“Jane, please move the lantern. Its light upon her face will wake her, and she needs as much rest as her body will allow.”
From behind him, the maid replied, “The lantern ain’t casting any light on her face, Doctor.”
Palmer focused his powers of observation once more upon the countenance of his patient. Unmistakable light darted over her features. It flashed and danced, producing enough light to illuminate her head but cast no light upon the room in general.
He stood once more, taking a step back and observingthe unexpected sight from more of a distance. He was not mistaken in what he saw. A silvery light, not unlike that seen when moonlight is reflected on water, danced upon her face. The curtains in the window were drawn, eliminating that possible source. The light rendered her skin so white one might believe it to have been covered in paint. Indeed, the skin took on a look of having been glazed. All the while, the mysterious light continued to dart about.
The learned and curious doctor spoke not a word, even as his heart pounded in anticipation and wonderment. There was no heat emanating from the light, nor did it shine beyond the precise location where it emerged.
Though the color was different, it put him immediately and fully in mind of the columns of fire-like light he had seen on the bogs months earlier. This time, though, the inexplicable phenomenon had made itself known on the face of a human being.
“This ain’t the first time I’ve seen this happen, Dr. Palmer,” Jane said.
“When have you seen it before?” he inquired.
“This morning,” came the reply. “Miss Lavinia’s face lit in just this way. I found it quite dazzling, I did.”
“And did you tell anyone else what you’d seen?”
“Blimey, no. None of the other staff’d believe me, and Miss Lavinia would likely say I were being superstitious. Fine folk are always assuming that about us lowly folk. But I won’t never forget what I seen.”
Palmer checked the position of the lantern once more, confirming to himself that it was, indeed, not in such a place as to be the source of the lights which continued to appear on Miss Lavinia’s face. For an hour, thephenomenon continued before disappearing as suddenly as it had begun.
He stayed at Miss Lavinia Abbott’s side for the remaining days of her life. The lights returned twice more, though he could determine neither cause nor source nor pattern for their rising and extinguishing. The evening before her passing, the lights returned for a final time, fainter than on the previous occasions and lasting a shorter interval.
Palmer had theorized the lights he’d seen on the bog were the result of the freezing and thawing of organic material. As Miss Lavinia lived out her remaining days, her condition deteriorated. Perhaps it was her deterioration that had caused the mysterious light to appear. Perhaps it was deterioration in the bogs that had done the same.
He would have answers. He vowed that he would. For, as much as the bog lights had sat upon his mind, this experience added weight tenfold.
Peoplecould glow. And he would not rest until he knew why.
Chapter 9
Mrs. Simms had left for the day by the time Barnabus reached his home. For three years, that would have meant returning to an empty, echoing house, but instead, he opened the door to the sound of Gemma happily singing “Fairlop Fair.” Though his mind remained heavy with thoughts of fires and of resurrection men and of women trapped in horrible situations, her voice lightened his heart and eased some of that burden.
He hung up his hat and coat, leaned his cane against the wall, then crossed into the sitting room to put away his medical bag. Mrs. Simms had left the examination area pristine, as always. Until recently, he’d had two nurses working for him, alternating which days they were present. He was so stretched for time now, though, that he didn’t see as many patients as before, and he couldn’t justify a second nurse.
He hoped his most recent penny dreadful proved a success. He needed to increase his income somehow if he had any hope of keeping his safe houses operating.
“Baz, you’re home!”
He turned toward the sound of Gemma’s voice. She looked delighted to see him. He’d forgotten how nice that was to come home to. He’d not had it in years.
“You’ll never twig what happened to me today.” She bounced across the room to him. How could anyone not be buoyed by her joyfulness? “Móirín found me a job. It ain’t terrible far from here, and it pays a nice lump of coin. And it ain’t dangerous.”
“Thatisgood news.” He held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation. “Where and what will you be doing?”
A bit of uncertainty entered her expression. “It ain’t a four-liner job.”
He squeezed her fingers. “If it’s made you happy, that alone makes it important, no matter what others might say.”
Her smile returned. “Few people hearing you would have the least suspicion you understand South LondonandEast End talk.”
He shrugged. “I am, essentially, multilingual.”
She sat on the sofa, keeping hold of his hand so he sat beside her. “Are you ever tempted to return to your East End speaking?”
“Tempted? Not really. Though I do dream in East End speech.”