rittenhouse last year,” Mr. Poe explains. “Most of us still call it by its old name.”

  We ride for a little while longer, until the carriage stops and then lurches to one side again. Jasper and Thomas start to descend. “We have arrived,” Mr. Poe says. “I hope you shall not be disappointed, Miss Lee.”

  I strain my eyes in the darkness to see. All I can make out is a large structure of pale stones, tall doors, and rows of windows gleaming like sharp teeth against the night. It looks nothing like the bamboo houses built high on stilts that I have spent the last ten years of my life in.

  A sense of unease fills my stomach as I stare up at what is to be my new home. Dark and foreboding, it appears just as unwelcoming as the rest of Philadelphia.

  Two

  Mr. Poe steps out of the carriage first and offers to help me down. I try not to let my apprehension of the towering house in front of me show, and thank him for his kindness. Two older ladies wearing the same matching garb as Maddy are there to meet us, introducing themselves as Cook and her assistant, Johanna.

  “What did you manage to do?” I overhear Cook scolding Maddy as soon as she gets a proper look at me. “Drop her in a mud puddle?”

  My cheeks flame, but Mr. Poe handles the situation gracefully. “There was a small mishap at the dock. Fortunately, Miss Lee has agreed not to hold it against us, and we can only hope she will give Philadelphia another chance to make a better first impression.”

  I give him a polite nod, and Cook and Johanna gather around me like protective mother hens. Their voices turn soothing.

  “We’ll have you cleaned up good as new, miss,” Cook says. “You mark my words.”

  “That’s right,” Johanna agrees. “Nothin’ some hot water an’ fresh towels can’t fix.”

  Mr. Poe bows to me. “Until we meet again. It will be sooner rather than later, I hope …” My heart beats like a trapped bird inside my chest as I wait for him to continue. He stares for a moment, then says softly, “Welcome to Philadelphia, Miss Lee.”

  The ladies erupt in a tizzy as soon as he climbs back into the carriage. They shepherd me toward the kitchen while Maddy regales them with the story of how Mr. Poe jumped into the water to save me. I am soon seated at a bench in front of a roaring fire and given a cup of tea. I take it gratefully, and marvel at the space. The kitchen alone is as big as the house that Mother and I used to share. A rough cloth is applied to my face, and then another is set upon my arm as Maddy and Johanna begin to dry me off. “Is it hopeless?” I ask. “Is my dress ruined?”

  “Not yet, miss,” Maddy says. “Dinner will be late this evening, so I can take you to yer room an’ scrub the stains out there, if you’d like.”

  My spirits lift. “Where is the well? I’ll help you draw some water.”

  Maddy stops scrubbing. “You, draw the water? Oh, no, miss.” She shakes her head. “That’s servants’ work. You don’t need to be doing that.”

  In the village where Mother and I lived, there was no such thing as “servants’ work.” Everyone pitched in equally, and when someone needed help, it was offered. But I don’t wish to offend Maddy, so I simply bow my head in agreement.

  She fills a large pot with steaming water from the fireplace kettle and then beckons me to follow her up the staircase that leads away from the kitchen.

  We go to the first level and Maddy informs me that these are the servants’ quarters. The hallway is dark, with only a single candle burning. I cannot see very far. Then she takes me up to the next level. “The main living quarters,” she says.

  I can see clearly down this long hallway because it’s lined with candles. Gleaming hardwoods and beautiful, intricate fabrics grace the walls. Maddy passes several doors until she finally stops in front of one.

  “Here we are. This’ll be yer bedroom, miss.” With a well-practiced motion, she places the pot upon her hip and takes a key from her pocket.

  When the door swings open, the sight before me causes my breath to catch. Summer sunshine is captured permanently upon the golden-yellow walls, the draperies are like ripe pomegranates, and the rug is a vivid shade of burnt amber. A bed so large it could fit Mother and me a dozen times over sits in the center of the room. On the right side is a painted dressing screen, a washbasin, and an armoire, while to the left is a desk with freshly cut flowers and a matching pair of brown chairs.

  Maddy puts the pot next to the fireplace, then reaches for the cords that lace up the back of my dress. I hold on to my scarf as she removes my stays and petticoat. “Isn’t that wet, too, miss?” she asks.

  I shake my head, feeling utterly ridiculous and more than a little exposed standing in nothing but my shift and stockings, but if she thinks me odd for keeping on the scarf, she does not say anything, and turns her attention instead to my traveling dress.

  “There is a rip in the seam near the shoulder,” I admit with embarrassment. “I thought I could dress myself, but I tore the fabric.”

  Her brow furrows as she looks for the imperfection. “No need to worry. I can stitch this right up, miss.”

  I stand there for another moment, unsure if I should offer to help. Is sewing considered servants’ work as well?

  “Why don’t you sit a spell?” Maddy finally says. “This will be done in a dog’s eye.”

