He was mad, Emma realized without a trace of sympathy. This wasn’t rational—she still didn’t recognize him or remember anything of a past encounter, and the man actually thought he was on the side of the angels. If Collins recognized his employer’s delusions he didn’t pay any attention, still picking at his blackened teeth.
Fenrush’s eyes were bulging slightly. “Why aren’t you saying something? Haven’t you got more lies, more excuses, aren’t you going to say you love me, that you never wanted. . .”
“She can’t talk,” Collins weighed in. “You told me to gag her. If you want her to speak then you have to take off the gag. In fact, this’d be a good time to get rid of her.”
Fenrush’s look of disgust was laughably patrician. “I am not going to ‘get rid of her’ as you put it. I couldn’t expect a man of your limitations to understand, but I have a plan. Dumping her on the side of the road is not part of it. Fire, Collins. Only fire washes away all sins.”
Fire and washing were pretty much opposites, Emma thought, letting her contempt distract her from her current disastrous position. She had to content herself with giving him a look of withering disdain, then leaning back and closing her eyes as if he bored her.
It worked. He yanked her forward and tore the gag away, spittle flying from his mouth as he screamed at her. “You will not ignore me! You are worthless, a travesty, a mockery of all that is sacred and noble in the medical profession! You filthy, disease-ridden trollop!”
“I gather you’re the one who’s disease-ridden,” she said calmly, surprised her voice so
unded so normal. “I myself am quite healthy, and signs of the illness would have been noticeable by now if I had it. You kill more patients than you save, I save more than die, and as for all that is sacred and noble, you provided a never-ending supply of freshly-killed bodies for research, enriching your pockets and leading to your appalling appointment as head of the surgeons’ hospital, when there should have been little doubt you were murdering people for their corpses.” It was a wild shot across the bow, but it hit its mark, and there was no way she could hide her horror.
“Fact is, he didn’t kill ‘em,” Collins pointed out. “I did, me and me mates. Though occasionally he’d have to finish ‘em off if we got sloppy and delivered some still twitching, but I thinks he enjoyed that.”
“Shut up!” Fenrush screamed. “They were worthless, the dregs of society. They gave their lives for science, they. . .”
“They gave their lives for your pockets,” Collins said. “Admit it. And they weren’t all low-lives—you sent me after some of the gentry when someone paid you enough. There was that young man—son of a duke, he was, and those two old ladies. What’d ya want them for?”
Fenrush no longer looked like a cheerful shopkeeper—he was pasty, pale, and sweaty. “I admit there is no use for female cadavers in science,” he said loftily. “But I have benefactors, and small favors must be dispensed to keep them happy.”
Emma opened her eyes. “Small favors like killing their wives?”.
“Shut up, bitch,” Fenrush snarled.
“More like their mothers—both of them were too old to fuck before I did ‘em,” Collins said. “You’re a different matter.”
She didn’t even blink, looking at him like he was a slug. “I’d be surprised if your bollocks are still up to the task.”
He lunged off the opposite seat, but suddenly there was a blade between them—and not a small one. Fenrush held the saw used for cutting through bone, and it would slice through Collins quite easily. “Sit down,” Fenrush said icily. “I told you I had plans for her. She’ll go with the others. That is, if this time you did your job right.”
Collins sat back, disgruntled. “It’s taken care of. One spark and it’ll go up, with all them dollymops inside. But not this one. I deserve my go at her.”
“Especially this one,” Fenrush said. “She must burn the brightest.”
Emma promptly vomited.
Chapter 27
He couldn’t find where she’d gone. He’d been dead asleep when Noonan had come barging into the room, and his immediate, groggy thought had been to protect Emma, hide her from intrusive eyes, but the bed was empty, cold without her, and Noonan ripped the covers off his naked body.
“You’ve done it this time, me boy,” he said. “She’s run off, and if you have any sense you’ll let her go.” He paused, running his eyes down Brandon’s length. “Though it seems you enjoyed yourself well enough.”
He got out of bed slowly, not bothering to glance down at his body. There would be small bites, scratches, love marks. He’d managed to drive her into a frenzy, and each mark on his body was a badge of honor, far more than his battle wounds. “What are you talking about?”
“Your girl’s gone. Run off just a minute ago—told me to tell you goodbye. What’d you do—bungle the job? That’s not like you.”
Brandon didn’t waste time with niceties—he washed himself with the bowl of cool water, splashing it liberally on the floor before looking around for his clothes. They were scattered over the floor, and Noonan was already handing him his drawers. “Where was she going?”
“She didn’t tell me, you young fool. I don’t guess she wants you to know.”
He yanked his breeches on over the drawers. “What did she say? Was she angry?” He was having trouble thinking straight—why had she left? He was going to . . . he wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but one thing he’d been certain of. He wasn’t going to let her go.
But she had gone anyway.
“Let her go,” Noonan said again. “What have you got to offer her, eh? She’s nothing but trouble, when you’ve got that nice girl to marry so you can settle down and become a good, solid gentleman around town.”