  The bed catches my attention again, and I run a careful hand down the exquisitely embroidered quilt covering the length of it. The fabric is soft beneath my fingertips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful,” I say.

  “The Grandmaster chose the furnishings for the room. The chairs an’ desk were the late Grandmistress’s, an’ she made the quilt herself.” She dips a cloth into the pot and scrubs at a spot of mud on my dress.

  “Grandmaster? You mean … I have a grandfather?”

  Maddy glances over at me, her face curious. “Don’t you know all the family you have?”

  I shake my head. “Mother spoke very little of my father, and until I received the letter summoning me here, I thought I would never have the chance to meet him.”

  Maddy looks away. Plunging her hands into the water, she scrubs vigorously. She blots at several more clumps of mud and then removes the dress from the pot. “Here we are.” I can tell she’s forcing a cheery tone. “We’ll just hang it in front of the fire to dry an’ then I’ll fix the tear. It’ll be good as new.”

  I follow Maddy over to the fireplace and warm my fingers. My scarf is still damp, but I cannot remove it. Mother made me promise never to take it off in front of anyone.

  Maddy hangs the dress up and then goes over
to the armoire. She returns to me with a silver hairbrush in one hand and several pins in the other. “Come sit at the desk, miss,” she says. “An’ we’ll see about fixing yer hair.”

  She spends an eternity brushing and pinning, and by the time she’s done, I’m dangerously close to falling asleep. Then she tells me to wait while she fetches some sewing supplies. When she returns, she carries a needle and thread and my valise. “Thought you might want this, miss.” She places it on the floor at my feet.

  While Maddy fixes the tear in my dress, I search the valise for the gift I brought from Siam for Father. My thoughts are momentarily distracted when my fingers brush the newspaper from the dock, still within the front pocket, and I’m reminded again of the chilling headline I read.

  Luckily, I’m also able to find a second gift amongst my meager belongings and it doesn’t take long for Maddy to finish her task before she is dressing me again. I stow the treasures for Father and Grandfather safely away in my side pockets.

  We take a different staircase downstairs, and this one leads us to a cavernous room with dark brown walls and large paintings. Without Maddy as my guide, I fear I shall never find my way back to my bedroom.

  “This is the great room,” she says.

  Maddy returns to the kitchen and I’m startled when the adjoining doors next to me suddenly slide apart. A very tall man steps out from behind them, wearing a black suit. His hair is white, and he has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Ahhh, you must be Annabel,” he says with a smile. “I am your grandfather. But please, call me Grand-père.”

  I bow deeply. As the head of this family, he deserves my greatest respect. “Grandfa—Grand-père. I am honored to meet you.”

  “A bow!” His eyes light up. “What fine manners you have. It’s good to see that the heathens have not ruined you.”

  “Just the opposite.” I straighten and reach into my pocket for one of the gifts. “The people of Siam have great respect for their elders.”

  “Good. Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  Holding out my hands, I present him with a tiny carved wooden elephant. “This is for you.”

  He takes it and examines it closely. A look of delight crosses his face. “Exceptional craftsmanship. Thank you, my dear. I shall treasure it.” He places it carefully in his breast pocket. “Now let’s call for your father so that you can meet him. Then we shall adjourn to the—”

  A sound comes from the stairs, and we both turn to look at a figure standing near the top.

  “Ah, there you are, son,” Grand-père says. “We were just about to send for you.”

  The man on the stairs slowly starts to descend, leaning heavily upon the bannister. As he gets closer, I can see the reason he has need of support. His left foot is twisted—bent at an unnatural angle—and he must use his hands to lift his leg and then propel the lame foot forward with every step he takes.

  I bow to him when he reaches us. “I’m honored to meet you, Father. Thank you for inviting me to your home.”

  He stares at me but does not say anything.

  “Markus, this is your daughter,” Grand-père chides. “She has traveled a very long way to be here. Surely you can say something polite.”

  “Polite?” Father takes another step closer. Deep lines mark his face. He looks almost as old as Grand-père. “She bowed like a man, for God’s sake. Her manners are sorely lacking, and until they have been improved, I shall not encourage her.”

  My stomach pitches. It feels as though I’m back in the carriage again, lurching forward for the first time. “I meant no disrespect, Father. Please forgive me.” My fingers bury themselves deeply in my pockets, searching for the other gift, and I offer him the most precious thing I have. “This is for you.”

  He glances down at it. “A rock? What am I to do with a rock?”

  “It’s a stone from the holy temple of Chiang Dao, blessed by the seven monks who live there. It will bring you good luck and fortune.”

  “Good luck saw fit to turn her face away from me many years ago. No holy rock or stone will ever change that.” He glares at me, and it’s only after Grand-père clears his throat and gestures at my offering that Father finally takes the stone.

  I glance down at my hands. Already, I have disappointed him.

  “Shall we go to dinner, then?” Grand-père says. “Cook has made a delightful roast and fresh—”

  “I have a project to finish. Send something down to me,” Father interrupts.

  “Can’t it wait for another evening, Markus? This is to be our first family dinner.”

  “The first of many, I’m sure.” Father’s tone is dismissive. “My apologies, but my work cannot wait. It’s very fragile right now. I’m sure you understand.”

  He disappears without another word into the kitchen, and Grand-père turns to me. “Looks as if it shall be just the two of us, then. But no matter! We have a great deal of catching up to do.”

  I put on a smile as we proceed to the dining room. Although I’m happy for the chance to dine with Grand-père, I’m also saddened that I have already offended Father with my rough manners and poorly chosen gift.

  I wonder if I shall always be such a disappointment to him.

  After dinner, Maddy takes me to my bedroom and prepares the bed for the evening, turning back the linens and warming them with a plate full of heated coals. When she’s done, she helps me undress. I stop her when she reaches for my scarf. “I’m rather chilly tonight. I think I’ll sleep with it on if you don’t mind.”

  She nods, and moves to add fresh logs to the fireplace while I slip between the bedcovers. Though the rain has stopped, the evening air is cool and the feeling of warm linens beneath me is a luxury I could not have imagined. Maddy comes to rearrange the blankets one last time. “All set, then, miss? If you need anything, you just push the button beside the door. It sends a loud noise right to my room. I’ll hear it an’ come straightaway.”

  Her face is so eager that I don’t have the heart to tell her I would not want to interrupt her sleep. Instead, I work up my nerve to ask her the question that’s been on my mind all night. “Do you … do you happen to know if there’s anything I might say that would please my father? What topics of conversation he finds most interesting?”

  Maddy pulls away from the bed. “The other servants an’ I don’t have conversations with the Master. He tells us what to do an’ we listen.”

  “Of course,” I mumble, feeling foolish. “It’s just that … I fear I have disappointed him already.”

  She pats my arm and her face turns reassuring. “Oh, no, miss. I’m sure you haven’t done anything. Yer lovely. Absolutely lovely. The Master can be difficult to please, is all. What with his terrible sickness.”

  “Sickness?”

  She abruptly withdraws her hand. “Never you mind now. Yer father is pleased grand to see you, I’m sure. Sweet dreams, miss. If you need me, just push the button.”

  I lie there long after she has gone, contemplating what she said. The house is silent and the bed is so large I feel like a ship adrift at sea. Lost amongst the bed linens. Lost amongst my thoughts.

  The wind rattles fiercely against the windows, tempting me to leave the safety of my covers and peer outside to see my new surroundings. Eventually, I succumb, slipping my feet into a pair of cloth-lined bedroom slippers Maddy has left for me, and tiptoe over. There is a courtyard below.

  A cloaked figure walks the perimeter, and a shiver runs through me as I remember Maddy’s words in the carriage. It must be Jasper or Thomas walking the grounds. A light catches my eye on the opposite side of the courtyard, and I press closer to the glass. It’s a lantern flaring to life. A figure is briefly illuminated in an open doorway, dragging a large burlap sack behind him. He limps forward, and suddenly, the lantern is extinguished.

  Putting one hand up against the cold glass, I hold very still and stare down into the darkness below. Was that Father?

  I strain my eyes for any signs of movement—Is he
still out there?—when a loud pop comes from behind me.

  My hands fly to my scarf until I realize it’s only a log settling in the fireplace, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Moving away from the window, I go over to my valise and withdraw two books from the collection packed carefully inside.

  One is battered and torn, with the spine badly broken in several places. This book is dearest to my heart since it once belonged to Mother. The other is my journal, and it means almost as much to me. I reach into the side pocket next and feel for the newspaper. Taking a seat on the rug in front of the fireplace, I spread the pages out before me and continue reading.

  MURDER AT

  RITTENHOUSE SQUARE.

  POLICE FIND GRISLY SCENE OF DISMEMBERMENT.

  Murder most foul has been committed upon the streets of Philadelphia, whereas an unknown assailant has grievously and most purposely MURDERED a gentleman! MR. D— ELLIOT has been identified by the birthmark upon his neck and is the victim of this heinous crime. The gentleman was discovered by a house servant who found the remains at RITTENHOUSE SQUARE while traveling to the market this morning, whereas the limbs had been torn asunder from the torso and the head cleaved from his neck. POLICE urge all women and children to take heed of this atrocity and to take special cautions.

  REWARD POSTED

  I carefully rip the article away from the rest of the newspaper. Tucking it away into my journal, I wonder, not for the first time, if I was wrong to come to Philadelphia. Wrong to come to such a place as this. What would Mother think? Would she have approved of my traveling halfway across the world on my own? Or should I have stayed with the missionaries in Siam?

  I should feel safe in my new home.

  But no matter what Mr. Poe said, it is not safe to walk the streets. There is a murderer on the loose.